#anyway. yeah. bees in my brain

[diancite]

feels good to be in enough of a kick to properly plan out some stories that have been swimming in my head for ages.

[7official7moose7]

FORGOT TO POST THIS

The rest is uncolored and under the cut because of length issues 🤩🤩

[ichorblossoms]

having ttw Thoughts while reading house of leaves but it's nothing that's lead to a breakthrough yet so i'm just like soaking in the vibes

[overheaven]

one goal i would like to work towards is untangling whatever roadblocks are in my mind about socializing with people and making friends. i feel like i’m recent years i’ve become way way way shyer than i ever was before and i don’t feel like i ever string together competent thoughts… and i have SO many cool pals that i would like to get to know better but i just. don’t know how to express myself these days. hmm.

[wabblebees]

.

[aquilamage]

Despite the late hour, Leif couldn’t sleep. And it wasn’t just the uncomfortable bed, although that exacerbated it. The real discomfort was mental: churning of the guts, restless unease under the surface, mind full with the sensation of racing thought without actual thoughts behind it. Leif wasn’t even sure what was wrong, only knowing that these feelings had sprouted up shortly after the three of them checked into the inn for the night.

That, and the specific nagging feeling of something associated with still-forgotten memories. Leif knew that, like a healing wound, it would go better if not picked at. But like the metaphorical wound, the thought prickled too much to ignore. It was right there, just within grasp, with a tiny bit more effort-

Leif sat up abruptly, and, having apparently been to one side of the bed, fell to the floor.

A mumbling from Kabbu’s side, then, ever-so-slightly panicked, “Vi? Leif?”

“We are fine.” But between having fallen to the side where he could see and punctuating the reply with tripping over the tangle of blanket, Leif couldn’t stop him from getting out of bed to help.

“Are you sure? Did something happen?” As he got Leif back up, his gaze swept the room.

“No. It was only…” Leif grabbed one arm at the sting of a little more memory sliding back in, although not enough to answer the questions it raised.

“What are you two doing?” Upon laying down, Vi had practically cocooned herself in a blanket, her antennae the only thing sticking out. That was still the case, although she’d adjusted so her face was barely visible in the shadows of the fabric. It was kind of adorable, and were it not for all the mind-occupying things already going on, Leif would have teased her about it. “Some of us are trying to sleep.”

Had it only been her, it would have been easy to dismiss the whole thing, tell her to just go back to sleep, but Kabbu was giving that kicked-aphid look of concern that made it so hard to be mean to him. “We had...a small realization. We don’t know what it means, but it probably isn’t important.” Leif would be up for the rest of the night thinking about it, but that wasn’t anyone else’s business.

“Well, I’ve found talking things out can often be very helpful.”

Vi groaned, flopping back onto her bed. “If I’m tired in the morning you have to carry me,” she murmured, but wiggled around so she was facing the two of them.

Again, it could have been so easy to use her comment as an excuse, a deflection. But now that the invitation was out there, Leif couldn't help but start attempting to explain. “It’s about when we checked in.”

Kabbu tilted his head. “What about it?”

“We- when we paid the innkeeper, she said ‘have a good night, sir.’” Leif paused. “And it...bothered us.”

“Was there something about the way she said it, or something she did as she spoke?” He started to get up off the side of the bed where he’d been sitting. “I thought she’d been noting but polite, but I was tired and-”

“No. She was fine. It was the ‘sir’ part.” Leif looked down, hands twisting the blanket. “It...took us off-guard, somehow. Which didn’t make sense, of course, so we ignored it. But then we couldn’t stop feeling uncomfortable with ourself, in ourself. We didn’t connect the two until we remembered.” The words came out fast, then. “It’s still vague, but this has happened to us before. Being addressed in such ways and getting disoriented, angry, sometimes. Vividly so. But then also other times it has not bothered us at all, even made us happy.”

“You woke us up for that?”

“Vi! We’re trying to be supportive here!”

She groaned. “Yeah, but that’s like saying the sun hurts your eyes if you have to look at it. It sucks, but it happens to everyone.”

Kabbu got half a syllable out before he stopped, turned to face her, and stared at her long enough that Leif looked up and exchanged a ‘what the heck’ glance with her. “I…” He looked between the two of them. “I’m not sure that’s accurate. I’ve never felt that way.”

“Yeah, but you’re...you.”

There was some, odd, reassurance to Vi’s assertion, although even with only fuzzy memory, Leif was certain Kabbu was the factually correct one. “That...isn’t everything, either. We also recalled occasionally being referred to in feminine terms, with a similar range from discomfort...to joy. And they weren’t exclusive. Sometimes we felt like both genders at once, or neither.”

“Okay, that part’s w-”

Kabbu gave her a look.

“...different.”

He didn’t say anything, patiently waiting to see if Leif had something else to say.

“We feel as if there might be something else, an explanation we used to have or...we don’t know. That’s all we can recall, now.”

“That’s alright. Thank you for telling us what you do.” Kabbu shifted so he was fully facing Leif. “I don’t have an explanation either, but we’ll help you figure it out. Is there anything we can do to help right now? Should we change how we refer to you?”

“Leif is always good.” If there was one certain thing, now and in memory, it was that name being safe, being comfortable no matter what. “For everything else, it won’t always be the same.”

“Hm. Would you prefer us to ask what to call you, or should we leave it to you to tell us?”

It was weird, in a dizzying sort of way, how easily accepting Kabbu was being. Not unwelcome. Not entirely unfamiliar, although that was the barest wisp of an impression. “We’ll tell you, but we don’t mind you checking every once in a while, as long as there aren’t any other bugs around.” It would still get noticed eventually, in particular with bugs they ran into frequently, but Leif wanted to limit the number of times this conversation might have to happen with a random bug.

“Alright!”

“Yeah, okay,” Vi mumbled, voice heavy with sleep. “I’ll call you whatever, it doesn’t matter.”

Another prickle of emotion, which Leif kept internal. “Thank you.” Voice rougher than expected, Leif kept the rest short. “That’s all for now. We’d just like to go to sleep.”

Kabbu nodded. He started to reach out, stopped, and stood up instead. “If you want to talk about this again, for any reason, let us know. Good night.”

“Night.”

It took a while to fall asleep, thoughts still eddying, but Leif got there eventually, a bit more comfortable, more secure than before.

[thebusylilbee]

ibuprofen is sooo efficient against migraines... I wish I wasn't allergic to it 😭

[skyllion-uwu]

Love looking at my old writing. I was trying to figure out why Bailey would want to go off with Jaxon when she doesn't know who xe is, so I looked at a really old draft that was supposed to be "the first loop" and basically Jaxon pretends to be her babysitter and then kinda just. Lies and says that her parents are moving and xe needs to take her there. And she just goes with it.

Anyways that aside, I then get hit with the sentence "Charles was being dragged off by a large, squat, egg-shaped bird" which was written with serious intent

[edgarallanpoestan]

once i start working im commissioning as many of my friends as i can to draw my itty girl, i swear it

[bubbled-clouds]

my most favorite thing ever is convincing myself ive misinterpreted the prompt for my essay and fucked it all up

[thecluelessdoctor]

my little imps wake up I have food

Loo Loo land loo Loo land every body sing along with the loo Loo band every boy ever girl every woman every man loves loo Loo land!!/lyrics

Soooo oopies I actually made a AU out of this shit. I'm calling it Helluva circus because why the fuck wouldn't I? Peak humor that's what I am. Idk what I'll do with this AU except be silly. Probably nothing srs. Lol.

Anywah. Yeah.

(pssssst! Do YOU! Yes YOU! Want YOUR OC drawn in this AU? Well your in luck! We have a few character roles open! All the sins other than asmodues are free! All you gotta do is reblog with a OC ref, and what character you wanna fill in the place! Or if all canon characters are taken, you can still always have your OC appear as a background:D ANYWAY).

Here are the free characters

Mammon- being queued

Queen bee- Velxena

Vortex-

Crimson- bulletin

Bucko-

Paimon- queued

Octavia- odile

The cherubs-

Wally wackford- static

RANDOM CLIENTS LMAO (mayberry, fishy kid, etc etc) (literally no limit to this so ye)-

Uhhhh yeah that's all I remember lmao

But yeah.

I hope y'all enjoy (and be patient with me my brain looses motivation fast)

Edit: Ive scrapped his project I'm sorry. It became overwhelminh

[youmake1mistake]

bees in the brain

there are bees in my brain

and i know youre probably thinking "there isnt actually bees in your brain right?" like no of course not but it feels like there is.

theres lots of sound in there all the time.

whether it be a song im listening to all the time (theres a few) or a kpop dance that im learning or homework that i know is due but i cant be bothered to do.

they are very loud all the time.

and sometimes i feel like some of them are actually just wasps in disguise. jabbing self depricating thoughts into my brain like a fork through your food. why do you look like that? do you really sound like that? your laugh is annoying. your friends aren't really your friends theyre lying to you. your better by yourself yadda yadda the list goes on.

learning to acknowledge these evil evil wasps is not easy

im not making this inspirational i just needed to rant i think

idk where this is going

bees arent bad just annoying i guess, they're ok sometimes.

[jiminrings]

pink sapphire

pairing: jungkook x reader

wordcount: 11k

glimpse: having jungkook for a husband is great as far as arranged marriages could go; he's easy to love. your relationship's perhaps become so easy that jungkook doesn't think sometimes — and that's what makes it the easiest for you to hate him.

alternatively, you and jungkook married each other for business, but the both of you stay for love.

[ angst, arranged marriage au, fluff n really wholesome scenes (it cancels out the angst i swear), Jungkook Tries Hard (affectionate), miscommunication, jealousy, self-deprecation, sexual innuendos (no actual smut here!!), did i already say that jungkook tries rlly hard and is remorseful the whole time ]

notes: my year-ender fic for 2022 :) thank u for being here — i'm grateful for all ur love n support!! i'll see u in the next one <3

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!!

Jungkook’s a vocal person.

Your husband does not leave a single thought unspoken, sometimes his thinkpieces too impulsive that when he says them in public, you try to play it off by either distancing yourself with him or from him.

“I think the world would be just fine even if all the bees disappear,” Jungkook once said to you with conviction, midway into chewing his cheeseburger. “There’s articles about it proving otherwise but they’re too long for my attention span, but yeah, I don’t think it would be that bad, y’know?” he giggles, looking up at the ceiling in serious thought. “If anything, the Bee Movie taught us that-…” 

Jungkook yelps automatically when you pinch his thigh, your hand sternly gripping his knee like both your reputations depended on it (they really did). “Jungkook, we’re literally in a climate change gala right now.”

“I don’t think coffee’s ever that serious. Seriously, world barista championships? New techniques in supposedly making the best cup of coffee when you’re all just gonna shit it ten minutes later? It’s not that deep,” Jungkook once whispered to you in urgency, his annoyance through the roof. He’s glued to your side, intent on whispering all about his irritation.

