#these two serving visuals

[dailywoodohwan]

Please don't go. Please don't leave. TEMPTED (2018) 1.02

[bird-inacage]

City Boy Log | Jaejun x Jihan: Boyfriend Behaviour

[silverpiwon]

Jiung ate this one, damn

[joogios]

Fem!Zeke.

[I DON’T WANT TO DIE I DON’T WANT TO DISAPPEAR I HATE THIS I HATE BOYS I HATE MY FATHER AND MY MOTHER I HATE EVERYONE NOBODYCARESABOUTMENOBODYSTAYSWITHME]

[lmaster37]

When you were a child, you entered the temples of Stars and swore your life away.

Twelve long years you spent in Wiagsun, bringing offerings to Meissa, offering worship to Itonda, worshipping without cease Nenque and Tonatiuh. Your devotion you gave to Alcor: the fainter twin, overshadowed by luminous Mizar, ever steadfast and loyal.

Alcor was that which guided your hands as you healed your first scraped knees—which guided your mouth as it spoke prayers and gave thanks—which sealed closed flesh and replenished blood, strengthened bone, coaxed tissue.

It was merely the physical you could heal, of course, but it was enough. For twelve years, it was enough.

When the thirteenth spring of your life in Wiagsun drew to a close, Alcor's chosen Arundhati came to you and laid upon you a holy charge, and not a week passed ere the party of taskfolk arrived and received you into their number.

They were an eccentric bunch, but Alcor had acted well to place you with them. Wiagsun had begun to stifle rather than embrace you; now, you travelled the breadth of the continent. Here you were not a foundling or an acolyte. Here you were Starsworn.

---

Of course, removed from the temples, your skills no longer sufficed.

It was Lífthrasir's death which first revealed your lack; physical survival you easily ensured, but he could no longer tread the path to Hoddmímis, erasing centuries of mastery in an instant. In the end, it was a hordeling that felled him.

Anansewa was abandoned by her colony as her thread was severed. Yosoji's prayers for guidance went unanswered and he withered away.

In the end, it was only you and Occia. Wiagsun had long since fallen before the onslaught; the gods had retreated to the Temple of Vesta, cowering within as Occia alone stood guard.

Her death, at least, came quick. The last Vestal did not see the flame extinguished: it was only when you gently shut her eyes, hunched over her body becoming still, that Vesta's hearth grew cold.

And then, you were alone.

For the first time in fifteen years, you are alone.

---

Behind you, Vesta's temple gives in at last, yielding with a sigh of grinding stone and shattered glass. You're glad that this, at least, dies quietly. You are tired of screams.

Unthinkingly, your heart stretches itself towards Alcor, and finds—

Nothing.

The gods had fled to Vesta's temple. There is nothing left to believe in.

So nothing you must embrace.

---

The sky above the onslaught is emptied.

All the Stars have gone. The Sun set hours ago; no Moon ever rose.

You, too, are emptied. You reach, again, desperately, for the god you've loved for fifteen years—you howl your wrath into the black night—and nothing answers.

Its silence is deafening as it curls around your ribs. You are emptied: you become more empty still. It is the absence of warmth—the failure of light—your faith collapsing inward.

No sound escapes you as you struggle to your feet, leaving behind the ruins of all. It matters not that your shattered legs ought not to carry you, nor that the blackness set before you is absolute.

Your hatred fails you. Instead, you become hunger.

---

You tear through them with absent claw, drink down blood, bite out throats, silence screams.

You have no need for sight. Hunger drives you forward, devouring all that remains.

It is not revenge that you seek, of course. Your ribcage is a hollow thing. You are hunger made manifest: your heart was first to go.

It does not matter that, before you were hunger, you disdained the onslaught. They are all that still is.

You are the starving of the world.

---

And the world is empty, and becoming emptier, and still you are hunger.

Nothing remains but the emptiness of you.

You turn your teeth upon yourself—

You, devouring, are consumed—

And the world is empty.

You were the healer—the last light of your party. But now your final ally dies in your arms, and there’s no one left to save. The enemy jeers, calling you useless. You look up, eyes hollow and black. The light is gone. The Void answers. You're no longer a cleric. You're something far worse.

[foldingfittedsheets]

Working at the mattress store generally means a lot of long shifts. Ten hour days are not uncommon. You come in, sit alone in a box for a long time, maybe sell a bed, it’s fine. It’s not usually an issue of safety, though, because who’s coming in to shakedown a mattress store? We have no cash and nothing really portable.

But there was one night where I was whiling away my time and a guy came in. He was a big guy, muscular and very punk, tattoos, piercings, the works. We got along fabulously and while helping him a middle aged white couple came in. I was pleased to have a livelier night than I’d anticipated. I bounced back and forth between the disparate parties, eventually finding beds for both.

I finished sooner with the couple but they lingered uneasily by the front of the store instead of leaving and eventually beckoned me over. I trotted along to ask if everything was okay and the woman whispered to me that they were scared to leave me alone with the guy. It was getting late and he appeared quite menacing to them. I wanted to laugh, he was an absolute sweetheart, but instead I assured them that all was well and they could go.

They departed and I immediately told the guy what they’d said. We both had a hearty laugh over it. He finished his purchase and went on his way.

In the last hour, I had my final customer. A young white man in immaculate clothes, button down shirt with freshly shined shoes. Reader, I wanted to bolt. The man had the discordant energy of a cracked bell. Something was deeply wrong with his vibes despite his polished exterior. I desperately wished the nice couple would come hover in the doorway and stare.

I gritted my teeth and greeted him, projecting a friendly and unconcerned air. It seemed clear pretty quickly that he wasn’t actually that interested in getting a bed, which alarmed me even more. I tried to go through the process of fitting him for a mattress but instead he would segue off into telling me about his life while making unblinking eye contact. He asked probing questions about me. I longed for the nice punk man to come back in with a question.

I soldiered onward, visualizing my panic button and refusing to show the slightest hint of unease to him. Eventually he told me that he played piano. He asked if I would like to see a video of him playing piano. I said okay. He then turned his phone over and showed me his screen. In it, he sat staring directly into the camera while playing piano. Above the screen he stared with the same intensely unhinged energy in the video, two sets of serial killer eyes fixed on my tiniest reaction.

I smiled politely, pinned in place by social niceties. After an eon the video finally ended. It was clear he was not going to buy a bed. I insisted that I needed to lock up. He asked if he could stay for that. I firmly informed him he needed to leave for that. With reluctance he drifted out the door as I radiated calm assurance of my own safety and power, locking the door behind him. I turned out the lights and crouched behind the desk in the darkened store, peeking out to watch.

He sat in his car for a long time. But eventually he drove away. I darted out to my car and got home as quick as I could.

The encounter remains one of the most unsettling I’ve ever had in retail. In my decade of serving the public I helped a parade of characters from the harmlessly eccentric to the genuine creeps but this man truly frightened me unlike anyone I’d ever dealt with.

[ssa-dado]

what if fleabag reader has to get a new vibrator 'cause her old one died on her or she's just getting one for her friend as a gag gift, and she runs into hotch in the process ? also i didn't know you could get them at pharmacies, but i guess that's a more realistic place for hotch to be (old back and everything).

For a Friend

triathlon!Aaron Hotchner x fleabag!reader Genre: 21st-century-feminist-meltdown-over-an-old-man and pre-relationship mutual pining Summary: You just wanted a new vibrator. Instead, you bump into Aaron Hotchner at 2 a.m., holding six modes of clitoral suction technology and a G-spot stimulator in a paper bag. Now he’s offering you a ride, a jacket, and possibly his number. You’re doing great. Warnings: Sexual themes & imagery (non-explicit but VERY suggestive), age gap, cuss words, hint of the vile act of female masturbation *pearl clutch* with *pearl clutch pt.2* sex toys, objectification of the Hotchner body, reader calls Hotch out for not having an ass, grief (your last vibrator died) Word Count: 4.7k Dado's Corner: Thanks for the request, dearest!! Sorry it took me forever, I hope you enjoy itttt!!! Special thanks to @hotchology for the free psychological counseling

masterlist(s)

Experts say it’s healthy to walk at least seven minutes a day, so here you are - taking your medically-recommended stroll at 2:06 a.m., in the direction of a 24-hour pharmacy, because you care about your health.

Deeply.

You really care about your health especially now that your vibrator has officially died in your hand right in the middle of what was shaping up to be a perfectly respectable late-night fantasy involving you, a locked door, and the tall, emotionally unavailable federal agent with zero small talk skills you’ve been mentally undressing since the first time you saw him do a butterfly stroke at the Y.

…It’s not like you always picture Aaron Hotchner.

You’re not that far gone.

You do have range.

You’ve gotten off to strangers.

To that chief of trauma doctor from Chicago Hope.

To the hot background guy from the Flintstones in Viva Rock Vegas who had two lines and really great hair.

You are complex. You contain multitudes.

It’s just that Aaron Hotchner is… convenient. Reliable.

He’s easy.

Not easy-easy.

Cognitively easy. Low effort. High reward.

You don’t have to invent a man from scratch. Don’t have to mentally composite three mediocre exes and C-list celebrity actors into a half-decent fuck-doll when he already exists fully formed and fully clothed (barely.)

You don’t even have to think.

He’s basically a mental shortcut to climax, muscle memory with forearms, a comfort fantasy - like soup for the soul, if soup were six feet tall and weekly served wet at your local pool.

…And also dripping, practically naked.

All yours, at least visually.

You’ve memorized the way his thighs flex when he pushes off the wall, that split second of coiled power, the twitch of his calves, the ripple up to his glutes as he launches forward.

Perfect form. Perfect technique. Perfect… well.

Not a lot of meat back there.

Not exactly the kind of ass you’d grab with both hands and sink your teeth into.

No jiggle. No fluff.

Just… deeply respectable glutes.

Taut. Efficient. Compact.

An ass with more function than fat.

An ass that clocks in at the crack of dawn, files a huge pile of case reports, tackles a serial killer or two, then goes home and makes dinner for his kid.

An ass that probably says “thank you” when it finishes and then folds the towel neatly afterward.

Toned, athletic. Not juicy.

You wouldn’t bite it. (Lie.) You wouldn’t slap it.  (Another lie.)

(Because you’d absolutely slap it. If he walked past you up a flight of stairs in those tight trousers he insists on wearing - pleated, no less - you’d black out and wake up with a stinging palm, your handprint on him and a federal restraining order in the mail.)

You wouldn’t grope it. You’d shake its hand. A gentleman’s ass. Very in-character kind of ass.

…You’d still let it rail you against a doorframe, obviously.

You’re not an idiot. You have eyes.

And that’s how you know the way his back arches (yes, arches) when he does a lazy freestyle turn. That smooth, arrogant curve of his spine as he rotates, like the water exists solely to show him off.

You’d say he looks graceful, but that feels too innocent.

He’s obscene.

You know everything about his body. Everything except for one crucial part.

The only piece he hasn’t offered up for public consumption.

The mystery.

And yet… is it really?

Because thanks to the tight speedos he wears you’ve done more visual math in that pool cafeteria than you ever did in school.

Circumference. Vein definition. Drop. Girth. Angle. Hinge theory. Left or right lean.

You’ve factored in mass, blood flow, gravitational pull, and fabric stretch.

At this point, it’s not even fantasy, it’s field research. All you have to do is mentally rotate, enlarge by 37%, adjust for arousal, and boom - there it is.

You’ve seen that dick. You know that dick.

If it ever revealed itself in real life, you’d probably just nod.

Like, yes. Correct. That’s the dick I’ve been using. Thank you for confirming.

Your brain barely breaks a sweat.

Which is more than can be said for you, as you’re currently trying to act normal in front of a just-graduated baby pharmacist who definitely still gets ID’d at bars, while heading for the forbidden shelf.

The one that doesn’t technically exist, but everyone knows does.

You make the turn casually.

Like you’re browsing.

Like you’re not here to buy a vibrator at 2 a.m. on a Tuesday only because for some reason, buying it here - in a pharmacy - makes it feel... medical.

Like a wellness thing. Like vitamins, floss, or calcium chews.

Like a very modern, battery-operated form of hormone regulation.

Not pleasure. No, no, no, God forbid.

This is for health, for stress relief. This is for preventing female rage and preserving the social fabric of your household.

Also, it’s very, very late - which is strategic.

No lines. No witnesses.

No grandmas behind you buying Werther’s Originals and silently judging your rotating G-spot stimulator with ergonomic grip.

You tell yourself that’s why you’re here at this hour.

Not because, despite all the feminist essays and body-positive podcasts, you still get flustered at the thought of being seen in public holding a brightly colored orgasm machine.

No. Absolutely not.

You’re here because you swore - never again.

Never again would you endure the trauma of your vibrator dying mid-session and having to switch to manual mode like it was the Middle Ages just to finish.

(And worst of all, it didn’t even work. You dried up. Mood ruined. You just laid there, staring at the ceiling for fifteen full minutes before sighing, getting dressed, and deciding - once again, ironically - to take matters into your own hands.)

You’re a modern woman.

Sexually free modern woman living in a free country that still accounts for death penalty for some of their states. Nothing is more free than this freedom.

You can vote.

You can buy a dual-stimulation, six-mode, energy-efficient G-spot massager - (at least according to the box, which proudly claims it uses fewer batteries than your last one. And you believe it. You trust boxes. You’re loyal like that.)

Right next to the hemorrhoid cream. In the middle of the night.

And you can replace a fallen comrade - RIP to the last one. Gone, but not forgotten - and now, here you are, holding its shiny successor the way you’ve seen people hold babies in movie posters. (Tender. Hopeful. A little overwhelmed.)

Nothing says freedom like that.

Stars. Stripes. Clitoral suction technology.

God bless America.

…Maybe not.

Because just as you take a step back, you collide – directly -with someone you didn’t even hear approach.

“I’m so sorry,” you blurt, right as a much deeper, much more male voice says the exact same thing.

A voice your brain knows very well.

Because not even an hour ago it was busy fabricating that same voice whispering “You’re taking me so well,” and - though you'd never admit this part - also: “Sweetheart.��

(Ew.)

Aaron Hotchner is now standing right there in front of you - real, breathing, and terrifyingly three-dimensional in a full three-piece suit – and is trying so hard not to look at the aggressively pink vibrator box clenched in your hand.

But he saw it. Oh, he saw it.

He’s a profiler. He’s trained to notice things.

(Or at least that’s what your late-night Google search said back when you first typed: “aaron hotchner fbi real???”)

(Which quickly devolved into a behavioral analysis rabbit hole run by people with usernames like @wifeofunitchief69 and @peter-rhea. All of them openly thirsting after him.)

(Especially this Peter guy - who you’re 85% sure is real, 15% convinced was a hallucination - kept posting photos a few years ago that looked… suspiciously intimate. Like “taken through the blinds” intimate. You don’t know how he got them. You don’t want to know. He hasn’t posted since.)

(Guess it was just a phase.)

Aaron’s locking eyes with you. Terrifying. Unfairly hazel, thanks to the pharmacy’s aggressive overhead lighting.

He’s focused on your face. Just your face.

(You are maybe a little flustered by this.)

(You bet all the serial killers he interrogates fall in love with him, too. You bet they get weird about it. Understandable, this man definitely knows how to hold eye contact.)

But you don’t buy it.

There is no way he didn’t read the full headline: “CLITORAL SUCTION + G-SPOT STIMULATION - NOW QUIETER!” (Ironically printed in all caps. For maximum discretion. Obviously.)

You are so incredibly fucked.

Unfortunately, only metaphorically.

Also, the silence is not helping. Not even a little.

…This feels like a crime.

(It’s not. Not technically. You can’t terminate a pregnancy in half the country, but you can buy a dual-motor vibrator next to the Tylenol. It’s somewhere in the Declaration of Independence - just after “life, liberty,” and right before “All men are created equal,” [*except slaves and women].”)

Still.

You are now committing an obscene act of self-service capitalism directly in front of a federal agent.

And some small, awful corner of your brain - the one with leftover shame and badly wired internalized misogyny, inherited from a cocktail of bad parenting and several seasons of Law & Order – fully believes this is the part where he arrests you.

Pushes you against the KY shelf.

Pins you with his full body weight.

Snaps cold real handcuffs around your wrists and whispers, “You have the right to remain silent…”

Which you clearly don’t.

Because your mouth opens before your brain can file an objection.

“…It’s for a gift.” WHY. WHY DID YOU SAY THAT. “…For my friend,” you add… as if that helps. (It doesn’t.)

He nods. Polite. Awkward.

…Too bad his ears are starting to match the exact pink of the vibrator.

Goddammit, he’s a prude.

One of those soft-spoken, morally burdened types who probably says “intercourse” and excuses himself when a condom commercial comes on.

Oh no.

What if this is his first time seeing one up close?

What if you just popped his sex toy cherry?

What if he goes home, locks the door, and has a slow, shameful jerk thinking about you in CVS with a 6-mode clitoral suction wand?

(…You wish.)

No. Worse. Because now he’s staring at you like he wants to ask, “What kind of friend buys a vibrator at 2 a.m. on a Tuesday?”

But won’t.

And since you are a mature, well-educated, emotionally intelligent woman - and not, say, a liar desperately trying to salvage a crumbling cover story – you say:

“Her birthday’s tomorrow.”

(It’s not. It’s in three days. But the product needs testing. Obviously. You’re not going to spend that much money again unless you know it delivers. That’s not selfishness. That’s friendship. That’s quality control.)

“Well… technically today. Midnight and all,” you add, even smiling. So bright. So natural. So deeply suspicious.

“It’s alr-” he starts, finally working up the courage to glance down-

…Only to be slapped – hard - right between the shoulder blades by very enthusiastic, very just-graduated-and-finally-making-big-boy-money night-shift pharmacist who materializes out of nowhere behind him.

Ouch.

Now - to be fair - the pharmacist doesn’t see it. (You do. Unfortunately. In high-definition, too.)

Because Aaron Hotchner is currently holding a box of ThermaCare HeatWraps and naproxen sodium - both of which are for his back.

He jolts forward on impact, barely, and then freezes.

Just enough to make you worry that’s it, that’s the final blow. That he’s going to stay like that forever, just slightly curved, permanently bent.

Italic Hotchner.

“My man,” the pharmacist beams. “Everything alright?”

By the look on Aaron’s face, you can tell he has never seen this person before in his life. Never. Not once.

But Aaron nods - tight, polite, already calculating the minimum number of words required to exit the conversation without triggering a background check or losing his license to carry a firearm.

“Just wanted to say, I really admire you.” The pharmacist grins, still holding Aaron’s shoulder, “Not every guy’s open-minded enough to use toys in the bedroom with their girl.”

…Oh. Oh, fuck.

You should say something. Anything. Correct him. Laugh, even.

But you’re too distracted by the fact that Aaron isn’t saying a word either.

He’s just… frowning. Not full frown, just pulling his eyebrows closer together.

Which, in Hotchner language, could mean anything from “I’m flattered” or “You could’ve handled it differently” to “I’m about to shoot you.”

It’s impossible to tell. You’re not fluent yet. (You need more fieldwork. Preferably hands-on.)

“Damn, look at that,” the pharmacist chuckles, nodding at Aaron’s little arthritis starter pack.

Then turns. To you.

“Is this your fault?”

Ha.

Ha ha.

How adorable.

You wish. God, you wish.

You’d rail him into a herniated disc so bad he’d have to wear a brace for three months and think of you every time he reached for the cereal shelf.

But no.

“Um…” you manage, shaking your head. “We’re not-”

Fucking. Sexually intimate.

Connected in any capacity beyond weekly pool glances and intrusive masturbation thoughts.

(And it’s not like he seems like the type to just have a casual “friend.” No, he seems like the kind of man who'd call a hookup a regrettable lapse in judgment and then spend six months punishing himself for it.)

And so, in doubt? You flee.

A timeless tactic.

You did the same thing when your therapist asked, “Why do you think you’re so attracted to older men?” and you suddenly remembered - oh no! You didn’t lock the café.

“I think I’m just gonna…” you gesture - vague, noncommittal, something in the direction of the register - and after a short, awkwardly graceful round of people-pleasing Olympics with the vibrator-pink-faced pharmacist-

(something between “Sorry if I misunderstood, I’ve been here since 6 p.m. and I’m on my third energy drink,” and “It’s okay, no really, it’s my fault” [for what? unclear])-

You’re outside.

Alive.

Vibrator in a paper bag and…

…It’s pouring.

Not only do you not have a significant other to kiss in the rain like a scene from one of those movies you only watch when you’re actively trying to remember how alone you truly are, but your car is enjoying an extended, all-inclusive, paid-for-by-you vacation at the mechanic.

Great.

“Miss.”

You physically jolt. Because:

1. That voice.

And

2. Miss?! Hello???

Aaron is standing just behind you, yet again.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

“Oh, yes.” You are soaked. And flustered. And holding a fucking vibrator in a paper bag while the hottest man in federal law enforcement addresses you like a schoolgirl who dropped her books in a rainstorm. “Yes. Alright.”

He looks at you with that stupidly concerned face - the one where his brows pull just slightly together.

It lasts a second.

Feels like a week.

“You’ve been standing here for a few minutes…”

…Apparently, the old man’s been watching you contemplate your entire existence under the sad little pharmacy awning while he casually stocked up on meds for his fucked-up joints.

How romantic.

“Oh… I was-” Nope. Nope, you were not anything. You have no explanation.

“Do you need a ride?” he asks.

Oh. Fuck. “Don’t worry,” you blurt. “I live close by.”

Feminism is a beautiful thing.

Except right now.

Right now, feminism is cockblocking you.

Aaron hums - hums?! - already pulling his phone from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and it’s… it’s the smallest iPhone you’ve ever seen.

Probably an iPhone 4, but in his hand - his massive hand - it looks like he’s stolen it from a dollhouse.

He swipes the screen (with his very thick thumb), squints just enough to tell you he’s absolutely in denial about needing reading glasses, then turns the phone toward you:

“99% chance of hard rain until 7 a.m.”

…Unfortunately, you’re far too distracted by his hands to verify the evidence. Especially that thumb, still hovering near the screen like it’s not the most erotic thing you’ve seen all week.

(And speaking of data - there is a study. Something about men with very large hands also having very large-)

Without hesitation, Aaron just shrugs off his suit jacket. “Put it over your head,” then he hands it to you. “Don’t want you to get wet...”

Too late.

Not only because you're touching his very warm, very expensive, very tailored, very smells-so-much-like-him jacket, but because he didn’t even flinch.

Not at the acid rain.

Not at the dry-cleaning bill.

Not at the fact that he doesn’t have an umbrella for himself.

Not even at the fact that he’s now just standing there in a white shirt.

A white shirt. In the rain.

(You pray that he’s not wearing an undershirt.)

(You pray this turns into an unofficial Aaron Hotchner Wet T-Shirt Contest…Wet shirt. Wet dress shirt.)

“…You’re the one holding the electronics,” he adds, tilting his head toward the bag.

Ah. There it is. Thank you, Aaron, for making it weird. Again.

He sort of redeems himself by opening the door of his very shiny, very hot-dad black car like it’s the 1950s. (You hate how much you love it.)

…He even closes the door for you.

There are a few immediate observations that need to be made about Aaron Hotchner’s car:

•           It smells divine. Like clean leather, big paycheck, small emotional availability and a touch of lavender, too.

•           It’s spotless. Not a crumb. Not a fingerprint. There’s not a speck of dust anywhere.

•           There are superhero comics tucked into the seat pocket. Jack’s, obviously. Unless… they’re his. Which would be - God. A brooding man with a soft spot for two-dimensional justice and emotionally stunted men in capes. Fatherhood and projection, hand in hand. Amazing.

But what really grabs your attention is the seating.

Full black leather.

Sleek. Cold enough to sting if your thighs were bare. Soft enough to leave marks if you were sitting on his lap instead.

Easy to wipe down. Easy to grip.

A car designed to be fucked in.

The hottest thing inside it, though? Probably the fact that it takes a few soft Are you alrights and Do you need anythings before Aaron finally starts the engine.

And it’s… quiet. Disturbingly quiet. No coughing. No sputtering. No “please God start” noises.

Just… starts.

“It’s such a cool car,” you blurt.

Fifty percent because you mean it.

Fifty percent because the silence is killing you and that’s literally the first thing your brain offered up as a conversation starter. You’re not even sure what you’re complimenting. Just that it has… technology.

You’re genuinely impressed. There’s literally a screen. A touchscreen. With sensors. A built-in navigator.

Meanwhile, your car still has a cassette slot, three loose aux cables, a suspicious stain that doesn’t want to come off, and a radio that only plays static unless you hit it twice.

“It’s a good car,” he replies, completely unbothered. Literally just a man stating a fact. About his vehicle. And yet, your brain shuts off.

You’re hot under the collar because Aaron Hotchner said something true… in a nice voice.

That’s it. That’s the bar.

And to make it worse, he doesn’t follow it up. No “Do you drive much?” No “What year is yours?”

Nothing. Just those three words and then silence.

He's the worst small talker you've ever met and now you have no idea how to keep this going.

You consider asking him about… tires. Or gas mileage. Or how long it took him to sell his soul to become this repressed.

Pathetic.

You’re even more pathetic when he does that thing. The hot thing. The driving thing.

Where he turns around to check behind him - one hand on the back of your seat, other on the wheel - torso twisting, shirt clinging, full neck exposure.

Basically porn.

You try so hard not to spontaneously combust.

Not just because you’re pressed into his personal space, or because his white dress shirt is completely see-through now after all that rain and you can see where his spine ends, or because he’s absolutely not wearing an undershirt and is one unexpected pothole away from full nipple contact.

No. It’s the tongue.

The tiny flick. Just a flash. Quick. Absent. Almost innocent.

His tongue darts out - just a little - as he focuses, like it helps him steer straighter. Nothing but a reflex. He probably doesn’t even know he’s doing it.

You, however, are acutely aware-

Just as aware as you are of the fact that the two of you are sitting in near silence. Almost comfortable.

If not for the small detail that you’re horny and holding a vibrator in a paper bag. The only sound is the rain-

And the soft, awkward half-comment he lets slip when you tell him your address:

“Oh. You were right. It is really… close.”

No shit, Sherlock.

If you had even an ounce of courage, this would be the most satisfying “told you so” of your life - because not even four minutes in, he’s already pulling into the cracked little square that overlooks your apartment complex.

“Where’s the entrance?” he asks, squinting at the very charming, definitely-not-a-fire-hazard 1970s architecture. “It’s barely lit here.”

He’s right, though.

There’s a little pedestrian alley that leads to your stairwell, and it’s lit by what is essentially half a lightbulb and probably one moth if you’re lucky.

“I can’t leave you here,” he says, already switching off the engine.

“It’s fine, don’t worry, I’ve done it alone a thousand times.”

You get The Look™.

The full Dad Look™.

Eyebrows lowered. Mouth set. Silent moral judgment loading. Which, naturally, makes you blurt out something helpful:

“I swear. Even at 3 a.m. When I was blackout drunk.”

He looks horrified.

Which is… great. Exactly the vibe you were going for on this totally unromantic, emotionally neutral, post-pharmacy ride home.

“Well, you’re not walking alone all the way there today,” then he proceeds to open the driver’s door before you can even object.

“Wait- really, you don’t have to-”

“Stay here,” he cuts in, already halfway out before you can finish.

Then suddenly, he’s at your door. Umbrella overhead.

Like some man from a black-and-white movie who has no idea you’re holding a vibrator in your bag and have a sink full of crusted risotto waiting at home.

Chivalry.

That’s what it should be called. But that word feels too… medieval. Too knight-in-shining-armor. Too “written by robed men who thought ankles were sinful and menstruation was the devil’s piss.”

No.

From him, this isn’t chivalry. It’s something else.

Not performance. Not politeness.

Just… kindness.

Offensively tender, nonverbal, soak-himself-in-the-rain kind of kindness.

And so the two of you walk under the same umbrella together, arms brushing every other step.

You try to create distance. He scoots closer.

Adjusts the umbrella to keep you dry.

Prioritizes your dry head over his own sopping suit.

Kind of romantic.

You could kiss him here.

Right now.

Under this umbrella. In the rain. In front of your depressing 70s concrete box of an apartment.

You could just… do it.

Lean in. Shut him up. See what that mouth actually feels like.

If it weren’t for the very inconvenient fact that you are juuuuuust a bit terrified of rejection.

Terrified in the “ha-ha I’ll never date again if someone even slightly hesitates when I flirt” way.

In the “I’ll replay the rejection in the shower for the next ten years, write five alternate endings, and mentally workshop comebacks well into menopause” kind of way.

In the “what if he says no and then I have to move to Vermont” way.

Also, you are currently holding a vibrator in a paper bag. So. There’s that.

Still, Temptation is real.

Even because Aaron is still mid-monologue about street lighting standards. Turning his head every few steps. Gesturing with one hand like a man who has read far too many municipal codes for someone this hot.

The idea of shutting him up for good with a kiss is honestly starting to sound like a public service.

“It’s barely visible here,” he mutters, scanning the alley. “No signage. No reflective paint. Anyone could-”

“Trip?” you offer.

“Worse.” He deadpans, then turns toward you, “Are you humoring me?”

“A little,” you shrug (he’s pathetic.)

He stops. Looks at you. “I’m being serious.”

…Ah, the dad voice. Firm. Slightly patronizing. Delicious.

“I know,” you smile. “That’s what makes it so fun.”

By the time he’s done glaring, you’re already at your building entrance, heart stupidly tight.

Saved. Almost.

“Well… this is me.” You pull out your keys to prove to him you’ve got your shit together. “Um… thanks for the ride. And the walk, of course.” (What is this, Pride & Prejudice?) “I think I’m good from here.”

You say it lightly, casual, because if you don’t end it now, you’re 100% sure he’ll keep going.

He’ll follow you to your door.

To your kitchen. To your hallway. Maybe even your bedroom.

Not for sex. God, no.

Just to make sure you’re safely tucked in.

That your bedroom window locks properly.

That the shadow outside was just a tree and not a threat (more likely, the stray cat you and two old ladies keep over-feeding.)

