#i almost cried right then and there. genuine compliments from people make my fucking day . ok I need to go back to editing thisthing now

[aaaaaaaaagenloser]

(Tw: kinda transphobia? Use of it/its for a character who hasn’t declared what their pronouns are yet. Arguments over whether a character is a person or not; that ties into the pronoun thing here. Bonus points for descriptions of canon-typical gore yipeeee)

An update from after writing this: oh this. Got. This one got away from me?? I think I started this at 4 minutes past the hour. It is now 43 minutes past the hour. shitt.

Update; it is now 17 minutes after the NEXT hour. 26 minutes after th last update. I have seen god in the past hour and she shook in fear of both my power and audacity. I have lunch with my family scheduled in like 6 hours and I have not yet slept. This wasn’t meant to be as long as it is but I was possessed and this is the result. I may edit it and make it smoother later but I’ll make that a separate post, I want this sleep-deprived chunk of words to be here as like a monument to the fact that I could have been playing stardew valley during this time but I chose to do this instead

TLDR: long ass story ahead written by a sleep-deprived and hyperfixation-driven author. Who is now going the fuck to BED

“We can’t just keep it! What if it has a tracking device? It won’t let us fucking touch it so there’s no way of knowing it has one unless it leads them right to us!”

“Ok, I hear you but think. That hasn’t happened yet. It’s been about what, three days? and that hasn’t happened, and they haven’t been violent towards any of us at all. They haven’t tried to go back either, so there’s no risk of them telling or leading Showfall where we are.”

“Why do you keep calling it ‘they’?”

“Well they can’t be an “it” now can it? …wait.”

“Ok can we figure out the gender of the thing in the other room after we figure out if it’s a threat to us or not. It’s not even a fucking person, you remember what those things did to you back there, don’t you?”

“Those people were not themselves, they were just doing what he wanted them to do—“

“They’re not fucking people! Those things are all part of Showfall, just like Hetch was! It’s just waiting for the right time to turn us in, or pull some shit on one of us like they did before.”

“They weren’t… they weren’t in control.”

“Yeah like fuck they weren’t, I saw it fucking happen!”

“You can’t just… Ok. Sneeg. Stop. You don’t speak for me, the one who, oh I don’t know, was the one that shit happened to? They were being controlled just like us—“

“No, no, not like us. We were wandering around and not knowing what the fuck was happening. None of us knew what was happening. We just went along blindly. Those things—on purpose—dragged you to that stupid wall and sewed wires into your hands—“

“Shut up, Sneeg—“

“No you shut up! You didn’t see it fucking happen! I saw them and Bitchface literally hold you down until you passed out! They were fucking choking you, they fucking—they nearly fucking killed you with just their hands, that’s not a little suggestion in the back of your brain, that’s on purpose! That is fucking deliberate, that is a thing those machines chose to do! You don’t remember, you weren’t conscious when they fucking stapled you to the wall and strapped your head in—“

Sneeg glanced at Ranboo for a moment in-between pacing as he ranted, and the far away look in their sibling’s eyes shut them up immediately. Ranboo was still present, thank fuck, but they were looking at their brother like he was holding up a knife to their throat.

“Fuck, Ran, okay, okay—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… shit. Do you need Charlie?”

“You don’t know when to shut the fuck up.”

“…okay. Okay. I’m sorry. Do you need me to get Charlie?”

“No, I’m fucking fine.” It did not sound like he meant that at all. His voice was less steady than before. “I don’t want him to worry about our… hitchhiker. He’s worrying enough about… well, everything.”

“The fact that it’s here, so close to us is the reason I’m trying to get you to see, Ran. What if it turns on him? What if it does that shit to him when we aren’t there?”

“We will be there.”

“And when it tries anything, we can kill it?”

“Sneeg!”

“You wouldn’t kill it, even if it hurt our fucking brother?”

“Of course we wouldn’t keep them around if they did that, could we at least just… just leave it behind? …wait, no, they couldn’t take care of themselves. If we had to leave it behind, maybe we should…”

Silence lingered for a bit too long.

“We should what, Ran?”

“…Sneeg, I was about to say that killing it would be a mercy.” The Hero laughed. “Doesn’t that sound familiar?”

The Taken didn’t reply.

“We have to help them. I don’t… I don’t want to be on the other end of a mercy killing. I don’t want to hurt anyone anymore.”

“Okay. I’m—are you okay?”

“…m fine. It’s fine. Just. Can you stop acting like they’re any different from us? Please.”

“What do you want me to think then?” His voice was softer than it had been a few minutes before.

“Just assume that they… that they were someone. Just like we were before. And they didn’t… they didn’t do anything on their own, it was all Showfall.”

“Okay. Fine. Let’s assume they were controlled, they didn’t mean to, so on and so forth. Why haven’t they talked yet.”

“I don’t think any of the drones even could talk. Wait, should we really be calling them a drone—“

“Shut the fuck up, Ranboo, we have got to figure out what to do with it. It probably doesn’t even know what is happening, what the fuck does it matter what we call it.”

“It matters to me! Do you want me to call you by your title? Do you want to call me by mine? …No? Then why are we treating them like all they are is what Showfall made them? We had lives before, we were someone, so they must have been too. They might not realize it, or… or act like it, but they used to be someone. They are a whole person, Sneeg. We have to help them, we can’t just leave them behind because that would mean we are giving up on someone just like us, and we cannot give up on each other. They… they would have hurt us by now if they were going to. And Showfall hasn’t found us since… you know, which means there aren’t any more trackers.

…okay, Sneeg?”

“…okay. If it,” he sighed at the look Ran gave them, “if they try anything, we have to leave them behind. I’m not letting a dumbass puppet be the reason we get taken back.”

“If they—ok, whatever, you’re not understanding. You can’t say one of us somehow wanted to be controlled, and they’re a ‘puppet’ but those rules don’t apply to the rest of us—“

“There is not an ‘us,’ Ran! That thing isn’t like us!”

“Guys?”

A sleepy voice shut the two of them up instantly. They had a split-second conversation with their eyes before looking to their brother. ‘We aren’t done talking about this’ ‘You’e absolutely right, so later?’ ‘Later.’ ‘We’re telling Charlie nothing happened?’ ‘Of course.’ ‘Ok good plan.’

“Why are you two fighting? I’m tired, can we please go back to sleep?”

“We weren’t fighting, we were…”

“…talking about plans for tomorrow. And you can go back to sleep.”

“I don’t want to be by myself.” Charlie looked at Sneeg pointedly, who sighed to Ranboo with a playfully annoyed expression.

“Well I guess I gotta go be a teddy bear again.”

“Have fun”

“Absolutely not.”

Charlie punched Sneeg in the shoulder lightly for that, who just giggled in response and led his little brother back to their room.

Which left Ran by themselves.

Some nights, he would join them, but some nights Charlie couldn’t stand to be anywhere near Ran, and the three of them had made a silent mutual agreement that Charlie trusted Sneeg more than he did Ranboo.

…Ranboo was okay with this. He wasn’t hurt by it. He didn’t cry on the nights he slept by himself.

He didn’t wish he could be the one Sneeg comforted sometimes. They were just fine.

They were fine, which is why they went to the living room where their… well. Their hitchhiker? They weren’t exactly a brother, or a sibling, more like a fourth wheel on a tricycle. Or a flyaway hair. Okay, maybe Ranboo needed to get tbr fuck to sleep, alone or not.

But he found himself in the living room, where their hitchhiker slept. Or, didn’t sleep, as they seemed to not need to. They would sit on the couch and stare idly at the tv. That was what had started the whole conversation with Sneeg in the first place; Ran wanted to leave some kind of entertainment for the fourth person so they wouldn’t be made to sit in the dark for hours. Sneeg took this remark as a perfect opportunity to explain all the reasons why the former drone should be abandoned, but Ranboo would have fucking none of it. Maybe the couch potato (shit, he really needed to come up with a name for them—) didn’t seem to sleep, barely ate, and stayed still unless actually verbally told to move, but they were still a person. Ranboo was sure of it.

Their hand wandered up to the fresh scabs where their mask had been. The fourth person had a mask, one that hadn’t been touched. Despite usually staying still, the person—(Ranboo thinks they might just call this person Couch for now. Maybe it’s not accurate, and they’re tired, but it’s something. C, for short.)

C would back away any time the others would try to get near them. And they did in fact try, but despite how creative or sneaky they got, C always ducked away. It reminded Ranboo of the drone who had followed them with a camera, always one step away and never letting the Hero get too close.

The mask turned to Ranboo, who stared back quietly. C hadn’t talked at all, so Ranboo didn’t expect them to suddenly start now. He wasn’t even sure if they understood what was said to them, but Ranboo wanted to try anyways. Better to be polite.

“Do you like the show that’s on? I think it’s called Lucy, or something. I don’t know, Sneeg said it was funny. And it didn’t seem, uh- scary or anything.”

The mask didn’t speak.

“If you want to change it, the remote’s right there, um, I showed you how to use it before. And there’s like, instructions drawn on there. You can thank Charlie for that one.”

…

“I think I’m going to head to bed.”

…

“Fuck it, can I stay here?”

The mask still didn’t speak, but the head hidden behind it tilted a bit at the sudden change in tone. Ranboo took this as an absolute win.

“So I just. I don’t want to be by myself. And I don’t think you sleep, I mean if you just sleep when everyone else is asleep that’s cool, but also if so how do you even? function? on that much sleep? It really isn’t that much but to be fair you don’t do much so maybe you don’t need it. …do you sleep sitting up? And just somehow wake up when we get close? I know, um. Sorry about that, again, we were just worried your mask had a tracker like mine used to.”

Ran laughed nervously. “I think I did convince them that it doesn’t, so that should stop now. If um. If we make you uncomfortable you still don’t have to be touched, it’s, it’s fine.”

Other than the head tilt before, there wasn’t a reply.

“Okay, since. You can’t talk, I’m just gonna… I’ll sit down beside you. On the couch. And if you don’t want me to be that close you can uh- you can leave. Or like, get up, and then I’ll leave. This is the only room with a tv, so I’ll let you stay here, but I can’t tell if you want me to be here or not, so. Okay, sorry, I’m rambling. Just… move if you want me to leave, okay?”

Ranboo waited for a response that didn’t come, then sighed. “Okay.” He kept his hands up and open while sitting down, waiting for a few moments before tucking his feet under himself to get more comfortable. “I’m just gonna stay here, okay? Like I said, just move if you want me to leave.”

The mask had tracked them to where they sat now, but the person—C—didn’t make a move to leave. Ranboo turned their attention to the tv, keeping an eye on their couch partner in their peripheral vision. During a moment of audience laughter in the show—I Love Lucy, they remembered—C turned their head back to the television as they had been before Ranboo walked in.

Seeing as how C (they needed a better name than that—) didn’t speak, this was the closest Ranboo could get to being told “you can stay here.” So they did. A few episodes later, his head was on the arm of the couch and his eyes were closed.

Five turned its attention to the Hero, who was now asleep. He had said it was a person, which was almost hilarious. And the Taken and the Hero seemed to think it couldn’t talk? They had to know it needed to be given permission first: any handler of a Drone or Prop knew that basic rule. It would wait until permission was given: it knew how to obey. It wasn’t meant to speak to a superior unless it was told it was allowed. It would wait.

…in the meantime, it studied its handler, the Hero. The other Actors, their two other handlers, called him ‘Ranboo’ but Five knew that wasn’t his actual label. The Hero was his character in the last show, and so that is who he was. Five didn’t know if Actors had a number, but he had been called the Hero in the script, and so the Hero he will be until the script changes.

It hoped to get new instructions, a new script for itself, something, soon. It was tired of simply watching the Actors go about their incredibly off-script show. It was sometimes told to participate, and since no other superiors were nearby, it had to obey its current handlers. But it was told to participate, to stir eggs, to help clean the kitchen, to attack small webs in corners with a stick with soft spikes on the end. Those sorts of things weren’t it’s usual directive, and so it found itself…

It didn’t resent its handlers. They were doing their best, and they at least knew that they were meant to give it orders. It simply wished they were familiar orders. It wished the Hero had told it to play dead, or play chase, or play camera, or caught, or prop. It would even listen if it was told to power down until needed. At least then it wouldn’t have to be conscious in this boring and unfamiliar set.

.

Y EA I know they probably don’t like tvs. Shhhhhh. I didn’t think about that until like. I had already written the tv part. At this moment it is 55 minutes past th hour and I want these characters to go the fuck to sleep so I can go thr fuck to sleep /lh

And yeah Five only uses “he” for glran. That is intentional. It’ll be talked about and shit later. Something about being put into a role, something about showfall being transphobic, something something I want to go to bed

Powering down = “sleeping” for a drone. Different but similar. I’ll explain how it works later?, anyway The others hav e told Five to “sleep” but it doesn’t understand because it is only ever told to “power down” so it’s like error.sleep_not_found and it stares at them like “bitch you said the wrong. Thing. You’re supposed to know how to control me so you don’t want me to power down I fucking guess” and it’s gonna be really funny after that miscommunication is taken care of.

If you remember the Five Gets A Cold And Wants To Throw Hands With Everyone post, this is wayyy before that. These motherfuckers are fresh out of showfall. Don’t ask how they got a house. I’ll figure it out

I am! Tired! I’m not proofreading this!! Goodnight please give me your thoughts if you have them. I need to know I didn’t sacrifice tbis much sleep in vain /nf /lh (I appreciate words but you are Not required to give them. Love you have a good nigt/p)

[bialvindraper]

fitfwt: brisbane thoughts & experiences

I did Not camp out in the slightest - I arrived when the gates opened sooo

tried to give some girls my left over pride flags & they told me they weren't gay and then talked about harry styles the whole time they were in line 😭😭😭

did not get to see safety hazard at all - we were still IN LINE OUTSIDE when they were on!!! we were in line for literal hours (and we came right before the gates opened) and there was HUNDREDS (if not more) of people behind us ?!?!?!?

I honestly do not think river stage was even a little prepared for this capacity and it wasn't even sold out ? but it was Packed. I cannot imagine how terrible it'd be at a sold out gig

seagirls was AMAZING although someone next to me was a seagirls fan so it made me less cool for knowing the words

they sung violet (their best song) 🥰🥰🥰

my mate left for literally 2 minutes to get food and I said to someone that camping out for concerts was classist and stupid 😭 sorry to that person

someone complimented my jersey 🥰

genuinely almost pissed myself when he came on stage 😭😭

he was in a SINGLET

there's video evidence of me freaking out about this

I would've cried if I had the energy

he looked sooo Pretty and Golden and Glowing ooohhh myy goddddddd

the greatest was sooo good I was fully hyped 100% lived up to the expectation

kmm was also spectacular (fully expected)

holding onto heartache sounded AMAZING!!!! the backing sounded heavenly and louis sounded so good i was losing my mind

drag me down was so funny 😭 he kept making us sing parts I KNOW he didn't know those words 😭 crowd did tho

the crowd LOVED high in cali, which honestly tracks for brisbane..

I kept laughing bc I kept seeing joshua running around stage for the shots 😭😭 I love him soooo much but it was so funny to see

lost my voice singing copy

the crowd went fucking CRAZY for waoyf. do not blame them.

505 was SPECTACULAR AMAZING SHOWSTOPPING !! sososo good live he did an amazing cover

bty was an absolute crowd pleaser (also fully expected tbf)

I thought I was genuinely gonna die during the ooms intro. it's my favourite louis song and the beat was LOUD and the lights were BRIGHT !!! I thought I was gonna see heaven by the end of it 😭😭

definitely name dropped some mutuals (theirs definitely video evidence of this)

lucia's replacement was so fucking funny bc I was not wearing my glasses and it completely blocked my view of louis it was So Bright. it was literally just a blob of light

did Not relate to a Certain silver tongues line despite absolutely screaming it (I did very much want to go home)

left right after silver tongues and felt So Bad bc I wasn't going to meet him but I fully think I would've fainted from the pain if I didn't go home and pop pain killers 😭😭

he said nothing abt walls' birthday (he definitely did not know that it was the next day)

was Showered & in bed by 10:40pm 😭

[multiples-fandomswontkillme]

~Metal Family headcanons~

These are like my... general hcs)? which means I didn't include my main hc that Glam, Ches and Vicky are polyamorous, married and started dating after Glam met Vicky, and absolutely everything that implies for the kids and the relationships between each member of the fam. Maybe I'll make a separate post for that or maybe not! Who knows lkfwnlfqnf

Glam

Bisexual

Glam has constant nightmares and ocasional night terrors ever since he ran away home and is an active sleep walker. Ches helped him through the worse ones when they were younger, and learned how to deal with them, always preferring not to wake him up but being with him until the episode passed. Vicky has learned how to deal with them, though she normally asks Ches for advice with it cuz she comes out short sometimes.

He has PTSD. I bet it's diagnosed too, he takes medication and goes to therapy, it doesn't mean he still doesn't have his bad days anyway. He's trying to get better.

Glam has talked to Vicky about his past, his father and his family. This is a direct contradiction of Alina's confirmation that Glam doesn't talk about it with anyone but man FUCK THAT. We love good communication in this house, Vicky tries her best to help him, but there's only so much she can do to help.

Glam enjoys gardening, cooking and making models, he also likes doing his make up, painting his nails and dressing up in fancy, extravagant clothes even if he has nowhere important to go.

He likes taking care of everyone's hair, and constantly helps Vicky brush her hair cuz there's so much of it, Dee when he gets stressed over how tangled it can get, buys Ches hair products so he actually takes care of it, and chases Heavy so the kid actually washes, untangles and brushes his hair.

This one is kind of weird, but I refuse to think any adult in the family is unarmed at any time. Glam owns a taser and pepper spray. They're bright pink and sparkly.

This man cried his eyes out while watching Coco. He's hell to watch movies with cuz he talks and predicts what's gonna happen during the movie, judges them with scores at the end and all.

Vicky

Also bisexual!

Vicky's the one who does everyone's laundry most of the time. She prefers it that way since she's the only one that knows how to wash their black clothes so the colors stay vibrant. (This is based on my gf shaming everyone but Vicky cuz their black clothes always look so muted and almost gray, but Vicky's whole outfit is always the same vibrant black colors, so we decided that neither Glam or the kids know how to wash dark clothes)

She has anger issues, if it isn't obvious. I think she also has PTSD, mainly survivor's guilt due to her surviving the accident her brother died in. She blames herself and cannot bear to talk about it, in some sort of deep denial. If she can't remember, it can't hurt as much, right?

She has scars on the right side of her back and her hip, from the road rash she got on her brother's accident, she never treated it due to grief and it scarred badly. Apart from that, the scar of the caesarean section from Heavy's birth. She doesn't really mind both of them, they happened, nothing to do about them.

She likes watching boxing competitions, brawling matches and motorcycle repairing on TV. Loves doing BBQ's and going to the pool. Also an enjoyer of teasing her kids, kissing and loving her husband at random times, spending time drinking and bonding with Ches and bragging about her family and punching anyone who thinks they're not that cool.

Not particularly a fan of make up, skirts and dresses or any traditionally femenine-perceived stuff. But has been making exceptions due to Glam and Ches being unashamed of being seen as femenine, and actually rocking the looks. The internalized misogyny is kind of slowly dissapearing.

Apart from the guns she carries in each arm (I mean her biceps, have you looked at the size of those?? She strong) she has brass knuckles on her at all times. Glam gifts her new ones sometimes, she loves having multiple choices to punch people teeth in.

Loves horror, thrillers and action movies. Falls asleep during rom-coms and dramas. Ironically, loves gossip and talking shit about people. Enjoys hearing Ches talks about the gossip going on in the nursery home even if she doesn't know who the hell he's talking about.

Rest of the family under the cut!

Heavy

Heavy is a trans boy! He doesn't know his sexuality yet though, he's still figuring himself out. When he's older, i think he definitely dated some men but had better luck with girls.

Heavy has had innocent crushes on some girls on his class before, but they never turn into anything more cuz he's not the best at expressing himself. He follows the bother-the-girl-to-death-until-she-hates-you gimmick, and unsurprisingly, it doesn't work.

I'm sorry to break this to u but Heavy totally had an among us phase, and uses so much reddit and twitch slang... You know he does.

Likes bullying and teasing his brother to death. You know that when Dee had his first romance, Heavy was ALL up in his business being a tease and a bad attempt at a wingman. He means well tho.

He's not squeamish at all. Also has great pain resistance. This kid has picked cockroaches with his bare hands and loves cats, of course the cats have scratched him. He's tough!

Grows up to be the charming himbo he was always destined to be.

Dee

I hc him as demisexual. Kind of inherited his dad's tastes for the takes no crap, intimidating but pretty kind of people.

Can't cook. He tries but he can only do basics like rice, cereal, chicken nuggets or eggs. Complicated meals always burn or don't taste like anything at all. It drives him crazy.

Dee was a quiet and very well behaved toddler before Heavy was born. He never threw tantrums or got whims. After Heavy was born though, and despite the fact he understood his brother was small and needed special care, he started craving attention often and cried and got mad at little things. Typical jealousy of the oldest sibling.

The first time Dee fell in love with someone, he didn't recognize it was love at first. He just thought his interest on the person was born out of curiosity and aesthetic attraction, but as soon as he realized he seeked validation and companionship, that he liked seeing them smile, that he wanted to protect them, that he yearned for more time alone with them and that he wanted more than what just a simple friendship implied, it was an instant 'oh hell no'. He wanted those feelings to get the hell away, but unfortunately, they were there to stay.

Canonically likes MLP, psychological and horror anime like Death note and Hellsing, so I'm deciding he also watched Death Parade, had a FNAF phase, is very into The Walten Files. This guy enjoys any kind of specially dark ARG's and knows a ton of lore of real crime, unsolved cases, ghost appearances and other stuff. Doesn't believe in the supernatural, but sure is entertained by it.

He's a mess at romance. Flirting? His attempts at compliments are hardly flattering. Giving gifts? The best he can manage is jewelry and you can kind of tell he asked his dad for help. Dates? He's so nervous he's silent for most of it, but begins getting comfortable and having fun if his partner really knows how to get him down from his negativity cloud.

Ches

Pansexual.

He's very good with kids. He has the patience of a saint and he's laid-back, chill and fun but still is an authority figure who knows how to put limits. Sure, he's gonna let the kids light up a house on fire BUT hey, now they know everything about fire precautions, burns and how to treat them AND how to get away with arson. What an educational evening, am I right?

Due to certain info from the "Goodbye" official comic, I headcanon Ches as depressed. I don't want to elaborate a lot 'cuz of spoilers, but... God, everything related to his mom fucking hurts, man. How did he deal with all that?

Ches has been Dee and Heavy's babysitter so many times he cannot count them with all his fingers. He learned how to put those kids to sleep almost immediately (Sing Bon Jovi's "This ain't a love song" and any cheesy love song in a slow lullaby style and they're out), which movie were their favorite as kids (Heavy loved 'Monsters Inc.' and Dee never looked away during 'Meet the Robinsons'), how to console them after nightmares (Heavy needed reassurance, sweet words, and to be with someone until he fell asleep again. Dee just had to be tucked in, get his nightlight turned on and kissed in the forehead). He practically raised those kids along with Vicky and Glam.

More than once, Dee and Heavy have slipped and called Ches "Dad". Ches immediately gets his shit eating grin on and answers "Yes, son?" and does a couple of dad jokes just to mess and embarrass them. He's actually very flattered and surprised at how proud of himself he is for being a father figure to both kids.

Has a scar on the left side of his forehead due to a bottle his mom threw at him when he was younger, around the time he met Glam. He hates the scar with passion, it's a permanent reminder of the fact she never cared, that's why he always keeps it covered with his headband. Gets sad about it sometimes.

Ches likes to spend his time with a group of grannies of the nearby nursing home. He genuinely considers them his friends and gossips and hangs out with all of them on weekends. Bingo, billiards, walks in the park, soap opera marathons, you name it. I even designed them, gave them names and backstories... God, i just love the concept too much. I'll make some art about Ches and his granny gang FOR SURE, you're NOT ready for them.

Carries a pocket knife on him at all times. This man grew up on a bad neighborhood and absolutely knows how to defend himself, he can be intimidating when he wants to be and will pose a threat if needed. He's fucking terrifying when genuinely mad. Just cause he looks harmless doesn't mean he is, darling.

That would be all!

[marvellousinternethideout]

BUFFY THR VAMPIRE SLAYER

Season 2

Ep 9 - What's my Line(Part 1)

There's a part 1 in the title, ohh, it's gonna be fucking good.

I have a feeling we are gonna have Oz in this episode.

Lmao Cordelia. Her xander roast are best. Their hate banters are literally best.

Oh yeah, spike is back.

Spike called Drusilla kitten. Please don't. Eww

What's the deal between spike and Drusilla.

Spike wants to find cure? Cure for what, vampirism or Drusilla or something else.

Lmao, spikey you're funny, you won't dance on slayer's grave but you'll fall in love with her and will die for her, so good luck.

Buffy can't kill without making a sassy remark, now can she?

How old was angel when he died and became a vampire? He looks really old(not old old but yk).

Now can Xander and Cordelia just hate fuck this tension.

I love when we get 16 yr old buffy. Like she's still an overdramatic 16 yr old girl, just a teenager. Even with all the slaying and being the chosen and saving the world.

A cure for Drusilla, alright make sense.

Spike is calling bounty hunters(I forgot what he called them).

Lol what are these two suit clad men are gonna do to willow, recruit her for FBI?

Oh recruting her worlds leading software concern(or something). Damn girl 🔥

Tracking her for some time, dude that's fucking creepy and she's a teenager so that's a extra layer of creepy.

OZZZZZ!

Only her and Oz got selected for the special program. Soulmate shit right here!!

BITCH THEY FINALLY MET. THEY SAW EACH OTHER, FACE TO FACE, IN THE SAME ROOM.

Lol I love dumb awkward buffy. It just great reminder that she's still a child.

"Something is coming buffy and I can guarantee you it's not good" Giles when it is, when. We all know the drill by now.

Who just welcomes stranger into their house?? Americans, really.

What the hell is going on here!? Who are all these people and why are they suddenly appearing.

Willow always has had buffy's back. Always. I love that. Women support women.

Oh c'mon, again, another vampire or supernatural being coming to kill buffy. Aren't you guys, like, tired or something. Seriously dude get a new hobby or something. So many people are trying to kill a 16 yr old. If they spent so much energy on their weird rituals then they might've successfully opened the hellmouth by now.

Angel to save the day. Go man, go save your girl.

YESSS!! We're gonna have the iconic touch face scene.

"I didn't even notice ", Please my heart😭😭. Angel and buffy, you my guys, you're cute.

"Order of turaka. It's a society of deadly assassins" Damn now we're bringing deadly assassins going back centuries to kill Buffy. Buffy just take this as a compliment at this point. She's that bitch.

"That's enough Xander", Damn Giles, it must be really serious if Xander can't make jokes.

"no earthly desire but to collect their bounty" and Buffy is the bounty. Damn.

WTF WAS THAT!? A hand made of/by insects.

Did buffy just almost choked my guy OZ? Really, girly, leave him alone or we will have problems.

Damn my girl is really freaking out. Buffy is genuinely scared and worried. Poor girl, let her catch a break ffs.

Buffy is in angel's house or dungeon or whatever the hell this is. What are we gonna find.

Aww don't cry Buffy, you'll be fine.

We found nothing, she cried and then slept on his bed. Smh.

Who's this cleaner red shirt guy. What kind of deal he has with vampires and what did he do to get in their circle?

Noooo, bitch where did this assassin come from. She came out of nowhere.

Bitch, wtf, did she just locked angel in a CAGE!?

Damn you, this episode. This is intense and I am fully in it.

Alright, they finally figured it out that spike is trying to find cure for drusilla, so now let's go and save Buffy.

"Scooby Gang", that's it, that's them from now on, hopefully canonically too.

No no no no no don't take the free samples Cordelia. Run, you're rich you idiot, don't stay with him in same house get out or you'll turn into a worm.

WTF, did she just try to kill our buffy with AXE? Girly you're hot and everything and i'll totally do you but let's not kill our girl buffy.

WTF DO YOU MEAN YOU ARE KENDRA THE VAMPIRE SLAYER!?

Aren't we supposed to have only one vampire slayer!? What happened to that !?

And what do you mean, to be continued. It's a good thing I am watching it two decades later.

I am sorry!? But we have another slayer.

I am speechless. This episode was intense and fast paced. It just kept going and I fucking loved it. We had so much going on in this episode like wtf. The drusilla cure, her being a witchy tarot reader, the encoder/translater, the assassin who will not leave till they kill Buffy and then another slayer. Damn.

Loved loved this episode, can't wait to watch the next one. I am gonna watch it now lol. Don't have the patience.

I guess that's it for this one, probably talk more in the next one as we wrap up this episode. But seriously loved the episode and I am loving this season.

Alright then, see ya in next one. Cheers 🥂.

[notchesandbullets]

She’s Mine (Protective!Bakugou x Punk!Tattooed!Reader) feat. Erasermic

Warnings: racism, implied homophobia (not by anyone in the main cast), sexism, discrimination/discriminatory behavior, Modern!AU, Aged-Up!AU, features Bakugou’s parents, Erasermic, Kota, Eri, Mahoro, Katsuma and all of Class A defending you when insults start to fly.

Synopsis: This is not the first time you’re seeing Bakugou’s family but it is the first time you’re meeting his grandmother, who is not the best company to be around. He comes to your defense after you stand up for yourself and he had no qualms about sticking his face in the old hag’s because he’d be damned if he lets anyone talk to you like that. You’re his.

Words: 3.2k

“Y/N’s here!!!” Mitsuki called over her shoulder as she threw the front door wide open before you could even ring the doorbell.

Her son had texted her that you two were on their way and she was eager to see you. With the job and your relationship with her son, you two were busy bees and didn’t come around as often anymore. 

Which is why she insisted that her stubborn son at least come around for his birthday since it only happened one day out of the year. Then he could continue doing whatever it was that he was doing. 

Luckily, you were on her side and helped convince him to go just this once.

You laughed at the pitter-patter of tiny feet scampering across the cherry hardwood before dropping everything to catch the little kid that tunneled into your legs. 

“Y/N!!! You’re back!!!”

Eri’s ruby red eyes sparkled with joy as she clung to your legs.

“I missed you!!!” She shouted excitedly, hugging your knees tight.

You giggled, resting a hand on top of her head. “I missed you too, munchkin.”

Bakugou snorted behind you and you were reminded of his presence. “Oi, brat. Are you going to let us in or what?”

Eri stuck her tongue out at him childishly before dashing back inside, a trick she learned from her big brother Izuku, doubling back to grab your hand and hauled you inside with her. You casted a glance over your shoulder at your boyfriend but he shrugged, giving you the go-ahead.

He would catch up to you two troublemakers later. Besides, he knew you would want to see all the kids first. 

Kota, an orphan whose extended family gave him up for adoption, along with the siblings, Mahoro and Katsuma, were all under Aizawa’s guardianship.

After he adopted Eri, it sort of just snowballed until he was in too deep. He told Mic repeatedly that it wasn’t his fault that he had a soft spot for orphans.

His husband had merely shook his head with a laugh and hoisted Katsuma up higher so that he could reach the cupcakes they were going to sneak behind his back before dinner.

Mitsuki closed the door behind him as her son kicked off his shoes. 

“She gets that from me.” She said proudly as she gazed lovingly at Eri. She loved having her around the house. 

Since Aizawa and Mic lived relatively close, they came over often since she was feeling rather lonely with an empty nest.

Bakugou snorted. “Yeah, no shit.”

His mother glared at him for his language but didn’t reprimand him like she normally would and his eyes turned into hateful slits.

“Don’t tell me—” He started, gritting his teeth.

“They’re here.” She said with a heavy sigh.

Bakugou cursed vehemently under his breath, his brow furrowing deeply as he fought to control himself. He was banking on them not making an appearance today. 

His grandparents on his dad’s side, though he adored his grandad and thought the world of him, he absolutely could not stand his grandmother. 

She was racist, sexist, had limited views on literally everything and would raise hell if she didn’t get her way and she was a huge pain in his ass.

Even his own mother couldn’t stand her and that was saying something because she tolerated everyone to some degree, despite her odd love language when it came to him. 

They were both shit at communicating but it had gotten better as he got older. 

Now, the worst things that happened were spats here and there when they disagreed but his mother was usually good about backing off if she felt he could make the right decision for himself, which wasn’t often but it was better than none. 

Bakugou strolled inside and his eyes softened for a second when he saw you playing with Mahoro, Kota sitting on your lap as Eri was climbing all over Midoriya. You four were currently playing Monopoly and Eri exclaiming in shock as she realized she was losing since the devious Kota was slowly claiming more and more property.

“Haha!!” He cackled, rubbing his hands together evilly. “You landed on the purple one!!”

“No fair!!” Eri protested. “I don’t have enough money!!!”

“Too bad!!”

“Deku-niichan.” Eri cried, her eyes watering and you nearly fell over laughing as he frantically tried to get her to stop crying. 

The rest of his old class from college was already here, as per his mother’s request and Kirishima’s invitation.

Shinsou, Tsuyu, Todoroki and Iida were all near the food, the previous class rep serving drinks even though it wasn’t his job to play host. 

Tokoyami was currently engaged in a conversation with his dad and as Bakugou spun around the room, he realized every last one of his old classmates had shown up.

It was fucking crowded in his house. 

But the spark of joy he felt diminished the instant he saw his grandmother and he scowled, straying to your side almost protectively as her eyes burned into his back. 

This. 

This was why he didn’t fucking want her here. He didn’t want her to rain judgement upon the person who had won over his heart.

No way in hell.

Look, you weren’t fragile by any means. Your heart was filled with a healthy amount of self-esteem and you had built up your walls to protect yourself against people who had something to say about your many tattoos or piercings, yet you still were the kindest soul he had ever met. 

It was in the way you walked and interacted with people, a genuine smile always present on your features as you gave them more respect than most would give you upon first glance.

Bakugou knew you could handle yourself but you shouldn’t have to with his own fucking relatives. That shit was messed up. 

You glanced at your boyfriend out of the corner of your eye and your gaze dropped down to where his hands were clenched into fists, jaw locked tight and you sigh, softly urging Kota to get up and continue playing with Mahoro and Katsuma until you got back.

The boy grumbled but did as you asked, easily getting swept up in the competition of the game as you drifted to Bakugou’s side.

“I know that look,” You murmured into his ear, your hand covering his as you ignored the idle chatter coming from your friends and family around you. “What’s wrong?”

Bakugou clenched his teeth and debated about it for a second.

“Nothing.” He spat out eventually, choosing to deal with the old hag himself and you let him go when he stomped off, knowing that Kirishima or Kaminari would handle whatever it was that just happened if he didn’t want to talk to you about it. 

Momo greeted you warmly and a smile slipped onto your face as though it had never left. 

You hadn’t bothered to dress all that nice or different from your usual getup, feeling more comfortable in leather and all black that looked like you just came from a rock concert but you got the feeling that not everyone was feeling it as much as Jirou was when she came over to compliment you on your fashion taste.

Shoji and Koda each greeted you respectively and before you knew it, the catered dinner arrived and it was finally time to eat. The judging look you had been aware of from someone you didn’t recognize passing by as you brushed it off as unimportant and focused on helping Mitsuki set the table. 

You clapped your hands gleefully when Eri pitched in to help, complimenting her on how well of a job she did as she finished and you beamed at her when she smiled up at you.

Of course, Aizawa needed to help her since he didn’t want her to stand on a chair and lose her balance but it was easy enough to lift her up. She wasn’t that big yet. 

He had already told Mic he was dreading the day when she would grow up and have to leave home to start her own life and his husband patted him on the back sympathetically, reassuring him that it wouldn’t be the end of the world. 

They loved their children and their children absolutely adored them. 

You had told them as such on more than one occasion since they got insecure that they weren’t adequate parents but you reassured them that they were perfectly imperfect.

They put their kids’ health, safety and happiness before everything else and did everything they could for them. 