“Jungkook, I’m begging you,” you wince, screwing your eyes shut and slowly moving the two of you to the far end of the room. “We were literally right next to your uncle whose new wife is the organizer for that very championship you’re shitting on.”

“We need to talk about the tote bag epidemic,” Jungkook once whisper-yelled to you in a rush, holding you by the arm because he just can’t contain his inner thoughts any longer. You’re thankful, sure, that you’re your husband’s go-to person for all of his random thoughts; it’s just that he picks the worst settings to tell them to you.“They look kinda tacky, everybody deludes themselves that they’re functional even if they have zero pockets, and-…”

“And you just offended atleast three different age groups and all of them are in this café. We need to leave.”

Jungkook’s endearing this way, raw and a tad bit annoying. He’s expressive as much as he’s vocal, his hand slotted on your waist like second nature to him. Being married to him isn’t bad. Sure, the circumstances of your union in the first place were for business anyway, but the both of you understood and agreed at the end of the day. By all means, he’s ideal — ideal until he opens his mouth when he’s sleeping.

If there’s anything that your two years of marriage (and counting) to Jungkook makes you realize, it’s that you should value your peace and sanity more than anything.

“Are you trying to kill me?”

Jungkook groggily asks you with one eye open, conveniently seeing you in the act of hovering around him with an ominous object in your hand. Maybe it’s the sleep in his eyes or the fog in his brain, but when you look at him like this– bothered and passionately frustrated, it makes him love you even more.

“No,” you mutter, the snoring mouth strip in your hands just begging to be put on already. “I’m trying to make you quiet.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

Perhaps it’s the sleep in your eyes or the fog in your brain, but you swear you just saw your husband crack a smirk despite keeping you up multiple nights a week, especially for the past month. He’s not endearing tonight, not at all.

“Isn’t marriage all about accepting each other’s flaws?” Jungkook frowns, about to turn on his side when you put your knee to block him.

“We’re arranged,” you deadpan. “I can’t accept you snoring with bass and reverb every night, Jungkook. I can barely sleep.”

“But didn’t you tell me you like it when I make noises?” Jungkook glares playfully. Bringing up your sex life with him out of the blue almost always does the trick, but it probably won’t work tonight now that you’re only awake and breathing heavily from sheer annoyance. “That you adore me whenever I tell you how much I love it?”

“Jungkook,” you hiss, tempted to flick him on the forehead in his sleep repeatedly so he’ll wake up with a mark. “Will you let me put the snoring strip on you or do we divorce?”

“Divorce,” he sighs out, a pinch instantly placed on his thigh that makes him jolt and squeak anyway. Jungkook whines, correcting himself when your hand hovers his chest this time. “Divorcing is bad!”

“Mhmm. Good night, Kook.”

You vibrate just by the prospect of sleeping peacefully tonight without the walls in the house being shaken up by your husband’s snores, tucking yourself in with an exhale that could last for minutes.

“Mmh-hmm!”

Jungkook could only pathetically whine through the mouth strip, resigning to his fate as he just spoons you from behind and huffs.

“What’s that? You want to wear snoring strips every night?” you chuckle, going to sleep with a smile. “What a nice husband.”

( ♡ )

Every now and then, you and Jungkook have to take a refresher course on each other’s businesses. The both of you know a lot already, constant conversations about which meetings happened where and reminders for events that the other will clear up their schedule for.

There’s already the concern and the general knowledge — it’s just all in the technicalities (even the simplest ones) that the two of you are lacking on.

“Is this a mock neck or a crewneck?” Jungkook holds up a shirt that’s yet to be released, eyebrows raised as if waiting for you to mess up. Come to think of it, you have to know now because his family’s holding company had acquired yet another brand and there’ll be a televised event for it — and some reporters ask the stupidest questions to date. You can’t be the weakest link.

“I wanna say neither,” you clear your throat, biting your bottom lip in confusion. It’s a shirt with a collar and that’s the only thing that matters. You know there’s a name for it and there’s a possibility that the choices Jungkook gave you were all bluffs.

Your answer definitely seems to pique both Jungkook’s interest and amusement, resisting the urge to laugh.

“Elaborate.”

“It’s neither of the two. It’s uhm, in the middle?” you tilt your head, only praying that you could bullshit your explanation to your husband, the very person that created the garment. “It’s an all-new neckline created by Jeon Jungkook because that’s what his label is all about.”

Flattering, but really wrong.

“Cool,” he snickers, nodding to himself before he tosses it for you to catch. “It’s a crewneck though.”

“What? Then why did you make me elaborate?” you complain, scoffing to yourself because you know you should’ve went with that answer. Crewnecks should be easy enough to answer but for some reason (read: you stayed up last night watching new-money elitist reality shows instead of studying), you couldn’t answer.

“To see how good you can run away with your answer, duh.”

“And did I run away with it?”

“You ran away with it for like, four meters,” Jungkook commends you, the distance not all that bad in hindsight, atleast until he opens his mouth again. “There’s a hundred meters in total.”

Trivial things like quiz night on each other’s professions remind you that Jungkook’s nice to be with. Banter flows easily and he’s just so charming that so far, you haven’t deeply regretted a single day out of the two years you’ve been married.

You may not be able to name all the different fabrics, silhouettes, and techniques behind Jungkook’s very own streetwear brand, but you know that he likes being held when he’s asleep; that when he taps your thigh groggily after waking up in the middle of the night, it’s him very kindly asking you to rub circles on his back until he falls asleep.

“Okay, my turn!”

Your glass table almost shakes in excitement when you retrieve your sketches, making your husband all the more nervous because you look genuinely excited and he doesn’t want to disappoint you. He doesn’t have the room for error — your family’s jewelry brand turns 100 years old since the opening of its first shop and the event will be widely attended by everyone from all industries. Who’s to say that your eccentric grandfather won’t suddenly host a quizbee all about their craft?

You flash the paper quickly and your husband sighs in relief, grinning in confidence.

“Emerald cut, easy!” 

The confidence is quickly washed out from Jungkook because you snort, putting the paper down.

“It’s an octagon cut.”

“No it’s not,” he immediately retorts in disbelief, squinting at the sketch you’ve set down already.

“I sketched these,” you narrow your eyes. You forgot just how quick Jungkook can keep himself in denial. “Emerald cuts have more depth to them.

He succumbs just as quickly as he turned stubborn though, rolling his eyes with the internal reminder to touch up on his jewelry knowledge because your event comes before his.

“Fine, sue me for thinking your drawings have depth and dynamic to them.”

“You’re buttering me up.”

“Is it working?” Jungkook blinks owlishly, proud of himself when he sees the corner of your lips twitching. He holds his arm out to sling across your waist out of instinct, pleased in pink when you lean into him.

“Barely.”

Jungkook frowns, nosing into your hair with a huff. “Look who’s talking. You made up an all-new neckline by yourself.”

“Shh,” you hum. “Let me get away with it.”

These moments of domesticity are what remind you that Jungkook’s never been less than ideal for you. That despite being in the same social circle as kids and only starting off as friends, you weren’t hesitant when both your grandparents suggested the idea of getting the two of you married.

In trivial and domestic moments like these, you think that you would’ve wanted to marry Jungkook even if you weren’t arranged.

“I let you get away with a lot of things,” he playfully huffs, resting his chin on your shoulder intentionally heavy to get you to cave deeper into his embrace.

“Because I barely wrong you!” you reason, rolling your eyes because you know for a fact that although you’re not a perfect wife, you’re beyond ideal.

“I know,” Jungkook rolls his eyes this time, the truth undeniable. You’re right; you’re so perfect for him that sometimes, he thinks he doesn’t deserve you.  “How about me? Will you let me get away with a lot of things?”

“I already have,” you sing-song, narrowing your eyes playfully as if in deep warning. “But I won’t always do.”

( ♡ )

Jungkook first realized that you loved him when he missed a single step on the staircase and tumbled a whole flight.

It was 3 AM then, the reason behind his sudden trip downstairs being the fever you developed overnight when you had just gotten home from a ski trip. He had put a wet towel in the freezer in the afternoon and he was supposed to put it on you before you went to sleep. Jungkook must’ve beat himself up for forgetting because he wakes up with a cold sweat, determined to put that frozen towel on you like his life depended on it.

Jungkook thought he was doing well by the way he could navigate clearly even with the sleep in his system, eyes still half-lidded and brain still half-working that he decides to rip out the largest yawn to man mid-step on the staircase — before he knows it, he’s woken up immediately to the bottom of it.

“Jungkook!” you yelled to him then in a panic, eyes wide and frantic to see him at the bottom of the stairs with a sheepish smile. Jungkook knew then that seeing you with a head-splitting migraine visible on your pale lips and fatigued eyes, scooping him up on your arms with nothing but scolding and fussing on rotation — he knew that you loved him more than you let on.

You know Jungkook loves you. So when the bed dips and your arms grow cold despite swearing up and down that the both of you have a free day today, you doubt for a second.

“What are you doing up so early?” you mutter, stifling a yawn to see Jungkook up without a complaint.

“Breakfast with my parents. My crazy aunt suddenly came over and they need backup,” Jungkook answers with a pained laugh, cussing himself for being such a filial son. “Don’t worry, I know you hate her plus you were up all night yesterday so I just told them you can’t come because you’re under the weather.”

You’re put at ease to hear him, sighing a breath of relief — good, Jungkook still loves you and doesn’t plan to leave you. It’s just an inkling you’ve had the last few weeks, the daunting realization that in a couple months’ time, it’ll be three years of marriage with him.

It’s the impulsive, less rational part of your brain that thinks Jungkook’s growing bored of you, confused of how he’s been perfectly content being your husband for almost three whole years. 

You go with Jungkook all the way through downstairs, your playful teasing towards him about never yawning again on the steps giving him more amusement (and embarrassment) than necessary.

“Kook?” you question with a furrow in your brow, pointing at the dish that’s occupied still. “You forgot the car keys.”

“Oh. I’m not taking the car,” he smiles, shrugging to emphasize the jacket that he intentionally wore. You missed the detail somehow, the surprise in your voice more evident.

“You’re taking your motorbike?”

“Mhmm!” Jungkook hums pleasantly, the background music in his brain going from calm elevator music to rising bass rift. He’s just about to bid you goodbye with a kiss after he wears his gloves but he’s stopped even before he could come near. You’ve already read his mind.

Your husband knows it when you put your arms across your chest, nodding towards the cabinet with a tone that leaves no room for counterarguments.

“Go wear your full gear.”

“But the breakfast place isn’t even that far,” Jungkook whines, head tilting back. His gear was literally hot, protecting him from sunlight yet physically making him boil inside. 

