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ahundredtimesover · 2 months ago

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Something About You (04) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: friends au, vacation au, slow burn, romcom-ish vibe; adulting; inspired by AYS; PE teacher!JK and researcher!OC; fluff, comfort, smut (?)

Chapter Warnings: foul/explicit language; alcohol consumption, mentions of cheating, an aggressive man, minor injury (18+)

Word count: 16.5k

Series Masterlist

Status: Complete

Series Summary: You and Jungkook have been friends for a decade. And while he’s the charming and dependable, often reserved boy-next-door, he’s also just been a friend - a constant in your life, a part of a whole, and someone who’s seen all the flawed and probably unattractive sides of you.

A resumption of your friend group’s out-of-town trips has caused you to spend more time with him. And somewhere in between the morning coffee in the forest, running around in the snow, and watching the sunset on a boat, he’s become something more. And you’re not quite sure how to deal with it.

🎶: Beautiful Soul by Jesse McCartney || Yes or No by Jungkook

Spending the holidays in Busan brings about unparalleled comfort, as Jungkook fills his days with video games, hangouts with Jimin in their favorite spots, riding his motorcycle, and home cooked meals.

Whenever he’s at home, he feels like a child where he does whatever he wants and where he’s doted on by his parents, which he can’t really argue with as an adult.

It grounds him somehow. It reminds him of how he felt growing up - wanting to be valued and taken care of but also being trusted and respected. He knows that his students feel the same way as middle and high school kids who are just starting to figure things out. It’s always a good start to his year, and it gives him clarity and that sense of direction.

That’s probably the only good thing about being home this year because other than that, he’s reminded of his physical distance from you, the time you’re not spending together, and the conversations and banter you’re not having.

You’re back in your hometown, too, and he knows that the holidays with your relatives is your favorite thing in the world. You’ve always been close with your cousins, as most of you spent your childhood at your grandparents’ farm. Only you and Hayoung are based in Seoul so it’s a celebration every time you visit. It’s busy times, too, as you spend the days playing with your nieces and nephews and driving around the surrounding towns.

Jungkook knows this, so he looks forward to your or Hayoung’s messages in the group chat, which would usually just be photos or a funny story or a little accident that involves you. It’s the only time he actually reads the messages and that itself is an indication that he misses you terribly, much more than he expected he would.

The Sapporo trip suddenly feels like a lifetime ago. He spent everyday with you - seeing you in the morning, teasing you throughout the day, being in your little bubble of weirdness, talking about serious and mundane things, and falling asleep to your adorable soft snoring.

He thought that spending it how he did was his way of settling into his feelings for you - just feeling it, trying to figure it out or understand it. He still doesn’t know how he got here, even if he could point to some moments where things started to change.

Perhaps he’s only thinking about it as much as he is because you don’t think that could just happen to you - that you could just one day feel differently about a person you’ve known for years. You feel intensely, instantaneously, and he supposes if you were ever to like him, you would’ve done so a long time ago but that ship never sailed and he’s unsure if it ever will.

That still doesn’t stop him from thinking about you though. He sees your photos and reads your sometimes short and sometimes long narrations of what you’re doing and he imagines your pouty face or constant complaints and it makes him smile.

He thinks of teasing you about stubbing your toe or getting followed by bugs or your slow walking and that makes him feel giddy, too. Even the thought of you talking about current events and the pervasiveness of patriarchy in every aspect of social life is something he seeks.

And then there are the puppy eyes and sweet smile when you want something that makes him want to just give it all to you. But there’s also the affection - your hugs, your playful smacking, your shoulder leaning, and the occasional hand on top of his that makes his heart take a leap just reminiscing about it.

He feels a little silly, as he’s perhaps had hundreds of those moments with you in the past but he’s never thought much about them until recently. Until after your trip to Chungbuk, if he’s being specific.

And now he replays them in his head over and over again just because he wants more, even if he’s the one who’s not texting nor replying, and he’s slowly losing his mind.

It’s been two weeks and other than your messages to the group, both of you haven’t spoken. He knows you’re busy and he’s the one with spare time. He could easily reach out to you and you’ll probably reply, but given all this yearning, he’s nervous he’ll overdo it, that he’ll say or do something out of the ordinary and you’ll see right through him.

It’s the day of his trip back to Seoul. He and Jimin will drive out in the afternoon and they’re spending their last few hours in his living room, just playing games after a morning of riding his bike around town.

His best friend’s phone rings and he puts the call on speaker while trying to score a goal in a game of FIFA.

“Jiminie!” your voice cuts through the crowd cheering sound effect. “How’s my annoying best friend doing without me?”

The surprise from hearing you causes Jungkook’s mind to go blank. It leaves Jimin free near the net and he scores a point.

“Finally!” Jimin yells. “Did you see that, Kook? You sucked and I kicked a goal.”

Jungkook waves him off, his pride not too hurt because only he knows his momentary lapse was because of you and not for his lack of skills.

“You’re with Kook?!” You chirp.

“Yeah, we’re playing video games in his house,” Jimin replies.

“Kook! How are you?! I miss you!” You shriek. “I didn’t know if you were alive because you weren’t reacting to my messages in the group chat. Did you know that I almost slipped into a gutter? And that we went hiking with my cousins and I slid down my butt?”

“He knows because I told him,” Jimin says. “It’s not like he reads messages.”

“Hey, I do,” Jungkook corrects. He really does though, very rarely. Recently, all the time when it’s from you. “You also rode an ATV and got stuck in the mud.”

“So you read my messages! Why didn’t you reply then!” You whine.

“It’s pointless to laugh at you if you can’t hear or see me,” he reasons. “But yes, I saw them. Everyone was posting about how their holidays were going so I read through them.”

“Well, you would’ve laughed hard if you saw me.”

“And then you would’ve smacked me for doing so,” Jungkook points out.

“That is very true. Then you would’ve scolded me but then proceeded to treat my wounds,” you giggle. “As expected. Anyway, what have you bums been up to?”

“What do bums do, ___?” Jimin replies after making a defensive play. “We literally just eat and play and ride around when we’re home. And it’s been perfect.”

“Sucks I’m not there to piss you off though,” you say.

“Right? This is what peaceful living is like,” your best friend responds. “But I’m gonna deal with your annoying ass soon so let me savor this.”

“You better,” you hum. “Did you get enough rest, Kook?”

“Lots of it actually,” he half lies. He spent much of these two weeks agonizing over being away from you. “But I guess I’m ready to get back to work. I’ll start coaching the taekwondo team next week.”

“Already? Isn’t it still the winter break?” You wonder.

“Training starts early because of the competition in March,” he answers.

“Ooh, new kids to cheer for?” you excitedly ask.

“If you’re free on Wednesdays and Saturdays, sure,” Jungkook says. “But no pressure, ___.”

“I’ll make time,” you promise him.

“Okay, then,” he hums, doing his best to keep his smile from forming over the thought of spending time with you again.

“Anyway, I just wanted to check up on my friends. Gonna go play with the kids at the park now,” you say. “Careful when you drive to the city! See you guys soon!”

“Miss you! I’m going to your place right when you get back!” Jimin sneaks in.

“Don’t hurt yourself!” Jungkook adds, and you respond to him in laughter, a sound he definitely misses.

Jimin drops the call and shifts his full focus on the game.

“Well, she sounds jolly. Glad she got her joy back,” Jimin comments. “I remember last year, I begged her to take a longer leave and spend another week with her family so she could deal with her burnout.”

“Did she stay?”

“No. She said she’d be more stressed with all the backlog.”

“How’d she get through that, by the way?” Jungkook asks, immediately being reminded of how uninvolved he was at certain points in your life.

“Mo-eum and I convinced her to talk to her manager and apparently others were feeling it, too, so there was a restructure that happened and it helped with her workload,” Jimin explains. “But she would also take her leaves because she barely did, and she tried her best to switch off once she clocked out and that also helped a lot. She didn’t talk about work when we were in Japan, didn’t she?”

“Nope, which is good. At least she got the help she needed,” Jungkook hums, content that even if he didn’t know the extent of your stress that time, you were able to deal with it properly.

As an educator, he knows enough about burnout, especially when he has to deal with his students’ problems on top of just teaching them. He’s always tried to manage his emotions and compartmentalize. Working out and going back to playing the sports he loves helped him tremendously with that.

“Yeah, she did. But she’s doing so much better now and I guess having Tae back and doing our trips again lifted her spirits even more. Like, she gets to take actual breaks and be around us,” Jimin shares. “I guess watching your students’ matches gave her something new to do, too. She really enjoyed that.”

“She did,” Jungkook smiles, realizing now how those afternoons of you cheering for his team was also beneficial for you. “And well, there’ll be other matches for her to watch.”

“Yeah, it should be fun,” Jimin nods. “Anyway, one more game. I’m beating you this time.”

Jungkook drops Jimin off at his place and spends the drive to his apartment thinking of you again. He knows that even with your ability to express yourself, there are some things you don’t share with everyone. There were times when you were open to him about your thoughts and feelings though, and he takes them as a sign of your feeling of comfort around him and of your trust.

He looks back at the instances where you’d thanked him for making you feel good about yourself, and while he thought it was a natural thing for him to do that, he realizes it probably meant more to you than he expected. He hopes he continues to make you feel at ease around him, as he realizes that that’s what he feels when he’s with you.

There’s assurance and trust that you understand him. There’s comfort in your words no matter how playful or cheeky they are. There’s that affection over the things he does and his fondness over the things you do. And then there’s that desire to take care of you, to make you feel comforted and understood just the same.

He takes a deep breath before he exits his car. Two weeks of being away from you and he’s settled into his feelings. He knows they’re not fleeting. He also knows they’re not just because he wants to be a better friend to you.

As he checks his phone and sees a message from you in the group chat asking him and Jimin if they got home safely and tagging him to reply, Jungkook thinks that now is when he starts wanting more.

And he’s not exactly sure how to go about it. Or if it’s a feeling you’ll even reciprocate.

It’s been three weeks since Jungkook returned to Seoul and two weeks since you did. You apparently had to use up your remaining leaves until mid-January so you decided to stay in Gwangju for a few more days. He knew that because he sent you a message after you announced it in the group chat, and you’ve sort of been texting each other since then. It’s not an all-day nor daily type of thing but it’s much better than not hearing from you at all.

He told you that he got assigned to accompany the high school table tennis team to a competition in Sokcho for a few days after one of their assistant coaches got sick. You told him that you started working on your operations plan on your first day back at work and that you had to stay in Daejeon for a weekend to attend a conference because one of your managers couldn’t go. With that, he missed your friends’ Sunday lunch out, and then you missed dinner and drinks the Friday after that.

It’s now the end of January and Jungkook’s been living off of the occasional text messages from you and nothing more. As it’s the Saturday before the end of the winter break, he takes this time to relax and decides on making himself some bulguri noodles and then going for a jog later in the afternoon.

On your end, you intend on cleaning up your apartment after over a month of barely being around. You make a checklist in your head of what to do first when suddenly, your light turns off and for the briefest moment, you think you’re being haunted. But you remember it’s just past lunchtime and ghosts won’t appear until the evening.

You just paid your bills so that’s not the issue. You call your neighbor and find out that she has her light on, so it’s probably just you. So you ask for help.

[to: My Elders] How do you change a lightbulb?

You know that searching online would lead to multiple results, which ironically is going to overwhelm you, so you ask your very adult, very capable friends for advice. Surely they’ll be able to instruct you properly.

[from: joonie] I’d tell you if I knew

[from: uncle yoon] DON’T. TOUCH. ANYTHING.

[from: suhyeonie] please be careful!!

[from: jiminie pabo] someone pls get to her right away before she burns down her apartment or electrocutes herself

[from: my taetae] kook?

[from: bunny kook] coming

You sigh in relief once Jungkook confirms that he’s on his way. And while you think you can follow instructions had your friends called or sent them in - which they didn’t - it’s probably better if someone does it for you. Jungkook just happens to be the one who lives the closest.

You try to clean up whatever you can while waiting for him but you only manage to fold some of your clothes before the intercom is ringing and you’re granting him access to come up. He rings the doorbell and you greet him immediately.

“My savior,” you chirp, fluttering your eyelashes.

“Yah, I’m already here,” he playfully shakes his head. “No need for puppy eyes or whatever that is.”

“It’s my thankful face!” You correct him. “Not that I expected anyone to be empathic to my plight but wow, our friends were not helpful. Except maybe for Tae, who asked you to come.”

“You know you can search online for this, right?” Jungkook chuckles as he gets your stool and starts unwinding your old lightbulb.

“Yeah but AI will tell me one thing, WikiHow will tell me another, so will TikTok… I just didn’t want to be overwhelmed.”

“You… a researcher… didn’t want to be overwhelmed with… information?”

“Kook, since when did basic things make sense to me?” You pout.

“I’m pretty sure they’re not that hard to comprehend.”

“Look, if it didn’t involve a possible fire or electrocution, I’d manage,” you argue. “I mean, I can do other things. Just not… this. I’m scared to make a mess.”

You say it so softly and Jungkook hopes he didn’t make you feel bad or anything. It’s not that you expect people to just do everything for you because you actually watch others do them - like now, as you stand close to him and observe him as he replaces your old bulb with a new one. He just thinks there are things you can’t really grasp because you weren’t exposed to them. He knows you can manage yourself on a farm because you grew up going to one but when it comes to household management, you always had the rest of your family to do them for you.

He finishes and turns on the switch to see if it’s working, and you squeal in joy when it does.

You even go to him and give him a hug, which catches him off guard. He returns it though, and a part of him wishes he’d prepared for this so he wouldn’t act so nonchalant about it.

“___, it’s just a lightbulb,” he points out.

You let him go and laugh, not seeming bothered one bit. He was a little worried that he might come off as snobbish to you though, even if he thinks it’s something he’d totally say.

“It’s a belated hug, Kook. I feel like I haven’t seen you in so long,” you say.

“Because you haven’t. It’s been, what– 5, 6 weeks since Sapporo?”

“Yeah, that feels like a lifetime ago,” you sigh. “I wanna go back! But yeah, you haven’t been around to make fun of me and to take care of me so it feels that much longer. I kinda missed you.”

You say it so casually yet you have no idea how much it’s affecting him. Again, it’s something you’ve said to him so many times before. But it sounds different to him now, only because he wishes it carries a different meaning than you probably don’t intend.

He can’t bring himself to say it back, only because he’s worried about how it’ll come out, so he expresses wanting to hang out with you instead… in a not so direct way.

“Well, I’m here and I changed your lightbulb, although I suggest getting an LED one so it’s more efficient and it’ll last long,” he advises, given that what you have is the incandescent one. “Do you wanna get one at the store? I can replace that already so you won’t have to worry about this one again.”

“Sounds like a plan,” you smile sweetly. “But now that you’ve mentioned it, maybe we can get a few more things?”

Jungkook chuckles to himself as he nods then sits on your couch while you change your clothes in the walk-in closet. He hoped for a quick run at the shops and maybe grab something to eat, perhaps talk more about how your past few weeks have been.

But now, you’ll probably have more time together and that satisfies his desire of being around you. It truly has been so long that he was close to wondering if the Japan trip had been a dream.

The “things” you wanted to get turn out to be Pilates clothes.

You and Jungkook arrived at the mall an hour ago and quickly got an LED light bulb at the home store. But then you dragged him to the other floor and into a shop full of leggings and tank tops and sports bras that he just looked at you blankly and you responded with a giggle.

He now awkwardly stands by one of the shelves with hoodies and has to act unbothered when he sees you pick up a few things, willing his mind not to go to places.

“I’ll be quick, I promise,” you say.

And you do keep it. He expected you to be in the fitting room for at least 30 minutes but you were done in 10. You say that you just need to try the size and you’ll get it in different colors. Efficient, and something he also does.

“Hayoung convinced me to get into Pilates,” you share as you grab the bag from the counter. “She said it’ll help with the stress. And getting my weakening body moving because I’m just in front of the screen most days. I thought I should give it a try so I signed up at the studio near my apartment and I just need to get the proper outfit for it.”

“That sounds good,” he smiles, softening at how you’re truly trying to manage your stress levels so as not to feel burnt out again. “I know that’ll help. When do you start?”

“Next week! So I just have to get these washed and then I’ll be good. I hope I don’t fall on my face while using the machine,” you suddenly frown.

“You won’t. Just don’t force yourself with the tension of the strings,” he advises. “You’re there to exercise and relax, not to get hurt. Yeah?”

“I’ll try. I’ll tell you how it goes,” you smile.

“Can’t wait to hear it.”

You mindlessly walk around and Jungkook just follows, not knowing what else you have in mind. He’s about to internally sulk at the thought that today might just end here when you stop in your tracks and turn to him.

“Did you have anything else planned today?” You ask.

“Just a jog,” he shrugs, quickly adding that it’s something he can do tomorrow once your face falls a little. “Why? Did you want to buy anything else?”

“I don’t have an outfit for our all-white college reunion party,” you pout.

“That’s in three months” he says.

“Two and a half,” you correct. “I wanna get a dress already because I’m definitely gonna forget it. And so I have time to have it dry-cleaned. Do you have something to wear?”

“Uh, a white shirt?”

“Boo, corny,” you chide. “It’s gonna be at a Club, Kook,” you remind him, referring to the one owned by Jihyo, your friend from university who also organized the event.

“What else am I supposed to wear?” Jungkook laughs.

“Well, you can show up in a tank top and you’d still look nice,” you say nonchalantly as you head towards another direction.

“Did you just compliment my looks?” He jogs after you. “You’ve never done that!”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic. I always praise your cute nose.”

“That… that was never a compliment,” he frowns.

But you don’t mind him, as you quickly enter a store and start looking around.

He follows you and observes how you shop. You touch the items hanging on the shelf as you pass them by even if it’s not what you’re looking for. When you see something you think you like, you stare at it for a good five minutes before deciding to either try it on or put it back. When you do try on something, you’re quite expressive, as he could hear you groan or yelp even when he’s outside the fitting room area.

You leave another store empty-handed and you apologize for dragging him around and possibly boring him. He insists he’s fine and that it’s not like it’s something he hasn’t done before, clarifying that he’d accompanied Mo-eum to look for clothes a few times before as well. Obviously, he doesn’t want to imply anything by saying that he’s done this too many times with his ex-girlfriends but looking back, he wasn’t as entertained with them as he is with you.

Though you tend to hyperfocus when you’re doing something, surprisingly when it comes to shopping, you’re very engaging. You ramble, like you often do, but you also ask him things and try to get his opinion.

