#more free time means its easier to finish things that are stressing me out

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

Today I woke up at a reasonable time, ate breakfast, showered, washed my face, walked to the coffee shop, came home and finished four things, three of which were on my computer and one of which was fixing some pants. All within like three hours. Look at me. I'm neurotypical now.

[rush-the-stars]

If you still accept asks please elaborate on sub wolfwood 🙏 and if you want on that soft free use post but with vash and wolfwood 👀 you have so many great ideas!

anon i have been saving this until after i finished my lil sewing project and answered emails....i would love to elaborate on sub wolfwood and free use with vash and woflwood made me feel CRAAZYYYYYY. reading that i did psychic damage. also thank you!!! i am just blabbing away on this lil blog

cw: subbing, pet play mentioned, caning mentioned, slapping mentioned

okay okay. sub woflwood.

i just see wolfwood as being pretty experienced sexually? he's tried a lot. had his fair share of lovers. i think he's been a dom and a sub at various points. and overall he likes being a service dom or sub. he likes to please or if not please...be used? i think depending on your own experience does he get a lil bratty/mouthy....if you're more experienced, he likes to rile you up. challenges you a little. but i can see if you're a lil less experienced in domming, he may go easier for a bit, until you really find your confidence. and then he gets sorta mouthy. kinda a rope bunny as a sub lol. he wants to be tied up. likes to be roughed up a bit when he is being bratty. pulling his hair...a slap here and there...scratching...maybe a light caning...i don't think he's a huge masochist but i do think he can take a fair amount of pain which can make punishments interesting.

i also do think....maybe unknown to him at first....he would sorta like a touch of pet play. you call him a mutt or talk to him like a dog and he's sorta shocked when he gets so hard so fast. you could maybe escalate to a collar....leashes.....perhaps a muzzle. for some reason i always see that one as something he discovers with a reader lol or its a newer one for him lol

if i had infinite time and energy i would write the long exploratory character study d/s fic of my dreams with him. but alas.

okay now free use with vash and wolfwood 😵‍💫

i am. unwell. thinking about like maybe being close friends with them. and maybe you and wolfwood sometimes sleep together to relieve some stress.....mutual using. sometimes you use him more, sometimes he uses you more.

but wolfwood sees how vash looks at you...you know? i mean, who wouldn't look at you like that?

it's just that wolfwood...trusts vash.

and well. he knows you adore vash, too...and...you'd wanna help him out a little, wouldn't you? vash is so....touch starved? maybe a lil lonely in this way. so he sorta offers you up to vash? and vash at first is unsure and reluctant but. he can't really help himself when it comes to you.

and suddenly vash is babbling about how you feel so good and you're so good for him as wolfwood watches him use you. vash is inhuman...he has a lot of stamina...and you thought wolfwood had a lot....but vash is keyed up. he's pent up.

(wolfwood makes sure vash isn't too rough with you. tells him to ease up if he is....and vash really is a sweetheart beneath all the pent up lust. he does really adore you. maybe a little too much?)

and then it sorta becomes this thing? whenever one of you needs to let off some steam. i think vash would really like being used too.....of course he wants to be helpful smh.

and sometimes wolfwood just tells you to sit pretty and take it while the two of them do as they please. they're never mean about it...in fact, they're quite loving. shower you in praise. they always take care of you—clean you up after. feed you. bathe you.

(you sorta gotta be careful with them though.....they wouldn't be opposed to keeping you, always naked, in bed and waiting for them. vash especially. he feels so bad about it but....well. you'd certainly be safe in his bed all day, wouldn't you? why can't you let them take care of everything?)

its free use but they adore you.....you know

[camgirlsurvivalguide]

Too Little, and perhaps Too Late: The short-comings of MFC as a platform

I know how sick and fucking tired I am of hearing this exact phrase but I will reiterate because it’s important: we’re living through rough times. The pandemic coincided with a massive shift for digital SW, from a realm that was largely live stream (which in a lot of ways was very much booming then) to a content creation platform that by and large took the entire world - SW and vanilla - by storm.

MFC is not a household name. It never has been. The average person doesn’t know what MFC is, and even the average porn consumer likely just thinks of it as one of the sites that pop up as an ad here and there while browsing other sites. Even in the “hayday” (which I’d argue was probably between 2014 and 2018), the pool of people in the know was small, especially in comparison to how prolific OnlyFans has become in broader (vanilla) society.

When established camgirls moved to OnlyFans in the wake of declining traffic and declining mental capacity for live streaming, especially those of us who were five or more years into constantly grinding, we created the foundation for the platform that quickly attracted non-SW to the site as soon as the pandemic occurred. The timing was the perfect storm. With an interface identical to Instagram, it was familiar even to the most vanilla or casual of audiences. With the concurrent rise of subscription-based payment modalities, people felt as comfortable clicking “subscribe” to a $5 a month page as they did with signing up for Netflix.

MFC has not had the same luck. Yes, strategic interface choices and payment structures were conscious decisions on OnlyFans’ part, but I cannot stress enough how heavily luck played into the explosion of OnlyFans as a platform. As much as what I’m about to say (eventually, after I’m finished my characteristic long winded ramble*) may be counter to this point, OnlyFans also inevitably did draw a significant portion of MFC users away from the platform and toward OnlyFans instead. Cheaper (sometimes), faster, easier to use, more transparent. The “tokens” thing was and still is an interesting concept** (again, I’ll get into this in a second), but seeing an obvious dollar amount to subscribe with and clearly defined dollar amounts to spend on individual creators pages themselves cleared any ambiguity about spending for the consumer. For better or for worse, OnlyFans is a SW-consumer platform for consumer dummies. It simplified everything a casual user was looking for out of a digital SWer, and then grew from there.

This is not to say live streaming is dead. Live streaming is bigger than it EVER has been before - but this also means MFC has even more competition now than it ever had in the past. We were the first live streamers the internet had, and for a while, the only live streamers the internet had. We were here before Instagram live, YouTube live, TikTok live, hell we were here when Twitch was justin.tv and even then, the average person had no idea justin.tv even existed.  reference notes for internet history nerds: MFC was founded in 2004, justin.tv (which later became Twitch) was founded in 2007. By 2010, MFC was considered the largest adult live streaming platform on the internet (which also means on the internet itself, since ... others didn’t ... exist yet). Justin.tv was initially a free for all live streaming platform, but after developing a successful gaming section, it moved its gaming component to a site called Twitch in June of 2011 - later dissolving justin.tv and solely becoming Twitch in 2014, which was then quickly acquired by Amazon that same year. Tl;dr - MFC was first, and it was king. 

*re: users migrating to OnlyFans: many of my biggest contributors on MFC did not move to OnlyFans strictly because their interest is live streaming, not content creation. Over the past year that I’ve been on Twitch, I’ve seen the return of many old names that remember me from MFC but simply haven’t seen me since, because they don’t like OnlyFans. Live stream consumers are still live stream consumers - it’s not as cut and dry as “OF stole all our people!”.

**re: tokens instead of dollar amount: Twitch uses this in the form of bits. It is still a strategy that works on other live streaming platforms - so I’m not necessarily saying that MFC using the token modality is a poor choice, but I am stressing that during a time where people are keeping their wallets closer to their chests, precise understanding of how much something costs may be more important to users now than it was before.

Alright kids, history lesson concluded. Now you know. Back to the topic at hand.

MFC consumers are unique - but in their uniqueness, I personally feel that the user base that was once largely exclusive to MFC now have options to have both of their primary needs met on other competing sites. Consumers on MFC are looking for two things: personal connection and sexual gratification. For some, having both needs met simultaneously is necessary - but for many others, dividing and conquering is likely a cheaper and higher quality strategy. A user who wants to get off will go to places that are cheaper or have more immediate access (aka OnlyFans), and that same user who wants to feel a sense of community or comfort from a live streamer can go to Twitch to have those needs met over there. 

Even for the most dedicated MFC users, the history of site culture, for better or for worse, has likely impacted overall satisfaction for using MFC itself. There is massive pressure on dedicated MFC users - those with recognized usernames, at least - to provide their performer with tokens often on an hourly basis, and sometimes, depending on their reputation, the expectation is to spend a lot an hour. There is little in the way of anonymity for a user. The second they enter a room, their name pops up in the viewer list, and model expectations immediately kick in. Some of us even lurk other models rooms from separate member accounts or as guests to see members we consider “our tippers” (for better or for worse) and feel a massive sense of loss or disappointment if other camgirls are being tipped by “our tippers” more than they tip us. 

In so many ways, expectation is the thief of joy, and this is playing a role on both sides of the MFC experience: for camgirls and their audiences. We need expectations about tipping because for many of us, it’s our sole or primary form of livelihood. When our goals aren’t met, our morale sinks. When our morale is low, we have less in our cup to pour from, impacting not only our own enjoyment of our jobs, but the experience of our viewers as well. Thus, the downward spiral.

Aside from literally forcing ourselves to keep on smiling and shaking ass, much of the issues experienced are in the hands of the MFC platform itself. Since the same team had no problem copying Instagram for their interface, having MFC improve their homepage in a Twitch-esque way even if only slightly could help new users (particularly those familiar with Twitch) feel more familiar on MFC. Main page integration of MFC Share visibility would work wonders for our video stores. The bare minimum would be consulting models themselves about site functionality and interface - an open forum of any sort for MFC developers to receive feedback is a pipe dream of course, but at this point, the state of things does call for drastic measures.

Very little of this is actively helpful for you as an MFC streamer right now, during a time crisis more or less, so I’ll hop off the lecture podium and begin the workshop component. Thank you for your patience. I will never, ever stop being wordy, so if you’ve made it this far, congratulations - you’re just as big of a nerd as I am.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

- Forget everything you knew about what you used to earn on MFC; focus on the future, not the past. Re-frame your tokens per hour goals, or throw them out the window entirely, because they’re not likely to serve you well right now if you’re already struggling. Create a stream schedule and stick to it. Focus on hours streamed, not tokens made. Hope for the best.

- Up your quality as well as your content production. Lean on familiarity marketing, and increase your visibility. Twitch is huge right now and a lot of MFC viewers, particularly die-hards, are splitting their time and money between platforms. Learn how to use OBS, create “stream starting soon” screens, “BRB” screens, “Bath show starting soon” screens - stuff like that. Jack up the quality of what your set-up looks like as much as you can so that you appear attractive physically but also in terms of digital (and professional) set up style.

- Do more. More streams. More videos for MFC Share. More content for OnlyFans, more advertising on Reels, more advertising on Twitter, more hours more content more hours more content more hours more content --

...yeah. I know. That’s where it’s come to, in a lot of ways. It’s either relentless patience (which a lot of us don’t have the financial freedom for), or aggressive and constant ‘more more more’ which most of us just don’t possess the capability for anymore. 

I’d strongly recommend revisiting whether or not you want to continue on MFC, particularly if its your (perhaps failing) primary form of income. Obviously there is and always will be money to be made on MFC. Diehard users will likely stick around until the platform literally falls into ruin, and there is always the potential for new users to fall in love with the experience and become dedicated supporters. 

The question here is ... do you want to ride this out? Are you over it? Are the emotional, financial and time costs outweighing the pay? Do you feel as though you want to continue streaming on the platform while it’s experiencing the issues it’s currently experiencing? What if the issues never get resolved?

We’re in recession, “post”-pandemic, during a time of massive inflation. We, as creators, are under more pressure now than ever to be making the type of income we used to make, while relying on supporters who have less to spend than they used to. I hate to sound doom and gloom here, but this is a very, very challenging time, particularly for MFC camgirls for all of the reasons listed above (and more, I’m sure). 

My only strategic advice is to diversify income and go where the money is most likely to be. Reels for advertisement (and the potential for virality, which isn’t a word but you get what I mean) are a more sure fire way to draw traffic to OnlyFans than using MFC. 

This is a heavy post. I don’t want to deflate anyone, but I’m being realistic when I say the vast majority of us right now are likely struggling. You’re not alone, this isn’t the end and there will be another time in the sun - but now we’ve got to work three times as hard for half the pay, and if that’s what it means to make ends meet, we simply have to rise to the occasion.

[greatskeletongothfan]

This is my first fan fictions. Please feel free to leave criticism but in a nice way

Link as usual cooked lunch and as usual it was wonderful. Zelda had actually finished 15 minuets ago but since the defeat of Ganondorf Link refused to let her lift a finger. He would have whisked the plate away as soon as he discovered Zelda was finished so she pretended to eat from an empty plate. After she licked her tasteless plate yet again Link finally decided it was time to go chop some wood. As soon as Link closed the door Zelda rushed to the sink and started to scrub.

Three steps outside he remembered you need an ax to chop wood, so he went into a horrifying scene.

“Let me take care of that.”

“No.”

“Zelda, its ok let me handle it. “

“Like hell you will!”

Link waited until the dish was cleaned, dried and put away for later. He never heard her yell like that, and about washing a dish of all things.

“I will cut the firewood.”

“Zelda, I can-”

“As princess of Hyrule I demand you let me cut tonight’s firewood”

A sharp shiver went down is spine. It did when ever Zelda pulled the princess card.

“Would her Highness allow me to chop the wood with her?” Zelda was quiet for far too long.

“No” With that she grabbed the ax and Link stepped out of her way. He wasn’t going to fight an armed woman. He watched her carry the ax to the firewood and start splitting it. Each log required 2 hits as she got it wedged halfway through each time.

By the third long Link had enough of her struggling. She had struggled enough already.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing”

“Well the princess doesn’t throw her title around for no reason”

Zelda simply huffed. She managed to split the 5th log.

“Zelda, I don’t like to see you like this, you know I just want to help you”

“You have helped quite enough.” Zelda managed to cut her 9th log. For someone who could cut wood with ease seeing this display was cringe worthy

“Give me the ax”

“No, as you can see, I can cut the wood just fine”

“First of all, you are barely cutting that wood and second I saw you lick a plate 20 times. Please tell me what’s wrong”

Zelda was quiet and a bit red in the face. She slowly put the ax down, straighten her back and turned to face Link.

“I’m sorry Link, I” She turned to pick up the ax and then turned back. “I have been feeling coddled after we returned from fighting Ganondorf. You refuse to allow me to do the simplest of tasks like making the bed or washing my own dish and I feel like I’m back at the castle with all these people and not one who sees me as a person.” She was very clearly trying not to cry as tears welled in her eyes. Link though how best to respond. She was miserable while living in the castle and the thought of putting her back there was too much to bear.

“Your right I haven’t been treating you like a person. After what happened with you holding back the calamity and becoming a dragon and all I felt like I owed you, so I wanted to make your life easier. Didn’t realize that all my help would stress you out.”

“How do I owe you? You saved my kingdom and my people! If anything, I owe you.”

“I guess but-” Link rubbed the back of his head. “I mean I couldn’t have done it without you giving me and the master sword time to heal”

“I see” Zelda looked down and wiped her eyes.

“Zelda, I’m sorry. I’ll let you do more around the house. I just want you to be able to live the best life you can.”

“Thank you Link, it means a lot for me to live like a normal person especially after everything that happened”

“I understand, but I’m going to take over the firewood. You really suck at it”

Thank you for reading!<3

[tears-of-boredom]

oh my god this fucking tumblr dash i frogort aobut it already and my figner are fucking freezing so i cant tyoe for shit

anyways so i was browsing like you know one of those websites that streams a bunch of shit for free, and i saw a show called BEEF, just BEEF, it wasnt an acronym or anything. so fo course i had to see what was up duh?? so i finished the first episode. and i fucking love it. i mean the whole time i was lowkey chanting "kill someones kill someone kill someone" but you know how good media does that to you right. but yeah so when the episode finished, i noticed that my heart was beating really fast, like as if id drunk coffee. like lowkey i wouldnt have been surprised if i had passed out onto my desk. but so if my bodys reaction to the show is anything, i enjoyed it. im going to watch the next episode when i either A: feel like i can handle my pulse rising like that again without freaking out or B: i wanna get an adrenaline rush because im really depressed and need to feel something. but yeah this is totally just like that time i watches thor ragnarok, and it took like multiple weeks for me to get through it because i just couldnt handle tom hiddleston. but thsi time i refuse to believe that its any of the actors. i am trying to convince myself that im not that shallow. tbh i just loved the last scene where uhh,,, hold on whats her name okay its Amy. so i loved that scene where she got to fuel all her anger into running after Danny and yelling shit at him. like i know its not for a good reason but i feel like my girl really needed just some way to let some steam out. anyways yeah i am going to go read something that i give zero shits about now because my body is still on alert from that. it feels like im planning on having a voluntary social interaction with someone, which i am not. aka i am anxious as fuck but in this way where i kinda dont want to be, but my body just reacts so strongly that i really cant fight it. ya know social anxiety. except sometimes its triggered by just a good tv series.

honestly its probably just that im excited, because that episode was good,, but because this jittery and kind of stressed feeling isnt really like, often present in my life in a positive way, i just can't tell excitement apart from anxiousness. ya know. normal " i have awful social anxiety" things. or more like "i am severely mentally ill and am not getting the treatment i need" kind of things. pick one. or both. tbh the adults suggested uhh like occupational therapy, and i got a list of therapists from my doctor. but my trust in any kind of help the adults try to give me is so fucking deteriorated that i cant imagine it ever actually helpoing me. and if i told that to an adult i know they would say some shit like " well i f you go in all negative of course its notgonna work!! you gotta want to heal for it to work" and oh my god im drviing myself into abreakdown here so haha i wish that the adults would fucking understand that i fucking have severe anxietyy and trust issues. and that not believing a form of therapy is going to help me, isnt the same thing as not wanting to be helped. do you fucking know how badly i jsut want someone to finally give me some type of actual support or aid or help oh my god. okay my fingers are getting really aggressive on the keyboard. im gonna go fr now. i fucking hate adults. and im tired. and i have trust issues. and i ahve anxiety. and while my medication does help me to go about my day a bit easier, because i dont find myself digging mental holes for myself. it doesnt help for shit when im in a situation that in and of itself is anxiety inducing for me. and i dont fucking like how i cant tell the difference in my mood between the lighter and stronger dose. because i cant fucking say that its not heloing. because i dont know that. oh my god i am so horrible at stopping myself from venting. going now. okay. bye.

[socollectionbeliever]

How Successful People Make the Most of Their purple lean strain

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3%) Our listing consists of only peer-reviewed researches from 1990 to show that have actually been performed utilizing the weed plant or essences stemmed from the vegetation, including Sativex and Epidiolex. Studies entailing man-made recreations of separated materials from the marijuana vegetation e. g. items like Marinol, Nabilone, Cannabinor, as well as others were actually certainly not consisted of.

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014)," released in Neurology: "Cannabis possesses immunomodulatory [qualified of regulating immune system functions] homes and effects upon excitotoxicity [method through which neurons are actually damaged] that recommend that it might have a disease-modifying part in ALS [amyotrophic side sclerosis, also known as Lou Gehrig's Illness] There have also been some anecdotal records advising that marijuana may work in easing certain ALS symptoms DESIGN/METHODS: Our experts administered an undisclosed poll of all ALS clients going to the Penn ALS Center from June 2013 to the here and now end results: The study was given to 127 patients as well as 102 were actually completed (93% action rate). weed surup.

[catboyantichrist]

Hi there! Can you please do relationship headcanons of a gender neutral MC with autism and ADHD dating the seven brothers? I’d love to see more positive writing of a neurodivergent MC and how each of the brothers would love and respect them regardless of their disabilities. Feel free to do this if you want to. If not, that’s ok! Have a great day! 😁👍🌷🌹🌺🌸🌼🌻🌷🌹🌻🌼🌸🌺

This ask literally made me squeal- my neurodivergent ass is gonna have way too much fun with this- LMAO Just a warning, I'm basing this mainly off of my personal experiences (I have ADHD and am possibly getting tested for atypical autism in the future.). Ill try to be as broad as possible but I'd just like to give a heads up.

Just know that if you don't relate to this post or something in it, that doesn't mean you aren't valid! Everyone experiences neurodivergencey differently ^^

☆The Brothers Dating A GN!MC With Autism & ADHD☆

Day-to-day life has always been a struggle. As it feels like no human truly understands why you function the way you do. From bosses, to teachers, to neurotypical friends. Life can feel draining and like a chore when you're living in a world that doesn't function the way you do.

Then your world literally changes. You're in the devildom now. Most people would be terrified that they're living in a house full of demons. But you weren't. You felt like you finally belonged, and eventually you finally found love. Something that people assumed you'd never be able to find. Well jokes on them because your lover treats you with so much respect and kindness, and of course you do the same. This is some of what your lover does that just makes your heart spin:

Lucifer:

-Much to your dismay, before Lucifer started to get to know you he was similar to the humans you've encountered in the past. This doesn't last long though as one of the brothers (most likely Leviathan or Mammon) try to explain. He begins to go a bit easier on you, and also falls for you.

-When you guys start dating, he makes it his goal to help make your day-to-day life easier. Dare I say, he takes pride in it. (Hahahah aren't I funny?)

-He notices how you need a schedule to function, but how much you hate schedules. So with your permission, he makes a loose schedule and follows it WITH you. It simultaneously helps you function more than usual, and it helps Lucifer take breaks when he needs to.

-You two begin to do everything together, as doing stuff together and holding each other accountable is a lot easier than doing it alone

-If someone ever dares to make a rude comment about you Lucifer will um... "take care of them".

-If you ever get overstimulated from the environment you're in, Lucifer keeps his office wide open as a quiet place for you. He keeps a weighted blanket, some headphones and any stim toys you usually use in a corner of his office. If you're not comfortable with them out in the open he'll keep them in a special box somewhere in his office that others can't get into.

Mammon:

-Executive Dysfunction gang! The both of you are relieved that you understand each other and some dumbass wont just go "jUsT gEt Up aNd dO iT!"

-If you guys are struggling with it at different times, you'll try to help each other do small tasks that require very limited effort so that one of you don't get overwhelmed and stressed out. If its a particularly difficult day, you'll just stay there to support the other if they want that.

-If both of you are struggling that day, you do nothing ✨together✨ and just vibe with each others company.

-This man brings you shiny things. They don't even have to be worth anything, they're just shiny. You proceed to do the same. You two now have a designated spot for shiny things you bring each other. If you have an interest in art, you and him will probably end up using the shiny objects as art projects.

-A LOT of impulse shopping. You guys enable each other. Although you quickly realize that you impulse shop for each other. Every second day you end up bringing each other gifts and laughing about it after.

Leviathan:

-Y'know that arm thing two neurodivergent people do when they find out that the other person is neurodivergent? Yeah you two did that. And still continue to do that. It's your greeting now.

-You two spend tons of time either cuddling and talking about your special interests together, or both of you are pacing around Levi's room talking about your special interests together.

-And if you end up having the same special interest?? Oh man the serotonin you two both get just being AROUND each other.

-If you have a hard time around tons of people (in general or just at certain times) he's more than willing to share his room with you and for you two to do online school together. I mean hey, doing school by yourself online is difficult. (Even if it's more comfortable for you both)

-Will he get you a matching pair of noise cancelling headphones if you have auditory sensory issues, or if you just like the pressure on your head. (I don't know if that's a neurodivergent thing but I will wear my headphones just so that I feel some sort of pressure on my head)

-You both communicate what you need, and whether you need alone time or not. Making sure not to trigger any form of rejection sensitivity dysphoria for eachother.

Satan:

-If you were one of those neurodivergent kids that spent all of their time in the library, going through books like wildfire in middle school, get ready for that to be reignited.

-You two will read together all the time, and if you're having a day where you're more fidgety and don't wanna stay still, Satan is more than happy reading to you while you pace around.

-Satan has a natural curiosity, and loves to learn about anything that he doesn't already know about. So if you have a special interest about your own neurodivergency, he is more than happy to listen to you ramble about your life experiences and symptoms.

-Honestly, it doesn't even have to be about neurodivergency, Satan is happy to listen and learn about anything you're interested currently.

-If you aren't big on physical affection from humans or, well... humanoid people, that's perfectly fine! That's what animals are for! He'll take you to a cat cafe and will enjoy spending time with the animals with you.

-Similar to Lucifer, if anyone makes a comment about the way you act, they wont live to see another day. Unlike Lucifer, the demons who say these comments don't even finish their sentence. They're dead before MC blinks.

Asmodeus:

-When Asmodeus finds out that you have sensory issues that affect what you wear, he decides to hand-make clothes with fabrics of your choice. He has no issue with you prioritizing comfort over appearance, but if you want to put effort into your appearance and texture is stopping you, he's more than happy to design some stuff for you.

-Asmodeus has always been a touchy person, but if you aren't comfortable with that he'd never force you to cuddle. If you are interested in physical affection one of his favourite things to do is put makeup on your face, or just touch your face.

-Speaking of which, if you ever impulsively cut your hair whether it be from breakdown, normal impulsivity, or sensory issues with your hair being longer. He'll always help you cut your hair. He wants to make sure that once you cut it, you wont regret it the next day.

-Depending on whether you like going outside or not (or if its depending on the day) he's more than happy to take you to the fall! He'll make sure you're always comfortable and if you need the attention diverted from you if you need a break!

-If you don't like going outside, Asmo will dedicate certain nights for just you two to hang out. He can always energy match you. Hyperactive? Oh he's right there with you bouncing of the walls. Calmer? He doesn't mind just vibing with you. Comfort? Oh you've come to the right guy.

-Asmodeus is very emotionally intelligent, it may have originally been for the wrong purposes (charming others) but now he can use it to help you work through issues with socializing with others, past traumas from other people, he'll always do his best to support you as long as you'd do the same for him!

Beelzebub:

-Beel is always well meaning, but whether you're neurodivergent or neurotypical, communication is key with him. So, if you're unintentionally blunt to neurotypical people, that's exactly what Beel needs and wants. He knows you don't mean it out of harm, you're just trying to state your boundaries.

-Do you need a weighted blanket? This man will become the weighted blanket. He wants to make sure you're comfortable at all times!

-If you have trouble eating, Beel is here to help. If you take meds for ADHD and they make you lose your appetite, or just general forgetfulness, he'll remind you to have at least some sort of small snack throughout the day. Nothing too filling, just enough so that you aren't running on zero food throughout the day.

-All the go-to and comfort foods that you had in the human world? Beel would make it his MISSION to get them, and TONS of it too. It's the only food in the house he wont eat because he knows how important it is to you. He will tear up a bit if you offer to share though.

-If you're in a hyperactive mood, or anxious, Beel will convince you to do some light exercise with him to help calm you down

Belphegor:

-If you have trouble sleeping, Belphie will definitely try and help. Ranging from cuddling, aroma therapy, getting Beel to do exercise with you. To more magical means (if you're comfortable with it) like sleeping powder.

-If you just have a different internal clock than the average person, that's fine too! It may be permanent but that's okay- Belphie will sleep at any time with you.

-Isn't generally a social person so if you're not that big of a fan of social interaction you don't have to worry. Belphie would even do online school with you!

-He would let you use his pillows and blankets to stim if that's something you're interested in. He'd also listen to you ramble about your interests while doing so! As long as you don't mind him talking about the stars afterwards.

-Definitely the most blunt out of his brothers, so communication wouldn't be an issue between you two. If his bluntness is a bit too harsh for you he'll try to tone it down a bit, but it would probably just end up as him trying to explain the reasoning behind the bluntness and how it's not out of harm.

[dreambones]

hi!!! I love your games and am looking into trying to make one of my own. any tips?

Thanks! And sure, I like helping. These are based on my experience and a couple I got from college, summarized in the 3 I find more useful and important:

If you are making your first game (I'd even go and say your first 1 - 3 games at least) Keep it simple!

I cannot stress this enough, and it is one of the hardest things in game development I keep having to remind myself every, single, time.

I think Jake's Halloween Night is a good example of this. The game is, stripped down to its bare essentials, a game where you find keys to open locked doors, collect 3 items, and that's it, that's the game. And it all happens in a two levels house with 8 rooms, with 1 single character.

I know the temptation to go and make something bigger (that you might not think is big at all cof looks at MegaBite, Lucinda and The Mushroom Killer of).

There is nothing wrong with big projects! They are cool too, but imagine never swimming a day in your life and then deciding next week you will go and swim across a lake.

Chances are you won't have an award winning game that everyone will be talking about, but believe me, a finished game is such a rewarding feeling than looking back at several unfinished projects.

2. There are no "Engines that make bad/good games"

I borrow this one from a teacher in college. Use the game engine that is comfortable for you, the one you know how to use and you have access to. Just because you make a game with RPG Maker, doesn't mean you'll make a bad game, just like using Unreal Engine doesn't mean your game will be good. Sure, some programs will give you things others won't, and some will only work with a certain coding language or graphics, but it's up to you what game you do with the tools you got at hand.

There are a lot of free to try programs to make games out there, and different ranges of price. I haven't been able to try many aside Unity, which I learned in college, and RPG Maker MV, which I picked because I didn't liked Unity. There are others I want to try but I sadly haven't got the time, so I don't really have lots of experience in that area.

The important thing is you pick the one you are comfortable with and that gives you what you want, don't let others tell you your game will be bad just because of the program you picked.

3. Make a game you want to make, don't try to make a game looking for a secret formula to make "a successful game"

This applies to probably all creative work, but make a game you are having fun with, with a story you like, and characters you love. Maybe it's cliche, maybe it's really dumb, but it's easier to keep motivated when you are doing a game you love.