You wished your own parents had done that for you. 

As soon as you set down the place settings for everyone and called everyone in for dinner, they flooded the huge dining table that overflowed into the living area to accommodate everyone. 

Bakugou had left for a second to grab something from his old bedroom, promising to be back right away and you reassured him that you would be fine. 

You were barely into helping Mic convince a stubborn Kota to take a spoonful of green beans onto his plate, Shinsou helping Aizawa with Mahoro’s vegetable serving, when a throat cleared itself loudly.

The lively chatter died all around the table died down as grey eyes pierced your own and you stiffened but held your ground. 

You knew that look, you had seen it too many times. 

The older woman opened her mouth and spoke.

“So, you’re my grandson’s girlfriend?” She enunciated, looking you up and down from where she was sitting at the head of the table, her hands setting down her knitting project to glare at you. “I don’t see why he’s dating you.”

The expressions of shock at her vulgar words made several of your friends angry in your defense, Iida and Todoroki trembling in anger and Mina’s eyes narrowed as she dropped her happy-go-lucky personality in favor of ripping her a new one. 

But before any of them could act, she was continuing evenly.

“For someone who doesn’t know how to dress properly and looks like that, I mean, it’s already bad enough that your skin is that color, my dear, and you’ve ruined it even further with those ugly things.” She spat, unaware of the wrath she was evoking from every single person in the room. 

Kaminari’s electric eyes glowed as he saw red. “Bad enough?” 

“Excuse me?” Shoji seethed with unparalleled anger rising up in his chest, a rare sight for the normally calm and collected man.

Jirou, Ochako and Momo were furious at the way she was talking down to you and they shared a look amongst themselves, communicating wordlessly that this wasn’t going to be allowed to get out of hand any longer.

Kirishima was visibly shaking and even the normally shy Koda was fuming in his seat, openly glaring at the elderly woman who spewed insults at you. 

A chair scraped back as Midoriya shot up but you shook your head, holding your finger up to your lips as you subtly gestured for everyone to hold back. 

Aizawa’s nostrils flared from where he was covering Eri’s ears while several of his former students took care of the rest of the kids to make sure they wouldn’t hear this.

To their horror, the grandmother wasn’t even close to being done as she pointed a gnarly finger at you.

“Your job as a girl is to stay in the kitchen and attend to your husband. To even think you’re worth anything if you weren’t involved with my grandson is absurd.” She hissed at you venously, her skewed ideals rooted deeply in her beliefs and how she was raised. “You are a disgrace to even breathe the same air as someone like me.”

“Mother!!”

Bakugou’s father frantically tried to amend what had been done and Mitsuki was about to yell at her but you stopped her. 

Everyone’s eyes turned on you as you took a deep breath. 

“I’m sorry you feel that way, but I won’t apologize for being who I am.” You said quietly but firmly, failing to notice someone coming down the stairs and overhearing your steady words as they flowed from your lips like honey. 

Not tricks. Just genuine sympathy, like you didn’t even hear her say all those horrible things to you. 

It was supposed to be your boyfriend’s day and you weren’t going to ruin it for him in the same manner that she had just done. 

“I understand what you’re saying, but don’t you think that we should be allowed to love who we love?” 

You inclined your head slightly, allowing a sliver of the emotion you felt to slip onto your face as you glanced pointedly as Aizawa and Mic.

After you noticed her staring so openly at you, you also noticed that she would scowl whenever the two men would walk in the room and play with their kids and while you would take whatever she was going to throw at you, you weren’t going to tolerate the same for them.

They didn’t deserve that.

Holding up your arm, you inspected the ink running up and down the length of it. “As for my appearance, my style is my own. I don’t recall asking for your opinion.”

There were a couple of snickers from Jirou, Kaminari, Sero and Mineta as you put her in his place and Todoroki leaned back in his seat, gazing up at you proudly as you stood your ground without firing any hate back at the old woman. 

Hagakure clapped her hands jubilantly as a few cheers of agreement sounded around from the table but you had one more thing to say. 

Your eyes softened. “I understand how you may feel about me, but I don’t need your acceptance. I love myself just as I am and if Katsuki ever feels differently about me and we split, then we’ll split. But please do not judge my love for him based on how you believe I should be. I am who I am and I won’t ever apologize for that.”

“And you never fucking have to.”

Bakugou strolled into the dining area, smirking at the old hag who had the nerve to look shocked at his appearance. Of course she would be so fucking disgusting to say something this horrible to you when he wasn’t within earshot. 

Bitch. 

Blood relations didn’t excuse behavior. 

Narrowing his vermilion eyes at his grandmother, he faced her head on as he took your hand into his. 

“She’s my fucking girlfriend.” He declared, tenacity and stubbornness dripping off of his tone as he snarled at his grandmother. “And if you ever speak to her like that again—”

He nodded in time to Mic and Aizawa, the men who had mentored him and taught him almost everything he knew. 

“Or either of them, including the rest of these shitheads, I’ll fucking kill you.”

The veiled threat hung in the air and you squeaked as Bakugou abruptly dragged you to the front door.

“Where are you going?!” Mitsuki cried out, worried that you both were going to leave without eating anything and she was sad to think that her mother-in-law had driven you away.

Bakugou gnashed his teeth at the confused clamour that arose from his classmates. “Out!! We’ll be back later!!”

You could hardly get a word in edgewise as he dragged you all the way out to the car after barely giving you enough time to put on your shoes.

“Katsuki!! What—”

Your bewildered protests were interrupted as he whirled around and kissed you hard. You melted into his touch as his hot palms settled on your hips, pulling you flush against him. Whining softly when he pulled away, you panted as he breathed hard against you, his exhales fanning out over your face.

You were in a daze as he led you to the car, buckling you in before he got in the driver’s seat. 

And he drove, taking a detour that would take him towards the countryside where there were no people, no places, just you and him. 

Just how he liked it. 

The painted lavenders and pale pinks of the setting sun faded to midnight black with stars twinkling high above you as you cruised around for hours before he finally spoke. 

“I’m sorry.” He apologized quietly and you immediately grabbed his hand that wasn’t currently occupied with steering.

“No!! You don’t have anything to apologize for—”

“Yes I do.”

His grip tightened on the steering wheel a fraction as he slowly explained that if he had told you earlier about what she was capable of instead of ranting to his best friend like an idiot, maybe he could’ve—

“Katuski.”

Your soft murmur brought him back down to planet Earth and you shook your head firmly. 

“It’s not your fault.” You told him without wavering once as he brought the car to a stop just at the edge of the trail. “I don’t blame you at all.”

Bakugou slammed his hand against the steering wheel angrily. “Yes it fucking is!!!”

He ranted and he ranted about how he had come downstairs only to hear his own flesh and blood spitting those vile insults that you didn’t deserve at all. 

You didn’t deserve it at all.

You were quiet when he finished and when his chest was heaving with the spent rage he had aired out, you asked, “Feel better?”

“Like hell I do!!!” He snapped at you, about to go off again when he noticed the bemused expression on your face. “What the fuck, dumbass?”

You tilted your head in confusion. “Huh?”

“Why the hell aren’t you bothered at all?” He questioned, genuinely flabbergasted. 

Eyes clearing in understanding, you traced the back of his hand with your fingers. “Because it doesn’t bother me.”

At the sight of Bakugou opening his mouth, you hurried out, “I mean, do you really think someone like that gets to cut me down? Her words don’t mean anything to me.”

You hesitated and opened yourself a little bit, trusting him not to take advantage of your weakness because while her words stung in the moment, it was nothing your heart couldn’t come back from. But…

“If you were to say them, it would hurt a lot more, but I don’t think you would— eep!!”

You yelped as he dragged you over to his seat, yanking at the seatbelt that got in the way, but pulled you to his chest once he released the safety clip.

“Never.” He breathed against your hair, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “I would fucking never.”

You closed your eyes. “I know.”

There, in his car, you two stayed in a tight embrace under the stars until you it got late enough that you insisted you should go back and at least spend the rest of the time with your friends, which, if their sleeping schedules hadn’t changed since college, there was a good chance almost all of them would still be up.

So Bakugou drove you both back, his heart a little more at ease after he got to hold you close and be alone with you. 

That was all he wanted.

Well… He thought to himself as he unconsciously brushed his left hand over the small velvet box that had been hastily stuffed in his pocket the second he grabbed it from his room.

That and one other thing.

[hansolmates]

the proposal (m)

banner done by the ammmahhzzing @eerieedits​

summary; Jeon’s the editor-in-chief for Big Hit Publishings, a closet romantic with a penchant for antagonizing his assistant on the reg. When his work visa is in the process of being renewed and he takes a trip to Norway, his eligibility to stay in America is on the line. However Jeon Jungkook doesn’t go without a fight, and in order to save his job he offers you a proposal you can't refuse. pairing; editor!Jungkook x assistant!reader (f) genre/warnings; the proposal!au, fake marriage au, enemies to friends(!!!), friends to lovers, bouts of flangst, dry humping, slight blood but not too bad, lang, alcohol, poor jjk discovers he has the ability to feel emotion, poor y/n is in the middle as always w.c; 20.1k of endless banter and koo hiding his romantic side a/n; yeah, it’s almost summer. But i think we need a lil holiday magic in our lives! I rewatched the proposal this weekend and whipped this up. Why is koo so gosh darn easy to write? This is my longest fic since i wrote maze runner back in 2014!! i rec this extension to get fully immersed in 2pov! Enjoy and pls tell me if there’s any errors im too poopied to proofread it again drabbles; 01

“When I hired you, you basically signed a contract that said you’d do anything for me.” 

“Yeah, Jeon. I did. That meant like, getting you coffee or working late hours—normal work stipulations,” you can feel the hair on your scalp growing thinner, “not commit fucking fraud!” 

Your boss looks moreso frustrated than you are, but you cease to care. Jeon Jungkook has been nothing but a thorn in your side since your employment at Big Hit Publishing two years ago. Being a budding author who wanted to graduate from online sites and freelancing, you accepted the job as the editor-in-chief’s assistant in the hopes of getting your first book published. 

However, your dreams of being an editor are quickly dissipating, especially when Jungkook corners you this afternoon and announces that he may have left America during the time his work visa was still processing. He may have to give over his editor-in-chief position because there’s no way he can get a work visa processed in time. As a result of this information, he may have told his supervisors that you seduced him on a late night one year ago, and you two fell in love and have been secretly engaged ever since. 

Because y’know, your citizenship to this country is an asset to the company. 

“We didn’t have to go to Norway to PR Emma Watson’s autobio,” you huff, fingers going pale from how hard you were gripping your iPad. Jungkook is an esteemed workaholic, and you have no idea where it stems from. You remember that trip to Oslo, Jungkook insisting that you and him both go to make sure everything goes smoothly.

“You weren’t complaining when we went to that restaurant with the open bar.” he runs a hand through his coiffed hair, making the pomade untack from its style. “You got so drunk that Emma held you while you cried about global warming.” 

Wholly unamused, you frown. “Jungkook, can you please take this seriously?”

“I’m taking this seriously, you’re not the one who’s about to be deported in two weeks!” Jungkook hisses, face dangerously close to yours. Not that anyone would know what he’s saying, but you can tell from his defenses that he genuinely is nervous. 

“You wouldn’t be deported if you had just set an earlier appointment to renew your Visa!” 

“I wouldn’t be deported if you had just set an earlier appointment to renew my Visa!” 

At least twenty pairs of eyes are watching your confrontation, probably making their own conclusions as to what you two were fighting about again. Curse this office for having full-walled windows, you often feel like an ant in a plastic farm. Your work relationship is an anomaly to the rest of the staff. Before you started working at Big Hit, Jungkook’s assistants did not last long. Within the first week of working, you understood why. 

Jungkook whirls around his desk, glaring at the glass doors as he puts himself between the staff and you. “If you don’t marry me,” he says lowly, close enough for his hot breath to fan your face, coupled with his fresh-scented cologne. It annoys you how good he smells. “You’ll also be replaced because they want to give the my position to fuckin’ Karen of all people,” you fight the twitch of your lips. The only thing you two mutually agreed upon is the hatred of his co-editor, Karen. “All of the late nights we’ve worked together, the gallons of coffees you consumed, putting up with my shit, your dreams of becoming an author,” his eyes flicker to the way the grip in your iPad trembles, “will go down the drain and turn to shit. Whether you like it or not, we’re in this together.” 

Pretending to be unfazed, you bat your lashes, “So are you saying, you need me?” 

“For fuck’s sake—”

“Ah-ah, Jungkook. I’m not going to ask you to get on one knee, but you should at least tell me how much you need me.” 

You assume with great confidence that the only reason you’re kept on Jungkook’s payroll is because you’re not afraid to stand up to Jungkook’s bullshit. He looks positively disgusted at the mere thought of paying you an iota of a compliment. You’d say on average, you get half a compliment a month from Jungkook. You say half because he’ll compliment you, then downplay it with whatever flaw he can fabricate to get under your skin. 

He loosens his lavender paisley tie, annoyed. “Fine. I need you. I need you because you’re the only one who knows me well enough to be my wife. You’re the only woman I’ve had full conversations with in two years and knows all my dietary restrictions, favorite books, foods, and hobbies. By process of elimination, you are my best candidate.” 

“Romantic,” you roll your eyes, “I guess I do,” you push him away with a finger to his chest, “but I want a raise. And after we finish Sorn and Mark’s project, I want you to read my novel.” 

“Done and done.” 

“Well Jeon, I guess you’ve wifed me up with your ways of seduction.” you muse sardonically, feeling more upset for yourself than anything. 

“Fantastic,” he sighs, finally throwing his tie across the desk and plopping in his armchair. “Cancel the call with Janet, call PR about Irene Kim’s interview on Ellen, and order me a medium rare steak from J.J. Bittings with a side of brussels.” 

“Right,” you mutter under your breath as you pull up your checklist, as if you didn’t just give away your life to the Devil incarnate. 

Jungkook’s back is already facing you, focusing on his computer displaying two new manuscripts. “Oh, and on your way to J’s don’t forget to pick up your ring at Saks.”

“Bitch, you’re asking me to pick up my fake wedding ring?” 

Unbothered, he shrugs. You see the planes of his shoulders stretch beneath the blazer, because he’s deemed this conversation long over and he has work to do. “Yeah, but it’s real diamonds.” 

You’ve been seeing red for days. 

While the rock on your ring finger is indeed beautiful because Jungkook has impeccable taste, it drags you down and arouses the elephant in the room everytime you show up for work. 

You get enough stares on the daily, and you were just getting used to the looks of pity and sympathy for working under Jungkook, but now there are only snickers and playful winks as you trudge down the cubicles every morning. Everyday feels like the runway at a shitshow, and you are the headliner. 

Taehyung clapped you none-too-hard on the back when you showed up to work the next morning, congratulating you on the engagement. “Can’t believe you’re fuckin’ the big boss!” 

The rest of the staff poke their eyes out of their cubicles like Digletts, and you shush them, using your hand to make them sink down. 

Coffee is spilling down your shirt thanks to him, and you reach for tissues in his cubicle. “Can you not say it like that, please?” 

“Oh, come on. I heard from the supervisors Jungkook went on about how you seduced him late at night and took charge,” Taehyung wiggles his eyebrows approvingly, and you fight the urge to not throw up your coffee in his face. “How do you keep it so professional? Or do you save all that pent-up energy for after hours?” 

“You disgust me,” you grimace, stepping out of his cubicle and immediately regret wasting your five-minute break conversing with the typist.

Striding back into Jungkook’s office, he doesn’t hesitate to rattle off the next items on today’s agenda. He barely looks at you when you stride in, too focused on whatever corrections he’s slashing in red ink. 

“Did you get Taemin’s second draft?” 

“No, and I told him that if he can’t get me the draft by tonight he won’t get a publishing deadline and the number of copies published will be decreased by a third.” 

“And Taehyung’s author agreed to our stipulations?” 

“Of course, she’d be dead not to.”  you mutter, “she’s a nineteen year old Influencer, what would she know?” 

“Exactly, that’s why we milk it out as long as we can.” Jungkook throws the first draft in a large, intimidating pile, mixing in with all the others like a needle in a haystack. “Which is why it’s important we snag dinner with her this weekend, we can really—”

“What, this weekend?” your sense of equilibrium cracks, and you walk forward to put his hands on his desk. “I took this coming week off for Christmas. I’ve planned this for months.” 

“I know.”

“I can’t just cancel my flight! I saved up for that!”

“And?” Jungkook brushes off your fury like a piece of lint, “I’m Korean. Christmas is a fake holiday for me.” 

“You can’t just tell me I can’t go home to my family, it’s the fucking holidays!” 

“Why not, I’ve done it before. Remember on Valentine’s day when I told you the only date you have is a date with Kwon Boa’s publicist? Or on Secretaries Day when I argued that you don’t feel appreciated by society anyway and therefore why bother taking one extra day off? Or during Easter when your family screamed in my office on speakerphone that you should quit—”

“Okay,” no need to be reminded of how much you’ve wasted your life for this man, “but this is different. I’ve already bought plane tickets and this holiday is special. It’s a whole family reunion in the Poconos and we’ve reserved over five houses to fit all of us! I can’t just ditch!” 

“But I need you!” he replied just as hotly, in a tone that reminded you so many times of how tethered you are by this man. Two years have gone by, and the only thing that kept those strings together is the constant ache in getting your first novel published. “With all the marriage stuff and stupid extentions we had to make on these writers there’s no way we can get everything done before winter ends!” 

“You’ve done it before, why can’t you just ask Taehyung to assist—”

“Trouble in paradise?” 

A chill travels up your spine, and you and Jungkook exchange panicked eye contact. A tiny, pretty blonde lady struts in the room like it's hers, plopping a fruit basket atop Jungkook’s manuscripts. 

“If by paradise you mean our relationship, then no.” Jungkook’s the first to recover, meeting you at your side and stretching an arm around your waist. “I’d say work-wise things are getting a little rough, but nothing we can’t handle. We’re a team, after all.” 

“I just wanted to stop by as I was in the neighborhood,” the woman says, making herself comfortable in a leather seat reserved for guests. “Congratulations again on your engagement.” 

You tack on a smile, squeezing Jungkook’s arm a little too hard, but it’s enough to make the lady in front of you smile back. “What brings you here, Taeyeon?” 

Kim Taeyeon is Jungkook’s immigration liaison, AKA the person responsible for making sure you’re not breaking the law. She’s a pretty thing, with eyes sharp but a smile that’s soft and deceiving. 

“It’s just a shame you two have to rush a civil wedding,” Taeyeon sighs, looking at the window overlooking the city. 

“Ah, it takes some of the planning stress off my back, really.” you force a laugh, tugging Jungkook to sit on the couch opposite her. “At least one thing is done. The thought of planning a whole wedding with over two-hundred people is so stressful.” 

You weren’t really going to have a white wedding with Jungkook (however you may have entertained the thought, which is reflected in your Google search history) but you had to keep up the ruse that you were. A civil wedding in two weeks, then a quickie divorce a year later. 

“I know! My wedding was a real mess let me tell you, straight out of a movie!” Taeyeon is certainly the type of person to make you feel at ease, so at ease that it’s simple for you to melt your front. “But besides the point, are you two doing anything special for the holidays?” 

“Ah, well I bought a flight to meet my family in the Poconos,” you start, trying not to succumb to your nervous habit of wringing your fingers. You grab Jungkook’s hand as a reprieve. 

“And you’re not going?” Taeyeon’s gaze snaps, yes snaps, to Jungkook. 

You try to step in, realizing your flaw. “We’ve just been so swamped with work, all the immigration stuff and with these book delays Jungkook suggested he stay behind—” 

“But we’ve decided to prioritize our personal life and enjoy Christmas with our family,” Jungkook swoops in, threading his fingers between yours. He flashes Taeyeon a smile, and from the way his face lights up and his nose crinkles, you could’ve mistaken it to be genuine. “I’ve never experienced a big family Christmas, y’know. I’ve missed snowboarding too, I used to do it a lot in highschool.” 

“Oh, that’s just so sweet!” Taeyeon cooes, clasping her hands together. “Do send some pictures when you come back!” 

“Of course,” Jungkook stands up and attempts to leave Taeyeon out. You follow in tow, She obliges easily, mentioning something about just wanting to check in and she also has work to do. 

“Also,” Taeyeon’s head flickers to the people sitting outside Jungkook’s office. “You should manage those workers out there,” she looks at you, sympathetic. “Apparently, they didn’t peg you as the type of person to sleep their way to the top. And that’s just what I heard from walking down the hall once!” she laughs, tinkling brighter than a windchime, but you just tighten the grip on Jungkook’s palm. “Such a childish assumption. Things can be much more complicated.” 

She tips a “happy holidays” off her shoulder, and you both are smiling like the loving couple you are. As soon as the elevator doors close and Taeyeon is really gone, Jungkook moves to let go of your hand, but you hold him in your grasp. 

“She’s onto us,” you snap, tugging him closer to you so your co-workers wouldn’t read your lips. 

“Don’t you think I know that?” he bites back. He looks offendingly at the fruit basket adorning his desk. 

“What if we get caught, Jungkook?” you start to spiral, feeling your deepest fears crawl to the forefront of your brain. You’ve done extensive Google research on commiting fraud, and if you do get caught, Jungkook will never be able to come back to this country and you’ll have a fine of up to $250,000. Your boss doesn’t pay you nearly enough to get by with that kind of debt. “We’ll ruin this company, and our lives, and any hope of being published or credible.” 

“Hey, relax,” Jungkook whispers in your ear, the tone oddly comforting. He pulls you into his arms, and you barely have a chance to recover when he squeezes you extra tight around your waist. Jungkook only ever hugs you when doing PR, and even then it’s an awkward half-hug. Hell, he never hugged you on your birthday. “This is what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna book my flight to the Poconos, bring some manuscripts so we can work remotely, and no one will ever know.” 

You sigh into his arms, nodding tiredly. It feels nice to be hugged like this. His arms are strong and warm, and you feel small and protected. It’s been a while since you’ve felt like that. Maybe Jungkook did have a heart under all that muscle. 

“I’m putting up a good show, aren’t I?” he says, and you feel your heart drop just a little. Disappointed, but not surprised. 

From your view facing the cubicles, you see at least half the employees comically bugged with  heart eyes at you, enamored by your fake relationship. 

“Do not stretch your long-ass legs on this plane, Jeon,” you nudge your smaller leg away from your section of leg room, “Jesus, we’re flying economy!” 

It scares you how little you fought against Jungkook joining you for the winter holiday. It is the logical decision after all, Taeyeon is on your trail about your sudden engagement and you both needed to keep up the ruse. That includes going on family vacations. Also, the fact that Jungkook works through Christmas because he doesn’t celebrate it does make you feel a little bad. You can’t remember the last time the man took a vacation. 

The man in question barely moves at your weak attempt, and stretches his leg even further across your seat. “Sorry, babe,” he says, fishing around his seat for the included blanket. 

“It’s fine, Kookie.” You reply sweetly, and decide to kick off your shoes to drape a leg over Jungkook’s thighs, “you’re like a portable footrest!” 

He looks absolutely insulted at your objectification, but smartly decides to choose his battles and lets you keep your position. Tucking himself in with a scratchy blanket he waves you off, “Whatever, just wake me up when we arrive.” 

“What, no.” you pull up your iPad, shoving the note entry in his face. “I know everything about you, and yet you know nothing about me. I made this easy on you and just wrote everything down. You just have to read it.” 

“Seriously? I’ve known you for over two years, I’m sure I know enough about you.” 

“Really, then how do I like my coffee?” 

“Uh… hot?” 

You give him a look and he knows. With a sigh he grabs the iPad from your hands. Within seconds he’s giving you another dirty look, as if he’s skimming a conspiracy novel. 

“You know all this random shit about me?” Jungkook asks, scrolling down as to what feels like your life story. 

“Yes, because unlike you, I listen when you talk.” 

“Fine. What’s my favorite type of weather?” 

“A warm and sunny day, which correlates to your favorite kind of date which is walking along the beach at sunset. Cliché much?” 

“Okay, rude. Who’s my favorite artist?” 

“You like a little bit of everything, but since seventh grade you’ve been pining for IU. In the office, you like to sing along to Lauv and Hozier.” 

“Favorite movie?” 

“The Marvel Series. But you really like 5 Centimeters Per Second, you like the romance.” 

“And how do you know my favorite anime movie is 5 Centimeters Per Second? I’m pretty sure I’ve never told you that.” 

“Jeon, when we were promoting Momo Hirai’s self-help book at Anime Expo you were gone for two and a half hours at 1:50 sharp.” your boss’ Adam’s apple bobs and he swallows thickly at your admonition. “And low and behold, you gave yourself thirty minutes’ time to line up early because when I checked the schedule Makoto Shinkai had a panel on ‘The Otaku’s Perspective on Romantic—”

“Alright alright, I get it.” Jungkook slumps in his seat, as comfy as it can get with your legs draped around him and a seat at the far end of the plane. You know he’s trying to hide a blush, and you feel proud for making him a little flustered. “You’re lucky I’m a fast reader.” 

The plane ride goes relatively fast, with Jungkook asking quick questions about your family and other random things. It’s like playing a game of 20 Questions, instead it’s the final boss battle with 200 questions and if he doesn’t get them all right, the penalty is deportation. 

When you land, you’re both stiff and glazed over. Once you exit the terminal, Jungkook ditches you for the bathroom and says he’ll meet you at the luggage pickup. You give yourself a few moments, gearing yourself up for the long week ahead of you. At the luggage pickup, you see a tall man watch the revolving conveyor belt with interest. Either that, or he’s zoning out. 

“Joonie!” you cry, nearly dropping your phone upon seeing your big brother. He’s dressed comfortably in a grey sweat ensemble, as if he rolled out of bed and came straight to the airport. 

A bright grin takes over his face, and he doesn’t hesitate to smush your body against his. Under his tall frame you sway, your toes barely swiping the ground. “You’re alive!” he cheers, pulling back and holding your shoulders to get a real look at you. “I can see you’ve gained a little weight, eyes are a little dark, but I’m glad the Devil let you go. I still can’t forgive him for making you skip out on Jin’s wedding.” 

You don’t appreciate the way that Namjoon picks and prods at your exhaustion, but you know he means well. While he does not know your boss by face and name, he had enough artilerary from the billions of phone calls to learn about the Devil and the havoc he’s wreaked upon your life.

When you don’t respond he gets the cue that you do not want to talk about work this week, and he smacks his lips together. “But nothing a little R&R can’t fix! The ski resort nearby has a really nice outdoor jacuzzi and we could set an appointment for facials if you’d like. Or we could do absolutely nothing and turn into baked potatoes and watch movies until our eyes burn up.” 

“Both would be great,” you smile softly, catching two familiar suitcases make their rounds on your flight’s conveyor belt. You grab your pink luggage with one hand, and Jungkook’s black chrome one with your other. 

“So, where’s the new beau?” Namjoon rocks back and forth on his heels, hoping to get a glimpse of the mystery boy you mentioned you’d be bringing as of two days ago. 

“He really had to go to the bathroom,” you squint your eyes to make out the newcomers exiting the dropoff area. “Oh, there he is. Kook!” 

Like a goddamn model, he struts in your field of vision like nobody’s business. Unlike you who stayed in your apartment all day before leaving, Jungkook decided to spend a few hours at Big Hit in the morning to tie up most of the loose ends before your trip. He’s talking to what you assume to be is a client, noting the way his brow furrows as he clutches his phone with a tight hold. He’s changed out of his tie and leather oxfords, but he’s dressed crisply in a dark button up and blazer ensemble, still wholly overdressed for a family reunion. 

Namjoon starts behind you, “He looks...” 

“Handsome?” you goad, elbowing him, “Charismatic? Undeniable presence?” 

“Hard.” 

You don’t know what to make of that adjective, and you subtly shrink further in your jacket as you mull over the implications of his word choice. 

Jungkook steps up to the two of you, ending his call. His eyes float between you and your brother, and he manages to put two and two together. “Hey man,” Jungkook gives a practiced smile, extending a hand. “I’m Jungkook, I’ve heard lots of things about you.” 

“Good things, I hope.” Namjoon chuckles, returning the handshake. “I’ve heard absolutely nothing about you, though. Can’t wait to get to know you this week.” 

“Looking forward to it,” Jungkook takes his luggage and Namjoon grabs yours, leading you two out to his minivan. While Namjoon is preoccupied with getting the car started, Jungkook looks at you as if he’s already regretting making the trip down. “This girl has two braincells to her name. I just got off the phone with Sorn’s publicist.” 

“What trouble can an influencer do?” you reply in disbelief. 

“Exactly, influencing is the trouble,” he pinches the bridge of his nose, “she did some mukbang and now she’s in the hospital for food poisoning.” 

“Ah, don’t get too worked up,” you help him lug your suitcases in the trunk. You spot Namjoon subtly eyeing you two from the rear mirror. Pressing a thumb between his brows, you make work to melt away the 11-shaped stress lines on his forehead. “Let’s just send her a Lush gift basket and she’ll be fine.” 

You ignore the way Jungkook’s gaze lingers on you longer than needed, running over to your seat at shotgun. 

The inside of his car smells like bergamot and lemon, and the sweet, vulnerable side of you wants to cry over how much you’ve missed your brother’s scent. It’s been way too long. 

Once you’re all safely in the car and driving Namjoon says, “So, are you going to hide the engagement ring or give the family a collective heart attack?” 

You tense, hands automatically floating to the teardrop diamond weighing heavily on your ring finger. The story that you two contrived about your relationship isn’t too complicated, but complex enough that it seems convincing. Instead of being your boss, Jungkook is your Literary Agent who gives you referrals to new and upcoming authors. You working closely together and bonding over the stresses of the publishing world, have kept a secret relationship under wraps for over a year to avoid any unprofessionalism or favoritism. 

“I was thinking about that the whole ride, actually,” you twirl the metal back and forth, watching it gleam in the light. “Mom and dad know, but I don’t wanna lie to the rest of my family. They’ll freak out because it’s the first time they’re meeting Kook and we’re already engaged. It’s just a location thing, y’know. You guys don’t live in the city so we’ve never had a chance to really talk it out.” 

Namjoon snorts, “Or, because your boss never gives you a break.” 

If Jungkook finds any offense, he doesn’t show it. Putting what should be a comforting hand on your shoulder, he says from the back seat, “I already told you babe, do what makes you comfortable. But I don’t want to lie to your parents early on, you don’t wanna make the situation any more complicated.” 

In other words, you better tell them about our engagement because Taeyeon could be hiding in the bushes waiting to catch us. 

“Smart man,” Namjoon says shortly, but you can’t tell whether it’s a compliment or not. 

“Yeah,” you exhale, turning to smile stiffly at Jungkook, “no use hiding the inevitable, right?” 

The next couple hours are overwhelming. There’s a party right when you walk in your winter villa, your parents throwing you a reunion party (not for your family, but for you specifically because you’ve been MIA since Big Hit) with the house filled to the brim with family members. Within seconds your favorite cousin checks out the rock on your finger and screams that you’re engaged. 

Everyone must be so high off the fact that you’ve made it to a family event that they’re elated you have a life outside of work. Jungkook is treated like a prince, charming the hell out of all your aunties and baby cousins. 

“Oh, pumpkin!” your auntie squeals, linking arms with you while you’re trying to eat your dinner, “I just hugged your fiancé, and he has abs! Lucky you!” 

“Auntie,” you hiss playfully, “you hugged him that tight?” 

“He’s part of the family, isn’t he?” 

“Right,” you force a smile, downing your glass of champagne. The bubbles burn your throat pleasantly. 

“Babe, can you come here for a second?” Jungkook manages to swim his way through the throng in the living room, holding out a hand for you, “your mom said that our room is ready, care to lead the way?” 

His smile, as pretty as you can care to admit, renders your aunt speechless, and she lets him whisk you away to a long hallway that leads to a set of bedrooms. Jungkook lets go of your hand as soon as you're alone, letting his palm run along the pictures that decorate your hallway. 

He stops at a picture of you and Namjoon as kids, faces tanned and lips cherry red from your twin popsicles melting on your hands. “Wow,” Jungkook pretends to be alarmed, “I didn’t know you used to be cute, what happened?” 

“Shut up,” you smack his hand away, walking ahead of him. 

“I thought you guys reserved a bunch of houses, why does the furniture look worn and there’s pictures of you everywhere?” 

“Our extended family has reserved houses, but this is actually my family’s vacation home. I used to go here every winter and summer break,” you reach a bedroom in the corner of the hall, smiling at your wooden name tag hanging on the front, “this is my old room.” 

It certainly doesn’t have that youthful charm it once had, but there are still bits of your childhood scattering the room. There’s ticket stubs and photobooth strips tacked to a corkboard near your desk. Books that you would reread cover to cover are organized proudly on your shelf, worn for wear. 

Jungkook groans in relief, plopping his body down on your freshly made bed. “Your family’s really clingy.” he sighs, throwing an arm over his eyes. 

You turn to give him a snappy answer, but it dies in your throat when you see what he’s laying on. The familiar family quilt sinks under Jungkook’s weight, mocking you. You shriek, throwing your arms over to lug his body to the other side of the bed. Bundling up the quilt in your arms, you glare at a very appalled Jungkook. 

“The hell is wrong with you, woman!” he cries, not loud enough to escape the room, but enough to have your body vibrate in annoyance. 

“Jeon, they put the fucking baby blanket in my room,” you mutter more to yourself than him, folding it under your arms. 

The blanket is comfy in your grasp and you’re sure it’s clean, but the fact that you weren’t actually married and in love made its appearance a whole lot worse. 

“So?” his eyes are wide in confusion, “my mom still has my baby blanket too, I’m not gonna shoot anyone because of it.” 

“It’s not my baby blanket,” you admonish, “it’s the baby maker blanket. A weird family tradition when someone gets engaged.”

“Which means?” 

“They’re expecting us to fuck and have children.” 

The thought of procreating and starting a family with you must’ve caused all the champagne to return to his throat, and he looks a little pale. “I think I’m gonna be sick.” he lies back down on your mattress, and you leave him be so you can chuck the blanket back in your parents’ room. 

You’re barely out the door when a young man is waiting out in the hallway for you, poised to knock. “Hey, baby girl.” they throw you an easy lopsided grin, opening their arms to you. 

In your haste, you slam your bedroom door a little too loudly. “Yoongi!” You let yourself sink into his waiting arms, reveling in the familiar embrace you missed so much. Yoongi is Namjoon’s best friend and work buddy, not to mention the man you’ve had a crush on since you were able to walk. While you can safely say at this moment there is nothing serious going on, a small part of you always wishes there could be. 

His voice husks in your ear, “Why are we hugging in between the baby blanket?” 

“Oh!” you brush past him, opening the door to your parents’ room and flinging the offending item as far into their room as possible. “Sorry, Jungkook and I were a little freaked out when we saw it. We’re definitely not thinking about children right now.” 

“Jungkook,” he hums, and your smile falters just a tad when you see the way Yoongi tips his head down in thought, “It was quite the news. Congrats though.” 

You want to say what you’re supposed to say, that yes, you should be happy. But the selfish part of you does not want this exchange between you and Yoongi to be happening. When you get your quickie divorce in a year, the small, hopeful part of you hopes you and Yoongi could be something. 

Before you have a chance to fabricate a response, strong hands encircle your waist, and you feel Jungkook’s chin digging into your shoulder. 

“Thanks, man,” Jungkook’s voice rumbles, “we really appreciate it.” 

Yoongi gives a nod, muttering something about catching up later before he walks back to the party. 

It’s then that Jungkook’s weight feels impossibly heavy on your shoulders. “You know, you’ve been doing a really shitty job of being my wife-to-be ever since we landed,” Jungkook whispers, feather soft lips dusting across the shell of your ear. It’s an act so intimate you can imagine your family passing down the hallway could be mistaking you two for speaking unthinkable acts. A toddler cousin spots you two and giggles, babbling something to your uncle about how you’re hugging. “You did so well when we were with Taeyeon and Big Hit.” 