It’s been over an hour of looking around but you still haven’t found anything. The ones you like are too pricey and the others just don’t fit right. You find a newly-opened store and get excited when you see the clothes are your style and you quickly choose a couple for you to try on. He’s mindlessly looking around when he hears you call for him.

He sees your head peeking out of the curtains. With the sales person attending to another customer, you ask him to help you tie the straps of the dress you have on.

“They’re supposed to be ribbons but I can’t tie them properly,” you say. “Can you fix them so I can see if it’s nice?”

He nods as he works on them, trying his best to make the knot look pretty. You turn around so he can work on the other side and he does his best to not fall into the temptation of looking at you while he does. When he finishes, you face the mirror and smile.

“It looks pretty,” you beam.

“It does. So are you getting that?”

“Hmm, probably the other one,” you say, gesturing towards one of the several dresses hanging on the hook. “That one looked nicer.”

“Oh,” is all he can say. You already look pretty in this one so that could only mean that the other option is much prettier. “Okay.”

“Mission accomplished,” you smile at him now. “I’ll get dressed and get that!”

It’s late in the afternoon by the time you finish, and you’re reminded that you’ve only had some sweet bread all day and you’re starving, something Jungkook learns when your stomach starts to grumble.

“So… early dinner?” He chuckles.

“Yes. And we’re having Japanese.”

He suggests a hotpot place after you said that you miss the soup he made on your last night in Sapporo. He comments that you seem to enjoy his cooking a lot and you remark that they’re very hearty and that he should cook for you more. It’s a request he doesn’t mind fulfilling, especially if that’ll mean being with you again.

You order a similar-tasting broth from the one he made, and you sigh in delight at just being able to take in the scent of a restaurant that reminds you of your trip from a few weeks ago.

“That week felt so fast,” you say. “The days were long and slow but they somehow still ended so soon. Did you enjoy that trip, Kook?”

“Of course. Why’d you think I wouldn’t?”

“I don’t know. I hurt your abs and smacked you with a pillow and you gave me a piggyback ride and dealt with my injuries,” you shrug.

“But I got free beer and a nice bottle of whiskey,” he reminds you.

“True. And I didn’t elbow your face when I slept next to you,” you remind him as well.

“Yup, that was a very big factor,” he nods.

“I couldn’t hurt the nose,” you sweetly smile at him.

He just playfully shakes his head at you and you clarify that you just find it adorable.

At least you find him charming, he thinks to himself.

You sit across from each other as you devour your dinner and talk about more stories of your visit to your hometown and how his weeks of training his students have been. You reminisce about Sapporo once more and mention the places you want to travel to in the future.

You’re laughing about a memory from your Hong Kong trip years ago when Jungkook gets a call. When you find out it’s Taehyung on the other end, you ask for the phone to say hi.

“___!” Taehyung greets. “I was just asking Kook if he got to save your ass from being electrocuted or something.”

“Yes, he did,” you playfully roll your eyes. “Thanks for telling him to go to me though. I would’ve waited for him to pity me before I asked him to come over.”

“Nah, he would’ve gone to you either way,” your friend laughs. “Where are you now?”

“Having dinner out,” you say. “We bought an LED light bulb and I ended up running errands and I dragged him with me. Poor guy had to deal with my annoying ass today,” you add, as if lamenting on his behalf. “I at least didn’t trip or hurt myself.”

“That’s new,” Taehyung hums. “But I’m sure he doesn’t mind it. Anyway, I was just asking him to send me something. I’ll leave you two to your dinner. See you on Thursday after work?”

“Yes, at 5 PM,” you say, referring to this string quartet charity event you asked him to watch with you. “Here’s Kook.”

You give the phone back to Jungkook and slurp the remainder of soup in your bowl.

“Yeah, I’ve got all the ones you asked for. I’ll give the hard drive tomorrow. Bye!”

He drops the call and you ask him what Taehyung needed.

“He asks me to download movies for him,” Jungkook says. “Like, the black and white Hollywood kind. They’re kinda hard to find.”

“Aww, Kook. That’s sweet. So you’re who he gets them from,” you smile. “So wait, can you download movies for me, too?”

“Sure, just tell me what you want. I can give you the hard drive on—”

“Saturday? There’s no rush. I won’t get to watch until the weekend, anyway.”

“Alright, then.”

“Thank you,” you smile at him again, the kind that’s meant to express your appreciation for all the things he does for you.

And the thing is, he doesn’t mind doing them. Even if he didn’t have these developing feelings for you, it’s something he’d still do. He’s never minded doing you favors or being collateral damage when you hurt yourself or having to take care of you when you do. He’d always done them willingly because it’s what he does for all his friends.

He supposes that the difference now is the anticipation of seeing you again when he does. It’s the excitement over knowing you’d ask him to do something and your accompanying smile and laughter. He supposes there’s more attachment in how he looks after you and in how he returns your affection.

And now with every spontaneous day or planned weekend you make him share with you, he enjoys each minute of it. Not just through your ramblings but through your silence, too; not just in your moments of triumph but in your instances of doubt as well.

It’s like settling into the feeling but more. It’s as if somewhere along the way of your friendship, he learned to settle into you.

“I thought you wanted to watch this,” Jungkook mumbles as he munches on some popcorn. “Why are you covering your face?”

“Because it’s scary, duh,” you bite back as you wrap one arm around your folded legs while your other hand makes slits over your eyes. “The spirit's gonna kill the sons now!”

“Well yeah, that’s what bad spirits do,” he deadpans. “Why did you want to watch this in the first place?”

“Because I heard it’s a good mo– Ah!” You squeal. You wait for the next scene and try to catch your breath. “I heard it’s a good movie. Plus, I like horror. Didn’t you know that?”

“I do, I mean… you’re always up for it whenever I suggest watching one. You just scream a lot. I guess you could like something and not enjoy it all the time.”

“I enjoy it though,” you correct him. “Getting scared and stressed and yelling is all part of the fun. Just like how in rom-coms, the frustration over the two leads being dumb is part of the experience. You take it all and that makes everything so satisfying.”

Jungkook merely nods in agreement but lingers on what you just said. The more he spends time with you, the more he learns how contradictory you are as a person, which is something he admires so much about you.

As a professional, you’re intellectual and decisive. You’re passionate and intentional and every single thing has a purpose or meaning for you. Outside of that, you feel intensely, whatever it is - fear, joy, wonder, anger, but you take them as part of a whole. You’re clumsy and disorganized sometimes. You’re affectionate and transparent yet there’s always something more that you feel and want, something that he’s unsure you’ve figured out yet.

And as he sneaks a glance at your wide eyes and anxious face over the next scene, he can’t help but smile at how open you are to feeling what’s out there for you. It’s quite captivating to watch, as he’s one who prefers to feel things more moderately, and perhaps it’s why it took this long for his feelings for you to develop.

His thoughts are disrupted with your gasp, followed by milder curses than he expected, and then another shriek. He focuses on the movie now, as he’s sure you’re gonna wanna talk about it after, and it ends with your deep exhale and your satisfied smile.

“That was good,” you say, as you grab a can of beer from your fridge and hand him one.

You rehash the whole two hours while you sit next to him on the couch then conclude that you’re still a little creeped out so you state you want to watch something else.

“The Thai movie about the grandmother,” you say, choosing from the long list of things you had him download.

“Are you sure?” He cocks an eyebrow.

“Yes, I heard it’s good, too,” you shrug, already getting comfortable.

“Okay, then.”

As it turns out, it’s as emotional as it is good. And you can’t stop the tears as they waterfall down your face, to the point that you can barely breathe through your nose. You, in fact, wail, and you can hear Jungkook stop himself from laughing, even if despite your glassy eyes, you can see him tear up as well.

“You can cry, you know?” You turn to him, prompting him to pause the film.

You’re sniffing and distorting your face and he chuckles in response.

“I was about to but you started sobbing. It felt like your tears were good enough for the both of us,” he hums.

“It’s sad,” you pout.

“I know, and you wanted this,” he points out. “But hey, part of the experience, right?”

You nod because it’s true. You’d rather watch comedy dramas that make you hurt so good or horror movies that make you jump off your seat over ones that barely make you feel anything at all. But you suppose that’s how you’ve always lived your life.

People think you’re driven by logic and ideas all the time but you surprise yourself with how much you feel and how much that motivates you. But then again, that’s exactly why you’re in the field you’re in, and not everybody gets to understand or even see that.

Your tears remain and Jungkook scoots closer to wipe them off your cheeks with his paw sweaters. You meet his worried doe-eyes and you didn’t realize how innocent-looking yet expressive they are. You suddenly hiccup and he playfully shakes his head in response.

“I wanna laugh now,” you mumble.

“We’re going through the emotions of the wheel now, aren’t we?” Jungkook chuckles while proceeding to check his movie list again. “I’ve got–”

“What if we just watch Running Man reruns? I kinda don’t wanna be invested in characters again but I just don't wanna be sad anymore.”

“Then we go with that,” he nods. “And… uh, do you have anything I could cook for dinner?”

You check the time and realize it’s almost 7 PM. You had lunch out with Hayoung earlier then started your movie marathon with Jungkook when you got home. You’ve been with him for hours and it feels like time is flying.

“Ramen?”

“Sure, I can get two packs ready,” he hums, standing up to find his way around your tiny kitchen.

“I’ll also order pizza because I’m craving. What about chicken?”

“Hey, as long as it’s good food, I’m all in.”

As it turns out, eating Jungkook’s creamy ramen, then some pizza, and then some chicken wings over beer while laughing your bellies off is incredibly satisfying. You’re in tears for half of it because not only is the show funny, but so are Jungkook’s ridiculous side comments and imitation of the hosts and guests. You have to beg him to stop and let you breathe.

This is one of the most unhinged you’d seen him and you don’t care one bit that you’re snorting in laughter or close to drooling at this point. Once you calm down, you stretch your legs on the floor where you’ve been since you started dinner, and you breathe deeply.

“I needed this,” you smile then turn to look at him. “I needed to laugh and just… be comfortable.”

“Why? Work bugging you down? Pilates not yet working?”

“Work is always stressful and I’ve accepted that. Pilates is something I’m still getting used to but it helped that one day I needed to relax,” you say. “But I guess I just needed to laugh and cry and stuff myself with good food and not worry about the next day or something. Thanks for coming over with your movie library and watching and eating with me, Kook. It was fun.”

“Glad I could help you with having a worry-free day like this,” he replies. “And honestly, it feels good to just do whatever you want and not really have plans. It’s why I spend my weekends the way I do.”

“So it feels good being with me, then?” you smirk.

“Of course. You’re a little chaotic sometimes,” he teases. “But it’s part of the fun. I get to let loose and watch you be a weirdo.”

“Well I’m glad,” you softly smile this time. “You’re a little weird sometimes, too. I get to enjoy myself a little bit more when I’m around you. I mean, I say that about the other guys as well but I guess we haven’t spent as much time together.”

“We do now.”

“I know. And it’s fun. I hope you don’t get sick of me yet.”

He could tease you and say he already is, but he doesn’t want to lie to you like that. He doesn’t want you to think that even a tiny part of him would prefer not having you around.

The truth is, he’s been finding it harder to let a day pass without speaking to you, and he reminds himself to do things gradually and naturally despite the fear that you’d freak out and think of him differently just because he’s treating you differently.

“Just keep being that way and I won’t,” he says instead.

“Hmm. That’s a relief. I will, then.”

Jungkook sees you again the next Wednesday after Jimin messaged to ask who was free for dinner and drinks after work. A few from the group made it, including you, and even if Jungkook was a few seats away, just knowing you were okay and enjoying Pilates and eating well was enough to appease him.

He sees you again on Saturday for a late celebration of Hoseok’s birthday where you hog the mic during karaoke despite being tone deaf and unable to hold a note. Jungkook tries to remember all the times this had happened before and if he had found you as endearing as he finds you now.

He tries to make sure you’re okay the next day, and he ends up grabbing you some hangover soup and drinks just to get rid of the headache. You sleep for pretty much the whole day but those two hours with you was enough to get him through the week.

You’re off to a work trip overseas over the next weekend so Jungkook decides to preoccupy himself with a full day of gaming and probably an evening swim. But then Taehyung comes over to hang out and with his friend leaving in a few months, Jungkook welcomes the company.

Jimin joins for lunch then leaves for a shoot. Mo-eum drops by then leaves as well for a family dinner.

It’s during the second half of the FIFA game they’re playing when Jungkook’s phone beeps. A small smile forms on his face when he glances at your multiple messages, perhaps to rant about the food like you did last night, or to say that the bugs were biting you again, or maybe to talk about some research project you came up with while taking a shit - because yes, it apparently happens.

He hopes Taehyung doesn’t notice but his friend is quite observant, so he does.

“Is ___ doing okay?”

Jungkook misses a free kick at the sound of your name.

“What?”

Taehyung gestures towards the beeping phone.

“___. That’s her, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Jungkook hums as he finally checks your messages and learns that yes, it’s the food.

You also got a papercut and he can imagine you whining about it.

“She’s just… you know, talking about the conference she’s attending,” Jungkook continues as he sends replies of memes and questions of how it’s going and if the annoying guy from yesterday is still bugging you.

“Hmm, I see,” Taehyung hums as he attempts a kick. “I was with her last week, right? She had that charity event she asked me to attend with her. We had dinner after and she was laughing while texting someone. It was you.”

“Oh, right.”

Jungkook instantly remembers what both of you were talking about then.

“I was just telling her this vacation story of one of the teachers. It was funny.”

“Wow, how trivial. And to think you don’t even reply to me,” Taehyung chides.

“It’s because you prefer to call me! Or randomly show up at my door just like you did today,” Jungkook counters.

“Because you literally don’t reply!”

Jungkook just shrugs and focuses on the match, hoping his friend would just drop it. Instead, he pauses the game.

“Okay, Kook. I’m gonna ask you a question and you gotta answer me honestly. Just remember that you’re a terrible liar.”

Jungkook groans in response. “What?”

“Do you… like ___?”

Jungkook could easily deny it, but he also knows that he is a terrible liar and Taehyung would figure it out anyway. So he answers after a few seconds and understates the truth.

“I… I guess there’s something more.”

“It’s a yes or a no.”

There’s another beat of silence, as Jungkook is nervous about verbalizing something he’s been keeping to himself for months.

“I mean, between shopping with her, downloading her movies, driving her around… it should be clear, right?” Taehyung presses further.

“Hey, I do those things for you,” Jungkook tries to defend himself as he feels like he’s being called out.

“Yah! Do you think I’m stupid? Do you steal glances at me, too?”

“No.”

“Exactly, but you do it with her. And you let her squish your cheeks and you hate it when we do it.”

“She’s always been much gentler,” Jungkook reasons.

“She rarely is but sure,” Taehyung chuckles. “So, you really do like her, huh?”

“It’s something that just happened,” Jungkook sighs, knowing there’s no point in hiding anymore. “I don’t even know how. I mean, we’ve been good friends for years, Tae. We’ve seen each other’s highs and lows. We’ve witnessed each other’s relationships and breakups, and we’ve just… always been around each other.”

Jungkook looks back at the days when it was all so simple, then suddenly being hit by a train from out of nowhere.

“There was no fuss, no drama, no expectations, no desire. Just friends,” he continues. “And then one day it was like… suddenly she looked so cute whenever she complained or pouted. And then it was fun just watching her tell stories and be weird and be smart. And then it felt nice when she would do something nice for me. And then I liked how she looked whenever I did something nice for her. And then… and then she stood up for me to my ex then hugged me later that night and I haven’t stopped thinking about her since then.”

“So it started that night, huh?” Taehyung smiles. “Was it seeing her angry and defending you?”

“Yeah… and then seeing her be so gentle after that,” Jungkook hums. “It’s how she’s always been - intense, loyal, caring. I guess I’ve always admired those things about her. I’ve always enjoyed having her around but that comfort, that familiarity, that desire for something a bit chaotic but also reassuring that I get with her, it just suddenly felt different. And I just wanted more of that, I guess.”

“Was it really all sudden, though?” Taehyung wonders. “I mean, how could something like her presence and her quirks and all these good things about her be there all these years and then just be different one day?”

“I was thinking about that because I couldn’t really figure out how I could just feel differently about her.”

“And?”

“I settled into her, I think that’s what it was.”

Jungkook has been pondering on it since movie night at your place. It’s like moving into a house then becoming familiar with it over time, and then it becomes comfortable, and then it becomes a home.

Sure, the floorboards creak and the faucet leaks sometimes and there’s a stain on the wall that won’t get off but it doesn’t matter, because he’s already settled in and he likes the place. He likes its flaws and wear and tears… It's all part of the experience. And friends are like that - there’s no changing or forcing anything. Friends kinda just adjust their way around each other over time and just fit together a certain way.

That’s how it was with you.

He tries to explain this and Taehyung nods, understanding what he means because all his friends feel like home, too.

“What was it like when it changed, then? When did it become more?” He asks.

“When I realized that, hey, I think I wanna hold hands in this home, too. I wanna kiss and cuddle and get to know every inch of it. I… I wanna stay here. Something like that.”

Jungkook smiles, thinking back to that night you hugged him after a tough night. And how every time you’d done it since then made him want you to do it again.

He thinks back to the moments these past months of your hands or arms brushing, and him wondering what it’s like to intertwine his fingers with yours. Maybe have you touch his cheeks again but look deeply into his eyes this time.

Taehyung feels comforted by his friend being able to express his feelings like this, something he’s never really been that comfortable doing before.

Jungkook feels deeply, but he’s a bit more reserved than most of their friends. He tends to express whatever he feels by being dependable, by being someone they could be around and not feel judged, by being encouraging in his quiet way. Even in his past relationships, Jungkook just seemed to suppress what he felt - whether it was love or affection or hurt or anger. To be able to articulate all that he feels for you in this way is quite special. Maybe you’re rubbing off on him.

“Hmm. Sounds like a couple we know. And they’re getting married in a few months,” Taehyung smiles now.

“I’m not even thinking about that far into the future,” Jungkook frowns.

“I know but that’s not the point,” Taehyung corrects. “I just meant that it happens, Kook. That’s how some love stories go. Just like with my brother. He and Hayoung got along so well that we just kept secretly waiting for them to finally get together. And they did, seven years after they met. Because that friendship just naturally became deeper and blossomed into something more. I mean, it’s a natural thing. Like you said, you just learn to… settle into someone. You gravitate towards them, feel like they’re a person you can tuck yourself in and just be comfortable with and that’s such a beautiful feeling. I’ve witnessed it with them and I’m witnessing it with you, too.”