“I want you in one piece.”

“You want me?” Jungkook cheekily grins, eyebrows wagging incessantly with his arms outstretched. That’s it! If he could just act cuter and be a little more-

“Go wear your gear.”

“I look goofy,” he mutters, eyes downcast. The longer he goes without blinking, the faster he knows that he’s going to stick to your words.

“You look safe,” you smile in success when you put his helmet on, securing it extra tightly that draws a whine from him.

Jungkook frowns but he knows that you’re right as always, a relieved sigh coursing throughout his whole body because who knew where he’d end up without you.

“Ride safe, Jungkook. I mean it. Don’t pull any tricks,” you glare pointedly at him, recounting all of the near misses he had from wanting to be adventurous, be it a trip downstairs to the refrigerator or in the middle of a main thoroughfare.

“I promise not to pull a wheelie on the highway, yes,” Jungkook mockingly salutes you, drawing out a faux disappointed sigh from you.

“You’re forgetting something.”

Was he really? Jungkook furrows his brows in confusion, smacking his lips when he seems to get the gist of it. He walks towards you, puckering his lips to the max because he doesn’t want to headbutt you with a solid helmet for just a smooch, landing a gentle kiss on your cheek. 

You appreciate it, but Jungkook’s not quite right.

“No, not that.”

“What?” he seems taken aback, suddenly realizing. “Oh!” he giggles, raising up his right hand in a pledge. “I promise to text you when I get there.”

“Good.”

You have to put more strength to drag Jungkook by the helmet, angling your head to the side to kiss so he doesn’t knock you in the forehead with the extremely safe (and extremely bulky) helmet you got him.

Jungkook smiles in contentment, clearing his throat as he revs his engine. It’s all good then. He had become worried in silence because your three years of marriage were approaching and got scared because what if you grew bored of him already?

Jungkook worries that he’ll mess things up with you one day, but with the way he can see you waving at him frantically on his side mirror when he just left, it’s okay. 

He knows you still love him.

( ♡ )

Hoseok’s your most talented and trusted metalsmith.

His work ethic’s unparalleled, your vision only coming into fruition through his support and skill. He’s indispensable to you, your place in the direction of your family’s business cemented by Hoseok’s aid.

Hoseok as both an artist and your employee is different from Hoseok as your friend. Both are cunning but the latter is more ruthless, the lines being blurred every now and then. He loves his job, don’t get him twisted at all — in fact, he trusts you as a boss and the company beyond comprehension that he doesn’t bear any tact for anyone who threatens either.

Not even for Jungkook.

“A collab, huh?” Hoseok squints, looking through the portfolio you’ve handed him. There’s already projected numbers that your analysts have predicted for you but he pays the papers no mind. He clicks his tongue, looking up at you with an unreadable expression. “A streetwear brand wants a limited-edition collection with us?”

Jungkook clears his throat, timidly raising his hand. He’s always known that Hoseok’s standoffish to literally everyone except you, but what he can’t take is being talked about like he isn’t in the same room.

“Uhm, I’m Y/N’s husband.”

“Well you’re the owner of that streetwear brand, aren’t you?” Hoseok raises a brow at him, tilting his head. He looks drastically bored, his tongue poking his cheek.

Jungkook blinks, not exactly knowing where this was going but he doesn’t like it one bit. “Yes, but I’m also her husband.”

“Okay?” Hoseok tilts his head, eyes already exhausted from the conversation. You know that look on him, the one that tells you he’s bored to death and is itching to shut up the nearest person to him. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Jungkook rarely gets flustered by anyone else besides you and this time, it’s the bad kind. The embarrassment he gets from just conversing with Hoseok makes him feel like he’s an inconvenience, unease settling into his stomach. Jungkook wishes he couldn’t be so perceptive to know that despite Hoseok’s eyes normally being unreadable, his gaze now on his sketches can be read as underwhelmed.

“Well I-I mean, I’m hearing a lot of us and it sounds like you and Y/N, not me and Y/N,” he licks his lips, recognizing the insecurity that sticks to his tone like honey. Not only does he feel insulted as an artist, he also feels insufficient as a husband.

“That is what I’m saying though,” Hoseok trails off, hand vaguely gesturing for Jungkook to fill in the rest of the blanks. When he doesn’t, Hoseok does it for him. “It’s me and Y/N seeing this brand through. Not you and her.”

Jungkook blinks once, twice.

Hoseok isn’t wrong. No matter how much pain it brings Jungkook to admit it, Hoseok isn’t wrong. Your marriage may be for you and him alone, but your company– your artistry is only yours as much as it’s Hoseok’s. He has no place here and he feels it, his initial confidence that the collaboration he proposed was going to pass already dwindling by the millisecond.

“Hoseok’s right,” you cough, breaking their conversation. The tension was already too thick and you’ve barely made it halfway to looking at the entirety of the portfolio. “Reel it in, Jungkook.”

He’s jealous. He’s jealous and he forgot just how pathetic and insufficient one could feel when the green monster of heartburn decides to make an appearance. Jungkook just about doubts everything, from thinking of how your admiration for Hoseok is probably much higher than the admiration you have for him, to thinking if you even benefit from being arranged to him.

Hoseok looks over the designs, noting all the details silently.

“Huh. I see,” he hums, clearing his throat to try and keep all the crass words he has in mind to himself because you’re looking at him intently. “Skulls. Haven’t seen this one before.”

“You sketched this?” Hoseok nods every now and then, holding up the paper that had deep indents of the pencil on the paper to the point that it defeats the concept of a sketch. Your husband nods, and he wishes he hadn’t because Hoseok comments not a second later. “Figures.”

He hums, silently approving here and there of some concepts he could totally get behind. It’s not all rubbish content, but he can’t say that salvageable automatically equates to commendable.

“So? What do you think, Hobi?” you ask when the silence has gone long enough, having noticed that Jungkook already grew too quiet in your corner.

Hoseok calculates in his brain, looking from the portfolio and back to you. He tries not to clench his jaw for the sake of you silently pleading him to mince his words and actions, clasping his hands together.

“Yeah, it’s doable,” he nods, making Jungkook smile despite his ego being a little wounded. He’s bounced back miraculously, profusely thanking Hoseok with an unexplained eagerness to him. Before Jungkook could launch himself to further possibilities though, Hoseok calls for you.

“Y/N? A word, please?”

Jungkook looks back from the door, hesitant doe eyes flitting between the two of you. You don’t know exactly what’s going through his mind but you know better than to project, bidding him goodbye for the timebeing. “It’ll be quick.”

The most commendable trait you can attribute to Hoseok besides being your friend is his passion for your craft. He’s vision-oriented in the sense that he cuts straight to the chase before he could even lose the trail that the sudden burst of fervor leaves him.

“Meridian’s your baby. It’s your grandmother’s grandmother’s baby. It’s coveted. It has meaning,” Hoseok rambles, the sigh leaving him more concerned than it was relieved at being let out. He can’t mince his words now — he can’t put it in any other way besides the truth. “Collaborating with Jungkook cheapens it.”

“Hoseok.”

Your tone edges on a bite, clenching your jaw as you try to take everything in. Hoseok’s been your voice of reason for so long but you don’t know how to accept that voice now, the tinge of guilt slowly staining you because the back of your mind tells you that he isn’t wrong.

Jungkook’s streetwear brand is huge; whether or not you chalk it up to his name being linked to his family’s holding company that’s responsible for other designer brands, your husband’s brand specifically remains larger than life. It’s not a flawless brand, that much you’re sure of, but it’s still of great value.

Just perhaps not of the same degree that Hoseok holds your company to.

“It’s not all bad, but most of his work is dispassionate. It’s typical. Meridian would look cheap if you commit to this fever dream collaboration.”

There’s a rash on your neck, one that’s warm and speaks to your ear of how shitty it must feel to even agree partially to what Hoseok’s saying. Your duties as an artist in the business rarely clash with your courtesies as Jungkook’s wife — today just happens to be one of those days.

“It’s Jungkook’s idea, okay?” you relent, voice low as if in defeat of admission. You don’t mean to belittle him, you just happen to know and listen to reason. “It’s not the best, I know, but it’s honest work. Let’s give him a chance.”

“You’re giving him a chance because he’s your husband, not because you see any potential.”

Hoseok says it without uttering nor a single sense of doubt. He sounds so definite that you don’t even know if he’s still insulting Jungkook or if he’s insulting you at this point, swallowing your words.

There’s truth to your craft but you know there’s an even bigger truth to the unspoken protectiveness you have over Jungkook, the answer sounding seemingly shallow but that’s what it really is — love makes you shallow as much as it makes you deep.

“You’ll know when you’re married.”

“Arranged would be the term for you and Jungkook. Not married,” Hoseok quips. “You’re only holding back your critique. We both know it’s a dead end when it comes to creative direction.”

The both of you leave it at that, the decision being unanimous to collaborate with Jungkook despite your metalsmith’s hesitance. What you say goes, that’s just how hierarchy works. 

Unbeknownst to you and Hoseok though, Jungkook’s been listening the whole time — that’s just how love operates sometimes; hidden and relinquished.

( ♡ )

Jungkook’s hurt.

How crude of Hoseok to think of him that way. How worse of you to agree even.

Jungkook’s irrational when he’s hurt, refusing to see reason. He knows at the back of his head that he’s hit a rut and pitching in a collaboration with your brand is his last-ditch attempt in sparking something. Cheap was a word for tackiness and to have your friend use it on him brings him to a new low.

It’s just jewelry. What you make is just jewelry. Just pieces of metal bended and soldered together with shiny gems that don’t possess any real meaning to them besides superficial.

It’s not that deep.

Not that deep to the point that when Hyejoo, his childhood friend turned actress turned fleeting appearance in his life every now and then (whom you hate for some reason), asks him for a favor — Jungkook barely hesitates.

Hyejoo stands before him in a shirt from his brand’s limited collection, one out of the only hundred ever made. If Jungkook recalls correctly, he didn’t even send any items from the limited collection to any of his friends; he left everyone besides you to go fend for themselves.

Perhaps his childhood friend’s truly a fan of his craft, knowing her for her utmost support towards all his releases. To be honest, the two of them aren’t even that close anymore to the point that they’re each other’s first friend to think of in dire circumstances, except now — now when she needs him for a favor.

“But I need a pink ring for the event, Jungkook!” Hyejoo whines, throwing her head back for dramatic effect. Truth be told, she knew no brand that had pink jewelry that was elegant enough for her taste except yours. She’s turned down sponsorships all for a ring you probably keep in your sock drawer. “Yes I can buy from other brands but you’re there, Kook. You’re available and I can borrow from you because your wife has a shit ton.”

Jungkook knows what Hyejoo’s talking about. It’s the one pink ring that you wore on your engagement party with him and it’s become the talk of everyone from how ethereal you looked, the one tiny piece of jewelry tying it all together.