“It’s not the same when I’m lying to my family,” you turn to face him, equally simmering. “These are people that actually love and care for me, unlike you.” 

“At least I care about what’s most important,” he grits back, “our jobs, our futures. Is that not enough for you to keep it in your pants?” 

“Excuse me? You don’t even know him!” 

“I don’t have to know him because I’m holding you right now and you’re practically sweating through your cardigan.” he grimaces, digging his chin further into your collarbone, literally trying to get under your skin. “Your face looks like a cherry tomato.” 

You turn your head to bite back, your noses touching. The staring contest seems to last for days. Unlike Jungkook who doesn't know how to register basic human emotion, you still have hopes for a life after this. Before you have a chance to answer, your favorite cousin enters the hallway, oblivious to your concerns. Jimin’s red all over, passing you two flutes of blush champagne. “Hurry up, we’re making speeches!” 

Champagne is overflowing like Niagara, and you and Jungkook are the reason for it as you’re thrusted into the living room. Your weird uncle is in the middle of a long-winded speech about his fishing business and how dreams are made from ‘bait and a dream’. You make eye contact with him, and he gestures wildly to you and Jungkook. 

The crowd proceeds to go wild, echoes of speech! Speech! Reverberating throughout your living room. You and Jungkook share uneasy smiles, unsure of where to go with this show. 

Deciding it’s your family by blood, you start first. “Honestly, when I moved to New York I wasn’t expecting to feel so lonely,” you clutch your flute with both hands, swirling your drink absentmindedly. You then turn to Jungkook, giving him a tender smile which he returns back just as fondly. “Until I met Jungkook. I’m really happy that I get to share this week with the people I love the most, so let's drink to family!” 

Jungkook lifts his glass, “Thank you for the warm welcome, I can’t wait to spend time with all of you. This is my first Christmas with a large, loving family. Cheers to that!” 

The room erupts in cheers, allowing themselves to clink glasses and chase down their respective drinks. Even the little ones crowding the kiddie table in the back are enjoying their apple juice while making silly faces at the new couple. 

Jungkook weaves his arm between yours, and you get the signal to do a couples’ drink. He eyes you with mischief, as if to say we did it. After you two take your drink, Jimin’s the first to drunkenly yell, “Ohmygod just kiss already!” 

“Kiss kiss kiss!” 

“This is going on my story so make it good!” 

“Kiss him before I do!” 

“Oh my god,” you groan, throwing your forehead on Jungkook’s chest. Your family really is something else. 

As if the chants can’t get any louder, it’s hard to focus on anything but Jungkook’s presence. Jungkook lifts your chin up, murmuring, “Let’s give the people what they want.” and he presses his lips to yours. 

It’s awkward at first. Why wouldn’t it be, you’re making out with your boss, in front of your family, pretending to be engaged. But Jungkook doesn’t let up, parting your lips slightly to deepen the kiss. As much as you want to make up how terrible and disgusting kissing Jungkook is, it really isn’t. His lips are soft and he tastes like the peach champagne, and his grip on your waist is strong and warm. 

He leaves you breathless when you pull away, a smirk on his lips for a brief moment before he turns shyly to your family who are probably foaming at the mouth now. 

Maybe it’s the champagne coursing through your veins, but why does it suddenly feel so hot in the middle of winter? 

The first day back starts off wholly uneventful, with Jungkook working on some manuscripts and you preparing dinner with Jimin. Most of your family is on the resort hitting the slopes, so you’re quite thankful for the reprieve since the party was so overwhelming. The blonde is all smiles as he bumps the oven closed with his leg, letting your lasagna bake to perfection. 

“I’ve missed you so much,” Jimin rests his head on your shoulder, “it’s definitely not the same when we’re adults. Frankly, it sucks balls.” 

“Big balls,” you agree, gnawing on a leftover baguette from last night. 

“Speaking of big balls,” Jimin wiggles his brows as you attempt to move farther from him.

“Please don’t say it.” 

“C’mon! Just tell me if the sex is good!” 

“No!” you cry, flicking your crumbs at him. 

“I will open this oven,” his hands are already on the handle, “and your dish will undercook.” 

“Don’t you dare!” he opens the oven a tad, and you slam your hand down. “Fine! The sex is fantastic, happy?” 

“Ewh, no!” The storm door swings open, revealing Namjoon, Yoongi, and Lisa, Namjoon’s lady friend. “I didn’t need to hear that, thanks.” 

Your face looks absolutely pained as you watch the two older men walk in. They were the last people you’d ever want to share about your sex life too, even if it is fake. You can only bear to look properly at Lisa as they kick off their boots and shake the snow off their heads. Lisa pokes her tongue in her cheek, looking at you with a wild look in her eyes. “I’ve heard so much about your current drama. Can’t wait to hear the 411 from you, though.” 

Yoongi looks unfazed, then again you never really know what’s going on in his head. “You guys wanna go to a movie tonight?” Yoongi asks, grabbing a slice of the baguette and dipping it in a dish of olive oil. “I think the one that’s showing is based on a book your company published.”

“Is it ‘Rotten Love’?” 

“That’s the one.” 

Pushing yourself off the counter, you nod eagerly. “I’ll go tell Jungkook to get ready. We can eat dinner real quick and then go right after,” you grab a bottle of water from the fridge, “Joonie, set up the table please.” 

Jungkook doesn’t notice you walk in, and you can hear the faint sound of Muse blasting from his Airpods. He’s on your floor, doing pushups while reading a transcript under him. This time he’s using your iPad, every few seconds taking a thumb to scroll down. Sweating through his shirt, you can see the beads running along his silver reading glasses. It’s completely contradictory, your muscle bunny of a boss getting in his reps while psychoanalyzing a potential novel, but somehow it works with him. 

“Maniac,” you mutter, bending down to place the cool water bottle on his cheek. He stops abruptly, like you’ve pressed the pause button on his seemingly robotic arms. Seriously, you can’t fathom how he manages to do both. You swipe the iPad under his body in place of a white towel, which he accepts gratefully. This isn’t the first time you’ve had to snap him out of it, sometimes you’d catch him at the company gym nearing 10PM, reading on the treadmill. 

“What time is it?” he asks, fluting the water bottle down his throat. 

Ignoring the way his neck glistens in sweat, you say, “It’s almost seven. C’mon, we’re gonna eat dinner and watch a movie. You’ve cooped yourself up in this room all day, time to interact with the world.” 

“What movie?” 

“The book we published in 2018, ‘Rotten Love’? They made it into a movie,” and you can’t help the wry grin that takes over your face when you say your next words, “guess who directed it.” 

He sighs, rubbing the towel over his damp hair. The normally styled strands fall limply at his forehead. “I don’t remember, I shifted over that project to PR. Any director’s fine, but please please please don’t let it be—”

“Jung Hoseok!”

“Son of a bitch, we gotta go.” And it’s the first time in a while you see a genuine smile graze his features, one not laced with you and your marriage. It’s an old pastime for you both to get picky over Jung’s work. “I swear, he better not put his scenes all over the place like last time, I got whiplash.” 

After a quick dinner you all pile into Namjoon’s minivan, making your way to the theatre. The drive is fast, and before you know it you’re waiting in line to get inside. It seems that the PR between the film studio and Big Hit did a good job assisting, because there’s a sizable line despite being half an hour early. 

“So honey,” Lisa leans into you, squishing you further into Jungkook’s shoulder. “Did you like, help out with the publishing of this novel? To be honest I don’t even know what your job is,” Lisa admits with a shrug, “you’re not a glorified coffee girl, are you?” 

“No,” her mixed enthusiasm never fails to stump you, “Ah, but I really didn’t do much in the production of ‘Rotten Love’,” you reply easily, relaxing into Jungkook as he moves to drape an arm around your shoulder. “I just told my boss to sign some documents n’stuff. It’s really nothing—”

“Babe, are you kidding? You ran the whole freakin’ project!” and you’re in shock, because for the first time in the history of ever, Jeon Jungkook is paying you a real compliment. “It was her first assignment when she got hired as the big boss’ assistant. A lot of people in the office doubted her,” he squeezes your shoulder, “but not for one second did I doubt her, you could see how hard she worked to make it perfect. I heard the boss was really impressed, too.” 

You remember that period of time. Jungkook made you dive headfirst into the publishing for ‘Rotten Love’, letting you sink or swim in his decision for keeping you employed. After a full month of meetings, negotiations, and debating whether you should have caffeine IV’ed in your body to save time on eating, you got Jungkook’s evaluation. You remember the stoicism in Jungkook’s frame as he surmised your work, throwing you a flippant “it’s decent” before sending you off to do more work. 

Relief flooded your system after those two simple words, because that meant you had a chance and you could keep your job. But this? If what he’s saying is true, you’re on Cloud 9. 

“Awh, thanks Kook.” you squeeze his arm, letting your fingers trail down to lace your fingers with his. 

Lisa’s face is all scrunched, and she doesn’t hesitate to stretch over you to smush Jungkook’s cheek between her two fingers. Her blue nails dig into his soft skin. “I like him, honey. Keep him, he’s so cute.” 

She leaves you alone after that, skipping over to bother Namjoon about buying an extra bucket of popcorn. 

“At first I was nervous having you near my family for a week,” you say brightly, rubbing a thumb over his hand, “but I kinda like seeing you try so hard to not rip other people’s heads off.” 

He puffs out his cheeks in an attempt to soothe the stinging. “Could be worse, I could be engaged to Karen.” 

With that you laugh, loud enough to turn heads and have Jimin and Lisa send you adoring looks. Jungkook sends you a nervous smile, the one that he’d always send you during team meetings when he was unsure of how to respond to something. Instead of giving him a smart answer, you get on your tiptoes to pat his reddened cheek. “But she’s right, you are kinda cute when you wanna be.” 

Instead of replying, he squeezes your hand tighter to lead you inside. 

Everything is smooth sailing after that. You, Jimin and Yoongi are saving the seats while Jungkook, Lisa and Namjoon are getting the refreshments. Jimin is prattling on about a new job interview and you’re listening attentively, while Yoongi shoots off advice every time Jimin says he’s nervous. 

Yoongi looks past Jimin to give you that gummy smile that always made your chest ache. “Chim, remember when she applied to work at Jamba Juice?” 

“Oh my god,” Jimin giggles, clutching your arm. “When you had to do a trial run in front of the manager? You forgot to put the lid on the blender and you sprayed the staff with green juice?” 

“The stains took forever to get out,” you pouted. “And I didn’t appreciate the snaps you saved of me. I got nervous because you were recording me!” 

“Am I hearing some juicy details about your childhood?” Jungkook appears, passing a huge tub of buttery popcorn to Yoongi. 

“Emphasis on juice,” Yoongi says tartly, popping a handful of kernels in his mouth. 

“Yes, do you wanna see a picture of your fiancé covered in green juice? She wore a low-cut shirt that day so it got deep, man.” Jimin says, using his hands to gesture obscenely to his own chest. 

You’re mortified, and you push down Jimin’s phone and cover whatever receipts he has on you. “Jimin, I’d like to stay engaged, if you don’t mind?” 

Your not-so-favorite cousin cackles in response, telling Jungkook that they’ll talk later. 

“Here,” Jungkook cooly hands you a King-Sized KitKat. 

“Awh,” you marvel, immediately opening the wrapper, “you actually read my notes and found out what my favorite candy was?” 

He scoffs, dark bangs blowing up. “Who doesn’t like KitKats?” but you’re giving him the look, and he sighs, “C’mon babe, just gimmie a break.” 

“Ha-ha,” but you break off a piece anyway, lifting it to Jungkook’s lips. It’s then that the theatre starts to dim, and the telltale signs of the movie begin. “Ready to rip Jung Hoseok to shreds?” 

“Always.” 

Barely fifteen minutes pass and Jungkook is spreading his legs. You’re about to kick him before he leans in to whisper, “They made Renee too dull,” he sighs in disappointment, as if he sincerely had high hopes they’d bring the novel to justice. “I mean, I get it, in the novel she’s supposed to be a plain Jane. But she isn’t grey.” 

“Right?” you lean into Jungkook, throwing your legs over his thighs like you’re back at the airport. This isn’t out of intimacy, you think to yourself, you just need to be close enough to Jungkook so you don’t disturb the other patrons with your talking. “She’s either a bad actress or they messed up her character. I really got upset when I read this part, but it’s kinda bland on the screen.” 

As much as you love Jimin, you know he’s not going to get your over-criticality over the media. Yoongi and Namjoon are on the other end of the row, but they wouldn’t be too pleased having you gab over the movie because you’re too much of an aficionado. Jungkook is the only one who can tête-à-tête, or in this case, Kit-a-Kat with you. 

You sigh into his shoulder, inhaling his clean scent. “Let’s pray Jung didn’t completely butcher the chapter where Kenzo reflects on his penniless journey.” 

“I’ll leave the theatre right then and there if that happens, care to join me?” 

“Already out the door, bossman.” 

Jungkook looks away from the screen briefly, reaching forward to take an obnoxiously big bite of the KitKat in your hand. You stifle a giggle, and before you can soak up his cheeky grin he’s already looking back at the movie. 

You wonder what Jungkook is like outside of work, if he has that side to him. A little part of you wishes that this playfulness he’s exuding is real. Not to your fake marriage, but a playfulness he can execute to a person that he really likes. Two days out of the office and you’re starting to see that Jungkook has the capabilities to enjoy life, however simple it may be. 

The movie is finished in a blur, and you and Jungkook are still bickering over the intricacies of the film compared to the novel. The night air is cold and burns your cheeks, reminding you exactly how late you’ve been out.

“Well, I thought the romance was so boring!” Lisa blurted, wanting an in. Her lime green ski jacket glares in your vision, and you move away from her immediately. “No one cheated on each other, there was no drama, or evil best friend!” 

“Whoa there,” and you see the little fire in Jungkook’s eyes, one you’ve learned early on to stay away from when you spent hours in his office debating over manuscripts and plotlines. He stares down at Lisa, really stares down. “You think every romance needs some sort of internalized conflict for it to be good? Why can’t they just grow and learn from the external conflict together? It’s literally useless for them to break up over and over just—”

And that’s your cue to walk ahead of them, because while you did agree with Jungkook, you’ve heard this debate one too many times. Ever the closet-romantic at heart. You hope Lisa doesn’t lose her patience and punch him out. 

“Hey,” you feel a hand pat your hair, and you look up at Yoongi. He looks absolutely fluffy in his long puffy jacket, and he matches your steps with his. “Do I look ugly tonight, or something? I feel like we barely exchanged two sentences with each other.” 

“What, never!” you chastise, “you always look good, Yoongi. And we have the whole week to catch up, remember?”

“Really, then why don’t we go out in two days to pick out a tree for your house? Joon and I are planning on going.” 

“I would love to go pick a tree!” you exclaim, “the last time we got a tree together was when your brother had to lift.” 

“Great,” and he pats your head again, but this time his hand lingers to finger the ringlets of your hair. “It’ll be just like old times, baby girl. I’ll pick you up at 9.” 

Unbeknownst to the both of you, Jungkook’s argument ended minutes ago and he’s mulling over a new type of internal conflict. 

“Owie, ow, ow—fuck you! Ow!” 

“Well if you just hold still,” Jungkook grimaces, taking his turns with both hands to simultaneously wipe the injury with a cloth and then pressing the affected area with an ice bag. 

“Buh ih hurths!” your voice is muffled by the cloth, stained red with freshly bloomed blood. 

The ski lodge started off great. You enjoyed a fabulous beligan waffle breakfast courtesy of Jimin’s parents, and then made the trek to the slopes. You’ve been here dozens of times, so you didn’t feel an inclination to gravitate to any of the fancy schmancy sports. You were fine playing shuffleboard inside, but your inner youth complained that it’s the holidays and you should be getting out more.

Jimin and Jungkook (who claimed he hasn't snowboarded since he was 16 yet he’s doing tricks like a goddamn Olympian) were shredding on the slopes while Namjoon and Lisa were skiing on a smaller hill. You and Yoongi watched safely from the lift, riding it like a kiddie attraction. You must’ve taken the lift at least ten times, complaining about how you’re both too lazy to function and you could really use a hot chocolate and a fireplace. 

After the fifteenth time on the lift, legs numb, you stumble over with heavy boots to where Lisa and Namjoon were waiting for Jimin and Jungkook. They wanted to walk around more and see if they could try a more difficult slope. 

While you were waiting, you had to admit that Jungkook did kind of cool all decked out in his gear. A competitive, playful smile was easily reflected in his gaze despite his helmet and goggles. 

That slight admiration is knocked right off your feet when Jungkook speeds by way too close for comfort and you’re in his path. Jimin had already slowed next to your friends and family, looking at you in anticipated horror.

It’s far too late, and despite the fact that Jungkook manages to pull your body to his while you wipe out, your face crashes into his helmet and you taste metal. 

Mildly disoriented from the impact, Jungkook’s muffled string of curses nurse you back to a decent consciousness as he tries to carry you to the lodge.

“Holy shit, I got that on camera!” Jimin cries, gesturing to the Go-Pro nestled in his helmet. 

So now you’re in pain and it’s all Jungkook’s fault. Your bottom lip is split, and the burn on your face won’t go away. 

You watch as Jungkook dotes on you, his bangs pushed up everywhere due to his grey goggles haphazardly being propped upon his forehead. His pink tongue sticks out as he concentrates on not getting blood on your sweater. It’s just you and him that are stuck around in the lodge after you got pummeled, standing by the fire while everyone else continues on with the fun. 

“Why were you over there anyway, in the middle of the slope?” he scolds. 

“It was the slow down zone, Jeon. You were the only one not slowing down, you speed demon.” 

“Sorry,” he says gruffly, pressing a little too hard with the ice and you wince. He lets up and presses the cloth to your lips to soak up the moisture.

“Did you say something?” 

“I said, I’m sorry.” 

You sigh dramatically, “I wish I had a camera to save that shitty excuse of an apology.” 

“Speaking of cameras,” he shucks his phone out of his pocket, handing it to you. “Jimin uploaded the video.” 

That man, you don’t know where he has the means to quickly upload and edit things, but if it’s for the ‘Gram, it’s worth it to Jimin. You open Instagram and immediately click on @chimmyboi’s story, immediately wincing as the first few seconds reveal the brunt of the impact. He should really put a disclaimer before uploading content. 

The tumble between you and Jungkook doesn’t look so bad, but it’s when you get up does it look gnarly. Your chin is dribbling in red liquid, and Jungkook’s throwing off his helmet and goggles in a panic. 

He makes a half-assed snowball where you’re lying on the ground, pressing it against your mouth. With his other hand he pulls you into a sitting position, not caring that you’re staining his clothes as he hauls you on his body. 

“Ohmygod,” you splutter, trying not to move your lips, “I look like I got decked with a hockey puck.” 

“It wasn’t that bad, don’t be a baby.” Jungkook sees the piecing glare you give him, and he sighs. “Okay, it looked pretty bad. I was a little worried back there, but now the bleeding pretty much stopped and holy shit—stop smiling! You’re making it open up further!” 

“You were worried?” 

“Shut up.” 

The ice bag is watery and not doing much anymore, but Jungkook still insists to cool your face down. You lift a hand to his cold ones, attempting to take the bag and cloth from his grasp. 

“You should go board with Jimin and the rest of them. I can take care of this.” 

“It’s fine,” he reasons, reaching for the ice bag but you hold on tighter. 

“C’mon, I know the only thing you were looking forward to this entire trip was going snowboarding. I’m a big girl, I can be alone for an hour or two.” 

Jungkook locks his jaw, gnawing at his cheek as he mulls on his decision. “Wouldn’t I look like a bad partner if I leave you?”

“Nah, this has happened before. Almost always someone gets injured on the trip. Last time something like this happened I was eight and I got five stitches on my leg. This is nothing. You’re fine.” 

“But still.” 

“Fine, you wanna make it up to me?” 

You scan the room for any ideas, and it settles on a trio of girls huddled by the register of the built-in café. They’re pretty snow bunnies, decked out in sweater dresses and fur lined boots. They remind you a little of The Powerpuff Girls, all in pastels and attached to the hip. Their gaze has taken hostage in Jungkook’s frame, blatantly ignoring the fact that majority of his attention is directed towards you. You wonder why you haven’t noticed them sooner, because now the staring is getting borderline discomforting. 

Slipping off his goggles with your free hand, you gesture subtly to the girls. “They think you’re hot. Go flirt with them a little and get me a free drink, I’m sure they’ll pay for you.” 

He doesn’t understand the correlation, “Why would I do that?” 

You shrug, separating the strands of hair that stick to his forehead. “Lisa and Namjoon do it all the time when they go clubbing. They compete and pretend they’re single for like two hours, and then they keep a tally of how many people offer to buy them a drink.” 

“That is completely different, but I’m open to trying it when we get back to the city.” he acknowledged briefly, getting up from his crouching position. “I got a better idea.” 

Puzzled, you watch him saunter over to the register. Like bees to the honey, the girls follow Jungkook with their eyes, watching him exaggeratedly mull over the menu. 

He spares the slightest of head inclinations to the drooling trio, “Hello ladies.” The smile is not flirtatious, but kind. 

You suppress a giggle, burying your chin in your scarf as you watch the whole interaction. You don’t even know why you asked Jungkook if he would flirt with those girls, as he kept most of his dates private over the years. You picture a college-aged Jungkook getting his daily breakfast on his way to class, ignoring the way his presence attracts heads. 

The barista hands Jungkook a tray filled with a plastic cup of ice, and a cup filled with something hot, and a chocolate croissant. He grabs a straw from a tray, stabbing it in the hot drink’s lid. 

“Excuse me,” one of the girls coquettishly puts her hands behind her back, puffing her chest out as she leans over Jungkook’s order. “The regular croissants actually taste better in my opinion.” 

“Well my wife’s had a hard day, so I think she deserves something sweet.” 

He doesn’t even turn around as he makes a beeline to where you’re seated on a loveseat, carefully placing the tray on the coffee table. 

“Your better idea was making them jealous?” you ask, unsure of his intentions. 

He shrugs, “College-Jungkook always wanted to show off his girlfriend like that, so indulge me for a second, alright?”

Rolling your eyes you reply, “My life is about indulging you. Don’t forget the trips I’ve made to the grocery store when your personal fridge was out of banana—”

“I thought I said we don’t speak of those hard times,” he cuts you off, “ever.”  

You stop him from filling up your ice bag with the ice he brought. “C’mon Jeon, you’re burning daylight out there. I got this. You’ve stalled enough, go have fun in the snow with Jimin, you adrenaline junkie.” 

He scrunches his nose, but relents when you throw him his jacket and goggles. Before he pulls on his gloves, he cups your face with both hands to pull you in a kiss. His hands are cold from the ice, gluing you in place in fear of him kissing you too hard. But it’s barely that, a brushing of lips so tender as he takes extra care with your open lip. 

“Is this also a self-indulgent request?” you pucker, “who knew there was a hormonal teenager under that editor-in-chief’s body.” 

His eyes flicker to the audience in the back, and you don’t need to look behind you to note that they’re glaring daggers in your head. It’s like you’re straight out of a rom-com. 

“You’re leaving me to the bunnies,” you say teasingly. 

“Then hurry up and get better so you can join us,” he taunts, “or else you can’t help me bury Jimin in the snow.” 

It’s a tempting offer that makes you down your drink so you can enjoy the rest of your day. 

Light seeps through your windows, rays kissing your eyelashes and willing them to open. You groan, hand splaying out to wake up Jungkook. When you find his space empty and cool, you sit up and search for your fake-fiancé. 

He’s on the floor, smack in the middle of his morning workout. Your iPad is under his body, and somehow he’s managed to find a setting where the document scrolls for him automatically. He’s not wearing his Airpods, so you rasp, “Jeon, you’re crazy. I get the morning workout, but you don’t have to look over any more transcripts. I think you’ve read enough for this week.” 

“It helps me ignore the burn,” he says shortly, and you see the ripples of his back flex with every push-up. “And I wouldn’t have to do so much reading if my assistant would just do her job.” 

“I already told you, I’m not working during my vacation.” you throw off the sheets, padding to your closet. “I’m going to pick the tree today. You should go to the mall with my mom and Jimin to pick out some new ornaments.” 

“What?” he gets up, and you ignore the perfect view of tight muscles decorating his abs. Exactly how long was he awake for to have sweat clinging to his shirt? You’re going to short-circuit and it’s barely 8:30. “But I wanna go help pick out the tree.” 

“You don’t have to do that, Joon and Yoongi got it.” 

“Yoongi, really? You think he can carry a tree?” 

“This isn’t a pissing contest, Jeon.” you settle on a burgundy Patagonia jacket and grey leggings. “Besides, Yoongi and I are just friends.”

“You sure about that, baby girl?” 

You whip around to poke at his chest, and you ignore how smug he looks. “Do not test me, Jeon. Like you said, I’m with you every step of the way in this marriage. I’m not going to jeopardize that over some childhood crush.” 

“Wow, your life is really turning into a Wattpad entry,” he admonishes, “fake-fiancé still pining over his older brother’s best friend, really high-qual stuff.” 

“I’m serious.” you grit, “I took a week off so I can get away from you and that was ruined, so I would like a little bit of space today.” 

And that gets Jungkook to back away. His face deflates a little, and you feel a little guilty for making him upset, but you stab that thought down and convince yourself that he deserves it. It’s not like he cares about you, he just wants to show off to the boys.

“Fine,” he turns around to put on a fresh shirt, and you almost notice the pout marrying his face. “You could’ve just told me you wanted space. I’m getting kind of tired of you too, you know.” 

He flops on the bed and you huff in reply, quickly throwing on your attire inside your closet while he watches a YouTube video. You check your phone, and at 8:59 a knock is at your door. Jungkook doesn’t bother to get up to answer, and you open the door to see a sleepy Yoongi with a paper cup in his hand. 

“An English breakfast with two sugars and a dash of milk, baby girl.” 

You mask your wince at the pet name. It hadn’t bothered you when you were young, but its starting to feel coddling now that Jungkook is making you hyper-aware of the attention. “Perfect,” you faux-beam, the hot beverage warm your fingers. 

“I’ll just warm up the car and—”

“Babeeeeee,”  the deepest, sexiest voice echoes from your bed and out in the hallway. He sounds absolutely tempting, and needy. You freeze at the way your boss can so easily pretend he’s exhausted and wanting you, “come back to bedddddd. I’m not done with you yet.” 

Yoongi’s ears are red, “Aaand, I’ll let you finish whatever business you have.” 

The older man bolts out of there, and you snap your head back to look at an innocent Jungkook. He tilts his head at your bout of anger. 

“You know, I have half a mind to fling this tea down your shirt.” 

“What?” he looks at you like a child caught with a hand in the cookie jar. “He can’t be the only one who can call you baby.” 

Honestly, you didn’t mean to lash out on Jungkook like that. You did need to put up a face as you were each other's significant others, but it doesn’t mean you have to be together all the time. To top it all off you’ve been feeling weird as of late, and you can only attribute these terrible feelings to a certain brunet who’s been sleeping in your bed. 

But you pin these feelings for another time, because you need to enjoy what little quality time you have with your brother. 

“Hey, whaddya think of this one?” It's just you and Namjoon picking the tree, and Yoongi’s sitting in the cabin keeping warm. He said to call him once you’ve decided, since it is your house. 

“Hm, it’s fine.” you shrug, inhaling the pine. “Maybe a little too tall.” 

Namjoon nods, and you follow him to the next row of greenery. He’s been pensive this whole time, and you have a feeling he’s hiding something. Surrounded by pine and the fresh winter air he says, “Hey, I just wanna say sorry.” 

“Why, did you like that tree over there? I don’t mind it, we can go back!” 

“What, no? I’m sorry for being weird around Jungkook.” 

“Huh?” sure, you noticed the weird language and terseness he gave Jungkook initially, but you chalked it out as big brother issues. 

You two continue to walk around the forest aimlessly, not really tree hunting. 

“I was just upset that the engagement was so sudden,” Namjoon starts, and you feel the guilt start to set camp in your stomach. “And I don’t know, at first he just didn’t seem like your type? I always thought you wanted to date someone gentle, someone you could hold and depend on. He looked so serious, and maybe a little immature.”

“He is a little immature,” you agree softly, digging your boots in the snow, “but I don’t love him any less because of it. We’re growing together.” Shit, why was that so easy for you to say? 

“Figured,” and Namjoon stops to place a hand on your shoulder, “I see the way he looks at you, and you can’t fake love like that.” 

Namjoon’s admonition is so convincing that you almost convince yourself that it is something. 

Something is bothering Jungkook, and he doesn’t know why. 

It’s not the billions of charges he made on his credit card for new ornaments, because it simultaneously inflated his ego and impressed your mom. 

It’s not the way Jimin hangs onto his every word and doesn’t let up, because it is refreshing to have your cousin find a genuine interest in him. 

Jungkook, Jimin and your mom have been taking laps around the mall for the past hour. They’ve floated around here and there, picking out whatever catches their eye for the tree. 

Jimin’s in the middle of explaining the Jamba Juice story when a glimmering window display catches his eye. 

“Hun, have you not bought her a present yet?” your mom says over his shoulder. 

“No,” he exhales, embarrassed that he just admitted he didn’t think of getting you anything in front of your mom. “She doesn’t ask for anything, really.” Besides her book published, a raise, and a potential promotion as editor, but they didn’t need to know that much. 

“Good thing you’re with the right people!” Jimin cheers, ushering him into the jewelry store. 

Funny enough, he knows exactly what to get you. Once he points it out, Jimin and your mom “ooh” and “aah” respectively, agreeing that what he chose was perfect. If you had asked Jungkook a week ago what kind of jewlery you like, he’d give you a dumb look and say “something shiny.” But that’s what’s bothering him. He just walked right into the store, saw what was right, and everything just clicked. 

Jungkook pins that thought for later, because once their shopping is done they’re back at your villa, arranging the ornaments and detangling the lights that have been holed up in the closet for eleven months. 

Jimin and he are sitting on the living room floor, stabbing thread through popcorn. He really only saw this craft in the movies, and the small part of him is amazed that you and your family go through the hard work to make your holidays so warm. 

Your mom appears from her bedroom, clutching something in her hand. She sits in front of Jungkook, a huge smile on her face. 

“Before you say anything,” and it strikes him how similar you are to your mother. There’s that tone he always receives before he gets new news, or the way you’re eager to share something that will make him happy. “I don’t want you to think this is a luxurious gift or anything. But I realized that you don’t have a wedding band so I went through my old cases and found this.” 

She opens her palm slowly, revealing a simple black band. 

Jungkook’s lips part to form words, but his vocal cords betray him. At first glance, this ring could’ve been mistaken for one of Jimin’s plentiful rings adorning his fingers. Upon closer inspection however, Jungkook notes that this band is thinner and more worn. The metal looks strong and old, the slight scratches and faded color revealing that it was a well-loved piece of jewelry. 

Your mom is offering Jungkook a wedding band. 

“If you don’t like it, that’s okay!” your mom says quickly, nerves radiating because of Jungkook’s silence. “It was my grandfather’s. Don’t feel as if you have to accept it. It’s not a wedding band persay, but I think it matches and it looks about your size and we didn’t get you a Christmas gift so—”

“It’s perfect.” Jungkook tells her firmly, sending him a tight-lipped smile. “Thank you, I guess we kind of rushed the engagement so I didn’t think of getting a band of my own.” 

Your mother is grateful, dropping the ring in Jungkook’s awaiting palm. “I think my daughter should be the one who puts it on you, don’t you think?” 

“Right,” he echoes, and he just stares at the ring in his hand, feeling weird in his chest. He can’t remember the last time someone put this much thought in getting him something this significant. He can’t accept this ring, but he can’t refuse it either. “I could never find something with this much value from a little shop in New York, so thank you.” 

“Oh, and while we’re on the topic of New York,” Jimin puts down his completed popcorn wreath, “y/n said she already put in her off days for Easter, so you should too. It’ll be at my place this year, and I live by an indoor skydiving zone. She mentioned you’re an adrenaline junkie.” 

“She also mentioned that your birthday’s in September.” your mom pops in, “We were thinking we could take Friday off and stop by for the weekend. I’ve always wanted to see Hamilton!” 

Jungkook knows they’re trying to cheer him up. They’re trying to make him feel part of the family, feel wanted. But he can’t remember the last time he’s felt wanted unless it’s for a book deal or a business exchange. It’s been so long since he’s felt this warm, and he didn’t realize how much he yearned for it until he proposed to you.

“Hey man,” Jimin puts an arm around his trembling shoulders, “are you alright?” 

“Fine,” he’s crying, and doing a shit job at hiding the tears. “It’s alright, I just,” he can’t even find the strength to get up and walk away from this. Is it pathetic that he’s breaking down in the comfort of your cousin and mom, starved for affection? “I just, I miss my family. It’s just the four of us, but they’re all the way in Korea and it’s been awhile since I’ve really celebrated anything with them. They visit sometimes but it’s not the same, y’know? And work is so stressful but I’m not in a position to say that. And your family is just so, so nice and it makes me miss them even more. You’re all so lucky to support each other like this.” 

Jimin and your mom sandwich him like an Oreo. It’s almost funny, how two smaller humans are comforting this big human and not the other way around. “Poor baby, it’s your family too.” 

Pathetic. It’s pathetic how much he wishes to have a family like yours, but he can’t have that. 

“Can we please not tell y/n about this?” Jungkook wishes, leaning his head on your mom’s. “She’s going through a lot right now with work and stuff, I’d rather just talk to her about this after the holidays, if that’s okay.” 

“It’s quite alright, sweetheart,” your mom runs a hand through his hair, and his eyes automatically flutter closed, “just remember, your feelings matter too, okay?” 

You and Jungkook slip into bed at the same time, murmuring half-hearted “how was your days” and brief descriptions of your outings. It’s a little awkward considering the morning’s events, but not unbearable. 

“The tree smells really nice,” Jungkook tries, looking up from his phone. 

“Yeah, makes the whole room smell like Christmas.” 

“Yeah.”

“Did you have a good time shopping, find anything good?” 

“Yeah.”

“That’s nice.” 

[11:29] Jimin: hey, you know my room’s right next to yours right? 

[11:29] Jimin: we share a goddamn wall and im NOT hearing shit

[11:29] Jimin: are you putting that baby blanket to good use ;)

[11:30] You: YOU”REE DISGUSTING are we even family!!!!  Can i disown a first cousin?? 

[11:30] Jimin: i’m just sayin.. U said it was fantastic

You throw your phone away, letting it slide off to the mattress and onto the baby blanket. Yes, the baby blanket is unfortunately here to stay. Over the course of three days, the quilt is like a ball in a tennis match between you and your mother. You’ve given up and just kept it on the floor. 

“I have a question,” you say aloud, motioning to your bed partner. 

“Shoot.” 

“Was it true when you said I was the only girl you knew well enough to be your wife?”

“Of course, that’s why we’re here.” 

“I’m just wondering, because I really thought you could pick any girl in the office to be yours.” you stuff your hands under the covers, playing with your ring. “I mean, you’re kinda-sorta handsome. You could’ve picked someone just as pretty and they would have studied your whole life story for you.” 

Jungkook's phone falls in his lap, and he looks at you like you’ve lost a couple brain cells. “Normally, I would eat up the fact that you admitted I was attractive. But do you realize you’re just as beautiful, if not more?” 

What? 

“I know it’s unprofessional, but how professional can we get when we’re married, but you’re the whole package, y/n.” and he says it with such fervor, you can’t formulate a response. “I wouldn’t have wanted anyone else. No one else can take my shit and throw it right back in my face, or debate with me for hours on end about a novel’s direction. Only you can do that.” 

“I’m sorry,” you shake your head, “thanks, you’re right. I’m just clouded, and stressed. And Jimin’s being an ass and it’s really bothering me.” 

His chocolate eyes flicker in the darkness of your bedroom, making note of your phone on the floor. “What’d he say?” 

“It’s stupid, he said that he thinks it’s weird he hasn’t heard us bang all week,” you force a laugh, “it’s my fault though, he wouldn’t get off my back so I gave up and told him the sex was fantastic.” 