One of the many reasons I paused MegaBite development was because once I was done with College, I realized I was adapting my original idea, to what my professors and classmates seen as a good, normal, commercial game, and that stopped being fun to me, so I've had to take a step back to see what do I want to make with MegaBite.

On the other hand, Jake's Halloween Night is a dumb idea I came up with while hanging out with Popfizzless, and I turned around and told em "I will make a game where you play with a Chad Bro looking guy that at the end turns out to be a slasher" and then I said, "fuck it, his name is Jack O' Lambert because I love puns and I will make all the silly horror movies references I can and that doesn't make sense".

I started on October 5 and ended October 29th, doing a dumb game I was enjoying making, expecting barely anything from it, and next day one of my favorite YouTubers had played it. And I think the best part was seeing him and all the people in the comments having fun with my dumb, cliche, silly ideas. Even seeing YouTubers I didn't knew about, enjoying the game and making jokes about it was so much fun and more enjoyable than if I had made something I didn't enjoy making but got popular.

And to be fair, barely anyone played JHN, but it is still crazy see that bunch of people in MBH commenting theories and finding horror movies references I didn't put there.

Long story short, start with a small, simple game with 1 or two characters, that you enjoy making and are having fun with.

I hope this helps and good luck with your game making!

[httpsaiki]

Saiki with an s/o who just cups his cheeks and tells him they live him for the first time ever.

Hi! This is adorable, thank you so much for this request!! I did a story, not headcanons and it kind of got off track, but I hope you like it!

—

I went into way too much detail about cupcakes in this, I got carried away, oops. I'm back, though! After months I finally refound my love for this show and along with it my inspiration for writing! I hope this isn't too bad, I wrote it all in one go. I have been writing a personal project, but I doubt I've improved that much in the last couple months. Thank you if you read this! I hope to have more to post soon!

Reader is gender neutral!

WC: 1533

Italics represents Saiki speaking telepatically!

Saiki with a S/O who cups his cheeks and tells him they love him for the first time.

—————————————————–

Your week had been anything but easy. Balancing a school and social life wasn’t supposed to be easy, sure, but this was getting ridiculous. It seemed every assignment was due at some point this past week and every class had some sort of test or exam. On top of everything, your friend group decided it was the perfect time to meet up to study nearly every single day. It was completely and entirely exhausting. You hardly got a free moment to yourself.

To make matters worse, you hadn’t seen Kusuo the entire time. He was part of your friend group, yeah, but by some miracle, he managed to dodge every study session. It was almost like he had superpowers. On most weeks like this, Kusuo was the only thing that could get you through it, being around him was oddly healing - even if he’s a jerk about it sometimes, you miss him dearly. He had some sort of ability to keep you calm and content, just being around him was enough to relieve some of the day's stress. Kusuo was there for you no matter what, whether he was willing to admit that or not. You knew it to be true and he knows you know. That’s enough.

You could feel him rolling his eyes if you were to tell him anything you just thought, that is. That never stopped you, though, you needed to make sure he knows you care for him. No, care is not a strong enough word. You’re sure you love him, there’s no doubt in your mind. How can you go about telling him? He of all people definitely deserves to know he’s loved.

Plotting how you’d tell Kusuo that you love him turned out to be a fantastic stress reliever. Laughing all you want about the cheesy, made-up scenarios you come up with did wonders to calm you down. Anything from a mock proposal on the beach, to screaming it off a cliff. Most of them weren’t realistic, nor to either of your tastes. But they were fun, and that’s all that mattered. You finally decided on telling him the one way you knew he’d like best. Sweets. Content with your idea, you prepared for bed. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

You woke bright and early. So early, in fact, that the sun had hardly even began to rise. There was work to be done. Quietly, you made your way down to the kitchen, careful enough not to wake anyone up. You decided on a quick and easy breakfast, you could never go wrong with toast. While the bread was toasting, you got out cupcake trays and your cake recipe, reading it over and gathering any ingredients you need. You left any ingredients that needed to be refrigerated in the fridge but prepared measuring cups and bowls for them. Anything that didn’t need to be kept cold was put into the appropriate bowl - wet or dry. As you were measuring out the last of your dry ingredients, you heard a faint pop from the toaster and decided it was time to take a break and eat. Your toast was surprisingly good, probably because you felt you worked for it.

Now was for the easier parts, combining the rest of your recipe and then pouring it into the cupcake trays. You went about your day, waiting for them to finish baking and then cool down. Once they were cool, it was around lunchtime. The perfect time to finish them up with icing. Carefully, you took your time to write out “I love u Kusuo!” Putting each character on its own cupcake - unfortunately having to shorten the “you” so that it would fit on the 12 of them. To add a final touch, you added a couple small heart candies onto some of them. They looked great and you were proud of your work.

As soon as the cupcakes were packaged up and ready to go, you headed immediately out the door. Kusuo didn’t usually like when you showed up suddenly or unannounced, but you carried treats and an important message this time. You were sure he wouldn’t mind too much.

The walk to his house was uneventful as always. You were lucky enough not to run into anyone you knew on the way there. You didn’t want to have to explain yourself and a small part of you expected that running into somebody would only strike disaster - similar to the past week. There was a small skip in your step on the way there, happy to finally see Kusuo after that long, painful week. You didn’t let any of your nerves get to you. Kusuo would take your message well. He had to.

Or, that’s what you were telling yourself as you nervously stood at his doorway. Ringing his doorbell had never been so frightening. You braved it, though, and your finger found its way up to his doorbell. The muffled ring could be heard even from the outside and approaching footsteps that sounded awfully familiar came shortly after.

When the door opened you were greeted with the face you craved to see all week. He looked as unbothered as ever, but the second he stepped aside and his arm gestured to let you in you knew he was happy to see you. With a smile on your face, you went to step inside and-

Apparently, your awful week had yet to cease. Right as you walked in the door, towards Kusuo, your foot caught the bottom of the doorframe. You tripped on it, the box of cupcakes falling along with you. "Oh!” It came out choked and as if you hadn’t meant to say it at all, “No!”

You quickly peeked inside of the box. The icing writing you had worked so hard on was smudged, no longer legible. They were still edible, but the message had been erased. Kusuo was staring down at the cupcakes, an almost puzzled expression on his face. He kept the same expression as his eyes met yours.

“Sorry,” you apologized quickly, “they were for you, I didn’t mean to- to make a mess of them.”

Kusuo only nodded, but it was enough to tell you there was no problem and you hadn’t even needed to apologize. He wasn’t mad.

“Listen, Kusuo I,” you cut yourself off, now that the cupcakes weren’t an option how did you want to tell him?

“Screw it.” You muttered under your breath as you stood up from the ground, dusting yourself off. Now back on your feet, you quickly reached up, placing both your hands on Kusuo’s cheeks. Your thumbs found their way right on his cheekbones, running softly along them. The rest of your fingers could reach to his hair and you had to resist completely tangling them in it. His expression was entirely neutral once more, at the very least he wasn’t offended by your actions.

“I really love you, Kusuo.”

He smiled. He actually smiled. It was genuine, it was beautiful, everything you could’ve asked for and more. His hands were in your cheeks too at this point and he had an uncharacteristically intense look in his eyes.

“I really love you, too.”

Such a simple statement and yet you could feel your cheeks burning up from it. Even worse, his hands were on his face so he could feel it too. He was so close, still smiling at you. You’d never imagined his face was capable of making such a dopey, lovesick smile and yet here he is. And then he hugged you. Tight. He’d never held you like that before, it was so loving and warm. It hardly lasted a couple seconds, so short that you were almost sure you imagined it. As soon as you registered it, it was over, and Kusuo’s normal, unbothered expression remained on his face.

“We shouldn’t let your hard work go to waste, should we? Want to come enjoy these with me?” Kusuo moved down to pick up the box, staring down at them in admiration even if they were a mess by now. You didn’t bother to reply to him, still slightly in shock. You chose to simply follow after him into the other room as he placed the box on a table. Kusuo wasted no time in grabbing one of the cupcakes, his signature sweets-eating-face taking over as soon as he took a bite. It was endearing, to say the least. As if he sensed your hesitation, he nudged the box towards you, encouraging you to take one as well. Despite their state, they still tasted amazing, all your hard work really paid off.

The rest of the day was spent comfortably. You refused to leave Kusuo’s side after everything that happened. You took to ranting about your week and how much you missed him while sat comfortably next to him, right where you wanted to be. Maybe the past week was worth it. You finally got to tell Kusuo you love him and got plenty of time together to make up for it. It had been bad, but like all the times before, Kusuo had a way of making you feel better.

[lightsovermonaco]

His Good Sweater: Chapter 18

Masterlist

Thanks to @acollectionofficsandshit for being my bestie and beta reading! This would have never happened without her ❤ Make sure you read Roman Profile, set in the same universe!

Word Count: 7.6k

Abu Dhabi holds a special place in Pierre's heart. The food is great, the views are spectacular, and there is always plenty to do to keep him busy. Night races are some of the more exciting races too and Pierre appreciated the variety.

Coming into the final race of the season, Pierre holds on to seventh in the championship by a few points. Perez sensed the usurper creeping up on his seat and had cranked it up to eleven. 

Exams had kept you in London for the race in Brazil, where Pierre had finished sixth and Checo DNF'd. You had managed to fly out for the weekend in Saudi Arabia, where Perez had finished fifth and closed the gap to Pierre to only four points behind. 

If Pierre didn't finish ahead of Perez this weekend, he was fucked. And he was at the distinct disadvantage of his good luck charm being absent, stuck in London finishing up your final few exams of the semester. Two weeks without seeing you coupled with barely hearing from you had worn on him. It wasn't purposeful on your part but Pierre's stress was already compressed like the suspension on his car. Stray an inch too far over the racing line, hit a curb too hard and it was liable to snap, sending bits and pieces flying.

Pierre checks his phone for the millionth time as he waits to check in to the hotel. Wednesday was late for this many crew members to be arriving. His main concern though was that you hadn't responded to the text he'd sent you upon landing.

"Look lively, will you?" Max claps Pierre on the shoulder and he slides his phone into his pocket. "It's the last race of the season. We get to go balls to the wall and leave it all out in the track. And here you are looking like a kicked puppy."

"Easy for you to say," Pierre starts, grinning at his friend. "You clinched the title weeks ago. You don't even have to race this weekend if you don't want to and you'd still win."

"Doesn't mean I won't be shooting for a podium."

Pierre rolls his eyes. "Yeah well we can't all be so lucky, can we?"

"Next year you'll be playing with the big dogs." Max hands the receptionist his ID, says a few words and turns back to Pierre. "Looking forward to having you as a teammate again. It was fun for those couple races and I'm sure you'll be a challenge now that you've found your groove."

"You're gonna jinx it if you keep talking." Pierre laughs, praying that it covers up the old wound Max's statement picked open. Pierre hated the idea of moving back to Red Bull but he didn't have much choice. He was still contracted to one of four Red Bull branded seats for next season. A promotion, at the very least, would help him showcase his talent and further cement his value. If he had to spend any longer than that with the team, ripping out his hair was a real possibility.

"Wasn't someone supposed to be with you this weekend?" Max quirks a brow. "Where is she?"

"In London." Max bringing you up doesn't help the pit forming in Pierre's stomach. Win or lose, seventh or eighth, Red Bull or Alpha Tauri, come Sunday Pierre wanted you at his side. Interview requests were bound to roll in either way and Pierre would need someone to ground him, a task much easier to accomplish if you were physically at his side.

"Too bad." Max clicks his tongue and takes his room keys from the receptionist. "It's gonna be a fun weekend."

"I don't think-"

Pierre's vision goes dark at the same time someone whispers, "Guess who?"

Pierre sucks in a breath, spins on his heel and wraps you in a hug in one smooth motion. You laugh as he lifts you off your feet and presses kisses to your cheeks. 

"What are you doing here?" He grabs both suitcases and tugs you aside. His room can wait.

"Tost asked me to come." Your grin is contagious, its twin appearing on Pierre's own cheeks. "He said that since you were flying out from Milan on your own there was an extra seat on the jet, so if I got myself to Nice I could fly out with the Red Bull boys."

"Seven hours trapped in a tin can with Max, Yuki and Checo?" Pierre rubs his chest. "I've got heartburn just thinking about that."

"It wasn't so bad," you say, finally giving him a proper kiss. "Yuki and I just played games on our phones the whole time. And I beat Max at Scrabble."

"How many Dutch words did he try to use?"

"Mmm, about half the words he tried were definitely not English."

"Yep, sounds about right." Pierre throws an arm around your shoulders and leads you back to the reception desk. He pays for an upgraded room when you aren't looking- though when you're assigned a suite there's not much higher you can go- and slips the woman behind the counter an extra bill for good measure.

"I could use a nap," you note, leaning against Pierre like you'd otherwise fall over. "I didn't get much sleep last night."

Pierre checks his watch. "We've got time for a nap."

"We?" Your raised eyebrow is question enough. Pierre smiles and swipes his key card once you're in the elevator with him. He hadn't looked at the price of the room but he was positive it was more than he'd spent on a single night in his entire career, considering it occupies an entire floor of the swanky hotel.

"It's date night," Pierre says simply. Initially his plan had been to invite Charles over for a game of Fifa but the Monegasque wouldn’t fault him for cancelling at the last minute. "We're in one of the most luxurious cities in the world and I'm going to show you off every chance I get. The restaurant down stairs is to die for."

Your attempt at nodding along with what he says is thwarted by a yawn. "Sleep first, eat later." Seeing as it was impossible to deny you, Pierre simply drops a kiss to the crown of your head.

"Wait until you see our room." The way your eyes light up when he says our room makes him want to say it again and again just to see you sparkle.

"I know you upgraded it, Mr. I-think-I'm-sneaky." You uncurl yourself from against his arm when the elevator chimes. "How much did it cost?"

"A few extra pennies."

The stainless steel doors open directly into the suite. The living space is dominated by a curving crescent of full length windows overlooking the cerulean harbor and the jagged steel of the city skyline beyond. Suitcase forgotten, your jaw drags along the floor as you toe off your shoes in favor of sinking onto one of the half moon couches situated around a low coffee table.

"Did you get some sort of bonus you didn't tell me about?" Pierre sees your inner engineer cataloging the chandelier dripping crystals over the carved dining table and the pattern of the black veined marble flooring. "This cost more than a few pennies."

"I didn't really look at the price so it's possible," he admits. In the end it was worth it to see you like this, happy as a pig in mud. Pierre was in his element at the track you were in yours in beautiful buildings. For all Pierre cared you could be sharing a dingy room at a motel; it would still be five star worthy with you there. 

Every once in a while though, you deserve a bit of pampering for all you put up with. Late nights and months apart wasn’t easy on either of you, but you stuck by him. And when the day comes that Pierre retires or loses his seat, you would be the one there to comfort him. Spending frivolous amounts of money to see you smile was nothing in the grand scheme of things. 

In Pierre’s world, money is temporary, you are forever.

"Well I have half a mind to tear into you for spending so much on a room we won't spend all that much time in," you start, your star-speckled gaze landing on Pierre, "the view is too pretty to be upset about."

"Mine isn't half bad either." You laugh, tucking an errant hair behind your ear. You both know he isn’t referring to the glittering bay or the expensive furnishings.

"Up," Pierre demands softly, holding out his hand. Your hand is warm and dwarfed by his long fingers but you barely seem to notice. The heart in his chest pounds for no discernable reason as he leads you down the narrow hall past doors leading to what he can only assume are bedrooms and bathrooms, to the one at the end of the hall. Based on his mental floor plan this one has the best view, if he's guessed correctly.

Your breezy oh confirms his hunch. You stutter at the threshold, coming up short behind him to bathe in the beauty of the sea, dotted through with white sails. Sunlight twinkles off the waves and if he breathes deep enough, he can almost smell the salt.

"Come on," Pierre says with a chuckle, urging you to fall into the fluffy down of the bed with him. You follow reluctantly, too enamored by the sights to pay any real attention to how Pierre arranges your limbs to his liking, your head resting on his chest and your joined hands laying atop his stomach.

"How about that nap?" He murmurs, running the fingers of his free hand through your unbound hair. 

You sigh and snuggle in closer. It was rare that Pierre had the opportunity to steal moments like this during a race week, when he had nothing better to do than tangle himself in you.

"I'll tell you a story." 

Just as he expected, you leap at the offer. "Can you tell me the one about the time you and Charles got in trouble when you were karting?"

Normally he opts for something fictional that allows him to embellish the details to fit his narrative. Pierre loved spinning tales rife with laughter and intrigue but he also didn't mind indulging your curiosity.

"Yeah, I can tell that one. Let me set the scene. It's midnight on a Friday at a little track outside Rouen. Two gangly teenage boys, one French and one definitely, positively not French, have nothing better to do than get themselves in trouble…"

**********

Fans began whispering when Pierre set foot in the lobby. The price of stardom was high and had taken years to get used to. Some days the bombardment of people asking for photos and autographs overwhelmed him to the point he was desperate for an out. Most people respected his boundaries and when they sensed it was too much, they backed off. Other days it was simply too much and he would mumble excuses and book it out the door.

The pressure increases tenfold when he steps into the lobby with you on his arm, the pair of you dressed to the nines. He clocks a group of women- clearly tourists based on their body language- perched on a sofa the minute their low murmurs turn into excited squeals.

Pierre mentally braces for you to stiffen or stop altogether but you do neither. You carry on unaffected, either ignoring them or completely oblivious to the women who do nothing to hide their pointed stares.

"Table for two please." You smile at the restaurant host and then at Pierre. You must not have noticed the fans then. You were getting better at coping with the photos and whispers, although your smile usually became forced the longer it dragged on, the polar opposite of you currently beaming at him.

Pierre's shoulders sag a bit when you're led to a secluded table towards the rear of the dining space. Privacy wasn't a luxury he was often afforded. With his back to a wall of windows, there were fewer angles for people to approach from which was a small comfort.

Apparently you find sitting across from Pierre unacceptable because you shuffle your chair to his side of the table before plopping down in it. Pierre shoots you a questioning look but keeps his mouth shut. Inquiring after your motives didn't tend to end well for him.

Instead he leans over to kiss your cheek, relishing the blush his lips coax to the surface.

“It all sounds good,” you say, scanning the menu. “You’ve been here before, I take it?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah I have. It’s all wonderful.” 

The fans from the lobby remain in the blurred fringes of his vision. Pierre does his best to focus on the waitress explaining the specials. He tunes in automatically to the fan’s heavily accented English as they argue with the host, vying for a table as close to Pierre as possible.

Their phones remain out as an annoyed waiter tries and fails to coax the gaggle of girls into ordering something. Pierre drags a hand through his hair.

Being the center of attention usually doesn't bother him. Coping with the spotlight and the scrutiny that accompanies it is second nature; if the press conferences at Spa in 2019 had taught him anything, it was the importance of a solid poker face. Fame is new to you though and interactions with polite fans make you nervous. Having your picture taken without permission and splashed on social media? Forget about it. Pierre didn't care to find out how you'd react.

"Don't be nervous." You lay a hand on Pierre's thigh. The touch is enough to temporarily pause his bouncing leg. "You're going to do amazing this weekend. All you have to do is finish in front of Checo and you're golden."

How you haven't noticed the girls giggling mere yards away is beyond him. The last thing he wants to do is ruin this perfect, beautiful moment of bliss. You look gorgeous with your painted lips and that sinful black dress that he doubts can be comfortable based on how it hugs your curves like water. To top it off, the pride in your gaze is something to behold, making it impossible to doubt himself when you so clearly and openly believe he can conquer the world.

But it's better to tell you now versus you finding out on social media later. "That's not what's bothering me."

"Oh?" You sit straighter and set the menu down. "What is it then? Because if it's Horner, I have no problem marching in there and chewing him out. Birdy will back me up."

Despite himself, Pierre can't hold back his smile. "Where did all this confidence come from, hmm?"

"I'm learning," you insist, nodding your head firmly. "I'm growing as a person and you should be proud."

"I never said I wasn't." Maybe you'd spent the last month at university interacting with racing fans on campus. Perhaps being exposed to endless questions in a setting you controlled was the key. "Did you take a course in confidence at university?"

You scrunch up your nose and laugh in the most adorable way. Pierre's heart lurches at the sight, regardless if it was him you were laughing at.

"No, but I did make a few new friends that have a habit of pestering me about you." You jab a finger in his side for good measure. "It helped, I think. I don't look for cameras as much anymore. You're my focus now, not paps that may or may not be lurking in bushes."

"I knew it." Pierre is slightly impressed that he'd hit the nail squarely on the head. "I figured there had to be someone at uni responsible for helping you out."

You shrug and purse your lips. "I guess we'll have to see how I handle this weekend. I mean, there's bound to be press trying to corner me, what with the stakes and all. But I think I can take them." You raise your fists in front of your face and Pierre has to laugh. 

“Throw a punch like that and you’ll break a finger.” He takes one of your clenched fists in his and untucks your thumb from under your fingers. “That’s how you make a proper fist. And you hit with these knuckles here- make sure you distribute the blow across all four, or you’ll be hurting.”

“Regardless,” you say, jabbing the air a few times, “The shock factor of having little old me in their face ought to be enough to earn me an advantage.”

Pierre finishes the lap to circle back to the topic at hand. "How about we test your confidence?” 

"Okay," you say, dragging out the 'a' until it hangs in the air between you like a spider's web. 

Pierre rakes a hand through his hair and nods to the girls a few tables away. "They've been taking pictures since we sat down. I'm sure they'll be all over Instagram in an hour, if they aren't already."

You steal a glance at the table in question under the guise of grabbing something from your purse. You hum, contemplating how to go about responding. Pierre is almost certain you'll ask to head back upstairs where it's just the two of you, no cameras or outside influence to ruin your night. His wallet is already out under the table, ready to leave a hefty tip for putting up with your drink-and-dash.

“We aren’t doing anything interesting,” you point out, swirling the knuckle’s worth of whiskey in your glass. “Why do they feel the need to document every passing second?”

Pierre lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “It’s just what some people do. If you’re uncomfortable we can go.”

“Who said anything about leaving?” You scoff, the corners of your lips turned up in a teasing smile. “I figure the best course of action is to give them something worth photographing.”

“What do you-”

Pierre’s yelp is decidedly unsexy when you yank him forward by his tie and attach your lips to his. Caught entirely off guard, he flounders for a moment before he catches himself and sinks into you. One hand on your cheek and the other creeping up your thigh, Pierre slides his tongue over the seam of your lips. You don't hesitate to obey the silent command.

He should be embarrassed. He should be contemplating the consequences of this kiss being splashed across tabloids the world over. He can’t bring himself to care, not when you’re the only release he needs and something as simple as a kiss sets his skin alight and causes any sane thoughts to trickle from his head.

Nothing matters. You're kissing him and your hand is a few inches below his hip on his right thigh, burning a brand that he prays leaves a puckered pink scar. Your scent and your mouth and your unmistakable hiss of pleasure saps the worry from his limbs. He's floating up off his chair, lungs filling with helium as you steal every last molecule of oxygen from the room.

Just like that, Pierre is the one that's roaring to leave for an entirely different reason.

Your hand on his jaw keeps your lips a hair's breadth apart as you whisper, "Are they staring?"

A blissed out nod is all he manages. Thoughts evade him and speaking is utterly out of the question when your lips are within striking distance. He surges forward for another kiss, heavier on teeth than on tongue. He makes sure to hold your lower lip between his teeth longer than necessary, putting on a show now that you've given him permission.

"Pierre," you murmur, using the hand splayed on his chest to push him away. The whine that escapes him is wholly unintentional. Thankfully it's low enough that only you hear, pressing a finger to your sinful lips.

"Down, boy." You extricate his hand from the dimpled flesh of your hip and place it chastely in his own lap. "We've accomplished what I wanted to."

Saying you tossing a wink over your shoulder at the intrusive fans isn't the hottest thing he's ever seen would be a lie. Pierre needed to be sure to thank Daniel's girlfriend the next time he saw her for whatever the hell she said to finally bestow you with a healthy serving of self-assurance because this new you is an entirely different entity, one Pierre intends to explore at the next opportunity.

"Problem solved." You brush your hands together and Pierre half expects to see dust clouds in the air like you'd just finished a woodshop project. 

Pierre's brain is operating on a ten second delay. So really, normal operating procedure when he was in your vicinity. "I don't think we've accomplished everything I'd like to get done."

"We have a dinner to finish first." You pick up your menu and resume browsing like you hadn't just forcibly ripped his appetite for anything other than you right out of him. "The salmon sounds good, don't you think?"

"You sound good," Pierre mumbles under his breath and picks up his own menu. God, he'd love to let his fingers drift to the apex of your thighs. You’re always cute when you squirm. It was so simple to do too, all you needed was a brush of his knuckle to your center and you'd be gasping.

"Are you ready to order?"

The soft-spoken waitress bursts Pierre's bubble. She brings fresh drinks and jots down an order of two salmon fillets and leaves with a smile. 

How Pierre has managed to make it this long without fucking you is beyond him. From the moment you surprised him in the lobby, his limbs have been thrumming with energy. And now your surprise kiss had been the pebble that preceded an avalanche of feverish longing. Those red painted lips would look better wrapped around his-

The pointed toe of your shoe digs into his calf. "Quit staring."

"Either you let me daydream or you let me take you upstairs,” Pierre quips back, licking his lips before he can catch himself.

"Can we get through one date without you mentally undressing me?"

Pierre dips his grin in a vat of lust, his words dripping with waxy promise. "No. Not when I know that as soon as we're alone, you'll let me do what I want."

"And what about what I want?" Your pouted lip does absolutely nothing but push his mind further in the gutter. 

"Your wish is my command." His hand floats under the hem of your dress to graze along your core. And there it is, that sound he would swim across oceans to hear, your chastizing gasp of surprise. 

The cross way you whisper his name is a thing of dreams. No one else's name sounded like that on your tongue, that honor is reserved solely for Pierre. The two breathless syllables are more exhilarating than standing on the top step. The rush of adrenaline that accompanies them is ten times what he is rewarded with when passing a world champion on track. He'll give it all up to hear you repeat it when you're pissed or lonely or tired- he just wants your voice echoing in his ears like a broken record.

You move his hand a safe distance down your thigh, nearly at your knee. Pierre gives your leg a sharp squeeze. "Can we please get our dinner to go?"

"Not tonight. You can wait, mon amour."

The French rolls off your tongue awkwardly but Pierre will be the last to complain. Your encyclopedic knowledge of which buttons to press when had come back to bite him in the ass.

"That's not fair." His pout is a mirror image of the one you turned on him earlier. "You can't use my own language against me."

You pat your pockets as if searching for something and shrug when you come up empty. "I don't see a rulebook anywhere."

Reminding you what happens when you tease him shoots to the top of his to do list. "I'll play if you wanna play, ma chérie. Don't bite off more than you can chew."

"I think you're forgetting who usually wins off track."

Pierre can't help it. He takes advantage of his superior reflexes and surges forward to claim another searing kiss. You did normally win and it wasn't for lack of trying on his end. No matter the tactic he employed, you generally got the better of him. Not that he minded.

"Why don't you come here?" He purposely grazes his lips to your ear as he speaks and grins when a shiver runs down your spine. 

"Because we are in public," you hiss back, though the way your head tips to the side betrays you. Pierre's nose touches the underside of your jaw and you struggle to find your breath.

"We should eat." A self satisfied smile splits his face when he notices your heaving chest and wild eyes. 

"When did our food get here?" Pierre did that. He got you so worked up that you blocked out your surroundings so thoroughly that you hadn't heard the clink of plates. Pierre wears that fact like a badge of honor.

"A minute or so ago. Remind me again who's winning?"

"We may be even," you relent, adjusting the skirt of your dress. Yeah, even isn't the word he would pick, considering how flustered you are. It's a good thing Pierre has learned to eat with one hand because he doesn't plan on moving the arm currently slung over the back of your chair anytime soon. His finger traces the letters of his name on the bare skin of your shoulder. Whether you realize what he's writing or not you lean into him as you eat, falling in closer with each lemon-scented bite.

"Excuse me?"

You don't bother to look up but Pierre does. Disappointment washes over him when he is met by one of the fans, apparently deeming now to be the appropriate time to approach him, while clearly on a date, in the middle of a meal.

"I'll be happy to take a photo once I'm done." Sometimes passive aggressiveness works best with people like this, who have no regard for personal space. "Right now I would prefer to be alone, thanks."

"Oh, right." The blonde giggles, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "You two make a… cute couple?" The end of her sentence turns up and your fork falls to your plate.

Pierre tucks you a little closer to his side, both possessive and reassuring. "We know."

Your discomfort is plain, the way you curl in on yourself making his heart hurt. But you surprise him by taking a deep breath and turning to the woman with a smile. 

"If you'd let us finish our meal, I would appreciate it. We can stop by on our way out and chat with you." Sylvie would be proud of that answer. Diplomatically phrased and said with a smile that negates any negative connotations.

"Of course." The blonde's smile is sickly sweet. To Pierre she adds, "Good luck on Sunday."

Pierre nods. The woman's rude behavior didn't warrant a verbal response. She mumbles a feeble goodbye before slinking back to her friends. If nothing else at least their whispers died down, put out by his behavior. 

Pierre loves his fans. Without them he wouldn't have a sport to compete in, and of course he appreciated their endless support. Stopping for photos or autographs had gotten him in trouble with Marko multiple times for being late to meetings that usually turned out to be pointless anyway. As a whole, their enthusiasm gives him an extra boost on Sundays and lifts his spirits after a bad weekend.