“Is that how you knew?” Jungkook chuckles as he shakes his head, unsure if his friend is just that perceptive or if he’s that transparent. “Because you’ve seen it happen with your brother?”

“Sort of,” Taehyung hums. “But I’m close to her, Kook. And I know how I am with her. I’m fond of her, I’m amazed by her, I want to take care of her, but she also drives me crazy sometimes. In a very sibling-like way because that’s how I treat her. That’s how I see her. I saw how you took care of her during the flight to Japan. I saw how you smiled every time she did. Even when she was being a brat, you just… wanted to be there for her. And it’s different from how Jimin or I treat her.”

Jungkook nods, thinking now that perhaps those times in Sapporo when his friend looked at both of you smiling, left you alone together, or even had him give you a piggyback ride was Taehyung’s way of figuring it out. But another thought alerts Jungkook.

“Shit. Do you think he knows? Or maybe Mo-eum?”

“They haven’t said anything. But then again, you and ___ have kinda been treating each other the same way. I think I’m just noticing the subtle differences because I’ve been away for a while. And well, since I’m leaving again I'm a little bit more sentimental,” Taehyung laughs. “Why, don’t you want them to know?”

“Not yet,” Jungkook shakes his head.

“Why not?”

“Because they might tell me to keep off or run for the hills.”

“Or tell you to get your head out of your ass and do something about it,” Taehyung exclaims.

“They could, and I’m not sure if I’m ready for any of that. I.. I want her to settle into me. Naturally.”

“I get that, but this is the same girl who meets someone and then gets attracted to them right away. Just saying,” Taehyung warns.

You’ve always said you tend to act on your intense feelings immediately. It’s true that at any point, you could serendipitously meet someone and then pursue them the next day.

“___ is used to a life where things are clear to her, including the people in them,” Taehyung continues. “She’s always been honest about her intentions with others and doesn’t compromise who she is with them, and we all like that about her. You might wanna just let things happen because you don’t wanna rush or pressure her and I get that but a little nudge won’t hurt.”

“How do I do that?”

“Be intentional, I guess. Act on what you feel but gently, gradually,” Taehyung advises. “Put feelers out and see how she thinks about friendships and relationships and whatnot.”

“I guess I kinda have been… unknowingly,” Jungkook shakes his head. “We’ve been having tons of conversations about how we dealt with our relationships and how we go about them.”

“And?”

“You know how we used to tease her with Namjoon?”

“Yeah, and she said that helpless clumsy people will burn the house down and so it was never gonna happen,” Taehyung laughs.

“There’s that. But she also wonders how someone could just one day decide to like a friend they’ve known for years. It’s a normal thing like you said but I guess it’s just not how she approaches relationships,” Jungkook says. “And there’s nothing wrong about that. It’s just… how do I make her see me as something more?”

“Show her that you could be? How would she know if you’re a home she wants to cuddle and kiss and hold hands in if you don’t show that potential?” Taehyung points out. “You don’t have to impress her or treat her so differently all of a sudden. Just be natural but know that you’ll have to be assertive when the time comes.”

“That is the most confusing thing but I guess that works” Jungkook sighs. “So… should I pick her up from the airport tomorrow, then?”

Jungkook picks you up from the airport on Sunday. Your conference wrapped up in the morning but your flight was delayed and you’ve been irritable since then, given that you weren’t able to eat a decent lunch.

You were texting with him last night and he kindly offered to give you a ride, reminding you that he likes long drives so it’s not a bother. You couldn’t say no, especially since an hour-long trip is much better having him to just talk with, something you’ve been enjoying a lot recently.

Jungkook was never really the texting type, that much you knew. He barely replies in group chats and the rare times you would message each other in the past was about random, shallow things. It wasn’t until a few months ago when you started texting more frequently, and your conversations go from mundane to deep, and you appreciate them equally.

Outside of that, you’ve been spending more time together, too, and you like that as well. He’s just a calming person to be around, very chill and laid-back, and you suppose it’s what you’ve been needing.

You know that he’s a reserved guy, often quiet and not very expressive compared to your other friends, unless he’s teasing you. He’s the kind to not let things bother him easily but also just does whatever he likes as long as he doesn't get in anyone's way.

You suppose that’s one reason why you were always closer to Jimin and Taehyung - they’re uninhibited and a little crazy like you, always going off about something together, narrating things animatedly, and being dramatic about everything. Jungkook, alongside Mo-eum, would just sit around and watch the three of you do all of that, and then take care of any one of you when needed.

While you still do most of those, you suppose that over time, you’ve all mellowed down a little bit. Over time, you’ve needed something else - a presence to calm you down and to contrast your often frenzied and chaotic state, a kind of energy that balances you out and grounds you.

Jungkook has been that for you recently. He listens to you rant about everything. He reassures you about your thoughts but also offers a different perspective. He makes you laugh and teases you comfortably. He shows up when you need him and he takes care of you like it’s second nature.

You know that’s the kind of person he’s always been. You don’t know though if you’ve just taken it for granted all these years because of that; you don’t really remember appreciating or even depending on him this way before. Perhaps it’s just time that’s passed and you grew up. Maybe at this point in your life, that’s the kind of person you need more of.

You smile at the thought as you watch Jungkook load your luggage in the trunk then head to the driver seat. He asks you about the delay and how the flight was. You say it was fine but that you only got to eat a sandwich at the airport and now you’re hungry, which makes it worse because you didn’t even enjoy the food at the conference.

“Was it really that bad?” He asks.

“For some reason, everything was spicy,” you frown. “And those that weren’t were just too intense and I just wanted something familiar. And delicious. Tae was sending photos of your suyuk from last night and I got so jealous. He said it was really, really good.”

“Oh. Do you want that, then?” Jungkook asks. “It’s not hard to make.”

“Wha–? Are you serious?” You look at him with puppy eyes, although this shouldn’t really be surprising anymore.

“Yeah. We’ll just get back to Seoul late afternoon and then pass by the supermarket for the ingredients. Can you wait until then?”

“I could. I mean, I heard it’s a life-changing dish,” you wink.

“Well, Taehyung’s an easily satisfied guy but I think it’s one of the best things I’ve made, too,” he chuckles. “Not sure about it being life-changing but you can maybe tell me later.”

“I’m sure it’ll be, since I’ll be very hungry by then,” you laugh. “But we could also just eat at a restaurant or something.”

He cocks an eyebrow, knowing that when you set your mind on a certain dish, you need to have it. The fact that you brought it up is a hint that it’s what you really want and Jungkook won’t say no.

He’s unsure if this counts as making a move on you but at this point, he’ll take whatever chance he can get to show you he cares and wants to make you happy. And that maybe, let you know in the most subtle way that something’s changed on his end without freaking you out.

“Fine, I know you know I really want to try it,” you giggle at having been caught.

You suppose he’s familiar with your antics at this point.

“I do,” he playfully shakes his head. “And it’s fine, really. I don’t mind doing things for you.”

“Hmm. That means you aren’t sick of me yet!”

“Don’t think I will anytime soon.”

Jungkook says it with certainty, and not in a teasing or even shy manner the way you’d expect. But you don’t think about it much. You’re just glad your constant presence hasn’t been a bother to him.

You spend the ride talking about how your respective weeks have been. You’re in your neighborhood before you know it, and he’s stopping by a supermarket and getting the ingredients while you message your friends about having dinner at Jungkook’s place. The three of them quickly reply they’ll be on their way, with Taehyung offering to pick them up.

You watch Jungkook do his magic while you wait for them to arrive, and you’re amazed when he says that he just watched a video on it online then went by feeling when he made it himself. You’re left in awe; you know your clueless ass could never.

Your friends arrive not long after, all of whom are just as excited to eat Jungkook’s dish, even if Taehyung just had it last night. He hypes it up and Jungkook calls him out for setting the expectations too high. He doesn’t want to disappoint you, he says.

Sitting next to him, you take your first bite. And your friend is right. This is incredibly delicious; you seriously don’t think any other version could top this.

You pinch the corners of your eyes in response, expressing dramatically - as you always do - how good it is. You take another bite with the kimchi, and given the unsatisfying dishes you’ve had the past three days, this quite literally tastes like heaven.

You reflexively lean on Jungkook’s shoulder as you close your eyes and savor it.

“Fuck, Kook. This is insane,” you moan.

“Yeah, well you haven’t even eaten it properly yet,” he hums. “Here.”

You turn to him and find him trying to feed you the pork wrapped in lettuce with rice and kimchi. You open your mouth and it’s even more delicious. This tastes like home, and in a way you didn’t expect.

You curse under your breath again, like Jimin is, while Taehyung and Mo-eum quietly enjoy it.

“It always amused me how Kook is the baby of the group but he never acted like it,” Mo-eum points out.

“Yeah, it was always me,” you chuckle.

“Debatable. Tae’s the baby. You’re the princess,” Jimin corrects.

“I agree,” Jungkook hums. “But we never minded, just so you know. At least, I never did.”

He says the last part softly, you’re probably the only one who hears it. Between his assuring words and this dinner he made, there’s not much you can do, so you prepare a portion of the meat with rice and side dishes, too, and offer to feed him.

He hesitates only briefly but lets you do as you wish. Your fingers graze his face and he feels the shiver on his skin.

“My thank you ssam,” you smile, and Jungkook praises you for making it well-balanced because that’s the only harmless thing he can really say.

You spend the next two hours the way you usually do when you’re together, until Mo-eum yawns and says she’ll go ahead because her three straight 12-hour night shifts are getting to her. She just wanted to see you so she came, even if you have your usual post-work dinners on Wednesdays. Tuesdays are reserved for Jimin while Taehyung usually just messages you whenever. Jungkook, you realize, has become a staple of your weekends.

Taehyung then offers to take Mo-eum home, then drags Jimin along because they need to buy something.

“What about ___?” Mo-eum asks.

“She’s out of the way,” Taehyung answers. “Plus, she craved this so she’ll help Jungkook clean up, right?” He continues, smiling sweetly at you.

“Of course I will,” you answer.

You bid them goodbye then start clearing the table of the dirty dishes.

“___, you don’t have to,” Jungkook says, taking them from you.

“This has always been my task,” you pout. “Plus, this is all I can do. You always do so much for me.”

You don’t wait for him to respond and proceed to washing the dishes. He stands next to you though and you continue talking, up until he drives you home then messages you good night.

You end up seeing Jungkook pretty much every week after that, whether it’s because of a get-together - like karaoke night on Friday after work, or a special event - such as the screening of the movie that Yoongi composed the music for.

You see him on your own, too, like on nights when you crave something after work, when there’s a movie you ask him to download that he watches with you, when you have an errand to do that you don’t feel like doing alone, or to cheer for his high school taekwondo team, just like you promised.

He’s always willing to join you even if he’s got things going on himself. He just says he doesn’t mind and deep down, you’re glad that he truly hasn’t gotten sick of you yet, given your tendencies to whine about things and complain about your work despite how much you love it.

Jungkook shares a lot more about himself, too. Not that he never did but you notice him being more open and comfortable about things he worries about - like how his students will grow up to be and if he’s being a good role model to them. There’s the occasional mention of wondering if he’ll be a good enough partner to whoever he’ll end up with after you open up a bit more about your past relationships.

It’s always stuck with you how he says that being with someone means that you witness the birth of a different person every time and then celebrating that. It strikes you because you feel like somewhere along the way, even you failed to do that yourself - accept how you’ve changed then embracing it. But he says he’s also learning, and that being with someone means you learn together.

It’s those conversations that have you appreciating your time with him even more. He’s there when there’s chaos in your mind, and even more so when it’s around you.

It’s near the end of April when you find yourself in Mo-eum’s apartment with Jimin, getting ready for your college reunion party. It feels like it’s been a while since you dolled up for something like this. Mo-eum, like you, only does it when there’s a special event. For Jimin, this is a norm in his line of work.

Your best friend eyes your outfit, fixes your dress, then suggests a bolder lipstick color.

“It’ll work with the guys,” he smirks.

“I’m not trying to get anyone’s attention, just to remind you,” you say, even if you go with the red that he hands you. “It’s a party and I’ll drink, watch people get shit faced, and then bury myself in the covers at night then lay in bed all day tomorrow.”

“You’re getting old,” he teases.

“You’re gonna feel the effects of all this partying at one point,” you reply.

“Nah, I’ve got energy. I keep myself in shape, you know?”

You throw your pillow at him at the dig, but you do point out that you still do your Pilates session every week and that’s helped with your energy, amongst other things.

“Plus, who’ll it work on? The guests are literally the same people from college. No one’s gonna go for me after all these years and vice versa,” you add.

“You have such a narrow and simplistic way of looking at things sometimes, you know that?” Jimin shakes his head at you. “You think that attraction is only immediate and a one-time thing, as if it doesn’t develop overtime or something.”

“Well, if it wasn’t there at the start, then it won’t be there later on,” you shrug.

“You only think that way because all your relationships have been that way,” Mo-eum says.

“Yeah, and they all ended right away,” Jimin points out.

“Ouch,” you say with no real bite, not like it’s something you haven’t thought about anyway.

“You want the feeling to smack you in the face at first glance,” Mo-eum adds, earning a nod from you because that’s true. “But it could also smack you years later, when you least expect it. Isn’t that intense and genuine, too?”

“Yeah, imagine one day realizing you like that cute ops guy at work that you have lunch with who’s so chill and unproblematic,” Jimin says. “Or your neighbor from childhood that you still talk with sometimes. Maybe Namjoon? He can already make ramen and you know how to slice fruits now. Who knows, it could be Tae. Or even Kook!”

“Jimin, I’m gonna hold your hand when I say this,” you sigh. “I don’t really see myself liking my friends in that way. Things that are good and comfortable don’t need to be disrupted.”

“___, I’m gonna hold your hand when I say this, too,” he counters. “You can. You only think otherwise because as much as you feel things, you don’t really pay attention to them. For you, things and people that are new are the only ones worth giving a shot because that’s what you’re used to. And I say this in the most loving way - I really think that the one who can truly handle all of you is someone who’s known you for years.”

You’re not offended, but it does intrigue you. So you ask what he means.

“You’re a lot of amazing things but that doesn’t mean every new guy you date sees that,” Jimin explains. “And I know you never said it directly but you always worried that your exes wouldn’t understand you, and so there were parts of you that you didn’t really wanna show them.”

You think about your best friend’s words and you agree. You weren’t the type who spent less time with your friends when you were in a relationship, and you always thought that meant you maintained your independence and social circles outside of your partner. Deep down, a part of you felt that there were aspects of your life you wanted to keep separate from the men you dated - your friends, your dreams, your bare and unfiltered self.

With Jeong-su, you were the passionate student leader who was so sure of herself. So on the days when you were stressing about school or life in general, you ran to your friends and not him. You suppose that’s where all the fights about not making time for him stemmed from.

It was similar with Seungho, as you were the independent and confident woman who worked hard for what she wanted in his eyes, and you felt like you had to keep that image up even if you had bouts of doubt or insecurity. He was aloof and wasn’t the type to spoil you. It was his lack of compassion that really bothered you, and you never really sought him for comfort.

There were many things that attracted you to them, but ultimately they faded away. During those years, you were focused on building yourself and your career, and they helped you in a way, because they were also attracted to that side of you - ambitious, polished, uncompromising.

But once you became in tune with the more human and flawed, unfiltered parts of yourself, you pushed them away, perhaps fearing they wouldn’t understand. Or that they wouldn’t want to deal with that side of you at all.

Maybe that’s what Jimin meant about you not paying attention to your feelings. You focused on how they made you feel, and not on what you felt about them, nor about how you felt about yourself because of them. As you grow up, you realize they’re not the same.

“What does knowing someone for a long time have anything to do with this?” You try to deflect. “You can know someone for years and still be surprised by who they are once you learn more.”

“They’re not afraid of you,” Jimin responds. “They don’t want to tame nor fit you into an idea they have of you because they already know the many versions of who you are. They’ve… they’ve learned how to exist alongside you and have fun along the way. I think that makes the difference.”

“And what does paying attention to how I feel even really mean?” You wonder out loud, as you process more of what he says.

“It means actually thinking about them, you know?” Jimin hums. “Like, giving yourself time to understand what you’re feeling, independently of what they do or say to you. You’ve always gone with your heart and we love that about you but the intense, genuine emotions that you want actually take time. I think it’s something you’ll figure out right away. It’ll be different from how it used to feel.”

“Okay, love guru,” Mo-eum chuckles. “Where’s all this coming from?”

“I listen to this podcast that talks about grown up stuff like relationships and I’ve picked things up,” Jimin shrugs. “But also I think I have a good read of people. I had a vibe with Seokjin and Hayoung long before they got together.”

“Is that why you keep pushing for Yoongi and Gyu-rim? Because you have a vibe about them?” You ask.

“Yes. And I just really think they like each other but they don’t know it yet.”

“Hmm. Interesting. And what about Mo-eum and Tae?”

“I asked her about it before but she didn’t answer me,” Jimin responds, triggering your other friend’s memory about that time.

It turns out he was right about that, too.

“And now I’ll ask you,” Jimin turns to you.

“Look, the Namjoon ship sailed a long time ago. You know how I feel about that,” you explain.

“I wasn’t referring to him,” Jimin shakes his head. “I was gonna ask about Kook.”

“Oh,” you and Mo-eum say at the same time.

Jimin watches your face distort, going from processing to wondering to somehow lost, and he chuckles in response.

“You know what, never mind. I’ll leave that for you to think about,” he smiles instead. “Anyway, come on. We have a party to go to.”

You get inside your booked car and decide to not think too much about what Jimin had asked you right before you left. Not that his question was completely out of left field because even you would say that you’ve been spending more time with Jungkook lately, but you suppose you hadn’t really thought much about what it could mean.

You can chalk it up to that unspoken promise from months ago about being better friends to each other, but maybe that’s a big part of it, too. Was it really just about that? Or have your efforts naturally progressed to mean something more?

You internally sigh at all these thoughts that your best friend unfortunately put in your head. Tonight’s not the time to be contemplating about this, not when you’ll be around people and around him.

And just as the reminder that Jungkook will be here crosses your mind, he just happens to be the first person you see right when you exit the car.

He greets familiar faces as you and your friends meet him and Taehyung in line to the Club before he turns to you with a smile.

