#which means.... more stress. its no longer something for fun its yet another work thing i gotta do. and i already have too many of those

[athanatosora]

If someone were to donate you 50 dollars to do a chapter of a specific fanfic you have unfinished, would you do it?

the cost of me confronting my past sins is too expensive for anyone to afford

[rcksmith]

Nobody else — Five Hargreeves

Requests: “Hello! May I request number nine from the fluff prompts and number seven from the smut prompts for Five? Maybe where the reader is a super skilled fighter, and the other Hargreeves siblings can’t get over how amazing she is, but that causes Five to become a little jealous?”

“Okayy if you're not tired of Five and smuts yet, can I request 18,70,74 and 84 from smut list with fem reader?”

Fluff prompts:

9. “So you're saying that girl is your girlfriend?!" "No, that girl is my wife!”

Smut prompts:

7. “The only way you’re getting off is on my thigh.”

18. “Are you sure? Once we start, i might not be able to stop.”

70. “Maybe I should leave you like this, that way anyone who wanted to use you could have a go with you. Would you like that?”

74. “I think I like you better with a gag in your mouth.”

84. “Let me show you what happens to little brats who don’t follow the rules.”

A/N: We not tolerate any pedophilia here !!

I write about Five with their 20s. I write the same about the characters of Harry Potter.

Thank you for requests💖 I hope you guys like💖I decided to compile these two requests, since they were the same energy and they prompts connect to a central plot. I added all the elements that were asked for individually, and made sure that all ideas were respected and written down. Good reading.

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are open. Love you ❤️

Couple: Five Hargreeves / Fem! Reader.

Warnings: explicit smut, dirty talk, bad words, fluff, fight, mention of death, jealousy.

— — — — —

People need each other to find support, comfort and understanding. Thomas Merton said: “Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life alone, but with the other. ”

And as cliché as it was, it was the truth. And that is exactly what happened to you.

It was difficult to explain how many years you had already been killing for the commission. Ever since, maybe? You did not remember a time when that work was not part of your life, your routine, your system. But you could feel, vaguely like a hazy dream, that one day the act of breathing was ... light.

Killing without conscience brought many regrets, and the weight of guilt filled your chest, making it difficult to breathe.

But you were good at that. God, you were very good. Maybe it was the endless years of training, your quick thinking, or the simple fact that you had a lot more physical stamina than the other agents. But, whatever it was, it helped you move up the board quickly.

Murdering with a gun was easy, quick, clean, and there were already many agents who did that job. For someone like you, so empowered, the commission has relocated you to more… arduous and dangerous missions.

Your job was to kill those whose gunshots could not show up at the necropsy. Someone who needed to die without the body revealing what had happened very well.

Shoot JFK? It wasn't with you.

End Hitler? It wasn't your job.

To kill Socrates with your bare hands and make everyone believe it was poison? This is where you came in.

The difference between the jobs was that you had to do the whole process. And a melee interaction instead of a weapon always brought people who wanted to fight for their lives. And that is why the commission chose you to do that, without any partner.

They elected you because you fought like a super soldier, focused on your goal like a robot, and never came back without success. It didn't matter how many fights you had to fight with your target, how many punches you had to throw and also take, or how many injuries you returned. You always won.

Over time, you learned things in practice, tricks that made it easy, scams that would save you effort. You learned to study each person in seconds, find their weaknesses, and use his own strength against them.

That's when you met Five Hargreeves. And Thomas Merton's quote made sense.

You two were so much similar. Both the best in their fields, wrecked in a sea of ​​personal traumas, buried by a job that got the best of you two. You two felt misunderstood, alone in the vastness of that world. And when you two met... well, were no longer alone.

You two got involved, in all possible ways and ways. Loved each other, adored each other, and completed each other. Life went out of automatic mode, and for the first time in a long time, you two managed to breathe lightly. The food now tasted good, the heat of the sun on the skin was now better, and the world... the world was ruled by the red color of love.

So it became the most obvious and coherent decision to you two get married. Five could no longer imagine a life in which you did not exist, and you did not know how the world could go without him.

“I can't believe we did that!” You laughed, astonished, as you entered the apartment that you and Five shared.

You two had just married, something just for you two and the ceremonialist. You two chose something very intimate, reserved. And now the ring on him left hand looked like the most beautiful thing in the world for you.

Five laughed softly, hands moving up your arms, bringing you closer.

“We did. Wife.”

After that, your two contract with the commission changed. Five would only continue to do that if no one dared to touch a hair of yours, and you swore to The Handler that if someone did something to Five, you would destroy that place brick by brick.