And then sometimes there were people like the blonde woman that had interrupted his dinner. Those people he has far less tolerance for. Basic manners were imperative to Pierre giving someone the light of day, otherwise he saw no need to waste time and energy on them.

"All good, ma chérie?" Pierre rubs your shoulder, hoping it'll stave off any anxiety.

"I'm good," you confirm with a nod of your head. "Let's finish up and go to our room."

Pierre presses a kiss to your temple and scarfs down the remainder of his meal in record time. He flags down the waitress and hands her his card, leaving a substantial tip when she returns with the check.

“Can you distract that table?” Pierre asks, aware of how unusual the request likely is. “I’d like to get out of here without making a scene.”

“Of course,” the waitress says with a warm, sincere smile. Pierre waits until she loudly announces, “Excuse me? Your card has been declined, do you have another method of payment?”

Neither of you can contain your laughter as you stumble through the lobby. In the sanctity of the elevator, Pierre wraps his arms around your middle and molds himself against you. "You look especially gorgeous tonight."

"You're not too bad yourself." One of your hands finds the nape of his neck, guiding his face to the crook of your shoulder. Pierre takes the invitation at face value and nips at the sensitive skin. Your hum goes straight to his cock, twitching against the swell of your ass.

"I win," you purr, tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging. 

For once Pierre is glad to be in the world's slowest elevator. Since he's already lost, he might as well lose in style. He spins you to face the mirrored wall. And because he knows it'll make you tremble, he trails his hand lazily over your throat to grip your jaw.

A low moan leaves your parted lips. Pierre studies your reflection, from your hands gripping the railing to the skin dimpling beneath his fingers. 

"Fine, you win this time. But I think you and I both know, I'll come out ahead in the end."

**********

Waking up to soft kisses will never get old. Thirty years from now when Pierre was retired and you fell asleep each night with his arms around you, you'd still yearn for the brush of his lips to your cheeks, neck, and shoulders to rouse you from the violet shores of sleep.

"Good morning," you mumble, a sentiment which Pierre echoes with his gruff, sleep tinged voice. "Sleep well?"

"Best sleep I've ever gotten. You tired me out last night." You both grin at the reminder. Fueled by a slight tinge of jealousy after the women at the restaurant made eyes at him, you had refused to let him tumble into bed until well past midnight, when you both were well and truly exhausted. Thursday is press day, nothing strenuous that he couldn't afford to be a little sore for.

Pierre rolls to straddle your hips, lips capturing yours for a proper kiss. The taste of freshly brushed mint makes your skin tingle when he tugs your lip between his teeth.

"It's too early for that." You throw your arms around his neck and urge him to bend his elbows until he falls atop you. It takes him a moment to snuggle in, his head on your chest and his arms sliding under your middle. 

You're convinced that ten minutes in this position can cure any ailments, physical or mental. The weight of your soulmate pressing into you, forcing you to focus on breathing instead of whatever might be bothering you. It's easy to forget about the outside world when everything you require to be happy is wrapped around you like a blanket.

You stroke a hand over Pierre's hair until his breathing evens out, only rousing him when the sun peeks over the harbor. Amiable silence fills the space as hues of orange and pink paint Pierre in swaths of color. Suddenly you're seeing him for the first time, completely enamored by the angles of his cheekbones and the sharp cut of his stubbled jaw. The golden hour of dawn shines on it's golden boy, his lashes brushing his cheeks as he turns towards the warmth calling him home.

"Pyry and I are going for a run soon if you'd like to come with us."

You cringe. Running used to be fun when you were in school, but seeing as you hadn't properly trained in years you doubted you could keep up with a pair of professionals. "How about you text me when you're back and I'll come to the gym with you? It looks fancy, if George's snaps are anything to go by."

Pierre trails kisses up your sternum, over your neck and only speaks once he's reached your lips. "Looking at other men, are you?"

"Shut up," you laugh, shoving him off you. "I'll have you know it was a rare shirt on picture, thank you very much. I don't need to see George shirtless ever again."

A satisfied, "Good," rumbles from Pierre's chest and he stands to stretch the lingering sleep from his limbs. Clad in nothing but a pair of white four inch inseam shorts and with his back to you, you grin as an idea forms. You scramble forward before he can process you moving and smack his ass so hard he yelps.

"Gotcha!" You devolve into a fit of giggles as he rubs the spot you hit, whining about you taking advantage of his distraction.

"You like it," you tease, and Pierre remains strictly pouty for two whole seconds before he breaks into a grin and nods. "Now put on a shirt and get downstairs before Pyry calls you and you get reamed for being late again."

Pierre leans down for one last kiss before rushing off to the lobby. Waking up before the sun leaves you plenty of time to laze about if you choose to. Kicking your butt into gear seems like the better option so you drag yourself out of the relative warmth of the sheets and shuffle to the kitchen in search of coffee. 

Apparently the suite came fully stocked with a handful of different freshly ground blends, and much to your delight you recognize one of your favorites. You scroll through the room service menu on your phone while it brews. Without a doubt Pyry would rope you in to whatever workout he had planned for Pierre, albeit giving you a watered down version of what he gave the driver. Regardless, it would still be grueling and you needed to fuel up.

A hearty breakfast of fresh fruit and cinnamon sugar oatmeal shows up at your door ten minutes later. You're just finishing up when Pierre's snapchat comes through and you nearly choke.

Come on down baby

The sweaty, shirtless selfie that accompanies the caption is wholly unnecessary. Pierre's stupid tongue sticks out and the fingers of one hand are tangled in his hair. The muscle of his bicep is perfectly flexed, an obvious but appreciated attempt to rile you up. You shamelessly screenshot the photo before it disappears to save it for later.

You change into a simple set of leggings and a loose t-shirt and head to the elevator, curating your music queue on the way down.

The outdoor gym overlooks a pool of the same crystalline blue as the sea not far beyond. A few Alpha Tauri and Red Bull team members you recognize occupy a handful of machines. You wave at the ones you recognize, including Alana- she was a sight for sore eyes. You make a mental note to catch up with her at some point today, as you're sure to cross paths again.

Pyry spots you before Pierre does and waves you over. "Start stretching," the fin orders, "I'm glad you dressed for the occasion this time."

"I've learned my lesson." You plop down next to Pierre and lean into a stretch to stage whisper, "He drives you this hard?"

"Get used to it." Pierre shoots you a grin that sets you on fire. He's got a shirt on now, which means he only took it off earlier to send you that snap. Tease.

Any other time you'd chide him for his behavior but this weekend you let it slide. Tension has been brewing since the moment you spotted him across the lobby; simple things tip you off to the stress winding up in him. If flirting could offer him a small amount of release, then so be it, even if it was torturous for you to see him like this and be unable to do anything about it.

"If you two can't get through this without making heart eyes at each other I'll separate you," Pyry warns, pushing at your shoulders and helping you stretch a few more inches. You hide your wince and laugh, leaning into the slight burn.

"Sorry coach," Pierre chimes in, "I'll keep my hands to myself, don't worry." He accepts Pyry's hand to be pulled to his feet. Bouncing on his toes he throws a few punches at the air and catches your gaze over his trainer's shoulder.

"Definitely not you I'm worried about."

As Pyry says it, you blow Pierre a kiss. You quickly tuck your hands behind your back when Pyry's head whips around. Your cheshire grin gets you off the hook and Pyry just points to the stationary bike in silent command. At least he was going easy on you.

Headphones pumping a Pierre curated playlist, you lose track of time as you cycle mile after mile. Pierre sparring on the fringes of your vision helps distract you from burning muscles. Sweat soaks his black tee and is absorbed by the waistband of his oddly patterned orange and white shorts. No matter how incessantly you tease him for his fashion choices, he never fails to amaze you for how well he pulls it all off.

Lost in the music and the incredible view, it takes you a moment to realize Pierre's lips aren't just moving silently. You yank out an ear bud and blubber, "What did you say?"

Pierre's breathless laugh is accompanied by a shake of his head. He half curls in on himself, hands on his hips and mouth agape as he tries to catch his breath. The image stirs memories of the last night, when he was panting just like that but with nothing obscuring you from drinking in his godlike muscled body.

"I said," Pierre starts, walking over to kiss your cheek, "I need a shower before press. I'm going upstairs. You can stay here and Pyry can take you through some more-"

"No thanks!" Pyry shrugs off your immediate refusal. Training top tier athletes and training you sat at polar opposite ends of the spectrum and often times the Fin pushed you farther than you thought capable. You'd like to be able to function tomorrow, thank you very much.

The elevator ride to the suite is filled with salted kisses and wet touches. A breadcrumb trail of clothing leads from the stainless steel doors to the glass encased shower. There's not enough time to worship Pierre like you'd wanted to but he sighs when you run a soapy cloth over his body. Your lips follow the suds, leaving light kisses to the tender muscles. By the time you pour shampoo in your palm and lightly scratch at his scalp to work it into a lather, he's practically purring.

Media appearances are a necessary part of being a driver. Pierre usually handled them well enough on his own and occasionally with Sylvie's help when she could be bothered to get off her phone for a few minutes, but having you with him is different. You pride yourself on reading him well enough to know exactly what he needs. Some days, when the press isn't a pack of rabid animals, he returns to his driver's room and needs nothing more than a quick kiss to have him righted. On days when the pack of piranhas descend to feast on the bones of a bad session or the whispering of drama, a delicate touch is required.

If your suspicion proves right, today would be the latter. Being ahead of the frenzy might take the edge off when Pierre got in the thick of it.

When the tap cuts off, you step out and wrap Pierre in a fluffy towel. His smile communicates how grateful he is- and that he knows what you're doing.

You hand him a stack of Alpha Tauri branded clothes and sit on the foot of the bed. "Do you want me to come to the paddock with you?"

Pierre pauses with his shirt half on. "If you don't mind."

"Of course I don't mind." You pluck a few of his rings from the nightstand and hold out your hand. "You have to complete the look."

"What would I do without you," he murmurs, slipping one on his pinky and one on the thumb of his opposite hand.

"Probably be ridiculed for your lack of fashion sense."

**********

As a driver's girlfriend, you had come to grips with being relegated to a background role when it came to team events. You have to ask Sylvie to repeat herself twice before her words sink in.

"Come with me to the media pen," the woman grits out. Apparently Tost intended to have some fun torturing the woman before he fired her at the end of the season. Hopefully whoever Pierre got stuck with next was a bit more personable than Sylvie.

"Pierre told me to wait here," you say, gesturing to the garage buzzing around you. You were a rock and the mechanics were the stream, parting around you without a care in the world. You were barely a blip on their radar, everyone too honed in on their tasks to pay you any mind.

"And now I'm telling you to come with me. The other wives and girlfriends are in attendance and it'll look odd if you're not there too." Clearly, Sylvie didn't like the idea. And any idea that pissed Sylvie off sounded like a good one.

"I know the way," you say and breeze past her. Your feet follow the familiar path to the cluster of reporters crowded around metal gates, keeping the drivers in like caged animals. It was fitting, considering how often people referred to the sport as a traveling circus.

Pierre is already knee deep in an interview with one of the more popular journalists in the bunch, Will Buxton. Careful to stay out of the lens, you lean against the guardrail to listen in. So far it seems to be going well, Pierre's laugh brings a smile to your face.

"So, Pierre." Will shifts on his feet, pausing to create a sense of drama. "Your seat for next year. We know you'll be in Alpha Tauri or at Red Bull. Only a few points separate you from being demoted right back to eighth in the championship, which would officially relegate you to keep your seat at Alpha for the upcoming season. Are you worried about a mechanical problem or an accident stripping you of your chance to prove yourself and leaving you stuck where you are?"

Your stomach sinks. Buxton knew how to phrase a question, you had to give him that. Each word had been carefully chosen to elicit an emotional response from Pierre. You hate seeing him backed into a corner, forced to answer the same questions again and again, helpless to prevent it.

"Well first of all I'd like to stay that I'm not stuck at Alpha." Pierre shifts his weight and you exhale. Buxton's poisoned dart had missed its mark.

"Given a few years of development I know we could have a really competitive car. But it's more so that I'm ready to move up, fight with the leaders now instead of waiting. I'm in my prime and I don't want to let that pass me by.

"So no, I'm not worried about things that are out of my control. My team has given me an amazing car this year and I'm not concerned about mechanical problems. Things out of my control aren't worth my energy. There's nothing I can do about it so I don't even give it thought. I'll focus on my driving and pushing my limit- if an accident happens, I'm just a passenger."

"Well said." Buxton nods and turns away, effectively dismissing Pierre. As soon as he's out of the camera's view he's reaching for you and you meet him halfway. Sylvie trails after you as Pierre leads you through to the Alpha garage.

"Five minutes until your briefing," Alana says the second you enter. "And hey girl. Don't think I've forgotten about that sweater I loaned you. I still want it back!"

Your friend doesn't leave any room for rebuttal before heading for the conference room, presumably to set up whatever presentation she had created. Sylvie had disappeared too, leaving you as the only one for Pierre to focus on.

"You think I can do it?" He asks quietly, playing with your interlaced fingers.

"I don't think." You tilt his chin up so he's looking at you. "I know. And I'll be right here when you cross that line on Sunday and bring home points. You've got this, baby. Don't doubt yourself now."

"Pierre!"

Your grip on his chin prevents him from following the voice, not that he would if he could. You shoot him a raucous grin, "Red Bull colors would look pretty good on me, huh?"

Pierre's smile is brighter than all the stars in the sky. "Anything with my name on it will do.”

@seasidetom @flashcal @limp-wrist-max @sunshinesewis @lifeofzoemichael @ninuffi @perfectfantasies22 @lamboleglerg @ladyperceval @0forgottenparadise0 @evie-pr @avsensio @ninuffi @lu-morningstar @ggaslyp1 @swiftyhowlz @xeniarocks @teenwaywardasgardian @saintandrea-droidsmuggler​

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future updates!

[thechekhov]

Hi Chekhov! Really enjoying your white diamond au! I had a quick art question: How do you start comissions? I've been improving my drawing skills and thinking about drawing for others after having fun in artfight, but I don't know where to start? How much to charge, how to get paid, etc. Do you have any tips? Hope you're doing well! :)

Alright, since a few people have asked, I’ve decided to put together a few things about how to get started on commissions - what you need, what you should make, and how to keep things organized. 

This will get a little long, so I’ll divide it into 4 main sections:

1) Draw Art - Getting started

2) Get Commissioned - Making a commission sheet, Advertising

3) ??? - Communicating, Setting Limits, Running the Business

4) Profit - Pricing Yourself and Getting Paid

* Disclaimer: I’m an artist, so this How-To will be illustration-focused. I’m sure many of these tips can apply to ANY types of commissions, but I will be focusing on the type I know best. If you are proficient in other types of commissions for other types of art - music commissions, photography, etc - feel free to chime in and leave a comment or make your own tutorial!

1) Draw Art

I think this is probably the most obvious part, but it needs to be said:

Before you start making art for other people, you must first be comfortable making art in general.

I’m not saying your art has to be Disney-quality, or industry-level! Not at all. 

BUT! You must be comfortable creating what you sell. If you try to sell something you have little confidence in, you will stress yourself out and possibly end up losing time AND money.

Don’t shoot for the moon if you haven’t landed on it even once. Sell what you know you’re good at. Your commissions don’t HAVE to include full-body illustrations if you don’t know how to draw feet/solid stances. Limit yourself to what you can do.

Things you need to should probably have before starting commissions:

1. Access to art materials or a fully downloaded art program

DO NOT - Use a free tutorial version that will expire in a month and leave you without a way to draw! If you are having trouble finding a program, try free ones like MediBang Paint Pro. 

2. Free time to complete the amount of commissions you want to take.

DO NOT - Take on or offer commissions if you KNOW you’re going to be overwhelmed with school or personal life for the next 2+ months. Pace yourself, otherwise you’ll burn out, get stressed, and get discouraged.

3. A reliable way to communicate with your customers like a commissions-only email 

DO NOT - Use your friend/family/college email. It’s hard to keep track of things as it is, and creating new emails is easy and free. And keep it professional if you can! Not many people will reach out to dong-wiggles20434 to ask for a design. Ideally, your email should be close to your brand - however you want to brand yourself. Usernames are fine!)

DO NOT - Use Instagram/Twitter/Tumblr to collect commission info unless you are ready to do the organizing yourself. Some people make it work, but in my experience, if you use these SNS sites to communicate with friends and network... you’re going to be losing commission inquiries right and left and accidentally ignoring people. Email is much easier to organize and sort into folders.

4. A portfolio or at least 2-3 pieces of each type of art you’re planning to sell. 

DO NOT - Advertise commissions without having any examples of the art you plan to sell. People will find it difficult to trust you if you can’t even give them a vague idea of what sort of drawing they’ll be getting. 

Disclaimer: These are not hard ‘do not’s. If you have had a different experience, I respect that. I’m simplifying for the sake of streamlining this advice. 

.

2) Get Commissioned

So - you have your art, you have your art program, and you’ve got all the time in the world. That means.... that’s right! It’s time to let the world know you’re taking commissions.

One of the most common ways artists signal to their audience that they can do commissions is by creating a commissions sheet. There are MANY ways to make this - and they range from simple and doodly ones to VERY complex designs. For example, here’s mine! 

There are many ways to organize a commission sheet. At its core, a commission sheet should display the types of art you WANT to be commissioned to make. Let’s go over a few ways they can be done!

#1.... Body Portion Dividers!

This sheet is most common with those who want to capitalize on drawing people and characters. If you want to draw lots of characters, this is a great way to offer several tiers of pricing based on how much of their character your customers want to see. 

#2... Complexity Scale

If you’re open to drawing many things but want to base your pricing off of how complex something is, you can split your tiers into done-ness. This type of commission is popular with those that draw characters AND animals, furries, etc.

#3....  Style and Type

If you’re more on the design side of things, or if you have various niche art styles that you can’t quite lump together, display a variety of your skills alongside each other! It helps if all the ones you have can be organized under a common customer - like those looking to advance their own business and get logos, websites, or mascots made for them!

.

3) ???

You got your first commission... what happens now???

Well, ideally you have the time, tools and motivation to make things happen! Now all you have to do is... sit down and... draw.......

I’m going to say something that may be a little controversial: 

Commissions aren’t fun. 

No, no, hear me out: I have fun doing commissions! I genuinely enjoy drawing characters and coming up with designs. But even with all that said, commissions are, first and foremost: WORK

I’m not saying this to discourage you, I’m saying this to keep things realistic. When I first began commissions, I thought it would be just like any other type of drawing. I would sit down, imagine a thing, draw it... it would be fun! 

But then I realized that I couldn’t just draw what I wanted - another person had an idea in mind and had asked me to do it. I stressed over getting the design correct from descriptions. I stressed over not having the right reference for the pose the commissioner wanted. I stressed over not being able to draw the leg right in the way I had promised I would do. I stressed about billing. I stressed about digital money transfers. It was difficult, and time-consuming, and I did not enjoy it. At all. 

And a part of that is definitely on the commissioner - we, as artists, NEED to demand proper references or descriptions. We, as artists, NEED to limit the amount of changes we’re going to make at the flick of a finger. We NEED to demand clear instructions and set boundaries. That’s also super important. 

But also - don’t be discouraged if you find yourself exhausted drawing your first commission. MANY artists go through this. Adjust your rules, fix up your limits, practice putting your foot down on finicky commissioners who expect you to read their mind! It does get easier, but you have to communicate and put in the effort and act as your own manager AND your own customer service AND your own accountant. That’s what you’re looking at. 

Good limits and boundaries to set: 

Limit the amount of changes a person can ask to make. “I want blue hair.” Next email: “No wait, yeah, make it red.” Next email: “Actually I changed my mind, can I get the blue but like, lighter?” Next email: “No, not that light.” ... At some point, we have to stop. I personally allow 2-3 changes on the final stages of a commission before I start refusing or start asking for extra money.

Demand clear instructions and/or references. If something isn’t described, you have to take artistic liberty and design it, but that’s difficult! And if the customer is not happy with it but can’t tell you more? That’s not your problem - the burden of reference is on THEM. You cannot read their mind, and that’s not your fault.

Get at least half the payment up front! This is a good balance between the ‘pay before art’ and the ‘pay after art’ conundrum that will limit the amount of woes between artist and customer. (I’ll touch upon this a little more in the Profit section.)

Organization:

Where possible, create good habits! Tag your emails and organize your folders. I have a tag on my emails for active and finished commissions. I also keep my emails on Unread until I have time to sit down and properly look at/reply to them.

My Commissions in the folder are also organized chronologically and I mark down which ones are paid and which ones are not.

(I understand not everyone can do this, but if you want to give it a try, it does make things easier in the long run. Again, this advice is just what I have found personally helps.)

One last thing - I do not want to shame ANYONE for taking their time with commissions! Commissions are complex, and they take time and work. You can draw in 8 hours, but some things take research, materials, etc. Some illustrations realistically take up to half a year, or, depending on what’s involved, several years!!

THAT BEING SAID - it’s good manners to be upfront with your customers about how long you expect the commission to take. If you think you’re busy, just say that! Explain that you have a lot going on, and you will probably take (insert time period here).

And if your commissioners are worried, work out a system to keep them updated! I send my commissioners updates when I finish the lineart/flat colors/etc and I try to be clear about how long everything will take. I try to estimate with a +3-5 days buffer to give myself extra time... and recently I’ve been using it. Always say a bigger number than you think you’ll need. 

If someone wants a rushed commission... make them pay more. If ANYONE wants a commission done ‘by the end of the week’ - that’s an automatic rush-job for me because I’m juggling an irl job and several commissions at once. I WILL charge a rush fee and I won’t feel bad about it. 

If someone wants a commission within 24 hours...... Well, they better be paying you 3x your normal amount, or more. And remember - you CAN refuse! It’s perfectly reasonable to say ‘No, sorry, that sort of turnaround time is not realistic for me.’

Food For Thought - Invoicing

Many artists I’ve commissioned in the past have not used Invoicing, but I’ve recently begun to fill out invoices and file them in my Commissions folder just to keep track of things. It’s not necessary until you start getting into the Small Business side of Freelancing, but it’s not a bad idea to get into the habit early in case you might need to do it later for tax purposes. 

Here’s what my Invoice looks like, for example. 

I’ve optimized it to help me remember who, what, and how much is involved! It also contains important info for my customers like where to send the money.

Which brings us to...

.

4) Profit

One of the hardest things for artists is pricing themselves. I’m not going to tell you which way is BEST - there is no BEST way, only the best way for YOU. 

One of the options available to you is pricing by the hour. It includes averaging out how long it takes you to draw a specific type of art (whatever you’re offering as a commission) and multiplying that by an hourly wage you’ve decided on.

When you do this, I stress - do NOT price yourself below minimum wage if you can help it. When you first start out, aim for the $15/hour mark and adjust accordingly. 

Other ways to price your art:

- Per complexity: Portraits vs full body should be scaled based on how difficult you find one vs. the other. You can also easily decide on a price for a sketch and double it for lineart, triple it for full color, etc.

- Per type: Look up for industry prices for website design and logo design. They may surprise you! You don’t have to charge that much, but it helps to keep things in perspective. 

It’s okay to change your prices! Keep your commission sheet image handy so you can update the amounts as you grow. :)

Payment up front or after completion?

Some artist take full payment up front. Some only demand payment after they’ve finished and sent out the piece. I personally think these are both risky for everyone involved. 

I recommend doing at least HALF of the payment BEFORE you start the commission. Calculate your full price and ask for half before you start working on it in earnest, to make sure the person can actually pay you. Then, when they receive the full piece and are satisfied, they can complete the payment. 

I personally work in this structure:

> Someone emails me with their idea/reference

> I send back a rough draft sketch that shows the idea/pose (only takes me 10-20 minutes so not a huge loss if they ghost) and quote them a price

> They can pay the full thing upfront OR pay half

> I finish the commission and send updates when I do the lineart/colors to double check anything so they have multiple chances to spot any errors

> If the person paid only half on completion, I send them a low-res version of the finished thing, they finish up their payment and THEN I send them the full-res version plus any other filetypes/CYMK proofs, etc. 

Many of the people who commission me pay me up front even though I offer they pay half - and I’m really flattered that they trust me that much! Because of that, I feel encouraged to update them frequently and ask for their input as I work, so they have the peace of mind knowing I’m actually doing their commission. 

Great, but how do I get PAID????

There are NUMEROUS ways - these days money is relatively easy to transfer over digital means, and you have a few options. 

Paypal is perhaps one of the oldest digital wallets and is geared towards businesses. By setting up a PayPal and connecting it to your debit card of bank account, you can tunnel a pathway from your online business directly into your hands in a matter of days. 

Paypal also offers Invoicing - you make an invoice, price it and send it to the person’s email and they can pay whatever way they need! (It also allows partial payments.)

Pros: transfers from PayPal to bank account are free, and take a couple of business days. It also has no upper limit to the amount of money you can move in/out each month. It can force refunds due to the nature of its business-oriented payment system.

Cons: Because it’s used by businesses for larger transactions, PayPal may demand a more rigorous proof of your identity. It may also take longer to set up and be harder to get used to. I’ve also heard that they can be a hassle when it comes to closing your account. 

Venmo is another type of digital wallet that acts much like paypal, except for a few key differences - it is NOT made for businesses (so depending on whether you’re officially registered as a freelancer, you may not be able to use it). I personally don’t use venmo, so I cannot speak to its usefulness, but I know a few people that use it for casual transactions. It’s easy and quick! :) 

Keep in mind that you cannot force a refund over venmo! The transactions are final.

There’s also CashApp, GooglePay (which could load gift cards but also allows peer-to-peer transactions) and I’ve heard good things about Due, though I’ve never personally used it.

Other ways to pay: I’ve had people pay me over Patreon by upping their pledge, and I’ve had people pay me over Ko-Fi by donating a specific amount. 

Many people even use Etsy - the website specialized for independent small businesses selling art - by listing their commission sheet and offering up several ‘slots’ of commissions, which allows you to track taxes AND allows your clients to pay using whatever they feel comfortable with.

If you’re in Canada, you can even pay by emailing money directly from bank account to bank account - check whether your country offers this type of service! There’s no shortage of ways to move money in the digital world.

Just like everything else, there’s no singular ‘Best’ way. It just depends on what works for you.

I think that just about wraps it up! I can’t quite think of what else to put here - but I’m sure other artists will chime in with their own advice. :) I’m very sorry this became so long but I hope it was helpful! 

Obligatory Disclaimer: I’m not qualified to give legal or accounting counsel. Please double-check the laws in your own country/state in regards to taxation of freelancing work and do your own research. If you are underage, DEFINITELY get an adult’s permission before you start doing commissions, and have the adult help you through the process.   

. . . . . . . . . . . . 

OTHER POSTS YOU MAY FIND USEFUL:

An Extended Post on Pricing Yourself for Commissions

Dealing with Imposter Syndrome/Feeling ‘Not Good Enough’

Growing Your Audience

Advice for Starting Digital Art

[reidyoulikeabook]

Last Kiss

Ship: Spencer Reid x GN! Reader

Summary: A series of kisses.

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: Angst, heartbreak, no happy ending, allusion to smut but nothing explicit.

A/N: I am going through a break-up and I'm probably projecting I'm so sorry

June 5th, 2012

"Spencer let me off!" You insist, undercutting your own demand by collapsing into a fit of giggles as he pushes you harder, spinning the tyre swing around faster.

"What do you think Henry, should we let Auntie ____ off?"

"Nope!" Henry almost cackles with glee, clapping his hands together in amusement.

"Spencer!" You protest, holding on tight as it whirls you around, "If you're going to make me stay on then you should both get on too!"

Spencer shares a conspiratorial glance with Henry, considering the proposition. Without answering you verbally, Spencer scoops Henry up, passing the boy to you. You loop your arms around him. He's resting tightly against your body when Spencer clambers on, getting himself settled into a position that ensures he won't fall off before kicking off the ground, hard.

"Weeeeeeee!" Henry cheers, purposely swinging himself as much as he can in your arms.

Spencer's face is an absolute picture: hair flopping everywhere, smile so wide you can barely see his eyes, lit up with happiness at the sight before him. Your hair is a complete state, sticking to your face, your stomach hurts from laughing but you're the very definition of joy. If he's honest, that's making him smile a lot more than the frankly quite nauseating swinging.

"Feel sick!" Henry announces after a moment or two more.

Spencer slams his feeet down on the ground, pulling you to a grinding halt.

"You okay bud?" You ask Henry, setting him down on the floor and holding on for a moment to make sure he gets his bearings.

"Yeah! Gonna go on the slide now!" He yells, darting off towards the slide only about two feet to your left.

You turn to watch him, feeling familiar arms wrap around your waist.

"You're going to pay for that later."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well then I guess I'd better make sure I have a lot to pay for," His fingers travel upwards from your waist, finding the spot where you're ticklish and starting to tickle you mercilessly.

"Spencer!"

"Yeah?"

Between indignant huffs of laughs, you manage to twist around to face him. He's grinning, incredibly pleased with himself.

"You think you're so funny don't you?"

"Henry agrees."

You shake your head, "IQ of 187 but it falls to about 60 when you're deciding whether or not to push your luck."

He smirks, "I've got a lot of it to push."

His hands meet the small of your back, pulling you flush against his chest. His eyes flicker over to Henry, who's happily waiting his turn for the slide. And then his breath is fanning over your face, warm with laughter and happiness and summer air. He kisses you, gently.

Your arms loop up to around his neck as you deepen it.