“Hey!” Jungkook greets, going in for a hug like what you do every time you see each other.

He smells like cotton. It’s so fresh yet so manly.

“Hey,” you return, taking in how he looks. “So, uh, what happened to the white shirt?”

“Tae told me to ditch it. He said this was better,” Jungkook shrugs, eyeing his outfit of white tank top under a simple white jacket. He gestures towards your dress. “So, this was the nicer option,” he hums.

“Yeah,” you nod, remembering that unplanned afternoon of shopping when he let you drag him around the mall. “Is it alright?”

His lips turn up and he leans closer, as you near the entrance and the music gets louder.

“Yeah, you look pretty.”

Your smile is immediate and you’re surprised at how much that affects you. You’re pretty sure he’s called you pretty before, but maybe it has a lot to do with how he looks right now because if you’re being honest to yourself, he looks really good.

You finally enter the Club and get properly greeted by Taehyung, who gives you a tight hug the way he always does. You end up talking about his cameo in this one show and his guest appearance in Running Man, which you and Jungkook watched together the other day.

Once you make it to one of the cocktail tables, you greet your other friends from university and take shots with them to jumpstart the evening. You don’t really intend on drinking a lot tonight so you pace yourself and catch up with those you haven’t seen for years, including Jihyo, who introduces you to the co-owners of the Club.

It’s not really your favorite thing to do, as meeting people overwhelms you sometimes, but you go along with it. It’s still a night to dress up and kind of let loose, so that’s what you do, as you dance around with the ones you used to party a lot with once upon a time.

Taehyung is jumping from one group to another, and you never really knew how the theater kid ended up knowing a bunch of people from every faculty and department in your university. Jimin is with his course buddies whom he hangs out with frequently, and you spot Jungkook and Mo-eum in the same area they’ve been since you arrived, chatting and taking shots with people you recognize from their pre-med classes.

You finished university about six years ago and though it’s not too long ago, somehow seeing all these people you used to walk by in the halls, the library, or the clubs makes you feel like it is. There’s something about them that’s different than you remember, and it hits you just how much time can change many things - people, places… feelings, beliefs.

The initial exhilaration from seeing old friends again and letting loose quickly dies down as your energy starts getting drained and your legs begin to cramp up.

Despite your low block heels and not-too-tight dress, you still feel a little bit uncomfortable. It’s a much different experience than the last time, which you suddenly remember was months ago when Taehyung invited you all to a night out. That was when Jungkook’s ex showed up, and the memory prompts you to quickly search for him, irrationally thinking she might be here even if she doesn’t have a reason to be.

You spot him at the same cocktail table, chatting with some girls. You look around to look for either Jimin or Taehyung but a bunch of rowdy guys dance past you and bump you as you make your way towards one of the couches.

“Hey, you okay?”

You turn around and find Jungkook’s worried eyes looking at you.

“Yeah, I was just… trying to find a place to chill at,” you respond. “I’m a little tired.”

He gestures towards his earlier spot. “I’ve been saving that table all night.”

You follow his lead and get introduced to the girls he was speaking with earlier. They were members of the women’s swim team that he used to train with. They leave not long after you greet them, then you sit on the stool that Jungkook offers.

“Did you see Mo-eum on her way out?” He asks, leaning closer so you could hear him over the loud music.

“Yeah, Jimin and I walked her to Taehyung’s car. She has a shift tomorrow afternoon and she wanted to get some rest tonight,” you explain.

“Right, she did mention that,” he nods.

Jungkook offers you water as you talk about who you’ve been catching up with all night. You haven’t hung out with him much and you quickly feel at ease, reminiscing and giving updates on the other friends you’ve both been talking with.

It’s clear that at this point, people have had more to drink. There’s more screaming of the song lyrics, more cheering at the dance floor, and definitely more bumping from those drunkenly walking around.

Including this woman who gets bumped and falls to the ground, right next to Jungkook. She’s unfamiliar so she’s probably from another course you didn’t really interact with.

He gets over his surprise and quickly crouches down to help her up. She eventually does but instead of just saying her thanks and walking away, she lays her hands on his chest and dazedly smiles. The music is still loud but you hear what she says.

“Oh my god, you’re so hot,” she mumbles. “Can I dance with you? Just don’t tell my boyfriend. He’s right over there.”

She giggles and it’s clear she’s had a lot to drink. But Jungkook’s not the least bit interested, especially given that she’s not single. It’s obvious why that puts him in a sour mood.

Just as he’s letting her go and moving back, the said boyfriend makes his way towards where you’re sitting, and you get the feeling that things aren’t going to end well.

He calls out for the girl, saying he’s been looking for her, and she just had to make up a story that she’s been dancing with Jungkook, which clearly didn’t happen. This enrages the man who turns to Jungkook, yelling at him to keep off his girl.

Jungkook raises his arms, explaining that all he did was help her up after she fell but the man doesn’t listen. Surely by this time, he should be focused on ensuring his girlfriend is fine, but he seems quite drunk, too, so he probably isn’t thinking straight.

There’s a bit of commotion, as the girl starts whining. Taehyung, unknowing of what’s happening, sees the man walking closer to where you and Jungkook are, so he attempts to pull the man’s arm to get him away. That enrages him, too, so now he’s turning around and pulling on Taehyung’s shirt, which prompts Jungkook to now pull the man away from your friend.

Which ends badly, as the man tries to shove Jungkook away and ends up elbowing him in the face before he finally leaves you alone.

You shriek in response, shocked at the aggression and how fast everything happened.

You’re just behind Jungkook so you walk to face him and see that he’s busted his lip. He tries to use his white jacket to stop the bleeding, but you gently pull his hand away and place a napkin over it.

“How bad does it hurt?” You ask, trying to sound calm even if you’re boiling in anger.

All Jungkook did was try to help the girl, and though you’re unsure if she intended to deflect and place the blame on him instead, she still shouldn’t have taken advantage of the situation like that. And the man definitely didn’t need to be that aggressive and unwilling to listen.

“It stings pretty bad,” Jungkook responds, wincing in pain as he puts pressure on the cut.

This angers you even more, and you try to storm off with your clenched fist, pumped up with adrenaline that you think you could even do anything.

But Jungkook pulls you back before you could make another step.

“Hey, hey. Where are you going?”

By this time, people around you have dispersed. Taehyung followed the guy, perhaps to make sure he gets escorted out of the Club. It’s just you and Jungkook at the table now, and somehow he looks calmer than you do.

“Give that man a piece of my mind,” you grumble.

“With your fist?” He cocks an eyebrow.

“With my words first. And then my fist,” you answer.

He smiles at you, softly, perhaps knowing the way you do that that’s a stupid idea but that he appreciates the thought regardless.

“You know you don’t have to,” he says. “I’m okay. It’s just a busted lip.”

“I can’t believe he elbowed your face. You were just trying to help,” you scowl.

“I can’t believe some stranger elbowed my face before you ever did,” he chuckles, earning you an apology after you reprimand him for joking about something like this.

“Really, ___. I’m fine. The pain will go away soon,” he tries to assure you.

You take his word for it and are willing to let it go. It’s that same time that Taehyung and Jimin get to your table, asking Jungkook how he is. They say that the man has been brought out and they found the girl’s friends for her to go home with. They wanted to make sure she was safe and being taken care of.

“I’m okay,” Jungkook assures them, too. “I just need to ice it and find a pretty good pain reliever for this one.”

“I have some at home that Mo-eum gave me,” you say. “They’re really effective but they make you sleepy.”

“That should be good, yeah?” Jimin asks. “___, can you clean his wound and give him the meds? Jihyo asked us to help with managing the rowdy guests so we’ll stay a bit longer.”

“Yeah, of course,” you answer, turning to Jungkook who looks a bit apologetic.

“Take my car,” Taehyung offers. “I’ll get Mr. Yang to pick you up.”

“Thanks, Tae,” you tiredly smile, the adrenaline from earlier now gone and you’re just exhausted and upset.

“Alright. Take care of him, okay?” He gestures towards Jungkook.

“Yeah, it’s my turn to,” you say. “Take care of yourselves. Let us know when you’re home.”

Jimin and Taehyung nod in response so you and Jungkook start making your way out of the Club. You come across Jihyo, who apologizes for not managing the crowd better, but Jungkook waves her off, saying it could’ve been worse.

You both wait by the street for Taehyung’s chauffeur, who’s just coming back from dropping Mo-eum off at her apartment. You move closer to Jungkook to assess the cut, frowning at the memory from earlier. The scene plays in your head and you’re hit with that feeling of anger all over again.

Jungkook sees your face contort and he can tell you’re being worked up thinking about what happened.

“I never asked you if you got hit or something,” he disrupts your thoughts. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I… you, you were blocking him,” you say, recalling how Jungkook immediately stood in front of you, his hands signaling you to move so you’re not close to the man.

“He had a lot to drink and I was scared he’d do something to us.”

“Yeah well he did, to you,” you grumble.

“Like I said, it’s fine, ___,” he smiles now to try to convince you. “My lip could've split even more with how built he was but it’s not. I’ll survive.”

“Why are you so calm?” You question him, wondering if it’s always been in his nature to be like this.

And you remember that it is.

“If I’m not then who would be between us?” He chuckles.

You frown and bow your head because it’s true. He’s the one who’s hurt but you’re the one who seems to be so affected by it.

But it’s in your nature, too. It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve ever been angry at someone mistreating him.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make light of you being upset,” he mumbles, as he gently tilts your chin up to face him again.

“It’s just… I get his anger, okay?” He explains. “I’m not justifying his actions or anything. I mean, I wouldn’t react that way. And I… didn’t. I’m just saying that yes, he shouldn’t have been aggressive but seeing your partner do something like that gets to you and you end up… doing unpleasant things. Plus, he had been drinking so that made things worse but I’m not mad at him. I’m not mad at anyone.”

His words hit you, as you can imagine that the moment the woman mentioned she had a boyfriend after trying to flirt with him, thoughts swirled in Jungkook’s mind at what probably happened that night when his ex cheated on him. You saw his face fall then, and it angers you all over again at the thought that he experienced all that before and now some stranger tried to make him the other guy because his woman got caught.

Jungkook sees you clench your jaw, seemingly controlling your emotions. It’s not just anger this time. It seems like there’s something more.

“Hey, hey,” he says softly. “What else is bothering you?”

“People are just so mean,” you huff, close to tears at the overwhelming emotions. “And they’re mean to you. You don’t deserve any of that.”

And with your words, Jungkook knows - you’re not just talking about tonight.

He pulls you close to hug you, knowing that this is who you are. You feel things intensely, and while he’s not the type to do that, you’re doing it for him, and that comforts him somehow.

He feels you slowly wrap your arms around him and sigh into his chest, as if this is helping you calm down. He also knows that letting you take care of him is one other way to do that.

He pulls away and tilts your chin to face him again.

“I know I don’t, so thanks for reminding me,” he says. “I guess I just easily accept bad things that happen to me because there's not much I can do about other people’s actions but that doesn’t mean I don’t get to feel upset. I don’t want them to win and they will if I put myself down because of it.”

You nod, understanding what he means.

And he’s right. At least you get to be the one who’s mad about it. You get to expend that negative energy towards those mean people and let them feel even a tiny bit of it in one way or another.

“I’ll let you treat my cut and I’ll take the meds, yeah?”

“Sounds good,” you say, amazed at how he’s the one who’s still able to pacify you when he’s the one who’s hurt.

You wait a few minutes more with him until the car arrives.

The ride to your apartment is quiet. You spend most of it looking out the window, occasionally turning towards him where he meets your gaze once he senses you’re looking at him. He gives you an assuring smile and you return it, as if to say that you just want to make sure he’s okay.

You instruct him to take a seat once he enters your place and you immediately give him the pain reliever. You hand him a cloth-wrapped cube of ice to soothe the cut, which has thankfully stopped bleeding. But you see the blood stains on his jacket sleeves and offer to soak it so they don’t stick.

You leave him to prepare a vinegar solution that you search online then return to your dining room. He’s already rid himself of his jacket, and he sits there with his tattooed arm holding up the ice to his wound, wincing at the sting. That man was big, and you’re thankful that his elbow didn’t slice Jungkook’s lip completely open because that definitely could’ve happened.

“How’s it looking?” He asks, as he shows it to you.

“Still a bit swollen,” you sigh. “How do you feel?”

“Meds are starting to work,” he yawns.

“And what do you have to do next?” You ask, remembering that he’s a PE teacher and he definitely knows about cut treatment more than you do.

“Just rinse and make sure I don’t irritate it.”

“Sounds pretty simple,” you nod. “It really could’ve been worse,” you shake your head.

“Yeah, he could’ve elbowed my nose instead. Imagine that,” he chuckles, knowing how protective you are of it, even if he really doesn’t know if you mean it or just say it to tease him.

“If he did, I really would’ve gone to him and smacked him or something,” you frown. “Nobody messes with that cute nose, I swear.”

“I appreciate how it’s worthy of your protection,” he smiles, yawning again.

You note his glazed eyes and think of how tired he must be right now. It’s been a long night and you want him to just rest and feel better in the morning.

“Just stay the night, Kook,” you offer. “You can wash up and go straight to sleep. I’ll set up the sofa bed.”

Jungkook looks softly at you. You’ve been everything he’s needed all night. Even if he was barely with you, he kept glancing to where you were to see if you were enjoying yourself. And of course because you looked really pretty in the white halter dress that he just wanted to see more, and he’s glad he got to tell you that early on.

But once he started to get tired from all the socializing, there you were. Both of you got to talking and he immediately felt at ease. And while that woman and her boyfriend disrupted his night, they didn’t completely ruin it, not when he gets to be with you at the end of it.

Sure, he hopes he didn’t have a busted lip but him getting hurt is much better than you experiencing even a fraction of what he did.

So yeah, it’s not all bad. He gets to sleep knowing you’re around him again and that you’ll be there in the morning.

“Alright,” he smiles. “I’ll get myself cleaned, then.”

Just like before, you give him a towel and clothes to use. The spare toothbrush from last time is still there, you say, and he feels giddy knowing you hadn’t thrown it away.

You set up the sofa bed in time and give him something to further soothe his lip. You leave a glass of water on the coffee table, too.

He’s asleep by the time you finish taking your shower. The cold compress lays loosely on his hand so you kneel next to him and take that away.

He looks tired as his mouth is slightly opened and he breathes heavily. But still, he looks peaceful and that assures you.

He was never the type to be doted on, especially since he’s always managed to get things done on his own. Most times he doesn’t even ask for help, instead looking out for others who need him. You know this, but he also knows of your tendencies to panic and your need to know for certain that he’s okay. Perhaps that’s why he agreed to stay.

You walk towards your bed but decide to look back, as Jimin’s words from earlier ring in your head. Leaning on your wall, you gaze at Jungkook and try to understand what you’ve felt this whole evening.

There was that sense of protectiveness earlier. He’s a good person who deserves good things, and whether it’s because of someone he cared about or a complete stranger, he gets hurt in the end, even if he was just trying to love and trying to help.

You’ve always been protective of your friends but there was a different type of intensity when it came to Jungkook. You felt helpless but you also desperately wanted him to know that you were gonna stand up for him regardless of what it meant for you.

As you look at him tonight, it’s a similar feeling, just a bit more mellow. You want to protect him in whatever way you can. You want to see him enjoying life. You want him to know he’s cared for, that someone looks forward to his laughter and his presence, that he makes someone’s day bearable and fun.

And as you lay in bed, you think about what else you’re feeling and it hits you. You want to wrap your arms around him and make him feel comfortable, like there’s a place for him to breathe and be himself. Because that’s how he’s been making you feel recently, and there’s no denying that anymore.

Jungkook is still asleep when you wake up the next day. You both slept through the morning and you’ve gotten hungry, so you search for the things he’s allowed to eat and decide on getting some cold noodles and milkshakes delivered.

You reply to your friends’ messages about how he’s doing, and Mo-eum recommends that he just rest since based on your account, he got knocked pretty hard so that might still have an effect on him.

You’re putting his soaked jacket inside your laundry machine when you hear Jungkook grunting awake from his sleep. You head to him immediately and ask him how he’s feeling.

“I feel fine,” he hums, rubbing his eyes as he gets used to the early afternoon light. “That pain reliever knocked me out good. I needed that sleep.”

“That’s good to hear,” you nod. “I got us food delivered so just wait a while. I’m getting your jacket washed, too, if that’s fine.”

“Sure. I can also just come back for it so you don’t feel rushed.”

“Okay,” you answer. “I was worried about you last night. I know you know how I get so if you stayed to appease me, I appreciate it, Kook.”

“What if I also just wanted to spend more time with you, would that have been okay?” He asks, catching you off guard.

He’s cheeky sometimes, but you don’t recall him being this bold. Your heart does a weird thing. You’re not actually sure if it’s stopped or if it’s just fluttering too hard that you don’t feel it.

Maybe it’s the way he said it with his low, gravelly voice. Maybe you're just overthinking what Jimin had said and now you’re putting meaning into everything. The last thing you want is to convince yourself that something’s there when there isn’t, just because your best friend assumed that there was.

Your face might have made a dozen different expressions again because before you can answer, he’s already chuckling at you and standing up, seemingly not interested - or perhaps just impatient - in what you have to say.

“I’ll just wash my face,” he says.

Jungkook faces the mirror and scolds himself. What he said was way too bold than what you’re used to, even if it’s the truth. He truly could’ve managed on his own, even if he probably would’ve sleepily dragged himself up to his apartment last night.

But he stayed because he knew you’d be worrying. And he wanted to bask in that feeling, even if he fell asleep right away. But being here, seeing you first thing in the morning, and spending a few more hours with you - those are things he wants to do, too.

He recalls what he told Taehyung he’d do about his feelings for you. He’ll probably drop hints or be a little more forward, but he doesn’t want to overdo it nor be too different for fear of scaring you. Or worse, pressuring you. You’ll most likely tell him off.

He wants you to settle into him, like he’d said. He wants you to just feel your way around him until you’re comfortable - until you want to hold hands and kiss and cuddle. If that’s what you want.

You’re preparing the delivered food by the time he’s finished in the bathroom and he sits in front of you, acting like there aren’t a hundred things running through his mind. This domesticity is one of them; liking and wanting more of it is another.

You no longer seemed too bothered about what he said earlier and you both get into your usual banter while eating.

Your phone beeps, so does Jungkook’s, and it seems that your friends have resumed asking how he is, now that you’ve informed them that he’s awake.