He knows it’s pink and he knows it’s just hidden away in its jewelry box, one that you keep right next to his collection of watches. There was no fancy vault for it either, just tucked next to his timepieces as if they were of the same value.

“Come on, she won’t even notice,” Hyejoo urges him, making him inwardly cringe. She turned up on his front door unannounced asking for a favor and he feels indebted her for the last time she granted him one, the apartment complex that Hyejoo owned becoming the perfect backdrop to his collection that’s still renowned to this day.

Jungkook’s loyal, he knows he is. His loyalties lie with you and he still honors his debt — whether or not you’re caught in the middle. It’s true that you won’t even notice, you don’t even peek at it anyway! For someone who’s a part of a family of jewelers, you rarely accessorize yourself gaudily.

“Fine. I’ll let you borrow,” Jungkook mutters, finally relenting to Hyejoo’s requests. He opens the door wider, on the way to your shared bedroom but looks back hastily at Hyejoo to point a stern finger. “But give it back, okay?”

It takes a great amount of strength for Jungkook to even hand the ring to Hyejoo, not even including the box with her because a) you would know that it was missing, and b) he wants her to wear it at all times until she gives it back the next day. Jungkook takes it personally to flick her wrist to serve as a reminder that he had given it to her already, even going so far to take a picture of the two of them and make her sign on his notes app.

He’s not necessarily betraying you — or so he thinks. It was just jewelry that you wouldn’t miss, same as the shirts that he gives away to his friends. Their retail prices may be lightyears away but you would understand; you always do.

Jungkook gaslights himself into thinking that he did no wrong but the guilt is what slowly gnaws on him, the tips of his fingers going numb every time he looks at you. 

Come to think of it, his decision to lend your ring to Hyejoo was out of sheer pettiness even without the assurance that you’ll take notice of it. His hurt over Hoseok’s comment disappeared the moment he handed her your ring, but to his surprise, it’s anxiousness that replaces his irritation.

He kisses you good night still as if today didn’t happen; how his irrationality had gotten the best of him when he got hurt by Hoseok’s remarks over his passion and creativity, and just a few hours later, it’s his impulsiveness and misplaced urge for vindication that lent your unsuspecting ring to his childhood friend.

“Jungkook!” you yell out in panic, urging him awake instantly that his heart beats incessantly despite being pulled out of sleep. You look frantic, the rawness in your eyes not from your lack of sleep, but instead from tears. “Call 911. The Interpol! The CIA! The fucking Blue House!”

“What?! What happened?!”

He’s panicked just as you are, hands shakily clutching his phone. He looks you up and down and inspects you for injuries to which there are none, nothing but overwhelm making your body shake.

Jungkook can’t bear to see you so glum and helpless, your bottom lip trembling as you look at him feeling nothing but pathetic.

“My ring,” you whisper brokenly, the phantom feeling of wearing it making you sob even more. “My ring is gone.”

Jungkook’s mouth dries, the panic in his own body turning against himself, his remorse growing into something larger than life. He could physically see the confusion on your face on the way he paled, his phone dropping out of his hold.

Your husband’s hands reach for you but you don’t take them, recoiling even before he could open his mouth. Jungkook was readable — too readable to the point that you wish he had lied to your face instead.

“I-I can explain.”

Jungkook weakens by the knees when the words drape from the tip of his tongue, your chest sucking in an inhale so sharp that he gets weakened by the force of it. “I lent it to Hyejoo.”

You’re quiet, the type of rage in you simmering ever so slowly that it builds to an immense heat. You don’t know if you can ever muster to look at Jungkook in the eye, your middle finger that knows the grooves of your ring twitching in muscle memory.

“You what?” you croak, tilting your head. You know what you’ve heard but you just wish you’re mistaken this time, cursing your own accuracy. “Who told you that you could do that?” 

Jungkook’s cornered in his mind and he spews the first thing in his mind, no matter how stupid it sounded.

“Yours is mine and mine is-…”

“That doesn’t apply here! You’re so fucking-…” you just about burst in the seams, clenching your jaw so hard to the point that you give yourself a headache. You’re resolute this way, the pitiful look on your husband’s face not getting a single drop of remorse from you. “Get it back.”

You wouldn’t have lent it to anyone regardless if Jungkook asked you, but you would have considered at the very least. For him to take something so special to you and loan it to someone you’re not even fond of ticks a wire in your brain, your anger coming before the sadness fully hits.

“Y/N!” he hisses, angry at both the situation and himself but he now thinks of the courtesy that he didn’t possess when Hyejoo borrowed your ring. “I can’t turn back on my word.”

“What? Your word that favors Hyejoo and shits on mine?” you scoff in disbelief, laughing at the mockery Jungkook makes of you. It’s insulting and saddening and you can’t even begin to think of the extensive cleaning and safekeeping you’ll have to do once you get your ring back. “I said, get it back. You’re my husband and you’re just her friend, you have all the means to take my ring back.”

Jungkook turns somber, a stark contrast to your anger. He pleads with you, finally closing the gap between you to which you roll your eyes.

“The event is tonight. She’ll return it tomorrow. Please, it’ll be embarrassing.”

“For you or for her?” you ask but the rage in your voice is already simmering, the daunting thoughts of how Jungkook thinks of his friend’s sake and himself first than his wife making you clench your fists around nothing.

“Y/N, please.”

His incessant begging does little to influence your decision because you’ve already changed your mind, the rage that dipped in you and the fact that your heart’s already aching despite having just woken up converting you instead.

“Tomorrow morning. I want it back in the case before I wake up.”

The two of you sleep apart for the night and Jungkook can’t even bring himself to contest it knowing that he doesn’t deserve to hold you. He simmers in self-loathing, unable to sleep the night when his phone dings from the notifications it has of your name.

Hyejoo’s look on the carpet trends the whole night, the main focus of everyone being the pink ring that adorns her ring finger. There’s threads of speculations how you and her are either best friends or how she must’ve bought it from you. If only he could, Jungkook would reply to each comment saying that Hyejoo doesn’t hold a candle to your elegance and how the ring has always been yours — that it’s his fault that his friend’s even wearing the same piece.

He’s restless and he can’t even begin to think how much more tired you feel. Of your name being brought up and of him royally fucking up. 

When Jungkook thinks it couldn’t be worse, karma one-ups him from the very mistake he committed when he entertained Hyejoo’s favor in his mind.

“You’re stupid,” you spit to Hyejoo who stands on your porch, head downturned in shame. She had half the decency to face you personally but lacks the rest to honor her end of the bargain; she lacks the intellect to respect you.

She lost the ring. She lost the pink ring you’ve treasured and cared for since you were a teenager, losing it after a careless and drunk decision of skinny dipping. You feel like you’ve been made a fool not only by your husband, but also by his friend that you don’t care for at all.

The tears fall out of your eyes in anger, each one being in a rush to exit because you’re full of resentment at this point.

“You’re a brainless, stupid, careless fucking idiot. I don’t want to see you in my household again,” you point at her, making her step back.

“This is Jungkook’s-…” she squeaks, just about to correct you when you point at her even more menacingly. You’re not even joking around as it seems like, eyes angry to the point that they lack of love, even for Jungkook who tries to hold you back.

“I’ll get a restraining order on you.”

Hyejoo scurries out all with the promise to reimburse you (as if she has the money to do so) that falls on deaf ears, your hand slamming the door too hard that your husband swears the walls shook with your force.

You look unrecognizable with the sheer disappointment you have for him, your anger dripping off of you thickly that he’s rendered speechless.

“You,” you seethe. “I fucking hate you.”

You never told him that before.

You’ve gotten mad at him on several occasions but never to this degree where you tell him that you loathe him. This is the furthest that you’ve took it, the honesty behind your words making his bottom lip tremble.

Jungkook’s eyes have been perpetually moist since last night but it’s only now that his eyes sting with white hot sadness. You’re only reacting out of your state of overwhelm; you must be, right?

“I hate you so, so much, Jungkook.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“No, I really mean that,” you scoff to his face, shaking your head in absoluteness. “What would you do if I sold your car, huh?”

Jungkook wants to apologize to you so bad but he doesn’t have the right words to give you the proper one that you deserve. He gives you an answer off the top of his head, the disappointment for himself growing if he does otherwise.

“It’s just a car.”

“Well this is just not a fucking ring to me! It’s not simple like that!” you burst, your movements jerky.

“I’ll buy you a new ring,” he whispers, wanting to tug at his hair for being so stupid. He should’ve considered the possibility that Hyejoo has a knack for being careless; he failed to account that he went behind your back to lend your ring to someone else in the first place.

“I can buy my own rings!” you exclaim. “What you don’t get is that this means the world to me! If your uncle gave you a car, and I gave it to someone else and now it’s on the bottom of the ocean, what would you feel?”

“It’s just a car from my uncle. I can replace it. I can buy a better one.”

Jungkook knows he’s just making excuses. He’s just being defensive now that he’s cornered and has no excuse for behaving so poorly. He can’t escape the anger and the disappoint he’s flooded with, not when you cry out of sheer distress.

“Not if my aunt isn’t here! Not if this ring is one of the only things I have of her!”

Sure, your aunt was dodgy. She’s the black sheep of your family and had done more than a lot of questionable things, but she cared for you. She had given you her own ring when you were twelve and whilst it was too big for you to wear, she gave you a chain for you to wear it around your neck.

The ring is something you can easily replicate but the thought behind it is what you can’t take back. It’s not the only piece of her that you have but it’s one of the earliest things you obtained; one of the most notable pieces out of the bunch.

“You don’t think. You don’t care. You don’t love.” 

For Jungkook to carelessly seize it from you and loan it to someone else grips your heart like a vice. You’re gonna dwell on it for more than a couple of days and realize that you have more sentimental and elegant things you have of your aunt eventually — but what matters to you is how you feel now. How Jungkook had disappointed you so bad, you feel like throwing up.

“I want to divorce you,” you seethe, meaning your words at the heat of the moment. Jungkook stands frozen, hearing his own heartbeat thrum in his ears. “I can find a new husband. What I can’t find — what neither you nor Hyejoo can’t find is my ring.”

( ♡ )

You do it while he’s sleeping.

You take advantage of Jungkook’s fatigue and disorientation from crying his eyes out, passed out in the couch while he hugs himself with his arms to try and replicate your embrace. It’s already morning and it only looks like he slept just minutes ago, positively dozed off.

You take much care in slipping of the platinum wedding ring from his finger, joining your discarded one in your palm. There’s only carelessness when you scoop them into a tiny drawstring bag, taking it to Hoseok and doing a regular work day as if your head hadn’t pounded with hurt just last night.