A fatal error.

His tickling restarts where he left off, drawing breathless laughs out of your mouth that spill against his lips, into his mouth.

"Spencer Reid!"

By the time you wriggle free, you're slightly flushed. He smiles, a dopey sincere smile that you don't ever get to see often enough.

"It's a good job I love you," You tell him.

"It's a good job I love you too."

Before you have time to consider a revenge attack of a similar nature, Henry decides it's time for Uncle Spencer to push him on the swing.

***

August 12th, 2012

Spencer is still sleeping when you wake up. His lips are slightly parted, allowing for a gentle sigh to accompany each exhale. He looks so content when he's like this: the stress he carries in his jaw practically melted. He doesnt snore, just lets out little breaths.

Your finger traces a line on his chest, spelling out ‘I love you’ in a tiny repetitive pattern.

You have the excuse of not being a profiler, so you don’t notice the change in his breath. How it stills, stutters slightly.

His eyes flutter open. He watches you, saying nothing: the pull of concentration in your brow, the way you watch your fingers, the way you mouth the words you’re spelling out as you do it.

“Hey,” His voice is gentle, trying not to startle you.

“Hi.”

His eyes are bleary with sleep. Blinking at you, he stretches his arm from behind his head, motioning for you to come closer. You nudge toward him, allowing him to embrace you. Closing your eyes, you fall into his touch. All there is his him. His scent, the wood-y scent of his cologne and the something that’s uniquely Spencer, the temperature of his body. You’ve joked before that he’s like your personal thermostat, he seems to always be either the perfect amount of warm or cold.

It’s easy to imagine the rest of your life in his arms. The contentment of this moment is one you’ll remember later, the next time he gets called away for a case.

“What are you thinking about?” His voice is quiet.

“You.”

You can feel the intake of his breath, “What about me?”

“How much I love you.”

He shifts. When you open your eyes, he’s staring down at you. His pupils are dilated. You don’t have to be a profiler to know what that means.

He squints sleepily at you, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards into a smile, “I was dreaming about how much I love you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He tilts downwards, kissing you. Your lips move quickly against one anothers, practically inhaling each other. You can’t get enough of him, hurriedly and clumsily and drunk on love, you kiss each other.

September 5th, 2012

"Spence,” You whine, his lips trailing along the underside of your jaw.

“Yeah?”

He’s made quick work of his pants but his shirt is still on. Lately it feels like he’s hardly around and it makes you want to consume him even more when he is. You drink in the sight of his thighs, practically trembling with want.

“Can I?” You ask, fiddling with his shirt buttons.

He nods. You pry them open, shedding him of the material so his bare abdomen is exposed to you. Fingers raking over his chest, you look up. His eyes are dark, plush lower lip catching between his teeth.

“Please.”

You’re not asking for anything in particular.

He kisses you hungrily, tongue slipping ionto your mouth, seemingly searching for something. Somewhere inside you, you get the sense that he can’t find it. There’s no time to dwell on it though, because the kiss is passionate, heated, and soon he has your mind taken off it as his mouth leaves yours and traverses its way down your body.

October 17th, 2012

You’ve barely finished dinner before he’s making his excuses to escape to his study.

“Do you want me to go?”

“No.”

“I can leave, Spencer, honestly. If you have work you need to be doing.”

“No, I want you to be here,” He reassures you, voice cracking with sincerity.

Your gaze is searching, and he avoids it. He picks up the files, setting them on his desk. He heads over to the sink, refilling his glass with water and putting out a mug for the canteen of coffee he’s got brewing.

“It just doesn’t seem like it.”

He frowns.

“I don’t mean-” You cut yourself off, sighing and fiddling nervously with your hands, “I just, when you’re working I don’t feel like you want me to be here. You’ve been away all week and you’ve come back to do more work.”

“It’s not-”

He sighs, approaching you. His hands cover yours where they sit at your waist, shaking his head, “I don’t want you to feel like you’ve done anything wrong. Ever. You haven’t.”

“It’s just hard sometimes.”

He frowns, imploring you to continue.

“I feel like you’re closing yourself off. I know the job is hard just-”

“I’m not.”

“Spencer you didn’t hear me out.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence. He chews at his lip, clearly regretting having shutting you down so harshly.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

He waits you out, tilting his head.

“I just don’t want to be smothering you.”

“You’re not.”

“I feel like I am. When I show up here and you’re doing work, it makes me feel like I’m smothering you.”

“You’re not.”

“Okay,” You fiddle nervously with the fork on your plate.

He crosses the room towards you, kissing you. It’s brisk, feels hurried, almost like his mind is somewhere else. But his hands on your hips, the securing of your body to his. The way his fingers knit through your hair, cementing you. The closeness is almost overwhelming. It feels like he has a point to prove.

When he pulls away, his mouth tips upwards into an almost smile.

“Let me finish this, and then we’ll watch a movie.”

It’s easier to allow him to pull away than fight it.

November 30th, 2012

“Can you not stay?”

He shakes his head, “I have a lot of paperwork to catch up on.”

Folding it into his arms, he turns away from you. His retreating form seems to be all you see lately; he always seems to have somewhere to go, and when he doesn’t he still sits like this. Hands folded across his chest, fists balled up under his armpits. He hardly meet your eyes.

“Spencer,” Your voice is soft, almost begging.

He relents, turning around. The remorse hangs in his half-smile. His curls look deflated, dry. He obviously hasn’t been conditioning them. He looks defeated. It scares you.

You want to ask, but the question catches in your throat.

“I’m sorry. I know I’ve been busy lately.”

“I just want you to be okay.”

“I’m okay.”

“You don’t seem it,” You regret the words as they leave your mouth, the look that washes over his face pains you: the pinch of defensiveness in his brow, the way his mouth sets into a thin line.

“I’m fine.”

“No you’re not.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” There’s an edge to his voice, not cutting, curious and displeased.

“I mean things are different, Spencer. You’re closed off, you’re quiet, you seem like you’re not taking care of yourself. And you can speak to me. I understand if you don’t want to but you can come to me about anything, and you don’t, and you keep telling me you’re fine and I know you’re not and I don’t know what to do anymore.”

The words spill out of your mouth. Your chest aches, your eyes glint with tears. You meet his gaze, and the remorse catches in his throat.

“I’m sorry,” He mumbles, crossing the room to you, “I’m sorry.”

He tucks you under his chin, allowing you to bury into his neck.

“I’ll stay,” He tells you, soft, “I’ll stay.”

You nod, allowing the tears to spill into the crook of his neck. He pulls back from you. He appraises you, taking note of you. He presses the tiniest of kisses to the corner of your mouth.

Your mouth twists, a grim imitation of a smile.

“Shall we order dinner?” He asks, placing the files down.

You can only nod.

December 9th, 2012

It's raining when he lands. Hotch offers to drop him off, it's past midnight and while the Metro is still running, there's no way he can take it at this hour. The case was brutal, and he's exhausted.

Your digital clock reflects 1:53am in red letters onto your wall.

Beside you, your phone buzzes.

1:53am - Spencer

Hi. I just got home. Let me know when you're awake, I think we need to have that conversation.

1:54am - You

I'm free if you want to call.

Your phone rings at 1:58.

“Hey,” You answer.

“Hi,” He says.

There’s a moments silence. A no-mans land forms, both of you sat in your respective houses. Neither of you willing to breach the topic.

He speaks, then, all at once. The words tumbling out of his mouth, like he’s swilled them and spat them out.

"I think we both know things haven’t been right lately. I’ve been pulling away and it isn’t fair to you. I’ve been struggling and I’ve taken it out on you and let it affect our relationship. I think I need some time. I don’t think I’m doing you any good being around you. I’m not giving you what you need. I don’t want to hurt you. I love you and I know you love me too much to leave. So I have to leave. And I know it sounds like it’s for me, like I’m hiding behind you. But I have to do this, for us both.”

27 seconds. That's how long it takes for him to say the words that shatter you.

January 4th, 2013

The shirt smells less like him by the day. You've tried to ration yourself, limiting your wearing of it only for times just after you've showered. Avoiding scented shower gels or lotions.

It’s been a month since your phone call. Thirty-one days exactly. He’d said he’d needed time.

It’s been twenty-three days since you last heard from him. You don’t count the days intentionally, it’s just hard to forget. Hard not to keep track of the distance between you.

The message had been simple.

2:52am, 13th December 2012 - Spencer

I’m sorry.

You hadn’t replied. You’d drafted various iterations of one:

For what?

No you’re not.

You can’t just apologise Spencer, that doesn’t fix anything. I don’t understand what happened. I don’t understand how you could just leave, after everything. After a year, you just thew everything away.

Fuck you.

None of them seemed fitting. No words could capture everything: the anger, the hurt, the confusion, the loss. Sometimes, late at night, you’d sit and type a reply. Hoping that somewhere, wherever he was, he’d be watching. That for some reason, he’d have the messages open. Seeing the three dots pop up on the screen, and sensing the longing. If he was, he never gave any indication.

February 2nd, 2013

Penelope's instagram feed reveals a new picture of Spencer, his cheek pressed against Emily's. They're wearing matching costumes. You vaguely recognise it as some show he always used to talk about, one that was in Russian. One they both loved. A swipe across reveals the rest of the team, a group photo of them donning various costumes.

It aches.

Every day you get further away him. From the last time you kissed him. Every day it's hard to remember the details of it. It's all getting fuzzy, like a video tape you've worn out by replaying it too many times. Did you kiss him or did he kiss you? Was he wearing that lavender shirt or was that a detail you'd added in?

No wonder eyewitness testimony was so unreliable.

Somehow it almost makes you obsess over it more. Trying to catch the dimming light between your fingers, as if you could drag it back into the spotlight, front and centre, full details illuminated. Would that make it better or worse?

Your stomach sinks. Pushing yourself off the sofa, you force yourself to look past the picture of you, him, and Henry from that day in the park. The one that still rests on your mantelpiece. Maybe it'd be easier if you could compartmentalise him. Packed him away in a box, or threw him in a trash can.

Maybe it's pathetic.

If you close your eyes you can almost feel his warmth. How it felt to lie in his arms, the press of his lips to your forehead. Soft and reassuring. I'm here.

The slight rise and fall of his chest. His lips slightly parted, his head lolling towards your shoulder. How you should have savoured it all. Reached out and touched him.

You think of all the times you lay there in his arms, thinking you'd remember that moment later. It was true, you'd always remembered it when he was pulled away to a case. You'd close your eyes, and remember how it felt to be curled up against him. Safe in a little cocoon of affection. Now it burns in your chest.

There's nothing left of him now but what's been. You trail him along with you, like a rag of a childhood blanket you can't bare to part with.

He can't offer you anything now. You yank him forward into your future without his permission, traipsing your old memories through to your present, forming new ones only through Penelope's instagram feed and conversations with the team.

It's not that you don't love and miss them too, but they're his.

Every time you call it's pleasantries, soft and familiar until the words you've been rolling around your mouth since the beginning of the conversation spill out, "How's Spencer?"

He's fine. He's always fine.

It's odd, how the person you spoke to everyday, the man who knew your favourite colour, what your go to animation is, how you like your caffeine, ambles on without you. He seems to make it work, live his life without remnants of you spilling out.

So why can't you?

You're a cup filled with Spencer Reid. With every day that passes, a bit of him drains out. Slowly, you'll forget his opinion on Kurt Vonnegut novels, how he likes to lay the cushions out when you make the bed, the way he makes hot chocolate.

Your last kiss.

***

December 3rd, 2012

"Here you go," You smile but it's tight-lipped.

He returns the same one, accepting the lunch you'd packed him with a quiet, "Thanks."

"Have a good day at work."

He nods. He looks up at you, stubble teasing at his jawline. He hasn't shaved in a couple of days, and you'd comment on it if it wasn't for the hollow look in his eyes, almost imploring you not to speak.

The lavender shirt compliments him well, too well. The shade matches the all too prominent purple bags under his eyes.

"I'll call you if there's a case."

You nod, taking a tentative step towards him, "Can we talk tonight? I feel like we need to have a proper conversation about things."

"You're right."

"I'll see you later."

Unexpectedly, he takes a step towards you. His hand hesitating at your hip, settling for hovering in the air just in front of it. He leans in, pressing the lightest of pecks to your lips. Shocked at the contact, you kiss him back, deepening it.

To your surprise, he returns it. His lips move against yours in a way that's familiar, feverish. Your hand comes up to his cheek, swiping at the errant curl of hair tickling you.

Your lips glide against his, savouring the secondhand taste of coffee.

His tongue slips across your lower lip. Then he pulls away.

There's a blush tinging up his neck, and he almost gives you a real smile, "I'll see you tonight."

Permanent tagslist: @takeyourleap-of-faith @sassiest-politician @calm-and-doctor @ssa-m-187  @seasonfivereid @averyhotchner @muffin-cup @purplewaterbottles082

(message to be added/removed)

[jenstar1992-2]

I’ve been having a rough week, and it only gonna get worse. Could you please write a comfort fic where Ahsoka tells the reader she’s proud of them? I really need it this week. Thank you

My dear Anon, I’m sorry you’re having a rough time (and I’m so sorry it took me this long to get this posted) 🥺. I hope this can be a source of comfort for you, even if only a small one, and I hope things get better for you. 💕

Also, I went with Rebels Ahsoka for this one, I hope that’s okay.

The Comfort of a Friend

Pairing: Ahsoka x reader (platonic)

Warnings: Accidental self- injury (nothing major), self- doubt, self- blame, talk of war, mentions of war related losses, brief mention of scars, mentally stressed reader (Ahsoka to the rescue 😄)

Word count: 1,742

The door hissed as you entered your private quarters, what followed was a loud clattering of objects hitting the durasteel floor of the ship as you kicked over the metal box that contained your various tools, causing them to go flying and scatter across its surface. You muttered a quiet curse as a sharp pain ran through your foot and up your leg; perhaps that hadn’t been the best choice of action, then again, none of your actions lately had been “good choices”, at least, that’s how it felt.

You let out a heavy sigh as you made your way to your bunk, limping slightly as you attempted to lessen the pressure on your dully throbbing foot, and let yourself fall onto its soft surface. You laid there for a good minute before finally sitting up, only to then slump forward, holding your head in your hands as you contemplated your situation, something you’d done a lot of lately.

No one said joining the rebellion would be easy, you knew it wouldn’t be, you’d expected it to be hard. What you hadn’t expected was just how incredibly frustrating and emotionally taxing it would be. You felt as if every win, big or small, came with an even worse defeat, to the point where, at the end of the day, it didn’t feel like a win at all. You gave your all, you all did, and what did it get you? More scars, and less friends, that’s what. You were at your wits end, feeling as if you were reaching the very edge of your sanity, just short of falling, knowing it wouldn’t take much more to send you tumbling over. You felt heat rising to your face as you desperately fought back the tears that threatened your eyes. This wasn’t going to get any easier, and in the recesses of your mind, a thought lingered, lightly poking at your consciousness, “Should I just give up?”

Before you could dwell on this idea any longer, there was a knock at your door. You straightened, composing yourself as best you could, and called for them to come in.

The door then hissed open to reveal your ally and closest friend, who regarded you with a warm smile.

“Hey”, Ahsoka greeted you, voice gentle, careful. Could she sense your distress, was she worried she might hit a nerve with one wrong word? Most likely.

“Hey”, you greeted back, the word coming out in a sigh as you let your guard down; she’d see right through your façade anyway.

She moved into the room, letting the door slide shut behind her, and came to sit beside you.

“Wanna talk about it”, she asked.

“Not sure it’ll change anything.”

She shrugged. “Maybe not, but it might help, voicing your troubles, gets things off your chest, and lightens the burden on the mind”, she said, lightly tapping your temple with her index finger.

You meet her gaze and see that she still wears that same warm smile, the one she wore every time you two had a heart-to-heart, the one that made you feel cared for. You decide to take her suggestion and you let the burdens weighing on your mind flow from you, one after the other.

“I just, I feel like such a screw-up. It seems like all I do is make bad decisions, ones that cost more than just my own safety, and with every wrong choice I make, I lose more; more hope, more friends, more of my own sanity… more of myself. I feel like all we do is give for this rebellion, but we get nothing in return, just more pain and hardship, and I can’t help but feel responsible for our failures. I’m no leader, never have been”, you said, pausing for a minute as you tried to sort your thoughts. Ahsoka waited patiently, not wanting to say anything until she knew you were done.

“I don’t know, maybe… maybe it would be better if I left, I’m not sure if I’m cut out for this”, you finally said, finishing your train of thought.

Ahsoka regarded you for a long moment before she finally spoke.

“(Y/N), I know this is hard, and I know things feel pretty hopeless right now, but I promise you, they will get better. It might not seem like it now, but victory doesn’t happen overnight, it takes time, and a great deal of effort, effort I see you put in every single day. You might not see your prowess as a leader, but I do, and so does every other person who’s fought by you, they put their trust in you because they see your dedication to the cause, they know you want to free the galaxy just as much as they do, and they know you’ll do what it takes to make that a reality. It’s an attribute they respect”, she said, confidence thick in her tone.

You furrowed your eyebrows, your inner thoughts fighting her encouragement within the confines of your mind.

“Tell that to the ones that didn’t make it back, the ones I let down because of my misguided choices, the ones I…”

“Stop”, Ahsoka said, her voice becoming firm as she cut your sentence short. “Loss is a part of war, a sad truth, but true nonetheless; they knew that, and they still chose to fight, because they believed in what we’re fighting for. Those losses are not on you, those people, they weren’t blind to the dangers they faced, they knew the risks, as do we, because we’re the ones taking those risks right alongside them, we’re with them, every step of the way, don’t forget that.”

You sighed; she was right, you were facing the same dangers as any one of the rebels under your command, and it could’ve just as easily been you who didn’t return, you’d just gotten lucky. You knew you were being overly hard on yourself, but as time went on it was getting more difficult not to, you couldn’t help but feel responsible, even if it was for things out of your control.

“I know, it’s just hard, and it only seems to be getting harder. It’s difficult to look at things optimistically when it feels like the whole galaxy is crumbling down around you. It’s hard to keep going when it feels like you’re getting nowhere”, you told her, leaning forward to rest your head in one of your hands.

“I understand”, Ahsoka said as she placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, moving it gently so you turned back to face her. “But I know you can do it, you’re more capable than you give yourself credit for.”

You raised a quizzical brow at her words, your expression earning a chuckle from the woman.

“I’m serious”, she affirmed. “I’ve seen you do countless things I’m sure you thought you couldn’t; impressed me many a time.”

You noticed her gaze didn’t waver, the only thing it conveyed was complete belief in the words she spoke. She gave you her familiar warm smile once again and you found yourself smiling back, albeit a bit weakly.

“Really?”

“Really”, she confirmed, giving a single nod to emphasize her response. “Try not to let your self-criticisms get the better of you, okay? You can acknowledge your successes just as much as your defeats.” She paused, speaking again only after you nodded your understanding. “You’ve done well, I’m proud of you (Y/N).”

Her words tugged at your heart and had the small smile you displayed growing wider and more genuine.

“Thanks, Ahsoka, that means a lot”, you said, your tone conveying just how touched you were by her words. She then pulled you in for a hug, her hold strong and affirming, but still gentle in nature; you gave just as much to the embrace, attempting to demonstrate your appreciation and love for your friend through this wordless action.

“Any time”, she said, releasing you moments later, rising from the bunk and moving towards the door, but not before giving your hand one final comforting squeeze. She touched the keypad, opening the door, but stopped before fully exiting. She turned to face you; eyebrow raised in a playful manner.

“Meditation”, she said simply.

Your face scrunched up in confusion. “Huh?”

“Meditation”, she repeated. “I’ve felt a lot of stress on your mind lately, it gets pretty loud in there”, she explained, pointing to your head. “I think a little mindful meditation is just what you need, help you sort out your thoughts, quiet things down a bit”, she suggested.

You huffed an amused laugh.

“Yeah, not sure how effective that’ll be, not even sure I’ll be able to do it right, I’m no jedi, after all.”

Ahsoka shook her head and laughed.

“(Y/N), you don’t have to be a jedi to meditate, you simply have to sit, clear your mind, and look inward, take control of your own thoughts for a while, trust me, it’s easier than it sounds”, she explained.

“Uh huh”, you said, not fully convinced.

“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it”, she said with a grin and a shrug.

“Whatever you say”, you replied, still smiling.

You said your goodbyes and soon you were once again alone. You smiled to yourself as Ahsoka’s comforting words echoed in your mind. You were truly grateful to her, she always knew how to help you, always seemed to know what you needed, so maybe, she was right about this too.

You sat up straight, folded your legs, and rested your hands atop your knees, rolling your eyes after doing so; you felt a bit ridiculous humoring this notion, but you trusted Ahsoka, so, you closed your eyes, and attempted to clear your mind.

Nothing happened at first, but you kept at it, and soon enough you felt yourself drifting, it felt like falling into that place between sleeping and waking, but you knew that wasn’t where you were going, rather you were going inward, and you soon found yourself inside your own head, mingling with and sorting through your inner thoughts.

This went on for a good while before you finally felt comfortable enough to bring yourself back to the surface, falling back on the soft cushioned surface of your bunk once you’d done so. In that moment, you realized the feeling you had was one you’d almost come to forget, a true sense, of peace.

[baepsaetan]

Christmas (Baby Please Come Home) - Jungkook

Summary: You miss him so much, but it seems like getting to spend time with Jungkook is going to take a Christmas miracle.

Ao3 Link: here 

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader, side Namgi

Length: 17.6k

Rating: Mature

Genre: Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

Warnings: Suspicions of cheating, misunderstandings, panic attack, suggestive content, swearing

A/N: Oooof I am finally done my Secret Santa fic for @thebtswritersclub​ and only - *checks calendar* - too late. So sorry this is so late @jjeongukkie​! It got so much longer than I had planned, and while I had a lot of fun writing it, I did not plan it quite well enough to finish in a timely fashion. Still, I hope you’re able to enjoy a last blast of Christmas vibes and fluff and angst as you slide into 2021! Thank you for your patience, and I hope you have an awesome new year! 

I always appreciate all likes, reblogs and comments! If you enjoy reading this, send me an ask! Happy belated New Year to everyone! 

---

“You’re not coming home now?”

Even as you say it, you’re vaguely surprised you manage to get the words out. Your lips are numb with shock and disappointment, and Jungkook’s wince on the screen of your phone just makes the feeling even more jarring. More painful.

“I’m sorry,” he says, half pleading and half desperate. “It’s just, this project is so important, and we need to have it ready for rollout…”

Throat tight, the fingers of your free hand pushing into your thigh, you adjust the phone with your other before saying thickly, “You said it would be a few hours in the morning, Jungkook. It’s – it’s Christmas."

"I know, I know, I just..."

He’s still speaking, quick and anxious words about necessity and pressure, and while you’re listening, you’re thinking about the cute lingerie sitting next to you on the bed. You'd been planning a little gift for him when he got home, and when he'd surprised you with a Facetime request, you'd pulled them out of the drawer, thinking it might be a fun little tease to give him a flash of the red and black set. Now, though...

"Hey, Y/N, I'm sorry. Really." Biting at his lip, Jungkook somehow manages to look a bit pitiful, even with the dress shirt he's wearing, ironed to sharp definition. The collar of the black shirt is open, sans a tie – he’d mentioned this morning no one cared about perfect business attire while working over Christmas – and the bare curve of his collarbone just adds to the disjointed clash of his clean outfit compared to his dejected expression.

The look has your throat closing even more, and you try to force a smile. You're well aware of how stressful the new position has been for your long time boyfriend, seen the casualties of the job; late night arrivals at the apartment, distracted eyes while making and eating dinner, forehead creased with frustration every time his phone vibrates, fatigue that throws him into sleep before you and he have really even had any time to talk together. He's also been hitting the gym almost religiously lately, another outlet for stress, and while you love Jungkook's enthusiasm for staying active, two sessions a day, every day, is excessive for him. It also eats into what little opportunity is left for you two to spend time with each other.

But he's doing his best. You know that. You're sure of it. And he promised it would get better, soon.

Soon. So, you swallow the disappointment, and the thing that’s more dangerous, simmering below it and too perilously close to anger. You hitch on a smile, and hope it doesn't look quite as forced as it feels. "I get it, Kookie. I'm just sorry you have to work for so long. Will you be back in time for dinner?"

He hesitates, teeth still sawing into his lower lip as he jiggles his head indecisively and the camera frame shifts a bit. "I'm not sure but – probably?" Your expression must sink just as much as your stomach does, despite your best efforts, because Jungkook immediately grimaces, his hands making desperate little waves of abortive denial. "I mean, I will. For sure. I'll be home, okay?"

When he flashes a thumbs up, deliberately and extravagantly enthusiastic, you can't help but smile, just a tentative lift of your lips. "Just – I love you, Kookie. I hope we get to spend some of Christmas together."

"We will! Promise." Both hands are up now, clenched into eager fists under his chin, and he really couldn't look more earnest if he tried.

The smile comes a bit easier now, and you nod, feeling some of that enthusiasm reaching through the screen. "Okay." Taking a deep breath, you try to redirect the conversation, too painfully aware that sulking isn't going to help at all. "Have you eaten lunch yet? Don't miss it just for your stupid boss!"

His grin is a small, toothy thing. "Nah, I haven't. I –"

"Jungkook!"

"I was saving room for when I got home!"

"Hah! You think there's going to be food on the table for you?" This bickering is so much easier than anything else that you might say, and you fall into it with something like relief.

His eyebrows fall, nose scrunching dramatically. "On the table? Y/N, that's so unsanitary."

"So unsanitary...?"

At your puzzled look, the grossed out expression whirls away, replaced with a smirk that's so abruptly suggestive that you find your breath catching. The way his voice drops, becoming a low hum, just concentrates the effect. "I was saving room for you, of course. But I'm not gonna eat you out on the table, baby."

You huff in scornful incredulity, but it can't take back the fact that you almost choked a second ago. It also doesn't really hide the way your cheeks have heated up into a patchy red, and besides, Jungkook knows you too well. If anything, his smirk just gets even sharper, and he adds playfully, "Unless you have it on your wish list. Then I might consider it."

Fucking around with Jungkook on any surface is absolutely on your wish list, but you're too proud and currently too annoyed to tell him that. "With my luck, it would break trying to hold up your inflated ego."

"My inflated muscles, you mean," he says, and flexes. Which is just so obnoxious, and also the long sleeve hides his arms too well to be truly impressive.

"Do that again when you get home," you order imperiously, and immediately he bows his head.

"You got it, boss," he agrees, and it's that easy, sudden switch, that flexibility, that's at least part of the reason you love him so much. Jungkook is what you need him to be; he's always been comfortable with that role, and your flighty ass needs him in so many different ways. He's never failed you in that respect. Well – not much. You need him with you right now, after all.

Want, you remind yourself sternly. You want him, that's all.

Abruptly he stiffens, turns slightly. You hear someone speaking off camera, high and strained, and Jungkook replies in a confident voice, talking about something you don't have enough information on to fully understand. They have a short conversation before Jungkook says, "I'll be over in a moment, okay?"

Then he's turning back to you, the by now familiar crease back between his eyes. "I've got to go now, Y/N. I'll get out of here as quickly as I can, okay?"

"Okay. Love you, Kookie. And try to eat something."

He nods, curter now, already turning away from the camera. "See you soon."

And you're left with a call ended screen and no reciprocal "love you". The flicker of warmth that had been blooming in your stomach wilts until there's nothing but a cold tightness left. For a few minutes you scroll aimlessly through your apps and messages, fingers restless for something the phone can't give. There are too many Merry Christmas posts, too many pics of friends and family having a good time together with gifts and food, and it grows the hurt in your gut. You and Jungkook had decided not to travel to any of your families' gatherings, to save some money this year after a big and expensive move, but that had been with the assumption that you would be able to take comfort in each other. Now...

Before too long, you give up, toss the phone aside. It lands next to the lingerie, and for the time being you leave them both alone, suddenly anxious to get away from the remote device and the painful reminder both. Your apartment isn't large, and it only takes you a few steps to leave the bedroom and head to the kitchen. You spend several moments milling around there, but you've already prepped everything for dinner tonight; the only thing left to do is the dishes from this morning's simple breakfast, eaten long after Jungkook had already bolted his and left. You clean them with desultory effort, trying not to remember that you and your boyfriend had planned to make something fancy together. The restless feeling doesn't leave with the dishes done, and you check, doublecheck and triplecheck everything before you're even halfway to feeling like this part of the apartment might not need anything else.

The living room, attached to the kitchen, has been decorated with reckless abandon. You've got at least an ounce of beauty aesthetic in your bones, and so does Jungkook, but for some reason when put together it equals a pound of ugly. The tinsel – red, gold, silver, and green – is flung about the room over pretty much any surface that will support it, along with red and green lights. The Christmas decorations are a hideous mash up of whatever you and Kookie have scrounged together from your families or garage sales or cheap outlet malls, plus a few modest clay additions of your own making. Several of the larger succulents and other plants are bowed morosely under the weight of ambitious ornaments, and the cactus on the windowsill looks positively garish with a star perched jauntily on its crown.

And you love it all so much.