“Are you worried he’s unconvinced?” 

“A little, maybe? I don’t know.” you’re wrinkling your bedsheets now, turning the cotton into putty as your sweaty palms wring at the edge. 

“I don’t mind giving him a show.” Jungkook blurts, and you instinctively pull the covers closer to your chest, even though you’re fully clothed. 

“What, like fake moan into the wall?” 

“There are things you can do over the clothes,” he says matter-of-factly, pulling the sheet of his bedside down slightly. “And you just said you’re stressed. I’d be a bad fiancé to not let you relieve some of that tension.” 

Jungkook opens his arms and gestures for you to get on his lap. Your body is hot all over, and you can’t tell if it’s because you’re horrified or aroused. Maybe a little of both. 

“Are you kidding—you’re my boss!” 

“And we’re consenting adults!” he narrows his eyes at you, “don’t say you’ve never thought about it before.”

And the sick, twisted part of you has, a lot. There’s something about a man in a tailored suit and owning up to its power that’s really attractive. Not to mention all those times they’d be traveling for work, stumbling for a quick McDonald's bite at 12AM and he’d be dressed casually in tight black jeans and combat boots. The energy really kept you on your toes. 

“Wow, I really hate late-night talks. All the secrets come out, don’t they?” 

“If it makes you feel better, your ass looks great in pencil skirts,” you turn to him with flared eyes, “what? I’m just trying to let you know I mayhaps find you attractive.” 

“Mayhaps you should stop talking before I regret this.” 

His eyebrows lift and disappear from his bangs, the hair freshly dried and fluffy from his late night shower. He then pats his lap with a little blasé as if to say “hop on”, and you ignore the way how good the seat looks, his boxer briefs doing nothing to hide his unmentionables. 

Trying to fight alongside your last drop of dignity, you take your time. 

“C’mon y/n, don’t make it weird.” 

“It’s been weird, Jeon! Jimin’s next door!” you hiss, backing away slightly, “Give me some time, I can’t just hump my boss!” 

“You’re not humping your boss.” Jungkook has the audacity to grin, the expression looking absolutely sinful in the moonlight. “Think of it as your lover wanting to make you feel good.” 

The bridge between love and hatred is a fine, fine line stemmed by passion. 

Careful, you lift your blankets up and slip out of them, moving to sit up. It’s ridiculous, tiptoeing around your bed to avoid any sudden creaks in the aged wood of your mahogany headboard. 

“We’re out to prove to your family we fuck on the reg,” Jungkook snips, “you can make noise.” 

Within seconds, he’s hauling you on his lap. You squeak in surprise, feeling the thin material of his boxers seep through your thin silk shorts. You wriggle around, monitoring Jungkook’s expression. He does not allude too much, but you take note of the way Jungkook secures you with his hands between the swells of your thighs. 

“I’m not a rollercoaster, stop adjusting like you’re gonna buckle up.” 

Jungkook’s dry humor lightens the mood considerably, and you can’t help but smile timidly at his attempt to make you feel at ease. He lets you take your time, and you never imagined someone so demanding in the office can be so… kind in bed. 

You dip forward to kiss his lips once, twice. He looks needy, but lets you set the pace. You appreciate that. You’re salivating at his willingness to make you feel good, and you whimper as he nibbles on a sensitive spot on your neck. 

You need more. Sensing your urgency when you jerk his chin up, he muffles your sounds with a harsh kiss, taking care to moan deeply into your mouth. The heat is luxurious on this winter night, burgundy kisses exchanged between the sheets like secrets. His tongue slips between your teeth, tasting every inch of you and exploring you like the deepest texts. 

He pulls away slightly, and you’re drowning in his gaze. “Am I still just kinda-sorta handsome now?” he nips at your neck, sucking on a spot between your jaw. 

“N-no,” and you pull him up by the chin, taking in his messy hair and glazed eyes, “you’re fucking sexy,” and you tug your mouth to his once more. 

You don’t even realize that you’re rolling your hips until Jungkook breaks the kiss in favor of grabbing your hips, making sure your core is nestled perfectly between his hardening length. It doesn’t take long for the both of you to get wet, and the silk glides easily between your thighs like butter.

“That’s it, baby girl,” he encourages, one hand reaching up to cup your breast, “use me, make  yourself feel good.” 

“Please, don’t call me that,” you whine against his mouth, trying to keep the mood in, “Babe is fine, but baby girl makes me feel like a little kid and I’m not a little kid.”

“You damn right,” and he lifts his hips to meet yours in a sharp thrust, and you gasp hotly into his mouth. It’s too late to muffle your moans, not when you’re drenched with two pathetic pieces of fabric stopping the both of you. “You’re a gorgeous, intelligent, strong, amazing woman.” 

With every compliment, he does all the work, thrusting with each adjective like he’s blessing poetry into your body. 

“J-Jungkook,” the name is muffled against his shoulder, too fuzzed in ecstasy to be embarrassed by the drool coating his tank top. His hair tickles your shoulder as he nips at your clothed breasts, swirling around your nipple. “I-I, m’gonna come,” 

“You’re almost there huh?” and he slips a hand between you two to find that sweet spot, swirling designs between your shorts. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

And you’re shaking, collapsing into his embrace as he rides out your high. He cradles one hand in your hair as you rub furiously against his other, chasing your pleasure like a starved animal. 

“K-Kook,” you murmur into his neck, finding the strength to roll your hips one more time to check. “You’re still hard, do you want me to help?”

“No.” he’s forthright, and as tired as you are, you force yourself to pick your head up. Sweat lines his brow and his face is flushed, but he’s already helping you off and handing you a tissue from the nightstand. 

“What?” you’re hurt, and don’t want to admit why. 

“Don’t feel like you need to,” he grunts into your forehead, dipping a chaste kiss right in the center. “Just let me do something nice to you for once.” 

As much as you want to, you don’t complain as he tucks you in. You don’t complain when you see a wet stain on his Kirby boxer briefs. You don’t answer back when he checks his phone one more time and pulls you in to press a kiss to your cheek. It’s 12:31. 

“Merry Christmas,” he murmurs into your skin, and turns over so his back faces you. 

Christmas is a loud and eager affair. The entirety of your family piles into your house while still in pajamas, aunts and uncles from other villas running in with their children with their newly opened toys and gadgets. There’s a buffet style breakfast piled on the kitchen island, and you’re all eating in the living room while watching holiday movies. 

Jungkook melds right in, unsurprisingly. He has your baby cousin Dante in his lap, teaching him how to use the controls of his new Nintendo Switch. 

Despite only meeting Jungkook a few days ago, you notice that some of your family have taken the liberty of giving him small presents. You spot a simple silver chain around his wrist, courtesy of Jimin, and a fluffy grey scarf wrapped around his neck, courtesy of your aunt’s impeccable knitting club. 

“He fits right in, doesn’t he?” 

Yoongi hands you your usual cup of tea, and you accept it gratefully. You’re sitting right next to the tree, and you notice that some of the ornaments are miniature books. You absentmindedly run your fingers over the carved wood, especially on the ones that are your favorite titles. 

“Yeah,” you hate to admit, so you whisper it into your mug. But Yoongi can hear, he always does. “I didn’t think it would be this easy.” 

“Easy to love him, or easy to fit into this family?” 

You splutter into your mug, and Yoongi does the right thing by patting your back. It feels a little bit like he’s burping a baby, but otherwise, it soothes your lungs. 

“I am happy for you, you know.” he says, knocking knees with you. “It might not seem like it now, but I truly am.” 

Deciding not to dwell on his subversive confession, you thank him for the tea and excuse yourself. Dante seems like he’s got the hang of MarioKart, so you tug Jungkook by the hand and lead him back into your bedroom. 

“I got you a present, but I didn’t feel like making a scene about it,” you pull out a pink gift bag, tufts of white tissue paper sticking out. “Also, it’s kinda cheap and it was a last minute thing, so don’t have any high expectations.” 

“Gee, you’re really making me feel deserving of this gift,” but he takes his time in unraveling the bag anyway. 

He pulls out a shiny onyx black mug, rolling it between his hands. On one side it’s engraved in gold cursive “World’s Best Boss” but on the other side it’s engraved, “World’s Best Husband”. 

“Subtle,” he grins, pulling you into a hug. He gets that it’s a gag gift, but because it’s from you, it's a lot more meaningful. You could’ve easily delved into his bank accounts and see what he buys for himself, but you decided to take the more personal route. 

“Thanks,” he murmurs into your hair. And to really throw you off he says, “For my gift, I’ve decided to publish your novel.” 

You shove him away as if you’ve been stung, and you barely have the voice to ask, “Are you serious, you’ve read my novel? I didn’t even send you the first draft!” 

“We share the same Google Drive, it was easy to find. If you had noticed, it’s the only thing I’ve been reading this week,” he shrugs as if it’s nothing, but he’s in actuality giving you your lifelong dream. “You deserve it, really. I’m sorry if you felt like it wasn’t ready to be read. But it was wonderful, you’re a real wordsmith.” 

“I’m not upset,” you can’t be, not when he smells so good and he’s trying to hug you all over again. “How many copies?”

“10,000.”

“20,000.”

“15,000, and I’ll even give you permission to dedicate your novel to me.” he raises his brows irreverently. 

You scoff at his arrogance, but you don’t admit to confessing that along with professors and your family, you would be dedicating it to him. “Well my gift feels like absolute shit,” you deadpan, “can I have a do-over tomorrow? We can go to the mall or something.”

“You’ve done enough for me,” he disagrees, breaking away from you to place the mug on your desk. “Agreeing to my farfetched proposal, letting me into your home. I think that’s an amazing gift.” 

“You’ve been way too nice,” you look at him wearily, noting the rosiness in his cheeks. 

“You say that like it’s not possible!” 

“Who knows? Maybe the Christmas spirit has performed a miracle, who am I to judge?” and you can’t get enough of the man, running into his heart one more time. Pressing your ear to his chest you sing, “Well, in the Poconos they say, that Jeon Jungkook’s heart grew three sizes that day.” 

It may have not grown three sizes, but if the living room wasn’t so loud, maybe you could’ve heard his heart beating three times as fast. 

The calm after the storm is your favorite part of Christmas. Most of your extended family has left to mull in their own homes, leaving your family to laze around until it’s just you and Jungkook that are awake. 

Jim Carrey’s version of How the Grinch Stole Christmas is playing on Netflix, arguably the only superior rendition of the children's book. The tree is still glowing by the fireplace, soft white lights trickling in the darkened room. 

Earlier in the night, you and Jungkook had cuddled up in the middle of the couch under a blanket, and were too lazy to move even when the entirety of your family vacated. Either of you could’ve easily shoved each other off and went to bed, but here you are, making offhand comments over hot cocoa. Each second that passes by, you’re more aware of how well you two sink between the fabric like you’re meant to do this. The domesticity terrifies you, but you don’t dare to point it out. 

“How does his face do that?” Jungkook turns to you, contorting his face into funny expressions. It’s a poor attempt at the green creature on the screen, but it makes your mouth twitch and you fight the urge to giggle. “It’s like he’s made of rubber.” 

“He has a sense of humor, unlike some people.” 

“Very funny,” he says, turning away to take a sip of his cooca. 

Sinking further into the couch, you unconsciously latch onto him more, savoring his body heat. “Can I confess something?”  

“What’s up?” 

“A week ago, I loathed you. I used to have recurring dreams about you getting run over by a Wonderbread truck. And I was driving the truck.” 

“Wow, that makes me feel so much better.” 

“No really, if I had the opportunity to watch you get hit by a cab, I would’ve paid for it.” 

“If it were possible for me to file for divorce at this very second, now would be time. You are a walking red flag.” 

“Okay, but!” you shush him with a finger to your lips, and he goes cross-eyed at the touch. “After seeing your stellar performance this week and an impeccable display of human emotion. I think after all of this, we could be friends.” 

“Fwends?” he says through your finger, mouth smushed. “Why whuh we?” 

Instead of lifting your finger right away, you swipe at his cherry lips, getting rid of the marshmallow sticking to the corners. 

“Because we get along.” you say simply.

“Because we’re supposed to be getting married.” 

“No! We’ve always gotten along! We’ve just been too up our asses to notice!” you sit up, appalled. “Here’s my theory, a change of setting has suddenly spurred on your character development—”

“—y’know I really don’t appreciate your use of literary jargon, it’s really pretentious—”

“—because without your external conflict, you have a chance to let loose and enjoy your life for once!” 

Jungkook frowns, adjusting his frame so he slightly hovers you. He’s pretty like this, dressed in fluffy black pajamas and his face soft. His eyes absorb the Christmas fairy lights, and you notice for the first time in two years that there are no longer purple bags under his eyes. 

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, voice so small you wonder if he’s worried to crush the moment. “Friends are hard.” 

You shake your head vehemently, “Friends are easy, keeping them is the hard part.”

He doesn’t know why he’s being so weird about this. You’ve worked for him for over two years, you know him as well as you know your skincare routine, down to the last detail. 

“Jeon, don’t think too hard about this,” you try to get him to lighten up, the intense look in his eyes throwing you in for a loop. It makes the little hamster wheel in your head spin rapidly, and you wonder if you’re really crossing a line. “Jimin said you had a really good time yesterday, I was almost jealous I couldn’t come shopping with you.” 

He cracks a smile at that, “Yeah, Jimin and I shared a moment,” and he leans down to the shell of your ear, “and he said he really enjoyed our moment last night.” 

“Oh my god!” you grab a nearby throw pillow, chucking the rough fabric in his face. 

He breaks into a laugh, but not the wine and dine chuckles that he’d have between terse negotiations for work. It’s a full out giggle, like he’s proud to have riled you up enough to break your resolve. Who knew your angry face could be so cute? 

“I guess if we’ve crossed a line, might as well make it all the way to the end,” Jungkook says easily, running a hand through his chocolate tresses. 

You and Jungkook are leaving the day after tomorrow. Most of your stuff is packed and ready to go, and you’re currently spending the rest of your night at a sit-down dinner with your immediate family plus Jimin. 

It’s peaceful, you muse. Jungkook even offered to help cook. Back at Big Hit not once did he ever bring leftovers from home, always insisting you order something for him during work. Kimchi fried rice is a simple dish, but Jungkook had taken great care in making sure it was cooked properly and adjusted to your family’s tastes. 

Your parents are glowing and enjoying their time with the whole family, a rarity that grows more valuable with age. The meal soothes you like a balm, reminding you of old conversations that had you spew milk out of your nose or Namjoon accidentally spilling beans on your lap. 

“Oh, you should also clear your schedule for the first week of September,” Jimin says absentmindedly, shoving another mouthful of fried rice. “Besides Easter, Jungkook says we can celebrate his birthday and visit for the weekend.” 

“Seriously,” Namjoon balks, sitting up straight as he regards you in disbelief. “You’re sure your Devil of a boss will enjoy you out of his chains for two vacations, god forbid you take the holidays off again.” 

The grip on your fork tightens, but you steel yourself. Honestly, you were wondering why it took Namjoon this long to let it all out. He was always vehemently against your job, as he was the person who got the brunt of your vents when you were stressed. Probably for the sake of Christmas he let it go, but now that it’s over, the topic’s fair game. 

“Oh, c’mon Joonie,” your mother frowns, “not at the table.” 

“He isn’t that bad, Joon.” you reason, completely ignoring Jungkook as you stare straight at your brother. “He means well—”

“Means well?” Namjoon barks a laugh, as if it’s the most laudable thing. “Sis, you cried everyday for a straight month after you were hired.” he places his hands on the table, regarding you carefully, “I had to personally call your doctor in New York to get you sleeping pills, and not to mention that two weeks ago, you were crying again because you were worried he forgot your vacation and would make you work! Don’t tell me he ‘means well’ when I’ve been busy picking up the pieces!” 

At this point, you’re livid. Jungkook’s right here, and while you can’t go ahead and out the fact that he is your boss, you can still have his back. 

They don’t know that you’ve picked the pieces back up, reinforced yourself to create a better version of the person you once were. 

“He does mean well,” you cry, matching your brother’s red tone to a T. “He’s just stressed and genuinely cares about the company. I choose to work long hours because he takes his time in making sure the work we publish is worthwhile, and I support that. He’s hard on me because he knows I have potential. He’s going to make sure I succeed.” 

Namjoon looks at you like you’ve grown two heads. “You’re seriously defending your shitty boss?” 

Jimin puts a hand over Namjoon’s in an attempt to placate him, but he shoves it away.

“Honestly,” Namjoon spits venom, “how can you possibly stand to be around someone who makes your life so miserable?” 

Your meal has gone cold, and your fists clutch desperately at your jeans. The breath is robbed from your lungs, and you can’t look at anyone for fear of them regarding you with guilt. You know since the day you got hired that your family wasn’t exactly enthused at your boss’ level of expectation and work output. But they don’t know the industry, and they don’t even really know Jungkook past the surface level. . 

But you know in their eyes, they’re right. Their daughter left their comfy home to pursue her lifelong dream, only for it to be broken in a matter of weeks. It’s natural to feel protective, and while you’re resilient and were able to get it together as of late, it wasn’t enough for them to understand. As someone who loves you, it’s obvious they’d want to blame your boss, blame Jungkook for your suffering. 

You imagine your father would ask Namjoon to step outside, or your parents would make Jimin pull you and Jungkook out. Neither of those things happen.

A warm, large hand is placed on top of yours. You look towards Jungkook, face unreadable as he squeezes your thigh. 

“Namjoon’s right.” Jungkook utters, pressing his lips together. “You deserve to be treated with respect. The boss has never appreciated the hard work you do, at least not out loud. You’re too good for him.”

“Jungkook,” you gape, putting your other hand over his. 

He pulls away at your touch, glancing at the clock. “This dinner was wonderful,” he says gently, looking apologetic to your parents. “Excuse me, but I promised to call my parents at this time.” 

The excuse is completely half-assed, but no one says anything as he leaves, walking out the door without a coat. The table is terse, with your parents attempting to coax out dessert while Jimin clears the dinner table. You refuse to look at Namjoon, who has no idea why you’re so upset. You wait five minutes before you mumble about getting Jungkook a jacket. 

However, when you open the door he isn’t sitting on the porch. He’s all the way up the street, too far for you to be heard with a yell, and walking farther into town. The black hoodie falls to your side, disappointed. 

Jungkook does in fact, call his parents. Your mother suggested it when she gave him the ring, thinking it would ease his homesickness if he made a better effort to communicate his feelings. 

And so he spends over an hour huddled in a cafe, talking about nothing and everything with his mom and dad. He tells them about the little novelties he’s experienced this week, like making popcorn strings and picking out themed Christmas ornaments. He tells him how he promises to book a flight back to Korea as soon as his work visa goes through. While he doesn’t mention the proposal, he mentions you. He prattles on and on about how strong and beautiful you are, and how you’ve crept up on him and made him realize how awful of a person he was. 

His mom prattles excitedly through the line, saying that women make you realize how much better you can be for them, but she doesn’t know the half of it. 

Jungkook sat there in your dining room, Namjoon boldly telling you off about how miserable he’s made you. 

And yet still, you defended him in ways he never imagined. Your relationship has always been mutual, and prickly at best. You balanced each other out, but he knows he doesn’t deserve you. When he first hired you, he rendered you indispensable like all the other assistants that couldn’t handle it. You’d break eventually. 

And you did break. But you picked up the pieces and put yourself back together, and you didn’t resent him for it. He hated that. How can you trust someone who’s hurt you so much? 

He can’t let you go through with this marriage. You’re wrong. You don’t need him to be successful. 

[11:09] You: mom unlocked the door for you. Jimin and i went out for drinks so idk when ill be back

[11:09] You: please don’t be mad at me

Silly girl, why would he ever be mad at you? 

His plan is simple, Sneak into your villa, grab his luggage, and try to book the earliest flight back to New York. Then, he can come clean to Taeyeon and spend the year in Korea while they work out his visa issues. He’ll quietly pack his things and clear out the office before Monday.  Hopefully by the time he makes it to Busan, he can forgive himself. He’s going to regret missing your expression when you get to hold the first physical copy of your novel. 

This plan proves difficult when he sees Namjoon waiting outside for him, sitting on his luggage and reading a book. His long legs are splayed across the porch, and he doesn’t spare Jungkook a glance.

“Knew something was off,” the older man doesn’t look up from his novel, “found the mug on her desk, bossman.” 

Muttering a curse under his breath Jungkook opens his arms, “Are you gonna beat me up now?” 

“What? No, I’m a lover, not a fighter.” Jungkook scoffs, and watches Namjoon roll his luggage to the back of the van. “And out of the kindness of my heart, I’ll save you the Lyft fare and drive you to the airport.” 

Is he that predictable? He flinches at the sudden jet of the ignition, and he takes heavy, snow-laden steps to the passenger seat. Once buckled in, Namjoon tosses the book in his lap. “Some light reading for the drive.” 

If Namjoon wasn’t the driver, he wouldn’t hesitate to chuck the book at his big, intelligent head. Instead, he glowers, clutching the book tightly. It’s only when they round the corner to a house brightly decorated with lights, does he see what novel Namjoon’s plucked. 

A Mutually-Assured Attachment. Jungkook tosses the book back and forth between his palms, noting the soft cover is so worn it could melt apart in his lap. It feels tended and loved from years of use. 

It’s Jungkook’s first novel, and you had a copy. One of the first editions, if he remembers the cover art correctly. Granted, he thought you had some of his books purely because of your job, but not one from your childhood. Frankly he thought this should have never been published, but he was nineteen and that in itself was a large feat. 

He carefully peels the pages, and takes out his phone to shine the flashlight mode. At the very front, blood red ink is scratched next to the title: “this is THE most pretentious title i’ve read in my life! Don’t disappoint me jeon!!” 

Your handwriting’s all over the place. He sees graphite, gel, and glitter pens mark the margins, as if you’ve come back each time to write something new. The annotations vary, from “this part sucks” to “shit, that’s good i should do that”. You draw little pictures of the objects he’s contrived, from the little brass locket one character cherishes to the facial expressions you imagine they hold. 

And at the very end, your handwriting sits neat and bold on the inside cover: I can do better than him. 

Jungkook chuckles to himself, turning off the light. You’re always right. 

Namjoon senses the younger one is done, and he clears his throat. “I really really don’t understand what she sees in you.” 

“I don’t understand either,” Jungkook agrees easily, his finger tracing your handwriting. He muses that you were always out to get him, even if you didn’t know it. 

Namjoon masks his surprise by clearing his throat. “But I’d rather seek to understand than live the rest of my life having my sister resent me. I don’t really know what you two are going through, but if she trusts you with her life, I’ll try. Emphasis on try.” 

“I don’t deserve your trust.” 

“You damn right you don’t,” succumbing to his impulses Namjoon makes a sharp turn, and Jungkook holds his stomach together before it flies out the window.  

You come home to find your room cold and barren. All of Jungkook’s things are gone, except your Christmas mug. 

You at least thought Jungkook would spare you a goodbye before he ditched you. You hoped you’d at least consider each other friends who provide explanations after all of this. 

Lifting the mug off the desk, you hear a little clink in the glass, the chime unfamiliar. Hurriedly, you pour out its contents. A heavy, tungsten black ring lands in your palm. You clench the metal between your fingers, hugging it to your chest. 

Mind made up, you dash out to the hallway, nearly bumping into your cousin. At the same time you and Jimin blurt, “We need to go to the airport.” 

Apparently Namjoon warned Jimin that something fishy’s going on. Namjoon didn’t know what, but he had the inkling that Jungkook was hiding something. Once Jimin received the text to meet them at the airport, he flung you in his sedan and floored it. Flushed with adrenaline, Jimin is speeding with a fervor you’ve never experienced. 

“Can you please, take the edge off and tell me what the hell is going on?” 

Just like how Jungkook didn’t want Big Hit to go down the drain, you didn’t want this week to be in vain. You can’t wait a year for Jungkook to come back, and you didn’t want to publish your first novel without him by your side. 

“Long version or short version?” 

“The in-the-middle version. I don’t think I have the brain capacity to absorb all your drama right now but I really need some answers.” 

“O-kay. Basically, Jungkook isn’t a Literary Agent. He’s my god-awful boss. Or was awful, I don’t know. Jungkook left the country before his work visa was fully processed. That’s a breach, so he needs to live in Korea for a year to come back. But he can’t run Big Hit remotely, so he proposed to marry me to attain citizenship.”

Your head whips to the dashboard and you cry out, barely stopping the impact with your hands.  

“Sorry, sorry!” Jimin’s eyes are focused on the red light, absolutely terrified. “Bitch, you’re committing fraud with your boss! You could go to jail, that’s like, the hottest love story ever!” 

“But he’s going back to Korea because now he suddenly realized he can forge basic human connection.” you mutter, “so no, we’re not going to jail because he’s decided to do the right thing.” 

“So what you’re saying is, Jungkook has achieved self-actualization and decided to peacefully move to Korea and sacrifice the company for you.” Jimin is carving his free hand in the air, gesturing wildly. “Don’t you see! He really likes you.”

“Yeah, so now we need to go to the airport and tell his dumbass this isn’t the time to be selfless.” 

Once you find a spot you’re rushing out of the car, weaving between carts and people to find the correct terminal. This airport is much smaller than JFK, so it’s easy for you to navigate and get past the TSA. It also helps that Jin’s wife is an attendant. 

“He chose the 1:45 flight in Terminal 31A,” Mijoo chirps from her tablet, leading you in the right direction. She’s dressed impeccably, the odds and ends of this airport glued together by her impeccable organization. She points to the clock, which glares a digital 1:18AM. “You have time.” 

“Thank you Mijoo,” you exhale gratefully, “and I’m so so sorry I skipped your wedding!” 

“This is the 300th time you’ve said it,” Mijoo rolls her eyes, pushing you and Jimin forward, “But I’ll make sure not to miss your wedding.” 

You’re sweating from your down jacket, and you can’t believe it’s really all come down to this. The one person you’ve spent the last two years of your life doting on, and you didn’t want to stop. You wanted him not just for the publication of your novel, but because you needed him. 

Jungkook’s sitting in the waiting area of Terminal 31A, looking wholly inconspicuous as he reads a book and has his hood propped up. 

Fists balled, you stride forward only to have Jimin tug you back. “What?” 

Jimin pulls off your thick coat, making haste to wipe the sweat off your brow with his sleeves and flatten your messy hair. “What?” he tilts his head to the side, “you need to look good before the big confrontation. I’m recording this for archival purposes. Do you have any lip balm by any chance? You look chapped.” 

You slap his hands away, but those grubby fingers just come back with a vengeance. “My life is just a big show to you, isn’t it?”

“Living vicariously all day, every day.” 

While Jimin parts your bangs, the intercom cuts through the air. 

“The 1:45 flight to John F. Kennedy International airport will now commence boarding. Please line up according to the ticket class.” 

Jimin smiles at you, squeezing your shoulders and gestures for you to go. To your horror, Jungkook is first in line. Panic bubbles to your throat.

“Jeon Jungkook!” you cry, voice echoing throughout the terminal. “If you so much breathe in the direction of that plane I will call Mark Lee right this second and tell him the book series is off!” 

Like a deer in the headlights, Jungkook heeds to your voice immediately. In his stupor you jog forward to snatch his wrist and pull him out of line. You don’t let go until you’re away from the long line, and Jungkook tugs his wrist away. 

“Don’t you dare call him,” Jungkook looks serious, as if you didn’t drive all the way to stop him from making the biggest mistake of his life. “I will never forgive you if you terminate Mark Lee’s contract.” 

“And I won’t forgive you if you get on that plane.” 

Pain flashes in his eyes, and he shakes his head. “I need to. I can’t let us—let you go through with this. You and your family deserve better.” 

“What? Jungkook, I agreed to this just as much as you did.” 

“No, you didn’t.” he’s adamant, and steps back with every step you take forward. “As your boss I threatened you, held it over your head like an ultimatum. I’ve hurt you,” his voice cracks, looking at you desperately, “why would you want to be stuck with me when I’ve made your life miserable?” 

“If I really wanted to leave, I would’ve done it a long time ago.” You reason, “Do you really want to leave the company behind? To fucking Karen?” 

“Of course I don’t!” Jungkook exclaims, “but it isn’t worth hurting you, hurting your family and everyone that loves you.” 

“And what about you? You’ll be hurt when you leave,” and you step forward, so close that your chests are touching. You take hold of his hands, clutching them between your small ones. “Don’t go, stay with me in New York. We’ll both work hard and try to not run each other to the ground. Let’s be better together.” 

You’re practically begging, biting your lip raw and hoping Jungkook understands how good this change is for the both of you. 

Jungkook is conflicted, looking back and forth between the airline boarding for JFK and your watery eyes. He hates seeing you like this. He can’t imagine you, the strongest woman he’s ever met, crying because of him. Namjoon’s voice echoes in his mind and he tries to smash it to the edge of his memory. But as always, you’re right. 

He replaces your grip with his own, and gets down on one knee. 

Jungkook says your name like it's the sweetest of songs. You’ve never seen him so terrified. “y/n, I didn’t do it right the first time, so let me try again. Please, marry me. Marry me because I want to date you. I want to take you out and give you what you deserve, what we deserve. I want to do better for myself, do better for you. I’ve realized you’re the only person that makes me feel like I’m simultaneously on fire and on thin ice,” he pulls out a velvet box from his pocket, revealing a thin band with interlocking black and clear diamond studs. It’s a pretty little thing, with a groove in the center so it stacks perfectly with your engagement ring. “This was supposed to be your Christmas present, but I chickened out at the last second,” he says sheepishly, tucking his head in. “But if you let me put this ring on your finger, I promise to be your home away from home.”  

With a sob you fall to your knees, throwing yourself onto Jungkook. A small “oof” escapes his lips, and he struggles to hold your waist so you both don’t topple over. “Yes, yes, yes!” you cry, pulling away to cup his face with both hands, pulling him into a sweet kiss. 

Jungkook’s smile takes up his entire face, and he eagerly pecks your lips one more time before ripping the ring from its holder and stacking it on top of your engagement ring. The teardrop diamond is nestled perfectly between the thinner band’s V. “Pretty,” he says, pressing his forehead to yours. 

“Wait,” you pull out the black ring that you found in your room, holding it to his face. “I’m assuming this is yours?” 

“Yeah,” he replies, “your mother said it was your great grandfather’s. It’s not an engagement ring, but it’s the thought that counts.” 

“It matches,” you hum, placing his simpler band in his ring finger. Once it’s on, you take a deep breath. “Shit, we’re really doing this?” 

Jungkook pulls you to stand, wiping the happy tears from your cheek. “We are, we’re a team, remember? We’ve crossed the line and we gotta finish it.” 

And he picks you up, the workouts definitely paying off as he spins you around like you’re the leads in La-La Land, drunk off the happy chemicals firing in your brain. Jimin whoops and hollers, along with all the other patrons in the vicinity of the airport terminal. 

Your real-fiancé puts you down, the both of you now hyperconscious of the stares people give you. Other people have filmed the proposal as well, completely smitten by your confessions. 

“Jungkook,” you giggle into his shoulder, “you were right. Our story is straight out of a Wattpad entry.” 

“Down to the super cheesy in-public airport proposal?” he chimes, pressing his forehead to yours. “Couldn’t have asked for a better love story.” 

“I can’t wait to fall in love with you,” you whisper, quiet enough for his ears only, “for real, this time.” 

“Not that it’s a challenge,” he teases softly, “but I’m already halfway there.” 

some months later.

“Like the new office, boss lady?” your new assistant (yes, you have an assistant!) asks kindly, his bubbly presence uplifting you immediately. He leads you to the window box, filled with tiny plants. “I figured you like succulents, because you have no time to water them and they’re prickly like you.” 

“Very funny, Seungkwan.” you chide good-naturedly, picking up a succulent with a yellow flower in the middle. “But thank you, your interior design skills are outmatched. I can’t wait to work with you.” 

“Me too, your social commentary you published on the literary industry? And you managed to lace it all up in an inconspicuous fantasy novel?” Seungkwan boasts, “I applied for this position right then and there.” 

“Thanks Seungkwan, why don’t you take your lunch and we’ll meet back at one to discuss our plans for next week.” 

“Sounds good, do you want me to pick you up something?” 

“I’m good, I’m meeting with the bossman.” 

Seungkwan gives you that look, his lips jutting out in a suggestive manner that almost makes you burst into giggles. Your assistant decides not to bother you until after you’ve eaten, and bids you goodbye. 

Just when you get a moment of peace, a handsome face pokes his way inside. “Hello editor,” Jungkook knocks on your door for the sake of attention, but you’re already dragging him into the office and shutting the door tight. “Like your new office?” 

“Love it,” you moan, gesturing to Seungkwan’s light filtering curtains. They’re not dark, rather a tasteful sea green, but they’re opaque enough to stop wandering eyes from peeking into your space. Your personal space was a qualm that immediately needed to be mended after your experience in Jungkook’s office. “A lot more private than your office.” 

“A little part of me hates how much you deserve this promotion,” he sits on your desk, and doesn’t hesitate to pull you between his legs, letting you lean into his chest, “but I do love the added privacy.” 

You fiddle with the buttons of his navy collar, his strong thighs trap you between him, “Why, miss me already?” 

He shrugs, “Taehyung doesn’t look as good as you do in a pencil skirt.” 

You laugh, brushing the strands of hair that fall from his coiff. “No one looks as good as I do in a pencil skirt.” A firm grip confirms that, two strong hands cupping your backside. “Mr. Jeon!” you gasp playfully, pushing him away slightly to pinch his cheeky grin. “Can we save this for later? I’m hungry, but we can always continue this for dessert.” 

He groans in your neck, “Love the sound of that, Mrs. Jeon.” 

bonus.

“FUUUCCCKKKKKK YEEAAHHHHH!” Park Jimin’s voice bounces off the walls of Taeyeon’s office, his face taking up the entire screen of his desktop as the camera shifts harshly between him and you and Jungkook at the airport. “My cousin’s not going to jail! WOO!” 

Taeyeon pauses the YouTube video at a particularly unflattering screencap: Jimin’s nostrils are flaring wildly and he looks fairly high mid-scream. 

A low whistle escapes Jungkook’s lips, “Wow. That video’s viral,” he looks to you appreciatively, “if Jimin kicks off his YouTube career, you think we can milk a memoir outta him?” 

“Potentially,” you reply nonchalantly, playing with your rings. 

“So,” Taeyeon’s voice is icy, slashing between your casual conversation, “you’re getting married, for real this time?” 

“Yep,” Jungkook pops. 

“Alright,” and from her desk she pulls out an ungodly stack of documents, one that mirrors your own back at the office. “Jungkook, you’ll stay with me. y/n, you’ll go to Vernon’s office and he’ll give you the same spiel. We’ll interview you privately with the same questions. A hair out of place and you’re in trouble. You sure you want to go through with this?” 

You and Jungkook exchange looks, betting your own company that you got this in the bag. 

“Hit us with your best shot.” 

[captnjacksparrow]

Hey so if you have to choose between hinata and sakura who would you choose i think you hate both but just wanted your opinion and what do you think could make them a likeable character like hinata choosing to change the hyuga clan and sakura treating naruto write

Have a good day ☺️ don't overwork yourself.

I would choose neither, Anon!!!! For they are completely useless in terms of skillsets and their sole existence revolves around the boys they fret over!!!

I would prefer Karin, instead. [[Am not a fan of her, just in case if you mistake me for one]]... But she certainly touched my soft spot when she put that pink trash in her place in this scene.

Yes, Karin is just as horny as Pinky and Pinata... And at times I found it to be downright annoying. But atleast she has some gall to call out people from time to time, even Sasuke.

Atleast her skillsets are amazing. She handled an entire Orochimaru Hideout single handedly. Her Chakra sensing, Lie detecting, Chakra chains, Healing by Chakra replenishment.... are all superior skills when you compare these with those girls. Look at her skills when Sasuke fought Danzo.