Five saw in you a strong and atrocious ocean, which could swallow whole cities only with the force of its fury. And he liked that. He liked having someone as competent and firm as he was. Five liked to know that if there was a disaster, he would not be the only one who would go after a solution.

You were the type who knew that if you wanted things to happen, you had to do it with your bare hands. And Five loved it, because he felt understood. He carried so many responsibilities on his back that it was relieving to find someone who also felt the same things.

Five knew that, when him found way home, you were going with him. And you went. You two exchanged vows that would be together in joy and sadness, in any situation. And if the situation now said to go to 2019, well, you would.

“It makes me so sick, God!” Five heard you say when you two fell out of that blue portal he created.

He would have laughed if his muscles didn't hurt so much. For someone so trained you got sick of his powers very quickly.

"Five?!” And then the voice of one of the brothers was heard.

And that's how you two ended up there. A week later, in the Hargreeves' living room, with Diego swearing that you wouldn't be able to beat him in a fight.

Five laughed against the margarita's straw, sitting comfortably at the bar, giving up on telling his stupid brother that you had already killed much more dangerous people with your bare hands.

“I do not want to hurt you.” You smiled understandingly, and Klaus laughed.

“I bet 50 bucks that she beats your ass, Diego.” It was only logical that he was going to encourage his brother to fall.

“There is no way you can hurt me.” Diego guaranteed, getting up and starting to push the sofa away, making room for a fight.

“Are you up for it or are you scared?” He played with you, and Five laughter it back there, having a lot of fun.

“This is ridiculous, Diego.” Allison stressed, but it was obvious that she wanted to watch too.

You smirked, getting up from the bar chair next to Five. You didn't want to defeat your husband's brother in that fight, you understood that the circumstances between the two of you were not fair.

You were created to kill, injure and decimate. Body wrestling was your job and it wouldn't be fair to Diego. You knew, from Five, that the Hargreeves were created to be heroes. Saviors of the motherland. Hurt and kill if necessary, but don't make it a goal.

But not with you. Killing was your goal, always. And your weapon was not super powers or pistols, but the body itself.

“Okay.” You laughed and went to the circle that Diego had made “But I don't want to hurt you. The first one to fall to the ground loses.” You were trying to be peaceful.

Diego agreed, giving him a friendly smile before saying:

“But I will use my knives to distract you.”

It was logical that he wouldn't make it cheap and easy, even if it was for himself, you knew that.

So you agreed, took off the suit you were wearing and rolled up the sleeves of your white dress shirt, while the Hargeeves sat in a safe area, away from that makeshift ring.

Diego delivered the first blow, and you just deflected the trunk, taking him by the same arm and twisting it against his back. At that moment, if it was something for real, you would put more strength to break the bone, but you didn't want to hurt him, so you just released Diego with a little push forward.

Diego turned to face you again, the naughty smile on the face of someone who knows his own potential. He was very good, you knew that, but the different upbringing made you a better opponent.

This time, the blow came from below. It was a trip that you jumped while pulling on the fist he used to land another blow in the same second, forcing him to come forward with force while you deflecting once more. Diego staggered forward, steadying himself on the floor once again.

It was all absurdly fast, as if you were a robot. A machine programs for that.

Diego hurled the knife in the wind while attacking with his other fist. You dodged again, but this time you struck back, slamming a blow down the side of your stomach, blocking his attack with your other arm and unleashing a kick in the chest, which made Diego stagger backward.

In a matter of seconds, the knife was at the end of its course. And while Diego was advancing again, the wind that the knife was making hit your hair. But the knife didn't finish course. You stopped the blade with your hand, holding to the object with your palm.

At that moment, you saw Diego's eyes falter. And a surprised gasp by the Hargreeves graces the ambience. Then it was your turn to attack. You threw the knife on the floor, driving the blade into the wooden floor as you went.

There were punches, deflected blows, creeps. The two of you were dancing to an agitated song, which was reaching its climax.

Diego had holding you in him arms, and you turned your body, locked him left arm in your hands while you used the momentum to propel your legs up, past his neck and turning, taking you both to the floor. He fell on his back while you used your own momentum to balance yourself, standing upright.

“YES! YOU OWM ME 50 DOLLARS!" Klaus's voice was heard.

You laughed, and you were about to walk away when Diego dug his left hand into your heel. He pulled you in a single stroke, and it made you fall, your back hitting the ground as he took the lead. Diego put his legs on your hips the first second you fell on the floor, and he used his own strength to keep you there.