Remembering the absolutely wild hour or so that you and Jungkook spent together decorating the apartment – such a rare and precious moment, since you moved here – makes your eyes start prickling with unbidden tears. Jungkook's staggering workload hadn't been so bad, while you were working; acting as a long distance design consultant for a large collection of homegrown companies tended to keep you busy, and you hadn't noticed his absence in a way that demanded you address it. Now, though, with Christmas an enforced break, since none of your suppliers or other contacts will reply to emails, your loneliness curls itself up in your chest, all barbs and agitation. You’re beginning to suspect that maybe the long absences have hurt you more than you thought.

One of your projects is on the coffee table, the spread of files and print outs of possible designs covering the worn surface. You've always preferred working with physical copies for the initial stages, moving to a tablet for more detailed work. You fling yourself onto the couch, telling yourself you might as well do something productive and hoping it might provide a distraction. That lasts for about half an hour, but it's a constant fight to keep your thoughts on the papers in front of you. The unhappiness is curdling your concentration, and more and more you're aware of a simmering resentment, sharp and insistent under your sadness.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. There'd been so little conflict about moving when Jungkook got the job offer. You were already working remotely, and while the pay increase at Jungkook's new company wasn't that much, it was the promise of what could come that made it nearly impossible to turn down. Saying goodbye to your family hadn't been an issue; you were already living in a different city than them, settled there after university. It had been harder for your boyfriend, but not impossible, and despite both of you leaving friends behind, you'd left with excitement. Hope. The future opening up before you two, together.

With a sigh, you shove the papers away. Leave the living room and take shelter on your bed. Send and reply to some Christmas messages. Make a face at the snap Jin sends you, a little blurry, his flushed cheeks matching the red reindeer antler headband he's wearing. He's holding the gifts you sent several weeks ago, an adorable pair of windup salt and pepper shakers shaped like teddy bears that can walk across the table, along with a few duck-shaped strainers. The caption makes you snort. I'm bearly making it without you, sis. I'm like a duck out of water. The next snap is clearer, of him and his two roommates, Jimin and Hoseok, all making heart signs. Thanks for the gifts! Hope you have a Merry Christmas!

He's in the same city as your parents, and you know he spent yesterday with them. Looks like he's having a great time with his roommates, too. Before the affection can sour, you save the photo and put your phone down again.

Kitchen, living room, bedroom. A discontented circuit you don't know how to break yourself out of. It feels so dumb to be making yourself even more miserable like this. You should phone one of the few friends who aren't with their families, or maybe your parents – hell, you could even phone Jin, he and his roommates would be sure to talk with you for an hour or two. But the thought of admitting you're alone, Jungkook having chosen work over spending the holiday with you, has your shame rising to scalding levels. The mere prospect of hearing and seeing everyone happy while you’re alone is another hurt, one that makes you curl up more tightly on the bed, clutching his pillow to your chest like it could fill up the hollowness settled in your lungs. Just like all of the sheets, it has his scent, light and flowery and soft, and it inspires an aching, cloying feeling that isn't really close enough to comfort, but you hold it tighter anyways.

The day drags on like that, swamps of self-pity drained by bursts of frantic activity. You clean up a bit more, work on a project, watch some TV. And then the rush of drowning loneliness fills up your lungs again and you're reduced to more aimless pining.

By three, with no texts from Jungkook and the need to start cooking soon looming large on the horizon, you send him a message. Hey. Gonna be home soon?

About half an hour later, you add a ? that still gets no immediate reply, and agitated tension has you wondering if you should call him. But what if you interrupt something? Get him in trouble? Worrying the thoughts ragged in your head, you resolve to give it just a little more time. Hell, for all you know, maybe he’s on his way home now.

At around four, your phone starts vibrating. Not a Facetime request, this time, but the name that pops up is welcome all the same. You answer almost breathlessly. "Hey Kookie!"

"Hey Y/N."

Right away you know this isn't the kind of phone call you were hoping for. Jungkook's voice is gravelly and tired, more like a bruise than a sound. Your shoulders slump, and you can't find it in yourself to say anything.

Your boyfriend tentatively breaks the silence a moment later. "Y/N, I'm sorry. Things are spilling over and I'm not going to be able to leave for awhile longer."

"..."

"Y/N? Are you -"

"How much longer?"

You can practically hear the wince. "I'm not sure yet."

"Jungkook..." But once again, the words catch in your throat, trapped by just how ungrateful and immature you feel.

"Look, Y/N, I was thinking. Maybe, if I come home too late, we can move dinner to tomorrow? I'm definitely going to be home all day, so we can have a nice breakfast and dinner and maybe open our presents and..." There's nothing in the quiet between you two. Certainly not your agreement. "I know I messed up and that this isn't fair to you, Y/N, and I'm sorry. Maybe – couldn't we just... reset? Start Christmas for real tomorrow?"

"Reset?" you repeat. "Like – what, like one of your video games?" The swampy depression is bubbling now, surging with the outrage that's been building all day.

"No, that's not -"

"We can't just reset, Jungkook. This isn't a level you get to just do over!"

"I know that, that isn't what I meant, you're -"

"I've been waiting here all day, Jungkook! By myself! Just waiting here for you! Do you get how bad that makes me feel?"

Jungkook sounds choked when he replies, though it's hard to tell if it's from guilt or anger. "I know I've made you wait, and I'm sorry. But the project -"

"I don't care about the fucking project! You should have told them to fuck off when they asked you to work!" You're full on shouting now, eyes stinging with tears, the sound tearing from your throat. "This has been the worst Christmas I've ever had, and you just want me to forget about it?"

His voice doesn't get louder. If anything, it gets quieter, smaller, coiling in on itself into a tight mass. "Do you think I'm having a good time? I've been working since 8:00 on Christmas day! It's not like I asked to come in, and they barely gave me a choice! I'm the junior here, do you think they would have been okay with me shrugging today off?"

"Today? Today?" Your laugh sounds too cruel, even to your own ears. "It hasn't just been today, Jungkook! This is just – more of the same! More ditching me – ditching us – for work. For some stupid reason I thought that you might consider Christmas an important enough day to knock it off for just one fucking second. But I guess not."

"I'm doing this for us! For – I told you how much work it was going to be! I thought you'd be okay with it!"

"And I thought there might be a tiny little exception made for Christmas. I guess we were both wrong!" you spit furiously.

There's a pause, heavy with the sound of both of your staggered breathing. You're too angry to regret what you've said – or at least, to acknowledge how much you regret it – and the bewildered hurt is travelling straight to your head, leaving you dazed and disconnected. Could Jungkook really have thought you were okay with what's been happening? Okay with being left alone for what feels like months now? How can you be listening to his tense exhales and still not understand the person on the other end of this call?

"I'm sorry, Y/N." Too polite, too gentle by far. Where the hell did he get off sounding like that? You know that's Jungkook – that he's far more likely to shutdown during an argument, to close off – but it leaves you clashing against air. No opposing force to clamp down on your own anger.

Heaving in a sharp exhale, shaking your head even though he can't see it, you say, "Do what you want, Jungkook. I'm not making the dinner if you're not leaving right now."

"Y/N..."

"Merry Christmas." You hang up.

It feels horrible. The phone is a dead weight in your hand, the anger an even heavier weight in your heart. You make a fractured noise, a frustrated scream that quickly trails into a barely checked sob. If you felt bad before talking to Jungkook, it's nothing compared to the mix of self-recriminations and resentment assaulting you now. He was just - why did he have to - why couldn't he -

Why did I have to say that to him?

You know Jungkook. How hard working he is, how dedicated, how keenly he wants to do well in front of and for others. He isn't working late because he doesn't want to see you; you're sure of that. It's just an inability to say no to his superiors. And... and you really haven't told him how unhappy you are with how often he's away.

But still. Couldn't he figure it out? Did you need to spell out your misery for him to get it? Is that really what your relationship amounts to?

Another aggravated exhale parts your lips, and you start pacing faster, needing the release. The next few hours stretch in front of you with wretched promise. What do you do now? Just wait by yourself until he gets home? Have to see his ashamed, hurt, averted eyes, the way he would creep into the apartment with a shield set between you and him? And then what? Go to bed with that block between you two, wake up and somehow try to pretend it doesn't exist tomorrow?

The tears flow down your cheeks despite your hands’ furious attempts to press them away and there's no way to stop them once they've begun. You cry, the way people often cry when they’re lonely, like silence is their only companion and they're afraid of scaring even that friend away. Quietly, then, no longer trying to hold the tears back but unable to give voice to the magnitude of your pain, either. The wet, soft sobbing quickly sends you back to bed, where you curl up once again, struggling for some kind of self-control.

God, you just miss him so much. Not today, not now, not – it's a void of the little things. The snicker when you berate him for being messy. His warm, gentle hands on your neck after a day hunched over a project, massaging out the pain. A little giggle as you watch a Ghibli film together. The shoving matches when you're out shopping and competing for who can get the most stuff on the list. The quick kisses and the slow kisses and the deep, hungry kisses that always lead to you waking up in his arms the next day, far later into the morning than usual.

You miss him so much, and you just pushed him away even more.

With a muffled sob you push your face further into the pillow, hating how pitiful this is, how much you're struggling to get your emotions under control. This is so – it's ridiculous, that's what it is. Childish. It's not as if you've lost Jungkook forever, and you haven't lost all of the things you love about him, either. It's not like you never goof off anymore, or cuddle, or talk. It's just – it's just that everything has been so much more frantic, hurried, and stressful since the move. It seems like there's never a moment where you can just sit together and love each other and think of nothing else.

The anger, remorse and dejection feed off each other, first growing and prolonging the wrenching feeling choking your throat, and you cry until time doesn’t mean much anymore. The grief is so horribly thick it’s like you can’t even breathe through it, let alone do anything but lie in bed. It goes on and on and – and then exhaustion overtakes your convulsive crying. Eventually, without ever actually being filled, the hollow ache contracts into a hard pit, the tears all forced out. Nothing else, though. The guilt and resentment and sadness are still there, dulled to a grey, insubstantial mass.

But at least you can think a bit. Listlessly, with all the colours drained out of it, but you can do more than sob. Wiping at your clogged nose and tear-streaked face, you find you can actually breathe, something of an improvement. You sit up, gently set the pillow back on Jungkook's side of the bed, giving the soft material one last swipe, trying to rid it of the wet evidence of your meltdown. No luck there, but it'll probably be dry before your boyfriend gets home.

If he gets home.

The bitterness of that thought is too tired to summon more tears from the hole in your heart or your head. You shake it away, more because you're just too drained to cling to the heavy emotion than because of some angelic impulse to forgive.

You know you have to do something. Anything. Literally anything will be better than just sitting here, waiting for Jungkook to come in, getting pricklier with each passing minute. With the Christmas dinner off the table, you suppose you could just pick up something to eat. Fast-food or something... have it ready for him to heat up when he was done work... like you're some trophy girlfriend.

Once again you need to stop yourself, biting back the wave of resentment. God, this isn't doing you any good, and it's so, so unfair to Jungkook. Yeah, maybe he shouldn't have agreed to work on Christmas. Maybe he should have been more sensitive to how far you've been drifting apart because of his long work hours. But at the same time, yelling at him over the phone wasn't the answer, either. He's probably having as bad of a time as you are, and with no private room to cry in, either. He'll be totally repressing the argument now, shoving it into a locker and subconsciously telling himself he's to blame, that he's a horrible boyfriend. Trying to listen to his coworkers and do his work with those harsh criticisms running low and dark through his head. That's how Jungkook is. He takes everything onto himself, especially if you give it to him.

Running your hands through your hair at the thought, pity clenching your chest, you abruptly get up. You and Jungkook definitely need to talk, and soon. But – but there's no reason to close out this shitty day with an even more horrible evening of strained silence and brittle rebuttals. Neither of you are particularly good at apologizing, even though you're both great at feeling guilty. You just don't have the words for it. So, unless you do something – make some gesture – this is just going to stretch into an awful, prolonged fight that isn't a fight at all, both of you retreating from each other.

It's unbearable. You can't stand it. So… you're going to do something about it.

Resolved, as resolved as you can be, you change out of your PJs. The weather's been quite warm, with no snow to speak of, so it's not like you need to bundle up much. After a moment of hesitation, you choose to snag the ugly Christmas sweater. It's got a comically drawn pink bunny on the front, absurdly muscular, with a red Santa hat settled firmly between its ears, and a myriad of red and green patterns crammed into the background. It was the rabbit's expression and the accompanying phrase that had got Jungkook to laughing until he was doubled over when he'd seen it at the mall last year. A challenging, almost intimidating grin is plastered on the rabbit's face, with the words This Bun Don't Want None in cheerfully bedazzled white underneath. Your boyfriend had quite literally begged to get two and wear them to the upcoming Christmas party, and he'd been too imploring for you to say no.

Slipping it on, with the accompanying memory of his hysterical amusement, crinkled nose, and bunny grin every time he caught a glimpse of you at the party, is the closest you've felt to peace in the last few hours.

You throw on some dark jeans and apply your makeup with a thoroughness that's a little much, given that you're not going anywhere for long. You don't care; it feels good to dim the red-rimmed eyes and splotchy cheeks your breakdown has gifted you, to cover it over with something prettier. Finishing with the last of the mascara, you grab your transit pass and head out, closing the door behind you with a finality that could almost be a goodbye.

The air outside is cool, a relief compared to the stuffy apartment, at least for now. You inhale deeply, the mild cold burning your sinuses and clearing your clogged head a bit. In a while, you might regret not having a warmer layer on, but for now it’s a relief to begin to walk, to stretch both your legs and your mind from the cramped defensiveness the apartment had been inspiring. This is – this is a good idea. You’re positive about it now, and can feel your shoulders loosening, steps becoming brisker.

If Jungkook can’t come to you – well, you’ll just go to him. At least for now.

Your building isn't too far from Jungkook's work; you only have a short train ride and a shorter bus ahead of you, according to your phone. You’ve been to his work three times before, but always in your shared car, and you walk with eyes fixed on your screen, calculating the time schedules. Part of you wants to text him, send a little olive branch to smooth the way and let him know you’re coming, but a larger part longs for something romantic and cute to happen today. Fast-food might not quite cut it, but surely a surprise visit might? You won’t stay long, won’t interrupt his work, but just to see his face, confused and then quietly grateful and loudly gleeful when he realizes why you’ve come –

It seems like that shouldn’t be too much to ask.

The trip flies by; you're too anxious in your own head to notice much outside of it, and besides, there aren't many people out and about today. Probably busy celebrating with their families.

You bite your lip at the thought, and violently yank your attention away.

At this rate, you should sign up for a game of Olympic tag. Surely nothing can run as agilely as you've been doing, avoiding every uncomfortable idea.

Jungkook's work is downtown, and there are tons of fast-food options nearby. You pick a smaller chain, KTown Fried Chicken, that both you and Jungkook enjoy. It's hard to convince yourself the cashier isn't judging you at least a little bit for your weird presence on Christmas night. Or maybe she's just eyeing the sweater. That’s another possibility.

With only one other person in line, the food comes quickly, and then you're on your way. Somewhere between stepping off the bus and smiling awkwardly at the girl behind the counter, it occurred to you that you didn't know when Jungkook was actually leaving work. He obviously didn't pack up right away after your argument – he would have made it home before you left – but that doesn't mean he isn't going to be heading home some time soon.

What if you show up and he's not there? What if he shows up and you're not there? What would he think? It is entirely too much to ask your wrung out brain to decide if it would be hilarious, infuriating, or some kind of karmic justice, but you do know that you'd rather just catch him at work with this peace offering. Much simpler that way, so you hurry your steps, snugging your sweater a little tighter around your frame as you do so.

You make it to the imposing office building of Projeck at around six, which is, as it happens, when two of Jungkook’s coworkers are leaving the building. Jungkook talks about them quite a bit – actually, gushes might be a better word – and you’d met them at the office Christmas party a couple of weeks ago. Namjoon, a tall, elegant man with blonde hair currently dressed in a black turtleneck, is one of the lead game designers, and he holds the door open for Yoongi, an audio engineer. The older of the two, in an oversized, comfy hoodie markedly at odds with his companion’s attire, slouches through with a tired smile of thanks.

Both had made a good impression on you at the party (it helped that they were obviously fond of Jungkook and appreciative of his talents) and you’re a little relieved to see them. Solved the awkwardness of trying to get into the building without letting Jungkook know you were here. Both pause at the sight of you, confusion creasing their features, before a grin flashes across Namjoon’s face.

“Hey, Y/N! Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas,” offers Yoongi as well, shoving his hands into the pockets of the hoodie he’s wearing. His eyes are on your chest, a little furrow across his brow, and it takes you a second to realize it’s the bunny again. After a moment his lips quirk, quiet amusement in the expression, and it makes it easier for you to reply brightly.

“Hey Namjoon, Yoongi. Merry Christmas! Are you heading home?” The prospect makes you a little excited. If they’re leaving, surely Jungkook won’t be far behind?

“Yup,” Namjoon agrees easily. His head tilts a little, scouring over you quizzically, before his gaze finds the bag in your hand. “Are you bringing something for Kookie?”

“Yeah… He, uh, was working so late I thought it might be nice to surprise him with some food.” You say it more like a confession, shoulders tight with the knowledge that this is making you sound way better than you actually are.

Namjoon whistles, eyes widening. “Wow, that’s really nice of you.”

“I mean, I haven’t done much today so –”

“He’s not here.” Yoongi states it so bluntly that it takes you a second to process what he said.

“…not here?” you ask, dismayed.

“Nah.” As your stunned eyes fall on him, giving him your full attention, he shrugs uncomfortably. “I’m sorry. He left like… twenty minutes ago?”

“He did?” Namjoon demands, and Yoongi just shrugs again.

Clutching at the paper bag that suddenly feels pathetic and cheap, a stupid idea, you say weakly, “Oh.” You don’t know what else to say, and both of the men’s expressions are soft with a sympathy that doesn’t make you feel any less stupid. “I guess… I’ll go home, then.”

Shifting again, a movement that has him brushing briefly against Namjoon, Yoongi trails a hand up to his ear. “Uh, I don’t think he was going home? Or at least, not right away?”

"What do you mean?" Maybe he'd mentioned he was stopping to pick up dinner, too? Maybe the fast-food you're lugging around is even more useless than you'd thought? Why hadn't you texted him? Why hadn't you -

"He was asking me about the fastest way to get to, uh, the Golden Closet Gallery. I think he was dropping by there first."

"Did - did he say why?"

"Meeting someone? Maybe? I dunno, he's been quiet almost all day, and he rushed away pretty quick."

You stare at him, tired and confused and more than a little guilty at the mention of Jungkook’s withdrawn state. What are you supposed to make of all this? You know about the Golden Closet Gallery – of course you do. You and he went a couple times, early on after your move here, both of you taking a lot of enjoyment from the art displays. But – it couldn't be open now, could it? And even if it were, why would he be going? Who could he possibly be meeting? Was he trying to take a late tour to calm down? Something else entirely? And – it didn't even matter. It wasn't as though you could reach him in a timely manner.

You were just going to have to go back home, and – you weren’t sure. Certainly not eat. The thought of trying to swallow any food right now, with your stomach tearing itself into pieces of shivering disappointment, is too much. Maybe Jungkook would already be at the apartment by the time you got there. Maybe you two could just – sit together. Just be together.

You’re not sure what’s sadder; how much happiness that simple picture gives you, or how sad you are that it makes you happy.

Trying to straighten your crumpled expression, you smile. "Well – thank you for letting me know. Guess I get all of this for myself." Your laugh as you heft the fast-food bag is a small and lost thing. "Sorry to keep you guys. I hope you have a good night!"

You've just begun to turn away, aching to end the conversation before you start bawling in front of these two men, when Namjoon clears his throat, his gaze shifting to Yoongi for a moment. The other man jerks a shoulder, bobs his head, and Namjoon looks back at you. You shuffle a little, desperate to be away but not wanting to be rude to two of the few people at this company who actually seem to be lessening Jungkook's stress.

"Did you take the bus to get here? We could give you a ride if you wanted."

Your throat tightens, and you're already shaking your head before you've even thoroughly processed the offer. "No, thanks, I don't want to take you out of your way."

"Well, if you wanted to drop by the Gallery and see if Kookie is there, it wouldn't be out of our way at all. We live pretty close by." Yoongi nods in agreement, his round face scrunching reassuringly with something that's not – quite – a smile.

When you waver, Namjoon says with studied nonchalance, "Even if he's not there, Yoongi and I don't have any plans for tonight. We don't mind dropping you off."

Still, the thought of inconveniencing them because of your stupid planning – not to mention that you don't know them that well – makes awkward turmoil roil in your stomach. Reading your reluctant expression and apparently hesitant to press you, Namjoon relents. “Well, if you’re sure…”

“Y/N. Come on. We’ll save you a lot of time, and I’m sure Jungkookie would be mad if we didn’t give you the ride. He already throws stuff at me when he thinks I’m not looking; I don’t want him to start chucking shit that actually hurts.” Yoongi’s eyebrow is lifted, an inviting gesture accompanied by a smile with just a hint of gums, and you can’t help but respond, a rueful chuckle that slips out at the picture his comment puts in your head.

Jungkook had mentioned there were a few people he liked to mess around with at work, but somehow it hadn’t crossed your mind that the quiet and slightly intimidating man would be one of his targets.

It decides you.

With a sharp dip of your head, you assent. "Okay, okay. Yeah, sure, and thank you guys. It means a lot to me, and, umm, if you need gas money or something..."

Namjoon throws back his head and utters a loud, barking laugh while Yoongi chuckles. "The company doesn't pay us enough, sure, but I think we can afford to cover this trip, Y/N. Besides, Jungkook's been working overtime so often, I feel like we practically owe you for stealing him so much."

That leaves a sour taste in your mouth that you're quick to swallow. Grinning weakly, you follow the two to their car, a compact grey Honda that's seen better days. Namjoon tries to insist you take shotgun next to Yoongi, but you're far too flustered at the thought of taking his spot and practically dive into the backseat. The first few minutes are a little strained, the fast-food bag on your lap rustling every time you move. Namjoon shuffles through a bunch of Christmas songs on his phone and Yoongi hums to them under his breath, seemingly unperturbed every time his companion switches mid-note.

Eventually, though, Namjoon finds a song he likes enough to leave on, and you find yourself drawn into a relaxed talk with them. Yoongi throws in a comment here and there, and together the two of them are so – easy. They add teasing remarks about each other without pausing for breath, Yoongi praises an arching plotline Namjoon had finished storyboarding today, and when a particularly loud Christmas jangle comes on, Namjoon's already changing it before Yoongi has time to huff in displeasure. You know they're roommates – more than that Jungkook hasn't said – and there's something uplifting about listening to their comfortable conversation.

They don't leave you out of it, either. You talk about your home city. You talk about how you met Jungkook in university, when you both arrived late to a morning Intro to Computer Animation course and were locked out of the classroom as a result. (You'd whispered furiously at each other about who should knock first until another hectic student had come charging up, bleary with sleep, and literally ran into the door when it failed to open. That had pretty much dissolved the tension between you two.) On a wave of laughter from that story, you tentatively ask how the job has been for Jungkook so far.

He's always so keen to hide his stress, so anxious not to talk about it and burden you. It seems like these two coworkers might be a good way to get a better picture, rather than the stitched together portrait you've gotten from the late nights and short, hesitant answers he gives you. At the thought, you pull out your phone to see if he’s sent you anything, but you have no texts.

The laughter dwindles, and you hear Yoongi rattling the spit in his mouth loudly enough to be heard over the music as he makes a lane change. In the other seat, Namjoon runs a hand through his blonde hair. Their silence immediately winds you up, and your hand, holding the phone, falls to the side. Had Jungkook not been telling you something? Was it worse than the late hours? Was –

"This isn't a great company," Yoongi states flatly, when it becomes obvious Namjoon is still groping for something more tactful to say. "They make you feel like you owe them your finger bones just because they pay a bit above average, and if those aren't showing from hitting the keyboards enough, you're some kind of failure."

"Yeah..." Namjoon sighs. "They tried that with me, but Yoongi's been there for several years, he's the best they've got in the audio department, and he made it clear that if I left, he would too. So they pulled back a little. Jungkook, though..."

"He doesn't say no. I've told him to – told him I'll throw in for him – but he's really afraid he's gonna get tossed. Can't blame him. People get fired too easily at Projeck." His voice is disinterested, but Yoongi makes another lane change, too abruptly this time, and that, plus his tight grip on the steering wheel, is a hint that he’s not quite as untouched as he sounds.

You press your back into the seat, trying to give yourself a semblance of a spine as your whole body threatens to fold. You'd had an inkling that Jungkook was maybe conceding too easily to upper management, but it sounds like he's having way more than a little pressure to work late put on him. This – actually this sounds toxic. Crippling. And Jungkook hadn't said anything about it.

And you barely asked.

Gnawing on your cheek, you lapse into silence, struggling for something to say.

Namjoon looks back, brows pulling together at whatever he sees on your face. "He's trying to get ahead of his workload, Y/N," he says gently. "I know after today he doesn't plan on going in until after New Years. He said he really wants to spend time with you."

"He was literally moping all over the office today," Yoongi adds. "Was surprised he didn't break his computer screen, he was sighing on it so much."

They're trying to make you feel better, reassure you that Jungkook had missed you and hated being separated on today of all days. They are accomplishing the exact opposite of what they intend, but that's not their fault. After all, they don't know what you'd said to Jungkook over the phone. Part of you wonders if they'd even have been willing to give you a ride if they did know. You're pretty sure you wouldn't have been if you were them.

You might also have tried to run yourself over on the way out of the parking lot, if you were them.

Before you can pull anything resembling words from the mire of rabid guilt curdling in your throat, the car pulls into the Gallery's small parking lot. It's almost surprising to find that there are two other vehicles already parked, and with the way the night is going, it's even more surprising that you recognize one of them as Jungkook's.

"He's here!" you cry out, relief and something heavier saturating your voice.

With a pleased exclamation, Namjoon gestures excitedly, smashing his hand into the roof of the car with a loud thud in the process.

"If you fucking dent my car..." Yoongi begins, but their mild bickering slips by you.

Your eyes are straining for some sign of Jungkook. The parking lot is empty of people, and the big sign above the building isn't lit up. However, it looks like there are some lights on in the Gallery, spilling out into the dimly lit lot, and as you fix your anxious gaze on the interior through the wide glass windows, you think you see the dim form of at least one person moving inside.

He’s here. You’re literally lightheaded with the joy of that certainty. This day has stretched out with excruciating discord, but now, everything is drawing tighter, shorter, focusing into a promise of reprieve. Finally, finally, something’s going right. The blissful expectation of getting to see Jungkook is almost enough for you to forget about everything else. For this moment, you think you’d forego everything Christmas – the gifts, the dinner, the decorations, everything – just to press your face against his chest and feel him holding you.

Hand on the door handle, you keep yourself from leaping out and dashing to the building only with difficulty. “Thank you so much for driving me. I almost can’t believe we caught him.”

“It’s Christmas, isn’t it?” Namjoon replies. “Escaping from Projeck before eight was our miracle – looks like this gets to be yours.”

The three of you chuckle at that, and then you’re opening the door. “I’ll let Jungkook know you helped me. Maybe he’ll stop throwing things.”

“And maybe Santa exists,” Yoongi grumbles, but there’s no annoyance in his rasping voice. “’Sides, that’s not what I want from him. Tell him to think about what we’ve said, ‘kay?”

Assuming he means saying no to the boss more, you nod, emotional with how lucky both you and Jungkook are to have run into such kind people. ‘Thank you’ doesn’t really cover the gratitude their thoughtfulness has inspired in you, and on top of everything else you’ve been through today, it’s almost enough to set you to crying again.

Namjoon seems to sense you’re at a loss for words; at any rate, he fills in the space. “If things change for the better in the new year, we’ll see more of you, Y/N. In the meantime, take care! I hope you and Jungkook have a Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year!”

Your voice comes out husky with gratitude. “Thank you. Thank you. I – Hope you both have a Merry Christmas, too! And a Happy New Year!”

Then you’re out of the car, shutting the door carefully behind you, your jaw tight to keep back the ridiculous tears. Yoongi and Namjoon wave, you wave back, and then Yoongi pulls away, leaving you standing and waving in the parking lot until the car turns and is gone. You take a couple of deep breaths, a smile easing the urge to cry. The excitement hasn’t dimmed at all, and, clutching the fast-food bag tightly, you pivot towards the Gallery, little shivers of anticipation darting under your skin.    

You practically run to the doors, and nearly commit the same mistake that student had, years ago, when they don’t open at your touch. The thought of smacking into them and announcing your presence to Jungkook that way has a low laugh bubbling in your throat. Yanking yourself to a halt, you try pulling and pushing on the doors, to no avail; they’re locked. You give them one last jerk, just to be sure, but they remain stubbornly shut. It’s not enough of a deterrent to dampen your spirits, though you find yourself bouncing impatiently on the soles of your feet, unable to get rid of the fizzy energy coursing through your veins.

You’re okay to wait outside until Jungkook comes out – it’s still not that cold out, and how much longer could he really be? – but nonetheless you start heading to the right, circling around the building, peering into the windows on the off-chance you can catch sight of your boyfriend and get his attention. The lights are off in some of the areas, but a few are flooded in a soft glow, and you skim your eyes over all that you can see. The more you look, the more confused you are about why Jungkook would be here. There are no other customers that you can see, so clearly, it’s not some sort of special Christmas showing. You literally can’t think of another reason he might be here. And hadn’t Yoongi said he was meeting someone?