He’d stand there - in the doorway, quiet, stiff, arms crossed - and wait until you hit REM sleep before silently excusing himself.

The worst part? He’d make it feel horribly sweet.

And the much, much worse part? To do that, he’d have to walk through the disaster zone you call home.

The crusty risotto bowls still soaking in the sink. Three wine glasses, none of which match. A fork in a mug.

He’d pass your roommate mid-makeout with a “friend” who’s definitely not wearing pants and is probably sitting on your throw blanket.

He’d see the takeout containers on the counter.

The mystery stain on the wall you keep forgetting to Google.

The chair you keep meaning to fix but now just refer to as “decorative.”

He’d see you. As you are.

And you can’t be the reason this man actively re-dyes his greys by Wednesday. You’d love to be. You really would.

But not like this.

Also, you’re just really tired and you’ve got… things to test.

And, if you’re honest, some things are better when they stay in your head. Untouched. Untried. Safely fantasized.

So you smile.

“I’ll be fine.”

He nods. Doesn’t argue.

But doesn’t leave, either.

Instead, he pulls something from his coat pocket.

His business card.

“Text me when you’re inside,” he says, dead serious.

You blink at it.

The paper is thick. Embossed.

Feels like you’re holding a warrant.

“Oh wow,” you murmur, trying not to smile. “This is the smoothest way I’ve ever gotten someone’s number.”

He straightens slightly. “It’s my work phone.” Still serious, but fumbling.

(He’s so bad at this. It’s almost adorable.)

You nod, suppressing the second smile in a row. “Of course.”

He looks at you for a moment - too long, maybe, or maybe it’s just your perception that’s a bit fucked up - and says, “Goodnight, miss.”

You pause.

“It’s-” You tell him your name.

He nods. Revises. And repeats it. A little too careful. A little too gentle.

You might actually pass out.

Not just from the emotional whiplash, but also because your apartment has too many goddamn stairs and your legs were not built for this level of cardio or romantic tension.

You stumble inside, safe. Unmurdered. Emotionally unstable. Immediately grab your phone and text the number printed in the most intimidating Arial you’ve ever seen.

made it still alive didn’t get murdered not even a little bit

He replies almost instantly.

(Almost, because he’s an old man with disproportionately large thumbs and the texting accuracy of someone whose phone autocorrects “fine” to “filing.”)

aaron hotchner (work, no nudes): This is a work number. Please be mindful. – A.H.

…He signs his own texts. Oh fucking hell.

aaron hotchner (work, no nudes): But I’m glad to hear it. Goodnight, miss. – A.H.

You type back:

goodnight... agent??

Three dots appear. Pause. Then-

aaron hotchner (work, no nudes): 👍 – A.H.

taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @hayleym1234 ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kyrathekiller ; @littlemisskavities ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mmmunson ; @mxblobby ; @oxforce ; @percysley ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softestqueeen ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24 ; @who-needs-to-sleep

[suuho]

you're the tie breaker between me & my friend; finest man junho or minho?

minho. then junho. i’m sorry, that’s not even a competition.

[twilightofthesandwiches]

Okay, so one thought I had rattling in my head for a bit now is that the Dark Sanctuary of Deltarune Chapter 4 really reminds me of Undertale’s Waterfall.

I mean, the Dark Sanctuary doesn’t really have the water theming but… they are both the darkest parts of the game, both in a literal visual sense. With a mostly darker color-scheme and puzzles themed around darkness

and also in the narrative sense, being the most serious, solemn and grim part of the game. While Waterfall has its moments of levity and, y’know, Temmie Village, there’s a lot more focus of scenes of melancholy or fear compared to other parts of the game. While Undyne can be a very silly character, she only shows that side of herself to the Human during her Boss Fight right at the end and she’s otherwise a quiet and no-nonsense antagonist.

Deltarune Chapter 4 is the darkest chapter of Deltarune so far. It also has it's funnier moments but… The Church Dark World concept leads itself to much more serious theming and designs for the backgrounds and the enemies, it has some of the most serious exploration of our main characters' personalities and arcs, and has a lot of emphasize on the fact the stakes have been raised and Shit Just Got Real.

Plus, both Chapters deal heavily in the lore written on the walls of that area

Including a Prophecy

(well, in Deltarune it's exclusively a Prophecy, in Undertale it focuses on History and also includes a Prophecy)

And on a larger scale, both of these writings introduce the idea that the information we/the characters had before on the Lore is not the full picture.

And y'know, Gerson, who is present in both areas but also…

As the Hammer of Justice he also serves as a very heavy parallel to the Boss Fight(s) against Undyne in Undertale, both in visual design and gameplay (the Green Soul Mode).

Also, y'know, Piano Puzzles...

The thing is just… I didn't quite know what to do with this comparison. I mean, speculating on the idea the next Chapter would somehow be a Hotland Counterpart feels incredibly silly considering we already had two Dark Worlds that are very Hotland-like…

Which is when I realized, what if Deltarune Chapters correspond to Undertale areas but in reverse?

The Dark Sanctuary is like Waterfall and before it, TV World is a lot like Hotland, focused on TV-themed minigames controlled by an attention-hungry rectangular Game Show Host.

Cyber World would be the CORE, as the most high-tech themed areas in their respective games

And Queen and Spamton both including elements of Mettaton EX/NEO

Including Spamton NEO having the Yellow Soul Mode.

And Card Castle is the counterpart to New Home. Since these areas are both meant to be, well, a castle and it's surrounding area.

And King obviously being kind of a dark thematic reflection of Asgore.

…That would make Chapter 5 a Snowdin parallel to some degree, then Chapter 6 as a Ruins parallel, leaving Chapter 7 to do something totally off-the-rails and unique and unpredictable… Question is just what would that mean for Chapter 5 to be a "Snowdin Parallel"?

Since the Dark Sanctuary didn't really have water and TV World didn't really have magma-stuff, I don't think that would mean Chapter 5 would necessarily be an ice world, and indeed the only real hint we have to Chapter 5 right now is about a garden.

… It could be a somewhat more light-hearted Chapter after the huge drama-bombs we just had, since Snowdin is probably the most light-hearted and friendly part of Undertale… but there's also plenty of ways for it to be just as lore-heavy and serious and filled with revelations. Since the two things Snowdin was known for is the introduction of the Skeleton Brothers and it's Holiday Theming.

[bloomzone]

STUDY SYSTEM : DAILY STUDY ROUTINE ( EXAM EDITION)

hii looves so this blog is all abt how to optimizing your day for peak academic performance. This four-part daily system is the exact routine used during exam season especially finals to consistently achieve top grades with minimal stress. While the routine may appear complex at first glance it is built upon simple, intuitive principles rooted in human biology and psychology. It is not only practical but highly effective when followed consistently. You’ll learn to structure your day around ur natural energy cycles, use tools to boost focus, and incorporate essential periods of rest and release to maintain motivation and productivity.

SECTION 1: UNDERSTANDING UR ENERGY RHYTHM

The routine is built around the concept of the circadian rhythm, your body’s natural energy cycle throughout the day. On a standard day for example :

Energy peaks shortly after waking typically around 6:00 AM.

Energy dips mid-afternoon often around 2:30 or 3:00 PM.

A secondary energy peak occurs in the evening approximately around 7:00 PM.

Energy tapers off as bedtime approaches.

This predictable fluctuation is key to optimizing your study schedule. The two energy peaks will be your core study sessions, while the dip will be used as a rest period, and the late-night wind-down becomes your release period or bedtime .

SECTION 2: THE MORNING STUDY SESSION (STUDY SESSION #1)

◜⁠✧ Start Within One Hour of Waking Up

Your goal is to begin studying as soon as possible after waking, ideally within the first hour. Use the high energy of the morning to tackle your most challenging subjects.do ur morning routine quick as possible don't do intense workout or stuff like this cuz u will waste ur energy so always have a specific morning routine for days like these ! And u can workout go to the gym or whatever at the rest period !

Pre-Study Essentials:

1. Set Your Daily Goals (5 minutes)

Before starting, sit with a notebook or your computer and write down what you intend to accomplish. Be specific. Define exact tasks e.g. which past papers you’ll solve, which topics to review so u will be more organized during the day

2. Activate Focus with Three Optional Tools:

Caffeine — coffee, yerba mate, or tea to boost dopamine and adrenaline.

Cold Showers — a physiological wake-up that increases alertness (personally I don't do that lmao but if u can that's good !)

Focus Warm-up (1–2 minutes) — pick a point in your environment and concentrate on it intensely. This warms up your cognitive focus system before you start.

◜⁠✧Deep Work Sprint Format

Commit to a 2–4 hour study block.

Use timed work intervals: e.g., 25–30 minutes of focused work followed by 5-minute breaks.

Use a visual timer to create urgency and focus. This serves as a “deadline generator,” helping you push harder and maintain hope by offering visible progress.

─ ⊹key principle: work Like a warrior

Study in focused sprints. The more intense your focus, the less time you’ll need to study. The idea is depth over duration not 12 hours of mediocre attention, but 2–4 hours of deep concentration.

SECTION 3: MIDDAY REST PERIOD

Timing: After First Study Block Ends (~Early Afternoon)

At this point in the day, your energy naturally dips. It’s essential to give yourself permission to rest. This period is not for distractions like Netflix, YouTube, or social media.

◜⁠✧ Approved Activities:

Exercise or light sports

Socializing with friends/family

Taking a walk, especially outdoors

Napping (ideal: 20 minutes)

The goal here is active recovery choose activities that contrast focused work. Avoid anything with dopamine stimulation that mimics your “vices” or release behaviors.so this break allows your mind to reset, preventing burnout and increasing productivity in the next session.

SECTION 4: EVENING STUDY SESSION (STUDY SESSION #2)

Timing: During the Second Energy Peak (~6:00–8:00 PM)

Return for your second battle. This session is similar in structure to the morning study session, but with a few differences:

◜⁠✧ Change Your Environment:

Consider studying in a different location e.g., library, a new room, or another productive setting. (Personally I move from my desk to the guest room cuz it's far from family chaotic activities ifykyk )

This provides novelty and reduces boredom, which helps counteract distractions that are more likely to arise in the evening.

◜⁠✧ Eliminate Distractions:

If possible, leave your phone behind take that shit in another room

Create a space where your brain associates the environment with productivity.

◜⁠✧ Study Format:

Continue using timed sprints.

Session length: 2 to 3 hours, depending on your focus reserves.

The goal is to extract one final productive effort from your remaining focus reserves for the day.

SECTION 5: NIGHTLY RELEASE PERIOD

Timing: 1–2 Hours Before Bed

This period is crucial and often overlooked. It functions as your psychological release valve a scheduled time for indulging in your “vices” or desires.

◜⁠✧ why it matter

Without a controlled release period, distractions tend to creep in throughout the day. When you tell yourself you’ll “resist” TikTok or YouTube for three straight weeks during exams, it almost always backfires. You end up scattering distractions across the day, killing momentum and u will feel like shit

◜⁠✧ so solution:

Contain those activities to this specific window. Give yourself full permission to indulge whether it's gaming, scrolling, or Netflix. The only rule: Only do it at night.

◜⁠✧ psychological benefit:

You’ll find it easier to say “no” to distractions earlier in the day when you know you can give in later. It reduces the mental burden of constant suppression.

Caution:

This is not a prescription to develop new addictions or deepen existing ones. If you don’t feel the need for this release, skip it . But if you’re honest with yourself about your impulses, this structure helps you keep them in check.

◜⁠✧ ADAPTATION AND FLEXIBILITY

✧ Everyone has a unique biology. Some wake up at 5:00 AM, others at noon.

✧ Adjust the energy curve and study blocks to match your personal circadian rhythm.

✧ This is a template, not a strict prescription. Principles stay constant, execution varies.

KEY TAKEAWAYS:

🗝️ Two deep-focus sessions aligned with your body’s energy peaks yield greater results than dragging your mind across a 12-hour marathon.

🗝️ Midday rest and nightly release are components of a sustainable routine.

🗝️ Use tools like caffeine, timers, environment changes, and goal setting to maintain momentum and focus.

🗝️ Structure breeds freedom. When your day is mapped with intention, your brain is free to focus trust me with this one

✧ This daily routine is not about rigid hours or perfection. It’s about aligning your habits with your biology and respecting your mental bandwidth. When implemented consistently, this system transforms exam season from a stressful grind into an enjoyable and productive challenge.Now take what you've learned and design your daily routine with intention ✧

@bloomzone

[kumikuzushi-kun]

HIS NOCTUARY𓆝 𓆟

Telemachus x Fem! reader 𓆞

WARNING(S) : Harassment, Disturbing acts performed by the suitors, Reader is hinted to have mommy issues, a few inaccuracies to the Odyssey, slight intimacy

Word count : 14k (forgive me, i got carried away)

a/n: part 2 coming soon!

ART CREDITS GOES TO GIGI IN YOUTUBE ( @gigizetz in Tumblr! )

𐔌 When Telemachus turned thirteen, that was when his father’s absence start to weigh. The Trojan War had long ended, yet Odysseus had not returned. Around the same time, the number of workers in the palace began to dwindle—some retiring, others quietly leaving as the palace began to shift.

That was when you and your mother arrived at the palace. The queen was in need of a personal handmaid, and your mother, having served as a handmaid in a neighboring kingdom, was sent to Ithaca. She was a trusted woman—regarded as one of the most loyal workers in her homeland—so it didn’t take long before Queen Penelope came to see her the same way.

Along side your mother—was you, you looked around the same age as Telemachus though he never officially met you. It was quite a turn for Telemachus to have another person his age in the palace walls however it only ever remained as that. Just another presence that worked for his family.

In rare events, Telemachus would ran into you while you're helping your mother or the other handmaidens. You stood professional despite you being the same age, it was clear that you were more mentally mature than the prince, heck probably more sensible than any other teen in Ithaca.

𐔌 One time, Telemachus was walking back to his room when he passed by you. Though you were looking out through the open window at the view, you immediately sensed his presence and turned to acknowledge him.

"Good day, your highness. The sky seems to be in a good mood today, isn't it?" That was the first time you'd ever spoken to him beyond simply greeting him by title.

The young prince wasn’t exactly used to speaking with girls his age, so an awkward chuckle escaped his lips as he stepped a little closer to you. “It quite is,” Telemachus replied, his voice slightly uncertain.

You looked out towards the sky "The sky has been gloomy nowadays.. It's nice to see the sun shining more often" You said, he glanced up at the sky then back at you. "Yeah.. It has been awhile since the weather was this calm" He said. "It's quite beautiful, if you look into it"

You visually agreed as you gave a soft smile, "..Do you prefer it like this?" Telemachus asked almost too awkwardly.

“I do,” you answered honestly. “The garden’s easier to work in when it’s not soaked with rain. Besides, the sunlight brings the colors out. It makes things feel a little more alive… even if just for a while.”

He raised a brow, a little surprised. “You tend the queen’s garden?”

“Sometimes,” you said. “Other times, I’m just the one who passes through it delivering things. But I know it better than most—it’s beautiful there, especially with this weather”

Telemachus looked at you curiously, you noticed and only let out a chuckle.

A few seconds of silence were occupied between you two—as he followed your gaze and landed on the palace's garden, and you did not lie—the garden was indeed beautiful with the sun's grasp.

He thought you were about to say something more, your lips just beginning to move, but your eyes flicked to the corner, catching sight of something—or someone.

Before you could continue, you stopped yourself and quickly excused yourself with a slight bow. Curious, Telemachus turned in the direction you left and saw your mother standing a short distance away, wearing an unreadable expression. The two of you greeted the prince one last time before walking off together in silence.

That was probably the last time you made small talk with Telemachus—you didn’t completely brush him off, still greeting him with a soft smile whenever he was around, but there was a quiet distance that formed between the two of you. One he couldn’t quite name, as there was no word in the dictionary existed for it. Still, he noticed. He noticed how you always looked like you had something to say, but held your composure. He didn’t do anything about it—maybe because he barely knew you, or maybe because he assumed you prioritize your duties over forming any friendship.

However he would be lying, if he says it didn't bother him completely.

𐔌 When Telemachus was sixteen, murmurs of concern began to stir among the people of Ithaca. Even though Queen Penelope managed the kingdom just fine, the prolonged absence of a king was becoming harder to ignore. That was when a few suitors began to appear at the palace—coming not out of loyalty, but in hopes of claiming the throne through Penelope’s hand.

Telemachus could smell their dirty intentions from a mile away, and more than anything, he wanted them gone. He hated how easily they assumed his father was dead, as if his memory could be buried so simply. Thankfully, his mother was no fool—Penelope remained clever, holding off every suitor with such grace and patience.

Time passed, and the number of suitors grew—eventually even gaining a leader among them, as if they ever needed one, when all they did was abuse the hospitality of their home. They demanded a new king, insisted the queen to choose a new husband already. Telemachus begged his mother not to lose hope. Fortunately, she was just as cunning as his father and came up with a plan to keep the suitors at bay.

"Today I will begin to weave a shroud for my lost husband, if he is not seen in Ithaca before I finish, I will choose one of you to take his place beside me"

"I will send for maidens to help you" One of the suitors pointed out.

𐔌 A year passed and the presence of the suitors affected not only the queen and Telemachus, but also everyone who served in the palace. You were no exception. Despite holding no grace in your blood, your features carried them all, your presence was warm that drew eyes—an unspoken beauty that didn’t beg for attention, It was the kind of presence that carried itself with dignity, not vanity. Unfortunately, that was enough to catch the notice of the suitors themselves.

"Girl," You could feel their eyes land on you as you tried your best not to take notice, focusing instead on your chores. Unfortunately, you had been tasked with sending something to the kitchen—and that path meant passing by the suitors. You mentally prepared yourself as you stepped forward, keeping your chin up, doing all you could to ignore the lingering stares that followed your every step.

Your attempt to ignore the call quickly backfired when suddenly your arm was harshly tugged by force—it caused you to let out a yelp—immediately stepping back when you saw one of them drawing closer. "Are you deaf in one ear or are we playing pretend?" A mischievous tone of voice rang in the crowd.

You immediately knew who's voice it was—as your face immediately turned sickened.

Eurymachus stood infront of you, his taller figure casting a shadow into you however your glare was no invisible.

"Why are you such in a rush? hmm? you don't have to act like you don't like the attention" Cheers and chuckles of men followed.

"You're interrupting my work, Eurymachus. If you have a shred of decency, you and and the others will move and let me do my job." You spat back—keeping your composure straight, a grin plastering on the man's face causing a churn in your stomach. "Aww, so dedicated, aren’t we? Of course you are—you’re the daughter of the queen’s precious head handmaiden, right? Always so eager" He mocks—stepping closer.

Instead of backing away or showing even a hint of fear, you stepped closer, narrowing your glare at the man. “Instead of insulting my mother, I suggest you to keep your mouth shut. The queen wouldn’t be too pleased to hear such a foul tongue from one of her guests.” Though your words dripped with venom, your eyes held only boredom, and your posture remained calm, unshaken. The way you looked at Eurymachus—as if he was no one to fear—only made his ego swell, stung by the quiet defiance.

The room fell silent at your remark. You turned your back on him, taking a step—only for Eurymachus to seize a fistful of your hair, yanking you back towards him with brutal force. A sharp cry escaped your lips as pain arched through your scalp. You clawed at his hand, but his grip only tightened, making it worse.

“Who do you think you are, talking to me like that?!” he snarled. “Don’t forget—you’re just a maid here! the youngest!, you little tramp!" He yelled at your face.

"Since you talk shit with that pretty mouth of yours, why don't we use it for more useful things, yeah?" Eurymachus looked around, asking for validation as the men all around nodded—disgustingly agreeing.

He tugged your hair more as you fought the tears of pain. Eurymachus grin widen.

"Let go of her, in this instant!" Another voice had joined in the chine, everyone in the room Including you, turned to its direction seeing no other than the young wolf himself. An awkward silence followed but then Eurymachus let out a chuckle and his men of pigs pathetically followed.

His laughter rang as he released your hair with a harsh shove. The force of his grip—and the sudden release—disrupted your once-neat bun, sending strands down in disarray. You stumbled back, but quickly regained your footing, eyes locked on Eurymachus as he turned his attention towards the eighteen year old prince

He walked toward Telemachus, who stood in the doorway. Though fear might’ve churned in his chest, his face held firm—brave. Telemachus had happened to pass by when the suitors' unusually loud cheers reached his ears—tones too rowdy, too mocking. Curious, he paused by the door. But it wasn’t until he heard your voice, strained and unmistakable, followed by Eurymachus’s cruel mockery, that something in him snapped. He didn’t think—he moved.

His eyes immediately found you. Disheveled. Hurt. And his face changed.

“Is the young prince trying to cosplay a hero now? Run along back to your mommy’s chambers while we borrow one of your precious maids. Can’t blame us, can we? Your mother’s been taking her sweet time choosing.”

Telemachus jaw clenched but did not flinch as he glared back. “This is my father’s hall,” he said. “And until he returns, my mother rules it. You forget yourselves. No one here—maid or not—is yours to touch, command, or mock." He spat back—his eyes meeting yours.

"Touch (name) again and you will regret it" He said, stepping closer.

You in the other hand, was quite in shock, you sensed more troubles if you simply just stand there.

Eurymachus fell silent for a moment, though the flicker of a thought passed through his eyes. “In case you haven’t noticed…” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough to be heard—before suddenly grabbing Telemachus by the collar of his chiton and yanking him forward. The room tensed. Not with fear or shame but with a smile.

“Eurymachus, stop this at once! He’s the prince—you have no right to lay a hand on him!” you shouted, your voice cutting through the heavy air. Without hesitation, you shoved past the suitors, forcing your way toward them,

“Your father isn’t here, boy—he’s nowhere. Dead!" He shouts, Telemachus clenched his fists tighly. Eurymachus whispered, "You don't have to be so greedy.. we can always take turns with her"

Before anyone could react, the prince stepped forward and drove his fist into Eurymachus’s jaw. The force sent the man stumbling back, stunned. Silence followed.

It was the first time Telemachus had ever thrown a punch—and succeeded. His eyes widened in disbelief.

Eurymachus recovered with a snarl and lunged, but before the blow could land, you threw yourself in front of Telemachus, gripping his arm and pulling him back. A ring of shouts exploded from the suitors, feeding off the tension like a pack wolves.

Then the doors slammed open.

“That is enough!” a voice commanded. All eyes turned to the entrance—Penelope stood tall, flanked by guards and, trailing behind, your mother. The queen’s gaze flicked to you, then to her son.

You bowed. “Your Highness, forgive the disturbance. I was only fulfilling my duties. The guests chose to interfere.”

Penelope’s stare hardened, especially as Eurymachus stepped forward, smirking. “Don’t scold the boy, my lady. Maybe he’s just trying to learn how a real man rules a house in his father’s absence.”

Few dared to laugh. Penelope ignored him. “Why are you here, son?” she asked.

Telemachus finally lifted his head. “They were mistreating (name).”

He glanced your way—quick, but meaningful. Eurymachus scoffed and walked off, dragging some of the suitors with him.

A quiet hand landed on your shoulder. Your mother. Her eyes avoided yours.

“I apologize for the inconvenience (name) may have caused, my queen,” she said. Inconvenience. The word stung more than you expected. You bit the inside of your cheek—hard enough that you nearly tasted blood. You could feel it. The way her fingers tensed ever so slightly on your shoulder, the way she refused to meet your eyes. You really should’ve taken laundry duty today, at least clothes don't glare.

"It’s not her fault, by any means. I’m glad both of you stood up for yourselves," Penelope said, glancing between you and Telemachus with a faint, approving smile.

But you barely heard. You only bowed, forcing a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. Telemachus noticed—how tightly your lips pressed, how closed off you looked.

He hadn’t realized he was still watching until you turned to leave. Your eyes met, just for a second, before the door closed behind you.

“Thank you, my prince,” you said—and then you were gone. The words lingered, quiet as the slam of a heart too full.

The moment you closed the door, your eyes settled on your mother’s back—posture straight, chin held high, hands placed on either sides of her chiton. You couldn’t see her eyes, but you imagined them blank, yet somehow heavy with sentiment. She paused. "I told you to stay out of trouble, the prince will think of you as a hassle with this." she said, her voice flat and distant. Hassle? You didn’t answer. You’d learned by now that it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t really listen.

𐔌 Word had spread among the servants, and many took it upon themselves to spare you from any chores that meant crossing paths with the suitors—you couldn’t have been more grateful. As for the young prince, he too kept his distance from the suitors more than ever, trying to push the whole ordeal to the back of his mind. But no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t quite forget about you. It had all happened so quickly, yet his thoughts lingered—on your voice, your bravery, the way you stood your ground. That moment clung to him more than he expected.

So much so that Telemachus snapped out of his thoughts, suddenly realizing what he was supposed to be doing. His eyes landed on the scroll sitting untouched on his desk—the one he was meant to deliver to his mother. Panic hit him as he noticed the fading sunlight; the deadline had passed hours ago. He shot up from his seat, hastily rolling the scrolls and rushing out of his room. As he moved quickly through the halls, he mentally scolded himself—he'd been so caught up thinking about you that he hadn’t even realized he collided with someone’s shoulder.

"I'm sorry—" His words cut off as he realized it was you. Telemachus’ eyes widened, a small smile forming on his lips without him noticing. Recognizing the voice before the face—your eyes widened too, but not in the same way as his. "(Name)! Hello—" he started, a bit breathless.

"Excuse me for bumping into you, sire. I need to deliver this urgently," you interrupted with a quick bow. His smile faded into a thin line, blinking at the sudden change in tone. "Oh… yes, you’re excused," he said. You gave a short nod before walking off, leaving the young prince in the hall, scrolls in hand.

He quietly watches you disappear, as he reluctantly walks away himself—reasoning your skeptical hurry as important.

𐔌 "Good morning, (name)," Telemachus greeted one early morning as he entered the kitchen. The suitors were still asleep, and for once, both of your worries felt lighter. Still, you flinched at the sound of his voice, your hands pausing mid-task as you looked over at the prince.

"Your Highness! Uh—good day also. What are you doing—"

"Can I help with anything?" he asked, stepping closer to the counter you were working on. You gripped the edges a little tighter as he neared, your mother words reminding you. "Uh—no! It's no problem, sir, uhm..." you trailed off, clearly avoiding his gaze. "Actually, I think I'm needed in the courtyard this time. Please excuse me."

With a quick bow and a wipe of your hands on your chiton, you hurried off. Telemachus opened his mouth to say something more, but you were already gone. Your rushed steps still in the air.

Did he say something wrong? He wondered—maybe you were just busy. Still, the way your voice tightened and your hands clenched the counter… it left a quiet thought in his chest, though he said nothing and moved on with his day.

𐔌 While walking the palace halls, Penelope and Telemachus paused at an open window. Below, the garden bloomed—olive trees winding along the walls, vines heavy with green. The two spoke softly, their conversation slow and warm, until Telemachus’s gaze drifted downward.

You were there, moving quietly beside your mother, watering can in hand. He watched as you poured water carefully over each plant, steady and focused. “Telemachus?” Penelope’s voice brought him back. She followed his line of sight.

You felt eyes on you. Glancing up, your breath caught—there they were, the prince and queen above. You quickly looked away, heart thudding. “Too much water,” your mother said dryly. You mumbled an apology, hands trembling slightly as you resumed your work.

Still, you kept glancing upward. From above, Penelope’s attention shifted between her son and the scene below. You caught Telemachus looking again. This time, your eyes met—brief, fleeting.

Your mother noticed. She gave your arm a light tap, drawing your attention. Then, with a composed smile, she lifted a hand in greeting. Penelope nodded in return. You followed suit, smiling too—but something about it was off. Too polished. Too faint.

It wasn’t the usual smile he often caught on you. This one looked tired, almost practiced, as you placed the watering can gently on the ground. Maybe it was the contrast—your mother’s expression beaming while yours seemed to just go along with it. You… you looked distant. And you still hadn’t met his gaze again.

His chest tightened. Had he done something? Since the incident, you’d kept your distance—never cold, but never quite open either. Every time he tried to speak, you found a reason to leave. Not angry. Just… guarded. Holding something in.

And somehow, that quiet hurt more than anything else. And for the first time, the young prince began to wonder… did he do something wrong?

𐔌 Telemachus could not sleep that night, the stars and moon hovering the sky—he sighs for the fifth time that night as he pulled himself out his sheets, rubbing his eyes and grabbing a light lantern. He couldn't sleep—so might as well do something productive.

The prince travelled to the palace's library, careful not to make any noise on the way, this part of the palace during the day would often have workers in it as the queen's attendant and scribes would often work their scripts or reports in there.

Telemachus expected the room to be empty and dim—silent, as it usually was at this hour. So imagine the surprise on his face when he sees a source of light glowing from behind one of the tall bookshelves. The prince quietly shut the door behind him, careful not to make a sound, his steps slowing until he was nearly tiptoeing. Who else would be awake so late?

He crept closer, weaving between shelves until he could peer around the corner. And there you were. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, a small pile of books and scrolls at your side, completely absorbed in the parchment in your hands. The soft light of a lone lantern and the moon’s glow through the high windows illuminated your face. Something about the sight—your quiet focus, the shadows gently swaying on your features—stirred a strange pull in his chest.

"Room for one more?" Your head snapped up at the voice, eyes wide in surprise. The paper in your hand trembled slightly, your fingers loosening their grip. Telemachus stood a few paces away, hands behind his back as he made his presence known. "Prince Telemachus! What are you doing here so late-?" You asked trying to cover up the building tension in your hands.

"I could ask you the same thing" He says, you did not answer. "Do you mind?" He asks again with a small smile.

Your eyes start at him as you look away slowly—gripping the paper. It took a few seconds before you deliberately nodded, shifting slightly, making space among the scrolls without saying a word. That was all the invitation he needed.

His eyes drifted to the scrolls and books spread before you. “Do you always stay up this late?” he asked, voice quiet. "Sometimes" You murmured, keeping your gaze to yourself.

An awkward silence followed, you weren't even reading anything at this point as you were still as a rock. Telemachus turned to you—you tensed, he noticed.