It’s only convenient for the both of you; Jungkook’s decision slingshots back to him, and your client would be happy. Hoseok texted you last night asking if he should grant the request of a high-profile client with a titanium pendant, and it just so happens that you have two chunks of it that you no longer need. It could be melted and repurposed — after all, it’s just jewelry according to Jungkook.

The guilt of your impulsiveness doesn’t hit you instantly, it only comes with confusion when you see your husband in shambles.

When you come home, the whole house is upturned. Jungkook’s frantic, waking up to a hand that bears no wedding ring; no proof of you. His eyes glaze with relief briefly when he sees you, urging you to take in the situation fully.

“The police. The CIA! Interpol! MI6 — or is it MI7? Fuck, Mr. Bean’s movie was too good! Get the Blue House on the line!” he blubbers, looking back and forth the cushions of the couch and his hand. “My wedding ring!”

It’s perhaps a ballsy move made on your part, but you can’t guilt yourself into bearing the blame. You made your wedding rings and it only makes sense for you to get rid of them. The bands are symbolic, made and upheld with love for the last two years but in your haste of upset, you’ve given them away.

You perhaps regret it slightly, the fog in your brain lifting but only faintly. You’re still mad and disappointed at Jungkook, and perhaps you don’t mean the bit of divorcing him, but you do mean wholeheartedly the sentimentality you have behind all your jewelry.

The platinum in your ring finger just felt too heavy last night that you grew weary of it, not thinking twice when you removed yours and Jungkook’s. Even if the two of you make up and you don’t end up divorcing Jungkook, you wouldn’t want to wear the same ring that brought you the same pain during its stint.

“I sold them,” you answer, turning your back on him before you could see the anguish in his face. “We have no need for them.”

( ♡ )

Jungkook’s making you a rice bowl as an apology.

Buttered fried rice, egg, bacon, and all with a generous amount of cheese. It’s his hangover food when he needs something greasy and filling but the only difference from his past hangovers and your anger at him is the latter barely feels like it could be rectified.

He says his apologies again through the door and he’ll happily repeat it to your face if you stand longer in front of him for more than a minute, his panic even larger than the oil splashes he’s gotten from making your bacon eagerly.

“I’m so sorry, baby. It was stupid of me to lend your ring to Hyejoo behind your back and I swear I won’t do it again. I know that ring meant a lot to you and I-I was so pathetic by invalidating that,” he mutters through the door, looking at the frying pan every now and then to make sure he wasn’t burning anything. “I have every intention of finding your ring and making it up to you, cross my heart!”

It feels insulting, even. For him to think that he could change the ache of your heart with a simple hot meal. Jungkook realizes that he really is dense when you don’t answer the door for the twenty minutes that he knocks. When you do open up, he feels even more dumb.

Just twenty minutes ago, he wired you twice the amount of the worth you estimated your aunt’s ring to be. Combined with the pitiful amount Hyejoo wires you, it’s then do you realize that you’re not fazed by money. The initiative is there, sure, but the ache in your heart hasn’t subsided completely.

You do miss Jungkook. It does tug at your heartstrings to see and hear him beat himself up over and over again the more you realize that you’re attached to your aunt’s memories rather than the ring itself, but just two nights away from each other won’t absolve everything he’s done and failed to do.

When you open the door, you’re greeted by the sight of your husband who tries far too hard for his own good. Melancholy isn’t a good look on him because he looks the most unkempt he’s ever appeared in two days than the two years you’ve been living with him under the same roof.

Jungkook waits for you to register his attempt, holding up a hot bowl with his bare hands that you resist the urge to take it from him for a second. His ring finger’s occupied by a cheap mood ring, rapidly turning red at the moment from the heat of the bowl.

You look down fully expecting to be swayed even just a little bit, but when you do, you feel the kick to just slam the door right back.

“I hate runny eggs,” you scowl. “Two years married and you don’t even know how I like my eggs cooked.”

Jungkook wants the ground to swallow him whole. 

He wishes that if it was true that chickens are the last true descendants of dinosaurs, there’d be a chicken the same size as them that pecks him into oblivion.

He hurriedly turns on the stove and scoops up the egg back into it, careful not to have any of the runny folk get on your meal. He itches in frustration, his ring finger that’s temporarily adorned with a cheap and clunky mood ring being accurate by turning blue in sadness.

Jungkook’s so out of it, so disappointed in himself that he doesn’t notice he cooks the egg until it’s burnt, the char of it reflecting how poorly he thinks of himself now.

It’s like when you were disappointed in him that time when his outlandish aunt made a rude comment about you and you were speechless the whole night that he stayed silent. He remedied it by later groveling at your feet and marching to his aunt and laying out all of his intentions for her to grow up and apologize to you, the same aunt that’s now blacklisted from all the gatherings.

It’s like when you were upset at him when he left abruptly in the morning and didn’t tell you where he was going because he didn’t know if you would care, partying it up in a different country for his friend’s bachelor’s party and coming home a day later with you hot on his heels. Jungkook made it up to you by once again apologizing profusely and updating you on his whereabouts since then (sometimes he gives too much information), always making it a point to bring two powerbanks with him so he can text you when he’s left and arrived.

This time though, he doesn’t know how exactly to make it up to you. He’s been in contact with professional divers to try and look for the ring for you, but he can’t be of much help until he comes along to know for sure. He’s thinking of all these different ways and approaches but he’s unsure if any of them are sufficient enough to rectify his mistake.

Jungkook feels pathetic because he swears he loves you and knows everything about you, but here he is — crying about how he doesn’t even know how you like your eggs cooked.

You’re upset at him, and he can’t do anything right for you.

( ♡ )

Jungkook tries again at dinner.

It’s the day of Meridian’s 100th anniversary and the two of you play it up for the cameras, your husband’s attention on you so keen and affectionate that you almost forget you were supposed to be mad at him.

He takes advantage of the cameras during the carpet session, tugging you close with his hand on your waist as he seizes the chance to hug you tightly at the end when you enter the hall with no cameras in place. He breathes you in as he always does, hesitant to let you go and exhale because you’re the very scent and existence of love.

Jungkook studied, of course he did. He’s touched up on his jewelry knowledge because he’s more than desperate now to seek your validation, nervously smiling all around as he waits for people to stop approaching you in your table.

His attention’s fixed on your necklace, the stone on it similar to the very ring he lent and lost. He’s brought it up about five times already, animatedly reciting trivia about it as if you’re not the literal face of the jewelry industry. He clears his throat, leaning in for you to whisper intimately, but just loud enough for the other people to hear a tad. 

“Ah, that pink sapphire looks so good on you, babe.”

“Shut up,” you mutter sharply, making Jungkook’s heart skip a beat. You melted against him when he was hugging you, that much he was sure of. He doesn’t know why you’ve become harsh again all of a sudden, forgetting that his lapse this time was opening his mouth. “Stop saying that.”

“Saying what?” his brows furrow, swallowing the lump on his throat. “Pink?” he guesses, eyes wavering as he tests the waters. “Pink sapphire?”

It takes a lot in you not to make an outburst. Truth be told, you’ve started easing up on Jungkook but his attempts at trying hard is just too much and in the wrong direction, hearing pink sapphire over and over again reminding you of the ring you lost.

“Yes, that! Stop talking.”

“But I did my homework! Of course I’m not gonna stop talking,” he defends himself, the nervousness rising to his throat like bile. God, what if he did the wrong homework? What if he’s missed the assignment all along?

“Clearly you didn’t try hard enough because you’re wrong, Jungkook. This isn’t a pink sapphire — this is a pink diamond.”

Jungkook’s brain stops functioning for a solid five seconds, his mouth drying. The only proof that he was still breathing is his big eyes threatening to water.

“And so is my ring that you gave to your friend without asking me,” you add.

“What?!” he sputters in disbelief, recounting to all the other times he named the gem in multiple occasions even before today. “B-but I said it so many times before! You didn’t even correct me!”

“I didn’t correct you because you looked so proud of yourself!” you exclaim, surrendering with a sigh. Pink sapphire was the first gem that Jungkook had managed to name in your trivia night on the first month of your marriage, his avidness on getting it “right” so contagious that you didn’t have the heart to correct him.

“Pink sapphire is dirt cheap compared to pink diamonds, Jungkook! You just keep saying sapphire over and over again because it’s your birthstone,” you mumble, looking around to see if there were any people growing nosy at your conversation. “I let you say it over and over again to the point that I wore them instead of diamonds because you just can’t shut up about them,” you grit. 

This is the only time you reference your sentiment with the jewelry itself in words, your last profession of your disappointment in him being the removal of your wedding bands.

 “That’s the thing with you — you can’t tell. This isn’t just about emerald o-or octagon cuts, Jungkook. This is our marriage and you gave a girl that I don’t like my ring that meant so much to me! Now you can’t get it back.”

Jungkook’s speechless, holding back tears. You fear you’ll cry yourself when you look at his round, pleading eyes so you don’t, squeezing in the last word even if he always lets you have it.

“And now I’m correcting you because you’re embarrassing me. Now please, lay off with the gem terms.”

( ♡ )

Things have been tame between you and Jungkook.

You’ve aired out your grievances and Jungkook’s still trying hard as always, perplexing you because he hasn’t gone restless. It’s progressively warmer between the two of you but it’s nowhere near to what the two of you used to be, the air between the two of you going static that you’ve utilized it for your own.

It’s just a quick getaway for the day, hopping aboard a yacht with the intention of giving yourself a break. You’ve reflected enough but not alone with yourself, the period of space with Jungkook being much-needed.

Until you’re mistaken of course.

You think your mind’s playing tricks on you when the boat rocks more than it would with waves, but the all too familiar figure coming into your vision turns out to be real. It’s Jungkook in the flesh, wearing his scuba suit and gear.

It’s a pure coincidence that is. All Jungkook knew was that you were going on a yacht today and you didn’t specify where; meanwhile, all you knew was that he was going to be scuba diving, but he didn’t specify where either.

It’s purely kismet but your bodyguard Taehyung doesn’t seem to think so, legitimately thinking it was a pirate instead of your husband so he repeatedly smacks him with an oar until you stop him.

“Jungkook!” you call out, getting your bodyguard to stop. Atleast he has the decency to look sheepish, but he was genuinely concerned! He thought you were being hijacked by someone dressed in the most unassuming scuba suit, holding a plastic bag in his hands.

Your husband barely winces from the pain because he’s high from all the adrenaline, chest rising rapidly in succession. “Y/N, baby, I — hold on, I’m gonna, wait-…”

He looks tired still but there’s a light to him, either his radiance has come back or it was just the sun behind him but either way, it was nice to look at Jungkook who isn’t groveling at your feet for once.

He finally catches his breath, standing up to his full height as he tries not to ramble his words.

“I bought all the fish.”