You laughed out loud, and so did he.

“This is cheating!” You scolded him, punching him in the chest.

“Whatever, but you had to fall too!”

Diego was a good loser, you recognized that by the intonation of the voice. He was not possessed or reviled because you won, but he wanted it to be an eye for an eye, even if only as a joke.

But as soon as Diego got up off you, holding your hand for you got up too, your eyes went to Five. And you found the green irises burning in an atrocious fire. You frowned, not understanding, but you didn't have time to go over there and ask what happened. Klaus and Luther came to you and Diego.

Klaus charging his brother and Luther asking you how you did that final blow.

“It's for me to use when he pisses me off!” Luther looked directly at his brother in a silent threat “ But he will not get up alive!”

“Fuck you” Diego said before practically shoving 50 dollars in Klaus's face.

“Is easy.” You replied Luther “I'll show you."

But while the brothers were having fun, marveling at you, Five burned in a visseral cholera.

Wasn't it enough for Diego to have literally been on top of you, you had to want to teach that stupid gorilla too ?!

Oh fucking no!

When Diego went to Luther and started explaining with you, him your side, how the scam worked, Five was exploding. Now that stupid men butcher knife would be on your side?! Agreeing and explaining whit you as if it were your husband?!

Wasn't it enough just fucking being on top of you?!

Definitely fuck not!

“Take it easy, buddy.” Klaus appeared beside him “You are looking at them as if you want to kill someone.”

Five just snarled, not bothering to respond, his eyes never leaving you.

“Wait..." Klaus looked better at who Five was staring “Are you jealous of Y/n ?!” He was amazed.

“Shut up!” Five forced himself to swallow a handful of margarita.

“Oh my God!” And he wouldn’t stop “You like her! That must be why you live in a bad mood! You must be in the friend zone! ”

“Didn't I tell you to shut up already ?!” Five looked deathly at his brother “And I'm not in the friend zone with her.”

But Five realized that he gaved too much information to his brother, because now Klaus's face was opening in a shocked smile.

Goddam!

“So you're saying that girl is your girlfriend ?!" Klaus was loving the situation.

But, out of the corner of his eye, Five can see Diego holding your arm, showing Luther the place to deliver any stupid blow.

You gotta be fucking kidding!

“No, that girl is my wife!” Five tapped the margarita glass on the counter, teleporting to you and pushing Diego's hand off your arm, replacing his own.

“The show over!” He growled as he left the room, pulling you with him, your feet stumbling a few times before picking up the pace.

“Five!” You said, but he didn't seem to hear.

The image of Diego's legs at your fucking waist, the body sitting on you, the hand on your arm, rewound Five's mind like a curse. He felt his anger inflate, jealousy whispering in the back of his neck like a little devil, making him see the situation bigger than it really was.

You called him again, but for Five, it was like you called his brother's name. And then he exploded in his own fury.

He couldn't wait to go up all those stupid stairs, all those corridors, Five just pulled you against him, disappearing in the blue flash and reappearing in the his room.

“You are crazy?” You pulled the wrist out of his grip.

“I should be asking you that!” He said “Did you see that scene ?!”

“What a scene?” You frowned.

Five focused his eyes on you, in angry energy.

“Diego on top of you, fuck!" He snarled “Luther drooling like a dog on you!”

“Five.” You thought all that was absurd “They are your brothers!”

“You have no idea how much i don’t give a fuck!”

The situation was ridiculous, and you ended up laughing in disbelief and bewilderment.

“We were fighting!” You defended yourself "Nobody was drooling on me!"

“I swear to god tha ...” Five walked over to you, his eyes flooded with rage, his body enveloped in that intense and explosive energy.

You lifted chin to get a better look, your chest stuck to him, Five's breath hitting the top of your nose. That week had been full of emotions and issues to deal with, 24 hours being insufficient to do everything, explain everything. And, well, you and Five didn't have much time alone...

All of this compiled with the fact that your husband possessed the beauty of an angry god,and that excited you so fuck absurdly.

Suddenly, the air in the room became caustic, seething with the expectation of something improper happening, injecting heat into your chest that descended to the middle of your legs.

You sighed softly, and Five immediately noticed the waters where your thoughts were sailing.

“Does it turn you on?” His voice was hoars “See me angry?”

The sigh you gave was your whistleblower, your chest started to rise and fall more breathlessly than usual, your core starting to pulse. You wouldn't be able to say anything even your life would depended it, you drowning in the malicious and hot climate of that room, compiled with the absurd beauty and intensity of the adult in front of you.