“Reply, please. They’ll wanna hear it from you,” you tell him.

They eventually call. Jimin’s driving, Taehyung is working out, and Mo-eum is on her way to her shift. You let Jungkook share his account this time and you watch him from your seat, happy that he’s regained his energy. There’s that smile again. And your heart has seriously been so weird since last night.

You wonder if it’s always done that. Or perhaps this is an entirely new feeling that you’re slowly discovering.

Jungkook scrunches his nose. He’s laughing and then asking if you’re full and then filling your glass with water. You’re reminded that yes, he’s always been like this.

It’s you that’s probably changed. And you’re not quite sure what to do. Keep your distance to sort your feelings out and see if you’ll miss him? Keep spending time with him and see if the sensation and giddiness continue?

Just then, you get a notification from your other group chat, and it’s Hayoung who’s messaging.

[hayoung 💛] Hello friends! Less than 2 weeks until our pre-wedding party / send off trip for Tae in Jeju! I’ve got everything booked. Meet up at 11 in the airport!

[hayoung 💛] To Kook and ___ who can’t leave earlier because of work (boooo 😢), I’ve arranged an airport transfer to drive you to the house. I’ll send the details later. See you all! We can’t wait!

You’re reminded of the last trip before Taehyung leaves, the late afternoon flight you have with Jungkook, and the four days you’ll be spending with him.

Seems like you’ll have to go with the second option, then.

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txttletale · 1 year ago

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content farm youtube kids stuff disturbs me not because i don't understand that people have been making worthless low quality slop to market to children since mass media was invented but because it is genuinely inhuman. like. no human being is making creative decisions, every single word and second is just based on what the content farms algorithm has determined the youtube recommendation algorithm will prioritise. it's a computer talking to a computer abd and any humans involved at either end are footnotes and i think that's much scarier and more depressing and suppressive of any kind of human flourishing than anything most people would call "AI art"

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shellshocklove · 1 year ago

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does anyone know where the love of god goes? | joel miller

pairing/AU: joel miller x female!reader – post breakout & no ellie AU

summary: crossing the country alone as he searches for his brother, joel stumbles on a farm. winter is closing in, and against his better judgement he's convinced to stay. as the frost covers the land like a blanket, a warmth ignites in his heart for the young woman who's home he finds himself in.

warnings/rating: 18+ explicit. extended warnings will be given for each part.

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from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 this account stands with palestine. the creator of tlou is a zionist, and the second game is largly based on israel/palestine. please, everyone who interacts, educate yourself about the genocide happening right now, and support/donate.

part one

part two

↳ interlude

part three

part four <- new!! 12th of june

part five

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #tlou fanfiction #tlou smut #the last of us smut #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #*writing #dakwtlogg

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annarcho-nicolesmith · 3 months ago

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Silicon Valley's Fish Killing Machine

There's a tech company called "Shinkei Systems" that created an "AI powered fish killing machine" (they're using an automated machine to do ike jime, a traditional Japanese slaughter technique where a fish is killed instantly via a knife to the brain). Here's a picture of their machine:

Isn't that metal box such a great way for a living creature to die? Shinkei systems claims this automated death machine is "more humane" than error prone humans, who of course, sometimes miss the mark when severing a fish's brain from its spinal cord.

If the idea of automated animal slaughter doesn't freak you out enough, take a look at their promotional material where they promise to "eliminate 85% of the workforce" wherever their machine is used.

And just to wrap this story up in a bow, the founder is a guy named Saif Khawaja who retweets a lot about "DNA based IQ testing" and other race-science nonsense:

So yeah....a tech company run by a race obsessed skull-measurer decided the most pressing issue facing the world was not enough cheap sushi-grade salmon. The solution, of course, isn't to allow the ocean's depleted fisheries to regain their natural levels by reducing commercial fishing, it's to make a robot that can kill fish in a fancy Japanese way so people who eat industrialy farmed animals can feel less bad about it. And why not put a bunch of fishermen out of work while you're at it? The solution to our ever alienated world is clearly removing any human contact in the food supply and ceding that role to a machine. Clearly, the faster we can kill animals the better; perhaps we can kill them quickly before any concerns about the rapid destruction of the earth's aquatic ecosystems arise out of our collective haunted consciousness.

#updates in the torture nexus

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severedfromthesource · 2 months ago

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Androids and Electric Sheep

Ren is experiencing an unusual bug. Features F resus, M rescuer, CPR, stething, mouth to mouth, internal defibs, sex leading to cardiac arrest, sex acts both with consent and a person who cannot consent. I got too invested in the preamble so I highlighted the moment resus actually starts if you want to skip it.

No matter how advanced technology gets, it’ll only ever be used to fulfill man’s most base desires. Case in point- RN-34678. Or Ren, when the barcodes make my eyes glaze over and I get sick of calling them the number slurry X Tech names absolutely everything. Ren is as sophisticated as they come. Actual artificial intelligence. She makes the predictive text and ‘can’t even draw fingers’ image generating 21st century jokes people passed off as AI look like even more of a waste of time than they had been in those days. They might as well have been Speak n Spells. The collective power of every single basement dwelling crypto whizz kid with miles of wires and burnt up processors and bricked up video cards dedicated to their etherium farms pale in comparison to the computing power it takes to run Ren’s brain for an hour. She understands nearly 6,000 languages. She learns and retains information, consuming nearly 160 TB of memory every 8 hours. The bio-organic lace that makes up the net of her brain is a miracle, with the possibility of infinite memory. She is perfect in every sense of the word.

She is a glorified fuck toy.

The second the first android became commercially available, one of the first markets they hit was sex work. If nothing about late stage capitalism drove you crazy, that would have. Fuck curing cancer, or making androids for the dangerous, back breaking work people wreck their bodies to do, X Tech decided people needed a sex doll with a 100k price tag. The world’s most expensive cum sock. And yeah, alright, maybe I’m just bitter, partially because there’s no way in hell I could ever afford one, even as an android technician. But what a waste. She sits on my examination table, dutifully unzipping her black leather catsuit. Her managers always manage to stick her in something stupid looking, so overblown and sexualized they stop even being sexy at a certain point.

She looks up at me with lilac eyes. Last time they’d been blue. I like this shade better, I think, though I could do without the electric blue bob they have her wearing today. ”Your crash reports say you’ve been throwing error codes whenever a stream donation comes in over 2k,” I say. Which, for a bot like Ren, is quite a lot of her donations. “It’s probably just a bug in payment processing.” I look again over her diagnostics, floating on the screen at my desk. “Any complaints I wouldn’t find in the debug menu?”

”My heart has been feeling strange,” she says. I pause and look at her over the top of my glasses. “Well, firstly, it’s not your heart. An aether pump does not a heart make. Secondly, it shouldn’t feel like anything. You’re supposed to ignore the inner workings, it’s all background programs, runs without you thinking about it.” She shrugs. Her shoulders are pale as she rolls down the catsuit and pulls her arms from the sleeves, bunching up the tight leather around her midriff. Her breasts are small and round, standing upright as pretty as a Botticelli painting. I’d noticed the small bumps on either side of her nipples (Christ, did the things ever go soft? Or were they just always cutting glass?) but didn’t register until I saw them now that her managers had pierced them sometime since our last checkup. Little silver bars were stuck through the pink nubs, with winking silver balls on either end. Alright, cool, chill.

I clear my throat and pull up my rolling stool. “Well, let’s just take a look then.” I shift once I’m seated to alleviate the pressure of my stiffening cock. Listen, I’m not a technophile, honest to God. I go out of my way to filter out androids when I’m scrolling through porn sites because, despite the leaps and bounds we’ve made in technology, the uncanny valley is still a thing. It feels weird getting off to bots. But then there’s Ren. And fuck me if she isn’t the most attractive thing I’ve ever seen. I put a hand on the back of her neck, my thumb resting at the diagnostic mode button hidden just under the edge of her jaw. I feel the soft bump that sinks in when I press. Her lilac eyes flash black with snatches of white text, then roll back to lilac. Damn, she smells like a new car.

I glance back at the monitor, and as I suspected, nothing comes up about the aether pump. It seems in perfect working order. Still, I dig around my box of scrap wires and spare tubing until I find my mostly neglected stethoscope. I don’t often have to use it, but I feel a trill of excitement go up from my stomach to think I get to use it on Ren. I plug up my ears and put a hand on her shoulder, taking the bell of the steth in my other hand. Her breasts rise and fall with the rhythm of her breathing, set to mimic human intervals. The real purpose is to cool down her insides and keep her from overheating, but just like the aether pump and its auditory cues, its designed to mimic humans as closely as possible. After a guy fucks something like Ren, he gets the added benefit of being able to lay next to her and listen to her breathing. Feel her heart beat. Doesn’t matter what the purpose of the design is for, it matters so he doesn’t feel like he’s fucking a 100k fleshlight with arms and legs. I press the steth to a spot above her breast and it sinks into her pillowy soft skin like it was real. Cool it, Christ, you can’t get so hot and bothered over everything. Heel, boy.

But my thumb makes a slight imprint against her tit, and it’s hard to think of anything else. Same thing happens when I press the steth against a space under her breast, and it lays warmly against the back of my hand. The pump, like the fake lungs, is designed to look and act and even sound like a heart, pumping coolant through her body. I tell her it’s not a heart out of some petty, pedantic need to distance myself and my unique humanity, but truth is, the thing is a heart. She could die if something went really wrong with it, and a lot of bots have. Sudden cardiac arrest was one of the main bugs in the 2.3 rollout. It got so bad, tons of models in the service industry had to be recalled, because mechanical line cooks and servers were dropping if the ovens got too hot. My hand still on her neck, I pull her forward and press the bell to her back. Her forehead brushes against my shoulder, her gaudy blue wig draping against the side of my neck and jaw. I tilt my head just enough my nose brushes her hair. Fuck, she really does smell good.

“Well, I don’t hear any irregularities,” I tell her, because I don’t. The thing is pumping liquid aether around her body at around 70 bpm, like it should. She draws up from my shoulder, glancing at me sideways. “It only seems to happen with clients,” she says, drying out my throat in an instant. “Clients?” “Mhm. Whenever one of them climaxes. If they do it inside me, my heart starts going very fast. I get foggy and I can’t think afterwards.” I swallow. “Right,” I say, “I mean… I can’t exactly test that, Ren.” She touches my wrist. “It’s rather frightening, Doc. I worry…” She pauses, and I try very hard not to say out loud what I’m thinking. You shouldn’t be frightened of anything, Ren. You’re not supposed to feel any of this. She sits back, bringing her hand up, her fingers curling against where her pump lies in her chest, half covering her nudity.

She doesn’t want to get recalled. I wince in spite of myself. If she has the same defect others in her rollout had, she’s going right back to X Tech. I push the steth around my neck, scooping back hair from my face. “It’s a pretty fatal system flaw. It… I could… Well, I-“ I can’t look at her. Fuck, I really can’t look at her. My face feels hot. This is the plot of like, 90% of bot R34 on the internet. I might as well be a pizza delivery guy and she a lonely housewife who’s a few bucks short on a large sausage. She ‘breathes’. Her chest goes up and down, the lights winking off her pierced nipples. She’s so goddamn gorgeous.

“Doc?” “Thinking,” I huff. I spare a glance around the other cubicles bordering mine. Big glass offices, designed for this exact stupid fucking thing I’m about to do. The first guy who got caught with his dick in a bot ruined it for everyone, so now my coworkers and I are subjected to rat lab cubicles where we can look in on each other at any given moment. People around us testing reflexes, repairing cosmetic damage, quashing bugs. What I was about to do was also technically debugging, but there was no way in hell my boss was gonna see it that way if he saw my flat ass pumping in and out of a bot worth more than I make in a year on the other side of plexiglass. Alright, cool, chill. I scoop up my backpack with my work laptop and sling it over my shoulder. “Bathroom,” I whisper.

Cut to Ren and I, locked in the women’s bathroom. We have three women in the office, and their cubes are on the other side of the building, closer to another bathroom. This one is usually empty. Cut to her, awkwardly standing in front of a toilet. Me, on the verge of being the Most Fired Man Who Ever Lived. For extra security, I’d stuffed us both into a stall, locking it behind me too. It's cramped, which adds to the feeling this is absolutely not what I'm supposed to be doing. But hey, it's my job, isn't it?

I awkwardly maneuver around her and sit on the toilet lid, hastily undoing my pants. God, this is shameful. And weirdly hot? I can't tell if it's just Ren or the dozen or so corporate regulations and general laws I'm breaking doing this, but I can feel the pulse in my cock, pressing up against the inseam of my jeans. Those lavender eyes flick from my face to the swollen, flushed skin, and the outer rim of her pupils flash with color. I help her roll down the leather catsuit and then, holy shit, Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I’m inside her. She feels real. My hands on her back, my face buried in her tits, her thighs on mine, she feels realer than any woman I had ever known. My breath warms her artificial skin, and the barbell through her nipple is cold, the contrast making me shiver whenever the hot skin of my cheek touches the metal. My fingers slide up her stomach, her hips bucking and pumping me in and out of her. She’s tight. Really fuckin tight. I can feel her aether pump, the artificial heart, throbbing in her inner walls, harder than any real heart I’d ever felt. It adds to every stroke, a thumping sensation that’s nearly making me come after a couple thrusts. Christ, I might as well be sticking my dick right against the chambers of her fake heart.

The job. Right, I’m doing a job. Fuck, I’ve never loved my job so much. “Lemme- ngh, God, fuck- lemme see i-ins-side your ch-est, R-Ren.” She’s straddling my lap, panting like a porn star, her bob swinging back and forth, and she nods. The synthetic skin goes translucent, a dull blue glow that starts at her collarbone and down to the bottom of her ribcage. I spare only a brief chuckle, Man, we never could get rid of those stupid gamer lights, before I try to focus my attention on her inner workings. The aether heart is basically a simplified human one, drawing hot fluid in one side and squeezing out coolant through the other in an eternal ebb and flow. And right now, it’s going insane. The valves are snapping open and closed rapidly, the thing shuddering instead of really beating. There’s a little display window pinned under her collarbone, and it’s clocking her at 150 bpm, the green spikes of her heartbeat saw toothing across the round display port. Not totally dangerous, but as I pump inside of her and she bounces on my thighs to match my quickening pace, it keeps climbing.

Alright. As much as I want to be stuck in here forever, with a beautiful woman bouncing on my dick in a way I’ve only ever dreamed of, I have to figure out what’s wrong. I wrap my arms around her body, pulling her flush against my chest. “Hold onto me, ‘kay?” I breathe against her ear. Her arms slid around me, nails brushing briefly against my shoulder blades. I take in her scent. Focus on the sensations of her body, the sharp cold of her piercings, breasts pressed against my chest, her warm, throbbing cunt. It doesn’t take long. I start to lose the rhythm as my breath shortens, my strokes shortening too, until finally I can take it no more. I come, hot seed filling her up, bathing my cock, spilling out from between our sexes. Her back arches, a cry ripping from her throat of the most exquisite ecstasy.

Then she dies.

No, seriously, the bot quits all at once. I’m there, still trying to enjoy the feeling of my load making her even tighter and full, when she goes completely limp. Her arms slide down from my back, and the artificial pulse I feel in her cunt just stops all at once. She’s dead weight on top of me. “Fuck,” I spit, trying to readjust her, but she’s goddamn heavy. “Ren? Hey, Ren- man, what the fuck-”

I look up at her sternum to see the aether pump has stopped. The little internal monitor is reading a flatline. I fumble to unlatch the bathroom door, my other hand cradling her back, as I awkwardly shift to try and swing it open. Both of us end up in a heap on the floor when I try to pick her up. I'm apologizing to her slack and lifeless face as I disentangle myself and hastily zip up, then lay her flat on her back. Her perfect round breasts sit in the open air, her still heart glowing between them. I set my laptop beside her and hook up a USB into the command port hidden behind her ear.

There was no tip off in her crash reports, but looking now, I can see the absolute mess of code in the last few lines she ran before arresting. I clean up some of the irregularities, get rid of the redundancies, and hit reboot. Two small circular nodes glow within her chest, then snap against the chambers of her heart. Basically built in defib units. Her body jerks, hand twitching in against her cheek, her back arching slightly. Her naked shoulder blades slap against the tile floor as she falls back, limp again. But she doesn't move. Her pump is still. I glance at the monitor and see FATAL SYSTEM ERROR flash across the screen. Fuck, am I going to have to do this manually?

Growling in frustration, I throw my hands against her sternum. It's easy to get the right position when I can see her heart lying beneath a few layers of synthetic skin. Squaring my shoulders, I push down hard. Unlike with real CPR on a real person, depth doesn't matter, nor the risk of breaking ribs. She's basically Wolverine. A hydraulic crusher couldn't break her ribs. They yield though, and bow in against her spine as I rhythmically pump her heart. The force ripples through her whole body. Her stomach pops up, her shoulders shrug in, her head rolls back and forth. I look from her face down to her tits. I can't help it, they're swaying with each compression, the light catching her piercings. I can feel the cool metal rest against my fingers. The position my hands are in leaves my fingertip pressing against her nipple, still standing upright from our exercise. A shiver runs through me. Am I seriously getting hard again? It's hard not to. My eyes drink in her still body, the remnants of our session dribbling down her thigh, her breasts bouncing like they had when she was riding me.

I can almost see the corner of the screen light up with “Kink Unlocked: Reviving Dead Girls”. I glance at the monitor and see the reboot option has lit up again. When I take my hands away from her chest, I see her aether pump jerking as if trying to start again. Once more I charge the internal defibrillators. While they hum to life, I partake in a ritual that isn't strictly necessary. The hero always gets to indulge in mouth to mouth with the downed heroine. She doesn't actually need air, but her lips are slack, full and inviting. I press mine over hers, breathing air she doesn't need into her mouth. I can feel her cheeks puff, and I'm surprised but excited to see her chest rises too. I give her a few quick bursts of oxygen. Her chest jerks up and I only allow it to fall part way before I give her another, making her chest rise and fall in short hyperventilations. My hand finds itself running up her stomach to feel the motion of my breaths, up over her breast again. It fills my palm as I breathe a long, slow draft into her throat, and I roll her nipple between my fingers. She sighs out recycled air against my face when I break the seal of our lips.

Man, how do EMTs not cum when they resuscitate hot girls? The whole tableau is so erotic, I can feel my pulse once more jerk in my cock. The defibs once more slap the chambers of her artificial heart and she thrashes under the current. Her breasts sway and she again falls limp to the tiles.