"I didn't expect to see you here" he said softly. "You've been.. hard to find recently" The sound of fire from both of your lanterns crackle.

"I was starting to worry that if I did something to offend you" at that, your attention was piqued.

"You seemed to be distant and tensed lately, you were always calm and open most of the time so I wondered if I was the problem" Your head turning to meet his eyes.

"Your highness-"

"Telemachus, we're practically the same age" He corrects.

You blink, "Prin— Telemachus"

He hummed, "I keep thinking back. If I said something wrong or made you uncomfortable last time, if I did then I'm probably stupid for not noticing" He laughs.

Silence followed.

"Who am I kidding, we were never friends.. this shouldn't bother me so much, I'm sorry" He humors with a laugh that seemed forced.

You didn't say anything about his statement for a moment, your continuing silence caused the prince to turn away—debating if he should just excuse himself.

"..You didn't do anything wrong" You finally said, causing the prince to focus on you.

"In fact, I should be the one saying sorry" You started, "You went out on your way to protect me and I did nothing but to brush you off so harshly" you looked down at your palms.

You let out a heavy sigh, your voice soft with concern. "You even punched Eurymachus… dear gods." Palming your face.

Telemachus only laughs "It was a stupid move but i would do it again, he deserves it" He says leaning down the shelf.

...

"I'm sorry for ignoring you, the truth is..." You hesitantly spoke, "I was told to avoid you"

"What?" The prince furrowed his brows. "By who?" He followed

"Not in the way you think! It’s just… my mother believes she was sent here to Ithaca because her service back home wasn’t good enough. She’s afraid that if we make any wrong move, the queen might do the same thing to us." You trailed,

"She told me from the start not to cause any trouble here in the palace. Then one day, she saw me talking to you and completely flipped—said you might take it the wrong way. So, to be safe, she told me not to interact with you at all."

Telemachus stayed quiet for a moment, processing your words, his gaze softening. He hears you continue "It actually bothered me, because I knew you weren't the one to think like that" the prince continued to listen.

"And.. also because a part of me just wanted to talk, which is silly—you’re a prince after all, but most people around here are either much older or… well, a threat. I just wanted someone my own age."

You pulled your knees to your chest, leaning into the motion as your arms wrapped around them—an action you find comfort in. "But I love my mother," you murmured, voice muffled behind your knees. "Even if she can be a handful sometimes… she’s all I have left. So, I just obliged."

"Is that why.. whenever your mother is around you look extra tense?"

You chuckled, “You notice?” you said, turning to the prince. Telemachus turned his head too—now you were both eye to eye.

“Since I was around thirteen,” he said. “You were kind from the start—always composed, more mature than I ever was. And when the suitors came, you stood your ground for you and your mother… I really admired that.”

"Really?" You tilted your head at the prince.

"I never knew my father, but I’ve always heard he was a great man. That’s why it hurts—seeing how easily the suitors dismiss him and disrespect my family. I want nothing more than to put them in their place... if only I were as strong as he was. But you..you’re brave. You stand up for the people you care about. I wish I could do that, too." Telemachus said, turning his head away

“Who says you aren’t brave, my prince?” you said, your voice cutting through the quiet. He turned to look at you, and you met him with a soft, reassuring smile. “You risk getting beaten every other day just by standing your ground. You’ve held yourself together despite your father’s absence. You’ve been there for your mother, defended her name—and your own, even mine… you stepped in when no one else would.”

Your gaze lingered on him a moment longer. “Maybe you haven’t reached yet the place your father once stood… but I think, if he saw you now, he’d be proud. Proud of the way you carry yourself, of how brave and strong you are—every single day."

Telemachus eyes searched yours, as if trying to find something he couldn’t quite name. His lips parted slightly, then closed again. Your words had sink in.

Both of you continued to stare into each other’s irises as a quiet breeze brushed against you. Neither of you noticed how, with every word shared, you had both unknowingly scooted closer—like it was the most natural thing in the world. Now, you sat in silence, closer than you had ever been, with no more words left to fill the space.

"That's..." Telemachus searched for the words, "That's really kind of you to say" He worded out.

You laughed, covering your chuckle with your fingers in a soft, graceful way. Telemachus followed with a quiet laugh of his own, the tension between you both slowly melting away. Just a while ago, neither of you could look into each others eyes—now, you were talking like old friends catching up. The two of you shared stories, small memories, thoughts you had never voiced before, as if making up for all the quiet years spent under the same roof.

Telemachus listened closely, learning things he never knew about you. You spoke of how you taught yourself to draw, how creating art gave you peace, how expressing feelings through sketches felt like breathing—and that beauty was your favorite word. He watched you with growing interest, his pupils quietly widening every time you laughed at something he said—whether it was a passing comment or a joke. There was something in that sound that made him want to hear more.

"You want to be a painter?" He asked curiously. You nodded happily, "Mhm! It's been my dream since I was a kid, that's why I'm here at night, to study color theory, and also i can't do it in the morning"

Telemachus raised his brow at this, "Why so?"

"My mother. As always" You started, "She's training me to become a good handmaiden after she retires, which is a long time by the way!" You playfully rolled your eyes.

"Don't get me wrong, I do love helping people and I definitely love tending-"

"The garden, especially on sunny days," he finished your sentence.

You turned to him, your smile widening into a grin. "You remembered?"

He gave a small shrug, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Maybe."

"But yes," you said, a warmth in your voice, "I love the garden… but I love painting a portrait of it even more."

Without warning, you shifted slightly and reached into the pile beside you, rummaging through your books. Telemachus watched curiously as you pulled out a small stack of parchment—each one softly inked with delicate lines and shapes. Drawings. Sketches of flowers, leaves, moments caught in beauty.

He even caught a glimpse of sketches of faces, though you quickly shuffled them to the bottom of the stack. He swore one of the portraits looked familiar.

You cleared your throat softly, holding up a sheet. "Here's one of the garden," you said, revealing a colored portrait. Telemachus leaned in, his mouth parting slightly in awe as he took in the way the colors blended together, how alive the scene felt.

"This is so good—what the hell?!" he blurted, genuine admiration in his voice. You chuckled at his reaction, watching as he carefully began to look through the rest of your work. With each piece, his awe seemed to grow.

"Is this one unfinished?" he asked, pointing to a painting where only a quarter of the paper had been colored.

"Oh yeah, I ran out of pigment," you admitted with a soft laugh. "And getting new ones here isn’t exactly cheap… plus, I haven’t had the time to go out to the market."

Telemachus watched as you started to fix your stuff, "It's getting late, I should probably go" you announced.

He helped you with some of the scrolls, and soon you both were face to face—the two of you looked at each other sheeply before you cleared your throat.

"It was nice getting to know you.. Telemachus" You said, with a bit of hesitation in saying his name bare.

"It's nice to also get to know, (name)" He replied, with a low breath—he brought his hand in front of you. "Friends?" He said with his lips kissing his teeth.

You stared at his hand for a second then back at him—immediately taking his invitation in yours. "Friends!" You grasped.

The two of you exchanged giggles that night.

Being friends with the prince was something you didn’t expect—especially because it was an order by your mother. However, you learned that this small disobedience—was worth it. You noticed how colors seemed more vivid ever since that day.

Your friendship with Telemachus wasn’t loud, at first it only consisted of shared glances, whispering of each other's name and exchanging constant waving like kids in the park.

Then he started to stop by the garden with obvious excuses, "The queen sent me," "I'm checking the vines," "I'm just passing through"—but you both knew better. When you're the only one working in the garden—he’d offer to carry the watering can or sit beside you, tossing small olives at the wall and missing on purpose, just to hear you laugh.

You recently told him how your nose always get itchy whenever you gathered wildflowers, but that you bore through it anyway. The next morning, you found him waiting by the hill, basket already in hand, ready to help you pick them. A small tug pulled at your heart that day.

You started to notice how Telemachus began doing his scrolls in the palace library more often. He used to prefer the privacy of his own room, but lately, he seemed to want to cross paths with you. There were moments when he’d peek around the shelves, tap the top of your head with a scroll, and whisper, “I win,” before settling beside you to read.

He has a habit of randomly scaring from behind, yelling "Boo!" and laughing at himself.

He tried drawing once, because you asked. The sketch was... awful. But you laughed until your stomach hurt, and he looked so proud of it that you kept it tucked between your books.

Though the friendship became something deeper one late night, the two of you were in your usual spot in the library. It was already dark, and only your lanterns cast a glow over the two of you. You tended to ramble about the details of your sketches, and Telemachus listened, his eyes half-lidded but still focused on you.

Then, in the middle of your words, you felt the weight of his head gently fall to your shoulder.

You paused, startled at first, but when you turned slightly, he was already asleep. His breath was steady, calm. The closeness made your heart thump—but you stayed still, careful not to wake him. You didn’t want to wake him, partly because you were embarrassed… and partly because you kind of liked it.

Your heart stopped when you heard him mumble your name in his sleep, did you hear that right?

Then came your 18th birthday.

Birthdays weren’t exactly something you grew up celebrating. At most, your mother and a few kind handmaidens would quietly greet you when the day came, a soft smile, a gentle hug—and that was enough. You were always grateful they remembered at all.

So imagine your surprise when, early one morning, you stepped out of your room to find a small bundle of color pigments carefully placed by your door. Each one wrapped in cloth, tied with a simple bow.

At first, you assumed the bundle was misplaced—perhaps something meant for someone else—until you noticed a small, neatly folded piece of paper tucked beneath the string. You opened it, and the handwriting was instantly familiar. You’d come to recognize it easily.

Dear (𝒩𝒶𝓂𝑒),

You didn’t mention it was your birthday—figured you wouldn’t. But someone in the staff said a handmaiden turns eighteen today, and I just knew it had to be you.

It’s nothing too grand, but when I saw these, I thought of you immediately. I hope they come in handy... and maybe you’ll let me see what you make with them?

Anyway—happy birthday.

~𝒯𝑒𝓁𝑒𝓂𝒶𝒸𝒽𝓊𝓈

You stood still for a moment, holding the letter. A small smile crept onto your face. The pigments were ones you hadn’t had in a while—some expensive, some hard to find. He remembered.

You and Telemachus had grown used to meeting in the library, and one late evening—weeks after your birthday—was no different. The moment he stepped inside, his eyes scanned the room, already knowing where to find you. Your back was turned, but without a doubt, he knew it was you. Quietly sneaking up behind, he grabbed your shoulders and “Boo!” with a laugh.

You turned and gave him a look—unfazed, a clear “Hahah, very funny” written across your face.

He grinned as he took a seat beside you.

"I tried looking for you earlier," you added, hands busy with something he hadn’t noticed yet, "but you were nowhere to be found."

"Oh! Sorry about that—I was out for a bit," he said.

You nodded, turning slightly away to focus on what you were doing. Telemachus didn’t say anything, but his gaze lingered. He watched the way your hair had loosened, strands falling around your face. Your cheeks were faintly flushed, and something about that made him bite the inside of his lip.

Then, without thinking, his hand moved to tuck a strand behind your ear. You turned your eyes to him just as he blinked, caught in the moment.

"Uh—it was in the way," he mumbled, quickly finishing the gesture. "Sorry."

You only stare at him for a second before cracking a chuckle, Telemachus looks at you as his embarrassment washes away. "I was looking for you earlier because I wanted to give you something" You revealed making him tilt his head.

Then you shift so you can face him properly—your hands behind your back.

"As a thank you"

"Huh? For what?"

"For my birthday last time"

Telemachus' blinks. "You didn't have to"

"Yes but I want too"

"Close your eyes!" You said, "and give me your hand" You added—Telemachus looked at you confused but followed.

He closed his eyes and felt something placed on his palm—for a moment he felt your finger tips touched his.

"You can open them now" You said,

Telemachus peeked open one eye, then blinked fully awake when you brought forward a small clay figure—messy around the edges, a bit lumpy, but unmistakably him. Down to the blue sash, his tousled hair, and the faintest little pout painted on his lips.

He stared. Then blinked again.

"Wait—what—" he stammered, reaching out like it might shatter if he touched it too fast. "Is this… me?"

You nodded proudly. "I used the paints you gave me. Thought it was fitting."

He took it, carefully, like he was receiving some sacred relic from the gods. His ears turned pink. "Why am I… is this how you see me?" He commented

You tilted your head. “Tiny and pouty? Sometimes.”

He let out a loud laugh. “Gods, I love it. He looks like he’s about to cause trouble."

“I was going for princely charm, but that works too.”

Telemachus looked at the doll again, then back at you—his grin stretched wide, but his voice a little softer this time. “This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten.” He paused, then gently set the figure beside him. “Except maybe you.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

He coughed, suddenly red. “—you because you made the doll!"

You laughed as he buried his face in his hands. "I experimented with clay the other day, this is my first attempt to do something that isn't flower pots" You told him.

"Well you did a great job for a beginner" He joked—earning a slight slap from you, "Excuse you! I've been doing pottery since I was 12!" You hollered.

Telemachus only giggled as he clenched his stomach.

Your shared laughter lingered in those quiet corners of the library that day, soft and light, drifting between the shelves and settling like dust on the edges of old scrolls. It became easy to lose track of time when it was just the two of you—moments folding into each other so naturally that the rest of the world seemed far away. Sometimes you swore the palace looked different. Livelier. Colors warmer. Even the way the wind blew through the halls felt lighter.

But, like most sunny days, it wasn’t meant to stay forever.

It was late morning when you returned from the market, you were asked to fetch some ingredients by your mother, arms filled with your basket and a soft cloth over. You hummed quietly to yourself until you entered the palace.

Before you could even take a step past the main corridor, a pair of handmaidens hurried past, whispering frantically. You stopped them out of instinct, brows furrowing.

“What’s going on?”

One of them glanced at the other, hesitating, then leaned a little closer.

“They say Antonius provoked the young prince during this morning... And he fought back... I don't think it went well.."

The words didn’t register at first—not entirely. You stood there, blinking, as your arms suddenly felt a little heavier.

The halls were quieter. Never in peace—but in tension.

You hurried through the halls, each step making the corridors feel longer, heavier, as you reached the dining hall. The first thing you noticed was the broken table, splintered as if something had been thrown against it—blood staining the wood and dripping onto the floor, enough to make your chest tighten.

Then, in the distance, you saw Antinous and his men laughing. He turned, nose bloodied, wiping it off with the back of his hand. He caught your stare. Your eyes widened. He smirked—slowly licking the blood from his lip in an almost disturbing way.

Your heart dropped. You searched around the room, searching for Telemachus, but he was nowhere in sight. Without a second thought, you turned and hurried through the palace again.

Your heart was pounding through your chest, gripping your fist until your knuckles went white. It was difficult to breathe properly—not when you have no idea where he is—or what had happened. Thoughts kept spinning messily as you almost missed the prince door.

You shouldn’t be in this hallway, especially in broad daylight. You knew staff could pass by any second, their whispers quick to turn into assumptions—worst case, your mother herself might be the one to catch you. But in that moment of distress, none of it mattered. You raised your fist and knocked on the prince’s chamber door—three times.

“Telemachus?!” you called, voice hushed, just loud enough to be heard, not enough to draw attention. You knocked again, faster this time.

The silence after that was sharp, you were about to knock for the last time until, "(name)...?" You could hear him say, so gentle.

“Oh Zeus. Telemachus, are you okay?! I—I heard what happened—are you hurt?!” you stammered, choking on your words, your hand gripping the doorknob. It was unlocked. But still, you waited.

Softly, you heard footsteps approaching from the other side. You bit your bottom lip to steady your shaking breath.

The door creaked open, and there he was—Telemachus. His nose was bloodied, streaks of dried blood smeared across his face and chiton. It wasn’t too bad… but it was enough to almost break you.

Telemachus opened the door wider—quietly inviting you in. You stepped forward, unable to hold yourself back, your movements unsure. Your hands careful to reach for him, He noticed, but before you could pull away, he gently took them in his, steadying you.

"What happened…" you whispered, pulling out a handkerchief you had prepared and bringing it softly to his face. "Antinous" was all he said, sitting on the edge of his bed.

You stood in front of him—noticing the way he kept touching the back of his head. You gently ran your finger through his hair as you touched the back. Eyes widening when you feel a puddle of liquid. "Did you hit your head?!" You asked panicked.

"Yes- but" He stated before taking your forearm away gently— "But please don't panic, It's okay now! I promise, it's dried up blood so technically it doesn't hurt-"

"What do you mean it doesn't hurt?! You're bleeding, you idiot!"

"I know! I know! But seriously! I've met—"

A gust of wind pushed through the balcony curtains. He paused, catching sight of the owl perched just out of reach—watching. But he didn’t say anything about it.

"..I've just been thinking a lot lately," he said instead, voice softer now, more grounded. "About who I am. About who I want to be."

You stayed quiet, listening carefully.

"I want to be more than just… the boy who waits. The boy who watches everything happen around him. I want to be strong. Not for the sake of war or glory—but so that I can protect My mother… you."

The words hung there, gentle but heavy. You blinked, caught off guard.

He laughed softly to himself, shaking his head. "I don’t know. Sometimes I think about him—my father. People have all these stories. All this legend. But for me, he’s just… missing. And maybe that’s why I feel like I have to become something better. Not to replace him, but to at least live up to the name. To become someone that matters."

You saw the flicker in his eyes then.

"Because if he really is out there," he added, more to himself than to you, "I want him to come back and see that I became someone more worthy being proud of."

You didn’t say anything—but your eyes, still furrowed and shining with worry, said enough. Telemachus stiffened, afraid for a moment that he’d overstepped, that maybe he sounded foolish spilling his thoughts like that.

But then you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him.

His breath hitched. His hands found your waist without thinking, holding you close, cautious but sure. You tucked your face into his shoulder—and that’s when he felt it. The soft shake of your breath. The quiet sob you didn’t try to hide.

The boy was stunned—his heart loud in his chest—but he didn’t move away. He couldn’t. This was the first time he’d held you like this. Just how he caught himself wondering what it might feel like to pull you close like this, but he always brushed it away, convincing himself he had no right. But now, it felt like a lucid dream.

"You're such an idiot," you murmured, voice thick. "How many times are you going to throw yourself into trouble before you finally learn? I'm glad you're growing, I really am—but that doesn't mean you get to risk your own blood like this!" Your words cracked near the end, raw and trembling.

He starts to hear you cry, and he couldn’t help but hold you tighter. He had never heard you cry before—not truly. The closest was that one time you had an allergic reaction to a wildflower; your eyes were watery and red, yet you were still laughing through the discomfort. But this… this was different. This time, you were crying because of him. Because he got hurt. Because you were scared. Because you cared.

"Don’t ever get yourself in a fight with the suitors no more! And don't ever scare me that ever again!" you scolded, voice trembling as you clung to him.

“I— I will,” he said, only for your grip to tighten with a sharp pinch to his arm.

“Promise!”

“Yes, yes! Promise!” he chuckled softly, wincing playfully as he lifted one hand in surrender. His smile, though bruised, was real—warm for you.

...

When Telemachus was around nineteen, that’s when Athena began training him. It was unfamiliar at first—awkward—but he adjusted quickly, picking up with every training—rather expected knowing he was the son of Odysseus himself.

Around the same time, his bond with you deepened, especially after the incident. Still, he never told you about his secret mentor as per request from the goddess of wisdom herself.

Mornings were reserved for training, afternoons taken by princely duties, and in the quiet of evening, that’s when he’d see you most. You spent your mornings with your chores, so your moments in the day together were often brief, scattered but the type he'd look forward too. Sometimes he'd help you out with your chores, definitely not cause he wants to spend time with you.

The young prince had just finished sparring with the goddess, day by day he felt more and more motivated—despite his limbs would go sore from training, the taste of improvement was enough to get him up, he can now at least defend himself properly against the suitors! Everyday as he becomes stronger and older, the men too get more impatient, wilder and unsafe.

If he wasn’t so smart, he might’ve picked a fight first this time—just to prove something. But he knew better now. He knew he had a long road ahead before he could win like that, and more than anything, he knew you wouldn’t be pleased if he got himself bruised for pride alone. The thought of you made his lips tug into a quiet smile.

“You did well today, young wolf,” Athena said with a proud smile.

“Thank you, Athena,” Telemachus huffed, catching his breath.

“I suggest you run your bruise under cold water before it darkens. I fear your lover might worry, seeing you all battered again,” she added, almost too casually.

At that, Telemachus perked up, his head snapping toward the goddess with wide eyes. "What..?" he echoed, a faint flush rising. Athena looked back at the prince, her face turning flat.

"Your bruise, ran it into cold water."

"No! The thing after that!"

"Your lover?"

"That!"

"Is she not..?" She asked, her tone leaning into a question.

"(Name)?" He choked, "She's— She's my Friend— Did you think we were lovers?!"

Athena lips were a flat line as he looked down at the flustered prince with a look that says "really?"

"My mistake" Was all she said before she morph into her owl form, setting on a near by branch all while Telemachus continued to look at her with red cheeks. "Wait no! You thought of us of lovers- why?" He asked the goddess of wisdom.

Athena only glared at him in her owl eyes, if she wasn't so nice she would have flown away but unfortunately they see each other everyday so she'd had to deal with it sooner again anyways, "You wear your feelings like a garland, young prince. It’s endearing... and painfully obvious."

Telemachus opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “Feelings? I don’t— I don’t have feelings for her— I mean, I can see why someone would have. (Name)’s sweet, she’s kind and talented and—” He froze mid-sentence, eyes widening slightly. “Oh gods… do I have feelings for her?”

Athena, still perched as an owl, let out a long, tired blink. “You’re so tristful,” she muttered, feathers puffing slightly in exasperation.

"If you're questioning if you have feelings, then more likely you do."

"But what makes you think I do have them?!"

"Telemachus, you held the girl last time with such care, you immediately fell when she cried out your name. You long to see her every day, and unlike other mortals, instead of making your heart race, she makes it steady. At peace. I think it would be reasonable for anyone to assume…”

She paused "Well, that you already know how you feel."

Telemachus tried to carry on with the day, but the realization sat heavy in his chest—warm. He hadn’t accepted it, not fully, but it kept brushing the edges of his thoughts like a tide refusing to recede. His gaze stayed low as he wandered the hallways, hoping movement would loosen the knot in his chest.

Then he passed by the dining hall.

The door was cracked open, just slightly, and he paused without knowing why. The suitors were never up this early—it was the hour when the servers began preparing for the day’s meals. Quietly, curiously, he glanced through the gap.

You were there.

You hadn’t noticed him. You were speaking with another maiden, laughing softly at something she said, the corners of your eyes creased. And somehow, in the calm of morning, with the sunlight filtering in just right, Telemachus forgot how to breathe.

Your eyes shimmered even from afar, reflecting the dawn like polished amber. Your hair caught the golden rays as if the sun had chosen you as its canvas, and your smile—

Gods, that smile.

You looked so alive in that moment. So real. So effortlessly full of light.

In a way you made the ordinary look sacred.

Had you always been this beautiful?

He didn’t move. He only watched for a few more heartbeats, standing still as the morning slipped past him—and with it, any denial that might have still lingered.

Maybe he did like the way you made the palace feel like a home.

He recalled the moments your presence calmed him, the way your fingertips brushed his skin so gently, The nights spent talking until the stars faded, the laughter, the quiet glances—how it all felt like home. He thought of how often he smiled just being beside you, how the world softened when you were near.

This feeling—this need to be near you, to protect you, to simply hear your voice—it wasn’t fleeting. It was steady, sure. Like the way he smiled whenever you were around. Like the way he cherished every second, every glance, every word exchanged between you.

He admired how you gave kindness freely, yet knew when to draw the line. How you protected those you loved. How you always seemed to know what to say, or when to simply sit beside him in silence.

And as those thoughts wove together, one by one, the answer came to him—gentle but certain.

It wasn’t just fondness. It wasn’t just comfort.

He was in love with you.

Gosh he was in love with you

When Telemachus finally came to accept his feelings for you, the prince tried not to make it obvious—key word "tried" he was a little worried because Athena herself stated that it was painfully obvious. Telemachus could not focus, he kept losing focus and drifting his mind to the thought of you. But this time with his feelings aware.

A blush can't be fought back to his face as he tried to eat his lunch with his mother who took notice of his behavior.

"Telemachus?" Penelope called softly, eyeing her son across the table.

He blinked out of his daydream, his spoon hovering above his bowl. "Yes—mother?"

"You've barely touched your lunch," she noted, the corner of her mouth lifting just slightly. "And you're smiling into your soup."

Great, now his mother herself is starting to get suspicious, Athena was right—he's so obvious that it actually hurts him.

He quickly straightened, reaching for his cup in a clumsy attempt to ground himself. "Just… thinking."

Penelope watched him over the rim of her cup, a knowing glint in her eyes.

"You know," she began, "when you’re quiet like this, thinking of something you won’t say out loud... you look just like him."

Telemachus looked up, startled. "Father?"

She nodded, a soft smile playing on her lips.

"Your father used to sit right there, drifting off in thought halfway through a meal." She trailed, with her smile turning sly.

"Though I’m not quite sure he ever blushed the way you are now."

He quickly looked down at his plate. "I'm not blushing."

"Of course not." Penelope set her cup down gently. "But you do carry him in your face, in your silences, your stubborness."

There was a pause. Then, more softly, she added, "You’ve grown so much. I often forget you were just a child when he left."

Telemachus’ smile faded into thoughtfulness.

"How are you, nowadays mother?" He asked, the queen exhaled a heavy breath, "Still weaving the shroud, unweaving on night.." She confessed.

"And the suitors?"

Penelope almost laughs, "Still here. Still getting louder. Bolder. I don’t know how much longer I can keep them at bay. However I'm still hopeful for your father" She tried to keep her tone even - hopeful but her eyes didn’t lie. His mother was tired and Telemachus knew that.

He had always worn it like a shadow—this echo of a man he barely knew. Everyone had stories: how clever he was, how brave, how fierce. But stories weren’t answers. Stories didn’t explain his absence.

Telemachus looked down, hands clenched against the table.

"I can’t keep sitting here, doing nothing." The words escaped before he could stop them.

Penelope’s eyes snapped back to him. "What do you mean?"

"I need to do something" he said, "seek answers"

"where?"

"Anywhere! To Pylos or to Sparta, Menalaus may have news or Nestor too. Someone out there must know if he still lives—or where he fell." He said, eyes filling hope.

She stared at him, her face pale with worry. "Telemachus, no. Please. The seas are no safer than these halls. You don't need to be lost at it too"

"I’ve lived under his name my entire life," Telemachus said. "But I don't know what kind of man he was. Please mother. To find answers, closure."

"I’ve waited long enough," he said. "If I sit still, I’ll rot here just like they want."

Penelope fell quiet.

"You're all I have left, son" she whispered. "The only piece of him I still wake up to. If you go—"

"I’ll come back," Telemachus said quickly, though the words didn’t feel as certain as he wanted them to. He knew the risks, the danger and the uncertainty. Even so he murmured. "I promise."

At that, the queen embraced her son dearly, arms wrapped around him with a quiet desperation she rarely allowed herself to show.

Telemachus stood stiff at first, He hadn't been embraced like this since he was a child—before he understood what absence meant, before the hall grew loud with uninvited voices and the scent of home was soured by strangers. He held her back, carefully, protectively.

He felt like a child again, embracing his mother for love.

"I'm sorry, Mother," he whispered. "It hurts... But I have to know."

Penelope didn't answer—not with words. Her grip tightened for a moment, then loosened with an aching slowness, as she faced her soon again—her eyes water, letting a choked laugh see how grown and determined her son is. How he looks so much like his father.

Telemachus and his mother shared a quiet moment as he attempted to soothe her worry. Though he would be lying if he said it didn't scare him too.

And in that embrace, Telemachus remembered the last time he'd held someone that closely.

You.

The time you threw your arms around him after the skirmish with the suitors, trembling from worry, your forehead tucked to his shoulder. Your hands, warm. Your voice—shaky, angry, gentle—scolding, and yet he had held you back without hesitation, as if that moment had always belonged to you both, as if you two belonged to each other's arms.

He hadn’t realized, then, how precious that would become. How soon he’d be leaving you behind. Just when he had just realized his feelings for you.

Your laugh. Your smile. Your voice—The way you made his name sound softer, The feelings he had only just begun to accept now felt like something he was being forced to walk away from.

He looks up to his mother. Who he'd be also leaving behind. No one to watch over her, no one to stand for her protection. his chest ached—not from fear of the journey ahead, but from the shadow of leaving. He fears what will happen to both his mother and you.

...

"Telemachus?"

You called out, making the said prince snap back to reality. After his talk with his mother, Telemachus had wandered the palace halls, his mind weighed down with the burden of his decision—until he heard your voice. The voice he now realized he never wanted to leave behind.

He turned, breath catching. "(Name)," he said, almost in a whisper. You had just stepped into the hall, but the moment your eyes met his, a smile lit up your face.

"Are you okay? You seem a little down," you asked, your voice laced with quiet concern.

And gods, how he adored that—you always noticed. Always cared.

Telemachus smiled, a little dazed, a little dumbstruck—like someone falling, no, fallen in love. "I'm fine. Just stuck in thought," he said, shrugging it off.

You nodded, though your eyes drifted lower, catching the edge of his exposed shoulder. A faint purple bruise was beginning to bloom along the muscle.

"Is that... a bruise?" You squinted your eyes, "Huh?" The prince asked confusedly looking at his own shoulder. And indeed there was noticeable bruise forming, a few cuts from probably this morning's training. He mentally slapped himself—completely forgetting his mentor's advice.

"May I?" You asked for permission, well there was no point in denying it now so he simply lets you. You carefully traced your hand to his arm—examining the wound. "Oh dear gods...Telemachus, did you get into another fight with those men?" You asked, shooting an eye to him.

"No! It's just from training this morning! You know... sparing.. with myself..?" He explained a little too unsure. You sighed as you let go of his arm. "You need to be more careful, Telemachus. Are you sure you weren't sparing with an animal?" You voiced laced with suspicion.

Yeah, I was sparing with a literal god..