Objectively speaking, If you are not Sasuke and you decide to hire her, she could offer you much more than what those trashy girls could offer. Because before Sasuke’s path crossed with hers... She was managing an hideout full of weird creepy, rough men who could kill her at any time. Meaning, her life was not entirely about Sasuke. 

what do you think could make them a likeable character like hinata choosing to change the hyuga clan and sakura treating naruto

HINATA

A Clan cannot be changed by one person, anon. It requires co-operation from many people from her own clan and for that she needs to have some good conversation skills, as we all know she don't have such skills!!!... Fuck, even Itachi couldn't be able to convince his clan members from attempting a Coup, Given that he was touted as the Genius of Uchiha clan with superior skills... What the fuck this Pinatrash could do anything???

So, Logically I don't expect her to do such grand feat!!!

All she could do is to Honour her words atleast for once and stop orgasming over Naruto-Kun like an hentai heroine!!!

She said 'I never go back on my words. Because that's my ninja way' before Pain. Well, then why the fuck she couldn't protect Naruto??? If she can't protect Naruto, why is she making things worse!!!????

All she ever did was spouting lies and never did anything for Naruto other than being a burden.

And just for this piece of crap, Neji lost his life. Well??? She cried. Ok, Acceptable. But then why was she thinking about Naruto's hands after the very sad moment??? Complimenting a man's hand is a sexual innuendo related to a man's part. So, clearly this girl places her sexual desires above everything!!!! That's not the right place or timing to think about that shit.

What a disgusting trash she was!!!!

So, yes If she stays accountable to what she spouts, treats other people with sensitiveness and stop fretting over Naruto-Kun, that would be a good starter. But the opposite of whatever I said above is her Entire Character Design. So, I think its impossible.

SAKURA

When it comes to pinky, I don't know where to begin. Because I hate everything about her. And I certainly don't want to talk about her in detail here. Her entire personality is just irritating. Atleast she could start with a basic human thing. That is,

Genuinely caring about people who treats her better for once in her life.

It's not about Naruto alone..... Like Ino, Tsunade, Sai, Lee and you name it. I don't give a single fuck about some random moments where she cared about Lee or Ino or Naruto here and there....... I want consistency.

Here I am attaching a panel where Naruto thinks about Team 7 and Iruka, when he was about to fight Gaara.

First he thinks about Iruka,

Iruka is treating Naruto for a Ramen Lunch. He cares about Naruto, like a lot.

Next he thinks about Sasuke,

Sasuke is advising him to train harder to win against him, out of genuine care towards Naruto.

He thinks about Kakashi

Again Kakashi is advising Naruto to eat veggies instead of Ramen!!!! He even made a ‘post-it’ note on his wall. So sweet of him!!!

Then comes this pink trash

What the fuck is this shit???? Why the fuck she asks about Sasuke to him??? This shows she doesn't even care about Naruto!!!! I seriously don't know what Naruto liked about her.

Sakura fought Sasori just to get information about Orochimaru. It's not out of concern for Naruto.

Sakura tried to feed Naruto because of his devotion towards Sasuke. Not out of a genuine concern for Naruto.

Sakura's final confession had no mention of Naruto and Tsunade. It was all about her and herself alone.

In Part 2, she cared about Naruto here and there... And that's all. She was never consistent. And in War Arc, she almost became a dog on heat towards Sasuke. I think if Sasuke asks her for a fuck right then and there, she would oblige.... She was that pathetic and horny!!!!

So, yes... Sakura showing genuine concern towards someone would be a good starter. But somehow putting Sasuke on a very high pedestal and completely ignoring others is her core personality. Again, it's impossible.

For these girls, under any difficult situation, Romance is their driving force. Pinata could wet over Naruto's hands despite her brother's corpse was still fresh. Sakura could play steamy romance despite Sasuke was threatening to murder her Master and her Team mate.

In Short, These two are incorrigible creatures and totally useless because when these girls were introduced into the series in Part 1, they were already seen wetting over those boys. Meaning, they never had any realistic goals apart from getting into the pants of these guys. So, I would never prefer any of them.

[unsymp-sides-content]

I wish you would write a fic where Janus was told constantly when he was younger that the light sides would never love and care for him because he's a snake by the other dark sides. So Janus grew up super self conscious about his snake traits and gets super confused when the other sides compliment them ~🥔

This took forever but I hope you enjoy it

Characters: Janus, Logan, Roman, Patton

Word Count: 1.5k

Janus couldn't remember how old he'd been when he'd first mentioned thinking that his scales were pretty around one of the others. He could remember the way they'd looked at him though, incredulous and amused. And he could remember their laughter.

"Pretty?" they had mocked. "Who in their right mind would find those disgusting things pretty?"

Janus had frowned at that, not knowing what to say and the others had gone back to their conversation. But he hadn't been able to stop thinking about it.

Later that night, he'd stood in front of his mirror, slowly running his fingers over the left side of his face. The scales felt smooth and he slowly turned his head back and forth, watching the way they changed color slightly in the light.

Before, he'd always found it mesmerizing. Now, he couldn't get the others' words out of his head.

By the next morning, he still couldn't stop thinking about it. He paused in the hall after breakfast, staring into the mirror they had there and trying to decide whether his scales were beautiful or hideous. One of the others had caught him looking and sneered at him. "Admiring yourself again? I'm surprised you can stand to look at yourself for that long."

Janus really should have stayed silent then. But he couldn't help himself. "What do you mean?

The other side rolled his eyes. "I mean, you have to know how unnatural they are. All weird and inhuman. It's kind of creepy."

"...Oh." Janus had not, in fact, known that and the words stung more than he would have expected. "You really think they're that bad?"

"We all do. That's why we avoid you so much. Makes it kinda hard to look at you or, you know, like you."

And that, that hurt so much more than Janus had ever realized something could.

All he could manage was another, mumbled "oh" before he hurried back to his room, locking the door behind him.

From that day on, Janus started avoiding mirrors.

It was already too late though. The others used every opportunity they got to remind him how awful his scales were, how unlovable they made him, and how it was hard to even look at him most days.

After a little while, he started avoiding them too. But that didn't help much either. He couldn't get their voices out of his head.

Eventually, he'd simply accepted it. He got rid of all of the mirrors in his room and avoided going out into the mindscape as much as possible. He began wearing gloves so he wouldn't have to look at the scales on his hands. And he learned to accept that none of the light sides would ever love him.

He had expected them to be a little less blunt about their hatred though.

Logan was the first one he noticed it with. Every now and then he would catch the other side looking at him, more specifically his scales, a little too closely. Logan never said anything about it though, and neither did Janus. The others had already made it clear how hideous the snake half of him was, and he didn't need to hear from anyone else.

After a little while though, he started to notice Roman and Patton doing the same thing. They were far more subtle about it than the logical side had been and they at least had the grace to look away and make an excuse when they were caught.

Janus couldn't deny that it still stung, but at least they were kind enough not to say anything to his face. It was far better than anything he'd expected and anything that he was used to. So he could handle it. Even if hurt so much more coming from people he actually cared about. He was strong enough to take it.

Until he wasn't.

He'd already been having a bad day. Thomas had desperately wanted to get out of plans with some of his family and Janus had had to construct some rather intricate lies to convince them to leave him alone. Add the amount of effort it had taken to get Thomas to move past his guilt and agree to lying in the first place, and Janus' patience was running thin.

When he was finally done, he made his way to the living room of the mind palace where the others were gathered, rewatching The Office (despite Logan's protestations). He collapsed onto the sofa with a groan and Roman raised an eyebrow at him. "That bad, huh?"

Janus groaned again in response.

The others went back to the show and after a few minutes Janus sat up, looking around at them.

Patton and Roman seemed genuinely fixed on the show, laughing and joking with each other as they watched. Logan, however, was paying far less attention. He was still watching the show, and he'd chime in with the occasional comment, but every now and then, he'd dart a glance over at Janus. They usually lasted a few seconds and Janus couldn't help but notice the way Logan's eyes slowly passed over his scales each time.

On any other day, Janus would have done his best to ignore it or perhaps made an excuse to go to his room. But today was different. Today, he was already at the end of his rope.

So the fourth time he sensed Logan looking at him, he turned to meet his gaze with a sharp glare. "If you want me to leave that fucking badly, it certainly wouldn't be easier for you to just say that." His voice came out sharper than he'd intended but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Logan frowned at him, looking more confused than genuinely hurt. "I certainly do not want you to leave and I'm not certain what gave you the impression I do."

"Oh fuck off." Janus snapped. He could feel Patton and Roman staring at him too by this point and he ignored them. "I'm not stupid, Logan! I can't see the way you all constantly stare at me! I know my scales are hideous, I know it's hard to look at me, I know you all hate me. I know I'm disgusting."

Patton opened his mouth to say something at this point, but Janus pushed on.

"So if you'd rather not have to see me, fine, just tell me to leave! I don't care. But at least have the decency to say it to my damn face!"

Janus was yelling at this point and he was ashamed to realize there were tears starting to form in the corners of his eyes. He blinked them away quickly, refusing to look at any of the others.

The television was still playing in the background, but it sounded muffled and far away. Janus stared at a spot on the carpet with startling intensity, while the other three looked at him silently.

It was Roman who finally broke the silence. "What are you talking about?" He sounded genuinely confused. "I- none of us find you hideous or want you to leave. Why would we?"

Janus almost laughed at that. "Don't lie to me."

"We're not." It was Logan who spoke this time, shifting so he was directly in front of Janus. "I'm not certain what we did to make you believe this, but none of us hate you or find you repulsive. I cannot speak for the others, but personally, I was only watching your scales out of fascination. I find them quite aesthetically pleasing to look at, but I was worried that vocalizing this might make you uncomfortable."

Janus felt at a loss for words. Logan was lying. He must have been. And yet…. Janus couldn't sense any kind of lie in what he'd said. And the way Logan was looking at him was far too genuine to be anything but honest.

Before he could even start to recover from everything Logan had just said, Roman joined in, nodding.

"Calculator watch is right. Your scales are stunning. The way they glimmer in the light. The way their color seems to change everytime you look at them. Their lovely greenish gold hue, the way they blend so seamlessly into your face…."

Roman had gotten up and slowly started moving closer as he spoke. Now, he knelt in front of Janus and looked up at him earnestly. "They're beautiful. You're beautiful."

And that was finally too much. Janus felt tears spring up in his eyes again and this time there was nothing he could do to stop them. He let out a sob and slid forward, off the sofa and into Roman and Logans' waiting arms. A moment later Patton had joined them as well. He sat on Janus's other side, one hand slowly rubbing his back as he cried.

"It's okay, kiddo, it's okay. We're all here for you, okay?"

Janus couldn't bring himself to respond, simply sobbing harder. He felt the others shift closer to him in response and he let himself relax against them.

"It's okay," Patton murmured again, his voice soft. "We love you."

For the first time in as long as he could remember, Janus actually believed that.

[amiedala]

SOMETHING MORE (the mandalorian x reader)

CHAPTER 26: Prove It

RATING: Explicit (18+ ONLY!!!)

WARNINGS: violence

SUMMARY: “Nova!” Din cries again, and you squint and try to push yourself up and out of the dirt, but you’re wounded and you’re so damn tired. You mean to just take a beat and then hurl yourself up off the ground again, but you get stormed with another hit, and you realize they’ve hit you with tranquilizers again, and it just seems so much easier to surrender. Whoever they’re working for, whoever’s after you, they can take this win as long as you get to fall into this sleep on the way there. Hazily, feeling deprived of your oxygen, you think about Din, and you weakly look up for him, where he’s fighting off the rest of the battalion that wants to spill both of your blood all over Takodana’s ground.

“Run,” you manage, weakly, eyes focusing and unfocusing on the beskar like a laser beam.

His face, still helmeted, still covered, is in front of yours, crystallized, just for a second, but it’s enough. “There’s not a fucking chance,” he says, voice convicted through the modulator, “that I am ever leaving you again.”

AUTHOR'S NOTE: HELLO MY LOVES AND HAPPY SOMETHING MORE SATURDAY!!! this chapter is...so much. such a wild ride. such a rollercoaster. it's 10k+ words, and almost all of it was written in a single sitting because it just would not stop coming out. my fellow happiness and fluff lovers, we are finally (close) to the other side! with that, i'll stop spoiling the chapter until you can read ;) more notes, as always, at the end!!!

*

You kiss him. For what feels like hours, you kiss him. He doesn’t push you more than is tongue parting your lips, the hungry way that he sinks up against you, apologetic and raw. Din knows that you’re in control. You know you’re in control. Everything has been flipped on its head, and you hate it, you hate it, you don’t want to wield power over anyone, let alone the man you love, even if he has broken your heart clean through, so when you pull away, he doesn’t follow you.

“I don’t forgive you,” you whisper again, through the silence. He sighs, but not with exasperation.

“I know.”

“I don’t know if I ever will.”

Din’s quiet. You open your eyes, just a flutter of your eyelashes, really, and when you look at him, he’s not staring at you. He’s on his knees, eyes closed, mouth slightly parted, like he’s asking for repentance. Or praying. Or begging, but he’s so silent in his grief it startles you. “If you don’t,” he whispers, finally, “I understand. But please don’t—”

“Leave you?” you interrupt. It’s not nearly as bitter as you thought it would be. “Don’t worry,” you continue, quieter, “that’s not my move.”

He winces. “Nova—”

“I’m not trying to be cruel,” you say, earnestly, “really, I’m not, but y—you need to know how much it hurt me. You broke my trust. You gave me family again, a real family, and then you just took it away. I know you thought you were doing the right thing. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. But it doesn’t matter, because you did.”

“I know,” Din manages, his eyes opening slowly and catching on yours. “I know, and I think I’ll be sorry about that forever. But I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you, I mean that.”

Because he’s so genuine about it, so honest, it makes you want to get mad and challenge him. But there’s a peace to his penance, his atonement, and it just makes you stare.

“Even if I leave you somewhere,” you say, “you’ll follow me. Right?”

His gaze is complicated. “Yes,” he says, finally. “I’m not letting you get hurt again because of a mistake I made.”

“Din,” you start, and he holds up a gloved hand. You’re so tired. Sotired. You don’t want to fight anymore. It’s exhausting. Trying to grieve and stay angry and constantly be on the run—it’s killing you. Your shoulders ache. The scar carved in your stomach hurts late at night, and even though it’s probably phantom pain—hurting because everywhere else hurts too—that added jaggedness makes it almost unbearable. So you just let it go with the air out of your mouth, just staring at him.

“I’m tied to you,” he repeats.

“You keep saying that,” you enunciate. “What do you mean?”

“Mandalorians choose their families,” Din mutters, “I chose you. That doesn’t go away—that feeling, that tie—even in death.”

“Does it go away when you leave your fiancé in the same place that you started your life with her?” you ask, but it’s tiredly, with no daggers.

Din stares at you. There’s something hidden behind his eyes, something hungry and forlorn and deep and yours. “Not for me,” he says finally, and his gaze lingers on you for just a little too long.

But before anything, you’re saved by the bell again.

“Rebel girl,” a familiar voice floats through the comm, “come in whenever you’re ready.”

You breathe, for what feels like the first time in years, a sigh of relief. “Wedge,” you manage, slinging the helmet back on to talk to him semi-privately. “You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice—”

“I’ve been trying for days,” he says, and you sink back into the pilot’s seat. “Your frequency was jammed up.”

“Ran into a few Empire ships,” you say, glancing at Din, who’s standing there, half in the shadows, trying to make sense of who you’re talking to. “I got sick of them trying to radio me. Plus, I didn’t want to call you first and send any more your way. How’s the base?”

“She’s shot,” Wedge admits, voice tinny, presumably from turning away to inspect the wreckage of the structure on Hoth, “but she’s standing. No fatalities. They were more interested in you than they were with us, so they just volleyed over a bunch of blasts and then went into warp. No one was seriously hurt,” Wedge repeats, “so let out that breath you’re holding.”

You do. “I’m so glad you’re all okay,” you breathe. “Um, Wedge?” You pause, looking over at Din for a fraction of a second before you barrel on, “did—did you hear from Luke again at all?”

Wedge sighs. “No,” he says quietly. “I’m afraid, honestly. I know Luke can hold his own against a lot worse than Moff Gideon, but—”

“He’s alive, and fine,” you cut him off, all in one breath. “I didn’t see him, uh, but my fiancé did.” At this, Din turns toward you. Just slightly, almost imperceptible, but you notice. “He took my kid. Grogu. Luke took him off to teach him, I think, protect him.”

“Thank the Maker,” Wedge says. It sounds sarcastic, coming out of his mouth, but you know he’s being serious. “And you? Were you able to find your family?”

Din can’t hear the other end of your conversation, not after you put the helmet back on. “Yes,” you breathe, finally, “yeah, I did.”

“I hope you know,” Wedge says, sighing, and there’s that fatherly edge in his voice again, “that if you’re ever in a tight spot, or a bad situation, or, you know, facing up against the dregs of the Empire, I want you to call me. We’re here to help you. And I owe you a favor.”

“Well,” you say, chancing another look over at Din, who is pretending to be preoccupied with the space outside, but he keeps sneaking glances over at you, “I could cash that favor in now, if you’re willing. Do you know where the safest place in the galaxy is for a Mandalorian who can kill troopers without lifting a finger and a Force-sensitive Rebel pilot that has ticked off the rest of the surviving Empire? We need to lay low for a few days. Figure out what the next plan is.”

“Well,” Wedge sighs again, “honestly, the safest place would be with Luke.”

Your heart clenches, staring up at Din. That’s not an option, not after he had to let Grogu go, not after what he just went through. This part of his life—Grogu’s—needs to be his. “That’s not an option,” you repeat out loud, finally, closing your eyes. “Not now, at least. I’d go back to Dantooine, but I really don’t want anyone dangerous following me into the shelter I stayed at.”

“Coruscant,” he says, and you shake your head vehemently, even though he can’t see it. “Joke. Not a good one, sorry. I didn’t mean that. Does it need to be in the Outer Rim?”

“No,” you say, honestly. “Preferably, yes, but if it means no Empire thugs on our backs, we’ll go pretty much anywhere.”

Wedge is quiet. For a minute, you think that the connection just completely cut out and you’re listening to nothing, and then he breathes again. “I can give you the names of some planets. A lot of them are deserted or at least desolate enough. The others are much busier. I don’t think any planet like Dantooine, with cities in places and completely untouched in others, is safe right now. You need to either blend in completely or stay out of sight at all. At least for a few weeks, you need to stay quiet and lay low.”

“I thought,” you manage, your voice lower, “that with Gideon preoccupied, the threats would stop. Not stop, maybe—that seems foolish to assume when it comes to me—but at least that people would slow down. Stop chasing me.”

Wedge sighs. “You’re good,” he says, simply. “Too good. And I mean that as a compliment, as in you won’t kill people unless it’s in self-defense, and I also mean it in the way you run instead of attacking. You play the offensive when everyone’s expecting you not to. You’re kind and you’re giving and even if you didn’t have a target on your back, they’d be looking to exploit you. From Luke’s message…” he trails off and sighs again, and a shadow obscures your vision, and you look up at Din, silently standing over you, “it seems like there’s more danger than we bargained for. You just might be at the center of it.”

You close your eyes, rubbing them until you see stars. You’re so tired. Again, all of the exhaustion in the galaxy seems to be hanging even heavier on your shoulders, and you have to press down on the knots with your thumbs to get them to budge even a little bit. “I’m tired,” you admit, out loud. Din bends down, and you kick your chair to spin a bit away from him. “But don’t you—or the rest of the Alliance—dare to step in now. I can handle Gideon’s men, and I can handle the other troopers. You all need to stay safe and strategize. I’ll call you from whatever planet we end up on next, and we’ll figure it out from there.”

“You,” Wedge says, “are wise beyond your years, rebel girl.”

You sigh, finally looking up at Din. His helmet’s still off, and it’s nearly impossible for you to tear your eyes away from his heartbreakingly handsome face. “I know. Tell me if Luke says anything, and stay safe.”

“The planets,” Wedge interjects softly. You had completely forgotten you had asked for them at all. Your breath catches in your throat. “Malastare, maybe. Naator, which is largely a peaceful planet—”

“I’ve been there,” you interrupt, your heart aching for Naator’s serenity, the hope and love it gave you. It feels like a lifetime ago. “Anywhere else?”

“Wasskah,” Wedge answers, finally. “It’s completely remote these days. One of our pilots flew out there a few weeks ago, and reported no signs of life except for animals. If you want deserted, there’s your answer. I know you aren’t itching to return to Coruscant, especially considering how easy it was to be spotted the last time you were back there, but somewhere busy and metropolitan might be the place to go.”

Your heart sinks. None of these sound like very viable options, due to Din’s past and your own emotional connections to them, but you don’t want to tell Wedge that he’s been unhelpful. Saying a quick gratitude seems like the nicest way to exit the conversation, and it’s just starting to bubble up on your tongue when Wedge speaks again.

“I’ve heard,” he says, and his voice sounds distant. Not like he’s moved away from the microphone of the comm, but like he’s lost somewhere in a memory, “about Takodana. From Luke, and just through the grapevine. It’s supposed to be a refuge, almost, and there’s people from all over. Most seem to be runaways or like they’re trying to start a new life, so I don’t think anyone will pay you excessive mind if you don’t look too long at them either.”

You breathe a massive sigh of relief. “Thank you, Wedge. That’s perfect. We’ll head there. Thank you, seriously,” you repeat, looking up at Din. He’s turned away from you, staring at the space around you. You swallow. “Stay safe, please. And don’t you dare rush into battle without me.”

Wedge’s laugh crackles around the comm. “Take it easy, rebel girl. I mean it.” And then he’s gone.

You turn back, slightly, looking at Din. “Wedge—my friend—he suggested we head to Takodana. It’s supposed to be a safe place for refugees, and no one will look twice at us.”

He doesn’t answer.

“Hey,” you say, a little louder, the toe of your boot knocking into the beskar. “We have a safe place to go.”

“I’m going to put you in danger,” Din says, lowly, “you’re right about that, too.”

You sigh. “I’m the danger. Remember? I’m the one the Empire dregs are after, not you. You’re gonna follow me anyway,” you say, but it comes out softer around the edges than you intended, “might as well save on fuel and travel in Kicker.”

Din cocks his head. It looks silly without his helmet, and even more endearing. Your heart clenches. “Kicker?”

You smile, something small and in the shape of a half-moon. “Kicker, yeah, my ship. She doesn’t like to do anything unless you pound on the dashboard, especially with a swift kick. She’s a rebel, like me.”

Din stares at you, like he’s struggling to find the words. “I—how did you get her?”

You stare back. “You left me, I went to Hoth, Wedge gave me the ship. I earned her, really, with maintenance and rewiring and anything else they needed, and she was too much of a junker for anyone to seriously use her. But I made her fly, and they let me keep her.”

Din looks across the expanse of the cockpit. It’s not like the Crest was. There isn’t as much liminal space in the windows, the starship skinnier and longer rather than deeper and wider, and you’ve filled this place up with so much warmth. You picked up a string of lights back on one of the planets you passed through, and you’ve hung them up. The blankets are a mixture of the ones you picked up from the base on Hoth, old clothes you’ve nested, and the one that Din wrapped up for you on Yavin. His eyes catch on that one especially, and you try not to internalize it. “You hate being a mechanic,” he says, his voice quiet.

Despite everything, you laugh. “True,” you offer, looking over the complicated dashboard. “I’d choose to do pretty much anything over trying to fix something. But it turns out, I’m actually kind of good at it. Who knew?”

A small smile spreads across his face. “I—fuck, Nova, I missed you.”

It’s out so fast that you don’t know how to react. You want to make him work for it, but again, you’re so tired. You blink, and then admit it. “I missed you, too.”

The moment lingers. It’s not interrupted like it has been before, no one immediately showing up on your trail. It lasts for a few seconds too long, and you’re afraid you might just give in if this lasts for much longer, and then Kicker, the strange savior she is, starts bleeping.

“Damn it,” you sigh, poring over the dashboard. “What’s wrong now? You have fuel, we haven’t had to use the blasters recently, we’re not nearing any ships—” you get caught off guard when she screams even louder, a long, high-pitched shriek, and then, like it’s simply time, she stops. You stare, eyebrows furrowed down the middle. “Okay, Kick,” you mutter, “fair play.”

Din looks at you. “Do we need to…do anything?”

You stare out at the open expanse of space. It doesn’t seem crushing anymore, volatile, hungry, You’ve forgotten how it felt to have someone out here in the blinking blackness with you, how less lonely it makes you feel. You swallow. “No,” you manage, faintly. “She’ll scream like that sometimes. If something major happens, we’ll know.”

Din seems to be satisfied with that answer. He makes his way back to the copilot’s chair, relegated to your usual spot. The role reversal doesn’t feel strange anymore—you in charge of the starship, of your destination, of your relationship—but the complete flip-flopping of it makes a tiny smile break across your face. You don’t know exactly where Takodana is, but you know how to get close, so you punch in the coordinates for the Mid Rim and slowly slide Kicker into warp. It’s quiet out here, just the slight shaking of the ship’s faulty stabilizer, and the way that space sounds when you’re hurtling through it, and you fold yourself up on your chair, perching. This has always been your favorite part—well, second favorite, after getting out of a blaster fight up here completely unscathed—just focusing on the space and the way it bends and pushes you through it, like it’s meant for you. Like you belong here.

Din doesn’t say anything. You can feel his gaze on the back of your head, where half of your hair is hanging out of your braid and dancing around your face. His want to push it behind your ears is kinetic, something you can sense all the way back here.

“What?” you ask finally, your voice low and quiet.

“Nothing,” Din murmurs back. You don’t dare to turn around. It’s agonizing, but you don’t. You just sit there, eyes focused on the weird blueness of warp, trying to predict what Din’s going to say before he speaks again, because, at this point, you know that regardless of him being a man of few words, he has more to speak. “I just—it’s nothing.”

And somehow, you know. “You miss him.” Your voice is small. Din sighs, in the acknowledging way that he does, and you know he’s talking about Grogu. “I do too,” you say, voice still quiet. “A lot. So much. Did he…did he seem happy? Going off with Luke? Like it’s what he wanted?”

Din’s quiet. You exhale through your nose, biting down on your lip to steel yourself, and then you swivel around in the pilot’s chair. He’s staring at you, a slight hunch in his shoulders. He looks smaller, more unsure. Even fully dressed in his beskar, save for his helmet, he looks defeated. You try not to let your eyes roam, but you can’t help yourself. He’s hunched over, like he’s wounded. He is. You are. It’s exhausting, feeling this way, being so close and still so alienated. You want to forgive him, especially when he looks like this, but there’s some small, bleeding part of you that can’t let the feeling he gave when he left you—heartbreak, betrayal—go. It lives on, hungry, even when every other cell in your body is screaming at you to forgive him, to go over, to press your lips to his and let it roam.

But you don’t. You can’t. It feels immovable, so you just sit, aching, in the silence.

“I think,” Din says, finally, his words slow, like he’s choosing them very carefully, “that he needed to go. I don’t know if he wanted to; he was miserable after we—I—left you on Dantooine, and when he got stolen, the look in his eyes when I saved him just…” Din fades out, quiets. “He wanted to be home. With me. With you. But when Luke showed up, something shifted. I can’t talk to the kid—Grogu—like you can. But I know him, and I know he knew this was what he was waiting for.”

You swallow, around tears. “Did—did Luke have anyone else with him?”

“His droid,” Din offers, jaw clenching. “And he mentioned something in passing about Grogu not being the only kid he was training, but that was it.”

“Wedge,” you start, staring at your cuticles, “think that with Luke is the only safe place. Especially me, since I’m Force sensitive , and it seems like every menacing person in this galaxy is after me. I don’t know why. Did—when you spoke to Gideon, did he say why they wanted Grogu?”

Din shakes his head. “Cara and I,” he says, finally, “we—we had to go through some unsavory means to find out where Gideon even was. One of their scientists says they needed something from the kid, something in his blood. I—microbes, or something? It started with an M. I stopped listening when he told me they wanted to harvest something from Grogu, because I just wanted to shoot and drop him on the spot.”

“Midichlorians,” you say, voice distant. “That’s what they wanted to harvest.”

Din startles. “That’s it,” he says, and your eyes focus on the hairs that make up his mustache, how groomed they are, how much stock he took in trying to make himself presentable before he found you on Tatooine, without his helmet, without anything. “How do you know that?”

“I…don’t know,” you answer finally, your tone still faraway. “I just do, somehow, that he has them. Anyone with the Force has them, I—I guess. I’m not sure if it’s something that can be harvested, but if that’s what they were after, that’s why Gideon didn’t care if he took me or Grogu.”

Din sighs, low and heavy. “Nova, I—”

“Why?” you interrupt, fingers flailing around your neck, closing around nothing.

“Why what?”

“Why did they want the midichlorians?” you say instead. “Were they for Gideon? Were they for—for someone else?”

Din squints, as if he’s trying to remember. “I don’t think they were for Gideon,” he says, voice low, strange, strained. “But I—I have no idea. The dark troopers they have now, they’re indestructible. It’s insane. One alone nearly pulverized me. Until the Jedi—Luke—showed up, we were all lost. Something is coming, Nova,” he interrupts himself, “something big and dark. I didn’t realize it before, when Gideon was just after us, but I see it now. They’re gearing up for something big.”

“Yeah,” you say, sliding your thumbnail between your teeth, “yeah, I came to that same conclusion when I was on Dantooine.”

Din’s gaze finds his gloved hands, and then, without warning, he starts yanking them off. “I need you to know—” he starts, and then Kicker throws you out of warp. It takes a few seconds for you to find your bearings, to turn yourself right side up, and when you’ve gotten the ship under control, Din’s mouth is closed, and your heart is hammering with the possibility of what it could have been, but you’re too afraid to ask. You throw your focus entirely into calibrating the dashboard, making sure that Takodana is set in the ship’s nav system. For a while, that’s all you do, until you slowly breach the atmosphere, turning your radio on in case you have to signify that you’re arriving, a refugee, as a friendly person and not an enemy. No calls come in, but you coast slowly, glancing around at the ground. There’s a forest, but when you pull out of it, you see a giant lake and a town that looks like it’s functional as more of a city, everything slapped together with random materials, rooms and whole buildings built on the backs of others. It gives you that same eclectic feeling that Dantooine did, and the same sense of community that Naator gave you. You swallow, roughly, past the lump in your throat, and head to the other side for a landing strip, anywhere you can park Kicker out of the way.

Once you’re docked, in a landing bay just as strangely populated as Takodana’s main metropolitan area, you swaddle yourself up in a cloak and the lightweight trousers you got back planets ago, a light tank top over the top, blaster strapped to your thigh. Everything you’re dressed in is simple, inconspicuous. You tuck your hair back behind your ears before you pull the large swath of fabric up over your head, trying to look as unrecognizable as possible. Your fresher is small and doesn’t have the best mirror, so you just try your best to look as normal and unnoticeable as you can.

Din, on the other hand, looks even more conspicuous without his helmet on. You look at him, watching carefully, as he climbs down the ladder and heads towards the gangplank.

“Wait,” you say, softly, grabbing his helmet off the floor. “Wear this, Din. Please.”

It’s the first time you haven’t said his name in anger, so he whips back around and stares at you.

“I can’t,” he repeats, voice troubled. “I—I took it off,”

“On Tatooine,” you remind him, emphasizing the planet’s name, “to a nearly empty cantina in the dark.”

“Not just on Tatooine,” Din says darkly. “When we were trying to save Grogu, we went undercover to Morak, trying to track down Gideon’s whereabouts. I was accompanied by…someone I used to work with. I had to take the helmet off to log into the system, because it required a face scan. Mayfeld—the accomplice—saw it, and so did everyone else in the mess hall before it ended in the shootout.”

“Did—Mayfeld—did he say he was going to blast your face anywhere?”

Din shakes his head. “No. He told me he’d forget all about it.”

“And I’m assuming,” you continue, shifting your weight back on your other leg, so you can put more emphasis on holding the helmet in the air, “that everyone else who saw you died in the shootout. Right? So that’s what, five people, maybe?”

“No,” Din says again. “I—I had to take it off for the kid, to show him my face. Before I left him, I wanted to give him a way to recognize me in the future. So the Jedi saw it, and Cara, and Bo-Katan, and Koska, and Fennec, and Gideon—”

“Bo-Katan,” you say evenly, “is the ruler of Mandalore, and she shows her face all the time.”

“About that—”

“Listen,” you cut in, sighing, wriggling the helmet at him to catch his eyes, “I know your Way is different. But that wasn’t the first time you broke the Creed. You broke it for me first,” you remind him, raising your eyebrow. “You broke it for me first, and you put it back on after. You can wear it again, Din,” you tack on softly, your gaze traveling over his face like you’re hungry, before you can control yourself.

He just looks at you, and then, right when you’re working up a big speech, he takes it out of your hands and slides it over his head. You feel him hesitate, but the second the helmet hisses back into place, you see his stature change, see the way he carries himself, assured and strong. You nod, pulling your makeshift hood up over your own head, and when the first blast of pleasant air hits you, you breathe a sigh of relief.

In the last month—since you were abandoned by your family and chased across the galaxy by anyone willing to hurt you—you haven’t let your guard drop, not once. You were reckless, and a little careless, but you got so frightened of being found, of being discovered, that you’ve been on the run, subconsciously and consciously. But now, on this planet, with Din back by your side, you feel like you can exhale. Not much—your breath still catches horribly in your chest—but enough to not constantly have your thumb on your blaster, your head whipping around to check behind you.

It feels like it did before. In this one small way, if nothing else.

You walk. Din walks. Neither of you say very much to each other, just trying to move as quickly as you can to the town center, casting glances sideways at the people you pass to ensure they aren’t calling after you, or mentally putting the bounty back on your head. Almost no one even acknowledges you, and the people that do give you small smiles before they tuck their heads back on, clearly as anxious to stay unnoticed as you are.

Finally, you arrive on the steps of a giant building that you assume is the cantina. When you walk through the heavy doors, it is indeed in part a cantina, but it also looks like a restaurant, a safe haven, a store, like all of these things are halved and then stitched together. The band is playing a lively tune—more jazzy and jangly than the ones in the cantina on Tatooine—and people are constantly roaming. You find a small table tucked off to the side, and lead Din over there. It’s secluded, and you shift so he can have his back to the bench, his gaze to the room, like always. You don’t even realize you’ve done it until he relaxes, just slightly, and you hide your smile in the palm of your hand over your mouth, gazing out at the people.

There are more aliens than there are humans, species from all over the galaxy, some you’ve never seen before, others you’ve never even heard of. They’re captivating, loud, entertaining. You feel like you could spend weeks in this exact spot and not get bored. Eventually, a server droid comes over and you order a small dish of porridge and the biggest pitcher of water they offer. Din declines anything, but you make him order water, too, and then the droid is gone, and then it’s just the two of you.

“I should find us shelter,” Din says lowly, “a place to stay.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I just figured we’d stay in Kicker,” you say, happily accepting the water the droid brings. “The small fee that the docking station has would be less than any housing we find here, and I have plenty of blankets.”

Din stares at you. Even under the helmet, you can tell. “I have credits,” he whispers, quiet enough that you have to strain to understand what he’s saying underneath the modulator. “We can—stay at a hotel, or something, an inn—”

You blink at him. “One bed or two?”

He balks at you, cocking his head. “Well—”

“I’m messing with you,” you say, grin spreading across your face before you can stop yourself. “No shared bed until I forgive you.”

“Ah,” Din manages, and you can tell you’ve ruffled him. You let the smile linger on your face as he leans back, away from the closeness. “So there’s hope for forgiveness?”

“I never said that,” you answer, diplomatically, looking back over at the crowd, but you have to force your tongue to stop curling into the word yes.

Days pass. A handful, three, or five, but you’re not sure. Din still sleeps downstairs, and you stay snuggled up in your nest of blankets, telling yourself why you can’t go down there, why you’re holding your resolve. Conversation comes easier. Sometimes, you go out walking by your own, and from the best of your ability, you can’t catch him tracking you. Takodana is beautiful—green and lush, and the lake stretches on forever. You go in up to your thighs one night, the water cold but refreshing, and if you close your eyes to a squint, you can pretend you’re on Yavin.