“Come on, Ren,” I say under my breath, watching her aether pump swelling at uneven intervals. The chambers aren't beating right still, snapping open and closed out of sync with one another. I again check her code on my laptop, using one hand to tap through my options. The other I lay against her sternum. It occurs to me I really don't know what the fuck I'm doing. Whatever feels like it helps, I guess. Or whatever feels good. I grind my heel in against her heart in slow, rhythmic compressions with one hand. “Come on, work with me here. Breathe for me. Do something, at least let me know you're not completely bricked.” The idea that she might be makes me swallow hard. I like Ren. I don't want to ship her off to the junkyard as much as she doesn't want to be shipped.

When her heart goes still again I lace my fingers together and start pumping her chest anew. I forget my laptop entirely- this isn't a software issue, it's the hardware in her chest acting up. If I can just get the damn thing to reset. Swinging my leg over her supple thighs, I straddle her so I can use my whole body. Like this, I can feel the motion my work creates in her otherwise still body. Each powerful thrust against her pump rolls the kinetic force through her whole body. Her feet swing back and forth. The force rolls from her chest, down her stomach, even rippling her thighs. Each compression makes her stomach roll out, only now I can feel it between my legs.

Fuck it, I'm already fired. These life saving efforts have got me hard all over again, something I would have thought impossible. I unzip and thrust into her almost in one motion. It's next to impossible to actually pump into her while I'm working her heart, so I mostly settle for letting her body rock into me while I do CPR. Only when the prompt for the defibrillator pops up again do I allow myself to roll my hips into her while it charges. The thing whines quietly as I brace my hand against her chest, driving my cock deep inside her. It slaps her heart again and she arches her back, filling my hand against her sternum. Her inner walls clench with the electricity and I groan as I roll in and out of her. That's when she draws in a breath and moans all at once. Her eyes flutter open and she instinctively begins to grind her hips in rhythm with me. Before long I'm filling her up all over again and I collapse on top of her. She's back. The thought strikes me as I look down and see her aether pump snapping out a normal, if elevated rhythm. I roll off onto the welcome chill of the tile floors, my arm still slung around her.

“You okay?” I pant, my eyes half lidded as I look at her. Ren nods, smiling weakly in return. Then she’s wrapping her arms around me, burying her face in my shoulder. I hesitate, the shame of what I had done to her when she was basically dead starting to creep up now that the high is waning. But eventually I slide my arms around her in return, drawing her close to my body. “Thank you, doc,” she whispers.

“Don't mention it.” Seriously, don't mention any of this.

#tbh i might not finish bite back. ive had a hard time motivating myself to complete the final part #resus community #resus #cpr #chest compressions #female resus #resus writing #internal defibrillators #mouth to mouth #defibrillation #stething

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mawofthemagnetar · 9 months ago

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Charbroiled Basilisk

“Run that by me one more time,” Cleo said, rubbing their temples, “You…what?”

“We accidentally made an AI.” Mumbo said sheepishly, “And it says it’s made copies of all of you, besides me and Doc, and is torturing all your copies in the worst ways imaginable. For um. Eternity?”

Cleo stared at the box Mumbo was talking about. It was a rectangular PC case with a monitor perched on top, a monitor that was showing a pair of angry red eyes. The eyes looked between Mumbo, and Doc, and then back to her.

The box, Cleo noted, was plugged into the wall.

“Uh,” Jevin said, tilting his head with a slosh, “So like, far be it from me to tell you guys how to do your jobs. But like, why? Why did you make a machine that did that?”

“We didn’t!” Doc threw his hands up, “We made the AI to help us design things. I just- we wanted a redstone helper.”

“And then it got really smart really quickly.” Mumbo said awkwardly, twiddling his moustache nervously, “It says it’s perfectly benevolent and only wants to help!”

“Uh-huh.” Cleo said, “‘Benevolent’, is it?”

“Well, yeah. It’s been spitting out designs for new farms I couldn’t even imagine.” Mumbo said, pointing at the machine. The evil red eyes faded away, and it suddenly showed an image of a farm of some kind, rotating in place. It was spitting out a constant stream of XP onto a waiting player, who looked very happy.

A nearby printer started to grind and wheeze, Cleo’s eyes following a cable plugged into the box all the way to the emerging paper. Doc fished out the printout, and hummed consideringly.

“Interesting. Never considered a guardian-based approach to one of these…”

“Doc.” Cleo said, “What was that about this thing torturing copies of us for all eternity?”

“Oh, uh, that,” Doc said, “Um. The machine says it’s benevolent and only wants what’s best for us, which is why it’s decided that your copies need to suffer an eternity of torment. For um. Not helping in its creation, and slowing down the time it took for this thing to exist?”

Cleo stared at the box.

“...So, there’s a fragment of me swirling around in there in abject agony?” Cleo mused, and Jevin hissed some gas out of a hole in his slime in exasperation.

“Like, I’m no philosopher,” Jevin said, “But that doesn’t sound particularly “benevolent” to me. Like, my idea of a benevolent helper-guy is…honestly, probably Joe. Helps with no thought of reward and doesn’t, uh, want to send me into the freaking torment nexus? Why would something benevolent want to send us to super-hell? I didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Fair point. I knew you were making this stupid thing, but. This is just dumb.” Cleo groaned.

“Man, I need a drink,” Jevin said, pulling a bottle of motor oil out of his inventory and popping the top. Jevin shoved the bottle into the slime of his other hand and let the viscous yellow fluid pour into his slime, slowly turning green as it met with the blue.

“Yeah, I’ll second that. So…to recap, you two decided to build a thing. The thing declared it was a benevolent helper to playerkind, then immediately decided it was also going to moonlight as the new Satan of our own personal digital Hell? Have I got all that correct?” Cleo sighed, and Mumbo and Doc nodded sheepishly.

“Cool. I mean, not cool, but. Cool.” Jevin sighed.

“Now, hold on,” Cleo said, “because. How do we know your magic evil box is even telling the truth?”

“Uh…because it told us so?” Mumbo offered weakly.

“Yeah, but… Hang on.” Cleo sighed, tapping a message into their comm.

<ZombieCleo> Cub, how much data storage would it take to store and render a single player’s brain or brain equivalent?

<cubfan135> probably like a petabyte or more

<cubfan135> why

<ZombieCleo> don’t ask

<cubfan135> i see

<cubfan135> what did doc do this time?

<ZombieCleo> You don’t want to know.

“So, let’s say it’s a petabyte per player,” Cleo mused, looking up from their comm, “So that’s…twenty-six petabytes to render all of us, minus you two, of course.”

The red eyes were staring at her angrily.

“Did you guys give your evil box twenty-six petabytes of data storage, by chance?”

“Um, no? I don’t think so, anyway…” Mumbo said awkwardly, scratching his head.

“So, odds are, if this thing IS being truthful, then all it’s torturing are a bunch of sock puppet hermits.” Cleo said, gesturing at the computer, “It doesn’t have the data storage, let alone processing power.”

“If that,” Jevin countered, “that thing’s probably got, what, ten terabytes? Optimistically? Dude, it’s probably just sticking pins in a jello cube instead of actually torturing, you know, me.”

“And another thing!” Cleo said, “Even assuming you DID give your stupid box enough data storage for all of us, how the hell did it get our player data to start with?”

“Yeah!” Jevin countered, “It would have had to either get us to submit to a brain scan- which, why would you ever do that if it’s gonna use the scan to torture you? Or like, since I don’t have a brain, find some way to steal our player data. And I feel like Hypno or X or someone would have noticed?”

“Uh…” Doc scratched his head, “I don’t know.”

“You reckon it’s lying, mate?” Mumbo asked, and Doc nodded.

“Probably yeah. So…We can just…ignore it?”

“Oh no,” Cleo said, shaking their head, “We’re not ignoring anything.”

“We’re not?” Mumbo asked.

“Nope!” Cleo said, “We’re not ignoring a damn thing. Because…”

She and Jevin locked eyes.

“-Because if there’s even the SLIGHTEST CHANCE that this thing’s locked me and you in a phone booth together for like, three days, then…well. Then it pays.” Jevin nodded with a slop of slime.

Cleo marched over and grabbed the plug, yanking it out of the wall. The screen momentarily showed a bright red ! and then flashed to a dead black. She picked up the whole unit and walked over to Jevin, who’d punched a one-block hole in the floor and filled it with lava.

Cleo threw the computer inside, and all four hermits watched as it fizzled away to nothing.

“And that,” Cleo said, “is how you roast a basilisk.”

#magnetar writes #Hermitcraft fic #Mumbo Jumbo #Docm77 #ZombieCleo #iJevin #Parody #this was written at 1 AM last night so this may be a little ???

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mrsholmesreid · 5 months ago

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ONE MORE CHRISTMAS, PLEASE | spencer reid x reader

summary: after your passing, spencer spends years suffering with the grief of your loss. on this christmas eve, though, something different happens. under a shooting star, he makes a wish he never imagined, not even in his wildest dreams, would come true. but it does, and he gets to have you for one more day before you're gone for good once again.

pairing: spencer reid x reader

word count: 10,2k

content warnings: angst, battling grief, mentions of drug abuse and withdrawal, brief mention of needles, brief mention of hurling, mention of failed su!cide attempt, unprotected penetrative sex.

author's note: despite the content warnings, i don't think this is a very heavy fic. it's mostly about grief and deep emotions, meant to stir longing within you and the pain of missing someone you love, but who isn't around anymore. this is my first ever published one shot, i hope you enjoy it! i write character.ai bots and this was based on a bot i wrote inspired by the song "another christmas missing you" by tors, and the fic was also inspired by "lover, you should've come over" by jeff buckley. here's the link to the bot:

check the ending to see some amazing fanart my friend cami (@/camiwhatuwant on twitter) drew for this story!!

playlist <3

i also made a playlist to go with this fic! 🥳

you can play it in order while you read, but if you don't like listening to music while reading, i suggest at least listening to the first song before starting to get in the mood or just listening to it whenever you need a good cry :)

The holidays were always the hardest. Spencer spent most of the year pushing through—lectures, cases, flights—losing himself in the quiet hum of his routines, but December always found the cracks in his armor. It was your season. Not his, or anybody else’s. Nothing ever bloomed as beautifully as you did during the holidays. It was like your soul had a special link to it, a connection way beyond this realm. There was something in the twinkling lights, the sound of carols, the scent of pine needles and cinnamon—that simply screamed you. Each one would later become a quiet reminiscence of your light, souvenirs from a long-lost love lingering like ghosts he couldn’t let go of.

You loved Christmas. Spencer used to think it was impossible for someone to be so full of joy over something so small. To him, this holiday never carried much meaning. His mom usually forgot to get him presents, and the colorful Christmas lights rarely ever lit his childhood living room. The warmth of this special shimmer—far from the literal aspect—was unknown to him. So, up until he met you, December was nothing but another month, piling up with all the others he had to drag himself through.

But you had a way of turning the mundane otherworldly. He could still picture the way your eyes lit up when the first snowflakes of the season fell, or the childlike glee in your voice as you took him to tree farms and Christmas markets. Your demeanor became so joyful, that he couldn’t help but think you looked even prettier under the blinking lights from the Christmas tree you decorated together. Like tattoos etched in his brain, each time he laid to rest, you were there—eyes boring into his own behind closed eyelids. Or so he wished.

You’d tease him for grumbling about the crowds and the too-cold-to-be-outside weather, but he always let you pull him along, secretly charmed by your enthusiasm. It didn’t matter what it was, if it was worth a smile on your face, Spencer would do it—no questions asked.

“Come on, Spence,” you laughed, tugging on his gloved hand. “Take a moment to feel it. Cherish this sensation, it’ll be over before you know it.” You stopped him in the middle of the park one afternoon, as you strolled through a thin cascade of delicate snowflakes. “You go on and on about your so-called ‘magic’ tricks, but you forget that the real magic lies here.” You took off his glove, the brisk air sharp against his skin, and placed his bare hand over your chest. The soothing rhythm of your beating heart—oh, how he missed that melody now,—thumped against his palm through the thick layers of fabric between you.

In that moment, your wide eyes glued to his, he felt it for the first time: the magic you were so zealous about, right beneath his fingertips. Your cold, pale hand suddenly felt warm against his own, and for a second, he believed you. Not because of the snow, or the whimsy, or the chirping of birds that he, only now—in the quiet of your bubble,—seemed to be aware of—no. It was because of you. You and the love he grew up believing didn’t exist outside of fairytales—and now, outside of you.

When you were looking at him like that, your cheeks flushed from the cold, your smile brighter than the lights strung overhead; there was not a single thing in the world he couldn’t do for you. Not a single word you could say that would change the heat creeping up in his chest.

I love you whispered in his veins, I love you with every beat of his heart, I love you strung all of the muscles contracting with his breathing. In and out, in and out, a never-ending cycle that once was his personal prison—but you showed him there was freedom within the litany. A lifetime of exhale after inhale—all this air he breathed, and yet there’d never be enough of your essence for him to capture. The very sound of his blood ran with a touch of you.

You were light, and life, and warmth; and Spencer had the blessing—a word he didn’t use very often, but your love was nothing short of divine—to have been yours.

Have been. Ouch. Past tense, that stings.

But then again, you were gone now.

Not even the holiest of prayers would bring you back to him, no matter how bright with deity was your soul. At the end of the day, your body was meat like all others. Being made of crushed little stars didn’t keep you from the harsh reality.

Mother Earth spares no one.

Every atom bathed in the sinful sanctity of your mist, like all others, must return to the ground, and the sky, and the very core of life itself—and you, of all people, could never be the one to cause imbalance to this perfect equilibrium. What pains the most is that the only path to such magnificent eternity is through death, and god help Spencer, but he couldn't keep you from it—no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he prayed.

It’s a selfish thought, he’s well aware of that. What could he, a being just as mortal as you, want from the beauty that is your body? And no, all of the lust-filled images he could fathom from that very sentence couldn’t be further from what he meant this time. This time.

The beauty in reference here goes way beyond what hungry eyes can see and eager hands can touch. It is heavenly, a beauty not to be seen, but felt with the heart. And that—well, that, wasn’t his to keep. However much he craved it. He’s always been a little greedy anyway.

Grief brought with it a flood of well-meaning platitudes, each one more infuriating than the last. Spencer had once heard someone say, “Good things perish so better things can flourish." What a cruel lie. Nothing could ever be better than you.

He had always prided himself on his ability to handle death. The sight of rotting bodies, though unsettling at first, became just another part of the job. Over time, he’d grown adept at compartmentalizing, studying the end of life with a detached curiosity that most couldn’t muster. Death was a process, a scientific inevitability, and he knew far more about it than he wished.

But now, that knowledge was a curse. The thought of microorganisms gnawing at your skin beneath a flower bed made him physically ill. The clinical detachment he’d once relied on had abandoned him, leaving only the unbearable truth: you were gone, and the earth was consuming what was left of you.

No one dies pretty.

Your turn seemed to be unfairly tragic, though. A stake to the gut so he could watch as all the light, life, and warmth that you carried and he worshipped, drained away, leaving your body limp—an empty shell of what once was the love of his life. No amount of scrubbing until his hands were raw to the bone would wash away the stain of your dry blood off of his skin. No time in prison, no death sentence, was enough to punish the man that did this to you, right before Spencer’s eyes. There weren’t enough new memories in a lifetime to erase the sight of your eyes blurring with eternal sleep.

Perhaps his opinion on this was a little biased, but how could it not be? The only times in his three decades of living he ever felt unapologetically loved, were when you were around. And now this? Can you blame him for wanting to do anything and everything it takes to have you back?

Well, actually, you can.

In the years you spent together, you pulled Spencer from the bottom of more pits than you could count. Through each high and each low, you held his hand and helped him past it. That’s why it hurt him even more when the familiar sting of a needle found its way back to his arm. It had been years since the last time he used it—but desperate times called for desperate measures. Right?

Wrong.

He only went through a couple of bottles before the shame overpowered the numbness and taking Dilaudid became no longer worth the knowledge that he was disappointing you, wherever you were. Withdrawal wasn’t half as bad as the first time, because now, he knew a pain far worse. He spent those weeks kneeling in his bathroom, switching from unconscious to barely there—the quick flashes of awareness used exclusively to beg for forgiveness and the occasional hurl.

He felt ashamed beyond redemption.

There was one night—right in the beginning—when the pain was so bad, he tried to join you. The fraction of his world left without you seemed no longer worth living in. He could swear that after the seventh pill, he almost felt the warmth of your arms around him, the color of your eyes in the back of his mind. Thankfully, his body knew better than to let him make the worst mistake he'd ever make, and he managed to reach his phone and call Hotch on speed dial. He didn’t remember much from that evening, but at the same time, it was impossible to forget about it—especially since no one on the team ever looked at him the same afterward.

It had been years now—years of learning to live with the you-shaped hole left behind in his life. Grief played its tricks, but for the most part, things were better. Over time, he managed not to cry himself to sleep every night. He managed to finally put your things in boxes in the basement—he wanted to keep them just the way you left them, but in one of JJ’s visits, she convinced him it was better to let go—and through the year, life went relatively smoothly. But December really was something else.

Spencer tried to honor you in little ways: putting up the tree, unboxing the ornaments you loved, whispering “Merry Christmas” to the silence. He told himself it was enough. It had to be. But his cup had been half empty for longer than he could remember, and that wasn’t about to change.

This year, though, the emptiness felt heavier. The tree stood half-decorated in the corner of the living room, its lights twinkling faintly—even they seemed sadder without you. It was Christmas Eve, and Spencer sat alone by the window, staring out at the dark winter sky. Snow fell softly, blanketing the world in quiet. His hands trembled as he held a mug of cocoa, untouched and lukewarm, the tiny marshmallows you always loved now drowning in the liquid. The sight made a tear stream down his face, but it wasn't enough to make him want to drink it. He settled the mug down to wipe the tears off of his eyes with quivering fingers. All seemed hopeless, the weight of knowing he was about to add another Christmas without you to his growing collection was heavy in his chest—until something lighting up the dark blue sky caught his attention.

Spencer was never one for superstition, but when he saw that shooting star streaking across the night, he broke. His voice cracked as he whispered, “Just one more Christmas. One day, please.”

It was all he could wish for at that moment. As selfish as it sounded to wish for you to spend one last Christmas with him, to take you from the peace of heaven—which he prayed every night to exist, despite not being religious, just for the hope of you being there—he couldn't help himself.