He nodded as you trail back to his wounds. "Well, I can't have you walk around looking beat up, weren't you in lunch with your mother? Surely the queen noticed your form."

"I think, it wasn't as visible earlier.." He replied, "I'm fine (name), this isn't the first time, you know that" His joke gained a look from you as he only laughs.

"I'll tend your wounds in a second, why don't you wait somewhere so I can prepare"

Telemachus nodded—this wasn’t the first time you tended to his bruises, so neither of you thought much of it. "Is it alright if I head to my room first? I need to change," he said, offering a faint smile. You nodded, returning the gesture with a small one of your own before heading off in the opposite direction, assuming that’s where you’d treat his bruises, like usual.

Unfortunately, neither of you clarified. You assumed he'd be waiting in his chambers, while in his mind, he planned to head back after changing. So, when you pushed open the door to his room—unannounced, as you’d done so many times before—you stopped dead in your tracks.

There he was, chiton half-tossed over, back turned to you, sun catching the gold along his skin. His muscles tensed at the sound of the door creaking open.

"Sorry—I thought you'd be here already dressed."

Telemachus turned, equally startled. "Oh—no, no, it's alright! I just—I'll be done in a moment."

You quickly averted your eyes, biting the inside of your cheek to focus. He was your friend. Your prince. You were here to treat a bruise. Not have your thoughts spiral.

Still, it didn’t stop your heart from thudding louder than it should have.

"Actually… maybe you should keep your top exposed—since I’ll be tending to it," you managed, keeping your voice as steady as possible. A part of you was undeniably flustered; it wasn't every day you saw your closest friend like this. But you reminded yourself—this was routine. You'd tended to his wounds before. It wasn’t supposed to feel different. Just except the fact he's half naked.

Telemachus bit his lips, before clearing your throat, "Right. Of course" He said, trying to be calm cause you were too. Unaware how you're practically dying from being embarrassed.

Sitting at the edge of his bed, shoulder turned toward you, the bruise blooming darker now under the light. Upon seeing his mark, you shook away to begin.

Approaching carefully, you set down the tray beside him, its contents clinking softly. You reached first for the clean, damp cloth, the coolness biting slightly against your fingertips. Without a word, you knelt beside where he sat, your eyes scanning the bruise—a deep, purpling bloom across his shoulder.

You pressed the cloth against it with precision. The moment the cold touched his skin, he tensed just slightly, muscles twitching under your touch.

"Sorry," you said softly, adjusting your pressure, more gentle this time.

Telemachus only hummed, barely reacting, though you could feel his eyes on you. You kept yours trained on the task, determined not to let your fluster show.

"You're being very serious today," he finally murmured, voice low, almost teasing.

You kept your focus. "I'm always serious when you're hurt."

You tried to focus; however, your work did not allow you to, as your eyes wandered. Without his chiton covering him, the young prince was lean, but due to his training and growing years, his body had started to take a more defined shape.

There were subtle lines along his torso, the hints of muscle shaped by sparring and sword work. His skin was tanned, with a few faint bruises and older marks—nothing serious, but they stood out. You looked away quickly, pressing the cloth a little too hard before catching yourself.

"gods, get a hold of yourself!"

You're a professional, you reminded yourself. Even if he is a friend... you're still a professional.

"You've been training too hard lately" You said, as you put away the cloth and started to prepare a salve for his wounds. "It's better than getting bruised from a fight" He said.

"Getting hurt itself is not better" you stated. "You worry too much (name)" Telemachus replied. "Of course I will," You paused briefly. "You may be a prince, but you're also just....you to me. And I care about you" You said, turning to him with the ointment for his wounds.

That was enough to shut the young prince up, as you slowly applied the salve to the various cuts and wounds. This time, your bare hands touched his skin, and Telemachus couldn’t help but shiver slightly. He swallowed hard, eyes quietly watching as you continued, careful and gentle with him.

It didn’t help that he was reminded—this was the same woman he admired. As your fingers moved, a blush crept onto his skin, blooming faintly across his cheeks. He swore he could feel his body grow warmer, though he didn’t know if it was from the salve or simply from you being this close.

"And I think that's it," You concluded, "Please be more careful next time, Telemachus." You told the prince as you whipped your hands through a clean cloth.

He didn’t respond.

You looked up—expecting a nod, maybe a quiet thanks—but instead, he was just staring at you. Eyes soft, a little lost.

You let out a small laugh, trying to break the silence. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?" he blinked, caught.

"Like you have something to say." You smiled, tilting your head.

You didn't pay as much mind as you cleaned off the tray, you could hear him laugh however Telemachus laughed in worry—reminding of his diplomatic mission.

He didn’t know if he should tell you—considering even his mother was against it. The weight of it sat heavy on his chest, but not heavier than the thought of leaving without saying a word. Of walking away while you were still smiling, unaware, waiting for him?. He wondered if it was better this way—if knowing would only make it harder for you, for him.

His fingers fidgeted against the fabric of his bed. His eyes never left yours. "(Name)," he said finally, voice low, uncertain.

You straightened slightly, sensing the shift in his tone. "Hmm?" You hummed.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then gave a small, lopsided smile. "Thank you. For always patching me up."

A pause. Not a confession. Not yet. But maybe a beginning.

A grin plastered on your lips, "You're always welcome, Telemachus" You beemed.

Yeah. He can't bring himself to tell you

"Athena, what should I doooo..." Telemachus whined the next morning, his feet dragging along the grass as he followed the goddess into the olive grove behind the palace. The sun was shining off the drenched leaves, but Telemachus’ heart felt too heavy to notice the beauty around him. "You’re the only one who agrees with this decision… and you're also aware of the cost of it," he trailed off, his hand raking through his hair.

"My mother… and…" he mumbled.

Athena, still in her human form, walked ahead—then shot him a sharp look over her shoulder.

"You speak as if you have the choice to stay, Telemachus. This isn’t about comfort—it’s about truth. It’s about preparing for what is coming."

He stopped in his tracks, eyes lifting toward the goddess.

"My mother… she’s afraid—afraid I won’t come back. And I fear she may be right. And (name)... gods, (name)... she has no idea. I just figured out what I feel for her, and now I have to leave her—and my mother—here?"

Athena stepped closer, her arms folding as her voice slowly softened, but remained firm.

"You know deep down you must go. You must know what happened to your father—not just for yourself, but for your mother and for Ithaca. The time is coming when luck will no longer protect you."

Telemachus’ lips pressed into a thin line. He knew she was right.

"You said it yourself," she continued, "this place is growing dangerous. Those suitors won’t wait forever. What will you do when they snap—and you’re not ready?"

The goddess’s words landed heavier than he expected. Telemachus felt the ache of them settle in his chest.

"This journey," Athena said, softer now, "will make you ready. I’ll help you. You’ll seek the answers you’ve longed for."

And slowly, Telemachus began to understand. This wasn’t only a search for his father. It was preparation. A storm was brewing in his home—and he needed to be ready before it broke.

"And if they realize I’ve left?" he asked quietly, scared.

"Then let them," Athena said without hesitation. "They’ll see soon enough that you’re no longer a child hiding behind your mother’s grief. You are your father’s son. You just need the chance to become him in your own way."

Telemachus took a slow breath, but the ache in his chest didn’t ease.

"And what about (name)…?" he asked in a whisper, his head bowed.

Athena didn’t answer right away. When she finally spoke, there was a trace of sympathy in her voice.

"If she’s truly who you believe she is, she will understand. And she’ll wait."

The wind passed silently through the olive trees. Then Athena added, almost gently,

"Or… if you find the words too difficult to say—perhaps it’s better not to say anything at all."

Telemachus turned to her, startled. "You mean—leave without telling her?"

"You said it yourself. Your mother is against this. You fear what will happen if she finds out. I understand that. But if you linger too long, doubt will start to drown out your resolve. And if this must be done… delaying it will only make everything harder."

Telemachus opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He wanted to argue. He wanted to call it cruel. But even as his heart fought it, something in him knew Athena was right. Maybe it was cowardice. Maybe it was wisdom. Or maybe it was the quiet, selfish hope that this would all be over soon.

The sooner he left, the sooner he could return. And maybe—just maybe—when he did, he’d finally have the courage to say what he couldn’t now.

"I guess..." He made up a decision. "We sail as soon as possible."

...

It was a quiet evening—a little too quiet for your liking. The palace was never truly silent, not with 108 men lounging about. Yet tonight, the usual noise were strangely absent.

Curious, you peeked into the main hall. A few men were still awake, but most were drooping in their seats, heads nodding, goblets slipping from loose fingers. Some had already passed out where they sat.

“Odd...” you thought, tilting your head slightly. Still, it wasn’t unheard of. Wine often dulled the edge of their unruly energy.

You turned away, feet light as you walked through the corridor toward Telemachus’ room. Maybe he should know about this—just in case.

A few knocks on his door echoed softly. No answer.

You frowned slightly. “Maybe he’s already asleep?” you murmured to yourself. But... that wasn’t quite like him. Not lately. Now that you thought about it, you hadn’t seen him around much at all these past few days. He wasn’t avoiding you—at least, you didn’t think so. Just... missing.

It hadn’t bothered you before. You were busy. He probably was too. But now, standing outside his quiet door, a small nudge of confusion crept in.

After a short pause, you turned and made your way to the library.

Maybe he was there already.

He often found comfort in quiet spaces.

You were hopeful.

Though a wave of despondency quickly humbles you when the eerie silence of the place meets you. You still tried to look around—maybe to soothe yourself, though like you expected, there wasn't any trace of the prince.

A long sigh escaped your mouth as your back rested against the library door. "Maybe tomorrow," you told yourself, deciding to just head to bed early today. You didn't really find any motivation to do anything right now—maybe because your inspiration was nowhere to be seen.

You weren’t really paying attention to your surroundings. For one, you were too deep in your thoughts, and two, you didn’t expect anyone to be around at this time. So you were a bit startled when you bumped into someone.

"My apology—" you quickly said, then blinked in confusion. "Nurse Eurycleia! Good evening," you greeted.

Nurse Eurycleia was the palace nurse. You were in good terms with the old madam, often offering your hand whenever you could, especially as you were also learning the art of healing.

"Nurse Eurycleia?" You called out again when the older woman did not answer.

Brows furrowed, the older woman was not facing you—which you found odd.

You shifted slightly, eyes drifting to where she had come from—the main exit of the palace. Your brows furrowed at the sight. "Nurse Eurycleia, did you go out around this late? That isn’t really safe for you to be outside. May I ask what you were doing there?" you asked softly, placing a hand on her shoulder.

As you stepped closer, something under the folds of her peplos caught your eye—a small bundle, oddly shaped, like it had been tucked away in haste. You recognized it as a bag. Your confusion deepened.

The old nurse gave a weak chuckle. "Ah, just gathering something I left earlier. Nothing important, dear."

You narrowed your eyes just slightly, trying not to sound accusing. "Do you happen to know where the young prince is? You had a conversation with him earlier, yes?," you said casually, watching for her reaction.

Eurycleia froze and you immediately knew. Her body still.

"Nurse..?" You blinked.

She didn't speak. Your heart gave a light thud. “You know where he is,” you said, almost in disbelief. “Don’t you?”

Still, she said nothing—but her silence was all the answer you needed. "Where is he?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper. "What's wrong?"

Eurycleia looked at you then, her face lined with worry. "He… didn’t want you to worry," she said quietly, her voice trembling with guilt.

You stepped back, your breath catching in your throat.

"The young prince went to sail" she finally admitted. "On a diplomatic mission. To Pylos. Then to Sparta."

Your eyes widening as realization struck you harder than lightning. "What..?" You murmured, you couldn't find the words, you had a million questions yet none escaped from your lips.

"The young prince... ordered not to tell anyone but..."

Suddenly, Eurycleia reached out and held your hand, gently, urging you to meet her eyes, while yours were still wide with confusion and dread.

"He may still be out there, (name). I don’t know exactly what you and the young prince share, but I do know this—he did not want to leave without saying anything. I saw it in his eyes, he was torn"

You froze. The weight of her words hit you like a wave—confusion, shock, a swell of emotion you couldn't place. But there was no time to sit in it.

"Go. While there may still be time," she urged.

You didn’t waste a second. With a silent breath of thanks to Eurycleia, you took off—racing out of the palace as your heart pounded faster than your legs could carry you.

Your thoughts were a whirlwind. Why is he going? Does he not understand how dangerous this is? Why didn’t he tell me? A flood of questions tangled in your mind, but none of them slowed your steps.

You didn’t know exactly where he would be—but your instincts pulled you toward the shore.

You prayed—to the gods, to fate, to anyone listening—he couldn't leave. Not like this. You had almost gone to bed tonight never knowing he’d already left the island of Ithaca.

The wind bit cold against your skin, but you didn’t care. You had to find Telemachus.

Then you saw him.

His back was to you at first, feet planted on the shoreline where a single ship was moored. The waves lapped quietly at the sand, and the few men aboard moved like shadows—final preparations nearly done.

He didn’t see you right away. His eyes stared off into the horizon, somewhere far, far away. He looked dazed, torn. A deep frown settled on his lips, like the weight of everything he carried was pressing him down.

You saw him.

"Telemachus," you whispered—too soft, as if your voice might shatter something.

Then louder—your breath catching before it came out.

"Telemachus!"

His body stiffened. Slowly, he turned. His wide eyes met yours. Shock to see you.

"(Name)." He mouthed your name.

Your chest heaved, lungs burning, not just from the run but from the ache building beneath your ribs.

Both of you did not move at first, the distance between you too was filled with tension that if one were to go past it they would feel it.

You two stood facing each other, eyes locked, with the moon high above—glowing behind the other's light, as if the sky bent itself to reflect a single moon for two souls.

You couldn’t hold it. What started as a step turned into a run—unthinking. Telemachus watched, frozen, as you closed the distance. He knew he should have gone sooner to spare you both the pain, it was the safer option.. Right..?

But he didn’t move away.

In fact, he stepped forward too—slowly, deliberately. His fingers reaching out for you, and until he finally caught you.

Though he didn't quite prepare himself, as he fell backwards with you—landing on the soft sand.

His arms were around you now, steady even as his heart pounded. The scent of salt and night air clung to both of you, but neither of you move yet.

Your hands clutched the fabric of his cloak, your brows knit together.

You two slowly rise to sit up on the sand, eyes still into each other. You didn't know what gave you the right to launch yourself to the prince but at that moment, you knew him as your Telemachus.

“Why are you leaving?” you finally asked, your voice breaking halfway through. It wasn’t loud, but it hurt to say. Telemachus looked away, the guilt on his face showing.

“I knew you were on to something…” you murmured, "But I didn’t think that it was a diplomatic mission from across the sea."

He hesitated. “You don’t get it, (name).” You blinked, pain flaring in your chest. “It’s complicated,” he added, his voice quieter, as if trying not to lose you further. “You wouldn’t get it.”

You stared at him. “Well of course I wouldn’t get it,” you snapped, the edge in your tone cutting sharper than you intended. “You never said anything.”

"I'm sorry.."

"Sorry isn't going to answer this, Telemachus."

Telemachus flinched, eyes darting to meet yours, startled. You rarely ever raised your voice—only when something truly hurt.

It's kind of an irony, because the only time you ever raised your voice was all because of him. When you defended him and now.

"I had to go. I had to." Telemachus inhaled shakily. "Ithaca won't wait forever. The suitors—they're becoming bolder. My mother can only do so much. And my father… If he’s out there, I have to try."

"I tried to tell you" he said, finally, voice soft, raw. "I really wanted to tell you."

"But how could I? Every time I tried to look at you, I wanted to stay. But I knew I couldn't. I kept thinking maybe… maybe if I just left, it’d be easier." He broke, gripping your fingers gently.

Silence fell again. You felt it in your throat, in your chest, in the way your body refused to pull away from his.

“I would’ve tried to understood, you know,” you said, quieter now. “If you told me. If you trusted me.”

Telemachus grew closer, his voice low. “It’s not that I don’t trust you.“

You kept your eyes at him, your hand still intertwined. Your heart was beating, eyes starting to water.

"I was afraid," Telemachus finally said, his voice trembling like a string pulled too tight.

You blinked.

"I was afraid that if I tell you what I really felt for you... it would've made it harder—for both of us."

Your breath caught in your throat. "Tell me what?"

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, a broken whimper escaped him. His shoulders shook as his head dropped low, forehead pressing to your shoulder, his hands gripping the fabric of your sleeves and your hands like he was afraid you'd vanish.

"That I am in love with you, (Name)."

Your heart stopped. The world fell still—except for the quiet, ragged breaths of the boy in your arms.

"I love you, (name). Maybe I’ve only just come to understand it fully, but the gods know—from the moment we first spoke, I was meant to fall for you."

For the first time, you didn’t know what to say. Your mind went completely blank. Words slipped from your grasp like water through trembling fingers. You were never like this—never speechless, never unsure. But maybe that was because you had never let yourself be this close to something so raw… so real.

You stared at him.

Telemachus, with his tear-streaked face pressed gently against your shoulder, hands clinging to your sides. His confession still echoed in your chest, stirring something terrifying and warm all at once.

You breathed in, slowly.

"If what you said was true, then why leave without saying goodbye?"

"...I thought it would hurt less," he admitted, voice breaking. "For both of us."

You looked at him, truly looked—and then, without thinking, your hand reached up and brushed a thumb across his cheek. "It hurts more," you said quietly, "not knowing."

The space between you felt fragile. Yet somehow, even now, there was comfort in it.

You then started to stroke his head almost pulling him closer, Telemachus hesitantly looked up to you. A chuckle escaped your lips. The same laugh he loves.

"Remember when I told you my mother was worried that talking to you might make you think the wrong thing?" you began, your voice soft. The prince tilted his head, slightly puzzled, but nodded.

"Well... the truth is, long before that, I already liked you," you admitted, eyes dropping for a moment. "Talking to you wasn’t just a coincidence—it was my way of trying to get to know you."

Telemachus' eyes widened, stunned.

"My mother said feelings like that would lead me nowhere. She said, 'Who are you compared to him?' That you'd probably find it strange... or laughable. So I grew up thinking I’d never mean anything to you."

He opened his mouth to speak, but you gently cut in before he could.

"I started to believe, by default, that love just wasn’t meant for me. So imagine how surprised I was... when you said you wanted to be friends."

Telemachus stepped closer, the moonlight catching the hurt and wonder in his expression. His voice broke gently through the silence.

"When I said I wanted to be friends," he said, voice low, "it wasn’t because that was all I wanted. It was because I knew, i wanted to begin somewhere with you."

Your breath caught again,

"From the time we’ve spent together.." He trailed off "You were nothing but more than I ever thought I was allowed to want. And maybe I don’t know exactly what I’m doing—gods know I’m still figuring it all out—but I do know one thing."

He reached for your cheeks, gentle.

"I want whatever this is. Even if it’s uncertain. Even if it’s slow. I want it… with you." He said.

You couldn't help but lean into the warmth of his hand, your heart thudding louder with every inch that closed between you. His touch was tender. Your faces hovered close, breaths mingling in the quiet. Telemachus’ thumb brushed your cheek, then paused as his gaze flicked down—hesitating on your lips.

"May I?" he asked, barely above a whisper, like he was afraid to break the moment.

As you gave a quiet nod, he leaned in—and when your lips met, it was like the world stopped.

His lips were soft, warm, hesitant at first, then a little more certain as you didn’t pull away. You could feel the faint hitch in his breath, the way he carefully pressed in closer, and you welcomed it.

It wasn’t overwhelming. But it was enough to have you melt.

His hand traced the line of your jaw, then settled lightly at your waist, fingers trembling slightly. Your own hands moved instinctively, one curling over his shoulder, the other slipping slowly to the back of his neck.

He pulled away for only a moment, just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against yours. Then, without a word, he kissed you again—deliberate this time.

You were getting kind of jazzy by the second, but your body refused to pull away as the kiss deepened.

Telemachus finally broke the kiss, both of you breathing heavily. His arms remained around you as he buried his face in your shoulder—hiding, maybe, from how deeply he was blushing.

“Did that just happen…?” you said aloud.

The way he held you tighter made it real. He kissed you. And you kissed him back. A quiet settled between you as your fingers gently combed through his hair.

“I don’t want to leave you,” he murmured, making you glance down at him. “You have no idea.”

A soft chuckle escaped you. “I don’t want you to leave either,” you admitted. “But we both know how important this is.” He stilled. Slowly, he pulled back—though his hands still lingered on you.

A part of you wanted to be selfish, to beg him to stay. The sea was no safer than the palace. But you knew better. And you hated how much you understood.

“Don’t make this a goodbye,” you whispered. His eyes lifted to yours, glossy with emotion. “Make it a promise. Promise me you’ll come back safe.” He didn’t speak right away, only nodded—your smile softening as you held onto that small piece of hope.

“I promise to come back to you,” he said. “I'll come to pursue you.” You blinked, heart skipping. “Pursue me?” you echoed, voice barely above a whisper.

He gave a shy nod "I want to come back when I can be officially yours. Right now, I’m not the person I want to be yet… but maybe, by then, I’ll be closer to the man I should be—with you."

The confession hung gently in the air between you. You stared at him for a long moment, then smiled—not the polite kind, not the practiced one—but something small and real, like a promise unspoken.

“Then I’ll be right here,” you said, “when that time comes.” Telemachus leaned in again—not for another kiss, but to rest his forehead against yours. You stayed like that, wrapped in the hush of something tender, as the world around you blurred into silence.

Just for this moment, the future didn’t scare you. Because he would carry your words across the sea. And you carry his promise in your chest until the tides brought him home.

You could only pray the gods of Olympus would guide him safely across the sea. Unbeknownst to you, Telemachus offered his own prayer—that you, and his mother, would remain safe within those palace walls.

Neither of you knew what the days ahead would hold. And all that stood between was faith—and hope. But those two aren’t known for handing out happy endings. Not without a price. Not every time.

here is the 14k fic!! part two coming :DDD this was a pain to publish beacuse of how long it is, i had to transfer to my old laptop but im glad its finally done!!

thank you for reading everyone! interactions are greatly appreciated!!

Kumi's m.list

[thesuperiorrobin]

She knew~

pairing: Damian Wayne x Crush!Reader

Warning: Agnsty? Not that much I promise, good ending, maybe, slight swearing? Reader is a bit flirty??? I think there’s a part 2.

There's something about laying in a hospital bed that's so humbling for Damian.

His arm was in a cast and his head was wrapped in bandages. A mission went wrong, that was covered up by a so-called "terrible car accident". Everybody believed it, because why would they believe the truth of Damian taking a bad fall dress up in his Robin uniform? Some of his brothers tease him for what had happened that night, and if he wasn't held back by his position in the hospital he was sure he would have all their heads on a stick by now. His father didn't seem any bit worried about him, that's what Damian thought, after the countless scoldings he's gotten he's sure his father doesn't care.

Damian has spent the last two days in the hospital, on the third day he'll be released. And he can't wait, the smell, the atmosphere the so-called food they serve him-- he can't wait to leave it all behind. But for now, Damian lies on the slightly uncomfortable bed with a book in his good hand. His family hasn't bothered him in a while and he's thankful for that, he's gotten used to soft voices through his room door and soft beeping occasionally that seemed to echo through his hospital room.

There’s a soft knock on the door that catches his attention and he groans—thinking it’s one of his family members coming to visit home again.

Damian prays it’s just a nurse coming to check up on him. He chooses not to answer and after a few seconds the door opens up—the person who steps into his dull white room was not the person he was expecting.

In you go, with a bouquet in your hand dressed in your school uniform.

"Hey" your voice is soft and careful "how are you feeling?"

Damian doesn't answer right away, he pretends to think about his answer before he clears his throat "I feel like I could be doing better at the moment" he places his book down.

"Here, these are for you" you hand him the flowers "I just came to see how you were doing, everybody's worried”

"Only because I'm the son of Bruce Wayne" he murmurs, glaring at you softly—scoffing as he does so.

"That's not true" you frown, He gives you a look "Well Maybe, yeah I guess you're right, but I'm worried Damian. I saw the news and the cars. Damian you could have been killed"

"But I wasn't L/N so there is no need to worry about that anymore"

You let out a sigh as you pull a chair beside him on his bed, It's been a while since you last saw him, two weeks to be precise almost three. Your eyes linger on him for a bit longer. He looks more tired than usual and angry. His hair is messy, with strands of hair spiked up in random directions. Though purple and blue covered his skin from head to toe he still seemed visually breathtaking.

"Did you just come here to just stare at me?" He snaps, and you jump back in your seat, a part of him regrets snapping at you so suddenly, that you clear your throat with a smile.

"Sorry, I'm just used to you being….” You trail off for a moment trying to find the right words to not offend the younger Wayne in his condition. “…so well organized. If I had a penny for every time I've seen you a mess I would have one”

His only response was a hum, and the room was silent between you two. The only sound echoing through the room was the soft voices from outside the room and the beeping of the monitor. “It’s quiet in most of the classes now. Did you know that?”

“How so?”

“Teachers pointed out how quiet the classes are since you’ve gotten stuck in the hospital. We’re known for yapping away in the back of class” You let out a breathy laugh, glancing up at Damian who holds a frown.

“You mean yourself?” Damian raises his brow at you “I normally don’t hold conversations. The teachers were probably talking about you—you do tend to talk a lot”

“Rude” You huff out and a chuckle leaves the injured Wayne's lips, which brings a smile to yours “But I guess you’re right, I don’t have anyone to talk to. You’re usually the only have I have a good laugh within class”

Somehow, your hand finds his. All bandaged and bruised but you don’t mind and Damian says nothing. His green eyes glance down at your face, hoping to meet yours but you keep them focused down at his hand. Despite the thick layer of bandages, he can still feel the warmth of your fingers as they softly glide against his palm.

“I miss complementing your artwork, it’s not the same when I’m looking beside me and see someone else’s artwork”

“You only compliment them when you copy my notes” he hums, “you say it as a thank you when I let you do so”

“Mhm..” you hum “but now, every time I look beside me there’s always a student sleeping with their paper blank”

“Maybe you should start writing your notes….”

“I could…” you trail off, head lifting slightly to meet his eyes. “But what’s the point if I can’t use it as an excuse to talk to you?”

It takes a while for Damian to answer fully. He can feel his skin feel out, and he’s sure you can fill it, too, with a smug smile on your face. He looks away, away from your eyes, as he answers, “True….”

There’s another long silence between you two, a comfortable one and Damian can feel your hand slip away from his—it takes so much in him not to grab ahold of your hand once more. He hears the sudden screech of the chair against the floor, he turns his head—eyes locking in on your form. He wishes you could stay a little longer, your presence is the only thing that doesn’t annoy him as much as others do, and a part of him wants to tell you to stay a bit more but he bites his tongue.

He sees your hand hover over the doorknob, and you seem to hesitate for a moment, he does wish you decided to stay a bit longer. A heavy sigh leaves your lips, turning around to glance back at Damian, who only stares at you confusedly.

"Just because you wear a mask in the middle of the night while playing hero Damian, doesn't mean you're invincible"

huh?

"But anyway ill visit you tomorrow so I can hand you the homework you missed"

you give him one last smile before your figure disapears from his sight. Even after you left, his eyes burn holes at the door for a few more minutes before groaning and pulling at his hair in stress

"She knew?!"

Literally in the middle of my Art history class writing this Because I had nothing better to do.

[hargreeves-duncan]

Can I request five x reader (takes place in s2) where reader (five’s partner) gets sent to Dallas around a year before five comes and after he does and reader sees him, she immediately tackles him on the spot and gives him many kisses. Maybe reader manages to work at a casino too

a/n: thank you so much for your request! i haven’t written in a while so i'd love to hear your thoughts, enjoy!!

summary: it's been far too long since you've seen your boyfriend - he learns that the affectionate way.

warnings: n/a

word count: 1.4k

visual is for vibes only, reader’s appearance is nondescript!

You had to hand it to yourself, for someone who’d known next to nothing about life in the 1960s, you’d adapted pretty well. In no time at all, you’d managed to land yourself a job as a waitress in a casino. A very good one. It seemed in this timeline, Jack Ruby thought a casino would be a better investment than a night club - and for your part, you couldn’t say that he was wrong, nor could you complain.

The hours were long, but the pay was good enough and the other girls had taken you in as one of their own. You quickly began to excel. Strolling between the tables and flashing smiles was easy, second nature even. You developed the wit and charisma to charm the casino’s patrons without second thought, which meant you got more drinks served, more loyal customers and bigger tips to go along with them. 

Most nights the new life you’d built for yourself was more than enough but sometimes, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t help but yearn for what had come before - who had come before.

There was always a dull ache in your chest whenever you caught a fleeting glimpse of a lone, brown-haired man at one of the tables. In those moments, you could never stop yourself from believing for a slither of a second that Five had made it and he’d come right back to you.

You’d waited for him in that dingy, old alley for two weeks straight, because you knew that Five would never abandon his family like that. That something must’ve gone wrong, but it was okay because he’d come back and everything would be fine. That was what you told yourself. You were so sure he’d show up and solve everything in an instant, because that was what he always did. And when he hadn’t, it had almost destroyed you.

The first few months were gruelling, taking your first steps in the new world had taken a while. Grieving Five had taken longer. The obvious truth was staring you in the face. A year without contact from him or any of the other Hargreeves siblings? The probability was that you were the only one who had survived.

It was a truth that you were reluctant to admit, even now. One that led you to where you are today, starting yet another night shift, beside the casino’s bar, to serve a particularly rowdy Friday night crowd of patrons.

As you begin to set up, Mary-Anne, one of the other waitresses on shift, sidles up to you. Her honey-blonde curls bouncing around her ears as she leans against the bar. Trying to stifle her laugh, in her southern drawl, she says, “Has he tried talking to you yet?”

You raise an eyebrow at her, tilting your head to the side, “Has who tried talking to me yet?”

Her grin grows wider as she gestures to a table on the far corner of the room, laughing, “That little boy. Haven’t I said a million times that we oughta get tighter on the security in this place?”

She sighs, resting her hands on her hips, “I went over to him - trying to tell him that we don’t allow minors in here - and what’d he do?”