“You did what?” your eyes widen, pathetically looking at the vast ocean around you. Perhaps you’re so startled (and amused) by Jungkook’s sudden and silly appearance that you forgot to apply common sense, just as breathless as he is.

“Okay maybe not all, but I did buy a lot of fish,” he concedes, nodding incessantly. He’s too excited that he can’t contain himself, even more-so when you finally look at him without disdain staining your features.

“For what?” you ask, genuinely curious.

Jungkook smiles, never having been more proud retelling you his previous failure.

“Your favorite seafood restaurant? I bought them their stock, provided that they’ll open up every last fish in there to see if they had your ring,” he shrugs as if it’s a common thought process to abide by, later shaking his head. “They don’t.”

If there’s just one trait that Jungkook had to be known with by everyone, it would be his persistence.

Jeon Jungkook is endearingly, cloyingly, and annoyingly persistent with the things he desires and the things he’s passionate about. You’re his wife — you’re his every last desire and passion. He had wronged you fresh from a week and some days ago but that timeframe has already given him ample time to fully redeem himself.

He can’t undo what he did. He can’t reverse the time he lent his wife’s ring to his friend who loses it not a full day later. Jungkook can’t take back any of the things he did but what he can do is be dedicatedly persistent in correcting himself.

He’s tanner, his muscles are bulged and straining, and his skin’s itchy with all the salt but he takes all of these things in stride — he’s become a better person through persistence.

“I also tried snorkeling for a week and I still couldn’t find it,” he trails, biting his bottom lip while he clasps his hands behind his back. “But I tried again today.”

It’s either relief or endearment that fills your face full, but nonetheless, the light that Jungkook sees from you lulls him to the comfort and warmth he’s been yearning from you for the past week. His eyes are strained and his body feels itself moving in waves as if he was still underwater, but he just closes his eyes to savor the moment.

You bound to him to put him in an embrace, your husband instantly melting in your hold. It’s either all the salt in his eyes or it’s just the realization that you’ve finally forgiven him and it’s all the love he feels for you, but either way, you hold Jungkook tighter.

“I found your ring.”

( ♡ )

You don’t know when Jungkook first loved you.

You can’t pinpoint an exact moment when Jungkook started acting differently towards you because he’s always been the same way from day one, the same qualities that make him both annoying and endearing having been there from the start.

You could always ask but you can’t bring yourself to. It shouldn’t bother you at the end of the day because the important thing is that Jungkook loves you. He loves without reservations, the pinnacle of his love language being his patheticness in trying hard.

Jeon Jungkook may try hard for everyone, but he tries the most for you.

He wakes up early and you only realize his absence when you turn to pat the warm space he’s supposedly left behind, making you rub the sleep out of your eyes. 

You wonder for a second that if Jungkook left the bed early and is quiet at the moment, he’s probably at the bottom of the staircase again because he yawned while going down. There’s no schedule today for either of you and you aren’t sick for him to make any sudden trips downstairs, his absence making you wonder this time.

There’s clanging coming from the garage, piquing your interest largely. There sits Jungkook wearing less safety gear that you’d like, blocks and blocks of wood surrounding him.

Your husband looks up, unassuming as usual while he breaks out into a grin.

“I’m making furniture for you.”

“That’s not necessary,” you snort, recounting all of the pieces you’ve acquired from your friend who’s an expert on woodcarving. Jungkook seems to know this too but he’s insistent, shaking his head eagerly.

His eyeglasses (his prescription ones instead of the actual safety ones) fog up from both his sweat and the few tears he’s shed out of frustration, taking them out so you could see the passion in his eyes. The passion’s definitely there, dampening his eyelashes and even tinting his eyelids pink.

“No, I’ll paint it up real good and it’ll blend it to your aesthetic.”

“Besides that, Jungkook,” you warn, coming down to squat on the space beside him. “You’re not good with tools.”

“Not good at them like Hoseok?” he questions, raising his brow. He’s frustrated and cranky and he just compared his (eager yet improper) use of large power tools compared to Hoseok’s expertise in using much, much smaller tools. Jungkook’s sweaty from all the effort, vaguely gesturing to the item in front of him. “Please, can Hoseok do it like me?” 

Your husband points to the lopsided bench (?) slash coffee table (?) slash abstract piece (?)  in front of you whose message is that they’re tired, only the scoopers for faux blood missing. It’s quite the spectacle. Not necessarily a statement piece because it raises more questions than any resolute takeaways at all.

“No, not really,” you joke around, winking to get the joke across your husband’s skull who sometimes reads between the lines too literally. “He can do it much, much better than you.”

“I’m trying to be romantic!” Jungkook whines with no real harm. “Go ahead, why don’t you divorce me and marry him because he’s so good with using a hammer?” 

The two of you were back; the same playfulness and warmth rekindling, if not stronger. Some things were just too strong to grow out of, such as Jungkook’s double takes when it comes to another name being linked to you.

He’s just making sure, still as desperate to gain your validation even before the ring incident took place.

“That was… a joke if you couldn’t tell,” Jungkook laughs robotically, eyes narrowing and widening at you every two seconds. “I’m just kidding. You knew that. You wouldn’t do that… right?”

You wouldn’t.

He knows that you love him. He had known it during his state of vulnerability and he knows it now even in a state of security. He knows it even without a wedding ring, your promise of making new ones for the both of you remaining in his mind.

The downfall of Jeon Jungkook wouldn’t be his persistence that also bears the ability to be his uprising, it was never that. Jungkook’s downfall would only be the loss of you and it’s the only absence that he can’t risk.

Your husband tries so hard that it brings you secondhand embarrassment at times, his mishap with the pink sapphire cementing in your mind just how much of himself he dedicates to you, even with lapses along the way.

Jungkook tries so hard that he ends the day with splinters on his hand and his sinuses clogged with far too much dust. His effort doesn’t always equate to the best but he gives what he always has when you’re in the equation.

It’s a wooden box for your rings, a shallow heart with your initials carved on the inside. It’s smooth even without the varnish, a stark contrast to his hands that are all rough from doing all the labor.

“I can’t give you jewelry that you already have.”

Jungkook admits to you whole-heartedly, sitting at the end of the bed while he watches you admire the box in your vanity.

“But I can make shirts for you. Stitch up your name real nicely on my chest pocket,” he offers, the smile on his lips growing. “I can make furniture for you,” he shrugs, chuckling at himself. “I can’t guarantee that it’s usable but I can make furniture a little.”

You smile so warmly that Jungkook forgets all of the little pains, melting away his fatigue. If you could put all the love you have for Jungkook in a single space, even the mansion the two of you reside in won’t be enough.

“Cooking too. I can also cook a-and make perfect rice and I promise to remember how you like your eggs in the morning.”

Jungkook knows it to heart by now, even without the reminder he’s written himself pasted on the counter. Your eyes were just so glossy and moist that Jungkook can’t help but to spring to your side, patting them dry with his shirt.

Your husband wipes away your tears even before they could form and it pushes them out further, the voice in your throat dwindling. It’s the cheap and rusting mood ring on his ring finger that gets you to sob, seeing the faint green outline that it leaves.

He takes notice of your observation, understanding that jewelry means much  more to you that he could comprehend which is why he’s quick to remedy your thoughts.

“I can always get tattoos of you if that’s what you want,” he continues, smiling sheepishly. “Actually, that’s what I want.”

Jungkook takes off his ring and it forces you to blink away your tears, lips parting open when it clicks.

It’s your initials on Jungkook’s ring finger, recognizing it as your own handwriting. 

You’re filled with a great amount of gratitude that runs even deeper than the ink on Jungkook’s skin, making you sniffle and it gets him to bury your face against his chest while he shushes you.

“Why would you get that?”

It belatedly hits you that since you took your wedding bands, your husband’s left ring finger had not been vacant since. 

“Because you sold our rings,” Jungkook shrugs, the look of ease on his face evident. “You sold them but we’re still married to each other,” he gently kisses your temple, letting you hold his hand to look at the tattoo closer. “We’re married. I still want people to know that I’m married to you.”

“Well,” you clear your throat, distraught with your emotions. “Your mood ring says you’re sad.”

“Passionate would be the term,” he sniffles, transferring the cheap ring to your finger. He giggles when it changes colors immediately, the timing of the situation being impeccable. “Okay now my ring says you’re happy.”

“Are you?” he asks whilst laughing but the both of you know it bears a weight.

“I am,” you answer just as seriously. “We’re okay, Jungkook. I forgive you.”

If you ask Jungkook what would his greatest joy and his greatest pain be, both answers would be you.

“Is your tattoo artist still around?” you ask while he puts you close to his chest, snapping him out of his trance.

“What for?”

“I think I want to match your permanent ring.”

“Are you real?” he mutters to himself, questioning your existence that he still isn’t sure if he deserves to have and love for the rest of his life. “Are you really real? You exist?”

“Yeah, he’s still around but I’d rather do it on you myself,” Jungkook answers eventually, returning the question. “Is that okay? Let me learn for a few months and I’ll tattoo my initials on you myself?”

You furrow your brows, not a single doubt placed on you if your husband was the one to tattoo you. “Yeah, but is that okay with you? You’re the only one who’s gonna have me on you for a couple more months. I can’t reciprocate because you want to ink me yourself.”

Jungkook only smiles, the warmth enough to outshine the sun.

“That’s not new to me,” he reassures you. “I loved you even before I married you.”

[caramelberzatto]

between your teeth // c. berzatto

ding dong the bitch is back with a REPOST because my blog DIED anyway, love you, enjoy >:) (nsfw below, minors dni)

The steady buzz of the needle droned in the small studio like a swarm of bees. Laid out on the table, you focused on breathing steadily through the uncomfortable sting. 

The artist's gloved hand was warm on your arm as he held it still, carefully shading between the stencilled lines. You'd been coming to the same studio for months now after Carmy had recommended it; admittedly, he hadn't thought you’d be frequenting it more than him. Not that it bothered him, he found the steady increase of ink on your skin, the surprise of finding a new tattoo on your hip or thigh as he went down on you, really fucking hot.

And for you, something about the pain was a little comforting, so you just kept coming back. And, hey, the juniors needed to learn and practice somehow.

The bell above the door jingled and you glanced over, a soft smile gracing your features as Carmen stepped in, hair messy from the wind. He caught your stare, eyes bright, and winked. 

“Hi,” he mouthed, sitting in one of the leather chairs in the waiting room, ankle crossed over a knee.

“Yo, Berzatto,” the artist, an older guy named Jared, looked up from the linework. “How’s the restaurant?”

Carmen’s brows shot up in that exasperated way they always did when he was stressed, sighing deeply through a weak smile. “Shitty, yeah, actually. Lots of renovation and shit.”