The cantina stays loud and busy, and the people here are kind. Most keep to themselves, but the mingling conversations at meals gives you that social interaction that being on base did, and even though you’re not actively being a Rebel right now, you can feel the energy. Din talks to you, you talk to Din. You find out that the owner of the cantina—town hall, center, whatever it is—is tiny. She’s named Maz, and she sees through everyone’s bullshit. You hear men three times her size try to lie about their gambling or their spending, and she calls them out every time. Her eyes—small but hugely magnified by her glasses—are knowing, wise. Older than you think she is, but you can’t exactly figure out what age she might be. She’s only looked at you a few times, but when she does, you feel her gaze see through some veil you didn’t even realize was there.

One night, you take your food to go sit by the lake. Din follows, at a distance, but you sigh and beckon him to sit with you. There’s a large boulder, and he sits there, facing you, to quickly scarf down his food before anyone can come by, even though it seems like he’s more lenient with who can see him these days. You sit there with him, quiet but strangely comfortable, even after everything. When the sun slips over the horizon, you stand, suggesting a walk through the woods close to where the treeline is. Din doesn’t follow you, so you go alone, feeling his gaze on your back as you walk away. You try not to think of it as metaphorical.

It’s peaceful, serene. On Takodana, the sun takes a while to set. The planet isn’t huge, but it’s not tiny, either, and you know there’s likely more to it than what you’re seeing, especially since Wedge recommended it. The greenery is everywhere, like it was on Kashyyyk, but it’s much less forest than it is a light cover of trees, and you can see through the gaps of the leaves towards other small towns clustered around the major metropolis. It’s not desolate, and it’s not the city build like the one on Coruscant. You walk, your legs aching a little under the rocks and hills, but you’re not in a hurry to really get anywhere, and for once, you’re not running from something. There’s a darker grove of trees up on top of this small mound, so you crack your neck and breathe through your mouth and start to climb it.

Almost immediately, you feel it. It’s the same exact sense of fear and foreboding that encircled you, white and freezing, on Dagobah. That same kind of dark, sacred energy, the feeling of something horrible happening here. Maybe in the past, maybe in the future—you can’t tell. It’s hazy and slick and heavy, and you want to get down the hill, to run back towards where the light is still coasting over the horizon, to find Din, but you can’t. It’s like your legs are frozen in place, like everything you are right now is simply frozen. You try to yell, and it comes out horrible and strangled, and before you can stop it, you’re hurled straight into a vision.

It’s dark. So dark, and then there’s the ignition of a lightsaber blade. You try to pull yourself away from it, unnoticed, but then the tall, dark figure in a mask much more foreboding then Din’s lunges at you. Evil, you think, skittering backwards, watching as the saber lights red and dangerous, flame coming out both sides at the hilt. You hate it. You hate him. It’s a weird feeling, something dangerous and scary in the pit of your stomach, because you don’t know who it is. Who this is. And it’s not a hatred or a fear you feel now, either—it’s something you know you’ll feel later. Which means whatever—whoever—this is, they’re not here yet.

But it’s still terrifying. His voice is loud and booming, full with venom. He’s menacing and scary and big, and he lunges at you again, and when you roll away, the vision changes. It’s not the tall, dark figure anymore—it’s Grogu. It’s Grogu with Luke, and it’s so vivid you can reach out and almost touch him, and then another child moves forward. His ears protrude out from under a mop of black, dark hair, and even though he’s alongside Grogu, giggling and laughing with Luke, there’s something off about his energy. You can feel it. Grogu can feel it too, you can just tell, and you’d be willing to bet the few credits you have that Luke, alongside the two of you, notices it too.

The vision changes again. It’s you, and Din, and you’re in a building. It’s not anywhere you’ve ever been, you don’t think, but it seems strikingly familiar. All the terror, the white and hot kind of panic you felt a second ago, is gone. There’s something fearful in the pit of your stomach, still, but you look over at him, and something quiets. “Are you sure?” he asks, and it’s low, and his voice doesn’t seem like it’s coming from him, like there’s something in the way of you being able to really see him, and you feel yourself nodding. It feels like something in you is unhinging, releasing, being wiped clean. Then, out of nowhere, you’re being hurtled out of the vision, and you roll off to the side, legs kicking wildly until you find solid ground, like everything has been knocked clean out of you, the air, your breath, everything. You scraped your ankle on one of the rocks, but you’re otherwise unscathed, so you take a few huge breaths to replace the rest of the lost air in your lungs, trying to get back to baseline.

You still feel it, how dangerous and awful the energy is, even after being hauled out of your vision. You shiver, just a little, and then slowly start making your way back to camp, trying to figure if you should check the landing bay for Kicker first before you make your way all the way back to the lake, but you hear shouting—loud and violent enough to somehow know it isn’t from the overspill of people in the canina—and your fight-or-flight kicks in, and you’re running. This time, though, you’re running towards the fight instead of away from it, and when you get close enough, you spot the troopers.

They’re wearing that slightly altered armor, like the ones back on Ryloth, and that alone makes your blood seep cold through your veins. This time, you need to strategize. That tranquilizing dart was no joke, and if you’re not careful, you have no doubts that they’ll try to knock you out again. Usually, stormtroopers are terrible shots—these ones, though, these seem ruthless and calculated, and you’re good at evading, and they got you anyway.

You crouch behind a few buildings, eyes chained to where the battle is. You’re tired. Of everything—arguing with Din, keeping people an arm’s length away, trying to make sure that you stay alive at all seconds because there’s a permanent target on your back—but especially from this. Fighting. You close your eyes for a second, trying to let everything run out of you backwards, the molecules that make up your body rising and rushing. You aren’t intending for this to simply be the Force talking, but you feel it swirl up inside you, tangible and real even in its fluidity. In the flash right before you feel fortified enough to go out and start fighting, you see something. Yavin. It’s Yavin. Not the Yavin you just visited a few months back, not the Yavin that greeted you with its greenness and desolation when you were there, but the Yavin it was. Simultaneously, you see yourself flying in the X-wings, hopping across the stone plates in between the grassy knolls, hurtling underwater on the sandy beach, opening your eyes to the current, and, right before it ends, you see your parents’ faces.

And you are every bit their daughter, so you do what you have to, and when your eyes open to the scene again, you’re fighting.

The troopers are clad in white, but their armor seems to be more streamlined. You take down the first few with your mind instead of a weapon, targeting the ones on the edges so that anyone in the thick of it isn’t aware of the ones that are dropping like flies. In and out, you dart, trying to be quick and efficient, jumping from shadow to shadow to stay hidden. You’re not the best at this part, the precision it takes to be undetected and ruthless, but the makeshift hood you have draped over the upper half of your body helps, all the fabric you’re wearing loosely fitted and easy to contort yourself in. You take breathers as you pull troopers to the ground, kicking up a spray of the dusty, red earth to obscure the people you’re dropping, and then disappearing back into the night until the battle rises up against you again.

It’s not like doing barrel rolls in Kicker, and it’s not like faking out TIE fighters in space, but you’re getting the hang of it. You’re faster and more intentional with every one you pull down with the Force, reserving stunner blasts only for when you know you’re about to be spotted.

And then you see him. In the middle of the skirmish, as always, is the glint of Mandalorian beskar. You sigh, allowing yourself to rest for a split second, just watching as Din takes down troopers with his bullets and blasts, no mercy, no mourning. He’s outnumbered twenty to one, and it’s like he has a fully-fledged army in that suit of armor. You’d bet, under the helmet, he’s not even breaking a sweat. And somehow, despite it all, despite everything, you smile. This isn’t the man that left you on Dantooine. This isn’t the man who doesn’t know how to apologize for breaking your heart because his own is just as fractured. This is the man who rescued you on Nevarro, the man who put gunshots into every thug who’s touched you without your consent, the man who calls you the purest thing in the galaxy right before dropping anyone who tries to corrupt you, the man who broke every single one of his rules for you.

So you do what you do best. You make momentary peace with all your hurt, all your grudges, and you run. You run into the flames, into the intensity, making your presence known. And instead of running away, you stand in the heart of the circle, and you challenge the troopers to come at you instead.

Din’s yelling at you to get back, the troopers are attacking you with double the force they were expelling on him, but everything in your mind is vivid and clear. You take down a handful of them with a nod of your head, the glint of intent in your eyes. Finally, the troopers on the very edges of the battle are starting to wake up, so you dive under the legs of others and shoot your blaster to stun. The girl whose hand shakes when holding a gun is long gone. You’re intentioned, measured. You’re barely even exerting any energy, because they’re doing it all for you. All you need to do is evade, to tuck and roll, and you’re so good at playing the offensive that when you have the high ground, no one is expecting it.

“Nova,” Din calls, and you somersault towards him so the two of you can battle back-to-back with the more ferocious troopers that are still standing. You tuck and roll and lose your hood, but you don’t need to be incognito anymore. Your name means to shine. So you do.

For a second—a fleeting, glittering second—the two of you have dropped an entire regiment. You look over your shoulder, just for a moment, and you can tell you meet Din’s brown eyes underneath his visor, and something in you quiets. There’s no uneven ground right now, there’s no tallies. It’s just the two of you doing what you’ve always done best—protecting each other in the heat of the moment, communicating through knowledge alone.

And then the second ship comes in. The second regiment, the relief, they’re more hardened and even more bloodthirsty. You feel your weight in your knees when you stagger forward, thumbing your blaster in one hand, holding out your palm of your other one, dominant and resolute. It’s harder, this fight, because the twenty-five new soldiers are even more ruthless. You get shot. Once, and then twice, and they’re both flesh wounds, but they’re on both of your arms, so your dexterity is broken, beaten down. You fall to the dust, once, then twice.

“Nova!” Din cries again, and you squint and try to push yourself up and out of the dirt, but you’re wounded and you’re so damn tired. You mean to just take a beat and then hurl yourself up off the ground again, but you get stormed with another hit, and you realize they’ve hit you with tranquilizers again, and it just seems so much easier to surrender. Whoever they’re working for, whoever’s after you, they can take this win as long as you get to fall into this sleep on the way there. Hazily, feeling deprived of your oxygen, you think about Din, and you weakly look up for him, where he’s fighting off the rest of the battalion that wants to spill both of your blood all over Takodana’s ground.

“Run,” you manage, weakly, eyes focusing and unfocusing on the beskar like a laser beam.

His face, still helmeted, still covered, is in front of yours, crystallized, just for a second, but it’s enough. “There’s not a fucking chance,” he says, voice convicted through the modulator, “that I am ever leaving you again.”

You want to protest, want him to get out of there safely, want to tell him that okay, yeah, you’re going back on your word, but you forgive him, because if you’re going to be dragged away by some sort of evil entity even worse than Moff Gideon, you want your big bad bounty hunter boyfriend to come after you and slaughter anyone who lays a finger on you, but you can’t get your mouth to move.

Din’s helmeted face bobs down again, and you open your eyes to the visor. You’re horizontal, and so is he, and then he’s pressing his face against your forehead, just like he always did, in absence of his mouth on yours, of an apology, of a saving grace.

“I—” he starts, and then he’s up and fighting again, and you can’t tell if you blacked out or not, but your body is getting kicked and prodded, and you feel like you’re being lifted into the air, but you can’t tell, everything is swimming, unfamiliar hands all over you, and one trooper’s hand curls around your neck, the other one tangled in your braid, forcing your head backwards. You’re thrown back down on the ground, knees slamming into the dust, and when they try to get you to look upward, you train your vision on the stars instead.

This isn’t how you thought it was end. You register all the weapons in the vicinity slowly be trained on you and Din, who’s also held hostage by the other troopers, and when you focus your eyes past him, you see the open gateway to the hills everywhere, and you realize, somehow, when everyone’s attention was on you, Din let everyone in the town escape. You’d be willing to bet not a single one of them were harmed, because his big body of beskar intervened and obliterated every single menace.

And you love him. Maker, you love him, and the thought alone makes something tangible and horrible bubble up behind your eyes. You’re so angry at him, still so exhausted, still so hurt, but you’re either about to have your throat slit by stormtroopers or be forcibly taken to someone who wants to break you limb from limb and drain your blood for your Force sensitivity, so you need to say it. You need to tell Din you love him, even if you don’t forgive him yet.

“It would be merciful to kill you right here,” the trooper in front of you croons. Your vision is still blurry from the tranquilizer and the grip he has on your throat, but you set your jaw and put as much menace in your eyes as you possibly can. “But you’ve made this very hard on us, and I want to drag it out until our master gets to have his way with you.”

He says your real name, the one on the bounty puck, and you grin. “What?” he growls, and you spit blood out of your mouth, look up at the full moon, and suddenly, you’re fortified. Your eyes close, and this time, you don’t see your parents. You don’t see your life flashing in front of you. You see Luke Skywalker taking down the dark troopers. You see yourself holding off Moff Gideon with your own two hands.

And then you see Din with the Darksaber.

It’s a catalyst. And, still, everything suddenly clicks into place. Din wasn’t holding a higher frequency vibroblade way back on Ryloth when he found you. His helmet was off, showing his face to everyone. That’s what he meant when you first landed, here, why he started to tell you about Bo-Katan.

“Before you torture me and send me off to whoever your boss is,” you say, strained, every atom in your body summoning the Darksaber to fly out of Din’s restrained hand and into yours, “you should really make the effort to get my name right.”

“Stun her,” the trooper in front of you spits at the one with his hand tangled in your braid, and you take the moment to square your shoulders, flex your wrist.

“My name,” you whisper, “is Novalise Djarin. And I’m not scared of you, or the darkness you bring.”

The trooper in front of you grabs your throat again, dragging you upwards. Din is yelling in the background, and you can see him struggling against the six men that are trying to contain him, but you close your eyes and call for the saber, silently and clearly.

And the second you’re upright, it does. It flies through the air, metal and wicked, and when it lands in your hand, you ignite the blade. It goes through your cuffs first, then into the arm of the man who’s holding your hair. It’s sudden and violent, and you’re unrestrained as you drop him. The one in front of you is still holding your throat, and you want to drive the blade right into his heart, but you stomp on his foot and send him howling to the ground as you move the saber around, slicing at limbs and fingers and shins, the dangerous flicker of the blade powerful and right in your hands. You don’t kill a single one of them, even though you want to, because Wedge was right. You’re too good to end someone’s life when you can make them regret laying a finger on you for the rest of your days. And because Din was right, too—you are the purest thing in the galaxy. And all the men with their blades and their threats and their fists fight with the darkness that you’ve never let touch you.

Once all of the other troopers are wounded on the ground, you drag the one who threaten you, who closed his hand around your throat, up against the building. You pin him there with the Force alone, and you look in his eyes as he’s choking for the air you’re depriving him of. “You tell your boss,” you say, evenly, calmly, even though the exhaustion is pulling you down, even though the corners of your eyes are still blurred and deprived of oxygen, “that the next time he wants me, he can come after me his own damn self.”

With that, you release him. You stride over to Din, pulling him off the ground with one hand, heart hammering, breath heavy and thick in your throat, your lungs, and you observe the fifty men the two of you dropped.

“Also,” you call out, just to anyone who’s listening, because you’ve earned your right to leave them with something shiny and intentional after they tried to drown out your spark, “my name means light. Think of that the next time when you try to come for me after dark.” You drag Din to his feet, and you’re not even sure if any of the troopers are conscious after you sliced through sinew and bone, but you’re pretty damn proud of yourself. In the window the cantina, you see Maz Kenata, who didn’t flee alongside the rest of her town. Her eyes, magnified by the ginormous inspecting glasses she wears, are trained on you. You smile, saluting her, and she returns it. It feels huge, something cosmic, but she turns away in the silence as you’re trying to catch your breath.

Din slips out of your grasp. You’re still observing the scene, and you pour out the rest of your water canteen on the small fires that are still burning in the wind as you feel him head towards the ground, but he’s not passing out. He falls to his knees, the same position he was in when he pulled his helmet off back on Yavin, and before you realize what’s happening, his fingers are under the rim of the helmet, and he pulls it clean off.

Your breath—just finally replenished—drops away again.

“What are you doing—” you start, and then he yanks off his gloves again, just like he did back on Kicker, and every word that was on the tip of your tongue evaporates into the thin air.

“Let me prove it,” Din says, low and urgent.

You stare at him. “Prove what?”

“Prove that I’ll never leave you again,” he says, and you blink, trying to search for any kind of insincerity in his voice, his face, his words. There isn’t any. “Novalise, I love you.”

You blink at him, stunned into silence.

“I love you,” Din interrupts, his voice low and clear. “I’m not just saying that. I love you. I’m in love with you. I—Nova, you told me to wait to tell you until you saved me, but you’ve saved me every single day. Even when I didn’t deserve it. I should have told you ages ago. I love you.”

You’re sure no one’s listening, so you say his real name. “Din—”

“I love you,” he repeats, his grip tightening on yours, and you fall to your knees in front of him, grinning despite it all, and you press your forehead into his. “I love you, and I’m never leaving you again.”

“I still don’t forgive you,” you say, “but I want you to prove it. All of it. And I have conditions.”

Din nods. “Anything.”

“First—” you start, but then a trooper screams and rises up with a giant gun in his hand, and Din pulls his helmet back on, lunging in front of you. The beskar absorbs the blow, but he’s out of every weapon, so you spin forward, pulling the Darksaber out of your belt and running towards the trooper, slicing his blaster clean in half. When you make it back to Din, he’s on his feet, and the two of you run towards Kicker as the rest of the battalion starts waking up, injured, wounded, hurt, but still determined. You push her into warp as quick as you can, racking your brain for where the hell some semblance of safety is on this galaxy, but you just go and go and go until you’re far enough away from Takodana, far enough away from the people that just tried—and nearly succeeded—to kill you. You sit in the chair, exhausted until Din drags you onto the floor as gently as he can, with alcohol and bacta patches at the ready, and you let him clean and bandage you up, both of you wordless, both of you thinking everything. Your heart aches in your chest, with that cosmic connection, with something more, with everything you’ve missed the last months. You’re breathing again, even with your lungs this depleted.

“Novay’lain,” Din says, breaking through the quiet, “It’s Mando’a.”

You startle, so used to your shared silence, looking over at him. You can’t get over seeing his face in the light, the contours of it, the bump in his nose, his glorious cheeks. Everything about him—it looks exactly like how you remembered him, how you missed him, the man you love. “What?” Your voice comes out cracked, half silent.

“You were right,” Din whispers, voice hollow. “You told the truth back there. The word, unconjugated, means to shine.”

You swallow. “Why didn’t you—?”

“I didn’t know,” Din interrupts, and you swing your whole body around to face him, “I only know fragments of the language, Nova, enough to recognize the speech.”

You stare at him, messy hair hanging in your eyes. Everything around you is blurry and unfocused. All you can see is him, his gorgeous face, the lines written all over it. You don’t have it in you to be mad anymore. You haven’t had it in you since when he first left. All you want to do is hold him, to rush back into his arms and forgive him. It hurts. It still aches, pulses somewhere down deep and brutal, knowing he proposed to you, he showed his face to you, and then he left you. And you know it wasn’t what he wanted, that it tore him apart to do it, but you don’t forget that kind of pain, and it’s still such a beacon inside you. “What does Novalise mean?” you ask, voice quiet, echoing his question back on the Crest, back before he showed you the place he used to call home.

“To radiate,” Din breathes, and you cock your head at him, slowly moving through the momentum to press yourself up against the wall he’s leaned on, enough to reach out and touch him if you wanted to, “to shine in silence.” It’s a mirror image to where you sat together back on the Crest, but this time it’s different. It’s yours. You have all the power here, and all you can do is stare.

“I was right?”

He looks right at you, those dazzling brown eyes, and you feel your heart strike you straight through. “You were always right. About everything.”

“Din—”

“I can’t give you anything,” he interrupts. “I can’t—I’ve shown my face to people, I’ve lost the kid, the Crest, you.” His face looks so much more sheltered here than it was when he showed up maskless on Tatooine, unsure and turbulent with being exposed to the light. “You tried to warn me about it, all of it, and I didn’t listen. And—I thought I’d felt loss before,” Din whispers, and you try your best to not let the tears collecting in the corners of your eyes fall down your face, “but when I lost you and I lost the baby in one massive, ridiculous fuckup, that was worse. Than anything. I mean it, Nova, whatever your conditions are for me to prove that I’ll never leave you again, I’ll abide by them. I’ll do anything for you.”

You swallow, trying to close the gap between you two, but he lifts up a gloved hand, palm flat against your chest. You feel the absence of where your mother’s necklace used to be, and you close your eyes against his resistance.

“I don’t deserve you,” he repeats, guttural. There’s no light behind his eyes. “I don’t deserve you, I don’t—”

“It’s not about deserving,” you whisper, ignoring the way his hands fall dead and flat you. “I lied. I—it’s not about being right, and it’s not about deserving.” He shakes his head at against you. “When did you know?” you ask, eyebrows furrowed into a ridge in the middle of your forehead, “when did you know when you loved me?”

“When you told me your name,” Din says, voice still so fucked and hollowed out.

“My name is Mando’a, Din,” you say, the timbre of your voice wavering. “My name is Mando’a, and your name means noise, and we make each other quiet. I knew it the second I met you, I felt it. There’s no one else. It’s you and me.”

“Novalise,” he starts, and when you try to protest, you have no choice but to talk over him.

“It’s not about deserving,” you say, voice stronger, “it’s about belonging. I belong to you. I know you. Whatever bad you’ve done, whatever mistakes I’ve made, we’ve already been punished for them. I still don’t forgive you, but I’ll let you spend the rest of our lives making it up to me.”

“Nova—”

You get up on your knees, chancing out your hands long enough to poise them in the air around his face. Din makes eye contact with you, and you move forward into touching his face. His eyes close.

“Keep them closed,” you whisper, barely loud enough to be heard, and he nods, just once. You kiss him, sure this time. And with Din’s lips on yours, with forgiveness the next thing on your mind, you’re energized. All the exhaustion, all the hurt, it’s all slipping away as you kiss the man you love, the man that loves you. It’s like everything led you back here.

*

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*

AAAAAAAAAHHHH I HOPE YOU LOVED IT!!! trying to keep Din and Nova apart these past few chapters was such a huge feat, and attempting to do justice to both of their emotions, feelings, and heartbreaks was so difficult to do when all i wanted was for them to kiss and make up!!!! ultimately, though, i think we've earned the reunion that comes around this chapter, and i'm so excited to share it with all of you!!! <3 we are indeed slowly nearing the end of SM, but i promise, the sequel will be coming almost immediately after! i have this last arc planned, so i'm pretty sure we'll at least have two or three more full chapters, but whenever the last one comes, i will let you know! thank you all so much for everything, for loving my story, for coming with me on this journey!!

CHAPTER 27 WILL BE UP AT 7:30 PM EST SATURDAY, JUNE 26TH!!!

xoxo, amelie

[obeiii-mee]

How will the bros react to MC self-doubting themselves? Like saying bad things about them or can't be serious someone give them compliment.

Supportive demon bois coming right up! Sorry I took so long to write this anon! Thank you so much for the ask! (Also, thank you all for the love on my previous posts!)

————————————

The Brothers with an MC who self doubts themselves:

Lucifer:

-As the embodiment of pride itself, Lucifer has an overwhelming amount of confidence, almost all the damn time

-So, he was flabbergasted to learn that you weren’t the same

-He always insisted that you aren’t anything but perfect, yet you always seemed to brush the compliments off with a shrug and an awkward smile

-Well, shit, we can’t have that

-Lucifer just got 10x more serious about the matter

-He pulls a really stupid concerned face whenever you insult yourself and he looks more and more like a 48 year old man/dad each time it happens

-He, as of late, increased the number of pet names he has for you and the amount of compliments he gives you each day

-He refuses to let you talk badly about yourself anywhere, at any point in time and encourages every little step you take towards bettering yourself like crazy

- Lucifer wants to prove to you that you are an absolute ray of sunshine and he will go to any lengths to do just that (do not ask)

-He’s even more affectionate than usual which confuses just about everyone in the House of Lamentation, yourself included

-His brothers are feeling a disturbance in the force and they don’t know how to feel about it

-You are possibly the best thing that’s happened to him since he fell as angel and Lucifer is ready to do whatever he can to help you realise that

Mammon:

-“You’re an idiot!”

-“*Sigh*, I know.”

-“Wha-Wait! Y-you can’t say thAT!”

-The Great Mammon is seriously worried about his human

-Being the dense motherfucker he is (i still love him tho) it took him weeks to realise you’re not all that confident in yourself

-At some point in your relationship, he jokingly called you annoying and you just went “Yeah I’ve been told. Sorry.”

-His jaw literally dropped and he almost cried

-He would have choked if he was drinking something

-Tsundere Mammon has gone bye bye and here comes the cuddling teddy bear that is your boyfriend

-He also doesn’t have as much self love for himself as he sometimes pretends to have so he’s kinda in the same boat

-Which means your boat is leaking and you’re perfectly fine with it while he’s panicking and trying to throw water overboard with his hands

-His brothers call him an idiot a lot but he’s a very sociable guy with people skills that he uses all the time in order to coax you out of your self pitiying shell

-Will whine every time you call yourself ‘useless’ or disagree with his compliments because what the hell, you’re literally the most gorgeous being ever let me love youuuu

-When it comes to you and your happiness, he ain’t fucking around. He will snarl at anyone that even looks at you in the wrong way

-Did that to Lucifer once, guess a what happened

-You’ve definitely helped him come to terms with the fact that he is loveable and not a good for nothing scum

-So now it’s your turn!

-Let him kiss your insecurities away please

-Your presence makes him feel wanted so he wants the same for you!

Levi:

-Well then

-It takes two to tango ya know?

-He is the KING of self loathing and no confidence whatsoever in anything he does so every time you put yourself down, he counters it with a self deprecating insult as well

-“I suck.”

-“Nah, you’re pretty awesome normie. I’m the shut in, disgusting otaku who can barely set foot outside his bedroom without having an anxiety attack.”

-It’s like you’re trying to outdo the other on who is worse

-Truth is, he really admires you, especially knowing you chose to date him; an anime nerd with no social life and no communication skills whatsoever

-It hurts a bit, every time he builds up the courage to actually compliment you and you not taking it seriously

-That’s because he recognises that he’s the same and just as harsh on himself as you are

-Levi knows self hatred is something that takes time to demolish

-But you are his Henry after all (also his partner but whatevs)

-He’s not gonna leave you hanging when you need him the most

-He also gradually stops calling you a normie as your relationship progresses, though it still slips through every now and again

-Basically, the first time he realised that you think negatively of yourself, his immediate reaction was: Haha lmao relatable

-But now, every time it happens, he gets all serious

-Puts his controller down and everything, it’s like witnessing a very rare phenomenon and it’s creepy as shit

-He’s also made an effort to be more physically affection though he is kinda shy about it because damn it he just wants to hug you every time you speak badly of yourself

-Probably writes a list at some point stating all the reasons why you are better than him and Ruri chan combined, it’s rlly sweet

Satan:

-He’s a bit curious as to where that mentality has come from

-What triggered you to be so self doubtful?

-He’s basically your psychotherapist and asks you a lot of questions trying to find different causes and solutions for your issues

-Honestly, he puts so much effort into trying to understand, reading books about it from the human realm and whatever he can find in order to help you

-He scrunches up his nose every time you call yourself an idiot or anything of the sort

-Satan knows that insisting you’re wonderful won’t exactly help you overcome this problem of yours

-But that doesn’t stop him from doing it

-It’s not like you can ignore his comments because he will keep complimenting you until you accept them

-He also repeats a lot of pick up lines but that’s just part of being his partner

-What do you mean you’re worthless?!! He would literally give away all of his books and his hatred for Lucifer in exchange for your well being!

-Satan is possibly the smartest out of all of his brothers, so he uses a tactical approach on this one

-Direct affectionate gestures don’t work on you so he’s gonna be more subtle

-Would slightly hint that you are amazing every time you do something for him, like fetching him a book or something

-“Ah thank you. I don’t know what I would do without you love.”

-He’s a lot smoother than he gives himself credit for

-He just appreciates your existence and that there’s someone out there that he doesn’t need to be act hostile or fake toward

-Satan is ready to sit down and listen to you talk about your insecurities for hours on end

-You would quietly say something bad about yourself and he would run through the House of Lamentation before bursting into the room you are in, shouting ‘No! That’s wrong!’ (going Danganronpa on your asses)

-“Welp, I fucked up again. I can’t do anything right.”

-And then, in the distance you hear boss music starting

Asmo:

-*Shocked Gasp*

-How could you say such things about yourself???? Is that even leGAl?

-Of course, the literally prince of Lust, with all of his narcissism, has never experienced things like ‘self doubt’ of ‘bad self esteem’

-Pfft, the fuck is that?

-He only uses the most positive of words when he describes himself

-So obviously he almost falls off the bed when he hears you insulting yourself for the first time

-But ya know, that would leave bruises on his beautiful skin

-“Oh darling, you’re not annoying or a moron! You’re not anything like Mammon!”

-That was a below belt fatal hit, press f in the chat for the second eldest

-At some point, he just genuinely believes you’ve been spending too much time with Levi and that his negativity started rubbing off on you

-But then you tell him you’ve always been like this and he almost has a crisIS

-He’s like ‘Haha, no, we’re going to get a spa day out tomorrow and a few shopping sprees so I can prove to you that you are magnificent in every way imaginable.’

-Asmo loves pampering you in general but on the days he sees you feeling extra sorry for yourself, he goes above and beyond

-Gets very hurt when you brush off his compliments because he just wants you to accept the fact that you’re beautiful

-He’s like a supportive mom lmao, whenever you’re feeling self doubtful, he goes “You’re doing great sweetie, keep it up I’m really proud of you.”

-It’s up to you to decide whether that helps or not

-He’s such a sweetheart in reality, it’s hard to remember that he’s supposed to be horny all the time

-Well he is but that’s not the point, you’re way more important

-Asmo is so much fun to write cuz I can make him so dramatic it’s hilarious

Beel:

-Oh no :(

-He gets very sad everytime you self deprecate yourself

-You can’t do it with him in the room because he’s going to start crying and give you this kicked puppy stare, it will break your heart

-Beel kinda comes over and goes “If I give you some of my food will you please stop saying bad things about yourself? Because it’s not true.”

-Well you can’t say no to that face

-He feels like it’s his fault you’re this self doubtful even though you’ve tried to explain to him you’ve always been like this

-He goes crying to his twin half the time because he doesn’t know what to do

-“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to drop it! Fucking hell, I’m such a fucking klutz.”

-“Sniffle no you’re not.”

-He’s like, giving you large portions of his food now

-Because food makes him happy so he wants you to be happy too

-🙂

-His brothers go in shock every time because the only other person Beel has ever shared his food with before was Belphie

-Physical affection goes through the roof with this guy

-Bone crushing hugs btw

-Your self worth is so immeasurable with him, you can’t even measure it

-W h o a

-I’m being serious, don’t talk badly about yourself in front of him unless you want to be hugged into next week

-You are a literal angel in his eyes, of course he thinks highly of you

-He’s just hoping his presence isn’t making your self esteem worse, that’s the thing that keeps him up at night

-Idk why but he does think that he is a bad influence on your mental well being since he’s a demon

-Beel gives you compliments all the time and it confuses him when you laugh them off uncertainly because he wasn’t joking or lying??

-He’s always supportive of your choices and encourages you to be more confident

-The same way you show your support everytime you come to his games to cheer him on

-Overall, he just wants you to feel special and appreciated

-Because you deserve it

-IneedmyselfaBeel

Belphie:

-He feels like absolute shit

-Becuase he’s well aware he‘s called you a few...not so nice words in the past

-Back then, he only thought he meant everything he said but now that he’s hearing you accept his insults and actually repeating them yourself?

-It hurts his brain and he wants to smash his head against all four walls of the room for being such a cretin

-You do tell him it’s not exactly his fault you think so badly of yourself

-But he still believes he fueled it

-So now he needs to fix it

-He’s tried everything and I mean everything

-It’s kinda working, slow progress is made which he’s really happy about but you know, it’s gonna take a while

-He finally settles on physical affection as the best way to communicate his gratefulness for you being youself

-Oh, he wasn’t hugging you before? He is now, get your ass next to him and let him cuddle you

-Handholding has increased by 69% in the last month, sorry for the loss of your right hand with how much he squeezes it

-Sometimes, he can’t help but a throw an insult at you in a playful manner, because he’s an asshole

-But he always makes sure you understand that he was just joking

-He’s such a little shit, you would be having a chat with him and you would subtly drop a insult at yourself hoping he wouldn’t notice

-But then he stops dead in his tracks, kisses you, says “Shut up, you’re stunning” and then he goes right back to the previous conversation like nothing happened

-Accept his compliments damn it otherwise he will continue to bug you about it for the rest of the day

-He’s an eboy and he’s a dickhead a times, but he just goes soft for you tbh

-If you’re feeling really bad about yourself, he won’t even say anything

-He will just big spoon you for the next 24 hours, good luck going to the bathroom or any meals during that time

-Because once you’re in his grip, you’re not getting out that easily

-He gets so pissy if anyone says something even slightly negative about you to your face

-One time, a random demon called you stupid in one of the classes at RAD and he was like ‘bïtch excuse me what?’

-Snapped his head around at him and everything

-He would have done something worse but he was lazy and feeling really petty

-So Belphie kicked him in the privates from under his desk like a damn spoiled brat

-And then he turned his head back to you, all smiles and rainbows and puppies

-I’m simping so hard for a fictional character wtf

-I had to write more protective Belphie cuz I can’t find anything of the sort anymore and I need flUFF

(Haha, I don’t know what this post is, my writing has officially taken a shit lmao. Sorry this took so long to finish, I kept going back to edit all of them)

Al~

[dying-suffering-french-stalkers]

For the ship game: prime numbers for Lupin x Jigen!

HERE YOU GO GHOST, THIS WAS FIVE PAGES IN A GOOGLE DOC AND TOOK ME SEVERAL HOURS

Under a cut, allegedly, though mobile has been known to just IGNORE THAT. Sorry in advance if this gets goofed for anyone.

2) Who is always horny and will have sex at any time, in any place?

Lupin, obviously (and canonically). Just the horniest man you ever did see. Jigen knows what he wants and when he wants it, but he has difficulty keeping up with Don Juan Triumphant over there. Lupin is also far less picky about locations and times than Jigen is. Jigen still has a FEW standards, thank you, and also a stronger sense of self-preservation. Lupin sometimes tries to start shit in public or during a heist and Jigen is like “I REALLY, REALLY APPRECIATE THE SENTIMENT BUT CAN WE NOT.” The closest to public anything Jigen will put up with is bar bathroom/back-alley hookups, and he doesn’t really tend to do that with Lupin or Goemon since they have secondary locations far more suited to such activity (or at least the damn Fiat, if nothing else). That said, Jigen is a spiteful bastard and gets a huge kick out of riling Lupin up over the walkie-talkie during jobs. He is more than happy to get jumped by his boss after they make it out and secure the loot.

3) Who is more into taking showers/baths together? Who tries to make it relaxing and who tries to make it sexy time?

Honestly, while I can totally see Lupin and Jigen doing this with their other partners, I have a harder time imagining the two of them doing this together and I’m not sure why. I feel like these two on their own both like the privacy bathing gives them, whether it’s to clean wounds or decompress from a job.

On the occasions when they do bathe together, I feel like it’s an unspoken kind of thing, where the other person quietly slips in the tub/shower with them and they just don’t bother protesting. I think Lupin is more likely to join Jigen in his bathing, but if Jigen is sleepy enough or lonely enough he might do the same. There is a lot of mutual appreciation of scars. They’ve definitely smoked in the tub before (Intricate Rituals™). Lupin is probably more likely to get handsy, because Lupin, but two can play that game if Jigen is feeling it, and also Jigen gives Lupin a run for his money in the staring department. No hat to hide behind now.