It’s a mystery you can’t solve yourself, and you keep up your roaming examination. Most of the building has glass walls, except for an area near the back, and you can see inside fairly easily, where the lights are on. The Gallery is pretty typical, all open spaces and white, dismantlable walls, the better to more starkly exhibit the art pieces scattered across the wooden floors. There are paintings and sculptures, a few more abstract works, little plaques beside most of them –

But no Jungkook.

Lips pursued, you make your way further around, until you’re on the other side of the building, ears keen for any sound of a door opening. Wouldn’t that just be typical? While you’re wandering around out here, he comes out and leaves…

You should text him. A surprise visit is one thing, but at this point you being outside is going to be surprise enough. With that thought in mind, you begin fumbling in your pockets, awkwardly cradling the fast-food in one hand as you search for your phone. Not in your back jean pockets. A horrified panic starts building, and by the time you’ve clawed all the lint out of your sweater’s pockets, you’re certain. You don’t have it.

A memory, stilted and strained, of your hand falling to your side when you’d been talking about Jungkook’s stress in Yoongi’s car. In your anguish, it suddenly becomes clear to you; you’d dropped it. Forgotten to pick it up again. It was in the car!

For a second, you think that’s going to be the breaking point. The straw on the camel’s back. Your frustration peaks, eyes stinging, hands balled into fists as your excitement is drowned in self-reproach and an overwhelming sense of despair. Why were you so stupid? Fighting with Jungkook, sulking around the apartment, this dumb idea to get fast-food that’s definitely cold by now, and now – now this. You start walking again, barely looking, just planning to get to the front of the building and maybe collapse on the pavement. The crushing unhappiness doesn’t let up. Were you cursed? Was the world out to get you? Had you kicked a puppy in a past life? Why did you end up –

Your raging internal soliloquy is interrupted by movement within the Gallery. Someone is moving inside. Someone tall and muscular, with his black shirt rolled up to the elbows, long, shaggy black hair tucked behind his ears as he lounges against one of the white walls. He’s partially turned; you can only see half of his face, and even that not perfectly because of the narrow angle, but the sharp definition of his jaw is obvious, even from here. There’s something rectangular leaning against the wall next to him, wrapped in brown packaging paper, but you barely notice it. He’s talking to someone equally as tall, their back turned to you, but you barely register them.

Jungkook. It’s Jungkook!

It is not an exaggeration to say that for a second you doubt your eyes. Everything has just been so, so shitty today that you’d almost believe he’s a hologram or a figment of your imagination before buying that your flesh and blood boyfriend is standing some twenty feet away and that all it will take to end this horrible experience will be to catch his attention.

The person he’s talking to must say something funny, because his nose crinkles, lips rising as he tilts his head back and laughs. It’s just a giggle, quickly stifled, but it’s also a needle; the second you see that laugh, your bubble of disbelief pops with a force that’s almost audible. You can’t hear him, but at the same time, you can, fully aware of the way his snicker of amusement started out low and then pitched higher in tandem with his head being thrown back. The sound that isn’t a sound but a memory and a gift and a promise altogether gives rise to something hot and aching in your chest.

“Jungkook,” you say, barely aware of the name slipping between your tingling lips. There’s a rushing sensation in your ears, through your veins, like your blood has just remembered that it’s alive and is eager to prove it. The misery of moments and minutes and hours ago doesn’t disappear, but the sight of your boyfriend is enough to lift you out of it, to buoy you above the churning waves and set you, heart alight, in the clouds.    

“Jungkook!” you call, a shout this time, and start waving. He doesn’t hear or notice you, attention fixed on the man he’s with. You still don’t recognize whoever it is, but then again, with his back to you all you can see is the vibrantly patterned orange shirt stretching over his shoulders and a fluffy bit of brown hair. However, whatever he’s saying has sobered Jungkook; from what you can see of his face, his lips have tightened, and he shakes his head now and again.  

Who the hell is that, anyways? More vigorous gestures still don’t pull Jungkook’s gaze away from the other person. You know that any second now he’s going to look over and see you, break into a silly, bemused grin, rush over to the window, if only you could just– You’re about to tap on the glass when whoever it is abruptly steps closer to Jungkook. From what you can see, the guy’s large hands are moving passionately, persuasively, and a moment later he grabs Jungkook’s wrist, other hand rising up towards his face. You can’t quite tell what’s happening, except that Jungkook doesn’t shake him off or push him away. Doesn’t push him away, even when he leans closer, their faces inches apart, and the way they’re standing, you still don’t know who it is.  

Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind that his personal space is being invaded. There’s an attempt at a scowl on his lips, but you can tell it’s fake, a laugh on the verge of breaking through. You realize your hand is still raised to knock on the window, and let it fall. Brows pulling together, you try to make sense of what you’re seeing. The other man leans in even more, and when their lips are about to touch you wrench your eyes away.

For a long moment you stare at the pavement at your feet, mouth moving silently, like you’re searching for a word that fits what you just saw happen. It couldn’t be what you thought. Any second now, a reasonable explanation is going to come to mind. You’re going to find some frame of reference that makes this understandable. There’s going to be something that changes your point of view, makes reality into fiction. Because this can’t be true. This can’t be happening.

Jungkook could not have just kissed someone else in an empty art gallery while he thought you were waiting for him at home.  

Except that’s exactly what happened. You feel yourself change. You’re not a person anymore, not a human; you’re a wound, red and open and weeping. With a strangled sob, you suddenly find your feet moving to match your reeling thoughts, and you stagger away from the warmly lit building. The disbelief is like novocaine, numbing the screaming pain of the betrayal, but it’s not strong enough to force your gaze back through the window. Back to your boyfriend and whoever he’s with. Who knows what they’re doing now?  

Stopping yourself from crumpling to your knees and curling into a ball takes almost all of your strength, and you can’t keep yourself from doubling over slightly, one hand across your middle as you stumble blindly down the sidewalk and away from the Gallery. You press on your eyes to keep back the tears, cover your mouth to stifle the high, anguished gasps you’re making, but it does little to fool anyone, least of all yourself. Each sob rips from somewhere deep inside you, opens up the injury even further, until it feels like you might very well be tearing your chest apart.

He couldn’t have. He just– he couldn’t have. You can’t reconcile what you saw with what you know, but how can they be two different things? How can your boyfriend – loving, loyal, protective – exist in the same place as that man who hadn’t mentioned he was meeting anyone, who snuck around on Christmas day to see someone else? How can Jungkook be a cheater? How? How?

How could I not have known?

Bewildered, you scrabble through your memories like they’re a pack of spilled cards, struggling to piece them together, to pick them up and put them in order after they’ve fluttered to the ground in a chaos of white and black and red. At first you can’t find a hint. Can’t find a reason. There’s warmth and laughter and closeness in your memories together, with only spots of friction and hurt. What could the memory of you throwing tinsel around Jungkook’s neck and him parading around the living room teach you about this moment? What could the recollection of Jungkook’s arms wrapped around your shaking form when you’d received news of your grandmother’s passing tell you that you should have already known? What could the shadow of his quiet admiration as you showed him your most recent design reveal to your befuddled mind?

Was the staying late the only clue? The only ace card that trumped every other moment together? Or had there been others? Did you confuse his withdrawal from you as stress when it was really guilt? Had the silence been resentment? Boredom? Was he really going to the gym? Or into someone else’s arms? Did you do something wrong? Say something wrong?

Is this your fault?

You don’t know what to do, and as your steps slow, tears still going strong, you realize you barely know where you are. It’s fully dark now, and people are passing infrequently, with the streetlights only vaguely reassuring as they spill over faces. You haven’t taken any side streets, just followed this main road passed gas stations and boutiques, offices and fast-food joints, so you’re not lost, exactly. But you don’t have your phone. How are you supposed to get home?

Home. Suddenly the ache is more real. Present. Demanding. How are you supposed to go home when you thought home was Jungkook?

What do you say to him? What can you say? The thought of facing him has you trembling with something approaching nausea. Or maybe it’s the cold. It’s late enough now that the temperature is dropping, your heaving breath misting from your mouth, and you hadn’t planned to be out so late. The sweater is doing nothing to keep you warm. The sweater…

“Oh, God…” you mumble, your fingers digging into the tacky material, creasing the bunny that had made Jungkook so happy. “What do I do?”

What do I do?

---

With a grunt, Jungkook shoves Taehyung away using a hand against his stomach, the other man’s breath spilling across his face as he huffs in surprise. The push is strong enough to send Taehyung staggering back several paces, and he nearly trips and falls. Even as he catches himself, Jungkook is regretting the violence of the motion. It’s just – he’s feeling so vulnerable right now, so strained, and his friend acting like a clown doesn’t help matters.

Rubbing at his stomach, the other man complains reproachfully, “I was just trying to show you what to do!”

Jungkook sighs, rubbing at his face. “I don’t remember saying I needed help with how to make out,” he points out.

Taehyung throws up his hands. “You’ve missed the point!” he exclaims in disgust. “Didn’t you see the concern in my eyes? The tenderness? Dude, I was stroking your face. That’s how it’s done!”  

He snorts but the irritation is already fading, replaced by the amusement he’d had when Tae first started his shenanigans. Jungkook shakes his head, clearing his hair from his eyes, and relents a little. “Do you really think I should do it like that?” A beat. “Well, I mean, not like that. Better.”

With a grand gesture at their surroundings, Taehyung ignores the insult (or misses it, it’s hard to tell with Tae sometimes) and tells him, “You’re already doing better. You’ve got her a painting from an artist she loves.” He stops, points to himself. “Courtesy of your friendly neighbourhood art dealer, who sacrificed his Christmas night and drove all this way to make sure you got it. Plus, there’s the big news – she’s going to lose her mind when you tell her. Anyways, yeah, Koo, I’m pretty sure she’s gonna forgive you, even if you don’t use my sweet moves.”

“But I still don’t know what to say.” Jungkook hates how whiny his voice sounds, how uncertain. At the same time, it feels… good, to admit how he hasn’t got a clue how to make up with you. Or– That isn’t quite right. He does know, somewhere in his gut, in the palms of his hands, in the way his lips ache to skim along your skin. It’s just turning that feeling into words that’s struck him dumb.

“Dude, say what’s in your heart.” There is no one in the world but Taehyung who could say that earnestly and not sound like a weirdo, yet there the other man is, mouth set solemnly, somehow almost making sense. “You love her, you’re sorry for what’s happened, you want to hear her opinion, you’re working to make it better… Koo, you’ve told me all of that in the last half an hour. Now you just need to say it to her.”

“But what if…” He can’t even put it into words, the fear and uncertainty and guilt. Is he asking too much of you? Does he even deserve to ask anything? And what if… what if…

Reading him like a book, Taehyung smiles, simple and brilliant. “She’s going to forgive you. You’ve already forgiven her, so what else is there? Just the getting it done.” Still Jungkook hesitates, and his childhood friend says, a little more gently, “You’re a good person, Koo. I know that, and she does too. Talk to her. You won’t regret it.”

He hangs his head, slowly running his fingers against each other, exploring their lines like they might lead him to the courage he’s searching for. The call with you this afternoon had – shaken him. Although Jungkook had been aware – painfully so – that the two of you weren’t spending enough time together, he hadn’t realized how much it was harming you, and your anger had been both shocking and hurtful. Work had just sucked, so much, and to have you yelling at him…

But after the initial defensive reaction, he couldn’t get the thought of you sitting alone out of his head. It was never his intention to leave you for the whole day, but when he broached the subject of leaving with the boss, the look he got on his face, the way he said, “Well, of course, since I assume you’re done everything you were assigned,” had just been…

You still shouldn’t have left her. Jungkook knows that, knows equally that he didn’t have all that much of a choice if he didn’t want to get fired. It was the balancing act between those understandings that had his shoulders hunched, his cheek fair game to be chewed on. He was working on changing the situation – Namjoon and Yoongi were helping – but what if you thought it wasn’t fast enough? What if you decided you had enough? How can he bear to face you with that possibility on the horizon?

Taehyung gives him space, just hums under his breath and wanders a little, examining the various pieces on display. The Golden Closet Gallery isn’t one of his usual haunts – he tends to deal with artists further up north – but he’d come at Jungkook’s hesitant request, with an alacrity that still has Jungkook wondering what he’d done to deserve such a friend.  

He’d had his eye on your favourite local artist’s website, and when the painting went on sale, he’d known he had to get it. However, Projeck employees didn’t get paid until the 20th, and by the time he had enough money to comfortably purchase it, the artist wasn’t available on short notice and wouldn’t have been around to give it to him until after New Year’s Eve. Taehyung is well known in the community, though, and the painter had had no qualms letting him deal with establishing the price and then handing the piece over. It was practically a miracle, even if Tae had only been able to slip away from his family on Christmas afternoon.

Eventually, with Taehyung’s deep baritone hum a soothing presence, Jungkook tamps his fear down. Gets it to a manageable level. At the end of the day – Taehyung is right. He loves you, more than anything, more than he thought he could love anyone. That’s enough. It has to be enough.

He looks up, clears his throat. “Thanks, TaeTae,” Jungkook says quietly. “I really couldn’t have done this without you.”

His friend beams. “Nah, you couldn’t have. But what else are friends for, right?”

“I’ll get you an early release copy of Urban Anonymous. I think you’ll like it,” he promises. “But in the meantime… I think I’ve got someone to, uh, speak my heart to.” For half a second Jungkook thinks he’s about to die from the sheer cringe of saying that, a blush flooding across his cheeks, but at the same time – it feels kinda good to say. Goofily so, and very embarrassing, but still.

If anything, Taehyung’s beam intensifies. “Then my job here is done! I should hit the road anyways, I wanna get back home. I promised my parents I’d make them something nice for breakfast tomorrow.”

“Sure you don’t wanna stay over?” Glancing out the window, taking in how dark it is, Jungkook feels bad to be sending Taehyung out on the road at this time.

The other man snickers. “And get in the way of a beautiful thing? Nah. Besides, you know I like driving at night, and it’s only a little over three hours. I’ll be fine.”

“If you say so…” Jungkook snags the painting off of the floor, and together they walk through the Gallery, to the doors Taehyung had locked behind them when they entered. He unlocks them now, and they leave the aesthetically pleasing space, spilling out into the chilly night air. As Taehyung locks up, Jungkook glances around, breathing in deeply. Now that he’s resolved himself, he actually feels – a little better. Steadier, as though his world isn’t about to jerk out from underneath his feet.

Their cars are parked together, and once there Taehyung flings himself at Jungkook – scrupulously avoiding hitting into the painting, of course – and they hug, Jungkook staggering under the weight of his friend. The fond affection is a fluffy, sleepy thing, and, with one hand wrapped around Taehyung’s shoulders, Jungkook repeats, “Thank you, TaeTae.” It’s not eloquent, but with Taehyung, it’s enough.

They break apart, and Taehyung is grinning, a wide, boxy affair that has the nostalgia and warmth growing. “I’ve missed you, Koo. I’m glad we got to meet up. Tell Y/N that I miss her too, okay? And that I wish her a Merry Christmas.”

“We’ll have to get together again soon; Y/N will be disappointed she missed you. Although I know she loved your blue hair, so she’ll probably be sad you changed it.” It had even surprised Jungkook a bit when Tae had first ducked out of his car. The blue had just been so… riveting, and compared to that, the darker tone really changes how he looks. Not to mention that Tae went with a curlier style this time around.

Taehyung runs a hand through his fluffy brown locks before shrugging. “I got bored. Besides, I haven’t had brown in, what? Five years? It was a nice change.”

“It’s a good look. Almost as good as mine,” Jungkook teases, and Taehyung laughs in his deep, rolling way. “Okay. Merry Christmas, TaeTae. And have a Happy New Year! Don’t drive into a ditch, but if you do, call me.”

“I’ll get you to drag the car out by yourself,” Taehyung agrees amiably. “You look like you could manage it these days, and it’d save me the cost of the tow-truck.”

He gives Jungkook’s upper arm a cheerful poke, whistles in exaggerated admiration and then dodges Jungkook’s swipe at him. “See you soon, Koo! I’ll send you a text when I get home. Hopefully you’ll be too busy to read it until tomorrow.” And with a wicked little giggle, he gets into his car.

“Bye, Tae! See you! Thank you!” Jungkook waves until the other man has pulled away, blasting an R&B version of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, and then he gets into his own car. Being with Tae is like inhaling a warmer version of helium, all uplift and expansion. It suddenly occurs to Jungkook, with a little jolt, that he’s excited to get home.

No matter how scared he is, scared of the future and scared of the conversation ahead, picturing you, thinking of walking into the apartment and seeing your face, is enough to drive a sharp spike of joy through his trepidation. You are the best thing in his life, and even with this fight, even with the hurt still nestled against his ribs, he wouldn’t have drawn it any other way.

It’s as he’s starting the car that he realizes he got a text from Namjoon and didn’t notice. Hey Jungkookie. Can you let Y/N know we have her phone? She left it in the car.

He stares at the words, waiting for the moment when they’ll make sense. When sense is not forthcoming despite scrambling his brains for what it could mean, Jungkook types out a reply, his fingers sweaty with sudden anxiety.  

what car? you saw Y/N today?

…Yeah? We dropped her off at the Gallery. Did she not mention it?

at the gallery?? when?

His heart is in his throat, the unease ricocheting to unprecedented levels, and Jungkook shoves open the car door, begins looking desperately around like you two could have possibly missed each other in the empty lot. When his phone vibrates thirty seconds later, he almost drops it in his haste to unlock it.

Thirty minutes ago. Around there. Is she not there? Is everything okay?

Jungkook rips his eyes from the screen to the empty parking lot and back to the screen, a bewildered trek that gives him no hints, and he doesn’t know the answer.

---

When you finally get back to the apartment, your hurt has become a cramped, flattened pressure at the back of your throat, and every breath scrapes painfully on the way out. It’s taken you close to two hours to get back. The first person you’d asked for directions had given you the wrong bus number, and while you’d realized it eventually, you’d been going the wrong way for a significant period of time.

Usually, you and Jungkook laugh at how bad your sense of direction is, but this is just more humiliation to stoke an already raging fire of shame. Your steps literally drag – you almost trip on your way up the stairs – and your fingers are tingling, almost numb. It’s gotten progressively colder as the night wore on, and by now the icy feeling has sunk deep into your bones, passed the hard exterior until its wrapped around the marrow.

You’d thought about checking into a hotel. You at least hadn’t forgotten or lost your credit card. There was something tempting about postponing the moment when you had to see Jungkook. But at the same time… If you didn’t answer your phone and didn’t come back, he might worry (would he worry?) and worse, he might get other people involved. What if he talked to Namjoon and Yoongi? Or phoned your parents or brother? You can’t stand the thought of having to explain to them what happened without any preparation – without even knowing what happened yourself.

So here you are, facing the door, empty-handed. You’d thrown out the fast-food at the first trashcan you’d come to after deciding to return. Would Jungkook be home by now? Had he finished with – was he done? Or was he still out there, still… You have to say it eventually, you try to tell yourself firmly, but your whole being cringes from making that acknowledgement, from putting it into syllables that might somehow trap it in reality. It’s not something you can manage tonight. You really don’t know what will be worse, him being inside or not, but you can’t just stand outside forever.

Forcing the key to the lock is no harder than flinging yourself off a cliff, and you approach it with the same amount of dry-mouth apprehension. Your hands are shaking so bad it’s hard to get them to align, but when you finally do, the click of the key sliding in is too loud, like its announcing that you’ve slunk back in shame to all of the apartment building inhabitants. A ridiculous notion, but you flinch anyways, heart seizing as your stiff fingers fumble with the little jiggle required to get the door to open. It takes you three attempts, your anxiety growing, and when you finally manage it, you’re so strung out with tension that you don’t hesitate. You just fling the door open and stumble through.

Straight into Jungkook.

For just a second, it feels like the magnetism you learned about in school. For just a second you fall into him like there’s nothing else in the world more natural than falling, and for just a second you press against his chest and feel dizzy with the light, clean scent that surrounds you. For just a second, as he catches your weight and closes his arms around you, calling your name with a voice of choked relief, you let yourself forget.

For just a second.

And then reality floods back in, a tainted torrent of regret and grief, strewn with rage and humiliation that drifts just below the surface. Though you’re so unsteady you can barely see, your lungs blocked and battling to heave in enough air just to keep breathing, you struggle to get away from him.

“Let go of me,” you say, dry and curt, and when his arms only tighten – more, you suspect, to keep you from pitching over than in denial of your demand – your efforts become harsher, more violent. Without room you can’t get any momentum to really push away from him, but your motions are frantic with the desire to do just that. There’s a panicked, screaming need to get away from him, to get enough space, like he’s the reason your lungs are crumpling in on themselves. “Let go, Jungkook!” you cry, your voice spiking up into shrillness, shattering the syllables of his name.

Like he’s been electrified, Jungkook jerks, his arms flying open. Instantly, let loose, you scramble away, down the entrance hallway. Just as off balance as he’d feared, you nearly trip over something long and cumbersome leaning against the wall that you’re too distraught to look at, and you have to windmill to catch your balance. A moment later you slam your shoulder into the corner of the wall as you try to take the turn too sharply. “Y/N, please, stop!” you hear, and wish you hadn’t. Barely registering the sharp throb in your shoulder, you catch yourself and keep going. Seconds later you’re in the bedroom, and you slam the door shut.

It doesn’t have a lock. Putting your back to the door, your air rattling hollowly out of your mouth – too fast, too shallow, but you can’t seem to calm down – you slide down the solid surface. Pulling your knees to your chest, you rest your forehead against them, eyes tightly closed, still gasping. Your eyes are aching, but you can’t cry against the immense pressure of overwhelming panic. There’s just a stinging sensation and a pulsing rigidity in your face, like each and every muscle there has chosen to stage a personal rebellion at the exact same time.

I can’t, I can’t, oh God, please, I can’t do this I can’t look at him I can’t I –

“Y/N?” Jungkook sounds like he’s directly on the other side of the door, but he makes no attempt to open it. “Baby, please, are you okay?”

His voice is so raw with worry that it’s red. The colour blooms across your closed eyelids, swathes of crimson and scarlet, and you imagine that it’s blood, trickling from the wound inside of you. You can barely tell where your back ends and the door begins, like any moment you might slide through it, or maybe through the floor, or through the ground, or maybe you’re already there, floating in nothing, and the red breaks into jagged pieces of black and orange and you still can’t breathe.

“Y/N? Can you talk to me? Just – say something, okay? Just so I know you’re okay.”

You can’t even manage that. Even if you wanted to. Even if he deserved to know. Throat moving convulsively, you choke out a sob but nothing else comes after. Just wheezing breaths, and you think you’re shaking but you’re somewhere outside of your skin so it’s hard to tell.

“Okay, okay. I’m – I’m gonna be here, okay? Right here. If you need me, I’m here.” Even through the hazy distortion swamping you, Jungkook’s clear, resonant voice comes through. Maybe it’s the concern, too heavy to be swept away by the raging panic. Maybe it’s the compassion, too anchored in you to be broken away by the tremendous pressure.

Or maybe you just know Jungkook’s voice so well that even your disassociation can’t make it unfamiliar to you.

“You’re doing good, Y/N. I’m still here. Just on the other side of this door.” A pause, a deep chasm of silence, and then he continues. “I think it’s a panic attack. I know it’s scary, but it’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”  

Later, you will be both annoyed and touched that Jungkook realized you were having a panic attack before you did. You’ve had a few throughout university, but none within the past year or two, and in the moment, you’d been too overwhelmed to identify what’s going on. The insight is helpful though, something to cling to and repeat to yourself. A grounding. It’s a panic attack. You’re going to be okay.  

Jungkook keeps talking, slow and steady. Nothing serious. Just words. You lean on his voice just as hard as you’re leaning on the door, and, slowly but surely, in a stretch of time that doesn’t mean anything to you, the constrictive bands across your chest loosen. You sink back into yourself. The tips of your fingers make sense again.

And you start crying.

“Y/N? How’re you feeling?”

Funny. Now, with your throat something other than a fist and pain, you still struggle to say anything. This is a softer kind of crying, not quite quiet, with little, hiccupping gasps as the tears run down your face. Possible to speak through. You just don’t know what to say to the man who just talked you, with kindness and compassion, through a panic attack. Who cheated on you. Your fingertips might make sense, but nothing else does.

“I – Y/N, baby, I get that you’re upset, but I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.” So anguished. Why did he have to sound like that? What right did he have?

You don’t know if it’s outrage or bewilderment or grief or pity that has you answering. Is it possible to have all of them in your mouth, gritty across your tongue? At any rate, your tone is as washed out as you feel, fatigued and grey. “I saw, Jungkook,” you whisper to your knees.

There’s silence on the other side of the door. Denial? Guilt? His reply is sluggish, thick with confusion. “You saw what?”

That makes you laugh – or not really, though the tortured sound was supposed to be one. “I was there. At the Golden Closet Gallery.” Will he really keep pretending after he knows you were there? Could he really be that brazen? The Jungkook you know couldn’t. There’s no way he could carry a lie like that, holding it effortlessly in the face of the truth. The Jungkook you know would blush, shuffle, collapse like a house of cards. He’s really not good at lying.

The answer isn’t a lie, but it confuses you all the same. “I know you were. Namjoon texted me to say he’d dropped you off, but – Where did you go? I – I drove around for like an hour trying to find you, and I couldn’t and when I got home you weren’t here…” The stream of words dies out like Jungkook can’t quite find any more to say, or maybe he’s embarrassed to say them.

When your reply isn’t forthcoming, confusion churning up anything you might spit out, he continues, more subdued. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to push you after what you just went through, I just– Are– How are you feeling? Was it – did something happen while you were getting here? Is that what took so long?” Another pause that you can’t fill, that stretches on and on as you try to understand what he’s talking about. How he can apologize for that and not the actual offense.  

Abruptly his voice bursts out. “Why won’t you talk to me!?” Tighter and more uncertain than you’ve heard tonight. Maybe more afraid than you’ve ever heard him.

It rips at your heart, and you realize in a swell of furious sorrow that you can’t stand to hear him sound like that. With a sudden, unstable surge, you get to your feet. Immediately your vision falters a bit, and you stagger, but catch yourself before you fall, clinging to the doorknob. You take a deep breath, fighting away the residual nausea and light-headedness. It clears within a few seconds, and your hand tightens on the knob as you take a deep breath. You can’t just leave him standing out there. You can’t just leave this incomprehensible thing hanging in the frame between your two lives.

You open the door. Slowly. Reluctantly. But you open it.

His long black hair is a wild mess, pushed back from his forehead, strands sticking up here and there. Even as you inch the door open, he runs his hand through it, ruffling it even further. His shirt is wrinkled, only partially tucked in, one sleeve rolled to bare his forearm, the other slipped down almost all the way. With his jaw so tense it’s a wonder he’s not cracking his teeth, Jungkook stares at you, lips set and pale. He doesn’t look like someone who committed a betrayal only hours before; if anything, the anguished panes of his face speak to a betrayal committed against him.

You’re so, so tired. Too tired to grasp at the outrage that wisps at the edge of your consciousness. Sniffling to clear your throat, you wipe at your face, trying make yourself a little less pitiful. “I was at the Gallery, Jungkook. I saw you,” you repeat because it’s still so hard to think of anything to say. When his expression doesn’t change – unless his eyebrows furrow, just a little, in innocent perplexity – you exhale. “I saw you with that guy. I saw you…”

“That guy? Who do you–” Jungkook breaks off, examines you more closely, like you’ve given him something to be concerned about. “Are you talking about Taehyung?”

The name is startling in its sheer unexpectedness. What the hell did Jungkook’s best friend have to do with any of this? “Taehyung? No, I’m not talking about Taehyung. I’m talking about that guy you were with tonight, in the Gallery. The guy you–” The words catch, but only for a second. You push them through with a surge of vehement exasperation for the blank expression he’s wearing. “The guy you kissed!���

In another place, the nonplused spasm across his face would have been hilarious. As it is, it just heightens your frustration, and the way he starts sputtering does absolutely nothing to reduce it. Even when he finally gets himself together and manages to talk, your aggravation is here to stay.

Right next to your mortification, as it happens.

“I didn’t– Y/N, that guy at the Gallery was Tae! Could you not tell it was him? I know he has brown hair now, but…” Jungkook shakes his head, flipping his own hair back. The tension seems to have slipped from his jaw, at least a little, and it might very well have crept into yours. “Is that– Is that what this whole thing has been about? You thought I did something with some random guy?” His lips twitch, and it doesn’t seem like he can decide if he wants to smile or scowl, and you feel the beginning of a flush heating up your face.

“It was Taehyung! And I didn’t kiss him. I mean, he tried to kiss me but it was just to–” Abruptly there’s a wash of faint scarlet crawling up his cheeks – cheeks that are rounder than they were a second ago, as he looks down and away, gaze slipping from you for the first time since you opened the door.

“Just to what?” you demand, the challenge extra belligerent to make up for the belated shock of suspended relief that hangs like smoke over your head. Too intangible for you to catch with your hands right now, though present enough to burn your throat with its sooty possibility.

He’s still looking at the ground, the blush becoming more prominent, and he begins to shift, the rustle of his dress pants loud in the fraught silence. “Um,” Jungkook begins awkwardly, head ticking to the side the way it always does when he regrets saying something or doubts his ability to do something. “It’s just, uh… he was helping me.”

“Helping you.”