Jared nodded, getting back to work, leaving Carmen to watch you in peace. The way your face changed as the needle crept toward a sensitive spot near the crease of your elbow, the way you sunk your teeth into your bottom lip when it stung. And though his face didn’t show it, a rush of desire went straight to his cock when you squirmed on the table, crossing your ankles, causing your skirt to ride up a little. 

It gave him a perfect view of his favourite tattoo. A little heart on your upper thigh, simple and plain, but it was the one he’d done for you. It started off as a joke, when you’d found your old tattoo gun that you’d impulsively bought in college, the same one you’d used to tattoo your friends. Never perfectly done, but fun all the same.

A few months ago, you’d handed it to Carmy and asked him to do it. Admittedly, he freaked out a little, afraid to fuck it up, but it had turned out alright. A little wonky, due to the lack of a stencil, but you loved it. And he loved it, in that little possessive way he seemed to always adopt when it came to you.

Seeing that little heart made his brain go fuzzy, sending him back to that morning; the early hours of limbo where his alarm hadn’t gone off yet, but there was no point in going back to sleep. 

The bedside lamp cast a soft glow over the room, buttery and warm. Arching off the bed, you bit down on your fist to keep from crying out. The walls in this stupid, cheap, apartment building were thin, and there was only so much scathing, knowing stares from the neighbours that you could take.

“Like that, baby? Doin’ so good f’me. Feel so fuckin’ good.” Carmen’s voice dripped with sleep-addled honey, thick and sweet and sultry. You’d woken up reaching for him, a soft whimper of his name passing through your lips, and he swallowed the sound with a searing kiss.

Each of his thrusts hit deep, cock brushing against the perfect spot, and you rolled your hips to meet his movements. Foreheads pressed together, every breath was shared, every whisper of praise and quiet moans mingled in the fraction of space between the two of you. The chain around Carmy’s neck bumped at your lips, and you tilted your head to capture it between your teeth.

“F-fucks sake,” he breathed, gripping your waist. His thrusts stuttered; seeing you with his chain in your mouth struck something in his chest, and it went straight to his dick.

“Harder, Carm, please.” 

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm.”

He pulled out, flipping you onto your stomach, slid back in, and fucked you into the mattress. Each thrust, each impact against the back of your thighs, each stifled grunt and groan in your ear; it set your head spinning. 

“Fuck, baby. Just like that, fuck. Carm, come on, fucking give it to me. Fuck. Please.” The words tumbled out of your mouth in a jumbled string, muffled by the pillow. Carmy’s hand found its way into your hair, tugging at the roots, and he smirked at the long moan it pulled from your throat. 

“Such a pretty fuckin’ mouth,” he grunted between thrusts, feeling the pulse and flutter of your walls around his cock. “So fuckin’ good, baby.”

His thumbs fit into the divots at the base of your spine, fingers digging into your hips as he pounded into you, giving you exactly what you wanted, what you needed. 

“Fuckfuckfuck, Carmy, I’m–” You lifted your hips and pressed back into him, chasing your orgasm, each thrust slammed into you, leaving you breathless. “Fuck, there, right there.”

Carmen’s grip on your waist got tighter, tight enough to leave bruises, as he got closer to the edge. When you came, burying your face in the pillows to stifle the cry of his name, Carmen swore loudly. He fucked you through the comedown, leaving you sensitive and blissfully overstimulated.

He was so close, every flutter around his cock unbearable. “Fuck, baby, where–”

“On my tummy.”

Carmen pulled out and you rolled over, just in time for the first spurts of his cum to land on the bare plane of your stomach. He jerked himself off until he had nothing more to give, and there were strings of sticky white covering your tummy. Swiping a finger through the mess, you held his hooded gaze as you sucked it clean. 

Carmy watched you, panting. His hand rested on your thigh, thumb brushing back-and-forth absentmindedly over the little heart tattoo. He reached up, running his thumb up your stomach, before tilting your chin. 

“Open,” he purred, and you did. He pressed his thumb onto your tongue, and you closed your mouth around it–

“Carm?” Your voice pulled him from his fantasy, one that had left his cock pressing against the zip of his jeans. He looked up and there you were, standing in front of him, arm out to show him the fresh ink. “Like it?”

Carmen swallowed, trying not to let his gaze slide over you, knowing it’d give every thought in his head away. But when he met your stare, he noticed the little smirk that tugged at your lips and realised you already knew.

“Uh, yeah, baby, it looks awesome.”

You winked and turned on your heel, wandering over to the front desk to pay, putting a little extra swing in your hips, setting your skirt flaring. Not that Carmy was staring or anything, (he was.) 

Moments later, you were grabbing his hand, pulling him out of the chair. “Let’s go home.”

[forever-rogue]

Bee you’re so amazing and sweet and kind and I hope you know what a beautiful positive impact you’re on this site 💙

I saw you’re accepting Steven Grant requests and my heart is singing cause I miss him so much!!! Might I suggest sweet and shy Steven finding every excuse available to go see you at work but never working up the courage to ask you out until one day he thinks someone else will ask you on a date and he finds his courage to do it first?

AN | I’ve missed him! He’s the best and I’m glad he’s back😌

Pairing | Steven Grant x Fem!Reader

Warnings | None

Word Count | 2.9k

Masterlist | Main, Moon Knight

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

"Your friend is here again," Cameron's voice caused you to look up from the espresso machine. You looked around the cafe in confusion, "well, your favorite customer."

"My favorite customer?" You echoed as Cameron laughed. There were a lot of people who came in on a regular basis so you had no clue as to who they could be referring to, "umm…who?"

"I think his name is Steven?" At the sound of his name your entire face lit up. Alright, maybe you did have a favorite customer, "so I was right!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," you lied, your entire face flushing with warmth, "he's just like anyone else. He just happens to be extra nice."

"He's been walking around outside for like ten minutes now," you peeked past Cameron and looked outside, indeed finding him pacing around. You couldn't help but giggle at him, "wonder if he'll actually come in."

"I'm sure he will," you certainly hoped so anyway, "maybe he's just waiting for a call or something."

"Or maybe his favorite barista is making him nervous and he's trying to get his act together," Cameron suggested as you shrugged innocently, "he's finally going to ask you out!"

“Oh my - stop!” you were laughing nervously and trying to hide your flaming face. You were definitely trying not to imagine him actually asking you on a date. It was a scenario you had imagined and daydreamed of about a thousand times before. But never once had you allowed yourself to believe that it might actually come true. And yet…you shook your head to yourself as you aggressively scrubbed a spot on the counter that you hoped was burnt chocolate and not anything else. You could feel Cameron’s eyes focused on you, “listen. I-I’m not going to flatter myself and think that he might actually like me.”

“And just why not, miss ma’am?” they asked as you shrugged, mumbling something under your breath. They were still waiting for your answer as you turned around and groaned loudly, “I’m telling you, and I would never lie to you, that is something is definitely there between the two of you. Like a spark or something.”

“Cam-” you cast another look outside and found Steven still there. Utter panic and confusion was etched onto his handsome face and you made a small sound of concern. You hoped that nothing was wrong, “he’s like a friend at best.”

“But he could be more if you’d both stop being such weenies,” and yeah, you couldn’t deny that they weren’t necessarily wrong. 

“I’m just…I’m gonna go and make sure he’s okay,” you whipped off your apron and tossed it on the counter before walking past the counter and outside the small patio area. At the sound of the bell twinkling over the door, Steven turned around and looked and was immediately surprised to see you standing there. You smiled softly and held up your hand in a small wave, “hey Steven.”

“H-hi,” he stammered nervously, cheeks immediately darkening as he took you in. The reality was that he’d been trying to work up the courage to come in and see you, and hopefully not make a fool of himself. It seemed like every time he saw, his brain turned to absolute mush and he wasn’t able to form even a single coherent sentence. A part of him that had hoped that by now he’d be able to actually hold a conversation with you but that seemed like an impossible challenge. 

“Is everything alright?” you asked softly and his eyes widened in panic, “I-I don’t mean to pry it was just that we noticed you pacing around. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Yes, of course,” he wasn’t sure if he was more embarrassed by the fact that you’d noticed him pacing, or more touched by the idea that you cared enough to go and check on him. Both…definitely both. You visibly relaxed at the small smile on his face, “I was just…thinking.”

“Oh! Well, we’ve all been there,” the temptation to ask what he was thinking about was almost too great, but you held your tongue. You weren’t sure if he had actually planned on coming inside or if he was going to leave now, but you weren’t ready to part from him, “do you want to come in and I can make you a tea? We’ve just finished baking some fresh biscuits if you’d care to sample.”

“You want me to come in?” he pointed at himself, almost in disbelief and wanting to make sure you were sure. He wouldn’t flatter himself with the idea that you wanted to spend time with him. But what if…

“Yes, silly! Who else?” you put your hand on his arm and gently motioned for him to follow you. Once reality caught up with him, he smiled and eagerly followed into the warm, cozy cafe. He’d learned to love spending time here, especially whenever his schedule coincided with yours, “c’mon!”

“Right behind you,” he promised gently. He was at the point where he was pretty sure that he’d already follow you whenever you went. And that realization was both exciting and terrifying, “right behind you.”

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

Steven, sweet, shy Steven had grown very fond of you. Or in love with you as Marc liked to put. He didn’t necessarily agree or disagree on that account. He often came in when you were working if his schedule coincided with yours. He’d more or less memorized the days and times you worked but in truth it had been accidental. He was keenly aware of a lot of things and you had just become such a regular part of his life and he had become very attuned to you. 

It was a dreary afternoon when Steven got off work, and on a weekend on top of it, he decided he could do with a warm afternoon pick-me-up. And he’d get to see you, which was a definite pick-me-up on its own. There was a definite spring to his step as he made his way over to your little cafe, and he even allowed himself to daydream of asking you on a date. It was something that he’d thought about often, more than he ever dared to admit, but he just couldn’t manage to turn into a reality. 

Marc had even tried to coach him on it, encouraging him to finally ask you instead of just talking about it. Steven had almost even felt ready to do it, but then he just…couldn’t. He’d see your pretty face and that sugar sweet smile and he’d practically melt into a puddle. A puddle that couldn’t do much more than stare longingly at times. 

But today felt different. Today felt like the day he might actually have the courage in his bones to ask you. Maybe it was an overinflated sense of self or something in the air but it all just felt so right. Feeling extra bold, he even allowed himself to stop at one of the small street vendors and purchase a small bouquet of flowers. You’d mentioned it once in passing that you liked daisies more than anything and once he spotted them he knew he was going to grab them for you.

By the time he made his way into the cafe, his eyes were already scanning the place for you. When he spotted you, he grew delighted and was ready to rush over. When he realized the current situation you were in, he stopped in his tracks and inhaled sharply. 

You were standing at the counter, leaning on your elbows as you chatted away with some customer. A very handsome customer from what Steven could discern from only seeing his backside. His heart practically dropped into his stomach at the sweet expression on your face. You were clearly invested into the conversation and that made him take a few steps back and contemplate running out the door. 