Deciding to humour her, you smile, looking down at her, “I’ve got no idea, tell me.”

She scoffs, shaking her head as she smiles, “He told me that he more than knew his way around place a place like this and that I had nothing to worry about with him. Can you imagine having the nerve like that at his age?”

The thought made you laugh. It reminded you of Five. His haggard temper in the body of his younger self always seemed to shock people in the very same way. You paused. It couldn’t be him, couldn’t it? You must be jumping to conclusions. After all this time, it’d make no sense if he was here now and yet…

“He said that?” You ask, eyebrows furrowing as you glance between the table and Mary-Anne. You squint, trying to see if you could recognise him.

A part of you felt silly and girlish for still holding out hope but this kid’s description was just too similar and besides, you were a teenager again, you were allowed to be lovesick and entirely delusional. It was practically your god-given right.

Mary-Anne nodded, loading her tray up with drinks of all shapes and sizes to cover her half of the room, “He did.”

Your eyes were locked onto the distant table, practically pleading for the kid to just turn around and let your hopes down already. Still, all that greeted you was the back of his head and the green fuzz of the poker table in front of him.

When you didn’t tear your eyes away, Mary-Anne looked you up and down, her baby blue eyes swimming with concern, “You alright there?”

Looking back at her, you sigh, already pent up at the possibility of Five being so close, “Yeah, I just… What did he look like?” You ask tentatively, biting your rouge-tinted, bottom lip between your teeth.

Mary-Anne hums in thought as she loads your tray for you, “Gosh, I don’t know - he had dark hair, was wearing a suit. It had the funniest, little emblem on it.” She says, tapping her chest in place of where it would’ve been.

Your eyes widen in shock and excitement as you process her words, “An umbrella! It was an umbrella, wasn’t it?”

Mary-Anne grins, giggling, “It was… how’d you know that?”

You couldn’t even answer her. You were already starting to tremble and hyperventilate, entirely overcome with nerves and joy and pure, unbridled excitement all at once. A year of being apart and now he was no more than a few strides away. Your smile brightens up like no other.

You slip your tray from over your head and place it down on the bar as you say, “Hey, cover for me, would you? I’ll be two seconds.”

Without waiting for her answer, you dash across the room - a flurry of giddiness bubbling up inside of you the closer you get. You tousle your hair and straighten your uniform, anything to keep your anxious fingers busy and to better yourself for something you’ve waited for for far too long.

Hearing heels coming towards him again, Five sighs in frustration and turns around in his chair, “Lady, I already told you-“

The breath feels like it’s been stolen from your throat as he turns to face you. It’s really, truly him. Your boyfriend is right there in front of you and you’ve never felt more relief than in this moment.

“Y/N.”

You’re not sure if you want to cry or scream or simply just take him in for the first time all over again. As you look over him, his piercing gaze, his dark hair and the freckle on his right cheek that you can’t count the number of times you’ve kissed, your eyes can’t help but be drawn to his lips.

God, how you’ve missed the feeling of them. You barely have time to think about what you’re doing before you’re cupping his face and pressing your lips against his once more, savouring every part of him in a way you’d never thought to before.

Your hands trail over every callous in his skin, memorising him with your fingertips, and as you pull back, Five’s gaze softens like nothing else as he smirks, “Hello, you.”

His hands reach out to cup your face, gazing over you as if he’s not entirely sure that you’re real. After all your time apart, you’re not sure either. You smile, nodding, “It’s me. It’s you. You’re here, you’re really here!”

You cup his face in return and you can’t help but press another kiss to his lips. He smiles fondly as you do. And so you kiss him again… and again on his cheek… and on his freckle… his chin… his forehead. Everywhere your lips can reach, you press them.

After a moment, he laughs weakly and reaches up to pull your hands away from his face and intertwines them with his own fingers instead, “Okay, love.” He says chasteningly, “Let’s calm down there, shall we?”

Your smile grows shyer as you right yourself, “Sorry.” You say, brushing your hair away from your face.

He shakes his head, brushing your hair back for you and then guiding you by the waist to the seat beside him, “No, don’t be sorry. Don’t ever be sorry. Believe me, I’m just as happy to see you. Really.”

It’s him who initiates the kiss this time. He’s soft, delicate almost, in the way that he kisses you, as if each movement of his lips is a new way of giving all of his love to you and promising that he won’t ever let you out of his sights again.

[great-and-small]

How many studies have been done on heron intelligence? There's records of multiple species fishing with bait, they seem pretty smart but never get included in pop sci conversations on avian intelligence

I’m not sure if I can think of an experimental study on heron intelligence specifically but I know there are plenty of observational studies describing the bait luring you mentioned as well as other behaviors we humans like to associate with intelligence, like play activity, tool use, and problem solving. I personally feel that a black heron’s canopy feeding behavior is one of the most remarkable displays of practical intelligence in the animal kingdom! The best place to explore this literature imo is HeronConservation.org which is an amazing resource for any Ardeidae enthusiasts. They have tons of fully accessible articles from their journal (Journal of Heron Biology and Conservation) and the website is just very visually nice to look at and easy to navigate while also being extremely informative! Here’s an article from their website about a heron using a stick as a fishing lure, super good stuff on this site.

As for me, while I completely agree that herons are underrated for their smarts, the more I think about our concept of intelligence in animals the more I struggle to confidently declare one species of wild animal smarter than another. As world-renowned crane expert George Archibald said on crane intelligence “Sure, if you put them in front of a computer they don’t do much, but if I dropped you on the tundra in spring you wouldn’t do much either. It’s all relative”. If a toad has evolved a brain that perfectly serves its purposes in regard to being a toad, is it really fair to say that toad is less intelligent than something like a dog? Either way, the toad doesn’t care because it’s perfect at being a toad.

That said, it is curious that herons aren’t often included in popsci discussions of bird intelligence (which are in my experience nearly dominated by the ever-popular corvids). I would say herons are probably one of the families of birds that most people around the globe have some opportunity to witness their hunting behavior, which is where their intelligence shines the most. It would be hard for anyone to watch a heron fishing or stalking and come away completely unimpressed. Back in the day, people used to think that Great Blue Herons excreted a fish-attracting oil from their legs as they thought this was the only reasonable explanation for a heron’s spectacular success when fishing. But nope, they really are just that good! I suppose the type of practical intelligence and hunting adaptations that we see in herons are maybe not as flashy as stuff like crows voting to make group decisions, but I agree that the herons deserve a little more attention!

One last little story on the complex inner lives of herons just because I think you’ll like it- a British biologist named Julian Huxley was studying herons in Louisiana in the 1920’s and specifically observing the courtship displays of tricolored herons. He recounted seeing two courting birds suddenly in perfect synchronicity lift their wings and call out, then intertwine their necks in a graceful movement as they preened one another’s feathers. Huxley’s comment on seeing this display is a quote I think about all the time:

“Of this I can only say that it seemed to bring such a pitch of emotion that I could have wished to be a Heron that I might experience it."

[awrkive]

NEIGHBOR BLUNDER, pt. 2 — JJK (m.)

in hindsight, you should have seen it coming. had always known your luck – or lack of it, thereof – and the universe's meticulous plan of your downfall made it easy for you to get tangled up in a series of unfortunate events, which presents itself as the neighbor that lives across from you, jeon jungkook.

PAIRING jungkook x (fem) reader

GENRE r18+ (fluff, angst, smut) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

CHAPTER WORD COUNT 22.5k

CHAPTER WARNINGS/MISC neighbor!jk, bsf!jimin, accountant!oc software engineer!jk, jk and jimin are chaebols lol, minjoon boyfriends <<<<3, mature language, lots of screaming into your pillow moments FLUFFY FLUFF FLUFFFFFFFFFFFFF, lovely hot nerdy jk ): (i think i speak for all women when i say that nerdy jungkook is the best jungkook say I IF U AGREE),[explicit sexual content: masturbation (f)], has the budding romance finally hit the second towers? read more to find out

NOTES hey everyone thank you so much for the overwhelming support on this silly little fic. i hope you guys enjoy this update and let me know your thoughts in the replies/reblog section and in my inbox, wherever you prefer hehe <3

NB!JK VISUALS | TAGLIST OPEN

READ ON WATTPAD | AO3

PART ONE | TWO | THREE

You usually finish prepping for the office at around 7:40 am, just enough time left to walk to the station and catch your bus at exactly 8 am.

As of now, it's 7 but the clock's longer hand has moved past the 40-minute mark, and you are still in your living room, supposedly all done and ready to go – except that you're stuck on the floor looking at your laptop perched on your coffee table, staring at it blankly, the HR email looking right back at you; almost daunting.

Subject: Invitation to Ceremony: Announcement of Interim CTO Dear Blue Nexus Inc. employee, We hope this email finds you well. We would like to inform you that a ceremony has been scheduled on July 29, 2028, 10:00 am at the AVR Hall 5, 12th floor. The purpose of this event is to announce the appointment of our interim Chief Technology Officer (CTO), Mr. Jeon Jungkook. As you may be aware, our previous CTO, Mr. Shin Juman, is currently on medical leave recovering from a stroke. While he is recuperating and undergoing treatment, it has become necessary for us to appoint an interim CTO for an indefinite period of time to ensure the continuity and effectiveness of our operations. Your presence at this meeting is highly valued as we introduce the new leadership to the team and outline our strategic direction moving forward. Light refreshments will be served. Thank you for your attention to this matter. We look forward to seeing you at the ceremony. Best regards, HR Department

You've been reading it over and over again you're sure you can recite it with ease if prompted. It's in the hopes that the name Jeon Jungkook will suddenly disappear somewhere in the email – that maybe you missed some detail, and it doesn't actually mention his name at all. You read the email repeatedly wishing that it is just a glitch in the system and what you found out about yesterday are all just a part of your extreme delusion. Maybe it's one of those nights with Jimin at his apartment where you would indulge in a little bit of guilty pressure – pots, to be exact – and just let it take you to a whole new world.

But you and Jimin didn't go home together last night, and you definitely did not smoke pot. He went straight to the airport and you straight home with nothing but mixed feelings inside, and you were more than thankful that Jimin was in a bout of panic himself about not getting there on time that he didn't notice you squirming in his passenger seat.

There is a vague memory in your head with him telling you he was going to come with Namjoon, but you can't be for sure. Everything that transpired that night is all reduced down to the very moment in the comfort room when you realized the glaring information about Jungkook being three eggs in your basket: first, he's Jimin's cousin. Second, he's an executive in your company – a CTO, to be exact – and while you aren't exactly working under his department and they are all the way up ten floors above you, he's still technically your boss according to the hierarchy. The son of the CEO of the very company you are working at. Not only is he the CTO, but third he's also your neighbor. Someone you've met weeks ago whom you may have developed a growing relationship with that will now possibly be bleak in a matter of hours or days depending on if you are going to tell him or if he finds out.

That is the thing that you're currently debating with yourself about as you let your eyes glide over the unsuspecting email from HR for the nth time.

7:50 am – the clock on your screen reads.

You think about the dock pay that you're gonna get if you come to work late. At this point, you can run to the station and still catch your bus, but you have to decide in a minute for that to be possible.

Groaning, you feel defeated as you shut your laptop close and stand up from the floorboards, your eyes going over to the door across from you which earns yourself a wince.

I'm gonna get a dock pay and it will all be Jungkook's fault. That jerk.

Okay – obviously, he's far from a jerk and he has nothing to do with any of this. You just like blaming anybody.

You sigh, grabbing your bag, finally making up your mind to just go and see for yourself what today has to offer you. A little optimism, if you will. But if you manage to bump into Jungkook at that company you aren't sure if you're not going to do something embarrassing because one thing about you, you do not know how to face certain challenges in life like a matured individual – you always have to be a little overboard and overdramatic with it.

You were heading towards the door when you suddenly remember your ID.

Your ID. Funny.

As you pick it up off the coffee table, you think about how you don't really wear it on the way to work and on your way home. You don't like the feeling of the lanyard wrapping around the skin of your nape, so you've always just worn it when you're in the office where it is mandatory. Otherwise, you make sure to take it off.

Suddenly, you think about a scenario where you're the kind of employee to wear their ID all the time, and those nights where you'd go to Midday straight from work to have dinner with Jungkook would've turned out differently because then if you were to have worn your ID during one of those meetings, he would've figured out that you're working at the same company. And maybe... the conversation about his relation to Jimin would've came up.

And maybe, you won't feel so... complicated about the whole thing.

How – in the two weeks that you've spent with him – do you know too much yet so little about him? How did you ever not ask each other where you work and how did this all come to you like a landslide and now you have no way out?

God's sake, you know about his dog, and you've exchanged numbers... and yet...

Although, granted, maybe you should've asked for each other's socials? Does he have Instagram? Twitter? Maybe if you had exchanged those sooner, you would've gotten to know him more and made the connections you only recently found out.

You want so badly to reach out to Jimin to talk to him about all of this. But he hasn't really contacted you since he sent off Namjoon to the airport. Maybe he really did leave with him, and it isn't just your imagination when he said something about going there last night when you sneaked out of the party.

But deep inside... you do not really want to talk to him about any of this, at all.

It is, to simply put, awkward.

You feel ashamed for gushing about your neighbor that is apparently the same person as his cousin. Feel embarrassed about how you ogled over him to Jimin when in fact, they're related. You don't know about other people, but you know the unspoken rule about not dating your friends' relatives? Not like you're dating Jungkook, but you have a crush on him for fuck's sake. The strings do not even stop at their blood relation because it extends to your workplace as well.

You know Jimin well enough to feel confident about not getting judged by him if you were to tell him about it, and if he actually does, he will directly say it to your face as far as you're concerned. But...

It's just all too awkward to tell anyone about. You're in too deep in the sea of embarrassment and shame you cannot think of ways to get out of it.

Your head is starting to hurt, and you know it's the sign to stop thinking. So, you shut up all the voices in your head and walk towards the door ready to go out, telling yourself that whatever happened, you're going to handle everything cooly like the grown woman you are.

Stepping outside the threshold of your apartment, you're just about to turn around to lock the door on your way out when suddenly, the door across yours opens and there welcomes you the man starring in your list of problems for the day: Jeon Jungkook, your neighbor Unit 446.

"Oh, hi. Good morning—"

You turn on your heel so quickly and open the door to your apartment so fast it's almost at the speed of light, entering your apartment once again and slamming the door closed, pressing your back on it as your eyes widen; heart beating at a staccato of thug, thug, thug as you take a moment to hold your breath.

What the fuck.

How in the hell is this the first time you see each other getting ready to work? It couldn't have happened in the first week you knew him or hell, the first day?! Why must you have bumped into him like that the moment you finally knew about who he is? Everything is getting way too ridiculous. It's like the universe is telling you once again that you'll always be her middle child: unfavorable by all ends.

"Shit." You hiss, biting your lip quite harshly as you think about how you must've looked like a goddamn fool turning on him like that for no reason. Jungkook must've been weirded the hell out – and rightfully so.

You face-palm. Damn, you were just telling yourself you're gonna handle everything like a grown, matured woman.

You unconsciously walk on your tippy toes on the way to the small window on the side of the door that lets you oversee outside your door, peeking from there like a creep as you watch Jungkook, still on his porch – with his grey coat over his arm – looking down on his phone and doing something with it.

That something is apparently sending you a text.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [7:52am]: why did u seem like u just saw a ghost?

The message read when you open your phone at the bell of notification. You haven't even read all of it yet when another one comes in.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [7:52am]: am I that appalling in the mornings? Haha 🥴

On any occasion, you would've laughed and go along with the joke, but you do not know what to say to him.

You stand there doing nothing, just staring at his two consecutive messages, poorly left on read. You purse your lips as you peek from the small window again, getting a glimpse of Jungkook standing still on his porch, eyes glued to his phone. He waits for awhile, and then you see him shaking his head with a hint of... smile on his face?

And then your phone dings once again.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [7:53am]: good morning by the way. Get safely to work

You stare at it so hard that the next second you look at the window, he isn't there anymore.

Letting out a heavy breath, you knock your head on the door, thinking about how you missed your 8 am bus and you have to wait for 30 minutes for another one to come and most especially, how you're going to get a dock pay for being late.

It's almost as if Jungkook is running for higher office the way his face is plastered all over the LED screens inside the building, showing the announcement of his ceremony. It's taunting almost, the way it was the first thing you see when you swiped your ID for entry.

Although, you do find it funny that it's the same man you just saw in front of you when you stepped outside of your place earlier this morning.

"Sol," you call your co-worker and also your friend, sliding your swivel chair closer to her desk. "Do we really have to go to the ceremony?" You ask, seeing that everybody in the office is already setting aside the stuff on their desks to head out to the 12th floor where the announcement ceremony will be held.

Sol fixes the post-it note on her computer first before turning to you, "Of course we do."

You pout at that.

"Is Ms. Jung really gonna be mad if we don't attend?"

"You know how she has this obsession of making our department look good, so I'm assuming yes." She answers, and you slump in your seat knowing damn well she's right to think that. Sol sees your seemingly grumpy disposition and asks, "Why? You don't wanna go?"

If only she knew.

You shake your head to her question.

"I just think it's gonna be boring," you shrug, the lie rolling on your tongue seamlessly.

"Eh, at least it's less work for today. Those things run for two hours and there's free lunch so that's that."

Events like these are supposed to be advantageous for you because again, Sol is right and those things do run for about two hours meaning less workload. Also, free lunch. Who doesn't like free stuff? But then again, Jungkook is going to be there and with your luck, you're starting to think that you're going to see more of him from now on. That is just how the world works against you.

"You're right." You say, frowning becoming more and more apparent, you're sure.

Sol chuckles at you and stands up herself, fixing her dress as you follow her out of the office.

Before you could completely go out though, you stop her on her tracks.

"Hey, do you think you have a face mask I can borrow?" You say, looking hopefully at her. Sol raises her brows, obviously confused at your strange request. Clearing your throat, you pretend to cough a little in your fisted hand. "I'm feeling a little under the weather today, but I drank my meds this morning. Forgot the mask." You reason with her, adding more lies to the conversation.

"Oh, I see. Okay, I think I have it." Sol perks up at the realization and you both enter your office once again, with your co-worker digging through her desk's drawer for the mask you were asking her for.

She hands it to you as soon as she finds it and you're quick to wear it around your mouth, silently rejoicing in your head at the brilliant last-minute plan you came up with in your head in order to avoid anything with Jungkook later. Not that you expect him to do something if he, indeed, sees you – you doubt he even will, given that the hall is huge, and you are planning to sit all the way back – but the mask is just a precautionary measure so there are less chances of him recognizing you or anything crazy like that.

Together, Sol and you ride the elevator down to the 12th floor and unsurprisingly, a lot of the company's employees are already there, finding their seats, chitchats heard across the hall.

"Sol, __!" Joonhwi, one of your co-junior accountants and also a friend, calls out to you both, separating himself from the other accountants and heading to your direction. "You're sick?" He asks as soon as he sees your face covered with the mask.

"A little." You reply.

Joonhwi nods his head and then say, "I thought you girls were planning to ditch the ceremony."

"I'll do anything to not see your face but then again we work together so I have no choice." Sol snarkily remarks.

"Sol, can you please refrain from professing your love to me with all these people around?" Joonhwi retorts back, smarmy and teasing, ever the expert on how to get on Sol's nerves.

"__, can you get this khia away from me?"

You laugh at both of their exchange, shaking your head at their silly antics. You don't know if Sol is just... emotionally constipated, but damn, she sure is clueless as hell about Joonhwi's feelings. It seems like everybody from the accounting department knows except for her.

Shaking your head, you go straight to the seats available with Joonhwi and Sol sitting on opposite sides of you.

"Anyway, I heard they're appointing Mr. Jeon's son." Joonhwi suddenly say.

Now that makes you squirm.

"Really?" You utter, just to give them a reaction.

Sol looks at you weird. "I thought everybody knew that?"

"Well, there are lots of Jeons in Korea..." you tell her, earning a laugh from Joonhwi which makes Sol frown.

"A man is not allowed to laugh in my vicinity, Joonhwi, shut up," she says rolling her eyes. Her tone shifts when she speaks to you though, suddenly sounding more gossip-y as she shows you a picture on her phone. "Look at the material, though,"

You look at the photo of a man who very much has the same and exact coloring of the one and only Jeon Jungkook you know and you have to swallow the lump in your throat.

"I mean, I've always thought Mr. Jeon was a DILF but his son is – damn." She adds, zooming in on Jungkook's professional head shot.

You and Joonhwi both give her the stinky eye.

"Have some class." you tell her, earning a laugh from both of them.

"For the record, you agreed to that before." Sol points out, referring to that dinner you three had at a barbecue house awhile ago. For the record, though, you were both drunk and Joonhwi had to haul Sol's ass back to her place and call Jimin to get you to yours.

"I refuse to acknowledge anything I've ever said when I was drunk."

"Okay but is anybody getting the urge to get transferred to the IT department expeditiously?" Sol jokes, obviously swooning over Jungkook.

Joonhwi snorts. "The CTO doesn't even go there."

"Killjoy much?" Sol frowns at him. "He'd visit, though. Imagine the eye candy."

You eye her in a teasing manner, "You have enough candy on your plate, Sol." And then you subtly look over Joonhwi.

Joonhwi himself doesn't seem to expect the insinuation, but nonetheless you know that he got the message of you implying he's good-looking and if Sol is looking for that, he's just there. That is why he suddenly loses his smirk and rests his back on the seat, crossing his arms as he retires himself from the conversation, obviously dodging your teasing.

Psh. Emotionally constipated co-worker number two.

"What the hell does that mean?" Sol asks, but she can't get an answer as the ceremony begins.

"Good morning, everyone. Today marks a significant moment as we gather to appoint our interim Chief Technology Officer," The host starts the introduction, "We are here to acknowledge the pivotal role of the CTO in our company's journey to ensure continuity in our innovation efforts. It is with great pleasure that I introduce Mr. Jeon Jungkook, our interim CTO, who has been selected to step into the position."

And there is him, in his grey suit that you've seen him in earlier. He's wearing his glasses as well, the one that has the thinner frame. You notice he switches between two kinds; he wears the thick-framed one off work and the thin-framed one during work, like right now. 

Jungkook smiles at the applause that reverberates all over the hall. There are LED screens that hang on both sides of the room and you can see his face clearly there. Sol gushes over how good he looks.

"Jesus, wow..." Sol whispers to herself, and you're sure she did not mean for you to hear that, so you try not to acknowledge it because deep inside, you agree with her. That's exactly your reaction when you saw him for the first time in the stairs of your apartment complex – and he didn't even clean up in his suit that time.

Jungkook stands on the podium with an easy-going smile on his face, his aura screaming confidence. He looks so sure of himself, like he's born to actually do this.

"Thank you, Mr. Park. Good day to all. I am deeply honored and humbled to accept the role of Chief Technology Officer at Blue Nexus Incorporation. As we navigate this interim period, my commitment is to uphold..."

You watch as he starts his speech, noting how well he speaks. You aren't a stranger to how people have different personalities when they are in and off work, but it's almost disorienting to see Jungkook going all professional, his voice soft but edgy at the same time, just enough for you and everyone to recognize a bit of authority in there.

He looks over the crowd, and for a brief second, you feel as if his eyes glossed over you far longer than he had other parts in the room.

But that thought dies down as quickly when he immediately goes back to speaking, and you're sure you just imagined it.

You're in the middle of your night routine when your phone suddenly dings.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [10:44pm]: just remembered we never really got around to that boxing machine, did we

Right. Today is Friday and you are supposed to go that boxing machine to determine if he's gonna supply your daily boba or if you're coming over to his place so he can cook you both a meal.

But that deal was made days ago when you still were clueless about his identity, and admittedly, you'd say that right now, you're doing anything to avoid him.

Scrolling through your message thread and seeing Jungkook's texts since that morning being left on read makes you feel bad. You know it isn't fair. It isn't nice to just suddenly go leave people dry like that, especially Jungkook who has been so strangely non-confronting about your sudden weird behavior.

It takes you a few minutes to give him a reply due to you erasing and retyping your message repeatedly.

You [10:47pm]: sorry ive been busy the whole day with work ):

Was what you lamely came up with. You couldn't have done better than that, to be honest with yourself.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [10:47pm]: I see Jungkook (Unit 446) [10:48pm]: so raincheck tonight?

You [10:48]: sorryyyy for cancellig im just feeling a little under the weather

Jungkook (Unit 446) [10:49pm]: ohhhh ok ok sorry for texting late

You [10:50pm]: asbdbsfjshf its fine!!!!!!!!

Maybe you didn't think it through, but you find yourself typing the next message and hitting send way too quickly.

You [10:51pm]: maybe tomorrow?

You're thinking about taking it back, but Jungkook has already replied.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [10:51pm]: ok. I'll see you tomorrow 😊

Pursing your lips, you wonder what he's doing tonight.

Is he working? Maybe some take-home paperworks? What do CTOs even do? He must be really busy... though you think it has to be otherwise since he had the time to text you.

You stand up from the chair of your vanity table, patting your hair one last time and jumping to your bed, ready to overthink some more then sleep when an idea suddenly pops up into your head the moment your eyes lay on your phone.

Making yourself comfortable on your mattress, you pick up the phone from your night stand and unlock it, your fingers making quick work of opening the Instagram app and typing jeonjungkook on the search bar.

The results show you a few accounts that resemble the username you looked up, but as you check each one, none of them seems to belong to the man you're looking for. So, you try a few varieties: jungkook, jungkookjeon, jeon... JK?... but then you're sure you've milked out the last of your brain juice trying to come up with a possible username for him but to no avail.

Jimin must be following him, you think to yourself. Since Jimin is a snob on his verified and public account and isn't following anybody there, you go straight to his private account to try and find a Jungkook in his following but again – you guessed it, failed search.

"Does he not have an IG?" you ask yourself, feeling quite exhilarated.

You think about Twitter, but remembering Jungkook's face makes you share your head in disagreement with yourself. There is no way he has Twitter. That guy looks terminally offline and doesn't have the face of someone who likes tweeting in his leisure time.

You'd say it was curiosity rather than desperation when you decided to install Facebook and hoped to see some of him there. You did have little hopes though, as you started typing his name, thinking there was no way you'd see him on the app because, who even uses Facebook nowadays except moms and dads and grandparents?

But then as you jokingly type his name and enter it on the search bar, a few tagged pictures of him show up.

The first one is posted by a Jeon Junghyun, his brother, and the picture is from 2017. Said picture is of Jungkook at the airport sitting on his luggage, and the caption reads as: good luck in college brother.

You stare at the picture, noting how young he looked in it and suddenly feel disoriented when you see his arms with no ink around them. They're so bare, and he definitely looked more lean, not like the muscly guy you know him as now. He was starting college here, so he must've been only 19 in the photo... meaning he got his tattoos in the States while he was in college or maybe even later than that?

You click on Jungkook's page, the one that his brother tagged in the photo, but all you see is the default Facebook profile picture and a locked account.

Feeling disappointed at that, you go back to his brother's page and check it out, throwing all your shame away as you look through his photos.

He must've limited his audience since the public posts are all outdated, but there are a few pictures in which Jungkook is in them, as well as other recurring people who seem to be their parents.

There's a recent family picture of them in the Eiffel Tower – uploaded in 2022 – all four of them.

As you see Mr. Jeon, the CEO of your company, with his family, it's hard not to feel... whiplashed, for the lack of better term. From the looks of it, they seem to be... close? For the record, Jimin does not have any casual pictures of him with his parents, and as far as you know, they never went out on trips together – just galas and all that socialite events. You know they are only mere pictures, not solid enough to assume what Jungkook's relationship is with his family, but you're starting to think maybe it's a good one.

That'll honestly be surprising, given that every wealthy family you know has dysfunctional relationships. Nevertheless, it will be quite... adorable if what you think is true.

"Oh my god," you say, disbelieving, as you recognize Jimin in one of Junghyun's public photos while scrolling through more.

It's an event of some sort, and how can you not spot Jimin when he looks conspicuous in his orange hair? You remember this being in your sophomore year in college, and how much Jimin actually hates that hair and wants to burn down every picture that reminds him of it.

You snort as you zoom in on Jimin, taking a screenshot of the photo, mindlessly going to your messaging app; ready to send him the photo to poke lighthearted fun, but then you realize—

"Oh, I can't do that."

Jimin will ask you where you got the photo from, and you'll have to tell him that you were cyber stalking his cousin. Then, he'll ask why you were stalking his cousin, and he will find out the very thing you don't want him to find out.

That makes you frown, quick to delete the message you were just about to send and put your phone back to your nightstand.

Well, that ruins fun.

You wish you can tell Jimin or anyone for the matter, but you currently don't feel comfortable about doing that.

Sighing, you look up at your ceiling, then forcefully close your eyes to avoid more thoughts coming into your head.

You start counting sheep until you fall asleep.

There had been a lot of times where you felt like shit about yourself. They happen way too many times that at this point, you'd lost count. It wired you to think that there must be something wrong when a day goes all too well.

But there is no beating the feeling of self-antagonism when you ditch somebody – even if it's for a valid reason.

Sure, you've ditched Jimin a couple of times, and he always makes sure to rub it on your face as much as he can until you pout at him and explain to him that there are just some days you do not feel like going out. Jimin, as your best friend, understands that about you, of course.

A lot of times, though, it's the dates you tend to ditch the most. Three dates – you recall – is the number of times you'd skipped out of, just because you had a panic attack thirty minutes before the meeting that one time and two times for the plain, simple fact that you had a realization that you did not really like the guy you were planning to see.

Shin Taemu, the guy from the IT department asked you out last month for a second date and you texted him a last-minute, half-assed lame excuse about having gotten period cramps. Up to this day, you're still wary about using the IT department's copy room because his texts, since then, have been left unanswered. You saw him awhile ago at the cafeteria, though, and he seemed to be treating you non-differently even after you ghosted him suddenly. 

Recently, you're doing the same thing again to Jungkook.

It isn't dating, of course – just the whole ditching thing.