Jungkook winces at your deadpan echo. “Yeah. I, um, asked him to…” Hands drumming on his thighs, drawing your attention for a second before you snap back to his flushed face, Jungkook bounces on the balls of his feet. “Uh… This is totally not how I planned this,” he mumbles, before hauling his gaze up to meet your own. “Hold on for a sec, okay? I just want to grab something.” For all that he’s definitely lightened a bit, the request is tinged with urgent appeal, his eyes scouring your face hesitantly like he’s afraid you’re going to retreat back to the room the moment he loses sight of you.

You’re not entirely sure that isn’t going to happen, but there have been so many emotional upheavals today you’ve just about exhausted your ability to feel more defensiveness. The more Jungkook speaks – the longer you’re in his presence – the more the sheer impossibility of what you’d believed is sinking in. He’s just – he’s Jungkook. Such a focal point of light and energy, such a reserve of easily offered comfort in a form so much more substantial than words. Somehow – maybe because of his prolonged absences, maybe because of your staggeringly challenging day – you’d managed to forget just what he is, but it’s in front of you now, demanding to be seen and acknowledged against the backdrop of what you’d thought. What had seemed so possible, even an hour ago, suddenly seems ridiculous when set next to the quiet solidity of him, of everything he is.

Wiping again at eyes that haven’t ceased watering yet, you nod.

He hurries away, down the short hallway and back towards the front entrance. You hear a thump, a muttered curse, a short dragging noise, and then Jungkook rounds the corner, hefting a rectangular object covered in brown paper. When you examine it more closely, you’re pretty sure it’s what you almost fell over when you ran inside. By the time he’s standing in front of you, the unwieldy item put on the ground and balanced against his knee, you’re pretty sure you know what it is by the shape and packaging alone.

And somewhere, in the back of your mind, you’re beginning to make connections. About Taehyung and the art gallery and the thing on the ground in front of you.

Jungkook just speeds up the process. “I was gonna wrap it in something nicer,” he offers apologetically, “but I was… Baby, I was so scared when Namjoon said you should have been at the gallery and I couldn’t find you and you weren’t at home. I thought – hell, I didn’t know what to think. That you got kidnapped or something.” He laughs, that shaky sound of amusement reserved for disasters that are absurd to imagine until they actually happen, and you shift, the heat crowding your face growing.

With a slight roll of his shoulders, he nudges the brown-wrapped object. “Anyways… Tae was helping me get this. For, um, you. Because I thought you might like it.” When you make no move to grab it, his eyebrows knit together. “Y/N? I swear, I didn’t do anything with anyone else. I wouldn’t do anything with–”

“I know.” You cut him off, unable to bear the imploring tone. It’s impossible to meet his beseeching gaze with the burden of your stupidity weighing on you, and you keep your eyes on your fingers. “I know you didn’t. Jungkook, I’m…” The winded feeling is still lingering, a hollowness in your lungs, and you have to inhale deeply just to remind yourself you can. Your anger at being abandoned by Jungkook for work died out so long ago it might as well be a relic, and with the betrayed grief swept so thoroughly out of your stomach, you’re left feeling strangely empty of anything but guilt.

“I’m so sorry. I – God, I’m so stupid. I saw you two and I thought – I assumed…” All of the logic that had founded your incorrect assumption is trickling through your grasping fingers, and you don’t know how to explain in a way that makes sense. In a way that justifies how you’d leapt to conclusions.

“I’m sorry,” you continue unevenly. “I just…”

“It’s okay.” When you keep staring down, Jungkook moves closer, reaches out, tentatively puts his arm around you. Light enough that you could break away if you wanted to. You don’t. You absolutely don’t.

The contact feels like an anchor, pulling you ever closer to reality. Making the trembling relief that much more real. The embarrassment, too. “Really Y/N, it’s – I know today has been…” After a moment he sighs, faint and low, shaking his head. “Today has sucked so bad, and Christmas isn’t supposed to be like this. I get why you thought what you did. After everything that’s been happening, after I’ve – I haven’t been around.”

“That doesn’t make it okay,” is your whispered protest, still unable to look at him. “I should have just talked to you.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that would have saved us both a bit of panic. But Y/N…” He waits, waits longer, until you’re forced to bring your eyes up. Meeting the dark softness of his gaze summons up more guilt, more regret – but also a clear, undeniable relief. Light at the end of a pitch black tunnel. You’re not out of the darkness, but with those sympathetic eyes on you, you have a sense of striving. Like taking a step, and then another, is possible. And might just be worth it.

“Y/N, baby, it’s not all your fault. It’s on me too.” His arms are resting lightly on your shoulders, fingers gently rubbing across the nape of your neck. “I haven’t talked with you enough. Kept just pushing it off, pretending it’s okay.” When he laughs softly, his breath tickles your face. “Not quite okay, hey?”

Your strained giggle isn’t heartfelt, and it fades quickly. “In the car, when Namjoon and Yoongi gave me a ride, they said – It seems like work has really, really sucked. More than I thought it did.” You lean back, just a bit, his arms a steady support against your back, and search his face. He’s biting his cheek, little lines skittering across his forehead. This close, the dark circles under his eyes are more pronounced, his skin sallower than it should be. He looks tired, but he doesn’t look away from you.

“Jungkook,” you say quietly. “How bad is it?”

Something flickers behind his eyes, a shadow of his normal reserve. You can feel the tightness in his body, the slight tremor that suggests he’s about to move away. The protective distance he clings to when he doesn’t want to worry you rears up – and you kill it with your hand, trembling only slightly as you tenderly trace your fingers along his temple, down his cheekbone, to cup the strong lines of his jaw. “Please, Jungkook. Tell me.”

The admission comes, fast and breathless, like he needs to get the words out before his teeth clench over them. “Bad. It’s bad. I hate it there.”

“Oh. I–” This is a different kind of pain from most of what you’ve been feeling today. More selfless, an anguish that extends and expands outward instead of curling up. “I’m so sorry. Kookie, I didn’t know. I should have but–”

“I didn’t tell you. How could you know?”

“I should have,” you insist.

His mouth quirks, a flash of teeth showing in mild amusement. “You can’t expect me to know you’re upset, but you should know when I am? I don’t think it works that way, babe.” When your mouth opens to object, Jungkook pulls you to his chest, cutting off your protest. You sink into his embrace, boneless and aching and grateful for the support, and if the gift’s hard frame weren’t digging into your leg, it would almost be perfect.

Perfect enough.

Pressing your face against his shirt, you feel him kiss the top of your head, arms still wrapped firmly around your shoulders. “I’m glad you’re safe,” he whispers.

“I’m glad you told me about work,” you mumble into his chest, reluctant to draw away. “If I told you to quit today, would you?” You’re not really joking, even though you know what the immediate answer has to be. You don’t have enough savings for one of you to quit without any other prospects lined up.

“Actually…” There’s something restrained in his voice, teetering on the edge of anxiety, or maybe excitement.

Shock has you looking up, resisting the comforting pull of his warmth for a moment. “You did!?”

“Oh, uh, no,” Jungkook says hurriedly, biting at his lower lip. Far from pleasure, the reassurance has disappointment funneling into your heart, funds be damned. To say that Jungkook’s job was the mother of all evils would probably be both unfair and exaggerated, but if it’s making him (and you) as miserable as he says...

“It sounds really bad, Jungkook. Killing yourself trying to please a bunch of jerks isn’t worth it.”

“You’re right.” He’s smiling now, smiling completely, showing off his teeth. “I don’t know if I can keep working for them for much longer, but… Ah, I was so scared to talk about this, and here you are, making it easy!” In his excitement, he’s playing with your hair, hands restless as they dance around. For once, the mystery isn’t extended. “Namjoon wants to break off. Start a new company, one that’s not an absolute dumpster fire to work for. He’s got several other people lined up who are happy to go, and Yoongi, obviously, and he asked me if I would join, too!”

“Is that why they gave me a ride?” Even as you demand it, you can feel yourself picking up on Jungkook’s energy. Not too much – the exhaustion sucking at your bones won’t allow it – but still, the lightness in your chest is a far cry from the sodden despair that’s taken up space there for most of the day.

Your boyfriend jiggles his head back and forth. “I dunno. Maybe. But I think mostly they did it because they’re pretty nice people.” He sounds a bit awed as he continues. “We can’t start for a couple more months – Namjoon said something about getting funding from some rich guy, Bang Sihyuk – but I still can’t believe they want me to come along. I mean, some of the people are, like, the best there are, Y/N.” You can almost see stars shining in his eyes.

Your response is firm, albeit playful. “So, it makes perfect sense that they’re having you join! Kookie, you’re gonna fit in so well, because you’re one of the best, too.” And honestly, you’re not even just shovelling empty praise; Jungkook is a truly talented artist in his medium.

His smile grows, eyes thinning with happiness. “And – you’re okay with it? There aren’t any guarantees that it will work out, with it being a new company.”

The trials of the day – mostly made from your own mind, though no less difficult for all of that – pass through your head. The loneliness and anger and sadness. All of it dimmed if not gone entirely, simply because here you are in his arms, speaking to each other instead of covering your hurt up. “Jungkook, one of the few guarantees I have of anything is that I love you, and you love me. If you’ll be happy working with Namjoon, with moving companies, then that’s all I need to hear.”

With a low hum, Jungkook sweeps you into another hug, and you’re glad to give up what space is between you two. Enfolded in his arms, listening to his steady heartbeat, is about the securest place you can imagine being. “I love you,” he says, voice thick with the truth of what he’s saying.

“I love you, too. Thank you. Thank you so much for everything.”

“I haven’t even given you your presents yet. Here –” And you’re breaking apart again – although not really, because you can still feel the connection as a thin warmth snuggled beneath your ribs – and Jungkook bends down, picks up the item sandwiched between you two. “Feel up to opening it?”

“The mystery gift that almost broke our relationship? Yeah, I’m up to it.”

Nose scrunching, he hands it over, and in your haste to see what’s inside, you make short work of the brown packaging. You can’t honestly say you’re surprised with the first glimpse of the mahogany frame – you expected a painting – but as more of the brown rips away, you feel shivery awe cascading down your spine. Once the painting is completely uncovered, you clutch it with sweaty palms, well aware of how precious a gift you’ve been given. You’d recognize the style anywhere.

“Jungkook,” you breathe, “oh my God, Jungkook, this is one of Ayeong’s, isn’t it? You – you actually got one of her paintings!?”

The quality is unmistakable. It’s a detailed piece, zoomed in on a small, dilapidated house. Almost everything about the house is bleak; the colours are all dull greys, blacks and browns, the porch is crumbling, and the shutters over the windows are chipped and cracked in places. However, right in the center of the house, taking up a good portion of the painting, is a door flung wide open, and the inside is flooded with warm colours and details in stark contrast with the exterior. There are people inside, crowded around the entrance, laughing and vibrant, and they dominate the doorway with their collective presence. One person, the only one who is looking outward, has her hand raised in greeting, as though inviting the viewers in.

“It’s called Homecoming.”

Soft and reverent, the name feels like an echo, a reverberation of your hopes and fears, and against a suddenly blurry vision, you smile. “It’s beautiful! It’s so, so beautiful. Thank you, Jungkook.”

“Do you feel like opening the rest of our presents? Or should we wait until tomorrow? We can grab your phone in the morning, too.”

Your fatigue drags at you, overwhelming even your hunger, but you try to rally, lifting your chin up. “What do you want to do? Do you want to open a present?”

His head tilts as he looks you over, a quick assessment. “I don’t have to. It’ll be nice to look forward to it later.” You’re absolutely positive he’s saying that for your sake, and it makes you just that closer to crying in gratitude for what’s in front of you.

Swallowing hard, you suggest, “How about tomorrow, then? We can…” You pause, scrambling for the memory, and then grin tiredly. “We can reset. Start over tomorrow.”

Jungkook’s laugh washes over you in cozy tides of amusement. “Now there’s a great idea. Whoever thought of it is a genius.”

With a chuckle, you carefully set the painting to the side, planning on figuring out where to put it tomorrow. As soon as it leaves your hands, Jungkook is there again, claiming the free territory. His grip firm and warm, he asks you, “Do you wanna eat? Or maybe nap for a bit?”

Your panic attacks always leave you drained, and the fact that Jungkook remembers is just another fond ache to add to the collection in your chest. “Nap,” you reply gratefully. “But… do you wanna lie down with me? Just for a bit?”

He couldn’t have looked any more solemn, or any more beautiful, if he’d tried. Squeezing your hand, he says, “I’d lie with you forever, if I could get away with it.” A second later the somber façade breaks apart, leaving a blush and a squirming, quietly giggly Jungkook.

With a snort, you pull him along with you, into the bedroom, a tightness across your chest that has everything to do with just how much you love the man next to you. “Now I know you were with Taehyung.” That makes you remember, and as you both walk to the bed, you glance at him, narrowing your eyes. “Are you going to tell me what Taehyung almost kissing you had to do with helping you out?”

As expected, his blush grows, painting his cheeks with a pale pink, but he surprises you by pulling you closer. With a hand under your chin, the other arm wrapped around your waist, he tilts your head up. Meeting your eyes with a tenderness that floods you with reassurance, he brushes a thumb along your lips, leaving a tingling trail. When it comes, his voice is hoarser than before, firmer. “He was trying to teach me something I already know.”

And then his mouth is on yours, steady and certain. Your lips soften against him, and time becomes languid, moving by the count of each breath that flutters against your lips. Jungkook isn’t demanding, not tonight; he kisses you sweetly, gently, conveying everything that he hasn’t managed to put into words. His body has a gravitational pull all its own, drawing you closer, and you skim your hands against his back, relishing the powerful certainty of his shoulders and the intimate confidence of his mouth on yours.

A second later, he sweeps you off your feet, and you gasp in surprise, breaking off the kiss. Jungkook places you on the bed, stands looking down at you with unmasked adoration. You open your arms, a wordless invitation that unwittingly bares the front of your top. His eyes fix on it, and if anything, they soften.

“I like your sweater,” he comments quietly, and as you laugh, he climbs onto the bed with you.

You take off the sweater in question, and your jeans and bra, easy and unhesitant in his presence. He follows suit, and then grabs your pajamas, placed as they always are at the foot of the bed. You wiggle into them, and for his part, Jungkook just throws on a pair of loose pants. The feeling of familiarity sinks into your system like a sigh of contentment, and when he pulls you against his chest, you snuggle into the embrace.

Wrapped in his arms, the smooth warmth of his skin pressed against your cheek, you let the drowsy bliss sweep over your body, and you relax, sinking against the sheets even as you curl closer to him.

Jungkook’s voice ripples against your mind, a soothing undercurrent taking you closer to sleep. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

“Merry Christmas,” you mumble. With one last faltering effort, you say, “Jungkook?”

“Hmm?” You feel the inquiring murmur just as much as you hear it, a smooth hum on your cheek.    

“Thank you for coming home.”

[qianinterprises]

Hold Me Together, Break Me Apart

Pairing | Haechan x gn!Reader

Genre | fluff, angst, roommate au, college au

Warning(s) | bad language, cursing, slamming doors, broken door knobs, broken hearts, reader is mean to Jeno (for a kinda reason)

Synopsis | Your roommate is never far from your mind, especially when you need him to hold you together as you break from the stress of college life. But what happens when you break him by accident.

Author’s Notes | Thank you sweet anon for your request! I had so much fun writing this! I really hope you like it! I may also be posting a part 2, I haven't decided yet. What do you guys think?

Work Count | 2.9K

Tagging | @treasurehobi

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Exhaustion swept across your shoulders as you shoved your key in the tattered lock of your apartment door, wincing when the gears crunched as you turned the key. When the lock clicked, you moved the key back to its resting place before pulling back on it, attempting to free it from the snug hug of the gears. However, it seemed far too content buried deep in the edges of the lock.

With a groan, you turned the jiggly handle and pushed the door open, immediately being bombarded by the sounds of four yelling boys sitting on your couch with remote controls in hand. You had forgotten your roommate was inviting his friends over.

“Donghyuck,” you called, closing the door and walking deeper into the apartment.

You kicked your shoes off at the door and slung your bag into a chair.

Your roommate didn’t answer for a long moment, but when he did, he was distracted, not even sparing you a glance.

“Yeah?”

“My key got stuck again.”

Three times your key had managed to get stuck in the lock. All three times, Donghyuck had been the one to free it.

The male in question sighed as his fingers sped over the keys of the metallic control in his hand.

“I’ll get it out in a minute,” he said.

With a nod, you made your way to your room, seeking escape from the loud yelling of the boys in the next room.

As soon as the door was shut, you let yourself succumb to the emotions attempting to swallow you up. Your knees hit the floor, face buried in your hands as tears wet your fingers. Your shoulders shook slightly as silent sobs wracked through your body.

University was hard enough without the added stress of working, gnawing at your body and soul, pulling you apart piece by piece until your tender bits were exposed for the world to abuse.

College was meant to be fun. A time for parties and drinking. A time of self discovery while also learning more about whatever subject interested you the most. These days, your life was limited to taking four classes throughout the morning, taking an hour for lunch, before reporting to the restaurant across the street where you worked as a wait staff, taking orders and receiving too few tips to add onto your already poor paycheck.

The restaurant had been the only job hiring at the time, and you desperately needed the money. Your family had been supporting you, but when your younger brother dropped out of high school, they began spending too much money taking care of the son they’d ruined by spoiling. Your father could no longer afford paying your half of the apartment rent and, while Donghyuck hadn’t outright said anything of his displeasure, covering both halves of rent for two months, you knew the boy also didn’t make enough to pay the full cost and still be able to go out with his friends. You couldn’t do that to him. So you’d taken the first job that landed in your lap, and here you were, crying on your bedroom floor at 11pm, pondering the idea of dropping out of college all together and moving back home.

A knock on your door startled you out of your thoughts.

“(Y/N), can I come in?”

You quickly ran your fingers under your eyes, wiping away the dampness the tears had left, hoping your eyes were puffy enough to be noticeable. You pulled yourself up off the floor and grabbed your door handle, twisting it and opening the door.

“Yes?”

“I have your key- hey what’s wrong?”

He presented your key between his thumb and index finger, but as soon as his eyes caught sight of your face, he paused.

You felt tears prick to your eyes, but you fought to hold them back. You hated when people asked you questions like that when you were upset. It made holding back the dam of tears that much more difficult.

“Nothing.”

That should have been the end of it, but your voice cracked, and Donghyuck was stepping into your room, wrapping his arms around your middle, and pulling you against his chest. As your face connected with the soft material covering his shoulders, you felt the dam finally give way, a loud sob leaving your mouth as your own ars wound around him, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as you bellowed against him.

His arms tightened around you, almost as though he were a bungee strap wrapped tightly around a crumbling box, there to hold it together.

“I’m so tired!” you sobbed, shoulders shaking hard. “I have three papers due by tomorrow night that I haven’t even started because I’ve had to work and when I get home I’m exhausted and I keep pushing it off and now I’m going to fail three classes and-”

You were cut off by his soothing voice, shushing you softly as his hand stroked your back the way he knew you liked.

“It’s going to be ok baby,” he whispered softly.

Your roommate somehow had a weird effect on you. Just by speaking in a certain tone, he could rile you up, make you sleepy, or completely put all your fears and nerves to rest. As you melted against him, allowing him to take the majority of your weight, you didn’t stop to ponder the nickname.

“What classes are your papers due in?” he asked.

His arms around your waist loosened, but neither of you let go.

“Literature with Dr. Wong, Grammar with Dr. Jeon, and History with Dr. Lee.”

“Come with me.”

With that, he pulled away from your hug, leaving you about to whine when he grabbed your hand and pulled you from the room.

“Does anyone have Dr. Lee, Dr. Jeon, or Dr. Wong?” he asked.

“I’ve got Wong,” the tallest of Donghyuck’s friends, you believed his name was Jeno, said.

“Have you finished your paper for his class?”

Jeno nodded.

“Will you come over tomorrow and help (Y/N) write hers?” Donghyuck asked.

“Sure!” Jeno said, giving you a reassuring smile.

“I have Dr. Jeon, but I’m not finished with my paper yet. I asked for an extension though and she gave me until Monday. Maybe ask for one too and then we can work on them together,” Donghyuck’s friend with dyed blue hair offered.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, nodding.

“Thank you Jaemin,” Donghyuck beamed.

“I have Dr. Lee, but you know he doesn’t read our papers right? As long as you have the buzz words he’s looking for, he’ll give you a good grade. I can email you my paper and you can just rewrite a few sentences so it isn’t total plagiarism,” the other, tiny friend answered.

Renjun actually happened to be in your class with Dr. Lee. You didn’t know why you hadn’t realized before.

“Now see! All you have to do is ask for help when you need it,” Donghyuck said, squeezing your hand softly before letting it go.

“Now, I have to get back to beating these losers’ asses, but there’s pizza in the fridge if you're hungry!”

Donghyuck leapt onto the couch, settling himself between Jeno and Renjun, retrieving his controller. Then they all were gone once again, back in their own world of screaming obscenities at one another as they fought whatever the zombie alien things on the screen were.

With a smile, you felt your body relaxed, muscles now not as tense as you as you made your way into the kitchen to retrieve the pizza he had mentioned.

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When the next morning rolled around, you were hauling yourself out of bed to attend your morning classes, but today, you didn’t feel horrible, like you wanted to crawl back under the blankets and sleep your life away. Perhaps it was the fact that you had the day off. Or maybe it was because your roommate had somehow taken all your worries and frustrations and made them easier to handle.

Like he always did.

Donghyuck was nothing if not reliable. He was always there when you needed him, whether it was getting your key out of an old lock or gluing you back together as you fell apart in his arms. He was always there to ground you. Maybe he could be annoying sometimes, especially when it was three in the morning and he was crawling in bed with you after having a nightmare, or when he’d beg you to make him hot chocolate every day in the winter because he always scorched the milk when he tried. Lee Donghyuck was the perfect person to share your home with. You just wished you could share the rest of your life with him too.

As your last class ended, you pulled your phone from your bookbag to find a notification to join a group chat from Donghyuck. Raising your eyebrow, you accepted, seconds later directed to a chatroom full of memes and video game references.

FullSun00: Finally she’s joined!

JenoJams: Cut her some slack, she’s been in class!

Jaemberry: She should just text in class like we do!

You: Texting in class prohibits learning!

ArtJun: I like this girl!

FullSun00: (Y/N)!! Meet us in the cafeteria!! We’re sitting in one of the back booths!!

You: Uh… Ok? I’ll be there in five.

Donghyuck was always adamant about keeping you away from his friends group chats despite the amount of times Jeno and Jaemin had tried to convince him to add you. Being invited now was a little odd, but odd didn’t fight the smile on your face as you shoved your notebooks into your bookbag and took off for the cafeteria.

When you got there, the cafeteria was full, as it usually was, but you managed to wind yourself around the heaps of students waiting in lines or moving toward their tables. You walked toward the back of the cafeteria where the most popular seats were, cushioned booths that were alway crowded.You scanned the area looking for Donghyuck, but in the end, it was Jaemin’s blueberry hair that led you to them.

“How did you guys manage to get a booth?” you asked, taking off your backpack.

The booths had long seats large enough to fit three or four people on either side, tables stretching long enough to encompass everyone's plates with plenty of room to spare. It’s part of what made them so popular.

Jeno took your backpack from you, passing it across the table to Jaemin who slid it under the booth where it joined the pile pressed against the wall.

“We got here an hour ago. We tend to spend a few hours here. Easier to eat our fill that way,” Jaemin said.

Renjun snorted.

“Jeno and Jaemin are like human vacuum cleaners. It takes many servings before they’re satisfied,” he laughed.

You shook your head, eyes scanning over the table before realizing that someone was missing.

“Where’s Donghyuck?”

“Miss me already?” your roommate's annoying voice spoke from behind you.

You whirled around to find the man in question standing there juggling two cups of soda and two plates filled with food from the pasta bar, which happened to be the most popular bar and incidentally, your favorite.

“I figured you’d be hungry and I know you love your pasta,” he said.

He moved around you, placing both plates and drinks on opposite sides of the tables before sliding in next to Jeno. It was only then that you realized the second plate was for you.

“Donghyuck… you didn’t have to-”

“Hush and sit,” the male said, looking down at his plate.

If you hadn’t known any better, you would have thought the man was blushing. But this was Donghyuck you were talking about, and Donghyuck didn’t get embarrassed or blush.

You sat yourself down by Renjun and lifted your soda to your lips. As soon as it hit your taste buds, you sighed happily. Donghyuck knew you so well. He knew exactly what you’d want to eat and drink. He was perfect. He’d make the perfect boyfriend…

“Hey (Y/N), after lunch, you want to head back to your place to work on that paper? I’m done for the day,” Jeno asked.

You swallowed the noodles you’d just shoveled into your mouth.

“Sure! I’m done too! And the apartment will be quiet because Hyuck has class!” you shot a teasing smirk in Donghyuck’s direction, earning yourself a glare.

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Lunch seemed to fly by and before you knew it, Jaemin was handing you your bookbag as you all grabbed up your plates, ready to relinquish your booth to someone else.

You bid goodbye to Jaemin, Renjun, and Donghyuck, all who were heading to various classes while you and Jeno made your way across the street to your apartment complex.

Stepping inside, your key thankfully didn’t get stuck this time. You tossed your bookbag onto the couch before flopping beside it. You grabbed your laptop off the side table. Jeno took a seat beside you, opening his own laptop.

As soon as the screen to your laptop turned on, you let out a loud yelp as one of your many images of you and Donghyuck together met your eyes, Donghyuck’s sun-kissed face grinning at you through the screen. You typed your password in hastily, but it was too late. Jeno’s face blossomed into a teasing, shit-eating grin that you wanted to slap away.

“So… Donghyuck huh?”

“I don’t know what you're talking about!”

Embarrassment made your stomach churn.

“How long?”

There was no hiding it. Jeno had seen your computer screen. While most university girls had images of baby animals or their favorite band as their lock screens, you had your favorite person to stare back at you.

“Since I moved in…” you mumbled.

His eyes widened.

“And you haven’t told him yet?!” he gaped.

“I haven’t told anyone.”

“You told me!!”

“No, you found out, there’s a big difference,” you corrected.

“Well are you going to tell him?” Jeno asked.

“Of course not! Why would I tell my roommate that I’ve got a big fat crush on him?!” you exclaimed.

“Maybe because he could like you too?”

“Psh, yeah right. Come on, let’s get to work.”

“(Y/N)-”

“No Jeno. I may practically be in love with the man, but why would he ever like me?! He is everything and I’m nothing. He’s the full package with so much to offer some lucky person who steals his heart. I have nothing to offer him but stress and insecurities. So can we please just get to work on this paper and forget about him?!”

You didn’t realize you had tears rolling down your cheeks until Jeno brought his hand up to cup your face, gently running his thumb under your eyes to wipe away the tears softly.

“You’re not nothing. You’re everything,” he whispered.

There was something in his voice. Something that had you drawing closer to him. His eyes flicked down to your lips and back up to your eyes. Your head buzzed with want, blissfully unaware to the emotions of your heart as Jeno’s lips met yours.

His lips were rough, chapped. They pricked yours almost uncomfortably, but they were warm and moist. It had been so long since you’d had such a moment with anyone. So long since you’d last been kissed that perhaps your judgment was impaired as your lips moved against his.

But all too soon, reality was coming to slap you in the ass. This time, in the form of the apartment door opening and Donghyuck stepping through, a gasp leaving his lips as he caught his best friend and the girl he’d fallen in love with locking lips on his couch.

Your lips quickly separated from Jeno’s at the sound of someone intruding. Your eyes became as wide as saucers when you noticed Donghyuck standing in the threshold of your home.

You shot up from the couch, nearly knocking your computer to the floor.

“Hyuck! I can explain! We-”

“Don’t bother.” His tone was so icy it tore right through your heart.

He slammed the door and stormed off to his room. You jumped as his bedroom door slammed shut with a hard wham that made the walls rattle.

“I-... I…”

More tears pooled in your eyes as your hands began to shake.

“No…” you whispered.

Jeno stood up from the couch and made a move to wrap his arms around you, to comfort you, but you lurched away from him.

“No!” you screamed! “Leave me the fuck alone!”

Your breathing was heavy. Anger ripped through your veins. You knew it wasn’t entirely Jeno’s fault, and it wasn’t fair of you to scream at him like it were, but you couldn’t help it. Standing in the wake of a big mistake, you had no other option but to be angry, because how would your roommate ever like you now if he thought you were dating his best friend.

“(Y/N) please-” Jeno began, but you cut him off.

“Was this your plan?! Get me to fall apart so you could put me back together when he walked in?! Do you realize how fucking messed up that is?! I confided in you! I told you how I felt! And you kiss me?! Then he walks in and you try to hug me?! I don’t like you Jeno! Not like I love him! You are not, nor will you ever be, Lee Donghyuck! So just get out!”

You weren’t typically a rude or mean person, but as Jeno looked down before packing up his laptop and scurrying from the room like a puppy with his tail between his legs, you couldn’t help feeling like you’d just lost two great friends.

Maybe today wasn’t a good day after all.

[eltanin-malfoy]

The Portend (His Royal Highness II)

word count: 6.7k

warning(s): cursing, anxiety

a/n: hi all! i just wanted to say that i know this chapter’s length is SO different from the first one’s but that’s because that one is, again, 2 years old and was written all at once. the other chapters will also be fairly long from here on out. i hope you enjoy this one!

taglist: @drawlfoy @war-sword @lilyreachelcassidy @socontagiousimagines @andreasworlsboring101 [@kaibie @regalillegal @mayorofzillyhoo, i know you all wanted to be tagged in the full-length HRH and this is pretty much it ig. please let me know if you’re still interested and want me to add you to the permanent tag list for this series]

reply to this post or send me an ask/dm if you want to be added to the tag list for the series or for all of my fics!