As thought you had some kind of sixth sense for him, you looked up and locked eyes with him. His big, brown eyes softened but the expression on his face was nothing short of panic as you waved cheerily at him. He held up the flowers in return as your curiosity piqued - who were the flowers for? You, a part of your heart secretly wished. 

“Hi Steven!” you excused yourself from the other - a friend maybe? - and went over to him, “fancy meeting you here.”

“I could say the same to you,” he managed to tease in return, heart beating wildly inside his chest. You always managed to make him nervous, butterflies exploding in his stomach and heart practically stopping. He felt more like a boy rather than a grown man, but it was a feeling he still managed to love and crave. He looked down at the flowers in his hands and back at your inquisitive eyes before deciding to just do it. It was now or never, “t-these are for you.”

“For me?” and yeah. He instantly knew he’d made the right decision as soon as the simple question escaped your lips. He nodded shyly before handing them over to you, “oh my goodness. They’re daisies! I love them - Steven, I…thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he stammered over his words and found it almost impossible to meet your eyes. He was sure he would have melted into a puddle then and there, “I should umm… I can see-”

“Come on,” you were almost pleading with him. And honestly, who was he to say no to you? You almost skipped behind the counter, grabbing a large pitch and filling it with cool water before putting your new flowers into it. Each step was done with gentle reference before you turned back to him, “what can I make you?”

“Oh, you don’t have to-” he leaned against the counter and tried to play you off, but you weren’t having it. You put your hand on top of his and gave it a gentle squeeze, and his heart almost stopped.

“Don’t even try that on me, Steven,” you insisted and he just made a small sound in response, “your regular or can I try something new and surprise you?”

“Surprise me,” he squeaked as you busied yourself with making him something special. You continually surprised him and it was one of the things he was coming to adore about you. He decided to be bold and push his luck and see if he could get a little information about the man that you had been chatting to. Just you know…out of sheer curiosity. For science…or something like that,  “busy day?”

“Oh you know, just the usual,” you waved your hand around, brow furrowed in concentration and tongue peeking out of your mouth, “average weekend afternoon. Lots of tourists and all that. What about you?”

“There’s a new exhibit on the old kingdom of Egypt at the museum,” he tried to contain his excitement; he loved talking about his job and he knew you liked hearing about it but he didn’t want to bore you either. He was still trying to figure out where the line was, “so lots of crowds, but they all seemed excited, which makes it worthwhile.”

“That’s great,” you smiled at it, handing him the beverage you had made specially for him, “I’d love to see sometime! I’ll have to come by sometime when you’re working, and you can give me the tour. If you’d like…”

“I’d love that,” his entire face lit up as you made up your mind that you would see him as soon as got an afternoon off when he was working, “there’s so much I could show you.”

“I’m sure you could,” you agreed as you went to grab him a fresh pastry, “Steven, I-”

Before you could manage to say anything else, you heard your name being called from the back. You sighed softly and gave Steven an apologetic look before turning towards the kitchen, “sorry, duty calls - I’ll talk to you later, alright?”

“Of course, yes, definitely,” his entire face was falling as he watched you walk away. Realistically he knew that you were at work and had to attend to your job but it still wished you could stay. There was something so magnetic about you that continued to draw him in. You were like a warm, sweet hot chocolate on a rainy afternoon, or a gentle, soft breeze on a perfect spring day, “bye…”

Alright, he was really ging to need to do something and either ask you out finally or just let this all go and move on. But being stuck in this odd limbo of sorts was only to make things worse or continue to break his heart. And, he wagered with himself, if he asked you out and you said no, he’d know where he stood. But…it would still break his heart a little if you only wanted to be friends.

What a dilemma indeed. 

Marc was going to kick his ass later for not asking you out today when he had the perfect opportunity to say so. 

Heck.

-── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

Steven kept his distance for a few days, which you definitely noticed. You were sure that he was busy with work and life and tried not to let it bother you but you definitely missed his presence. It was hard not to notice the absence of the sunshine he brought in all the time. 

Steven, meanwhile, had been trying to work up the nerve to come and see you. He had promised himself (and Marc) that the next time he saw you he was going to ask you out. There were no if ands or buts at this point. Unless, you know, there was an emergency or something…then it would just be rude. Anyway - 

He made his way to the cafe and came inside without allowing himself to have any second thoughts. To his dismay and chagrin, he found the same customer from the other day chatting you up again. Talk about bad timing. He waited until the man left and made a beeline over to you.

“Hey there!” you looked at him with starry eyes and a bright smile, “I’ve missed you!”

“Hi, I - wait. You’ve missed me?” he asked softly as you nodded, “it’s been a busy few days.”

“You don’t have to explain to me,” you insisted, “just know that whenever I get to see you I’m happy.”

“Will you go out with me?” he blurted his question out before he could take it back or have any second thoughts. You blinked at him owlishly a few times, trying to make sure that you’d heard him correctly. When you saw the pretty pink blush creeping into his neck and cheeks you were positive you’d heard him correctly.

“Like on a date?” you asked, you know, just to clarify. 

“Y-yeah,” he answered nervously as you inhaled sharply, a sound of excitement, “I-I am. Unless you’re dating someone already! Like-like that guy you were talking to earlier.”

“James?” you made a sound of amusement before waving off the idea that you had anything romantic with him, “he’s my cousin! He’s been here visiting, that’s all.”

“Oh,” his embarrassment was quickly overshadowed by his excitement and nerves. That meant…, “oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” you teased lightly, “but umm…if the offer still stands, then I’d love to take you up on it.”

“You want to go on a date?” he pointed at himself as you giggled, unable to stop yourself from the incredulous look on his face, “with me?”

“Yes!” you hoped that he could understand just how much you wanted this too. The idea of asking him out had crossed your mind several times and you had almost done it yourself but the right situation just hadn’t come up, “I’d really like that.”

“Right, yeah, me too,” he seemed almost like he was incredibly surprised by your eagerness, “so then it’s a date.”

“It’s a date,” you confirmed, a saccharine silence falling over the two of you. You swallowed the nervous lump in your throat, “how does tonight work? I’m off in about an hour.”

“Tonight?!” you hoped he wasn’t getting cold feet now that the reality of an actual date hit him. You shrugged sheepishly before nodding, “yeah…tonight works. That’d be…great.”

“Good,” you couldn’t stop yourself from leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek, “do you want to wait or meet me back here later?”

“I’ll wait,” he touched the spot on his cheek that had been blessed by your lips, a starry look on his face, “maybe with a tea in the meantime?”

“I can do that,” yeah, you liked this guy a lot. And you were excited to see where it could all go, “that sounds perfect.”

“Yes,” he agreed, “perfect.”

[neverniko101]

Trying to convince my brain that I cannot make another ask blog (it is not working help)

Anyway, a swapverse! Phastasmverse? Is that too hard to spell?

Uh

Yeah, I might be making another ask blog, probably on an actually different blog this time

I’ll probably alternate between working on this and Horror Dreamtale between STP

Rambling about precious children ⬇️

Amber (Dream by Joku):

- Tall bee man

- Smug asshole

- Got rich off selling his brother’s inventions

- Runs a fancy multiverse-wide Casino/Bar/Restaurant

Pollen (Dust by Ask Dusttale):

- Sweet little guy

- I say “little”, but he’s actually pretty tall

- Botanist obsessed with flowers

- has never killed anyone

- ever

- especially not by poisoning them with flowers

- Terrified of bears, even teddy bears

Cyan (Nightmare by Joku):

- Acts scary but is really a goofy little guy

- Mad scientist/engineer

- Uses inventions to run mazes, haunted house etc. to get negative emotions

- Lives in a giant (very, very heavily trapped and guarded) castle by himself

- Mechanical tentacles/arms, Doc Ock style

Epoxy (Ink by Comyet):

- Acts like a goofy little guy but is really scary

- >:3

- Likes to climb Amber and sit on his shoulder

- definitely not some kind of horror that traps people in resin cocoons and drains their life force

Razor (Cross by Jakei):

- After his AU was destroyed, he ripped a hole into the anti void, corrupting him and destroying the remains of Xtale

- Hunts ‘bugs’ in AUs, sometimes destroying entire universes to ensure the bug doesn’t spread

- Memory issues, doesn’t remember most of Xtale

- lonely someone befriend this man

Stitch (Error by Loverofpiggies):

- Runs around AUs taking parts of them to sew into the broken parts of his own AU, Cross-style

- Often accidentally causes bugs in AUs he visits, corrupting/destroying them himself or causing Razor to destroy them

- On the run from Razor

- Can animate his puppets to do little chores

- Fights with a giant sewing needle as a weapon

- Also needs friends

Mist (Fell by Vic):

- Probably the chillest guy here

- It’s his job to make sure that everyone gets enough sleep

- Will be disappointed in you if you don’t go to bed on time

- Has several pet bunnies

Comet (Outer by 2mi127):

- Angry little guy

- One of two employees at the Multiversal Transportation and Postal services

- Runs exclusively on coffee and baked goods provided by Cookie (the only person he can tolerate)

- Can take you basically anywhere, but you’d have to convince him to do so, which is difficult even for Cookie

- Catches on fire when too angry

Azoic (Fresh by Loverofpiggies):

- Mercenary

- Unnaturally good at making improvised weapons

- Is a cowboy? Don’t know where that came from

- Has a horse named Penelope

- Trying to earn money

Toxin (Killer by Rafbawas):

- He seems fun

- Perfectly mentally stable

- Eats the fabric of the multiverse

- Turns people into mindless rainbow zombies

Marrow (Horror by Sourapplestudios):

- Bounty Hunter

- Able to switch out his body parts with other monsters and humans

- Pretty chill all things considered

Crypt (Reaper by Renrink):

- Uh

- what

- what is that

- just some guy that Palid decided to adopt?

Palid (Geno by Loverofpiggies):

- His name is a mix of Pallid (being pale or dull, like a dead person or ghost) and Paladin (a hero)

- Kind of adopted Papyrus’ personality after his death

- Precious little guy

- Finds Crypt in an ally and is like “yup I’m keeping him”

- Fights with a morning star

Ghost (Blue by Popcorn prince):

- Sad boy

- Able to manipulate water, especially his tears

- Has started following Razor around for no apparent reason

Cookie (Lust by NSFWShamecave):

- Again, just a genuinely nice person

- Runs a bakery!

- Obsesses over people easily

- Can and will give you a hug

Sweettooth/Ttoo (Ccino by Black-Nyanko):

- So high energy (as a result of experiments, probably) that they need to almost constantly be eating high-energy food, typically sugar

- Trying to find a cure along with their best friend, Cookie

- When low on energy, will start to melt and attack any nearby source of energy, including souls

help