You feel terrible for canceling on him again on Saturday when you just told him Friday night that you would go to that boxing machine. He had texted you a simple "we still on?" with a smiley emoji that gave you the creeps (because that smiley emoji does not ever mean the person is smiling behind it – knowing Jungkook though, it's probably not the case, and you're just overthinking it). You've left that text to rot until Sunday morning, and only picked it up later during the night, telling him you were "sorry I just saw this now! I was swamped with work stuff" even though you've never brought paperworks at home in your whole career and you were just binging The X-Files, bashing those two idiotic emotionally constipated FBI agents when you are quite one, yourself.

Sometimes, you fear you're no better than a man. Jimin will willingly knock your head on a door to get you to your senses and tell you all the things about why you should never compare yourself to them – but there are times like these when your shortcomings – specifically your lack of proficiency in communication – mirror that of a man's, and you hate every single second of it.

Until then, you dreaded for Monday to come.

But it's ultimately inevitable 

And when you wake up from your sleep, it's Monday, and you have to go to work whether you like it or not.

And oh, to add, Jungkook hasn't replied to your message. Which – okay – ouch. But you're not supposed to be hurt by it; if anything, you kind of deserve it after ditching him so many times. He isn't an idiot, and you're sure he knows you lied... you're just thankful that he's not saying anything if he does know, indeed.

You have thought things over in the shower this morning, though.

If Jungkook is three eggs in your basket, why will it matter? So, what's the big deal if he is Jimin's cousin and that he works at the same company and lives in the same apartment complex?

You finally admit that those things matter to you initially because... you have a crush on him. If you didn't, you'll give fuck-all if he's related to your best friend. You won't care at all if he's your boss because you don't have to worry about fantasizing about him.

But the thing is, you do have some sort of romantic feelings for him, and that is why those things moved you in a way that makes you feel and act a little weird around him.

And now there's this feeling of guilt that has overtaken your entire system. Because if you just see Jungkook platonically, these things won't happen. And you hate it, because he's genuinely a good friend. Someone who may want a friend in you too, but you are ruining it all because you have trivial feelings for him.

Absolutely ridiculous.

But now that those realizations have become clear in your head, you've made up your mind by thinking that those eggs don't matter.

It doesn't matter that he's Jimin's cousin, doesn't matter that he's an executive. You are his friend, and it's was okay to have friends that are your other friend's relative and friends who are your boss.

Of course, it's still awkward to think about him catching you in your home clothes but on a more serious note, your crush will never see the light of the day and even if it does, there's no way Jungkook will accept it because guys like him never settle with people like you. And you don't even mean that in a self-deprecating way, not at all! You are just fully aware of the practical world you live in and know that the vast disparity of your economic status will never work, especially with the kind of family he was born into.

With that said, you are ready for things to be back the way they were. No more pussyfooting in the office in fear that you'll bump into him, no more canceling on his innocent invitations to dinner, no more pining over him secretly and putting malice over everything that he does because you're going to be a renewed person now.

You're ready to take on the big shoes and be matured enough to address his questions if ever he has one.

So, you enter the elevator of Blue Nexus Inc. with a sort of spirit that you're sure will be hard to take down, creating pictures in your head that depict a smooth-sailing conversation with Jungkook where you're ideally going to be cool in it and not at all panic-y.

It's alright. Nothing is going to change—

Your thoughts are disrupted when somebody enters the elevator and the people in it suddenly start bowing their heads, a series of greetings reverberating in the confined space.

Fuck.

"Good morning, Mr. Jeon."

"Greetings, Mr. Jeon."

"Mr. Jeon."

Your eyes widen when you see Jungkook walking in with his black suit and sleek black hair, his eyeglasses sitting on his nose.

Okay, so nevermind the illusion that you're going to be cool now – you're absolutely panicking in your position!

Thank fucking god you're at the back with two persons in front of you, hoping they are enough to at least cover your frame as Jungkook stands in front after greeting back the employees inside.

Oh my god. Fuck me.

You tilt your head to the side with a wince on your face, sneakily raising your arm over your head to take your hairclip off so your hair fans your face. It is a poor attempt at covering yourself lest Jungkook suddenly turns around and recognizes you as a result.

But in that moment, you must look stupid as hell that the guy beside you looks at you weird.

You stand upright, giving him a tight-lipped smile. He just snubs you.

That makes you roll your eyes.

You go back to staring at Jungkook's back agonizing the thought that you really aren't ready at all to confront him. You thought about it all morning, but the moment he got here, all those ideations of you being cool around him from thereon are suddenly thrown out the building.

A few seconds after, somebody drops off at the 13th floor, and it starts to make you feel nervous.

What if more people start going out and then you'll be left alone with Jungkook? You intended to go to the 16th floor where your office is... Jungkook is – wait, where is his floor? You actually have no idea. But you are certain it's floors above you. Oh god! How can you possibly move past him without him recognizing you? Shit. You didn't think about that.

Now, you're starting to lose your bottle, your head not able to form ideas to get through him. The elevator is small! And people are starting to head out...

You look at the position indicator of the elevator, telling you that you're going way up to the 15th floor. A few seconds after and it dings, the elevator door opening. The guy in front of you heads way out, and you can see Jungkook still on his spot.

You find yourself not being able to move, completely stoned in your position.

You sure as hell aren't going out unless he does first! That's your solution. If he's located at the topmost floor, you're going to wait until then. You're just going to ride the elevator down again.

But what you don't see coming is Jungkook suddenly moving to head outside the elevator.

Looking at the indicator once again, you confirm if he really is going to the 15th floor.

The door already closed by the time Jungkook is finally out, which eases your nerves. You're way too relieved to forget thinking about why he's in the 15th floor.

You stop at the 16th with a smile on your face, feeling like you just got away with murder. You've never done it – get away with murder – but that's exactly how you feel.

On your way to the office, your phone vibrates from the pocket of your trousers.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [8:56am]: Correct me if I'm wrong but I think I just saw you at the elevator today

You thought of ways to dodge his bullet, thought about denying his claim and telling him that he must've seen somebody else because you work all the way across town and him seeing you would've been impossible.

But you know the attempts will be futile.

If anything, though, you take it as a sign to finally make things right.

Avoiding Jungkook will never be efficient. In order to be successful in that regard, you'll have to hand in your resignation or move out of your apartment completely and you can't do that.

Besides, for what it's worth, you kind of miss hanging out with him and if you were to continue hiding from him, you will have to say goodbye to having him around at all.

The moment you got off work today, you think of plans to talk to him and maybe, just maybe, invite him for dinner – to, hopefully, make up for all the times you've bailed on him.

With a tail tucked between your legs, you stand apprehensively in front of the door of his unit, still unsure about your plans but doing it nonetheless. There's no going back now.

You ring the doorbell, taking your hand back quickly as if you just got electrocuted by it.

Please don't answer. Please don't be home. Please don't answer—

And there he goes, in his plain white shirt and grey sweats, hair wet from his previous shower – you assume. He's still drying his hair with a towel when he opens the door, but his ministrations stop the moment he lays his eyes on you.

You just give him an awkward smile that probably look more like a grimace.

"Hi."

The surprise is evident on Jungkook's face. Regardless, he is quick to get over it and gives you a big grin instead. An expression you did not expect to get.

"__, hey," Jungkook greets, placing the towel around his neck and letting go of his doorknob. "What brings you here?"

You balance your weight on your other side and purse your lips in a thin line.

"Do you, uh, wanna grab dinner?" You ask right away, not wanting to beat around the bush.

Jungkook's smile somehow grows wider at your question, and you don't know what to feel. If he's petty, he'll reject your invitation but with the look on his face right now, he doesn't seem to have the intention to do so. At least you hope so. It will be so embarrassing for you to have come all the way to his place instead of just asking him through text.

He was about to answer when somebody suddenly approaches the door.

"Jeon Jungkook?" The guy asks, and you immediately shot your eyes to look at him. With his printed shirt that reads a famous food delivery brand and his hands carrying bags of what you assumed take-out food, you figure what he's here for. "Here's your order, sir."

Embarrassed, you scoot to the side to give way to the food delivery guy and let him extend the bags towards Jungkook who grabs his wallet from the pocket of his sweats to pay for the food, thanking the man in the process.

He already has plans for tonight, you realize. Your invitation to dinner is futile because he already bought take-out.

The food delivery guy gave you a look before he took off in which you returned a timid smile for. And then, you turn around to look at Jungkook again.

"Nevermind, don't answer my question." You say, referring to your invitation prior to the arrival of his food delivery. "Uhm, bye. Good night."

You were just turning your heels to go the other way around when Jungkook suddenly speaks.

"Wait, don't go yet," Jungkook steps to the side and inserts his wallet back into his pants. He raises the bags of take-out and arches his brow towards your way, "Do you like Thai?"

"I do." You reply, not really understanding where he's getting at first.

Jungkook smiles. "Good. Do you wanna come inside?"

When you realize what he just said, you shake your head, "Oh, no, no. We could grab dinner outside tomorrow if you're free."

"This is enough for two?"

He's inviting you to his place. Is he insane?

You shake your head once again. "No, Jungkook, I really don't want to impose on—"

Jungkook cut you off with a hearty laugh.

"__, you won't be imposing. Come on, I bet you haven't had dinner yet either." When you don't answer, he insists again, "I think I have Thai tea around here somewhere."

You narrow your eyes at him.

"You think I'll go inside just 'cause you have Thai tea?" you say, raising your brow at him, challenging Jungkook to say something to that. He shrugs with a smile of amusement. Then you break your demeanor and sigh. "You're actually right. I can probably be bribed with daily boba supply."

Jungkook laughs at your absurd claim.

"No matter what's on the line?"

"Yeah," Then you decide to joke a little, "If you're the one on the line."

His laughter only becomes louder, and you shake your head at him because you genuinely wonder why he laughs so much at your nonsensical jokes. You would consider yourself funny but not that funny.

But this is good. Joking is good. This dynamic is surely better than you avoiding him.

"You're so..." Jungkook stops to look at you and you stare back at him. That moment stretches into a minute until you feel the hair on your nape stand.

It's the night air, and not at all the almost intimate way he looked into your eyes.

That's what you'll tell yourself tonight.

"I'm so what?" You decide to break the silence, seemingly snapping Jungkook out of the trance he's put himself in awhile ago.

He shakes his head. "Nothing."

"Okay, now you're just making me curious."

"It's nothing."

"Okay, I'm gonna let it pass this time..." you say, eliciting a low chuckle from him.

He must realize that you've both been standing on his porch for a while now.

"Come," he says, gesturing inside his place.

Your steps are a bit hesitant as you follow him inside. But nonetheless, you both get in, Jungkook offering you a pair of home slipper that are almost twice as big as your feet as he locks the door.

When you let your eyes wander, you're more than surprised to see the state of the interior.

Jungkook's place is surprisingly... clean.

Sure, it must be because there aren't any decorations or much furniture yet, but from your experiences with men, the one thing they have in common is that they are messy. It's almost impossible to not see clothes strewn all over their places or food wrappings on any surface at a corner, but Jungkook's is spotless.

Except maybe for the few boxes that stand beside the door of the room all the way across the room which you assume is his bedroom, but other than that, there's no indicator that a man is residing inside. Admittedly, it's even cleaner than your own.

"Sorry, it's a little messy. I haven't unpacked all of my stuff. Got busy."

He seems to notice you eyeing the aforementioned boxes, and hearing his words, you shake your head.

"Oh, no, trust me. This is the cleanest place I've ever seen." You say truthfully.

"Thanks." Jungkook responds with a smile.

His apartment, like yours, has an open layout so from where you are in the living room, you can see him putting the bags on the kitchen counter, unloading them and starting to transfer some of them into his own plates.

You approach his direction to find yourself useful.

"Is it okay if we eat at the coffee table? My table set hasn't arrived yet..." he rubbs the back of his head, a sheepish smile painting his face.

"It's fine."

His coffee table is wide enough for all the food to fit, anyway. That's what you thought when you bring all the food to the living room, sitting on the floorboards opposite of him.

Before you start dinner, Jungkook asks if you want to watch something on the TV.

"It's like a jumbotron." Is your throw-away comment when he turns on his huge ass TV. It's genuinely so big you aren't even exaggerating. You are not that good with estimation but the screen is probably the same height as you...

"What?" Jungkook chuckles, looking at you all confused.

"Nothing. Just that your TV is so big."

"Yeah? I wanted to buy this one for so long and I got really lucky to get it on sale here. I have the Criterion channel so I've been wanting to watch stuff with an OLED screen—" he cuts himself off and looks at you with a hint of embarrassment. "Sorry."

You look away before you can go on a spiral about how cute he looked with a proud smile on his face while he was going off about how he got his jumbotron on sale. He was geeking out about a freaking TV. But you guess it makes sense for a tech guy like him.

"Uh, what do you want to watch?" He asks, going through his streaming services.

The big TV and the streaming services just click so much in the context of him. You, in contrast, cannot relate. After forgetting to unsubscribe to Netflix a few months ago, it automatically stole the thirteen thousand won from your account, and since then, you're more than traumatized to pay for any streaming services until today. Pirating is bad but so is capitalism.

"Anything is fine."

"Okay."

You really couldn't have cared less about what he's going to click on, but National Geographic pops up on his big screen and you think he must be joking but he starts tuning in with genuine interest.

Oh. Wow.

He's just a big nerd trapped in a hot human body, huh?

How cute. And how unbelievably hot to discover this about him.

After a few minutes into the documentary, it turns out that whales are interesting to a certain degree. Sure, Jungkook's huge ass screen made it a little funny because the pictures are too big, but they did pique your interest a little, especially when Jungkook would add in a little of his own knowledge about them. When you asked him about the weird little stick thing on their mouth, he told you that they were tusks and only male narwhals had them, and that they used it as some sort of sensory tool. He admitted he hyperfixated on whales for a while when he saw them first on Discovery Channel as a kid.

You didn't even have to pretend to be engrossed, you were just in genuine awe of his interests and how enthusiastic he was about sharing them.

Food is starting to run out, making you realize that it's been awhile since you've eaten Thai food and you should probably eat them once again tomorrow.

You're just about to ask Jungkook which restaurant he got it from when he beats you to speaking first.

"You're still in your work clothes."

You stop.

"Yeah..."

And then you're reminded of why you're here in the first place.

It isn't for the whales or for Thai food, that's for sure.

You haven't changed out of your work clothes, indeed, since you planned going out for dinner in hopes of talking to Jungkook while ago. The night is going so well so far that you actually forgot about that. But then since he already cocked the gun, might as well just pull the trigger and get it over with.

You look at him, an uneasy feeling settling in your nerves.

"So... about your text earlier."

There is a hint of a smile on Jungkook's lips when he nods his head.

"Yeah?"

"It wasn't me." You say, trying to look for a reaction, trying to see if he'll insist or anything.

But Jungkook just nods his head again.

"I see."

He does not seem to see, though, and you know right then and there that your cover is finally and officially blown.

"Okay, I lied. That was me." You take back your words, jutting your bottom lip out when you add, "Turns out we work at the same company. And that you're apparently my boss."

"And you're my cousin's girlfriend."

You gasp audibly.

So he knows you were at that party! How? And what? He thought you were Jimin's girlfriend for real? Wait, does he not know it was all Jimin's ruse?

"How did you know that?"

"They mentioned Jimin's girlfriend was in the bathroom when I arrived. I asked Jimin about it and he told me her name was __."

You would face-palm yourself if Jungkook wasn't present.

Ugh. Of course, Jimin doesn't know.

"Well, okay, just so you know, I was a paid actress." You tell Jungkook, which earns you a laugh from him. Then you cover your mouth, realizing you shouldn't have said that. "Oh—uhm, do you know...?" You trail off, looking at him expectantly and hoping he knows what you meant.

You swear you remember Jimin telling you that Jungkook knows about him being gay, but now you are second-guessing yourself and you will be in trouble if you did slip up.

Thankfully, Jungkook nods, seemingly understanding where you're getting at.

"Don't worry, I know." You heave a sigh of relief at his verbal confirmation. Jungkook takes the tom yum goong and started peeling the shrimp from the bowl, continuing to say, "And Jimin brings a fake date to every family gathering, so I knew right away he was lying about dating somebody," Jungkook chuckles, and as if an afterthought, he adds, "I wish I could've seen you act. You two left so early."

Well... you did play a role in that, you think. But you can't tell him you purposefully didn't go back to the table that night because you saw him.

"Oh, Jimin had to send Joon off at the airport." You say, which is actually true. For a change.

He nods. "His boyfriend, yeah... did he go to Italy with him?"

You wonder how he knows about the Italy thing. Jimin, probably. They're close after all—

"Namjoon's a close friend as well." Jungkook adds, as if having read your thoughts.

"Ah," you nod, not surprised at all about their apparent link.

Wealthy people do have a tiny world.

"Jimin hasn't actually contacted me yet since that night."

It has been a few days, and you're starting to think he's dead or something. Your calls go straight to voicemail and your messages do not send. You've sent him a few on social media as well but it seems like he hasn't been online at all.

"I'm worried about him. Has Namjoon said anything?" You look at Jungkook, hoping he'll say yes.

But he shakes his head instead.

"I wouldn't be worried, though. I think they're together."

"In Italy?"

"Yeah."

You won't be surprised if that's the case. Jimin is the king of spontaneity and if he did fly off to another country abruptly with his boyfriend, you won't question it.

You do miss him though and you're gonna make sure to make him feel bad for not telling you anything soon.

"You're right." You sigh.

Jungkook has been peeling shrimp for awhile now, setting them aside in a small bowl. You think he's gonna eat it himself, but you're surprised when he slides off the bowl to your direction.

"There. I noticed you weren't eating the tom yum. You don't like it?" Jungkook asks, smiling at you.

You can't help it; blood rushes to your cheeks at the realization that he just peeled shrimps for you.

Is this normal for him? Like, does he just go around and do things like these for friends?

You will scream in your bathroom later when you get home.

"Oh, no, uh... I'm actually allergic to shrimp." You give him a tight-lipped smile.

You feel bad at the way Jungkook's expression drops as soon as you said that.

"Shit, sorry, I didn't know," He takes the small bowl quickly and looks at you apologetically.

"No, it's fine! I didn't tell you either."

"I'm really sorry. I should've asked first."

"Jungkook," you chuckle. "It's fine. Thank you, anyway."

"I could've done serious damage to you, huh?"

"Yeah, you'd have to tell Jimin you killed me because you fed me shrimp."

"Don't say that," Jungkook laughs. "How long are you friends now, by the way?"

You nip on your chopsticks, answering him.

"We've been friends since college... so almost ten years."

"That's really nice."

And then you remember to ask, "Did you tell him?"

"What?"

"That you know me?"

"No. Not yet, at least. Didn't have the chance." Jungkook proceeds to eat the shrimp himself and you have to keep yourself from letting out a breath of relief at his answer. "Did you tell him?"

"No. Uh— I know this is weird. But... can you not tell him?" You ask. Jungkook looks at you for a bit, studying your face. You clear your throat when seconds passed and he still hasn't said anything. "It's just that I want to tell him on my own time." You decide to add.

"Okay." He says after a while, smiling.

Thank god he doesn't ask any more questions.

"Thanks."

And now there's another elephant in the room that you still need to address.

A bit hesitant, you open with, "Did you uhm..." You think about how to word it, but then you think, fuck it. "Did you know by that time at the party that I work at Blue Nexus?"

Jungkook shakes his head.

"No, I saw you at the company and only put two and two together."

Your brows furrow. "When?"

"Uh... earlier this morning."

"Oh. Yeah..."

You don't know exactly why, but you feel a tinge of disappointment that he meant earlier. You really thought he recognized you at the ceremony.

But then you shake the feeling off and jokingly narrow your eyes at him. "Why didn't you tell me about the party, then?"

"Why, did you see me there?"

You shut your mouth. Right. You're supposed to pretend you didn't seen him that time.

"No." You lie.

"So I thought it didn't matter... though I was pretty surprised when I saw you today."

"Ugh, I thought I hid myself pretty well." You lament dramatically, embarrassed that you really thought covering your face with your hair would do you any good.

"Nah," Jungkook shakes his head while laughing at your misery, "I thought, "who is this five-foot woman hiding in the back","

"Wow." You gasp, not believing his audacity. But you're also thankful that he makes talking to him so easy. The way your conversations goes from funny to serious is so seamless, all because Jungkook knows exactly how to turn the wheels around.

"Kidding. I actually recognized you by your blouse..." he gestures at your baby blue polo sleeves, making you furrow your brows, not quite sure how he meant. But then, he continues, "Did the ink ever come off?"

Oh. Right! He had seen you wear the blouse before and even heard you tell him the story about how the jammed printer caused a blot of ink to stain your cuff.

You're surprised he even remembers that. It seems so long ago.

Raising your arm to examine the cuff area of your blouse, you look at it with small amusement.

"Yeah, it did, actually."

"How did you do it?"

You deadpan, "You're not asking me how I do my laundry, Jungkook."

"Hey, I love doing laundry," You raise your brow, not believing him, but Jungkook insists. "No, I really do."

"Okay." You nod, chuckling because he really seems way too eager to prove to you that he loves doing laundry.

What you've found out about him so far is so... mesmerizing, to say the least. With how he looks like – you meant, the tattoos and the body – you would most likely assume he likes guy stuff. You know, big macho man stuff like that. But turns out, he's just a guy who likes big TVs and NatGeo and... laundry.

He's such a fascinating person.

"I'm also not your boss." Jungkook suddenly says, making you look up at him.

"Well, you're CTO, you technically are." You point out.

"Technically, yes. But I don't oversee the accounting department, so you're not really working for me, which means I'm not your boss."

The mental gymnastics make you frown but you get his point.

"Okay, that's true. But still... your father is Mr. Jeon."

"Would you believe me if I denied that?" He jokes, the tilt in his voice telling you he is.

"You kind of look the same, so I probably wouldn't believe you."

"Really? A lot of people say I look more like my mother..."

You've seen the pictures. It's more of a split, really. But you can't tell him that obviously.

Silence sits in his living room for a while, the NatGeo narrator serving as background noise at this point.

You drop your chopsticks down and sigh. Jungkook looks at you with furrowed brows, worried about your sudden seriousness.

"So, you're not like weirded out about this whole thing?" You ask him straight to the point.

Joking is good, as you said. And this night is going better than you thought. But it feels like you are just glossing over the facts, and you need to address it with him lest it becomes a problem in the future. You don't know how exactly they are going to be; you just have a feeling in your heart that they are going to.

"The what?" Jungkook says, looking genuinely confused, as if he doesn't know what your deal is.

"The I'm-your-cousin's-best-friend? And the fact that you're an executive at the company I work at and we live in the same building?" You lay out, sounding exasperated now that you're taking it all out.

Jungkook stares at you for a bit.

"Why would that weird me out?"

He isn't being dense, you can see that. He's just plain confused.

You sigh once again. Seems like you've been doing a lot of that these past few days.

"Because it's just... too many eggs in the basket."

Jungkook chuckles, wiping his hands with a tissue. "Isn't it good you have many eggs in the basket?"

You glare at him, and it makes him raise his hands as a peace offering.

"It's bad because..."

"... because?" Jungkook, now with his hands clean, props an elbow on the coffee table, looking right into your eyes as he leans closer to your direction.

You look away.

"Because it means I can't hang out with you anymore."

When you look at him again, the smile is wiped off his face, suddenly exchanged with a frown.

"Why?"

"Because again, it's too many eggs in the basket and—" Running out with metaphors, you say the first thing that was off the top of your head, "That makes you my uncle."

Jungkook's jaw drops a bit.

"Your thought process really amazes me."

You grimace, already expecting that. "Thanks, I get that a lot."

"No, it's really... interesting."

He doesn't look judgmental at all, just full of genuine awe, but you're eager to come to your own defense and so you say, "You don't get it? It's like—" You fling your hands around, trying to explain what you just said. "You don't have a close relationship with your uncle, right? 'Cause it's awkward. When you're with them it's like being with your boss, which means you can't be friends with them 'cause, again, it's awkward."

Jungkook still looks like he doesn't know what the hell you're talking about, but he nods his head, nonetheless.

"Okay... but I have a very close relationship with the CEO..."

You pout. "That's not what I meant."

And when he chuckles at that, you know he's fucking with you and understand exactly what you were trying to say; fooling around as if you aren't having an internal crisis.

Jungkook must've seen how you're genuinely not finding anything funny and stops.

"Is that why you've been avoiding me the past few days?" He raises his brow, but his voice is gentle as he speaks.

You didn't think he'd confront you about that, but you decide to look away when you try to lie as an answer.

"No...?"

Jungkook only chuckle at your indignation.

"Okay, okay, let's divide and conquer, yeah?" He smiles at you. Warm and soft. "First, you're Jimin's best friend, what's the issue? It just means you must be a good person to hang around with because you're friends with the person I'm close to. Second, I'm not your boss, will you please stop saying that? And third, we're neighbors... so what? We just happened to rent in the same building. No big deal."

Your frown just gets deeper at what he said because... he's right. So right.

You overreacted the whole time you tried to hide from him.

With nothing else to add, you weakly ask, "Okay but... can you fire me?"

In your head, it's a relevant question. You don't know how the chain of command worked at the company. He's an executive which probably means he has firing rights, right? What if he finds you too rude towards him over the past few days that he wants to take your job away from you? Can he fire you because of personal vendetta?

"Asking the important question?" Jungkook teases.

"Damn straight, I am. I mean, I did complain to you about my job before, and it turns out you're one of the executives at the company."

"I can see the wheels in your head turning but sorry to say I'm not actually an official executive. I'm just an interim CTO. And no, I don't have the right to fire you," Jungkook chuckles, seemingly amused at your thoughts. "And you can complain to me about your job all you want."

You send him a suspicious look.

"No, thank you."

"Seriously?" He asks incredulously. "Interim CTO or Jimin's cousin or not, I'm still Jeon Jungkook. Just your plain ol' neighbor."

"You say that but what if I arrive to my desk tomorrow with my things packed because you told Ms. Jung all the things I told you about her?" You squint your eyes at him.

"God, you're unbelievable." Jungkook says in between his laughter.

"Okay, but I wanna ask you something." You say. Jungkook hums. "I'm curious... why here?"

It isn't like your apartment complex is abominable or anything of the sort. When you were still on the look-out of apartments five years ago, here was the only decent one that did not cause you a 3-month pay. It's why you chose it in the first place. The unit is big enough for yourself and it's located at the center of the city, which means that it's near establishments that are relevant to your daily living. The bus station is also just a few minutes walk, and it only takes you an hour commute to get to your company building. It was the best out of all your choices back then.

However, for a guy like Jungkook, you wonder why he isn't at the big shot complexes like in Cheongdam or Hannam. You don't doubt he can afford those.

But Jungkook surprises you with his answer.

"It's cheaper."

You can't help but raise your brow.

"What?" And then as if realizing your look, Jungkook chuckles. "Oh, I see... you think I'm, like, rich?"

You shrug.

Jungkook answer with a simple, "My parents are loaded. And anyway, it's near the company. I also really like it here so far. Hannam felt like prison when I stayed there in my first week. Guards were way too strict."

Nodding, you recall Jimin's stories about that gated community when he himself stayed there for merely three months. It makes sense for it to almost seem like prison, though, given that most people who live there are high profile.

"I commute on my way to work. What about you?"

"I bought a parking spot nearby; it's surprisingly cheap compared to America."

You wouldn't know because you've never had a car in your life. First of all, you refuse to apply for a driving license because you're sure you'll kill yourself on the road. Besides, cars are expensive. You'll stick to your buses and trains all your life even though commuting sucks ass sometimes.

But you nod at Jungkook's words.

Soon, you both engage in more conversation about yourselves until you notice the time.

"It's getting late, I should go. I have work tomorrow." You tell him with a pout, genuinely disappointed about having to go.

Jungkook looks over at the clock hanging on his wall and then turns to you, "We have work tomorrow, you mean."

You blush at that for no reason.

"Well..."

"Okay, I'll walk you to your place."

"What?" You laugh. "That's ridiculous."

"What's ridiculous about it? You're so short, the crickets might attack you." Jungkook says with a serious face.

That makes you frown instantly.

"Ugh, you've got to stop saying that. I'm starting to dislike you."

"Hmm."

Jungkook indeed followed you on your way out, though, but not without you insisting that he didn't need to walk you to your door because it was literally just across his, but Jungkook was persistent and you had no choice but to walk the five steps it took to get in front of your apartment from his own.

He's still laughing when your face is still contorted into an unpleasant expression.

"Okay, good night." You say. You point to his chest absent-mindedly, but you quickly take it back when you feel how hard it is. "A-and stop calling me short, I'm not. The __ karma is real, I have Jimin to prove that."

"Fine, I'll stop." Jungkook smiles, watching as you enter your threshold.

"Good."

You stand on your door, leaning over the frame and not closing it just yet.

Jungkook gives you a heart-warming smile before he says, "See you tomorrow."

And he speaks the words so gently that you feel your cheeks heating once again.

"S-see you as well."

"You look banging in that polo shirt." Jimin says, obviously chatting you up because the moment you accepted his call earlier this morning, you did not hesitate to tell him off about going MIA on you so suddenly.

"It's literally just a plain white polo."

"Okay, and you still look good in it, so..." He shrugs, but you can see the look on his face, sheepish and apologetic.

You scoff.

"You can't compliment me out of sulking. I'm mad at you."

There's a pout that forms on his lips quickly; a tactic so predictable you almost roll your eyes.

"I know... but I told you! Joon and I spent the last week—"

"Fucking each other to Sunday and back, blah blah blah. Still, you could've told me you went to Italy, you slut."

Jimin lets out a loud laugh at your blunt words.

"Slut shaming in the big year of 2028? I thought you were better than that." He shakes his head, pretending to be pointed and curt with the bitchy look on his face. But you know he's just teasing to get you out of your own bitchy mode as well.

It works every time.

You don't fight the way your eyes roll on their own accord as a response this time. Jimin compromises, "Okay, I'm sorry! For not telling. It's just that I've turned off my phone for the past week because I'm sure dad and his secretary are going to blow up my phone— they are, by the way, so cut me some slack."