HRH - Table Of Contents

Y/N placed her palms flat on her desk as if doing so would bring any sort of change to the absolute hurricane that had begun its wrath within her stomach. She tried to imagine she was somewhere else for a second. Why would any rational human being do this to someone? That too to someone with as much responsibility as she had. Oh, right… she’d forgotten. Prince Draco was far from rational. Far from being a human being, even.

She looked down at the paper trays with guest lists upon guest lists kept before her, shifted them to the side and planted her face on the wood. That’s better , she thought. Now no one else can see how fucking ridiculous I feel right now! She tried to think about what the hell she’d done to him to make him act so horribly towards her. What could she have possibly done in a past life that would have resulted in her having to face such a… conundrum? She’d thought it was hard enough having to bargain with the King and Queen over how much detail could possibly be squeezed into cake decorations but had no idea a situation even more stressful could and would arise.

How could she let herself get so weak? How could she not bring herself to be assertive? She could have just said no, right? It wasn’t that hard. He hadn’t been nice at all. She took a deep, deep breath, trying desperately to calm her brain. It had begun to run from thought to thought, imagining every possible scenario that could go wrong. She had so much work left to complete on her own, and god knew how much attention and criticism she might face at and after the ball.

And the way she’d freaked out in front of Draco as well! She was sure he must’ve been at least a little put off by how strongly and emotionally she’d reacted so quickly. God, not that that should matter that much but… if they were supposed to work together for a highly publicised ordeal, they had to get along, right? Right? She hadn’t meant to do that. It’s just that he’d already shocked her a bit by slipping into her office so unexpectedly. And then he’d gone on and rushed to… that . Not to excuse what he did but perhaps she should’ve realised she didn’t need to panic so much over it either. She knew she was having a hard time with her anxiety…

Nevertheless, she brought her hands to the edge of the table closer to her and pushed herself up. She looked forwards, turning slightly to face the window she was looking out before everything turned to shit. The scenery was still gorgeous, albeit not that comforting anymore but looking out at the wide expanse of a beautiful garden would bring just about anyone some tranquillity. She had been thinking about how lovely the weather was today, how nice it would be to go for a walk after she’d finished up with her work. Maybe she could even head downtown for once and meet some old friends. But no, no one was happy just giving her a single moment of peace. Even fate was bent upon just giving her as much to stress about as was possible.

She looked down at the paper trays she’d just abandoned. Administrative work could distract her a bit, couldn’t it? All she had to do was send RSVP reminders and reach out to the guests and performers coming in from out of town about their travel and accommodation details. As well as request the performers for the outlines of their performances and send them contracts saying they’d stick by the approved setups. They couldn’t have a repeat of last year’s embarrassing The Hobgoblins’ performance. To be very brief, it had gone sexual. (The King and Queen’s expressions during it were still popular reaction gifs) She picked out one of the lists and opened up her laptop, finally beginning the work she’d been putting off all morning. It seemed so much easier and more comforting now that she had the much more disturbing dilemma on hand. She corroborated the list in front of her, adding ticks and crosses to the list to mark invitees as having confirmed or not. She then compiled their contact details and created a template for emails to send to those that had yet to confirm their attendance and travel itineraries. After this, she did the same with the list of performers, making sure to add enough information to their emails regarding the outlines they should send back.

And there… most of her work was done already, wasn’t it? Now all she had to do was proofread these, make sure all of the addressees were receiving the appropriate emails and well, press send. It shouldn’t take too long and then she could… She could get back to stressing about the problem fucking Draco had landed her in, goddammit! She was right back there again, her stomach beginning to swirl dangerously. She tried to take in a few deep breaths, forcing herself to get back to work. It wasn’t that hard. It wasn’t that hard!

Never mind, she couldn’t deal with it right now. She… Well, she needed a break. Or maybe she just needed to leave work early today. It was fair game after what the hell Draco had just unloaded on her. It was time she gave her intern some actual responsibility anyway. He was a sweet little fellow, straight out of university. Had his head in the right place but wasn’t particularly good with all the practical work yet. She’d assigned him some random organisational task she knew wouldn’t take her more than a minute and wasn’t going to bother checking because she thought it was simply too easy. Hopefully, he’d been able to do it to her standards.

She sat back in her chair and raised her hands up to her head, stretching out her fingers and breathing in and out deeply through her mouth. She was going to do this. She was really going to handle this (easier) bit of the work off to the intern and he was going to do it just fine. Just fine. Maybe she might have to assist him with it a little bit but it was going to work. It would work. Yes, it would. She shook her head to try and shake off some of her anxiety and stood up, closing her laptop’s screen and picking up the tray of guest lists. She walked out of her office and into the large room outside of it, which had a small group of cubicles placed in the middle.

While the rest looked rapt in their work (an exaggeration, to be sure, a lot of them were chatting with their co-workers and eating snacks), she noted her dear intern was just sitting idle which both made her feel hopeful and worried. He was sitting with his laptop closed, one hand tapping on the table’s surface, the other holding his phone.

“Hi, Colin!” Y/N said and he jerked forwards in surprise, dropping his phone to the floor. “Oh… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”. Colin shook his head as he picked it up and looked it over, “It’s no problem, miss… My phone is just fine. Are you alright? I know the prince was just in your office, he came to ask me where it was first! I was so excited and I asked him for a picture but he said he was in a rush! I can’t believe I’ve managed to have a conversation with one of the royals already!” Hmm… “have a conversation” was probably a stretch but… she chose to ignore that. The boy was definitely an optimist and she couldn’t fault him for that.

“That’s lovely, Colin. I’m sure you’ll get to talk to him and the others again. I had some work for you if you’re up to it.”

“Yes, of course! Does it have anything to do with the prin-”

“Let’s calm down there, Colin. I trust you’ve completed what I assigned you earlier?”

“... Oh, yes I have!”

“That’s great.”

She set the paper tray on the side of his desk and he looked at it for a few seconds before looking up at her again.

“So… what do I have to do?”

Y/N gulped and laid out the lists for him, beginning to explain to him the meanings of the markings she’d made and the emails he had to look through and send off.

***

Beep, beep.

Y/N kept her phone pressed between her shoulder and her ear as she walked around her apartment. She was holding a large iced vanilla latte in one hand and her purse in the other. She knew she needed to set something down but felt too jittery to do anything but pace around with her stuff. It was probably partly inspired by the amount of caffeine she’d drank that day but hey, that didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Today was also a terribly tense day, wasn’t it?

Beep, beep.

She took a nice long sip of her latte, relishing in how nice and cold it was. She had the air conditioner on and had taken off her blazer but it still felt like she was this close to overheating. This sudden heatwave throughout the country was absolutely unwelcome as far as she was concerned.

Now if only Pansy’d pick up so she could get some clarity on the situation. Suddenly the dial tone ended and she heard the crackling of breathing through the speaker.

“Hello, Y/N?”

She smiled and finally set her purse down.

“Hi, Pansy! It’s so nice to finally hear your voice. Are you free to talk?”

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting, I was just sending off this email but now I’m free for a bit, yes. And Jesus, Y/N, is something… up?”

“Oh, nothing… it’s just… the prince really got me gobsmacked today.”

She hears her gasp over the phone.

“Oh my, the prince?! Well then… I certainly wasn’t expecting that. Although, I suppose… it’s not so far off for the prince to bother you when you’re working at the palace...”

“Pansy… that’s beside the point.”

“Yeah, okay, so… what happened? You have to tell me now.”

“I will but you need to promise me you won’t get mad or jealous of me or anything. I didn’t choose to be a part of it.”

“Of course I won’t be mad. Why would I be?”

“Well, you know, your history and… how you were off your trolley about him as a teenager?”

“Oh, bugger off, babe. That’s not even true anyway.”

“Oh, really? I can vaguely recall someone crying and taking care of him for weeks after he was attacked by that bird he harassed in the first place.”

“I was just… overemotional.”

“Right.”

“So what, okay? So what if I liked him for a while? There’s nothing there anymore. Even waking up to him the next day after the… you know what between us, I was just repulsed. And you thought he was fit too! So. And I feel like I only just liked him because I thought my parents would be happy with us together.”

“That’s… fair. But yes, you’re right, I’ll get back to my story then.”

“Yes, please.”

Y/N started to unbutton the collar of her shirt, beginning to feel hot again. She took another sip of her latte.

“Well, basically, I was just sitting in my office, you know, minding my own business, when Mr Royalty just busts in and starts talking to me.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Yeah, I know right? Anyway, he got straight to it and asked me to be his date to the coronation ball.”

“Holy shit! That’s… never mind, but you said no, right?”

“Well… at first, yes. But then...”

“You what? That’s so unlike you, Y/N, come on…”

“I know, okay… I shouldn’t have. I just started to feel bad for him and I... Should I get out of it? I’m thinking I will. It’ll be stressful, won’t it? I just… I don’t know what to do about it, okay? I’m lost. Help me.”

Pansy fell silent for a second and Y/N undid the whole of her button-down, setting her drink down onto a table as she headed into her bedroom to look for a lighter change of clothes.

“You know the first thing I’m going to tell you is you owe him nothing. I know you felt bad for him but he really shouldn’t have asked you that with no context or anything. He was the one in the wrong here for sure. It’s sweet of you to accept his offer but you don’t have to keep up on it if it’s really stressing you out so much. Also, the fact that you accepted such a spontaneous offer makes me a little sceptical of the power play there...”

“You’re right. Also, I think it definitely wasn’t nice of him but he wasn't mean about it or anything. He was definitely adamant but eh....”

She set her phone onto her bed and turned it to speakerphone, opening her wardrobe and taking out a t-shirt and some shorts.

“At the same time… when we look at the positives, they are fairly significant. You’ll likely have to give in… not that many hours in exchange for a pretty fun night. You know the service at royal events is amazing and if you’re literally the date of the guy the event is being thrown for, the King being crowned that night… I’m going to guess you’ll get so much from that. You’ll obviously get some… fame and have to pack on some PDA there and what not but that means free stuff, great clothes, who even knows what else. You’d just have to work extra hard for that time and balance the work, but I thought you said you were done with a lot of the stuff already.”

“That is … true.”

“But you’re not happy with that, are you?”

“You don’t have to say it like that. It’s just… actually I don’t have a counterargument for that. The perks do sound pretty good.”

“Right? But you know, there might be criticism or hate or something you might get.”

“Well… I’ll also get paid to advertise things after that, won’t I? And free things and VIP invites to places I wouldn’t even have been able to enter before.”

“Well, yes, but… maybe that’s something of an exaggeration, you know. Not every brand or group or whatever is that fixated on how much publicity they can get.”

“... I mean, aren’t they?”

“Okay, yes, they are. I think you should do this.” Y/N laughed as she took off her skirt. She sat down on her bed in her underwear, lying down so her head was near her phone.

“This was a very helpful call. Thank you.”

“I do agree, I think I was a huge help.”

“I concur. Again.”

“Thank you! Now, can I request an invitation to the ball as well?”

“Pansy!”

She giggled and sat up, crossing her arms. “Of course I’ll get you an invite, Pans!”

“Great. I was expecting that. I’m not missing you floundering around, having a… Cinderella moment for the world.”

“A Cinderella moment?”

“You know, getting a chance to dress up like a princess for a night? It’s weirdly literal too, it’s just for the night and then you go back to being normal again. Unless… the prince charming decides…”

“Shush up!” Y/N felt her face beginning to heat up. Not for the second time in one day… She sighed. And… partly because of the same person too.

“I’m sorry, darling. I hope I didn’t say too much there. You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah of course. It’s just a problem I’m starting to recognise with me. I keep getting more aggressive and emotionally charged than I mean to be.”

“I get that… you could try meditation, you know. Or you could join my yoga class, it’s pretty relaxing. The teacher has a nice butt too.”

“Pans!”

“Y/N!”

***

Her evening was fairly relaxed after that. The call with Pansy had seemed to fix the problem. Well, not exactly “fix”, more like change the way she looked at the issue so it felt all the lighter. And it worked pretty much the same. She began to feel so much better about the decision she’d made. After all, even if it was destiny or whatever, she’d been chosen for a reason, right? She’d managed to get Draco’s number off of Pansy. (“ It’s from… way back when so forgive me if he changed his number to get me off his back or some shit. ”) And… on a caffeine high, she had decided to text him almost right away.

Hi, your royal highness!

It only took a few hours but soon she was privy to:

Where did you get this number?

Got it from a friend. It’s Y/N btw :) should’ve said that before.

Oh, right! That makes sense. How’re you doing?

I’m alright, thanks. What about you?

I’m okay.

Listen, I was thinking about what happened today.

And now I’m wondering if we could meet tomorrow? Morning, if possible? It’s urgent.

Y/N squinted down at this message in confusion. What was this suggesting? Was there something wrong? Was he going to retract his offer? She knew there must be some kind of administrative work they’d have to log but was it really that serious already?

Sure, I’ll be free to meet before 9:30.

That is not what I was thinking of when I said morning :(

What, do you wake up at 4 o’clock or something?

No, I meant that that was too early!

She rolled her eyes. She should have seen that coming. He wasn’t exactly known for being put together. Or spiritual, for that matter.

We can call now if you really want.

No, it’s okay. It’s better we talk about it in person. I should try and wake up earlier anyway.

As you wish.

So I’ll meet you tomorrow then. Let’s say, 9 am sharp?

Perfect. I get dropped to the main drop off point at that time anyway.

Great. See you xx

See ya x

Y/N set her phone on her counter and put it to charge for the night. What the fuck? What was happening? The sleep she’d been looking forward to seemed to have suddenly drifted away. What was she going to have to worry about tomorrow morning?! She shifted under her sheets, turning where she lay to face the other side and look out her bedroom window. It was a clear, clear night. If she looked hard enough, she could probably see the edge of the royal estate. But then again, she really didn’t want to. She turned to the other side and just stared at her closet.

She wasn’t sure when her mind got tired of imagining potential disaster scenarios for the next day but Y/N woke up to the sound of her alarm ringing at 6:45 am. She reached over to her nightstand and turned it off, sitting up in bed and looking out the sun already shining bright in her window. It was barely May but the days had already begun to increase in length.

Since she’d woken up with ample time to complete her routine, she did everything she could to pamper herself, spending almost an hour in the bathroom. She even changed into her nicest formal clothes after, a white pantsuit with dark detailing. She packed her work bag with the essentials, her laptop, her water bottle, her royal admin ID, her wallet, stationery and her phone. She felt very prepared for once. Whatever was coming her way would be taken care of as needed.

She had a comfortable trip from her apartment building to the estate, the state-sanctioned car ride feeling a lot less bumpy than usual. It was still just as clear as it was last night, but the car’s windows were tinted so the sun’s rays felt like they barely even touched it. There was only the slightest hiccup when the driver slammed the brakes too hard all of a sudden and made Y/N’s face hit the seat before hers. OUCH!?

It didn’t take very long for the car to get to the palace, stopping at the main entrance pavilion. She didn’t notice anyone there yet and checked the time. It was still only 8:53 am. She had enough time to walk to the administrative wing, leave her things there and come back with time to spare. She walked through the hallway and towards the next hall which she knew led her to-

“Fuck me!” “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Hi, Y/N.”

She had her hand on her heart, trying to slow down her breathing as she looked at the blonde who had bumped straight into her. He had his hands in front of her to catch her if she fell. Thankfully, she had just missed falling.

“What the hell is it with you and giving me heart attacks?”

"I promise you that wasn’t my intention.”

“Well, I’d sure have hoped it wasn’t.”

She sighed and dropped her hand to her side, looking up at him with an eyebrow raised.

“So?”

“So, yes. Um. Can we walk or something? I don’t want to be standing here and have someone walk in on us?”

“... Draco, what do you have planned exactly...?”

She looked up at him quizzically and smirked. He managed a small smile but shook his head.

“God, get your mind out of the gutter! I just mean… this is stressful, okay?”

“Well, I’d like to drop my things off at my office if you don’t mind.”

“Alright, I’ll wait for you by the admin wing’s garden exit.”

“Done.”

***

Y/N had decided to leave her blazer on her chair and all her belongings except for her phone on her desk. Hopefully, Colin was good enough as a guard or she was getting robbed. Either way, she could spot a tall blonde’s head nervously bobbing above the hedge next to the exit. His face was a concerning shade of pink, goodness could only hope he’d put on an adequate amount of sun cream.

“Draco?”

“Yes, hi.”

He managed out, looking toward her walking out now.

“Are you okay? You look… red.”

“I’m fine.”

“I mean, are you sunburnt?”

“Oh…?”

He brought a hand up to touch his cheek.

“No, but that’s a good point. Let’s stand in the shade.”

She stopped where she was and he walked in to meet her. She felt her insides begin to do the jitterbug in anticipation. What could possibly have him so on edge? What was wrong?

“I’m really very sorry about yesterday. I wasn’t exactly thinking very straight when I came to see you. In hindsight, I know it got on your nerves and everything and I should’ve been a lot better at telling you about it.”

“It’s no big deal now, honestly.”

“Okay, but that’s not exactly why I called you. The thing is, there’s going to be a lot of PR work at this ball. I didn’t realise it before but Mother told me she’s arranging a meeting with our publicist for us today. And the publicist is never there just to take the piss. This is serious now. Like, even more than I thought it was.”

“I- what do you-”

“It’ll be very pressing, I would never hold it against you if you decided to pull out.” He stared into her eyes with a pensive expression on his face and Y/N felt whatever response she had been planning just vanish from existence. She pretended to have comprehended everything he said, but could only really think of saying one thing right then… That’s what she said... but that would be inappropriate. He soon got conscious and looked to the side and she felt the cogs in her brain begin to work again.

“The thing is my mother was getting a little impatient with me and telling me it was time for me to tell her who my date for the ball is. My parents have been begging me to find one unless I want to risk an arranged marriage, it’s a long story. So, I told them I’d find a date for myself and that they don’t need to worry. The truth is, I didn’t actually bother to find one and it was starting to get a little late. You know there’s only one month left till... right, you know. So… she came to talk to me about it over lunch and she told me I had to tell her who it was so she could arrange everything for us. I started to think about whom my parents would be okay with me going with and whom I would be okay with and well… you were on top of the list.”

“I’m hoping that’s a compliment.”

“It- it is. I told her your name and she was satisfied with it, I think. And then I was scared she’d come and talk to you immediately so I ran to you first and just asked you about it then. Again, I’m sorry it came out as forcefully as it did. I didn’t mean to… get you stuck in this whole thing.”

He took a deep breath and looked back at her again. Her stomach seemed to begin buzzing as she felt her anxiety grow. This was not going to go as smoothly as she expected, was it? The queen, and most likely the king as well, knew. Although that wasn’t exactly unanticipated, it gave everything a sense of finality. Like, she didn’t have much legroom here at all.

“Anyway, that's what happened. I’m sorry, again.”

He looked at her as if he was waiting for her to yell at him. She wasn’t intending to and just turned to the side, trying to calm her racing heart. She needed to make a decision, didn’t she? And who knows what kind of problems would face her, either way, she decided to go? It seemed like teasing to dangle this lux option in front of her just to draw it away. Draco annoyed her.

Looking at how strangely afraid of her he looked, she couldn’t help but notice how very much he started to look like the Draco she used to know. Little and arrogant and scarily afraid of his parents getting upset with him.

“You’re fine. I… I’m going to need some time.”

“That’s okay. You can take as much time as you need. The problem is, I have no idea when today my mother is going to pull you out for the publicist meeting.”

Y/N huffed slightly and covered her face. So, what was she going to do? What was she going to do?

“I’m in.” She’d set her mind to it, hadn’t she? She’d made a promise to the prince, and his parents knew of it already. She’d already told Pansy she was going for it. Well, all of those things and also the prospect of fulfilling a childhood princess fantasy seemed more enjoyable than anything. There was something so gratifying in that idea, dressing up well and being pampered and showered with affection and just… pretending to be a princess. What could be more fun than that?

“You’re sure?”

The answer was nothing.

“Yes.”

Most likely.

“Well, I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“So do I.”

***

It still hadn’t really sunk in yet that she was actually going to do whatever this would entail. Sure, she’d been dreaming about it the day before but it seemed completely different now. Her gut seemed to be calmer now, signifying that perhaps her intuition hadn’t been completely off guiding her in the direction it had.

What’s sad was Y/N was still lost about this after Narcissa had whisked her away into one of the palace’s many giant bedrooms. She was sitting on the bed, still in her work clothes, stressed after having had to explain to Colin how to decide how accommodations would be settled for the guests and the performers coming. She’d been expecting the meeting with the publicist and Draco to happen but she was lost as to what was taking place right now.

Narcissa approached her with a clipboard and a pen. “Now, dear, I just need you to sign these first.” Y/N took both from her and glossed through the texts.

A non-disclosure agreement and an employment contract…

“I’m sorry, your majesty. Do you mind me going through the documents before signing them?”

“Absolutely not, sweetheart. Though do try to rush, we have appointments we need to get to in time.”

“Thank you, ma’am. Honestly, ma’am, I’m not too aware of legal jargon like this. Could I please ask you to explain the purpose of this agreement?”

“Well, when any…”

She seemed to want to say a word but held it back, twisting her tongue around in her mouth as she thought of what to say.

“Person unfamiliar with our ancestry and our policies gets… involved with a member of the family, we have them sign one of these in order to protect our privacy.”

“I see…”

That seemed very… imperialist of them. She began to skim through the document, trying her best to understand it based on what little knowledge of this she had. It all seemed par for the course except for the last clause.

“I’m sorry again, ma’am. The others make sense to me but this one: 11. Covertness, it’s quite vague, the “other actor”…?.”

“To be transparent, the King and I posed the covertness clause as a protective measure. We don’t need Draco learning about this agreement and growing wary of all of us. We’re doing it to protect him more than anything. You are not to revert any of this portion of our meeting to him and he mustn't ever come to know of this agreement or the contract at all.”

The Queen suddenly seemed scarier than she ever had in all the years she’d known her.

“Well, that’s- I’ll have to think about that for a second.”

She started looking through the employment contract. It was similar to the one she currently held, nothing too special, except for the fact that it detailed that she was entitled to a lump sum of £200,000 at the end of the event, assuming she kept up her end of the agreement. She paused for a moment and just stared at that number.

“Is this a misprint by any chance, ma’am?” The Queen leaned over and looked at where she was pointing, then shook her head.

“No, it is not.”

She took a deep breath. That would be much more than enough to have her set for life and for a private event planning business alongside. It would take her 10 years to even come close to earning as much. She continued reading the document. She was supposed to participate in a few publicity stunts, make it clear “she had good intentions” and was supposed to disconnect from the prince entirely after the affair was over. Those terms didn’t sound too harsh, now, did they? A little acting and ghosting for 200 grand? It didn’t sound like much. Even a real big shot actor wouldn’t get paid half as much for such little work. And the part about her leaving the prince alone after was a little strange, but she supposed it made sense, what with the royals’ obsession with keeping their family all blue-blooded. Draco had been the poster child for that kind of thing growing up. And she likely didn’t have an ounce of it in her.

Why were they even that desperate anyway? This seemed huge. It might boost the prince’s reputation a bit but… what else was there to this? She knew the country was not doing the best in terms of international relations but did this really hold that much weight along those terms? Surely, there was something here she was missing. Regardless, 200,000 quid for a little work and a lot of fun was too amazing an offer to turn down. And so, Y/N signed both papers and handed them back to her. Jesus Christ, Draco’s impulsive decision was about to get her rich. Quick. She certainly hadn’t been expecting this.

She handed the clipboard back to the Queen who smiled and took it back quickly, setting the papers into a folder which she kept in a decorative paper bag. Not a bad hiding place at all. She walked outside for a few minutes, before reentering, followed by a squat old lady well-dressed in mauve and a younger woman wearing similar clothes. The Queen ushered towards either of them and began speaking.

“Madam Malkin and assistant, this is miss Y/L/N, the crown prince’s date to the coronation ball, miss Y/L/N, this is Madam Malkin, the family’s official stylist and designer, and her assistant.”

Y/N raised her hand out for her to shake, and she did so, firmly. “It’s so great to meet you, Madam.”

“Pleasure as well, love.”

She retracted her hand, looked over Y/N’s outfit and began whispering to her assistant.

“Well, to be very honest, I feel we don’t have to worry about my wardrobe as much. I know I probably don’t meet the royal standards but… I was planning on buying this really nice dress online anyway. I could show it to you and have you approve it if that would be fine.”

The Queen looked at her vacantly, her eyebrows raised and her nose pinched in the slightest. Then her expression settled and she exchanged a look with Madam Malkin before looking back at Y/N. Madam Malkin maintained an unamused expression, then began to speak.

“ I hope you know we’re not going to let you just wear a dress you bought online to the ball… We’ll tailor one for you. And your other clothes will be picked from contemporary designers ourselves.”

Y/N just looked at her silently, nodding and blinking slowly in assent.

***

An hour or so of Y/N having to change into various clothes behind a divider and then show them off to the pair of them passed quickly. It was very fun knowing she’d get a bunch of very nice clothes out of this (even custom made underwear so her clothes fit her right over them!), and she thought the royal family was really being very generous with all of this. Lots of money and clothes? There had to be some kind of catch, right? Something that would make this hard to keep up with? What was it? Just the stress of all the work that’d pile up? That didn’t seem like enough. Everything was not going the way she was anticipating. It was going a hell of a lot better. Mostly.

The actual meeting she’d been waiting for all morning was finally occurring. She was seated in a meeting room opposite the Queen and Draco and their publicist. It was weird seeing them like this. It seemed like a strange grown-up parent-teacher conference.

“So, our point is, we need to have you both make it clear to the public that there is a strong relationship between the two of you.”

The redheaded man droned on at the head of the table and Y/N looked over at Draco who glanced at her as well before both turning to look at the man.

“It’s Percy, right? I’m just a little… I’m sorry if I just don’t know my current affairs well enough for this but… why?” Y/N gulped, crossing her arms tightly after asking this question. It was quite bold of her for sure. She could only hope she wasn’t violating anything by asking this. “She’s not wrong.” Draco chimed in, ”You never had to do anything like this, mother.” The Queen smiled but shook her head. “Things just aren’t the same anymore, are they?” She looked over at Percy to continue.

“We now live in a world of social media and tabloids and none of that will work towards the image we need to create.”

Draco seemed to be satisfied with that and just looked at Y/N silently, who could only really do the same at this point. “I’m sorry, again, I… think I’m missing something here. What “image” are we trying to create?”

Percy and the Queen exchanged a long look, where she pursed her lips and shook her head somewhat disapprovingly. She then nodded and he began to speak.

“Miss Y/L/N, to be very frank, the kingdom isn’t doing amazing. In terms of international relations and funding and… most importantly, resources and trading. We’re afraid we’re losing allies and we cannot risk anything. We not only need to increase viewership and publicity of the ceremony and the ball, but we need to raise the reputation of the family and the prince in the public eye. It’s… a trend at King’s coronation balls for royals or other elite families to offer their daughters’ hands in marriage to the crown prince or king. Our prince is bent upon not getting into an arranged marriage and having to reject offers is a lot more publicly disgraceful than you might anticipate. As you might know, the country wasn’t even on speaking terms with one of its neighbours because centuries ago a crown prince rejected an offer for marriage and an alliance with them. We cannot risk having that happen when we’re in as dire straits as we are.”

Y/N could only look up at him with her mouth agape. They were serious. This was why it mattered so much to them. This was why she was being paid to do this. In case they offended an ally or just any other country. Because of the prince’s idealistic desires for romance or whatever it was. Although she couldn’t really fault him for that, his father hadn’t had to do the same and she’d heard the conditions for some of those alliances and the situations they landed themselves in the future were never that positive.

She nodded up at Percy. “I understand. I should probably read a bit more on the news and the family anyway. I tend to avoid it.” Percy barely seemed to notice her response and started to talk about strategies and actions that needed to be taken. The meeting ended with Draco and Y/N agreeing to keep up with their public profiles and maintain a good reputation on them. They were supposed to interact more publicly for the time being while Percy laid out more intricate publicity stunt plans.

As she left the room and started to walk back to her office, thinking about what work she had to do, someone tapped at her shoulder gently. She turned around to see the very same prince that had dragged her into this mess staring down at her.

“Again, I’m sorry.”

Him saying that like this made her feel guilty now.

“It’s- it’s really okay. You don’t have to say that.”

“I feel like I have to. You’re barely getting anything for doing this for us.”

“That’s- that’s not true. I’ll have my fun, won’t I?”

“Well, whatever it is, what I told you yesterday, the offer still stands. I’ll get you anything, I’ll buy you a mansion, whatever you like.”

“Not that I’d ever decline you giving me anything… you really don’t need to. Thank you for the offer, though.”

Y/N bit her lip and smiled up at him, waving him off as he made to leave, pretending like that was really the truth. She watched him as he walked to the other end of the hallway. She was going to have to keep up this lie all the way till the event. It definitely wasn’t going to be easy. She began to clench her jaw, setting a hand on the wall as everything rushed through her head.

This was exactly like Cinderella except she had no evil stepmother or fairy godmother or glass slipper or a prince charming on a quest to find her, just a lump sum, publicised PDA and more acting than she realised. And absolutely no way out of seeing the story through anymore.

a/n: there will be a hell of a lot more draco in the next chapters, stay tuned!