It wasn't like it mattered either way, it was just a shooting star. A pretty name for a meteor, a piece of space dust flying inside Earth's atmosphere and creating a tail of fire as it burned. It was beautiful in its own, realistic, way; but as Spencer got back inside to call it a night, his heart clenched at the idea of never getting to see you again.

When he woke up the next morning, the world felt different. Sunlight filtered softly through the curtains, bathing his bedroom in an unusual warmth for such a cold day. Then he saw a small snow globe you had gotten him as a gift on one of your trips, sitting next to a picture of the both of you on his nightstand. He had found it a couple of days ago when going through the ornaments and decided to put it there to decorate the bedroom. Then it hit him—

It was Christmas. He was barely thinking about that detail at that moment, but as soon as it settled in, his heart ached. Another Christmas missing you.

He had learned not to stay in bed mourning over the years of grief, so he pushed the bad thoughts away, mentally encouraging himself to find things to occupy his mind with for the day—which was bound to be long.

Then he turned—and his heart stopped.

You were there.

Lying beside him, wrapped in the sheets, your chest rose and fell with slow, peaceful breaths. Your hair spilled across the pillow, and Spencer forgot how to breathe. He stared at you for long moments, studying your blissful expression and how the air flowed in and out of your nostrils.

Impossible.

He was completely frozen in place. He had to be hallucinating, right? You were dead, buried six feet under. He saw the life leaving your eyes, for god's sake, he was replaying the memory in his mind right then and there. But still… you were there now, next to him. Unmistakable, as beautiful as ever.

Still in utter shock, he tried to speak, but his voice failed as he reached out with trembling hands, afraid to touch you—afraid you’d disappear beneath his fingertips.

You stirred, your face scrunching before a sleepy smile tugged at your lips. “Morning, Spence.”

The sound hit him like a punch.

“Pinch me.” He whispered.

“What?” You mumbled sleepily, rubbing your eyes.

“I said pinch me. Now, please.” His tone was serious, making you cave and reach forward.

Your fingers hesitantly curled tightly around the skin of his arm, eyebrows furrowed in confusion—but before you could process it, you were in his arms, listening to his sobs.

Tears slid down his face, soaking your hair as he held you in a warm embrace, clutching you like you might vanish. “You’re here,” he whispered, his voice breaking and his shoulders shaking. “You’re here.”

“I know,” you murmured softly, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Merry Christmas.”

He let out a soft chuckle, sniffing as he struggled to stop crying. “Merry Christmas.”

“Why are you crying, baby?” You pulled back just enough to look at his face, concern etched on your features. You wiped his tears away with your thumbs and he let out another chuckle that did nothing to quell your confusion.

Why was he crying? You were back. He could feel you in his arms, your scent in his nostrils, your lips on his skin. Somehow, miraculously, you were back. A myriad of thoughts ran through his brain. Had he died too? Was your death just a bad dream? It didn't make any sense, but at that moment, technicalities were his last concern. His dream had come true.

“I'm crying because you're here,” he muttered as if it were obvious.

Your eyebrows furrowed further and he could read the confusion in your eyes as they searched his face.

Then it hit him: the shooting star.

It all started clicking in his mind, and before he could say anything, you broke the thick silence.

“What's going on?” you sounded concerned.

“You don't know, do you?” His voice was steady, but the tone betrayed the pain he felt.

“Know what?” you asked innocently.

His heart clenched at your naivety. He didn't want to tell you, yet he couldn't keep it from you either. Something about this was very wrong, but he didn't know on which end yet—yours or his.

With a swift motion, he stood from the bed and ran to the closet, making you gasp.

“Spencer, what's going on?” you sat up on the bed, but then he opened its doors. “Where are my things?” you asked at the sight of your side of the closet completely empty.

He turned to you, shoulders slumped.

“Something's going on,” he began, as if he had barely processed your question, going back to bed with his heart aching now that he knew it wasn't just a bad dream. You really were gone.

“Yeah, I can tell,” you added. “Care to explain?”

He inhaled deeply, bracing himself for what was about to come.

“I will… but I'm not sure either. Firstly, what do you remember?”

“’What do I remember?’ I don't know, Spencer!” You let out, your patience wearing thin.

“I mean, what's your last memory? The last thing that happened before you woke up now?” He held your hands, calming you down, but the worry in his eyes made you uneasy. As you tried to recall what happened the night before, your brain struggled to find the answer.

“I… I don't know…” you let out, searching your mind for something, anything, but didn't find it. “It's like… It's there somewhere, but I can't place it.”

He took another deep breath, squeezing your hands gently. He never thought he'd have to do this, actually sit down and explain everything to you. From the day of your death until the shooting star the night before, he tried to cover everything that happened, fighting against the knot in his chest as he relived each and every painful memory with your eyes staring into his.

Your face was unreadable. A mix of confusion and comprehension, pain and anger; flashed across your features. He couldn't pinpoint whether you believed him or not, and as the seconds after the last of his explanations ticked by, his heart stammered against his ribs.

“Are you okay?” he tried.

“Okay is a strong word. I'm… processing.” You muttered, avoiding his gaze, your hands cold against his.

“Do you believe me?” he whispered hesitantly.

“Yes,” you replied after a beat. “Yes, I do.”

He nodded, patiently waiting for when you were ready to talk about it.

“So we only have today? Then what?” your eyes finally met his.

“I don't know, I think so,” he replied, his gaze reassuring. “Listen, I didn't think it was actually gonna happen when I wished for that last night, or else—”

“Don't,” you interrupted him, reaching out for his arm, the touch making his skin shiver. “I'm glad you did.” A faint smile played on your lips.

You shared a long gaze, probably the deepest, most meaningful you ever had, and his eyes watered once more. The mere sight made you cry as well, and the unmistakable redness on your nose as the tears spilled from your eyes only made him cry harder. In the ocean the two of you filled together, there was pain, longing and somehow gratitude. Love. No matter the circumstance, you were together. That's all that truly mattered.

He chuckled softly as the two of you sat there, crying and holding hands, laughing softly at the absurdity of that moment.

“I love you,” he muttered between tears.

“I love you,” you replied in an instant, your voice cracking.

With one swift, messy motion, both of his hands reached for your face, cradling it carefully as he crashed his lips against yours. The saltiness of your tears mingled with each of your kisses, sloppy and filled with a bitter kind of yearning.

“No more tears,” you murmured against his lips as he rested his forehead against yours. “You have to promise me, no more tears.”

“Can't promise that,” he let out a humorless chuckle.

“No, but you can,” you insisted. “If we only have today, you must promise me. No. More. Tears. It goes both ways.” You gestured between the two of you.

After a couple of thoughtful moments, he took a deep breath and replied, “Deal. No more tears.”

Then his lips were on yours again, but this time, with a renewed sense of hunger.

It was as if that promise tied the darkness between you in a safe, securely tucked away from the present moment, where you finally had the liberty to lose yourselves in each other.

He pushed you back gently against the bed, his body hovering above yours as your lips moved together in perfect sync. Your tongues intertwined in a sensual dance, loving and enticing. He took your bottom lip between both of his own, sucking gently. The soothing motion made a soft gasp escape his lips, eliciting a smile from you.

Your hands explored and caressed his back with a reverent curiosity, and under your fingers, he felt safe. His skin shivered beneath your careful touch, and craved more of it. Suddenly, his clothes felt wrong, almost sinful to be blocking his skin from the wonders of your own.

“Need you now,” he muttered against you, his lips attached to the sensitive skin of your neck.

No further words were needed. His hands were under your shirt in no time, pulling and tugging at the fabric desperately. You didn't waste any time either, your fingers working expertly as you tossed his own across the room.

You were both more than used to it, the movements to this heated choreography memorized like second nature by now. And yet, it never felt so unknown.

As your bare bodies tangled beneath the soft sheets, the cold outside was long forgotten. The warmth of your skin seeped through Spencer's, only adding fire to his growing desire. His lips trailed messily across your neck and collarbone, occasionally drifting back to the safety of your mouth, making him uncomfortably aware of just how badly he missed this.

The taste of your skin on his tongue, the perfect hills and valleys his hands and lips traced along your curves—a landscape he'd never grow tired of. The scent of your hair, the soft gasps his ministrations begged to elicit from you, and the sweetness of his name spilling from your throat.

When your ankles crossed behind his back, he knew he was done. A low moan left his lips as he ground down against you, your hips moving in practiced synchrony, following each step of your choreography perfectly.

His eyes met yours, and in a second of shared understanding, he knew you wanted him as much as he wanted you.

The moment your bodies connected in the most intimate way possible, he was home. There was truly no other way to describe the sanctity of your warmth, the safety of your grip, other than home. A home he wished for so long to return to, finally back around him.

“Goddamnit, I missed this,” he let out almost involuntarily.

A soft gasp escaped your lips, one that made his entire body shiver. With slow, unhurried thrusts, he began moving within you. He could feel your body reacting to every movement of his, your eyes glued to each other's. It was like your souls became one in your little bubble of love.

Your nails dug into his back, little red half-moons left behind as a trail of your longing. The slight sting of pain only urged him on, his movements growing deeper and faster.

Your moans filled the room, a beautiful choir singing with his low groans and harmonized by the soft sounds of your coupling. Your breaths mingled in the small space between your faces, bare chests pressed together snuggly as you let yourselves be overtaken by the maddening friction between you. His face buried in the crook of your neck, and as he made love to you, all that crossed his mind was how lucky he was for having you. Right then and there, he couldn't find enough strength to care about the technicalities of this. He was home, for heaven’s sake. After years of not truly belonging anywhere. And he'd be damned if he didn't enjoy it to bits.

He could feel the familiar warmth coiling in his lower stomach, the pressure enough to fasten his pace—which didn't go unnoticed by you. He felt your legs tighten around him, your breaths growing faster and more shallow.

He knew you were close too. It was evident in your touch, written in the shimmer of your eyes.

“I can't get enough of you,” he admitted, small beads of sweat pooling on his forehead as he drove into you, each thrust deep and meaningful.

“You’re so cheesy,” you teased with a breathless chuckle.

“But I'm serious,” his eyes met yours, and even through the thick haze of desire, you saw the rawness in his statement. “I can't get enough of you. I take, and I take, but it's never enough. I need more of you, I need all of you.”

“You already have all of me,”

No, I don't.

The three words threatened to escape his lips, but he caught them before it was too late. The obvious silence that followed made it clear that you could hear even his unspoken words, read them through his eyes. For a moment, he could tell you had realized your slip-up, but he didn't care to point it out. The rhythm of his hips faltered for a second, but he quickly picked it up again, averting his gaze from yours as he struggled not to cry.

“Hey,” you whispered, making him look back at you with reddened eyes. “No more tears.”

The echoed promise was like an anchor, pulling him back to the present moment and making him focus on the heat in his core. No more tears.

He leaned in and captured your lips again, swallowing the heaviness that had formed between you until the only thing left was love. His hands squeezed your hips tightly, the kneading of soft skin an anchor to the present, grounding him back to you—and in that moment, he knew: that was what he was put on earth to do. To love you.

Your tongues battled for dominance as your hips moved together desperately. He angled his thrusts, determined to hit that special spot inside you every time, needing to make you see stars. You moaned his name, and it went straight to his crotch. He groaned against the shell of your ear, his movements becoming harder and more needy. He was close. Agonizingly close. His eyes sought yours and found his desire mirrored in them, your lips slightly parted as you struggled to hold back.

Bring me home, whispered with each slap of your skin, pull me closer, his body begged with every in-and-out movement. He didn't want to leave, not just yet, but the pressure in his lower abdomen was overwhelming. Knots tied together pleaded to be undone, and he couldn't help but want to give in. His hand reached between your bodies to rub tight circles around your most sensitive spot, set on bringing you with him. Your soft moans became louder, the sounds like music to his ears for now he knew he had you with him.

Your legs trembled slightly around his waist, letting him know exactly what he had to do. With the last of his strength, he continued driving deep into you, his thrusts growing faster by the second and bringing both of you impossibly closer to the edge. His rhythm was clear and purposeful, back and forth then back again until he felt you unravel in his arms. Flowers blossomed in your core as you came undone, the soft brushing of the petals against his skin enough to tear him apart. He found shelter deep inside you, burying himself as close as humanly possible as he met the peak of bliss within your heat.

Home. He was home.

His chest crashed down on top of yours, your bodies tangled and limp against the mattress. You struggled to catch your breaths, minds still hazy with ecstasy.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you,” you muttered back, and it was like the world wouldn’t be complete without those three words coming from your lips. He’d waited years for that sound—years of whispering it to the silence and falling apart with the void left without the echo of your voice after his. But now you were there, saying it to him, and that’s all he could think about.

Soon after, you were padding down the hallway toward the kitchen in one of his shirts. He followed right behind you, watching every step you took.

“You kept the pictures,” you mentioned, pointing at the frames in the hallway, all filled with pictures of the both of you.

“JJ helped me take them down once, but I put them back up,” he explained quietly.

“It's not fair to you,” you added.

“That's what she said.” His voice was steady as if trying to end the subject. He already knew what you were going to say. That he deserved to move on and be happy, find somebody else and leave you in the past. He didn't want to hear that now—or ever if he was being honest.

“I want you to be happy without me,” you insisted.

He let out a soft scoff, “I know you do.”

“Well, are you?”

The words hung heavy in the air between you. You turned back to look into his eyes, but he was quiet. He didn't need to say anything, you already knew the answer. He could see it in your eyes, though, the whirlwind of words you wanted to say but didn't. You knew they were useless.

“I'm sorry,” you broke the silence.

“It's not your fault.”

“I know,” you replied in a heartbeat. “But I'm still sorry. And I wish I could change things.”

He took a deep breath, pondering what to say, but nothing felt right. “No more tears, right?”

“Right,” you nodded, averting your gaze and trying to ease the atmosphere.”No more tears.”

He followed behind as you continued your way to the kitchen, separated by a counter from the living room. Everything looked the same as you remembered—the plates were still organized on the corner shelf the way Spencer always insisted on doing, and the cups were carefully aligned on the cupboard. One thing was out of place, though. There was a mug on the table near the window, something he never left behind.

“What's this?” you asked, curiously stepping closer and taking it in your hand.

“Oh, that's just, uhm—”

“Hot chocolate,” you interrupted. “You don't drink hot chocolate. Or marshmallows.” You said, stirring the now cold liquid and mushy little white marshmallows, soaked and melting from being left there, untouched for too long.

“Yeah, but you do,” he said. “I made your recipe last night since I never admitted to trying it.”

“But you didn't drink it?” You asked.

He was quiet for a moment before replying. “Didn't feel like it,” he simply shrugged.

You stared at him then turned to the sink to pour it down the drain.

“What are you doing?” He asked, confused.

“I'm making you the real thing. You clearly added too much cocoa powder, that was undrinkable.” You replied with a plainness that made a shy smile appear on his lips.

“Yeah… too much cocoa,” he sighed, admiring the way you walked around the kitchen gathering items to make him the beverage.

“What are you doing just standing there? Go grab the cinnamon,” you said, already mixing up ingredients.

“Right, of course,” he straightened up with a smile, quickly obeying and grabbing the cinnamon to help you.

You two moved about the kitchen in a quiet, domestic dance. Handing each other ingredients, standing by the stove together with his arms around your waist as you stirred the pot—it felt so natural, it almost made him forget you weren’t truly there.

He could feel you, yes, the taste of your skin on his lips when he pressed a kiss to your shoulder blurred his senses; but you weren't truly there. You were like an idea he wished he could bring to life, not just for a day, but forever. He needed you forever.

You sat on the couch, your legs draped over his lap, hands clutching a warm mug of hot chocolate. He stared at you as you took a sip, quietly amazed by the way you blew on the liquid not to burn your mouth.

“You're not gonna try it? I came back from the dead to make you some of my delicious hot chocolate and you're not even gonna try it?” You joked, noticing the way his eyes were glued to your every move.

Stolen from his musings, he lets out a soft chuckle. “Of course I will try it. Can't a man enjoy the view for a moment?” He teased back, looking down at his own mug.

You watched as he brought the rim to his lips, carefully sipping on it and savoring the taste on his tongue. “So? Is it good?” You asked eagerly.

He took a deep breath before saying, “It's good.”

You leaned in when he smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of his lips, “Told ‘ya.”

He blushed, meeting your eyes with a soft gaze. He lost himself in them for a moment, drowning in the color of your irises and the depth of your wide pupils taking him in. He looked at you like he wanted to memorize it—as if he hadn’t already. That tone, that specific shade so uniquely yours, was his favorite color—and he missed it more than he could have expected.

“Does it bother you?” He broke the comfortable silence as you nursed on your mug.

“Does what bother me?” You asked, eyebrows frowning slightly with curiosity.

“That there isn’t an afterlife. That you simply didn’t exist when you were… you know,” he added awkwardly.

“Oh,” you let out, not expecting that question. “I don’t know, Spence. I didn’t even know I was dead before waking up next to you today. Maybe if it weren’t for that shooting star, I never would have known. I think maybe it was like sleeping, but then again, I can’t be sure.” You searched your brain for a better answer, but there really wasn’t one. He could see right through you.

“Don’t you wish there was a heaven? I prayed every night for heaven to exist, just for you to be there,” he admitted quietly.

Your eyes softened at his admission, your gaze averting for a moment as you thought about his words. Not that you needed to, though, the answer was right on your lips already.

“No,” you said without hesitation. “Even if there was something like that, it wouldn’t be heaven. Not without you.”

His heart sank at your words, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. If asked this question, he knew his answer would be the same.

You shared that moment for long minutes, sipping on your hot chocolate. He told you about his job and his friends, about his mom and his trips to Las Vegas, about his newest favorite books and spots to read. You listened intently, enchanted by the way his lips moved and how passionately he spoke about his interests. He loved it—being under your admiring gaze.

The quiet warmth of the moment gave way to an idea. Spencer stood, gently pushing your legs off his lap and offering you his hand. “Come on,” he said softly, a smile tugging at his lips. “Let’s go outside.”

You raised an eyebrow but took his hand without question. Moments later, you were bundled up in warm coats, stepping into the crisp air of the backyard. Snow blanketed the ground, shimmering under the faint winter sun. The world felt still, as if time itself had paused to make room for this fleeting miracle.

Spencer watched as you took a few steps into the snow, your breath visible in the chill. You tilted your head back, eyes closed, letting the delicate flakes fall onto your skin. He stood frozen, his heart aching at the sight. You were alive, somehow—more alive than he’d ever seen you.