Forgiveness comes easy when you take into consideration what he's been through for the past few weeks. The spontaneous trip to Italy and him flying along with his boyfriend may come off as immature, but you know deep inside he's just wanting to get away from the reality of his life: which is pretty much toxic family with incredibly high expectations and boring ass management school.

You are certain they are giving him shit, and you don't need to add more to that.

It's 7:20 and you're currently prepping for work. Privacy is almost moot in your friendship with Jimin, so you're quite literally dressing up in front of him on call, sweeping your hair to the side as you pull up your trousers.

"Okay... are you having fun there?" You ask instead.

Jimin smiles a knowing grin. "Babe, I just told you me and my boyfriend are having sex 24/7 in here, I'm having the most fun in my life."

You button your trousers and groan at his words.

"I wish I was also in Italy."

"I mean, you could."

You give him a look.

"And what? Third wheel you and Joon? No thanks."

Jimin just shrugs, the angle of his camera going shaky for a bit as he moves to lay on what you assume is his bed.

"I don't know, girl, maybe you'll find a nice Italian man here."

That earns him a snort from you while you duck to wear your sandals.

"I've long forgotten that fantasy since I was 19."

"You're not a stranger to relapsing..." Jimin clocks and that makes you shoot up straight so he can see the look of incredulity on your face as an immediate reaction to what he just said.

"Rude!"

Jimin just snorts. "Okay but for real, how are things going over there for you?"

You sigh. "Same old, same old. Pretty and single and working a very boring job."

Your best friend can't help but mirror the wince on your face.

"You could change the last two but never the first one, babe. So, you see, you're still miles ahead." He says as a matter of fact, sounding like he's giving out some sort of motivational speech.

"Lucky me," you noted with a straight face. You start rummaging your bag to see if you got everything you need. Then, there's something at the tip of your tongue. Something you've been wanting to open up to him. So, you start by clearing your throat – subtly, you hope.

"But you know, life's pretty... eventful the past few days."

Jimin quirks his eyebrow at that, obviously catching onto what could possibly be a new news.

You bite your lower lip, nibbling on it slightly as you contemplate whether to tell him about what you've been up to.

For some weird reason, you still haven't told him about Jungkook, and it seems like Jungkook has made good on his promise not to tell your best friend because if he did break it, Jimin would be inquiring you all about it now.

You figure now is sort of the perfect time to... maybe tell him.

"Uh, well... not eventful, per se, just a little..." you trailed off, finding a bit of uncertainty in your voice. You see Jimin's face morphing into more of a confused look rather than intrigued as the second passes. Pursing your lips into a thin line, you finish your previous sentence with, "Just a little different, I guess."

"Don't edge me, I swear to god." Jimin threatens playfully, making you chuckle.

"It's not something groundbreaking, okay? It's just the, uh, do you still remember Mr—"

The yawn that Jimin lets out stops you from completing your words, and you remember him mentioning a while ago that it's currently midnight from where he is.

"Ugh," Jimin groans, "Sorry, I slept so late yesterday. Anyway, go on, what were you saying?"

The uncertainty you felt a while ago increases, and you decide that maybe, now is so not the perfect time to bring up Jungkook, his cousin.

So, you shake your head, smiling at him, packing the words of your confession in a box that that you place at the back of your head, ready for unpacking when the time calls for it – which you don't exactly know when.

"Nah, go to sleep. This conversation can wait."

"You're gonna kill me with curiosity."

Rolling your eyes, you make a gesture of shoving him.

"I have to catch up with my bus soon, anyway." You say, dodging his insistence.

"Just tell me pretty please, I won't be able to sleep!" He dramatically says.

You roll your eyes again at the theatrics.

"It's really nothing big."

Well, it is. Sort of. Or maybe it's not, and you're just doing that thing again where you put too much thought over something inconsequential.

You swear you were ready to tell him about Jungkook, having even hyped yourself in the bathroom a few days ago and practicing what you're going to tell Jimin. But as of this moment, right now, it suddenly feels... unimportant. Not in a negative way. Just in a... does-it-really-matter way.

Jimin will find out eventually. But not now when you're not totally ready.

"I know what this is," Jimin suddenly says. At his suspicious tone, your heart starts to pick up the rate of its beat. You can see the way Jimin squints his eyes at you, and you wish he doesn't see the way you're slightly frozen. "You got back with your ex, Hansung."

You hope he sees the disgust on your face the moment he let out the words.

"Oh my god, hell no!" Is your instant response. Just hearing that name again made the hairs on your nape rise. "Jimin, what the fuck."

Jimin rolls his eyes. "You look so nervous, that's how you look like when you're about to tell me you've done something stupid."

Okay, fair. The assumption is coming from a valid basis. It makes you frown at him.

"You're such a bitch." Jimin laughs at the way you deflate. You let out a sign. "It's just... Taemu. From the IT dep."

"That guy?!" He exclaims and quickly covers his mouth. "The cute guy you refused to date a second time... you're finally dating him again?"

"What do you mean, finally?" You narrow your eyes at him, surprise at the positive comment about Taemu. "Jesus, I thought you were with me when I said I found him boring."

"What can I say? He can be cute and boring." He points out, as if he did not talk behind the Taemu's back when you ranted about the guy to him.

"You're fake as hell." You laugh, unbelieving.

Jimin joins your laughter, finding his sudden switch up funny as well.

"But you're, for real, dating him again? It means he still likes you?" He asks, obviously intrigued at this newfound information.

Unfortunately, it's a bit of a lie. You feel bad, but it is a great scapegoat to dodge the bullet of the conversation about Jungkook.

"I don't know... we're talking."

Which, for once, is true. Taemu and you did not exactly end on a good note (courtesy to you, boo), but you work in the same company, after all. There are times in the company's cafeteria where you bump into him, and it would have felt weird if you just snub him and act like you did not have an acquaintanceship before he asked you out to a date. Taemu's ultimately still your friend, and there are no hard feelings on his part, you can confidently say. He's... nice, you guess. Somehow of an afterthought. You're starting to think you completely misjudged him on your first date.

You take a quick trip to the fridge to grab a glass of cold water since Jimin is on loudspeaker anyway.

"That reminds me," Jimin suddenly quips. You hum to acknowledge him. "My cousin now works at your company, right? You still remember Jungkook? Have you met him yet?"

You couldn't help it; the water splattered all over the place when you heard Jungkook's name from his mouth.

Jimin quickly asks you a series of "are you okays" and you respond with a "yes" that's interrupted with a cough every time; a weak nod with a raised hand, telling him not to worry.

"Water just got in the wrong track." You reason, coughing and slapping your chest to regain your breathing. When you see wet spots on your shirt, you let out a whiny groan.

"You're so jumpy today. You're sure you're fine?" Jimin checks once again, and you have to bite your tongue to not show the way you froze a little at his observation.

You nod at him, showing him an expression that hopefully conveys he's the one being weird and definitely not you.

"Yeah, it's fine." You look down on your shirt. You're debating whether to stick with it and just let it dry in the bus later or completely change out of it. "But uh, your cousin! I did see him. We had a ceremony a week ago."

You would've said that with a smile, but Jimin knows you too well that he'll surely know it's fake. So, you spoke with an almost straight face. What Jimin says next surprises you a bit, though.

"I hope you meet each other," Jimin's excitement is visible on his face. "It'd be kinda fun; my closest cousin and my best friend... imagine that? I think you'll like each other." He seems to be so geeked about the idea that even when you're internally having a crisis, you can't help but find it cute. But then his smile gets wiped off his lips just as quickly as it showed. "It'd be awkward, though. He's, kinda like, your boss, right?"

You suddenly remember Jungkook's words about him not being your boss. It makes your lips curl, but you have to shake off the thought.

You give him a hesitant look.

"Well, not really, but he's an executive. So... it would be awkward. I guess."

Jimin nods, agreeing with you.

"It's crazy though, I never thought he'd be working at uncle's company so soon..." He trails off and he looks deep in thought, like his words were just supposed to be inner thoughts and you're not supposed to hear them. But he shakes his head after a while, moving on to another subject that makes you quietly sigh in relief. "Anyway, I'm sure I'm keeping you up. I'll sleep and you better tell me all about Kang Taemu when I wake up, okay?"

You chuckle, shaking your head at the threatening tone of his voice.

"I will. When will you come home, anyway?"

He groans, obviously not wanting to discuss home for the reasons you know exactly what. He confirms your assumption by telling so.

"Honestly, I don't know. I'm trying to avoid responsibilities as much as I can. God, I wish you were also here. There's a bar Joon and I discovered that sells these insane bottomless mimosas."

Before you could reply, Jimin goes off the frame suddenly, but the lower part of his face makes you see the way his lips curling up into a smile and saying, "Hey, hon."

There's a greeting from another person on the other end of the line – one that you are certainly familiar with.

Jimin moves his camera and as expected, you see Namjoon waving at you.

"Hey, __,"

You mirror the smile on his face. "Hi, Joon."

"Let's not keep her up. She has to go to work," Jimin tells Namjoon. "Anyway, bye. Kick some ass at work."

Laughing, you tell them, "I'll be off. Good night to you both."

When the call ends, you look down to your shirt once again, seeing that the little wet spots still haven't dried yet. Sighing, you decide to change out of it because it looked untidy.

Too bad you didn't check the time when you were doing it though, because as soon as you were done buttoning the new shirt you've worn, the clock hits 7:55 am. You bus arrives at exactly 8 am.

"Shit." You hiss, scrambling out of the apartment hoping that you can somehow run your way fast to the station and hop on it on time.

But you're no The Flash or Usain Bolt. To piss you off more, the strap of your bag got caught up with the handle of your door.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" You whisper, hastily untangling the strap off the door which won't let up.

"__?" As soon as you hear the familiar voice, you stop with what you were doing and turn to Jungkook, conjuring up a what you can only hope a pleasant enough smile.

"Hey!" You say, chirpy in that weird way. You hope he didn't catch you cursing the door.

But with the way he was looking at your hand on your door, you knew he did.

Sigh. He just really has to catch you in your most vulnerable moments, huh?

"Good morning," Jungkook greets with a smile, ignoring the case at hand. As usual, he looks put together with his sleek suit and styled hair and eyeglasses.

"Morning," You say, slowly taking off the strap around the handle, gentle and slower this time.

Fucking door handle, you thought bitterly.

As you do that, you catch a glimpse of your wristwatch. Shoot.

You look back at Jungkook apologetically, moving away from your porch. "Nice seeing you. I have to catch my bus."

"When is it coming?"

"At exactly... two minutes from now. Bye! Gotta run!" You were about ready to literally run but Jungkook calls out your name.

"Wait!"

You stop coming down the flight of stairs to ask him, "What?"

"I can drive us together there."

"Oh," You slap your hands on your trousers. "That's so nice of you. Thank you—" And then suddenly, his words register, and you take back your quick agreement. You hate that you're so slow sometimes, but it's innate at this point. "I mean, no! That's a nice offer, but no, thank you."

"You won't catch your bus at this point," Jungkook says as a matter of fact, even taking a quick glance at his own watch. He begins to walk down the stairs to walk with you. "It only takes thirty minutes to drive by car to the company." When it takes you long to answer, Jungkook insists, already predicting the "no" that you're going to hit him with. "Come on, do you want to be late?"

"No."

Jungkook smiles at you. "Okay, so...?"

You purse your lips into a thin line, blowing your bangs and giving him a sheepish look.

"Okay, fine. But I owe you."

The smile on his face only grows wider. "More than fine by me."

He leads you both to the parking building nearby where his car was, only taking about a few minutes to walk towards.

When Jungkook points at his car, you follow his behind him shortly, stopping on the one side of the door. You're just about to open it when you feel Jungkook looming behind you, his hand extended forward to open the same door. You stretch your neck to look at him in question, making sure to keep a decent distance between you both.

"Uh...?" You utter.

And then it hits you.

He's trying to open the door for you.

You take a step back after the realization, feeling shy about the prospect of such a chivalrous act from him.

"This is the driver's seat."

"Oh!" You exclaimed. Eyes widening, you walk backwards to give him more space. "Yeah! Fuck... sorry," You apologize, cheeks starting to heat in embarrassment.

You round about the car and enter the passenger seat quickly, seeing Jungkook already set in his own place. You look to the side, almost pressing yourself to the window just so he won't see the way you wince.

So fucking embarrassing. This is exactly what you write about in your diary during high school days.

"Your seatbelt," Jungkook says, and you look at him with widened eyes. Right. You were way too deep in embarrassment that you forgot about it. You fiddle with the seatbelt a few seconds before he speaks once again, "Let me."

And you couldn't have stopped him from leaning closer to you to grab the seatbelt and wear it around your waist, carefully and gently, making you hitch your breath at the sudden proximity.

Of course you've noticed it way before, but this is the first time you were close enough to deduce that he smells like green apple and fresh laundry. A little different from the musky scent that you were used to smelling on men that you've been with before.

"There." He smiles at you before sitting back on his chair, wearing his own seatbelt.

You are way too stunned to acknowledge what he did that for the first few minutes, you're just quiet, mind flying to some place. You only snap out of it when Jungkook speaks again.

"Slept late last night?"

You shake your head at his question. "No... just facetime with Jimin this morning. You were right to tell me not to worry, he's with Joon."

Jungkook nods at your words, turning the ignition of the car. He starts to reverse, and you feel yourself growing embarrassingly hot when he does the thing of putting his arm around the back of your seat while the other spins the wheel, stretching his neck to look back.

You decide to look away for your own sake.

"Uh, anyway, I'm really sorry."

"Hm?" Jungkook hums, eyes on the road as he starts driving.

If you think about it, you were just at his place a few nights ago eating dinner with him, and now, you somehow find yourself in his car as he drives you both to work. His constant kindness is not lost on you... but Jungkook's casualty makes it seem like this is just his plain nature.

You quirk your head to the side.

"Are you free later for lunch?"

"I can arrange my sched. Why?"

"Do you want to go together?" You ask. You'd say the offer is a form of compensation for his help today, but getting lunch together for the pure sake of it doesn't sound bad, either. Both works, so you're only a bit hopeful as you try to look for his reaction.

Jungkook has a hint of surprise on his face when he takes a quick look at you before turning his attention back on the road.

"Really?" There's a little lilt to his voice, as if he's not surer if you're being serious.

You shrug to appear casual. "If you're not too busy, that is."

He shakes his head, smiling. "Where are we going?"

"You're gonna find out later." You tell him. Jungkook cocks his head to the side, intrigued.

"Okay... where should I meet you, then? At your office?"

"Oh, god, no." Is your quick response. Jungkook immediately looks at you in offense, but it's more like amusement when he stares longer. At that, you wave your hand so he doesn't get the wrong idea. "No, no, I mean— it's just rude if an executive, like, comes to our office."

"You're still not hung up on the boss thing?" You roll your eyes at his teasing tone which earns a hearty chuckle from Jungkook. He shakes his head playfully at you. "I doubt anyone would care."

You jut your bottom lip out because he's probably right. But still, your co-workers would ask, and you're not trying to dig yourself a hole by making yourself news of the day because the newly appointed interim CTO just walked into your office for what? Lunch? The HR would have a field day.

"Maybe we can meet at the parking lot?" You offer, thinking it's the sensible place.

Jungkook smiles. "Alright."

You had to stay behind Joonhwi and Sol as lunch came, making an excuse about going out with a friend as opposed to not coming with them. In your head, you think you were doing Joonhwi a favor.

After that, you were welcomed with text from Jungkook when you turned on your phone. It said he was already at the basement where he parked earlier, so it wasn't exactly hard to spot him right away the moment you got there.

The drive to your destination was quick enough to only amount to around fifteen minutes. As soon as Jungkook managed to park his car somewhere, you lead him to where the place you'd chosen for lunch.

When he finally registered where you were, his amusement does not go unnoticed.

"I've always wanted to go here," He tells you, looking around the stores in-line by the street.

You look back at him in surprise.

"You haven't been here?" Jungkook nods and you want to ask him if he's kidding around, but then you realize he's no ordinary person like most of the people you know in your life, recalling that Jimin's first time in a marketplace like this was only when you introduced him to it during sophomore year. "But you eat street food, right?" You ask him, even though you know he does. You did spend nights on that food truck around your building.

"Of course I do," Jungkook chuckles, rubbing a hand at the back of his head, seemingly shy. "I just never tried it here."

You give him a wide grin. "You're gonna enjoy it here. Follow me, I have a favorite store here that sells really good hotteok."

You spent the better part of the morning thinking about the place where you can bring him, opting out of going to cafes and restaurant because it was just getting kind of old. Aside from the fact that you stopped going to the food truck across your apartment building, it's also been a while since you enjoyed some street food yourself. You're also delighted to know that this is apparently Jungkook's first time going here.

The area is usually livelier in the later hours of the night, but there are still a lot of people by lunch time. Students, civilians, tourists... a usual day in Seoul, you can say.

When you reach the hotteok stall, you ask for your usual right away, almost asking the same thing for Jungkook but remember that he might actually want something else.

"Do you want other flavors instead?" You look back at him while he stands behind you with his hands in his pockets. He's forgone the coat – it's somewhere in his car seat – which left him with his usual polo shirt, sleeves folded up to his forearms. He kind of looks broody with his stance and you know... the exposed tattoos – but he looks adorable when he gives you that familiar easy-going smile at your question.

"I'll have whatever you're having."

You're hungry for a while now so you don't wait a long time to take a bite of the hotteok when it's finally served. It's hot, and Jungkook laughs as you learn it the hard way, sputtering as you move the food away from you.

"Fuck!" You curse, blowing air and fanning your mouth which doesn't really do anything.

"Slow down," Jungkook says in between his chuckles. You feel his arm resting on your back as some sort of support. "I'll get you some water."

It only takes him a few seconds to stop by a nearby stall to get you some bottled water, and you thank him after drinking it quickly.

"Sorry 'bout that," You apologize, smiling sheepishly.

"There's a—" Jungkook gestures at his mouth. You arch your brow at him, a bit confused. He tries again. "Something in your—" He interrupts himself, shaking his head, and takes out a handkerchief from the depths of his slacks.

Your immediate reaction is to take a few steps back when he goes to wipe at your mouth. Jungkook stops, pausing his movement. You give him an awkward thumbs up which prompts him to continue.

"Done."

You choose to gloss over that occurrence, taking another bite of hotteok after that.

"You know I always wondered why I don't see you going out of your apartment every morning." You start a conversation while you walk together mindlessly.

"You wonder... why?" Jungkook looks at you for a brief moment. With a teasing grin, he says, "You wanna see me every day?"

You gasp.

"Gross, Jungkook." You say, absolutely scandalized at what he said.

He just laughs, shaking his head, amused at your reaction. It makes you roll your eyes.

"I just figured you don't commute so you don't need to leave early." You tell him.

You notice he seems to be extra playful today.

"Oh, yeah, that's right."

"Lucky you. I'm so sick of commuting."

"You don't like driving?"

You shake your head, "I don't know how to drive, and I don't have any intention to."

"I think I've heard that from Joon before." Jungkook chuckles.

"Oh yeah, he told me one time he'll most probably kill himself if he drives. Which– same."

Jungkook bites on his hotteok, chews on it for a while before saying, "That's what I thought when I started to drive a motorcycle."

You almost snap your head to look at him.

"You drive a motorcycle?" You ask, just to be sure you heard him right.

Jungkook nods. "Hm."

"Oh, wow... that must be..." You trail off, looking blankly ahead of you.

Well, now you can't get it out of your head. Jungkook riding a motorcycle with his tattoos out. Jungkook riding a motorcycle with a leather jacket.

Ugh. You told yourself you were gonna forget about the stupid crush! This is so counterproductive. There's nothing special about a man who drives a motorcycle! Not at all.

"Must be...?" Jungkook curiously asks you.

"Nerve-wracking." You say, which you think is a fair answer. He doesn't have to know that you're thinking about a totally different thing.

He nods. "It was for the first time. Mom always gives me an earful whenever I use it." He shakes his head while laughing.

You can't help but ask.

"You're close with your mom?" It only registers to you that the question must be way too privy, but Jungkook doesn't seem to think so as he answers casually right away.

"Yeah. She was really glad when I came home."

You smile. You once thought he's close with his family... turns out you aren't exactly wrong.

"That's sweet."

He just gives you a soft smile. "You?"

"Oh, me? She, uh, died awhile ago. So."

The smile on Jungkook's face falters.

"That... sucks."

"Thanks." And then it makes you laugh. "You know most people say sorry. You're the first one to say it sucks."

"I..." Jungkook seems to track back on what he said. "I mean, I'm sorry, of course. But it must suck, right? I just... love my mom a lot. Can't imagine losing her."

You nod, completely understanding where he's coming from.

All your life, people have always felt sorry for you for losing your mom, your only parent. Of course, you're thankful for the sympathy, but sometimes... you just need someone to be real with it. Someone to say it sucks – because losing a parent is hard. Losing a mother suck.

"You're not so bad, Jungkook." you comment after a while, and as you take a quick look at Jungkook, you see him in another light. The same light you see a person in when you figure you want to befriend them and be in their life.

"What do you mean by that?" Jungkook asks with an arched brow.

You shake your head, smile not going away.

"Nothing!"

Jungkook annoyed you some more about it and you had to laugh at his curiosity because it was funny the way he insisted about something really inconsequential. Even when you went to another stall to buy some drinks, he still tried to bring up the same thing, but you're more stubborn than him so of course his efforts did not bear any fruit.

After a while, you sit on some bench while you eat tornado fries.

"I don't like this." You say, looking at your stick and frowning. Turning to Jungkook, you extend your tornado fries to him. "Try this one."

He takes a bite from your own stick. Surprisingly, he seems to like it.

"You wanna exchange?" He offers his cheesy tornado fries in exchange with your sour barbecue-flavored one. You nod, taking it from him. Jungkook chuckles at you. "I told you to get that one."

"I was feeling experimental." You tell him simply.

When you were in front of the stall, you told him how you didn't like sour barbecue at all but still wanted to give it a try. Obviously, that did not go well. Good thing Jungkook bought the cheesy flavor, though.

From your peripheral vision, you see a group of what seems to be a group of teenage girls sitting on the bench across from you. Judging from the very familiar uniform, they're in high school. They've been there for a while now and you notice they've been stealing glances at your direction.

You glance at Jungkook and snort.

"Looks like someone here has some admirers from Seoul High School." You tease Jungkook. He does not seem to notice the girls at all, looking at you with confusion first before turning his head to look across.

In a second, Jungkook turns uncomfortable in his seat.

"That's Seoul High School?"

You laugh at the obvious way he ignores them looking at him. Still, you nod your head at his question, "Yup. Went there."

You subtly look at the girls' direction again, catching them do the same and you can just see Jungkook's ears getting red by the second, visibly embarrassed at the unwanted attention.

"That's just across my high school." He casually says, trying so hard not to mind the girls.

"No way!" You gasp. "Yongsan International?"

He nods.

"The cheerleading teams on both schools used to have, like, this big beef before, you know that?" You tell him, ready to lay out the huge gossip that happened in your batch. And then you remember, "Oh. You've probably graduated when I entered senior year in high school."

Jungkook gives you a look. "Rude. I'm not that old."

The sass comes unexpectedly which makes you laugh out loud you almost choke on the fries.

You were just about to tease him some more when somebody approaches you both.

"U-uhm..."

When you both look at the girl, she's one from the group who was shamelessly looking towards your direction, which is obviously aimed at a specific someone by your side, Jungkook.

"Hi!" You greet cheerfully.

The girl blushes and then turns to Jungkook.

"O-oppa..." She utters, hesitant when she pulls something out of her skirt pocket. It's a small, crocheted sunflower.

You coo at the sight, looking at Jungkook in amusement. The man beside you just grow more uncomfortable in his seat. He looks so constipated, god bless him.

"My friend told me to give this to the eonni beside you."

Your smile is quickly wiped off your face the moment her words sink in, confusion slowly coming to paint your expression. You look at the girl but before you can say anything, she's already walking away as soon as Jungkook takes the crocheted flower from her. You watch as she and her friends ran, their figures slowly disappearing from your line of sight.

"Looks like you got admirers from Seoul High School." Jungkook quips beside you. "For the eonni beside me." He teases, extending the cute little flower to you.

Hesitantly, you take the flower from his hands.

"You know, it suits you." Jungkook says when you don't say anything, still stunned from the literal turn of events.

You look up, baffled. "Huh?"

"A sunflower. It suits you... you're like it." He smiles, soft and gentle. There's a look of fondness in his eyes that you couldn't have mistaken for anything else. "I'm glad they gave that to you."

You open your mouth to speak, but there's nothing at the tip of your tongue.

Shying away from his gaze, you mumble a low, "Thank you."

You don't think you hear his next word right.

"Cute."

You have a hobby of collecting hobbies instead of focusing on one thing to be good at, jumping from one activity to another, even if it means abandoning your previous thing. Hobbies for most people means time lent to be better with it every day, but in your defense, you don't necessarily think you have to be good at something.

You've tried drawing. You've tried dancing. You've tried the guitar and you've tried the ukelele and you've tried crocheting and you've tried to study astrology. You've built three huge boxes of storage containing the needed materials for each of them, but they end up collecting dust.

Why can't a hobby just stay as a hobby, anyway? Why can't you just feel goofy one day to suddenly start drawing and give up the next day the moment you realize shading is hard? Why can't you just buy dress patterns and only sew the skirt part because tops are complicated to sew? Why can't you just learn four guitar chords because it's enough to play at least five songs using them?

None of it matters, you think. People will pressure you to push and push until you can possibly capitalize on something you're good at, but it just isn't the case for you.

You'll collect all the hobbies in the world until your head is full of random things and you just burst with it.

And true to your words, you find yourself wandering about in the baking aisle of your local grocery store at the late evening hours.

Yep. It's 2028 and your hobby pick for the year is baking.

So, what if you're a disaster in the kitchen? Cooking and baking are two different worlds! At least that's what Google tried to tell you a while ago when you were cleaning your bathroom earlier this morning, suddenly craving for some matcha cookies after you were done.

It sounded about right in your head that you decided to pick up ingredients for it, deciding it will be your dinner. At the back of your head, you think you should've just gone to the hundred cafes surrounding your apartment complex like, you know, any regular person would if they're craving something. But you figured that if you know how to bake, you could get matcha cookies anytime you want.

What can you say? You like to live life on edge. (You'll probably burn yourself in the oven later, but that will just be another lesson that life is soon to give you. You're just taking it in advance.)

But living on edge doesn't mean getting your card declined when you turn it to the cashier to supposedly pay for your grocery.

"I'm so sorry, uhm, can I have a few seconds, please?" You tell the cashier, giving her an awkward smile as you grab your wallet from your tote bag again, taking your card from her. You take another one of your debit cards this time and offer it to her, subtly looking around in hopes that no one is watching.

"Oh, we don't accept debit cards issued by this bank, ma'am." She says, and you're just about ready to dig yourself a hole from this complete, utter embarrassment.

"Okay..." you trail off nervously, glancing at the computer to look at your total. "I'll just pay in cash."

You do not, in fact, have enough cash.

You can tell the cashier is getting impatient from the way she shifts her weight from one side to another, and you keep yourself from making eye contact with her, fumbling with your wallet.

Three hundred and sixty-five days in a year and your card chose to decline on this very particular day. Why don't they accept your debit card? And why don't you have enough cash with you? Are you really this broke?

This is going to be a disaster. You can't afford to go to prison for this. Can you even go to prison for not paying grocery? Okay, maybe jail time for like 12 hours? But you have work tomorrow!

"Excuse me, miss,"

Somebody says but you refused to look at whoever it was, still counting the bills in your wallet that do not even accumulate to half the amount of your total.

"You can charge her bill here."

At that, your head quickly snap to the owner of the voice only to reveal himself as no other than Jeon Jungkook.

You swear you almost sigh in relief at the sight of him and have the sudden urge to hug him big time.

Jungkook looks at you and gives you a smile.

"Hi."

"Jungkook," you breathe. "Thank god you're here."

The cashier looks at you both weirdly but nonetheless swipes the card Jungkook gave her., instructing him to type his code on the key pad. There's nobody in line for the cashier you went to other than you both because it is too late an hour to be getting groceries, so Jungkook is able to butt in seamlessly and get his cart checked out as well.

"You're very much welcome." He says warmly.

Jungkook's dressed just as casually as you; a combination of simple white t-shirt and shorts and a pair of sliders. His grocery contains a lot different than yours, showing all sorts of food ingredients. You wait for his stuff to get bagged until you both head out of the store.

His car was just parked nearby, so you follow him towards its direction to apologize.

"I'm so, so sorry for earlier. I'll pay you later when we get home, of course." You say, just now registering how embarrassing it is for him to catch you in that situation. You're no stranger to getting your card declined... but really, now?

You decide to add awkwardly, "Or... do you have Kakao Pay?"

Jungkook chuckles while he opens his trunk, picking up his bags of groceries to place them in there. He shakes his head, keeping his hand outstretched to upwards to hold the hood of his car.

"It's fine. Don't worry about it."

You're about to speak in protest when he gestures at the bag in your hands, as if asking you to place it in the trunk as well. You shake your head repeatedly.

"No, it's okay, I'm just gonna take a cab home." You say, pointing to your back where the street is, politely refusing his obvious offer to drive you home.

He's done too much in the span of ten minutes you've seen each other tonight. He's paid for your groceries for heaven's sake, and he still has the intention to drive you again to your destination? Not adding the fact that he also just drove you to work yesterday to keep you from being late. It's like he's just doing you heaps of favors and so far, you've done nothing in return.

"__, please, I'm offering." Jungkook insists. As usual. "I really don't mind."

Shoulders deflating, you let out a sigh.

"It's just that..." You start, nibbling on your bottom lip.

"What?"

"You've just been doing me a lot of favors lately." You say, looking away from his gaze.

Jungkook calls your name gently. You train your gaze at him. He steps closer to you and gives your shoulder a soft tap. "Hey, I'm not counting."

The words in itself aren't all that special, but the way he said it and the way he looked at you while he did may have just did a little damage to your heart because why did it seem so genuine?