Lupin has also 100% done the whole “Hey Jigen, do you know if—stop screaming, it’s me—do you know if we have any more instant dashi? Goemon’s gonna slice up the sofa if I ruin soba night again.”

5) Who sleeps on the couch when they get into a fight?

Jigen, but to be fair, he canonically sleeps on the couch most nights (possibly to keep an eye on the door, possibly because he knows that place, at least, is always “acceptable” for him to occupy). It’s an odd night if you don’t see Jigen out there with a glass and a bottle of scotch and an old movie on TV. The main difference is that if he and Lupin have been fighting, he won’t bother with the formality of a glass and the TV will be playing far louder or not at all.

7) [A] Who said “I love you” first? And [B] who ends their arguments in a fight with “Because I love you”?

I hate to take the coward’s way out here, but I think the answers are A) either one - depends on the headcanon/fic/version of the characters I’m feeling that day, and B) both.

For A, they’re both the sort of people to show their love—true love/affection, not just flirtation/infatuation, LUPIN—in action, not words. Lupin is a man of many words to a fault, generous with his verbal and physical affection, so Lupin has to find a way to make sure Jigen knows he means it and how he means it. He may rightly fear that Jigen won’t believe him (or else believe him but take it platonically) if he says “I love you” to his face, so first he’ll show him through every little action he can. Jigen is a man of few words to a fault, so saying personal stuff like that out loud is both a last resort and the point of no return. Getting him to say it at all, unambiguously, and while sober is like pulling teeth. Once one of them finally spits it out, though, I think the other is quick to reciprocate (again, if they manage to say it clearly and under good circumstances and not ambiguously/while drunk or wounded/etc. They’re both idiots and selective cowards so this is a big if). The mutual relief is palpable and immediately followed by sex, because they’re both (horny) idiots and selective cowards who do not want to talk about Emotions and Personal Things any more than strictly necessary.

For B, ohhhh man, if it isn’t that same emotional avoidance coming to bite them in the asses! Looks like talking about deep emotions is strictly necessary after all! You know it’s a Big Important Argument for them if this is what it comes to. This is going to tie in somewhat to the answers for 11, 17, and 23, so stay tuned. “Because I love you” coming from either of them should give the other pause, but if they are angry enough, they’re both quite likely to storm off after that declaration anyway. They’ll come back and have a real discussion later, but the shock or frustration of that arresting declaration dropped in the middle of an argument is something neither of them are great at dealing with. Hearing that from Jigen might be enough to stop Lupin in his tracks, but Lupin might also be so dead-set on something that he’ll steamroll right over it even if he knows he’ll regret it later. Hearing that from Lupin probably only makes Jigen angrier because of his awful self-esteem (see answers 11 and 23), and even if he’s been working on that, his instinct will be to snarl “Yeah, right” and storm out the door. I like to think that one day they are able to get to the heart of the argument sooner (because this is almost always it) and work on the behaviors that worry the other so much, but alas, they are a mess.

11) Who makes fun of the other for having a crush on them, and who has to remind them that they are in a relationship?

Once again, either of them depending on the day.

As you mentioned in your JiGoe post, Jigen says it partly because he thinks it’s funny (“You have a crush on me, Boss? Fuckin’ embarrassing”) but also because he’s fishing for validation. His self-esteem/confidence in anything outside his shooting skills is shit and he still can’t quite believe that Lupin isn’t lying/he hasn’t conned Lupin into something. This is rather overestimating his conning skills and underestimating his many good qualities, but, well, genuine, lasting affection is kinda new for him. Much to Jigen’s annoyance, Lupin figures out exactly what Jigen’s up to after the first few times and answers him seriously (and positively) instead of continuing the “joke”. Lupin loses patience for this particular tactic over time but I like to think that Jigen finally begins believing in the affection, too, so it comes up less and less and one day Jigen might actually play the quip straight without the self-deprecation. Ideally he would just take the damn compliment, but it’s LupJig and banter is one of their love languages.

When Lupin says it, he typically is playing the quip straight and fondly giving Jigen shit for showing an Emotion and motherFUCKER I just realized Jigen could probably be considered a tsundere. I hate this. ANYWAY. Jigen then immediately snarks back that yes, Lupin, considering we’ve been travelling the world together and actively fucking for X years, it’d be damn awkward if I didn’t by now.

13) Who initiates duets? and who is the better singer?

Lupin absolutely initiates duets, or rather, he tries to; whether or not Jigen actually chimes in is another matter entirely. Lupin is also the better singer by far (when he’s sober). He loves singing along to pop and rock in the car (“This is the reason God invented America!”).

Much as it would please me personally to give Jigen a smooth operatic baritone, there’s no way in hell he sounds good after smoking a pack a day for twenty-something years. I think Jigen can carry a tune and he’s a decent hummer and whistler, but his singing voice isn’t spectacular.

Lupin occasionally succeeds in getting Jigen to join him in car karaoke, though as in all things, Lupin is much louder and more impassioned. Jigen frequently hums along under his breath, though, and Lupin loves hearing Jigen’s a cappella renditions of classical music (complete with hand motions).

When Queen starts becoming popular, car singalongs become much more involved because it’s MY silly headcanon and You Are Not Immune To Queen. Jigen cried the first time he heard “Bohemian Rhapsody” and he will kill Lupin if he ever tells Goemon or, God forbid, Fujiko. When the four of them are in the car it’s a full-on Wayne’s World headbanging party. (Pops is the drunk guy they pick up along the way. Also, seeing Payless Shoe Source in this clip dealt me psychic damage.)

Lupin and Jigen (and Goemon) are the living embodiment of the drunk friends singing “Sweet Caroline” post, and Jigen is specifically this version of “Sweet Caroline”.

17) Who is more protective?

THAT IS THE QUESTION, HUH, GHOST? Jigen’s job and, to a certain degree, raison d’être is protecting Lupin, but (to cheat slightly and quote your own DM to me), if you think Lupin won’t raze everything to the ground to keep Jigen (and the others) safe, you don’t know him at all. They are this meme to the deepest of faults. They are both so desperately afraid of losing what they have (and in Lupin’s case, this is tinged with a bonus, even more concerning “what is his”) that they will go full self-sacrificing, scorched-earth policy. This is, in fact, my favorite reason for Lupin to do the worst thing he does: fake his own death to protect his partners. Lupin never stops to think that maybe, JUST MAYBE, he should trust his partners to fake grief and keep the secret long enough for whoever’s on their tail to give up or let their guard slip. Lupin is willing to hurt them in an effort to protect them, so in that way, I suppose Lupin is the “most” “protective”. Jigen’s self-abasement to the point of unhesitating and perhaps even hasty sacrifice is painful, too, but Jigen would never dare go to the same level of deception (except in Goodbye, Partner, apparently? But 1) I haven’t watched it yet and 2) while awful, I still feel like fake betrayal pales in comparison to very convincingly (AND MAYBE REPEATEDLY) faked death).

19) Who drives and who has the window seat?

They split driving duties, but Lupin genuinely loves driving and Jigen is more than happy to prop his feet on the Fiat’s dashboard and smoke or sleep the hours away.

23) Who thinks they are not good enough for the other’s love? and who’s more afraid of losing the other? Who thinks they keep messing up, only for the other to tell them they don’t need to worry?

HERE WE GO AGAIN!!! I think the answer to all of these is ultimately Jigen, but that’s not to say Lupin doesn’t share the exact same worries.

Jigen has a very difficult time believing that his partners’ love is genuine, and since Lupin is the one he knew first, that’s where it first manifests. Jigen has had very, very few good romantic connections in his life (if any). He doesn’t know what Lupin could possibly see in an older, prickly hired killer with a drinking problem and a head full of demons. He’s willing to believe that Lupin keeps him around for his skills, for protection, and for sex, sure, but anything past that? Doubtful. This ties into the other two parts of the question: Jigen is afraid that if he fails in his sharpshooting or his protection, he will be cut out of the gang, or worse, Lupin will end up dead because Jigen slipped up. As mentioned in question 17, Jigen cannot bear to lose Lupin and he would never forgive himself if he believed it was somehow his fault. Accordingly, Jigen takes “failure” that exceeds his usual margin of error very seriously in the early days. Later, he is better about this, but the worst-case scenario still stands.

Lupin, on the other hand, has had plenty of romantic connections, some good, some bad, though it is perhaps telling that Fujiko is his longest romantic relationship other than Jigen. He is afraid that if he doesn’t put on the world’s greatest show at all times, no one will give a rat’s ass about some scrawny grandson of an old French thief (or the perhaps unwanted/disliked son of a ruthless crime lord, because I love that fanon for Lupin the Second). He must live up to and indeed surpass the previous Lupins, he must shower his partners in money and adventure, he must always, always come out on top no matter how south the plan goes, or else what is the point of him? It takes time for him to turn his persona off for more than a few seconds, to let the quieter, sometimes contemplative side that slips through the cracks come to rest out in the open. Years down the road, Jigen finally gets up the courage and the words to tell Lupin that he would love him no matter what he did or where he went, even if that was nothing and nowhere. And again, see question 17 re: losing Jigen.

29) Who does some crazy stunt to try and impress the other and who ends up driving them to the emergency room after it backfires?

Lupin is by far the most guilty of this. He’s constantly pulling dumb shit, whether that be for World-Renowned Gentleman Thief reasons or just He May Be Stupid reasons. Case in point: the tunnel scene in The First, after which Jigen was duly impressed. Fortunately for Lupin, Lady Luck must be head over heels for him because the bastard keeps surviving, but sometimes even she can’t save him from medical consequences. Jigen bulk-ordered “Stupid Hurts” band-aids specifically for Lupin. Jigen’s bad choices are more likely to literally backfire on him, but Goemon more than makes up for Jigen’s slack in the Crazy Stunt department.

[constancelaufeydottir]

Help me, help you

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: Attempted suicide, mentions of mental illness and eating disorders, angst, fluff(?)

Summary: You seek help from the stranger who saved you the night you sought for an escape, maybe you weren’t the only one who needs saving.

A/N: This is my first ever fic here! I’ve never written anything before and I’m really anxious to put this out here, please bear with me if I make any grammatical mistakes and let me know what you think!

You probably shouldn’t be doing this. They said you’d disappoint your family and people around you would be sad. But the water, it’s tempting. A dive, and your problems would be gone.

To be honest, you don’t think you family cares at all. They’ve got bigger things to worry about, you sister’s engagement, your brother’s enrolment in college. After all, you were the unwanted kid, an accident. The only time you caught your parents’ attention was when you butchered your job interview. You had prepared thoroughly but a stomach bug ruined it all and your parents blamed you for it, saying they always knew you were a failure, a disgrace to the family.

They didn’t even ask where you were going tonight. They never cared unless you had big achievements in your life or maybe when your failure was too huge for them to ignore.

The sloshing of the water is luring you to jump into it. The deep dark waters inviting you to join the others who had succeeded before you. You moved your feet a little towards the edge of the railings, embracing the chilling midnight wind as you closed your eyes. This is the end, you thought, your foot dangling over the railings ready to plummet into the river.

You felt an arm circling your waist and pulling you backwards until your back hit the ground, a palm caging the back of your head, preventing it from hitting the hard ground.

“Ma’am, are you alright?” You heard a deep voice coming from the right side of your body, hands were on your shoulders gently shaking. You blinked a few times, the blinding lights made you wince as you closed your eyes again with your hand shielding them.

The man who saved you helped you sat up, kneeling beside you to ensure your safety. You took time to have a close look at the good Samaritan. His hair was long, stopping a little lower down his ears. Eyes was the colour of the ocean, almost enticing as the water. His chin adorned with a scruffy beard, lips curving in a small smile. If it weren’t for your bad mood right now, you would have joked that he looked like a modern version of Jesus.

“Why?” You whispered, so quietly if not for his enhance hearing, the man wouldn’t have heard you. “Why did you save me?” You cried out, hands trembling as they grasped the collar of his bomber jacket. Your teary face surprised him and your sniffles made his heart tightened.

“I- I can’t let you die!” He exclaimed. The tears in your eyes spilled out again as you collapsed into the stranger’s chest, crying your heart out. He felt the vulnerability in your voice and hugged you tighter, palms meeting behind you and patted your back to comfort you.

You didn’t know how long you sat there crying in the man’s arms. Your tears soaked the dark red Henley underneath his jacket, causing it to stick onto his firm chest but he did not utter a single word, instead opting to calm you down.

You had no idea how you got home, except for the fact that you vaguely recalled ending up in the arms of a certain stranger, the rest was a blur.

You woke up on the couch the next morning, your phone alarm blaring. The hard rectangular metal was digging the soft flesh of your butt and you groggily dig it out of your back pocket turning the alarm off.

There was a sweet smell of pancake wafted from the kitchen and you sniffed at the smell, face scrunching when you didn’t remember having someone over. The thought of someone unfamiliar inviting themselves into your house alarmed you and your hastily got up from the couch, a pillow in your hand as you inched slowly towards the kitchen. Peeking your head around the corner, you found a tall and broad figure in the space, hands fumbling around with something. You couldn’t see clearly who that was, your glasses were in your bedroom the last time your saw it.

You knew the stranger in your house could never be your brother because one, he was an asshole who gave no fucks about his sister’s life and two, your both hated each other’s guts. Your breath quickened as the intruder suddenly turned his head towards your direction. You yelped as you threw the pillow at him, or the general direction where he was standing.

Of course, you missed the target when he walked towards you. “Shit, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die.” You shut your eyes as you heard his footsteps getting closer and closer to you.

“Hey, you’re awake!” You squinted at the man, trying to make out the features of his blurry face. He looked oddly like the guy who saved you on the bridge last night. He moved closer to you when he realized you couldn’t see him clearly. Your eyes widen at the sudden close proximity, your lips were slightly parted. You could feel his breath against your face, his long lashes and that steel blue eyes.

“Y-you!” Instantly, you were conscious of your own appearance, your eyes must have been puffy from last night’s non-stop crying. There were probably still dried tears on your face. Adverting your gaze from his, you looked to the side as you slid out of the slightly awkward situation. Walking towards the counter, you pulled out a wet tissue and wiped your stiff face with it then retrieving the cold spoons you kept in the freezer.

He laughed when you put the spoons on your eyes, you sighed at the cool sensation soothing the puffiness of your eyelids. “Don’t laugh. It’s effective,” you glared at him.

“Alright, alright.” He threw his hands up. “I’m Bucky,” his hand extended outward, waiting for you to shake it. “Y/N.” He smiled, eyes crinkled as you reciprocate the gesture.

He cooked you breakfast, although it was a simple one, you were still grateful.

“Thank you for last night,” you gave him a genuine smile as he was seated across you on the dining table, stuffing his mouth with the pancakes. “It’s nice to see that someone cares.” This time you smile didn’t quite reach your eyes and he caught it.

Grabbing your hand across the table, he looked at you in the eyes with sincerity. “It’s the least I could do.” Taking a deep breath, cautiously he spoke up. “Y/N, I know it’s not my place to say this but seek for professional help if you aren’t feeling fine. Maybe just talk to someone or … go see a therapist.”

“Are you insinuating that I have depression?” You scoffed. Your eyebrows furrowed in annoyance as you snatched your hand from his grasp and crossed your arms in front of your chest defensively.

Depression? No, you couldn’t have had depression. It’s a sign of weakness, you father said. Depression is just a fancy term to describe one’s laziness, that’s what your mother told you.

“I’m not insinuating anyt-”

“Get out,” you interrupted, “get out of my house!” Enraged, you pointed towards the door while snapping at him. How dare he, a stranger suggested that there was something wrong with you.

Sighing, Bucky gave you a taut smile while nodding then placed a piece of paper on the coffee table on his way out. “Here’s my number in case you needed any help.” He paced towards the door opening it, giving you a last glance before leaving.

It’s been weeks now since you yelled at Bucky to get out of your house. You felt bad and deep down there you knew he was right, but the stigma surrounding mental illnesses was extremely terrifying to you. Not to mention what will happen if your family found out. You were a major disappointment in your household already and you definitely wouldn’t want to add a mental illness into the mix.

You were sitting in your office, typing on the keyboard furiously. Honestly you didn’t know why you were still here. This job sucks, even though the salary was high and you’d just been promoted to manager of the department. Chewing on your nails and bouncing your legs under the desk, you felt the need to just leave everything and go home.

The drive home was painful, you simply had no energy to do so but you still had to go home, your only safe place. Taking off your shoes, changing out your clothes, you lied on the bed. Your stomach grumbled, protesting at the lack of food in your system but you just couldn’t get yourself off the bed to make something for yourself. Your mind travelled back to the day you were on that bridge. You didn’t actually seek for death, all you sought for was an escape. An escape from reality, from your parents, from the constant judgements of people surrounding you.

As you closed your eyes, you wished that tomorrow never comes.

Another day, another disappointment. You were still alive, and the world seemed a wee bit duller than before. Skipping breakfast, you went to work as usual, plastering the faux smile on your face which everybody seemed to liked and expected from you. In this workplace, everybody’s gotta put on a façade and that included you but you dreaded the day where there would be a crack in your mask. Until then, you just had to work harder to reinforce it because according to your parents, nobody would want to see the real you, it was unpleasant … and ugly.

“I gotta say. Miss Y/L/N, you are spectacular. Being one of the Y/L/N, I bet it was a lot of pressure but you have done such amazing job, I think your parents would be so proud of you.” A client who was a family friend was seated across you, a wide grin on her face as her face crinkled rambling about how lucky you were being born into a family filled with successful people.

You smiled and thank her for her compliments, cutting the steak your ordered into bite-size pieces. Poking into one of the pieces with your fork, you lifted it up to your lips. Taking a deep breath, you put it into your mouth and instantly you felt like you were about to throw up. Fighting the urge to spit it out, you endured the taste of the meat as you bite at it mechanically. Looking down at your plate of steak, you no longer feel the appetite to consume any more of it.

Everyday you woke up, you wondered how long would it be until the colours faded into grey. Perhaps it was the only thing keeping you alive right now, counting the days until the beautiful hue of the sunsets no longer amazes you; the sight of puppies doesn’t excite you; the thought of having ice cream whenever you can no longer sounds appealing to you.

You should get some help, you really should. Your body was deteriorating, you could feel it. You weren’t in denial anymore; you knew there was something gravely wrong about you. Your body couldn’t afford being in denial. The loss of radiance in your face, the hair and weight loss and most importantly, you couldn’t put on a façade anymore.

Bucky rushed towards your apartment when you called, he could hear how shaky your voice was. He was extremely worried the past weeks even though he had only met you once. Maybe it was because he was in that dark place before and was able to relate or maybe he took a liking to you. He found himself constantly wondering whether you were well and how long would it take for your stubborn ass to call him.

He arrived at your place as fast as he could, probably drove past a few red lights but he couldn’t care less. He was more worried about you that the fine he would have to pay.

Bucky stormed past the hallway, straight to your unit and knocked on the door when he couldn’t open it. He received no response from you and his mind immediately went straight to the negative thoughts. His heart raced as he banged on the door, shouting your name several times.

He was about to break his way into your apartment when he saw the door opened slightly, your tired eyes meeting his concerned ones. He made his way into the space and immediately got the wind knocked out of him when you hurled yourself into his chest.

“Imsorryimsorryimsorry.” You kept chanting your apologies as you broke down in his embrace. You felt as if you were floating in the middle of the ocean succumbing into nothingness and he was the anchor, helping you to stay in one place. He was a mere stranger to you yet he witnessed every vulnerable side of you, if only your family could share the same level of concern as he did.

“Shh, shh. I’m here now,” he guided both of you to the couch with you still tightly in his arms, smoothing a palm on your back gently patting you. You hiccupped, eyes teary while you tried to calm yourself down. The tears however would not co-operate, it was like a broken faucet and no matter what you try it wouldn’t fix itself. “I’m really sorry for lashing out last time.”

He didn’t say anything, only wiped your tears with the sleeve of his sweater instead. Maybe it was the fatigue of crying too much or the absence of food in your body, you drifted into sleep in his arms while he hummed songs to you.

You woke up in the middle of the night when you heard the heavy breaths of the man. Half awake, you blindly reach out for your glasses on the night stand, vision clearer as you saw the door to your bedroom was wide opened. Getting on your feet, you moved towards the source of the noises carefully and realized it came from Bucky who was now thrashing on the couch in your living room.

He was groaning, clutching at his left arm painfully as if it was burned. A sheen of sweat could be seen on his forehead, strays of hair sticking onto the sides of his face. The front of his wife beater clung onto his chest soaked by perspiration. His groans soon turned into agonizing screams as he tossed and turned on your couch. You noticed webs of burn scars littering the expanse of his left shoulder to his arm and felt your heart tightened at the sight of it.

You hastily knelt in front of the couch, hand gripping on his shoulder and his face. “Bucky! Bucky!” His eyes shot open at your voice, flinching at the sight of you. Hands balled into fists in front of his chest, he was ready to take on any attack coming at his way. He visibly relaxed when he broke out of the haze, pushing his hair back with his hand with a bashful look on his face.

His muscles tensed when your hand reached out to his shoulder, but then slackened when you pulled him into a hug. His head fell onto your shoulder as you patted on his back like how he did for you just a few hours ago, ignoring the sweat gliding down his skin.

It must have been hours; the two of you sitting there in an embrace on your couch, not wanting to let each other go after what you both have been through. No one spoke a word and there was only silence in the large apartment of yours. The faint ray of sunlight peeked through the blinds, gleaming into your apartment reminding you to start the day.

He was the one who broke the hug, an awkward silence now surrounding the both of you. “Thank you … for helping me, even though I was supposed to be the one helping you,” his voice was raspy from the groans and moans. “It’s … uh nothing,” you shrugged, dragging your worn body to make some hot chocolate for him even though your body was screaming for you to lay in the bed, rotting your day away.

Your hands trembled as you passed him the mug. “Where’s yours?” Your head tilted at his question, not quite sure what he was asking about.

“Y/N, how long have you not eaten anything?” You turned your head away, not meeting his determined gaze. You wished he didn’t catch the glint of guilt in your eyes, but you knew he did.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He clenched his jaw at your statement.

“You called me, Y/N. You called me because you need help and I can’t help you if you’re not honest with me.” You gulped at his words. His eyebrows were furrowed and it triggered a fear in you; you didn’t want to disappoint him like you did to your parents.

Your lips quivered a little, eyes darting to the carpet. “I couldn’t find the energy to eat, it’s just too much work. These days it’s either eat or shower. Since I don’t have any appetite anymore, I dedicated all the energy to shower then. But I have a feeling that I might not even have the energy to drag myself to take a shower or even get up in the mornings soon. It’s just so tiring, where do people even get those energy from?”

“Well, we’ll deal with it one step at a time, okay?” Bucky tilted your chin up to make you look him in the eyes. You whispered a meek ‘ok’, suddenly tired at the lack of sleep.

He handed you the now warm hot chocolate, a stern stare on his face. “At least have some fluids in your system, please.” His gaze softened when he saw you gulping at the sight of the warm brown liquid, nose scrunched up in disgust.

He noticed your discomfort and gestured you to wait while he went to your kitchen and rummaged around the drawers only to return with a spoon.

“Baby steps, okay? Just 5 spoons of it then we’re done.” You nodded while he passed the spoon to you.

The whole morning was spent with Bucky in the living room, him giving your warm encouraging smiles whenever you managed to swallow a spoonful of the chocolate drink.

“Go get some sleep,” he gave your knee a few light taps before proceeding to pull you off the couch and guide you back to your room, then went back to the couch himself to get some shut-eye.

Sending a message to your assistant that you would have to take a few days off, you didn’t wait until you get a reply and plopped yourself on the bed, once again drifting into sleep hoping tomorrow would be better than today.

[amxranthiine]

e t h e r e a l (ron weasley x poc!reader)

ethereal (adj.) extremely delicate light, not of this world Pronouns: She/her

Request: Hiiiii! Can I request a Ron weasley x sweet smart reader (if you do POC can she be black?) and she’s a slytherin and friends with a lot of people and has a huge crush on Ron and she’s pretty sarcastic when she needs to be and hermoine is jealous of her because Ron really likes reader and she’s really pretty and smart and Ron plans on confessing to her but hermoine confronts reader trying to tell her she’s not good enough for Ron but reader is headstrong and doesn’t care cuz she loves ron to much and Hermoine and Ron get into an argument about it with her telling him she loves him but he doesn’t feel the same way and asks reader out later she says yes and hermoine is heartbroken(I’m sorry that’s so long I get pretty detailed😭)

A/n: Ahhhh! My first request!! Thank you so much for requesting this darling! Set in third year, the reader is a Slytherin. I’m so sorry if this isn’t what you wanted, I struggled with her being sweet. I had to make it a little angsty, sorry about that! 2.3k words of solid chaos, please enjoy!

Warnings: Bullying? Light swearing? Angst, then a bit of *fluff*, one f-bomb.

Summary: The reader is a POC Slytherin, who is in love with her friend, Ron Weasley. After an awful day, and a run in with his obsessed best friend, can she win the love she desires? (I’m so bad at summaries I’m sorry)

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙ Y/n’s POV “What on Earth are you looking at, L/n?” A voice says to my left. A voice that belonged to Draco Malfoy. I snap out of my lovesick gaze and clear my throat, trying desperately not to blush. I had been staring at my longtime crush and friend, Ron Weasley, for the past five minutes. I thought I was being subtle, not that that matters anyway. Ron barely acknowledges my presence and Malfoy notices everything.  I would have been more scared if it were Granger who had caught me. Merlin knows she hates me for no reason at all, other than the fact that, you know, my robes are green instead of red. Oh, and she knows I like Ron. Bloody brilliant. Her catching my heart eyes would send me flying straight off the Astronomy Tower. She would be the one pushing me. It’s not that Hermione is a bad person, per say. It’s just, she’s a little... Possessive when it comes to her friends. Ron, specifically. She hates Slytherins with a passion solely because of Malfoy and his bag of rats, which is understandable. I just don’t understand why we’re hated for being cunning and ambitious, not all of us are dabbling in the dark arts! Malfoy pinched my dark skin, “I asked you a question, blood traitor.” Of course, because I’m friend with Muggleborns and Half-bloods, that automatically makes a traitor. Almost as bad as actually being a Muggleborn. Recoiling slightly, I lie. “I wasn’t looking at anything, Malfoy. I was merely thinking about the Potions essay that’s due on Wednesday.” On the outside, I may have looked annoyed, which I kind of was. But on the inside, I was trembling like a terrified doe. Merlin, why couldn’t he mind his own business? Playing with a strand of my dark hair, I sighed in exasperation. Malfoy snorts from beside me, “That’s a lie and you know it. Everyone knows you could rival that Mudblood Granger with how smart you are.” He spits out Hermione’s name as if it’s poison. I blush at the compliment (at least, I think it was a compliment) and look down and my hands. My green nail-polish contrasted nicely against my chocolate skin and Slytherin robes.  Inhaling sharply, I take a leap of faith and glance over at the Gryffindor table, only to find the man of the hour already looking in my direction with anger and hurt written all over his face. He then looked to my left, where the blonde ferret was sitting, and his hurt turned to fury. If looks could kill, Malfoy would be cremated in a second, just from the look Ron was giving him. My heart jumped to my throat, and I could feel my pulse everywhere. Why is he giving him that look? Why is he angry with me? What did I do?  Draco noticed my attention was no longer fully on him, and followed my eyes to the redhead. A look of realization crosses his face, and suddenly, he’s cackling. “Him? L/n, are you mentally deficient? He’s a Weasley! A blood traitor! He’s friends with Potter!” His words have a sense of venom to them, even if he’s laughing. I glared at him with cold eyes, “Listen, love, I have no reason to dislike Potter, unlike you. I also have no reason to dislike Ron, in fact I quite enjoy his presence. So, if you would please drop the matter and go on with your life, I would be thankful.” Malfoy’s face morphed into one of anger and disbelief. Sure, we may be friends, but I don’t deal with his crap just because he’s rich and a Malfoy. Luckily, or unluckily, Pansy Parkinson saved me from his wrath. “Yeah, okay Y/n, you’ve been in love with him since first year, everyone can see it!” She snorts, and the entire Slytherin table erupts into giggles. “That is, everyone but the Weasel,” She adds on. My face is as red as Ron’s hair and I feel my eyes tear up. Was it true? Did everyone know? I look around the room for a second, only to see Hermione glaring at me with a raised brow. I look away quickly. Malfoy is practically wheezing from how hard he’s laughing, “Honestly, Y/n, do you really think you have a chance with him? He and Granger practically eloped the day we got here! You would be crazy to think you actually stood-” He stops talking when I stand up, tears streaming down my face. “You can burn in hell, all of you.” I whisper, my voice breaking. Everyone suddenly has a look of guilt on their faces, and I look at Ron one last time. I can tell he’s concerned, but I don’t need him. “Wait, Y/n, it was just a joke!” “Merlin, she’s so dramatic.” “Y/n, where are you going? We were just kidding!” I hear yells and shouts from the Slytherin table as I sprint out of the Great Hall. But what really got to me, was the one thing I heard from the dreaded Gryffindor table. “Look at her, pathetic isn’t she? She can’t even take a joke! Ronald wher-” Bloody Granger. Bloody Malfoy. I turn the corner and slump against the wall, sliding onto the ground with my legs straight out in front of me. I struggle to breathe, the sobs are coming out too harshly. I was a liked person in my year, with plenty of friends. At this moment, though, it seemed as if everyone hated me. I tried to muffle the sound of my cries with my hand, but to no avail.  “Y/n! Are you alright?” I eyes dash to the sound of the familiar voice, and quickly wipe my eyes when I see Ron running towards me. “Y-Yeah...” I mutter, “I’m fine.” My lungs hurt from holding back my cries, my lips quivering from the familiar sting in my throat. Ron sat down beside me, my eyes meeting everything but his own. “You’ve always been a bad liar,” he chuckles slightly. I could feel the blood rush to my cheeks. “Have not,” I mumble. As much as I craved his presence, I was not in the mood for games. I looked down at my hands, something that was quickly becoming a nervous habit. Luckily he must have sensed that I didn’t want to talk about what just happened, and stayed silent for what seemed like eternity. Ron examined me for a moment, he was nervous, just like me. I didn’t know what he had to be nervous about, it wasn’t like he liked me as anything more than a friend... “Y/n...” He whispered, I hummed in acknowledgment, looking at him. “I-I just want to say,” He stuttered, “I don’t care that you’re a Slytherin. I know that may seem impossible because I’m a Weasley, and a Gryffindor, but...” He trailed off and took a deep breath, “ I-I care about you...” My head shot up so fast, I’m surprised I didn’t get whiplash. My heart was thumping against my ribcage harder than ever, and my stomach felt weak. “R-Ron?” I whispered, not wanting to believe my ears or what my brain was trying to desperately to tell me. He likes you, you idiot! Why can’t you see it?  He bit his lip and closed his eyes, something I would have found absolutely adorable if I wasn’t about to faint. “Y/n, I-” “Ronald!” Yelled a high pitched voice. My heart (and spirits) dropped and I sighed. Here we go. “Where have you been? We’re going to be late!” Hermione yelled. “Coming, ‘Mione,” Ron called after her. He looked at me apologetically, though he also looked... pained? “Ronald! Stop talking to the snake and hurry up!” She shouted again, and my rage levels increased drastically with those few words. Ron squeezed my hand to try and calm me, or to stop me from pulling out his best friend’s hair. “Bloody hell, woman! I’m coming!” He turned to me, “Bye, Y/n, see you later.” With a small wave, he was off. It was later that night, I was walking back to the dungeons after hours in the library, writing my Potions essay. Humming a tune I don’t remember the name off, I was slightly spaced out as I strolled along the familiar corridors. What wasn’t familiar, though, was the wand at my neck. Hermione-fucking-Granger was standing right in front of me in all her brilliant glory. Her perfect defensive stance with her wand right in my face. “Hello, Hermione,” I say, trying to stay calm. She scoffs, a disgusted look painted on her face. “Don’t ‘hello, Hermione,’ me L/n,” She practically spits. I shrug, and try to move around her. “Okay, then goodnight, Granger.”  She still blocks my path. “What’s going on with you and Ron?” There is an edge to her voice that tells me there are no right answers. I am genuinely confused and befuddled, “Nothing is going on between Ron and I?” I state, though it sounds more like a question. What on Earth made her think that someone was going on between Ron and I? I mean... I wouldn’t complain if something was going on, but alas; absolutely nothing. I suppose that answer only made her angrier; “That’s bullshit.” “Is it?” I question, trying to push her buttons. She scoffs again and pushes her wand closer to my face, “Ron is mine. Not yours, mine. Stay away from him, or you’ll regret it.” I was raging at this point, but I couldn’t say anything... harsh to her, because Merlin forbid anything happen to the Brightest Witch of our year. So, instead of potentially harming my crushes obsessed best friend, I settled with, “Yeah, okay, whatever Hermione. Can I leave now?” Seemingly satisfied with my answer, she steps aside and watches as I walk away. “I’ll be watching you, L/n,” She says, trying to threaten me. I just snort. “I’m counting on it, Granger,” I call back and pranced away. Internally I was screaming, what would she do to me? Why is she so obsessed with him? Is she so jealous that she feels the need to threaten any girl that even comes close to her precious Ronald? Yes, she is.  The next few days, I avoided Ron like the plague. He knew I was avoiding him, too. Anytime he was within fifteen feet of me, I turned around and practically ran the opposite direction. It didn’t help that Granger had such a smug smirk on her face whenever I saw her. All I wanted to do was shove my middle finger in her face and call it a wand.  It was getting increasingly difficult to ignore Ron, and I didn’t know how much longer I could keep up with it. The longing stares when no one was watching, to the daydreams of what we could be during class- I couldn’t stay away. One night, I was- once again- walking back to the Slytherin common after hours in the library. Only, it wasn’t a wand in my face that made me pause. No, it was the distinct sound of arguing around the corner. Curious, I tip-toed towards the noise, trying to be as quiet as possible. Which was hard because of the echoing halls of Hogwarts, but somehow I wasn’t caught. “Why would you do that, Hermione?!” A very familiar voice yelled. “Because, Ronald, she’s a Slytherin!” Hermione yelled back. “That cannot be the only reason! She’s the nicest Slytherin there is! You don’t own me, ‘Mione! You have no right to decide things like that!” Ron was fuming, I could tell just by the sound of his voice. Somehow, I knew they were talking about me. I was the only Slytherin Ron could tolerate. “Fine, you want to know the reason? I love you, Ron! She was getting in the way!” Merlin, I really should stop listening before I start crying. “Getting in the way of what?!” “Us!” “There is no ‘us,’ Hermione! I don’t love you, I love Y/n! And you deliberately sought her out... And threatened her?! Bloody hell, you’re completely mental!” Ron was practically screaming at this point, he was so mad. I was completely shocked, he loved me? He loved me?! Am I dreaming? Apparently my gasp was louder than I thought, because both Ron and Hermione turned in my direction. Well, shit, I can’t run now. “You love me...?” I whisper. My mind couldn’t wrap itself around that fact. My tummy was swarmed with butterflies, my feet tingled and my hands were completely numb. I couldn’t believe it. Ron just stared at me, mouth opening and closing like a fish. “I-... I... Urm... Y-eah.. I do,” I could have laughed at his attempt to speak, but I was completely dumbfounded. Not trusting my voice, I raced over to him. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I pulled him into a kiss. This kiss... it was something ethereal. It was slow and passionate, but full of love and desire. There was nothing else like it. Our mouths moved in sync for what seemed like forever. I didn’t want it to end. His hands traveled from my waist to my face, cupping my cheeks gently as he towered over me. Alas; all good things must come to an end. Unfortunately we have lungs that feel the need to burn when you don’t breathe. Pulling apart slowly, I smile at him, genuinely smile. His cheeks are almost as red as his robes, and his hair ruffled from my hands running through it. “I take it you love me too?” He asks, smiling just as wide as I am. I nod, and giggles flow out of my mouth from how happy I am. He looks like he’s in a daze, “Bloody hell, Y/n, you’re brilliant.”  “Y/n L/n, will you be my girlfriend?” He doesn’t leave my embrace as he asks this. I gasp, “Yes! Merlin, yes!” Jumping into his arms at lightning speed. A quiet cry is heard from the right of us, and we look over to see Hermione, a hand over her mouth and tear stains on her cheeks. Ron shrugs, “Sorry, ‘Mione!”