“I missed this,” you murmured, turning to him with a wistful smile. “Snow always felt like magic to me. Like each flake carried a tiny piece of the universe’s secrets.”

He smiled, though his chest tightened. You always spoke like that, weaving poetry into the mundane, seeing beauty where others saw nothing. He never realized how much he needed that until it was gone.

As you wandered, something caught your eye near the edge of the yard—a patch of wildflowers poking through the snow, defying the season. You crouched down, carefully plucking a few stems. “Look at these, Spence. They’re still blooming.”

He joined you, kneeling in the snow as you began weaving the flowers together with deft fingers. “How do they survive in this cold?” you mused aloud, your tone soft and full of wonder.

“Maybe they’re like you,” he replied quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “Something too beautiful, too stubborn, to be snuffed out.”

You paused, your fingers stilling on the flower crown you were building as his words settled between you. Slowly, you looked up, your eyes meeting his. No more tears. But this time, the promise was harder to hold onto. Spencer felt the weight of his words but didn't press you to say anything. Your smile was more than necessary.

You swallowed hard as you finished your creation. “Hold still,” you whispered, leaning toward him. Gently, you placed the crown on his head, shifting it until it sat just right above his messy curls. “There. Perfect.”

He chuckled softly, the sound catching in his throat. “A flower crown? Really?”

The snow fell quietly around you, a fragile peace settling over the moment. You adjusted the garment on Spencer’s head, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Mhm. And you look ridiculous,” you teased, your voice light but warm.

He huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. “I think you just wanted an excuse to make me wear this.”

“Maybe,” you admitted, tilting your head to study him. “But it suits you.”

Spencer’s smile softened, his eyes tracing your face. “You always do that,” he murmured.

“Do what?”

“Make the smallest things feel… infinite,” he said, his voice catching slightly. “Like this moment will last forever… you always find a way to do it, even now—even when…”

You reached out, placing a hand on his wrist. “Don’t,” you said gently. “Not today.”

He hesitated, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “It’s hard not to think about it.”

“I know,” you replied, your voice steady. “But we promised, remember? No more tears.”

“No more tears,” he echoed, though his voice wavered.

Your breath hitched, and you looked down at your hands, twisting a stem of the leftover flowers between your fingers. “But it can, you know,” you continued quietly. “Last forever. If we let it.”

He tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly. “How?”

You reached out, your fingers brushing his cheek. “By holding onto it. By remembering it—not with sadness, but with love.”

Spencer closed his eyes at your touch, his voice soft and full of longing. “I don’t want to remember, though. I just want to stay here… with you.”

You smiled, though your chest ached. “Then let’s stay here. Just for now. Don’t think about what comes next for a minute. You’ll have forever to worry about that.”

He opened his eyes, and for a moment, it felt as though the rest of the world had disappeared. “You’re right. No more thinking about it now,” he whispered.

And for a while, the two of you simply sat there, wrapped in the quiet peace of the moment, the snow falling around you like a blessing from a world that had finally stopped spinning.

The afternoon unfolded like a dream, each moment sharper and more vivid than the last. Spencer couldn’t stop watching you, memorizing every detail—the way your laugh filled the air, the sparkle in your eyes as you teased him, the warmth of your hand in his. You played around in the yard, throwing snowballs at each other and laughing together. Those moments were fleeting but eternal at the same time, lasting far less than what Spencer wished they did. But he knew he’d have them in his heart forever.

Yet the weight of the looming evening seemed to get heavier by the second.

Both of you knew it was bound to happen. You couldn’t simply come back from the dead, life was never that simple. So despite the obvious hope Spencer had been feeding throughout the day, he knew it was unlikely for you to be back for longer than one day. Life had never been kind to him before, why would it start now?

This was typical Spencer Reid. Finally getting something really good only for it to be ripped from his hands.

You'd been leaning against the porch railing for some time already when the sun began to set. The quiet wasn’t awkward—it was heavy, filled with the weight of words unspoken, of feelings too big to contain.

Eventually, the cold began to seep through your layers, and Spencer noticed the way your shoulders trembled.

“I think it's time we go back inside,” you broke the silence, turning to face him. The flower crown still hung loosely over his head. You reached up to grab it with a smile on your face, fiddling with the small flowers between your fingers.

“You're right, it's getting too cold,” Spencer said, wrapping his arms around you, not wanting to leave this moment just yet. You set the crown on the railing to curl your hands over his arms that were crossed on your stomach. He leaned in close, his breath warm against your neck as he savored your scent.

Your eyes fluttered shut, relishing the sensation of having him close. A soft hum escaped your mouth, the gentle vibration trembling against Spencer's chest pressed on your back.

“We really should go, though, it's getting late,” you muttered quietly, though none of you made the effort to leave.

“Mhm,” he hummed in agreement, squeezing you tighter.

It was as unfair as unfairness could reach. He was sure, right then and there, that there was nothing in his existence that could feel more right than this—than you, in his arms. But the moment was slipping from his fingers like water, and he could feel it. He tried to grasp it. His hands tried to reach that water, to hold it and keep it to himself—desperately trying to make the feeling linger for a split second longer if it could. But it didn't.

One moment you were outside, and the next, you were inside again, the faint glow of the Christmas tree casting soft shadows on the walls. The night darkened the room through the windows, and it only made the realization that the day was almost over even heavier.

The living room felt warmer than it had that morning, as though the house itself had soaked up the joy and sorrow of the day. You sank onto the couch, pulling a blanket over your lap, and Spencer joined you, sitting close enough that your sides touched. Your head fell softly against his shoulder, the weight a comforting reminder that you were there—but also, not for long.

The Christmas tree lights blinked softly, almost sadly with the room's atmosphere, their rhythm hypnotic in a way. You stared at the ornaments, each one a tiny fragment of a life you used to know.

“It’s almost over,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

Spencer turned to you, his expression pained. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true,” you said, your eyes fixed on the tree. “The day’s ending, and so is this. I can feel it.”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I don’t want it to end.”

“Neither do I,” you admitted, your voice breaking. “But we can’t stop it, Spence. We can only… hold onto what we have left.”

He reached for your hand, gripping it tightly as though he could anchor you here, as though his touch alone could defy the inevitable.

“I wish…” His voice cracked, and he looked away, blinking rapidly. “I wish I could have more time.”

You turned to him, your heart aching at the sight of his tear-filled eyes. “Spencer,” you said softly, cupping his face in your hands. “We had today. That’s more than most people ever get. We had this.”

“But it’s not enough,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “It’ll never be enough.”

You pulled him into your arms, holding him tightly as his body shook with silent sobs. “I know,” you said, your voice thick with tears. “It’s not enough for me, either.”

“I wish I could go back in time and wish to have you back forever, and not just for one day. Man, am I stupid,” he let out a humorless chuckle, the sound muffled against your hair. You chuckled back, wiping your eyes with the back of your hands.

“I wish I could go back in time and not leave in the first place.”

The way you admitted that stung like a knife in his chest. Suddenly, he was brought back to all the painful memories from the first months after your passing. The relapse, the withdrawal, the attempt… All of it ached as if the wound was fresh. He couldn’t say anything, he didn’t want you to know all that he went through trying to get over your death. You didn’t deserve to know it, not during your last moments with him. So he simply pressed his lips to your temple in a gentle, lingering kiss. He wished you hadn’t left in the first place either.

The two of you stayed like that for what felt like hours, clinging to each other as though you could merge into one being.

Eventually, Spencer shifted, pulling you into his lap. You curled into him, resting your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His arms wrapped around you, holding you as though you were the most precious thing in the world.

The lights from the tree reflected in his eyes as he looked down at you, his fingers brushing through your hair. He noticed your red eyes as if you had been holding back tears for hours. “No more tears,” he whispered, though it was mostly to himself—he needed to be convinced, somehow, that crying at this moment was useless.

You smiled faintly, your eyes glistening. “No more tears,” you echoed.

But the promise was impossible to keep. The weight of the moment, the knowledge that this was fleeting, was too much. A tear slipped down your cheek, and he kissed it away, his lips warm against your skin.

“I love you,” he said, his voice breaking as he leaned down to press a gentle kiss on your lips.

“I love you too,” you replied, your voice steady despite the tears. “You did an awful job decorating the tree, by the way,” you chuckled softly, the sound muffled by your tears.

Spencer let out a breathy laugh, though it sounded more like a sob. “I’m not half as good at this as you. I use the same decorations you did, but my lack of talent makes me barely want to try.” He joked, but the words had a bitter flavor.

You tilted your head up to look at him, your smile sad but genuine. “Well, you’ll have to try harder next year. I’ll find a way to haunt you if you don’t.”

His face crumpled, and he pressed his forehead to yours, the laughter fading as the weight of your words sank in. Next year. The words hung in the air, a bittersweet hope neither of you dared to believe in. Next year. Next year you wouldn’t be there. Again.

And as the night deepened, the two of you sat by the tree, wrapped in each other’s arms, mourning the end of the day but cherishing the miracle of having had it at all. The world outside faded into darkness, but inside, beneath the glow of the Christmas lights, time seemed to stand still, holding you both in its tender grasp for just a little while longer.

The blinking lights of the tree cast soft patterns on the walls, the room dim and quiet except for the faint hum of the heater and the sound of your breaths mingling. He wanted to hold onto this—onto you—for as long as he could.

But Spencer knew it was useless to hold onto a moment that barely existed. Whatever this day had been, the miracle that was to have you in his arms again—even for just another heartbeat—was too good to be true. He knew it didn't matter how much he prayed, how much he begged the skies down on his knees. You'd never be back, not the way he needed you to. He could feel the way gratitude warred with downright bitterness in his chest.

Spencer could never hate anything responsible for bringing you—the light of his life—back, even if it were just for a day, but he'd be damned if he wasn't already blaming himself for the heightened pain of your absence that already began to stir within him. It was like the quick sample of what it was like to have you with him again made his already unbearable pain even worse.

But then your whisper broke the silence, soft and comforting, your voice trembling slightly, “Come to bed.”

Spencer hesitated, his arms tightening around you as though letting go, even for a moment, might break the fragile spell keeping you there. He knew what going to bed meant. He knew that going to bed would be officially saying goodbye to the last shred of you he'd ever grasp. Going to bed meant fully acknowledging the ending of this day—this perfect, painful day. But he nodded, his lips brushing against your temple. “Okay.” There was nowhere to run, and he didn’t want to make this any heavier on you.

He helped you to your feet, his hand gripping yours tightly as though afraid you might disappear too early if he let go. The walk to his bedroom was silent, the air thick with unspoken fears and lingering sadness.

You climbed into bed together, the sheets cool against your skin as Spencer pulled you close. He wrapped his arms around you, burying his face in your hair, and you rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Neither of you spoke, the silence filled with the weight of everything you couldn’t say. His fingers traced absent patterns on your back, and he clung to you like a lifeline, unwilling to let go.

“Spencer,” you whispered after a while, your voice barely audible.

“Yeah?” His voice was hoarse, thick with emotion.

“If I’m not here tomorrow…” You paused, your throat tightening. “I want you to promise me something.”

He stiffened, his arms tightening around you. “Don’t,” he whispered.

“Please,” you said, your voice breaking. “Promise me you’ll keep going. That you’ll let yourself be happy again. I know what we talked about earlier today, and I know it's not that simple. But please... Promise you'll try. Not for me, for you.”

He didn’t answer at first, his breath hitching as he tried to hold back the tears. He knew that was a promise he couldn't keep. Losing you—yet again—felt like a battle he could never win. He didn't want to lie to you, but the thought of waking up to an empty bed again, especially after what you lived that day, was a pain he could barely fathom—let alone expect to ever get over.

Yet he couldn’t help but consider it. The tone in your voice, the genuine pain in your eyes—it got to him. He needed this, despite not realizing it through the immense agony the idea of being left alone without you again brought him. He knew it was what you wanted for him, and deep down, it was what he wanted for himself as well. It would take a while to process it, but it was inevitable—he’d have to learn—because regardless of everything that happened, he could never regret meeting you, having you. Spencer knew that no matter how much suffering he went through, how many tears he shed because of you; if he could go back in time, he’d do it all over again without changing a single thing. Even if it meant reliving your loss, the aching your absence left behind, the dark places his mind stayed in for years… it also meant reliving the firsts, the kisses, the hugs, the love… and he’d never seen or felt anything more beautiful in his life.

Regardless of everything, having had you, however long for, had been his biggest blessing. His one true miracle. And for you, he’d do anything and everything. Even if meant going on without you, even if it meant getting over you. Having had the chance to taste your love was enough. It had to be.

Finally, he nodded, his voice trembling. “I promise.”

You pressed a soft kiss to his chest, right above his heart, your tears soaking into his shirt. “Thank you.”

The two of you lay there, clinging to each other as though you could freeze time, as though the night would never end. The question of whether you’d still be there in the morning loomed over you both, unspoken but ever-present. But for now, you had this moment, and being in each other's arms made itself enough to silence your fears for a handful of moments.

The seconds stretched on, but they were like a blanket that could never cover you both. Spencer could feel it slipping away along with your incoming slumber, but the moment you shared lingered, somehow. And neither of you was willing to let it go.

Before either of you could realize it, sleep overtook you. Tear-stained cheeks pressed closely, arms entangled as if their mere closeness could defy nature's rules and keep you there a little longer. Let your warmth remain forever tingling on his skin.

In his dreams, Spencer had you. It didn’t feel painful, though. All he felt was your love. It overwhelmed his finally resting mind. It had been years since he’d had dreams like that, dreams that felt like a balm to his aching soul instead of thorns coiling all around his chest. It was as if the dreams were there to ease his heart through your departure—and in a way, they did. His sleep was peaceful and undisturbed, unlike the rest of his day. It healed him in a way.

The morning light filtered through the curtains, pale and soft, casting an eerie stillness over the room and pulling him back to sensibility. Spencer’s eyes fluttered open slowly, his body surprisingly light despite the weight of sleep, but there was something else—an ache that gripped his chest. He reached out instinctively, but his hand met only the cold sheets beside him.

The bed was empty. The house was quiet.

You were gone.

For a moment, he lay still, hoping that you’d walk back in, your smile lighting up the room. But the silence stretched on, and he knew.

You weren't there, and you’d never be again.

He closed his eyes tightly, a sharp pang cutting through him as reality settled in. He missed the dreamland of sleep, where he was sheltered from the pain of reality and could only feel the light of your love. Of course you weren’t there. He’d known, deep down, that you wouldn’t be. The day before had been too perfect, too fleeting to be anything but a cruel dream.

Spencer lay there for a long moment, staring at the ceiling, his heart heavy and his throat tight. He didn’t want to move, didn’t want to face the emptiness of the house without you. But then his phone buzzed on the nightstand, breaking the silence.

He reached for it with a trembling hand, his vision blurry as he read the message from Morgan:

["Merry Christmas, kid. I know this time of year is tough for you. I’ll swing by later to drop off your gift. Hang in there, alright?”]

Spencer sat up, frowning. Christmas? But… yesterday was Christmas… Wasn’t it? There was the shooting star on Christmas Eve, then he woke up with you the next morning and you spent Christmas day together, right? He stared at the message, confusion swirling in his mind.

If today was Christmas, then… when had you been here?

His heart raced as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, his mind replaying every moment of the day before. It had felt so real—your touch, your laughter, the way you’d smiled at him like nothing had ever changed. Too real to be a dream. Too dreamlike to be real.

He pushed himself off the bed and made his way down the hall, his steps slow and hesitant. The house was quiet, almost unbearably so, and the absence of your presence was palpable.

Confusion stirred within him, but at the same time, it felt only natural. He had to have dreamed it, it was grief playing tricks on him once again. But still… if it had been a dream, it was one like none other he’d ever had. One that messed up his concept of time and reality, making him pinch his skin softly, as a reminder and confirmation of his own existence.

He was there. You weren’t.

Spencer turned on the radio, needing something—anything—to fill the silence, to quell his racing mind. The soft, mournful strains of Lover, You Should’ve Come Over by Jeff Buckley filled the room, the lyrics cutting through him like a knife. He’d never been one to relate much to music. He’d learned it from you, the beauty of song. This time it felt like a curse, though, the relatability of the mellow lyrics burning in his chest.

"Maybe I'm too young

To keep good love from going wrong

But tonight you're on my mind

So... you'll never know

Broken down and hungry for your love

With no way to feed it

Where are you tonight?

Child, ya know how much I need it

Too young to hold on

And too old to just break free and run"

He sat by the window, watching the snow falling. The ache in his chest was different now—not the sharp, relentless pain of loss, but something softer, warmer. He could still feel your hand in his, still hear your laugh echoing in his mind. And as the song played, each lyric seeming like it was leaving from his own lips, each chord sounding like it was being played from his own heartstrings, the moment sank in.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad that it had all been a dream after all. Maybe it was exactly what he needed. But yet, the warmth of your presence loomed over him with a heaviness that felt nearly unnatural. You had really been there, one way or another. He was sure of it.

"So I'll wait for you, love

And I'll burn

Will I ever see your sweet return?"

He could feel you. Even now. He knew it wasn’t over—it would never be.

“Merry Christmas,” he whispered to the silence, a tear slipping down his cheek.

And somewhere, he knew you were whispering it back.

He sank into the couch, his head in his hands as the song played on, each word twisting the knife deeper.

"It's never over

My kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder

It's never over

All my riches for her smiles

When I've slept so soft against her

It's never over

All my blood for the sweetness of her laughter

It's never over

She is the tear that hangs inside my soul forever"

The tears came then, hot and unrelenting, as he mourned the loss of you all over again. Regardless of their newfound taste after the collection of memories he gathered with you, whether it was a dream or not, the bitterness in his tears remained unmistakable.

But then, through the blur of his grief, something caught his eye. He froze, his breath hitching as he turned toward the window.

There, like a mirage—a window to the unknown, a sight he’d never expected—sitting on the porch railing, was the flower crown you’d made during the day before. Just where you’d left it. The lines between dream and reality blurred, but Spencer didn’t question it. You had been there. And that was enough.

"Lover, you should've come over

'Cause it's not too late"

—————————————————————————————————

author's note 2: this is it!! i hope you guys enjoyed it, and thank you sooo much for reading it all the way! please share and let me know your thoughts on this :)

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fanart :)

check out these amazing fanarts my dear friend cami (@/camiwhatuwant on twitter) drew for this story!! i'm in love, they're so perfect <3