Still, you shy away.

"It's just really embarrassing." You say, out of argument now.

Jungkook lets out a sound of amusement and takes the bag from your hands. He didn't even give you the chance to protest before he managed to put it successfully in the trunk of his car, together with his own groceries.

"Why don't you pay me back by helping me make dinner tonight?" Jungkook muses.

You give him a weird look.

"You really want me in a kitchen? Have you not listened to my horror stories this whole time, Jungkook?"

He laughs as he leads you both inside his car. You follow quietly behind but this time, you don't mistake the passenger seat from the driver's seat and instantly wear your seatbelt as soon as you're sat.

"I dunno, I'm just offering. I thought it'll be fun." He shrugs, turning on the ignition of the car and starting to drive back to the apartment building.

"Okay, I can at least chop some onions and garlic..." You trail off. And then you remember as an afterthought, "Oh, I'm actually baking tonight as well."

Jungkook takes a quick surprise glance at you. "You never told me you know how."

You snort. "I don't know how, trust me. I'm just starting right now."

"Is that why you went out grocery shopping tonight?" He arches a brow.

"Yep. Totally a spontaneous thing. I wanted, like, this very specific matcha cookie..."

Jungkook laughs. "Should I help you with the baking as well? I might learn from you."

"Really? You want to help?" You ask him delightfully.

He nods, making your grin wider.

"Sounds fun."

You both agreed to cook and bake at his place, partly because you personally are not ready for him to see your own flat. When you get inside his unit, Jungkook cutely bragged about his table set that just arrived earlier this morning according to him.

Personally, you've barely cooked at your own place let alone somebody else's. The one time you were in someone else's kitchen was Jimin's but even then, it was just to microwave some pizza and other take-out food.

It should feel weird to be prepping ingredients with someone, to move around the kitchen with the goal to make yourself a homecooked meal – especially with somebody like Jungkook – but truthfully, it felt almost... natural. Probably because you're conversing casually while you're doing things so there isn't any awkward silence.

You're making tangsuyuk, according to him, and he's obviously taking the lead – expertly prepping the meat while you go chop some spices needed for the dish.

"Is this okay?" You ask, showing him your work. You hope he likes it because you're kind of under a weird pressure to be in here, helping him. Also, you're not sure if you minced the garlic right.

But Jungkook just gives you a hearty smile.

"Good girl."

And goes back to what he's doing as if he just said nothing.

Which—okay, he seemed to have unconsciously said it that now you're gaslighting yourself whether you heard him right or not. Did he really say what you think he just said? What the fucking fuck.

Thankfully, Jungkook's too busy to notice that you become a bit frozen in your position for a good ten seconds. If he truly didn't mean to say that, he needs to get those words out of his vocabulary before he sends you in a sudden cardiac arrest. It'd be the most mysterious death of humanity.

"Do you need the carrots?" You ask, raising the vegetable in your hand.

Jungkook nods and you start to peel it. He watches by your side when you begin slicing the carrot.

"Cut them into Julienne slices."

"Huh?" You look back at him. "Not the cooking jargon, Kook." You deadpan, the nickname seamlessly coming out of your mouth.

He apologizes and tells you exactly what he meant. You furrow your brows in concentration to achieve what he wants, but Jungkook just laughs beside you.

"Okay, let me just—"

He's behind you a second after that, towering over your form and circling his arms around you. Your breath hitches as Jungkook places his hand on top of yours – the one that holds the knife – and begins to guide you through slicing the carrot.

You can feel his breathing from the proximity of your position, and even though there's still distance between the both of you, it's only hairsbreadth away and frankly, the ridges of the front of his body are so prominent against your back.

Jungkook does not seem to face the same internal panic as you though, because as soon as he deems that you are staring to get it, he steps back and let you do the thing on your own.

He leans back on the countertop, crossing his arms while looking at you.

"You're not so bad at this like you claimed." He comments.

You feel your cheeks heating up, so you focus your full attention on the carrot, your hands seemingly having developed a mind of their own throughout the time. Well, at least it's doing the right job. You can only hope you don't slice through your fingers... imagine cutting them right into this very moment.

"This is a trauma response from watching too much Gordon Ramsay."

Jungkook chuckles at your joke, shaking his head.

"We're just gonna wait for another thirty minutes for the meat and the mushroom. Should we start baking? What do we do first?" He says, washing his hands first before walking towards your direction.

You take your phone out from your pocket, looking at him a bit apologetically as you say "sorry" for pulling up Google. For the record, you haven't memorized shit and this is your first time baking.

Jungkook shakes his head, telling you there's no need for apologies because he "can't bake for shit" himself. That makes you feel relieved. You thought he's just good at a lot of things.

You don't encounter any trouble while mixing the dry ingredients, but when it comes to the wet ones, you think you've done something wrong. Jungkook tells you to try it. When you dip your finger into the mixture and taste it, you automatically scrunch your face.

"What, why?" Jungkook asks curiously.

"I don't think this is quite right..." You say, looking down at the mixture sadly.

"Mayve we can add more vanilla...?" He takes the bottle with him, ready to pour some into the bowl.

You pout. "But it says one teaspoon and we already put one teaspoon."

"What do you want to do?"

"I don't know... give up?"

Jungkook chuckles as he says your name.

You sigh. "Okay, maybe we'll try some that."

You do as you say, and as you taste it again, you're delighted to notice the elevated flavor. Mindlessly dipping your finger again into the bowl, you offer it to Jungkook to try.

The very act just sinks into your head when he leans down to suck it off your finger.

It happened quick, not at all sensual and slow like the movies make it out to be, but you feel your heart rate picking up at the feel after-effect of Jungkook's hot tongue touching your skin. But as you look at him, his eyebrows are furrowed, assessing the taste, not at all in a trance by what just happened.

"Oh, definitely better." He comments, as if he didn't just... suck your finger?

... Which you offered.

That he took willingly.

You turn away from him and pretend to busy yourself with the electric mixer, fumbling with the paddle.

"Are you cooking the tangsuyuk yet?" You ask, changing the subject. Jungkook is completely unaware of the current chaos in your head, walking towards the refrigerator to take out the pork he marinated earlier and the bowl of mushrooms.

"Just tell me if you need help." He tells you, touching the small of your back as he passes by you to get to the stove.

You feel your cheeks heating at the touch, moving aside to let him start frying the meat with the batter he's busied himself with awhile ago.

"Shit!" You say, surprised at the sudden whir of the machine. Jungkook quickly looks at you. You laugh and give him a thumbs up. "I'm fine here!"

You both work together on your own thing, and when you let the dough to rest, Jungkook, at the same time, finishes frying the meat of the tangsuyuk. You don't want to feel useless while you don't have anything to work on, so you peer over what Jungkook is doing and ask him if you there's anything he needs.

"Do you want to make the sauce?" Jungkook asks you. You scrunch your nose and hesitantly nod. He seems to notice your uncertainty and chuckles. "I'll teach you."

"Okay, but don't blame me if it tastes like shit later, okay?" You warn but he just shrugs and laugh, telling you that he'll talk you through the process and there's no need to be nervous. You can just experiment with it a little, he says.

You've watched a lot of Hell's Kitchen episodes that you have this silly, unrealistic expectation on what goes on in kitchens, but thankfully, Jungkook isn't like Gordon Ramsay at all and is so unbelievably gentle in teaching you even when you almost spilled soy sauce on the countertop and put too much vinegar than needed. He shrugs your worries off by fixing the thing, thankful that when he offers you the ladle to taste the sauce from it, it's more than decent.

While Jungkook prepares the tangsuyuk for your dinner, you take the time to form your cookie dough into small circles, leaving it in the oven to bake while you follow Jungkook into the living room and start eating the food that you cooked – or he cooked.

Jungkook teases you that you lied about not being good at cooking, but you have to remind him you didn't do shit and only the bare minimum. He looks like he's not convinced.

By the time that you're finished with your dinner, the oven's timer went off. Jungkook insists that he wash the dishes even though you feel like you should be the one doing it, but he tells you to check your cookies in the oven and so you did.

You're not expecting anything, but it will feel really good if it tastes at least okay.

Crossed fingers, your mind says as you take out the sheet pan.

First impression: it looks okay to the eye. Like real cookies.

But soon, your parade is rained on when you try to bite into the cookie.

It looks like real cookie, all right, but apparently doesn't taste like one.

Your face contorts into a frown as soon as you bite down into it a second time.

Okay, that's it. Put them in the tupperware as soon as possible, you thought. So, you do just that, placing all of the pieces into the plastic box and securing them away.

From where you were, you can hear Jungkook shutting the water off on the sink, his footsteps coming near you. Once he gets close, he peers down at what you're doing. Intrigued, he asks for one.

"No." you shake your head. The cookies are to be gatekept not because it's too good but because it should not be consumed at all. Jesus. You just ate Jungkook's tangsuyuk and it tasted exactly like the ones you've eaten from restaurants; it'd be such an embarrassing contrast to your own work.

"Don't be stingy," Jungkook playfully says, already making a move to reach for the cookies in your hands.

You hide the tupperware behind your back and stop him with your other free hand.

"Don't come closer. These cookies are not for consumption. Go away."

But he just arches a brow, walking a few steps forward.

"Jungkook!" You whine. "They don't taste good, and I'm embarrassed by them."

"Just one bite," Jungkook chuckles at you, not understanding your mortification. "Come on, __."

But you're stubborn and you won't let him have any of it even if he tries hard.

Jungkook is just as determined though, as he threatens to get closer and closer to you.

You squeaked out his name when he takes a hold of the tupperware but thankfully, you're quick on your reflex and able to take it back.

The whole thing prompts you to burst into laughter as you run around the island of his kitchen, giggling at the silliness of it all.

Your efforts to get away from him eventually go to waste as he managed to get ahold of your waist with his one arm, the other not missing the beat to steal the cookies from you.

He's firm over his hold, lifting you up while laughing against your head as you try to wriggle away.

"Let me have one bite, __," He says, and with his one arm, sits you on the countertop, not letting you go just yet even when you're fully sat.

You try to snatch the plastic from him but he's much quicker this time. When he opens it, you have no choice but to cover your face in embarrassment.

"I told you it's bad." You say, pouting at him, noting the expression on his face as he chews on the cookies that tells you it definitely does not taste good.

"You're a first timer." Jungkook just says, putting down the tupperware.

"Don't try to make me feel better." You frown even more.

"I'm not! I'm just pointing out that this is the first time you tried so of course it's not gonna be perfect right away?" He offers, some sort of comfort, maybe?

But your shoulders deflate because he's right.

Still.

Jungkook must have noticed your mood and tries to cheer you up one more time.

"Come on, you still made a really good tangsuyuk."

That makes you chuckle, unconsciously kicking his knee slightly making him let out an ingenuine, "Ow!"

You don't notice one of the straps of your spaghetti top falling off until Jungkook fixes it for you in the middle of your shared laughter.

"Thanks." You smile at him, mindlessly touching the strap, keeping it in place.

Jungkook hums as he helps you jump out of the kitchen counter.

The night ended with him walking you to your unit again, a rather silly thing he keeps on insisting to do. It's hard to put a name on it, but there's a certain feeling in your chest when you went out of Jungkook's apartment.

A feeling that lingers its way through when you receive a text from him after you come out of the shower that night.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [11:05pm]: good night chef

You fight off the smile that forces its way into your lips as you type out a reply.

You [11:06pm]: good night :)))))

Jungkook (Unit 446) [11:06pm]: i thought u already slept

You [11:07pm]: at 11oclock??? what do u think am i a grandma

Jungkook (Unit 446) [11:08pm]: fair Jungkook (Unit 446) [11:08pm]: but i had fun earlier. we should do it again sometime

You lie on your back, can't help yourself from letting a small giggle.

You [11:09pm]: jungkook-a You [11:09pm]: just tell me u wanna be with me??

You meant that as a joke, obviously. Just like how he joked about you one time over lunch about wanting to see him every day when you brought up the topic of not seeing him come out of his apartment. You did not mean anything by it other than friendly banter.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [11:10pm]: 🤔 Jungkook (Unit 446) [11:08pm]: that can be arranged. you can be my personal sous chef and I'll build us a restaurant

You [11:11pm]: sweet

Jungkook (Unit 446) [11:11pm]: you havent seen all, baby

Your lips part.

Okay...

Your relationship is absolutely platonic at best. But you can't help but think that he gets a little flirty at times... like the few moments in his kitchen earlier. Is it bad that you're thinking way too much about that specific memory of him licking your finger without thought? Of his strong arm effortlessly carrying you against his rigid body and putting you on the countertop, almost manhandling you? Is it bad you can't get the memory of him fixing your top out of your head?

His use of nickname ticks a little light at the back of your head, and you decide to poke the nest a little.

You [11:12pm]: really? what r u wearing right now

Just a little jokey-joke between friends and nothing more.

You don't even expect a reply to that, but your phone dings a second after, and when you open your message thread again, your jaw parts wider this time.

It's a picture of Jungkook lying his bed, his face cut off from the frame. But you know it's him from the arm that peeks out, his tattoos a familiar sight by now. The photo is taken at a low angle, just enough for you to see the sleeveless shirt he's sporting and the strings of his grey shorts.

You [11:14pm]: i meant that as a joke

Jungkook (Unit 446) [11:14pm]: 🥴

You do not know what he meant by that. You look for a picture to reply with, and the HAHA reaction is expected the moment you pressed send.

You [11:15pm]: stripper patrick says good night

Laughing silently at the meme you sent him which was Patrick from Spongebob wearing a pair of black fishnet tights and boots, you wait as three dots appear on Jungkook's line.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [11:15pm]: you're a minx

You chuckle, reacting to his message with an emoji and turn off your phone, almost throwing it on your nightstand and scrambling to bury your face in your pillow to let out a sound of a weird sob, but you're smiling your face off and your cheeks feel way too hot.

The truth of the matter is that you ended the conversation because you're afraid of where it's going.

Turning around, you lay on your back and stare at your ceiling, calming the beat of your heart and forcing your eyes to shut close.

But the picture Jungkook sent you keeps on popping up in your head, almost like those ads from shady websites on the internet, and when you think about it, it triggers a slur of memories that play like a picture in your head: his lips wrapped around your finger... his strong arm... his subtle touch on the small of your back...

"Ugh," you groan, slapping your hands over your face.

You furrow your brows to appear serious, thinking that it'll make you think of something serious as well, wrapping a blanket over your body and sighing when the technique doesn't work.

Okay, think of dogs... and puppies...but that's apparently a wrong move because now you're thinking of Jungkook with his dog.

You're obviously awful at this.

You turn on your bed once again, muffling a sound in your pillow.

But then as minutes passed, your restlessness continues to prevail and you're about to cry with the unknown frustration that sits at the back of your head.

Laying in silence for a while, your hand finds itself roaming over your body, your thumb catching your nipple through your thin top. You pinch the nub, experimental, until it turns into a pebbled rock in your touch.

You bite your bottom lip as your other hand trails down over your panties, running it around the waistband, down until you reach down, down, down to your core.

Your lips part when you feel its heat, two of your fingers starting to stroke where your nether lips were. You sigh at the sensation, squeezing at your boob and turning your head to the side, thinking about how good it feels.

Slowly, you reach down under your parties to part your lips, moaning at the wetness that welcomes you below.

You start to stroke gently with your middle finger, drawing figure eights over your core and making sure to put friction on your clit. The ministration produces more wetness in your cunt, and you spread it over for easier access inside as you start to poke into your hole.

"Oh my god," you mewled, breathing heavily against your pillow, pumping a finger into you. It's a little tight, and you remember you haven't touched yourself like this for over a few weeks now.

But god, how could you forget the feeling of it? The feeling of something going in and out of your cunt, gliding so smoothly because of the abundance of wetness all over.

"Fuck." you sigh out, lips parted, eyes closed to feel more of the sensation.

Your other hand reaches under your top to fondle with your boob, helping you stimulate yourself into that familiar feeling of great ecstasy that comes with your pussy getting touched.

It's starting to feel hot, and you can feel the beads of sweat starting to form on the side of your head even though the AC and your fan are both on. There's a zap that starts from your spine that comes with a sort of electricity coming from within, transferring that tick into your belly which prompts you to pump into your hole faster.

The sheets are a mess at this point, with your feet kicking into them as your movement picks up pace.

"Oh god," you cry out silently, muffling your sob in the comfort of your fluffy pillow.

You chase the feeling of completion, closing your eyes once more, trying to figure out how to get there.

And there's one familiar man that pops inside your head.

Jeon Jungkook.

"Oh shit," you hiss, pinching your nipple and going in and out faster.

Jungkook with his lips around your finger. Jungkook pressing his body against your back. Jungkook carrying you against his body. Jungkook's electric touch as he fixes the strap that's fallen over your naked shoulder.

You let out a pathetic moan, trying to shake away the thoughts of him.

You aren't supposed to. It feels wrong. So wrong.

Suddenly, you feel frustrated over still not reaching your climax up to this point.

You let out a heavy breath, pulling out your fingers from your pussy and from under your panties.

You don't get off. You never do – with your fingers, anyway, that is. And that's why you have a trusted toy buried deep at the back of the drawer of your nightstand, kept away for occasional uses. You'd say you need it right now, but you're too flushed and tired to take it out.

And there's also a melancholic feeling in your heart upon realizing that you just thought of Jungkook while touching yourself.

"Shit, shit, shit." You hiss, the cusses mostly dedicated to yourself.

You shake your head as you sit on the edge of your bed, your hair a bird's nest and clothes strewn over your body as per your reflection on the full-body mirror across your bed.

Sighing, you let your head down and massage your temples.

"God, what's wrong with me,"

You feel guilty... because you aren't supposed to think of a friend when you're trying to get off. You told yourself you'd stop finding Jungkook hot or cute or what-the-fuck-ever so that stupid crush can go away finally. But it feels like all your efforts – or lack, thereof – always seem to fall short.

This isn't good. You need to think straight.

A sudden loud ping catches your attention, almost startling you because it's in the middle of the night, after all. When you snap your head to the side, you see your phone with the light out.

You instantly feel a little nervous. What if it's Jungkook? There's an irrational fear in your head that he knows what you just did, but you shake the thought away, scolding yourself for getting way over your head.

Nibbling on your bottom lip, you feel scared to open your phone but then, did you really have a choice?

Slowly trudging to the direction of your phone, you pick it up from the table and turn it on.

August 18: Your cycle forecast Ovulation in 2 days. Your sex drive may just be hitting its peak🌡️ Tap for tips to make most out of it👉

"Oh fuck me." You curse, throwing your phone on the bed, feeling pissed all of the sudden.

Fucking period tracker app... and ovulation.

PART THREE | ...

all right reserved © awrkive, 2024. no reposts, modification, and copying allowed. if you enjoy my work/s and have the extra means, please consider supporting me on ko-fi <3

[ofbatsandballads]

pretty little birds

jason todd x fem!reader

word count: 2.2k

warnings: suggestive content, reader works at the Iceberg Lounge as a server/dancer/informant for Oz, slight objectification from Oz, reader described as having long hair but no other physical descriptions, slight implication of potential SA (nothing happens, just concern over it)

a/n: been thinking of Jason with a girl who works at the Iceberg Lounge ever since I watched The Batman and saw Selina’s gorgeous self working there. something about her and Bruce’s dynamic was very alluring and I realized how much better it would work with Jason so this was born. might make this a series, might not; who knows? not me! also if you want a nice visual aid for the club, I fully based it off the Gotham Knights version of the lounge.

divider credit: strangergraphics

Jason wasn’t a fan of the Iceberg Lounge. He’d been there plenty of times for missions, for reconnaissance, to beat the shit out of Oswald—it didn’t mean he liked it there. The club was ostentatious, loud and vulgar like everything that went on within it. He always scoffed when he saw it during patrol. An actual iceberg exterior; how corny could Cobblepot get?

He did have to admit that it was nicer inside. The marble floors, balconies, and columns lended an elegance to the place that it didn’t deserve. The neon blues and pinks of the lighting served to disorient, to intoxicate alongside the drinks that were served across the bar and the drugs that were passed behind it. The massive penguin ice sculpture in the center was tacky though. Jason could think of a million better design choices than that.

All this to say that he wasn’t thrilled to be sent to the club per Bruce’s orders of seeing if Oz was still as legit as he claimed. He wasn’t. They all knew it but B needed proof. Jason’s sure by proof Bruce meant that he wanted him to go undercover, but one of the advantages of being Red Hood is that he can go where the other Bats can’t. That distinction is how he finds himself stalking the club from his vantage point in the shadows.

It’s busy tonight. The main floor is crowded with people. Bodies push and pull to the rhythm of the music that blares from the speakers. As tightly crammed as the floor is, the servers still manage to weave through with a practiced grace. They’re all in various states of undress; short skirts, crop tops, some in straight up underwear. Jason recognizes the servers for what Cobblepot intends them to be: a distraction. They’re all young and beautiful—pretty girls and boys that are meant to draw your eye so you don’t see the money and the drugs that pass between their hands.

Jason zeroes in on the two working the floor for any indication of something illegal. Oswald’s been smarter since his last stint in Blackgate. He lets the filth of the city do their deals in his club while he himself is never caught up in it. The argument of “well I didn’t do it” usually wouldn’t hold up legally, but this is Gotham. His eyes track the man first. He’s weaving in and out, laughing with what must be the regulars. He’s charming them, plying them with more and more alcohol to stay longer, to spend more money. He’s not doing anything more than that, though, to Jason’s utmost disappointment. He turns his attention to the girl instead.

The difference between the two of you is so obvious it’s almost amusing. While the guy weaved fluidly through the throng of people like something unseen, the crowd itself seems to part for you. Recognition, some degree of respect, power—that’s what you’ve got over the drunken group of people. He immediately knows that his best bet will be with you. Everything about you echoes the pull you must have in the club. The way you walk, how you smile at the regulars, the drifting of your hands across shoulders and backs and jawlines. It’s even clear in the way you’re dressed. You look like something out of a cabaret show. Pink silk lingerie lined with black lace flowers, black fringe beads that form the idea of a skirt rather than an actual one, and those same beads hanging in alluring arcs across your arms, neck, and chest. You’re dressed up like Penguin’s favorite dream.

You’re also not doing anything illegal. Sure, he’s watched you take money from people, but all you bring back are drinks. He watches for over half an hour, eyes always trailing back to you. Nothing. It’s remarkable how much absolutely nothing he’s seen. His patience is wearing thin. It’s one in the morning and there are better things he could be doing, people he could be helping. But he can’t leave without something for Bruce. He tries to ignore the bile that rises in his throat when he thinks of why he still cares about disappointing him. His eyebrow twitches and he decides suddenly and definitively: fuck it.

So he kicks in Penguin’s office doors.

“Ah, Red Hood. If it ain’t Gotham’s least favorite vigilante,” Oswald mutters past the cigar in his mouth. “Shut the doors behind you, would ya?”

Jason kicks them shut. No one needs to see the bloody mess that Oswald’s going to be in about fifteen minutes.

“Ah ah ah. Before you get any ideas, I would advise you to consider how bad it would be for you to be caught assaulting a reformed citizen of this great city,” Oswald gloats, stubby finger pointing at the camera in the corner.

Fuck. Now Jason has to talk. He hates talking to Cobblepot. It gets you approximately nowhere fast.

“Reformed? We both know you’re full of shit, Oz,” Red Hood taunts.

“I’m on the straight and narrow. Scout’s honor,” Penguin laughs, coughing through the harsh inhale he took of his cigar.

Nowhere. Fast.

“You’re bringing in too much money for that to be true. Your parties aren’t that good, Cobblepot.”

“Eh, you haven’t seen my toys. Most of ‘em come for the pretty little things I keep around.”

“So you’re pimping them out? You see that I can work with,” Hood retorts.

It would make sense, Oz getting his servers into sex work. It’s not the worst thing he could do if they were all willing. And if they weren’t? Well, that gives Jason a nice excuse to finally put a bullet through The Penguin.

“You don’t listen too well, do you? I’m a changed man. People can look at my dolls, but they can’t touch. Everyone loves eye candy,” Oswald says.

The doors open just as Jason considers pulling a gun on Oswald, cameras recording him or not.

“And there’s my favorite. What do ya need, doll?”

Jason watches you saunter in. You move with an almost feline gracefulness. His eyes clock the sway of your hips and the way you toss your hair over your shoulder. Then he watches the way Cobblepot’s pupils dilate as his eyes lock on you. You plant your hands on the desk, bend over as you smile saccharine at the old man sitting behind it. Oh, you’re good. Very good.

“Nothing much. Just that DA wanting his usual,” you say.

Oswald’s eyes rake lecherously over your body. He looks at you like he wants to put you in one of the glass cases that decorate his office. It makes Jason’s stomach turn. Then he pulls a key out from a locked drawer and drops it into your open palm. Now that piques his interest.

“Thanks, Oz,” you say sweetly.

As you straighten up and spin around to leave, Penguin grabs your wrist and yanks you back. He leaves one kiss on the inside of your wrist and that pretty facade cracks. It’s only for a second, so quick that Oswald doesn’t see it. Jason does. Disgust. Pure disgust flashes across your face before it’s replaced by an alluring smile. Your eyes spark with something Jason can’t quite read.

“Mind if I get some too, Ozzie? You know how much I like it,” you ask as you play with the beads that dangle on your chest.

“Sure, doll. Take whatever you want,” Oswald acquiesces.

Your face lights up and you look almost victorious. Then you spin around and head towards the doors. To this point you haven’t acknowledged him, the known vigilante, at all. But just before you leave, you pause right next to him. Jason tries not to flinch as your hand runs up his arm.

“I hope you’ve enjoyed your night here. Next time, feel free to ask for anything you want. Wouldn’t want Oz’s guests to get bored,” you purr.

Your eyes lock with the white lenses of his domino mask and Jason feels the air leave his lungs. You’d seen him. You knew he was there the whole fucking time. And you hadn’t told anyone. If you had, Cobblepot would’ve sent security in guns blazing.

“Have a good night, honey,” you tell him as you waltz out the door.

“See, Hood? Eye candy,” Oz hacks.

Jason follows you. What else was he supposed to do? Oswald gave him nothing. But you? You gave him what felt suspiciously like a lead. Ask for anything you want, you’d said. What else could you think he wanted but proof of Oswald’s lingering corruption? So he follows you. He’s careful this time. Quiet, precise steps that give no indication he’s near. It’s times like these he’s grateful for all the stealth training Bruce made him do as a kid.

He trails behind as you head downstairs. You weave through the maze of corridors until you come to a mahogany door, elaborately carved with floral emblems. It’s got an old brass lock on it that you slot the key into. Jason waits one beat, two, three—then goes through the door where you disappeared.

He finds you inside, crouching in front of an open safe. A rainbow of jewels glitter within. Diamonds, rubies, emeralds—there had to be enough jewelry in there to cover the cost of a couple of Bruce’s tricked out sports cars. You pull a more modest sapphire necklace from the safe and place it into one of the grab bags that guests can take home at the end of the night. So that’s what the DA wanted. You grab a far more ostentatious diamond bracelet and slip it into your bra.

“Think it’s a good idea to steal from your boss?”

You jump. Jason doesn’t want to admit how satisfied he is by that. He was a little worried that he’d lost his touch. You twirl around, eyes locked on the vigilante leaning against the closed door.

“Hmm…when I’ve got him wrapped around my finger? Why not?” you smirk.

You’re brave. He’ll give you that.

“Must really be putting on a show for him if you’re not worried,” he presses.

Your smile drops and your eye twitches in annoyance. He’s hit a nerve. Good.

“A show. That’s all it is. If he’s stupid enough to think it’ll be more than that, that’s his problem,” you bite, tone dripping venom instead of honey.

“Not scared he’ll realize the trick? Or what he’ll do when he does?” Red Hood asks as he fiddles with a knife he keeps in his belt.

He asks with sincerity. It’s a dangerous game you’re playing. You could end up dead. Or worse. Jason’s no stranger to people taking what they want by force, and Oz clearly wants you.

“Oswald’s a coward,” you reply harshly. “He only fucks with people weaker than him. So no, I’m not scared of toying with him. He won’t do a goddamn thing to me.”

Jason cocks his head, sizing you up. A pretty girl in lingerie working in a club thinks she’s stronger than a crime lord. Well, you’re probably not wrong.

“You’re not weak?” he asks mockingly.

But it’s still fun to test your resolve. To your credit and Jason’s surprise, you just grin. A breathy laugh falls from your red lips and Jason can’t help the way his eyes flicker down to look at the curve of them.

“I got this without so much as a fight, didn’t I?” you gloat, grabbing the diamond bracelet and swinging it around your middle finger.

“He let you.”

“Precisely. What exactly are you missing here? He let me. Because he’s a fool. And to let me take this bracelet specifically? Well, he’s just about the village idiot,” you laugh.

Jason sees the bait. His stubbornness almost makes him want to not ask just to spite you. But it’s just too intriguing.

“What’s so special about that bracelet?”

You smile wryly. Jason’s reflexes are the only reason he catches the bracelet as you toss it to him from across the room.

“Oh, I think you’re smart enough to figure that one out yourself, baby,” you purr. “Now get the fuck out.”

Jason does as he’s told. He returns to the cave with no intel beyond a locked room with a safe full of jewels and a diamond bracelet. Imagine his shock when Bruce analyzes the serial markings of the bracelet and finds that it was part of a collection that got robbed from a boutique in the Diamond District. It had been months and they hadn’t found a single piece of jewelry from the robbery. There were no leads on who did it or how. And now one of the most expensive pieces is sitting on the Batcomputer. Jason can guess where the rest are.

“Who gave you this?” Bruce asks skeptically.

Always doubt with the old man.

“A friend. Maybe,” Jason ponders.

Bruce rolls his eyes and shakes his head. Jason grins at how exhausted all his kids make him. It’s a point of pride among them: who can stress out B the most?

“You should figure that out,” Bruce scolds.

“Yeah, I think I will.”

Jason’s suddenly got a very vested interest in the Iceberg Lounge, and he’s going to satiate that curiosity if it kills him again.