[oikadori]

Comforting Stressed S/O Part II

⇢  Pairings: oikawa x f!reader ; atsumu x f!reader

⇢  Genre:  fluff...idk

⇢  WC~ 1,5K 

A/N: So I made one for Akaashi but i kinda liked this situation asjfohhddlkdjk so I couldn’t  help to make it for Oikawa and Atsumu. How can someone be that obsessed with 2D characters? Thank you ♡, enjoy!

Oikawa is not fond of how immersed you are on your assignments 

If you’ve spent too much time on your computer he will start pouting and whining at you. He is just a  big size bb

He loves cuddles, so he needs his cuddle sessions with you. Oikawa will try to snuggle up with you while you’re working

If you don’t let him, after many pouts, he will get tired eventually and stops distracting you.

 If you let him, he’ll talk nonstopping about his day, trying to amuse you 

Oikawa loves to spoil you, he’ll get you all sorts of treats and gifts to cheer your mood 

He is pretty smart so he is always happy to help you 

He’ll be so smug about it  that he won’t stop teasing - he’ll brag about it the whole week 

“(Y/N)-channnn!” Oikawa wines from the living room while the TV  shows the intro of Star Wars “Come on, the movie is about to start” your gaze lift from your laptop to spot your boyfriend with the cutest smile he could possibly show to you, alongside his pleading brown eyes staring at you. 

“Tooru like I told you an hour ago, I have to finish a math assessment” you sigh, trying to show yourself annoyed by him- even when all you want to do is cuddle with him- “Maybe later”

“Yeah, I know, I know but you need a break too” Oikawa looks at you with concern, he moves on the couch, making space for you  “At least come here, sit with me” he pats the new spot next to him, inviting you. “Pleaseee” you roll your eyes, giving him a little smile. 

“You are very annoying, you know?”

When he sees you walking to the couch, his eyes glimpse in amusement, “Couldn’t resist me, could you? I can’t blame you” a cocky smile adorns his lips as ypu sit nect to him.

“Shut up” Oikawa can’t help to chuckle as he lays an arm over your shoulders and kisses your cheek. Your eyes focused on the screen, you keep working as the movie start.

//

“No, no, no!... You are fucking kidding me!” your voice raises over the sound of the Tv, your eyes staring blankly at your laptop. Oikawa quickly turns to you before noticing the tears that are forming on the corner of your eyes.

“(Y/N)...What happened?” he pauses the movie and observes you expectantly, your eyes watering as your lips begin to move slowly “(Y/N)?”

“My laptop froze and the document closed itself and ... I can’t find it.”

“All of the work I made during the week...it’s gone” the stress accumulated breaks through and tears run down your cheeks, you start sobbing uncontrollably.

“Princess..., please look at me” Oikawa turns off the Tv and places one of his hands over yours while the other cups your cheek “Please don’t cry. There’s got to be a backup copy... or something” Oikawa frowns as he moves his hand to his chin, thinking.

“Can I have a look?” you nod, handling him your laptop, he places it con his lap as his arm pulls you to his chest. “Don’t worry, babe, we’ll find a solution” his reassuring voice makes your sobs to slow, he kisses the top of your head, brushes your hair soothingly. 

//

“There it is!!!” you cry out in relief. After almost an hour, Oikawa finally found it.

“Here you go. I’m the best boyfriend, aren’t I?” he takes off his glasses,  smirking  proudly

“You mean, you are slightly tolerable...” 

“Yet you’re still with me, aren’t you?” you can’t help but giggle. 

 “God, I love the way you laugh.” his features softens as he reach your hand to kiss it tenderly. “So, is there any payment for the technical assistance given to this beautiful lady?” he raises his eyebrow looking at you teasingly. 

You kiss him slowly, wrapping your arms around his neck, making a soft grumble escape from Oikawa’s lips “My hero...thank you, Tooru” you whisper and press your lips on his cheek making Oikawa blush.  

“Now, what about we get a dessert from that  store you like so much, princess?” And just like that you knew that no amount of stress would change the future but a look at those chocolate eyes was all the reassurance you need.    

Atsumu genuinely doesn’t understand why you stress about school assignments

Like, he will tease you about it...until you tell him to STFU. Only then he notices how stressed you are

I think Atsumu has 0 experience in comforting people. But when it comes to you he tries his best 

Atsumu won’t be helpful as Akaashi or Oikawa - Sorry Tsumu but, I get the feeling he’s just like Hinata and Kageyama when it comes to school 

Probably will take you out, regardless of your complaints, making an improvised date. 

Any compliment coming for this guy will boost you like 1000% up, knowing how blunt he can be with others 

Like Oikawa, he’ll spoil you but not as often, but when he does, this boy gets a little carried away

He’ll show how much he cares for you, staying with you all the time like even if you aren’t in the same place he’ll start a call and won’t end it until he knows you’re going to sleep.

“Atsumu, could you please turn that off?” you ask your boyfriend, who is sitting next to you watching volleyball videos while you make some Physics exercises - yes, he has homework too but he doesn’t care. 

“I can’t, I’m sorry. It’s a very important match” you huff and move away from him trying to concentrate, but with that much noise, you find it difficult. 

He glances at you, watching your reactions, as the time passes he notices you haven’t advanced much “Homework, huh?” Atsumu asks a little insecure and you lift your head a bit surprised.

“Yeah, Physics...but I can’t solve them” you murmur. You rest your head in your hands, letting out a sigh and some curses. The whole week was full of assignments and you were exhausted. 

Atsumu slowly walks to you, shaking his head and smiling smugly. 

“Why such an intelligent and beautiful girl like you worry so much about a little thing like that?” he moves gently your hands away from your face and caresses your cheek with his thumb. “Come on let’s get out of here” he takes your hands and pulls you up from the chair, you blush looking at the wide smile con his face. 

“But I haven’t fin-” 

“It doesn’t matter. I promise we’ll get back soon, but let’s have some fun, shall we?” he leans down, kissing your lips softly. 

//

After strolling for a while in the mall, hands connected. You walk in front of a Music store that has the new album of your favorite singer.  Atsumu trails your figure curious to see what caught your attention. 

Your eyes are so focused in that special edition  Album that you don’t t notice Atsumu entering the store.

“Tsumu, what did you bought?” 

“Oh! I just got the new Album of my favourite singer” he shows you smugly the album. You giggle and place your hands in your hips. 

“Really?... I didn’t know you liked Taylor Swift, Tsumu” He laughs loudly with his eyes closed, motioning the little box to you. 

“This is expensive...why did you-?” 

“I only wanted to see my girlfriend loosen up a bit” you can’t hide how overjoyed you are by his gesture. You jump to kiss his cheek, throwing your arms around his neck. Atsumu places his hands on your waist, lifting you up and then placing you down again.

“Glad you like it babygirl” his fingers run up and down your back gently. You place your head in his chest as he wraps you with his tall figure. 

 “You are one of the smartest in the class, it isn’t right that you are stressing that much... I really don’t understand why do you do but...” his voice sounds a bit irritated, your eyes look at him with uncertainty , and you notice Atsumu frowning.

 “...you can count on me. Always. I’m sorry if I didn’t give you that impression” Stirred by his words you stare at him, eyes open widely, making Atsumu blush deeply a little embarrassed by his own word.

Your heartbeat rises at the thought of Atsumu Miya saving his sweet side only for you. 

At the sight of your house, you bring Atsumu’s  hand to your lips and kiss it lovingly, stealing a gasp from Atsumu lips. 

“Thank you, Tsumu” you hug him tightly and he kisses the top of your head.

“There, there, babygirl. I’m yours” he pats tenderly your head before walking through your front door.  

While you were speaking, smiling foolishly, Osamu looked at you dubiously. You proudly spoke about how the Miya Atsumu managed to comfort you last night, making you joyful by his presence,his gift and ultimately his sweet words.

The Oikawa scenario was based on a true story but without the happy ending...F in the chat for my math internal  assessment 

Honestly, I’ve never cried that much for a school work.

Hope you enjoyed it! Thanks everyone for reading!

If you want to drop suggestions or only chat I’ll be more than happy!! Byeee (・ε・)  ∴ Master List ∴

[sonnetthebard]

You know that headcanon about Crispin getting into fights by accident? And his worst one being with Vern at a wedding? Could you maybe please write a fic about that? And maybe throw some Crispin x Odie in there if possible? Thank you!

Oh lord, here we go-

Genre: Fluff/ Angst/ Comedy/ Romance Words: 2283 TL;DR: Crispin really, REALLY should start talking when people want to fight him. TW: Fighting, swearing, drunkeness

__________________________________________________

Crispin bit his lip, sitting silently during the wedding reception. He didn't like weddings. He actually didn't like big events at all. Too many people. It made him anxious. But... this was Vern's sister and Mary Jo's brother's wedding. Not that he was friends of either of those people (he didn't even know their names, and that should say a lot considering the size of the town they were in). But he was Ellis' cousin and Vern was his friend, so he had to be there. Plus Odie loved weddings, and he would walk to the ends of the earth for that man. so... here he was. At a wedding reception. The last place in the world he'd want to be on a Wednesday evening. Vern had even done him a 'favour'. He'd made a little 'boys' table with all the people he knew Crispin considered to be friends. It was him, Vern, Ellis, Donny, Odie, Desmond, Aubrey and Sybilus. Apparently Ellis had insisted Vern talk to his sister about it because he 'didn't want his little cousin getting lonely'. Little did Ellis know that Crispin would really rather be alone right now.

It was a good party. And the food was good- especially since he didn't have to pay for it. Vern had made sure they had the best cuts of meat for the dinner, and god was it delicious. Like, the beef option was this melt-in-your-mouth prime rib and it was perfectly cooked. It was almost enough to make Crispin not regret that he'd come to the wedding. But on the downside... everything was so, so loud. Everyone was talking, which meant that naturally everyone was talking over each other. And everything just got louder and louder. It gave Crispin a headache. There was a reason Crispin didn't speak, and it was because he liked the quiet. He liked to be able to hear the voices in his head and think clearly. And words... they complicated things. Especially love. Crispin had seen love go wrong so many times because of words that hadn't been thought out properly. At least with signing you really had to think out what you were going to say. Odie and Crispin did just fine without verbal communication, thank you very much. He wished the rest of the world give it a try.

Crispin had sort of zoned out of the conversation. After all, with so many voices coming at him from every direction... it was hard to follow one set. He just looked around the room, taking everything in. he had to admit, the little tent they'd set up for the reception was lovely. It was pristine white. And inside, Ellis and Mary Jo had decorated it with some gorgeous flower arrangements. Nothing too overwhelming in scent though. And the music... their DJ was good. The whole ambience of the wedding was lovely, save for the voices. Now, if you could just funnel all that noise out and get Crispin a book... things would be great. Yeah. He could go for a book. And another one of those prime ribs. That was good. He hoped the cake was that good. So many wedding cakes just tasted like soap. He was abruptly snapped out of his thoughts by a rather sharp nudge from someone. Crispin blinked, snapping his head to see who it was. It was Odie.

"What're you giving me that look for?" Vern glared at Crispin. Crispin blinked in shock again. Was his face doing that thing again?

"I'm sure he didn't mean to give you any look, Vern... Right, Crispin?" Odie prompted. Crispin nodded, genuinely confused and a little scared. What had he missed?

"No, he did this sassy little eye-roll thing!" Vern insisted. Oh shit, had he? He knew he did that when he was thinking sometimes. "You didn't think my little sister looked good, did you?"

"N-n-n-now Vern... let's not be r-rash..." Sybilus tried to soothe him.

"What was wrong with how my sister looked on her wedding day, Crispin?" Vern asked. He took a look at Vern's place. Ah. He'd gotten some beer. How much had Vern had to drink already? Because depending on how drunnk he was... this could be very bad for Crispin. He frantically signed at Odie, Donny and Ellis.

'I wasn't even listening! I zoned out thinking about how nice this place would be to read in!' Crispin signed.

"You should really stop doing that." Odie advised him. "It never ends well."

'I know...' Crispin signed. 'Just... the whole ambience is great in here except for the voices. I can't help it that I just want to curl up with a book.'

"Well thank god." Ellis sighed in relief, relishing in the drama of it all. "Vern, he-"

"No. No, I want to hear him fucking say it." Vern almost growled. Crispin went pale. No, he didn't want to speak.

"Language!" Desmond chided.

"Vern, you know he doesn't do that!" Donny rolled his eyes.

"I want to fucking hear it from him!" Vern demanded, standing up. He grabbed Crispin by the collar of his shirt. Crispin gulped nervously. God, Vern was so much bigger than him. "What the fuck was wrong with my sister, you little shit?"

"Vern... I think it would be best if you set him down..." Aubrey attempted to soothe. Crispin gave a pleading look to Ellis, knowing that as a relative of the groom maybe he'd be able to talk Vern down.

"Vern, Crispin doesn't speak. And I know he didn't mean to insult your little sister." Ellis stated. "He was lost in his thoughts."

"Fucking creep... were you thinking about the bride on her fucking wedding day?" Vern spat, his words just a little slurred. Shit. Oh, he was drunk. Crispin was fucked.

"Vern... Vern, what's going on?" The bride asked, scared.

"This little shit wants to get in your pants!" Vern glared at Crispin.

"No... no, Vern, he wasn't thinking of her!" Ellis cut in. He liked drama, but he wasn't going to ruin any marriages. "He was thinking about how nice it would be to read in here."

"You fucking expect me to believe that?" Vern rolled his eyes.

"Vern, it's true." Odie insisted.

"Maybe it's what he's saying to you, but that doesn't make it the truth!" Vern growled. No, no one was going to talk Vern down at this poin.

"Vern, think about who we're talking about for a minute. This is Crispin. He doesn't have it in him to insult anyone." Odie pointed out.

"Well..." Donny countered. Odie mouthed a 'not helping' to him.

"Not to their face." Vern grumbled, eyes trained on Crispin. Crispin hated this. But... he couldn't find his voice. At this point, if he could he would.

"Listen, Vern, there's like... literally nothing to insult." Donny shrugged. "I mean, sure, the whole look was a little... old."

"Is that what you called my little sister with your fancy little hand dancing? Did you call her old?" Vern glared at Crispin. Crispin shook his head.

"Old can be beautiful." Aubrey tried. "That's why we study history. There's a lot of beauty in the past."

"Vernie, I was going for a historic wedding." The bride told him. "That was a compliment!"

"Stop trying to fucking vouch for him!" Vern snapped at everyone.

"Vern, enough!" Desmond demanded. "Put Crispin down!"

"No!" Vern shook his head. He focused on Crispin again. "You little shit... no one gets to insult my little sister."

And with that, Vern threw the first punch. It his square in the jaw. Crispin yelped, and everyone gasped. Ellis looked absolutely scandalized- which was a fact Crispin wasn't entirely sure why he'd noticed but he was a bit out of it. His brain was focusing on a lot of weird things. Like how weird Dr. Edwards' laugh was. He was snapped back again when Vern threw another punch. Crispin tried to block it... to no avail. He dodged a third punch. Then Crispin was slammed onto the table... and that was all that Crispin could really remember clearly. He remembered he'd started fighting back in self defense. he hated to, and it hadn't done much good, but... he had to do something. He remembered everyone- including the bride- begging Vern to stop. But... Vern was pissed. Like, drunk and very angry. He was an angry drunk to begin with. It was just Crispin who had gotten his anger that night. He should've known better than to drink at his sister's wedding.

Anyways, they fought until he literally knocked Crispin out. Crispin remembered waking up very briefly in Dr. Edwards' office, but it was late and he was tired so he just went back to sleep. The next day when he woke (still in Dr. Edwards' office) Odie was sitting on the bed beside him and dabbing at something on his face. Or maybe he was cleaning it. God, his face was so tender. Were those stitches? Shit, how bad had things gotten? Crispin groaned quietly. He didn't like this. He had a massive headache- and he hadn't even had a drop of alcohol. It seemed Vern had had enough for the both of them. He'd kind of hoped that the night before had been a nightmare. But here he was. His jaw was killing him... which meant Dr. Edwards probably hadn't given him any pain meds. Odie smiled softly, being a bit gentler.

"Hey, Cris." Odie sighed. "Sorry about last night... we tried. But... I guess the groom got Vern's favourite beer in for the wedding. We didn't really think anything of it until... well, you know what happened."

'Did I win?' Crispin tried to sign. But his right arm was really sore.

"No... no you did not." Odie chuckled softly. "Hey, don't sign if you don't need to. You bent your wrist back trying to punch Vern last night."

'O-H G-O-D (Oh God)' Crispin fingerspelled, before starting to laugh. 'I A-M S-U-C-H A W-I-M-P (I am such a wimp)'

"No, Crispy... you're just a bit smaller than Vern." Odie chuckled along with him. He cupped Crispin's face gently, dabbing a few final tiems above Crispin's eyebrow. "You just lay back and relax. I'm going to take care of you."

"Is he in here?" A voice called in. Crispin tried to sit up and found that he was very sore. That made sense. Vern had kicked the shit out of him. He laid back down. Now he understood what Odie had meant when he said he should lay back and relax. Odie turned his head, sighing before letting go of Crispin and standing up.

"Yeah, he's here." Odie sighed. "Cris, it's Vern."

"Hey..." Vern bit his lip. he came and sat on the bed. Crispin immediately tensed, still a bit scared. "Hey... I am so sorry for this."

'It's okay.' Crispin tried to sign.

"He says it's okay." Odie translated.

"I took it way too far... man, I was so drunk... and my hangover is terrible." Vern sighed. "But like... I'm guessing it's nothing compared to what you're going through. God, I am so sorry..."

"It's fine." Crispin sighed. "Really."

"Hey, you don't have to do that." Vern told him. "I was so out of line, asking you to talk... and assuming that you thought my sister was ugly... man, I was a total idiot."

"Well, that's what too much alcohol will do." Odie chided.

"Yeah..." Vern agreed. "Listen, I just wanted to be sure you're okay... I know I can get really intense when I'm fighting."

"It'll take him time to recover, but... he'll be fine." Dr. Edwards slurred from where he was slumped over in the corner.

"Good." Vern sighed in relief, looking over Crispin again. "When you're feeling better, you come by the butcher shop. I'll give you anything you want."

'You don't need to.' Crispin signed.

"He says you don't need to." Odie translated.

"Yeah I do." Vern chuckled. "Just take it, okay bud?"

'Fine.' Crispin signed.

"He gave in." Odie told Vern.

"Hey, I've been meaning to ask... last night got me thinking... would one of you mind teaching me how to talk with the hand thing?" Vern asked.

"I can show you how to sign." Odie nodded. "Ellis, Donny, Rita and Sybilus also sign if you ever need help."

‘S-Y-B-I-L-U-S signs?’ Crispin blinked. 

“Yeah! He went nonverbal for a while when he was younger, remember?” Odie smirked. He looked back at Vern. “Anyways... any of us would be happy to teach you. Just ask, any time.”

"Thanks." Vern smiled softly. He got up, heading for the door. "Well, I'll leave you two to it. Feel better soon, Crispin. I am so sorry."

'It's okay.' Crispin chuckled.

"He says it's okay." Odie smiled.

"Okay, bud, you're coming with me." Vern sighed, scooping up a somehow already drunk Dr. Edwards.

"But I'm gonna miss the good part!" Dr. Edwards whined. "Wanna stay until they kiss!"

"Not happening." Vern rolled his eyes, smirking. he called back to Odie and Crispin as he left. "Bye guys!"

Crispin waved.

"Well that was nice of him." Odie smirked. climbing to lay next to . "I like Vern."

'M-E T-O-O W-H-E-N H-E-S S-O-B-E-R (Me too when he's sober).' Crispin teased, fingerspelling so he could rest his arm.

"Which is most of the time." Odie chided teasingly.

'Y-E-A-H. (Yeah)' Crispin chuckled. He sighed. "Thanks for doing this."

"Well... you're a lot of trouble, but you're cute... which kind of makes up for it." Odie teased. "So I guess I don't mind so much."

'Y-O-U K-N-O-W Y-O-U L-O-V-E M-E (You know you love me)' Crispin rolled his eyes, grinning like an idiot.

"Yeah. I do." Odie shrugged, equally as teasing. He leaned in and gently kissed Crispin, who blushed. "Maybe it's a good thing that we're teaching him how to sign so that this doesn't happen again."

Crispin couldn't have said it better himself.

[smutsonian]

I just read your works and they are fucking AMAZING!!! Idk if u already watched 'Knives Out', but if u did... can I request where Ransom and y/n are fuckbuddies but it ends with angst? idkkkkkkk... thank youuu x

‘fuck buddy’

Warning/s: smut, asshole ransom, angst, please read at your own risk, spoiler-free, nOt ProOfReAd, fluFf

masterlist

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

It was after another family reunion. You didn’t know why they keep doing that stuff when it turns into a messy fight every year but here you are with Ransom, serving as his “girlfriend” and date. But you know too well that you’re far from having that title. His girlfriend.

You’re pretty sure that Ransom is not capable of loving someone or anything but himself and maybe money. He only bought you to the reunion because he thought that maybe by bringing you there, his family would not think of him as a loser. Maybe they’ll see him as someone who’s capable of keeping something such as a relationship. Maybe they’ll think of him as someone who can actually find someone who loves him. 

Of course, all of that was just for show. You were just for show. You’re not dating Ransom. Although, you have a certain arrangement. You were fuck buddies. That’s what he calls it. You use each other in a time of need. He’ll be there for you when you’re needy and you’ll be there if he is. And one thing’s for sure, Ransom is really needy. You made a deal and so you kept your word. When he needs you, you come. But that’s all that. Nothing more. Just a body to use when needed. 

You can’t hide the fact that you find him attractive. Extremely attractive. If he weren’t such an asshole, you would’ve been in the gutter. But that’s the problem. Once you spend almost all your time with him, you get to know why he’s the way he is. When you get the chance to see how his family acts around him, you’ll understand why he became the way he is. You’ll develop a sense of pity for the guy. You’ll realize that he’s just misunderstood. He’s not asshole by nature. He became an asshole because of his nature. Because of the people around him while he’s growing up. If that makes any sense.

Back to the reunion where he introduced you as his girlfriend. It was all going so well. He got compliments. You got compliments. Something along the lines of:

“Ransom’s so lucky to have you!”

“What a pretty girl.”

“How’d Ransom score someone like you?”

Then it got progressively worse and they started targeting Ransom.

“I can’t believe Ransom would find someone like you.”

“Did he blackmail you?”

“Are you sure about him? You can do so much better.”

The way they talk so badly about him disgusts you. The toxic atmosphere was suffocating and you understood why Ransom was… Ransom. You understood why he is the way he is. Feeling nauseous from the words that came from his own family, you excused Ransom and yourself out of the living room and into an empty hallway. He was visibly shaking. Probably from anger. But his face held much more emotions. Embarrassment, sadness, and loss?

“We can go if you want… I haven’t taken any alcohol so I can drive us-” you tried to pull him towards the main door of the house but he stopped you by grabbing your much tinier wrists with his huge hand and pulled you deeper down the hallway and into a bedroom. He pushed you gently inside and closed the door behind him. “Strip.” He bellowed. 

“Ransom, we can talk about it.” You walked towards him, trying to soothe him by running a hand down his arm comfortingly but he grabbed it with his other hand and glared at you. “I’m not your fucking boyfriend. We’re not in front of them anymore so you don’t have to act like my fucking girlfriend.” He hissed as he pushed your hand away. You stepped back and nodded. Of course, you’re not his girlfriend and he’s most definitely not your boyfriend. He’s made that clear numerous times. 

“Are you going to strip or not? ‘Cause if not, you can just leave.” He hisses one more time. You sighed and began removing your clothes, him doing the same thing with his. When both of you were completely bare, he pushed you towards the bed, making you fall on your hands and your knees. He didn’t waste time and immediately settled himself inside your cunt. He started his thrusts with a slow tempo, having a tiny amount of consideration for you to adjust to his size. When he hears your low moans, he started thrusting faster pulling on your hair and using it as leverage. You groaned at the slight sting on your scalp but ignored it as the point of this night is to make him forget those filthy words that his family said about him not your pleasure. Tonight was all about him. All about his pleasure so he can forget the hurtful words.

You can feel his cock twitch against your walls and that’s when you know that he’s about to finish up. “Your pussy feels so good around me, slut.” He groaned as his hand released your hair only to push your head down the pillows, pressing your face against them and making you arch your back. It gave him better access and he started to go deeper, hitting you in just the right places. When he was able to hit your sweet spot, you couldn’t help the loud moan erupting from your mouth. 

“Little slut loves being fucked like this, huh? Let them hear how much of a whore you are.” He started ramming into you, making your knees shake as you reach your peak. You whined in pleasure as you felt your walls clench around him, earning a series of grunt from him as he chased his own release. 

“Fuck!” He groans as he pulled away from you, making you fall sideways on the mattress. You heard shuffling so you turned to lay on your back just to see him putting his clothes back on. “Put your clothes on, I’ll be waiting in the car.” And with that, he left the room. 

That’s him every time he would release his stress and frustrations out on you. Calling you names, making sure that you know your place. It can be his way of turning you or himself on but all it does is just slap you in the face with the reality. The reality that you will never be enough for him. It’s so fucked up and inconvenient to catch feelings for a person like him. For a person that is your fuck buddy. It’s fucked up because you keep staying even though your heart breaks every time he leaves after a session.

After putting your clothes back on, you went out of the room ready to go to the car but not without bidding farewell from the spiteful bunch in the living room.

Ransom rolled his eyes at you and told you the directions to a club he wanted to go to. So you drove him. Even if he’s such an asshole, you’re still a decent person and it’s just right to watch over him after a long day with his family. You have to make sure that he gets home safe.

—

Sitting beside him in a bar, you watch him as he sips on his glass of alcohol that you don’t even know the name of but it sounds fancy. He turns to you, raising an eyebrow and nodding towards the bartender. “She’ll have a margarita.” The bartender nodded and began to make your drink. “I can’t drink. I’m driving, remember?” You raised a key to emphasize your point. He shook his head as he made an eye-roll. “Don’t be such a loser. I can drive. I handle my alcohol well.” He smirked at you when you scoffed at him. “Whatever” you smiled at the bartender politely as he placed the margarita in front of you. You took a sip and turned to look at Ransom when you see him eyeing a girl just a few seats away from you. You sighed and downed the glass in front of you. It’s going to be a long night.

—

You’ve never been this drunk. Ransom has never seen you like this and it made him quite amused because drunk Y/N is quite entertaining. You’re really loud when you’re drunk. It made him smile to see you finally letting loose. You’re always so stressed and so quiet all the damn time. He tries to help you as you do with him but he feels like he wasn’t really doing a good job. He’s noticed how you’ve been so distant lately and it scares the fuck out of him. He knows he’s not good for you and the closest thing he could ever be with you is by being your fuck buddy. If he was someone else, maybe he could’ve had a chance with you. He knows his reputation. He knows that you deserve someone better. But he’s happy that he gets to be with you even if it was something casual. It was a mutual benefit type of thing but it’s starting to fade and he’s scared that you would realize it and would want out. He’s terrified of losing you and his family didn’t help by trash-talking him in front of you. It just made him feel unaccepted. His family’s rejection, that he can take. But what if you start to realize that he’s not worth your time anymore? 

Calling you names while he pounds into you is his twisted way of trying to make you see that you can be perfect for him. If he manages to make you feel a bit belittled, maybe you can see that you’re perfect for each other? Maybe you can make your arrangement more serious and turn it into a relationship? Was that too much to ask?

— 

In your drunken state, you had no morals left. That’s why when a gorgeous woman walked up to Ransom, you lost it. Your shit, it’s completely gone. The girl gave Ransom a pretty smile and turned to you with a questioning look. 

“Hey, gorgeous. Who’s this?” Gosh! Even her voice is gorgeous. That annoyed the fuck out of you. She’s here for Ransom. You completely don’t stand a chance against someone like her. 

“I’m his whore” you slurred, too drunk to hear Ransom’s shocked “what?” as he looked at you incredulously.

“What?” The girl’s eyes widened as she looked between you and Ransom.

“Is she okay?” She asked him genuinely concerned.

“That’s what I am to you, right?” You poked his chest and laughed dryly. “A whore. A cockslut. A fucktoy!” You hissed but then cried silently after. 

“Fucking asshole” You scoffed and stood up, slapping Ransom’s hands away when he tried to steady you. You wobbled away from him and tripped but the girl was nice enough to catch you.

“You should probably take her home” the girl tried to walk you towards Ransom but you were able to pry yourself away from her before she could even do that. “No, no, no! I’m pretty sure you’re the one that he wants to bring home tonight. You’re probably enough for him. You’re the one for him. You’re gorgeous and nice and pretty and gorgeous. You’re perfect for him!” You made gigantic band gestures as you drunkenly pushed the girl towards Ransom. “Hey, Asshole! I think we should end whatever this is between us. I-I think I’m ready to be in a relationship. You can go and fuck off.” You wobbled away from them and towards a man that was nearby. He caught you and steadied you, laughing at your drunken state. “You alright?” He asks. “Yeah! You want to be my girlfriend? I mean you want me to be your girlfriend?” You giggled as he smiled at you. Before he could even answer, you pushed yourself away from him, just in time to vomit all over his shoes. You were about to say sorry but you passed out before you could even do so. 

Ransom ran towards you as you puked all over the poor man’s shoes, just in time to catch you when you passed out. He ignored his beating heart as he thought of your drunken confession. He also felt his world crumble down when you asked that guy to be your boyfriend even though you’re completely drunk when you did so. He carried you towards the car and as promised, he drove.

—

He carried you into his apartment, shooing the maid away as he carried you to his bedroom. He cleaned you up and made sure to leave a glass of water an Advil on the bedside table and he went over to the huge couch on the far corner of the room. He’ll have to have a serious talk with you tomorrow.

Hopefully, it will all go well.

—

Waking up was a fucking nightmare. Your head hurts and the worst thing is… You remember everything from last night. Every-fucking-thing. That’s not how alcohol works. The universe just likes to fuck with you. Sitting up, you turned to your side to see a glass of water and an Advil. Wait. Why were you in Ransom’s bedroom? 

You looked around in panic and gasped when you saw him laying down on the sofa. You made a quick movement as you drank the Advil and downed a glass of water. Why the fuck is he sleeping on a sofa?

“Why are you in such a panic?” Ransom sat up, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “You’re not afraid about having done something with me, are you? I mean, we’ve done it a lot of times and-” his laughs were cut off by your glare. “Okay. I’m kidding. I’m sorry.” He coughed and took a seat beside you. 

“Do you remember anything from last night?” He asked you nervously as if he was a child who has done something wrong and his parents are about to punish him. 

“Sadly, yes” you admitted with a sigh. You ran a hand down your face with a groan. “Just forget it.” You try to dismiss it but Ransom wasn’t having it. 

“I didn’t know- I… I- Do you have feelings for me?” He asked after a lot of stuttering. He was really nervous yet blatant for asking. 

“Fuck off” you muttered, not in the mood for his mockery. He grabbed your hands with his big ones and looked at you. “I’m being serious. Please tell me if you do.” You were surprised to see him acting this way. He’s never one to beg. He’s never one to show weakness. He’s always so focused on looking high and mighty so this is completely new.

“I… Yeah, Ransom. I do. And I also mean it when I said that we should stop whatever we’re doing. I really don’t want to keep on torturing myself. I don’t want to be your fuck buddy anymore.” You pulled your hands away from his and tried to get out of bed and towards the door but he stopped you.

“Please don’t leave me” he sobbed. You swear your heart stopped beating right then and there. 

“Please don’t leave. I need you. Not just in a fuck buddy kind of way. It may not seem like it but I care about you. I really do.” He stood up and slowly walked towards you with teary eyes. He grabbed your hands once again and sniffled.

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. Even if it wasn’t anything serious, I loved every moment I had with you. It was the closest thing that I’ll ever have with you so I… I thought you’d never go for a guy like me, Y/N. Forgive me if I made you feel like shit.” 

It was silent for a moment. 

“Please say something… Anything.”

“You’re such an asshole. Why are you only telling me this now?” You scoffed and punched his arm playfully. His wobbling lips turned into a smile as he grabbed you and pulled you into an embrace. 

“Because I’m stupid. That’s why.” He whispered against your neck. 

“You really are,” you said, earning a little laugh from him. You stayed in that position for a while before he pulled away from you. 

“Can we try this again? Forget all about the fuck buddy shit and let me take you out on a real date this time?” He raised his eyebrows, giving you a hopeful smile. 

You laughed at him and nodded. “I really like this version of you.” You say as you wrap your hands around his neck, smiling up at him. 

“Don’t get too used to it.” He smirked at you. You scoffed and tried to push yourself away from him but he held you in place. One of his hands on your lower back and the other at the back of your head. He looked down on you with a smile as he leaned down to brush his lips on yours. You went on your toes to reach him and seal the kiss as he moved his hands to pull you up to him, putting you in a more comfortable position. 

“I’ll be the best version of myself for you, Y/N. Only for you.”

– 

“Hey… Whatever happened to that pretty girl at the bar?” you asked as both of you cuddled on the sofa, watching some rom-com on the television. 

“Oh yeah… She was upset but she was… nice.” Ransom laughed at the memory.

“What happened?” you asked, curious about what he found funny.

“Well, he wasn’t amused by me after you’re big revelation…” you felt your body warm up in embarrassment as the memories flashed in your mind. Ransom grinned at you cheekily as he continued.

“Turns out, she wasn’t into me. She was into you. I remember her telling me something like, “If you don’t step up your game, I’ll get her. Treat her how she deserves to be treated.”. She was really scary but nonetheless, nice.” Ransom chuckled at the memory and you just stared at him with surprised eyes. 

“She’s into me? That pretty girl was into me?” you let out a laugh. “Who would’ve thought?” 

Ransom smiled, seeing your face with a genuine smile. 

“Yeah. And so is the guy that you puked on. He even asked me to give you his number. Fucking asshole… I threw his number right in the dumpster.” he scoffed at the memory and murmured the last sentence.

“I threw his number right in the dumpster.” 

“Wow…” you breathed out. “You’re an asshole too, you know that right?” you chuckled as you playfully hit his arm.

“Hey! I’m just not a fan of others eyeing you up. I’ve got a lot of competition here, Y/N.” he gave you a nod of appreciation which you rolled your eyes at.

“And if I were you, I’m going to step my game up like that girl said,” you smirked at his priceless reaction that turned into a smirk. 

“I know, I know. I have a lot of tricks up my sleeves. ‘Gonna give what my girl deserves.” he moves his face closer to yours, giving you a peck on the lips.

“Your girl?” you raised an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah! Sooner or later, you’ll be my girl, darling. Why not speed things up?” he smirked.

“You wish!” you scoffed and stood up from the couch, squealing and giggling when he grabbed you by the waist and pressed you up against his front. He pampered you with kisses all over your face, making you breathless with giggling continuously. 

“Stop it!” you breathed out between laughs. After a while, he did stop but you stayed in that position. With you on his lap, staring at each other. He leaned down as you stared at him with a smile, capturing your lips in a sweet kiss.

“All jokes aside, I’ll do whatever it takes for you to be my girl. I’ll wait as long as it takes. I’m lucky enough to have a second chance…” he leaned down to give you another peck and smiled at each other.

“You probably wouldn’t have to wait that long. I’m a sucker for you, you asshole.” you pecked his lips and when you pulled back, Ransom was sporting that widest grin and gleeful eyes.

a/n: this was supposed to be a drabble but wtf. HI ANON HOPEFULLY THIS SATISFIES YOU SKSKKSKS

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