God, you needed him!

“Yes, you like.” Five had an arrogant, boastful tone, mocking how sensitive you were.

But his eyes took on a more conscious tone, and he whispered as he said: "Are you sure? Once we start, I might not be able to stop. ”

Five knew his own limits, his own anger, his own strength. If he touched you now, in most simple, he wouldn't be able to stop. You agreed, hands moving gently up his body, resting on him hips.

“I will not be gentle.” Five wanted to you know again.

He had already fucked you hard, drowned in insatiable desire, marking your skin with slaps, hickeys. Five had already mistreated your mouth, made you scream. But never fucked you in anger. He never took his anger out on you. And now, submerged in jealousy, he knew how much strength he would discharge on you.

“I don't want it to be.” But you gave Five the go-ahead on a needy sigh, your fingers running around his waist.

Five dropped his mouth to your ear, tracing a path across your skin with warm lips, now bringing hands up to your skin, feeling how hot, needy you were.

“You're wet and I haven't even touched you yet.” His words hung over you like a warm warning of what was going to happen, what to expect.

You moaned softly, your body shivering, screaming for you to get more, seeking some friction, some contact. Then, as if Five read you thoughts, his left hand clung fiercely to the back of your neck, curling him fingers in your hair.

He forced you to look at him, watching the rage and the extraordinary lust.

“Let me show you what happens to little brats who don’t follow the rules.”

Five left you brutally, telling you to take off all your clothes, watching all your movements while he got rid of the shirt himself. He left him tie beside the bed, sitting on the mattress and pulling you onto him lap as soon as you finally got naked. He fit thigh in the middle of your legs, making you sit on his thigh.

You groaned, the friction in the place you most wanted, the core pulsing against the dark cloth of him pants. You rummaged your hips for more than you wanted, but Five dropped his hand on your ass, releasing a loud, stinging slap. The groan was unable to be controlled, and you buried your face in the curve of him neck, sobbing there.

“You will be grateful for every slap I give you, do you understand?” He snarled, fingers tightening on your flesh, marking your skin.

You agreed, and thanked him when Five slapped your ass harder. This time, he moved him thigh beneath you, brushing your pulsating core, leaving you in an extremely needy state.

“Fi-five!" A sob escaped, followed by another thanks when a slap hit your in ass again.

Five's hands roughly grabbed your waist, holding you firmly in place as he started to rummage in him thigh, making you moan louder every second. That was torture. You pulsed and wet him thigh, your body rigid from wanting more of that friction, the sobs escaping your lips, the muscles contracted.

“Such a needy slut." He snarled in your ear “So desperate for my thigh.”

You groaned at him words, your fingers around him shoulders, squeezing there while Five took you so badly in him thigh. He dropped his mouth to your hot neck, pouring a hickey there before sighing hoarsely:

“The only way you're getting off is on my thigh."

It sent electric currents to your swollen core, and moans got even bigger when Five increased the speed of his movements, rubbing your clitoris in those mind-boggling movements. His strong grip, compiled wheezing on his neck, his hoarse voice and the movements of his thigh took you to the limit. And you were pushed into that abyss of the climax.

“So fucking quickly.” Five delighted, in a groan, and stuck his hands on your back, holding you there, turning you in one movement to the bed.

Your back hit the mattress, Five’s warm hands roamed your legs, squeezing thighs and parting them, exposing your wet, red core at the climax. Five groaned loudly, as if seeing you hurt physically, and he took his hands off you to grab the tie next to you.

“Be good and open your mouth for me.” You obeyed, and he wiped the cloth over there, fastening his tie.

You sighed brokenly, your heart beating fast, breasts stiff and sore, your ass burning with slaps, core sensitive to climax.

“I think I like you better with a gag in your mouth." Five reflected, him hands roaming your trembling body, squeezing every bit of skin, reveling in how your skin felt at him touch.

Five reveled in the breath you took, enjoying how you looked like a fucking goddess like that. So vulnerable, so needy, so needy.

He was controlling himself until now, pushing you to the limit, making you sensitive, teasing you, making you sensitive to what was coming. Him smile was purely lustful, and Five leaned toward you, roughly sucking the nipple from your breast, nibbling at the needy skin. Then he brought hands up to his pants, opening his belt and zipper, pulling the pieces down far enough for his dick to pop out.

The moan you gave when you felt the hot, luscious member on your thigh was enough to inflate him ego even more. Five turned your body down, pulling your waist up, leaning into your ear to whisper:

“I'm going to fuck you so hard that you'll never forget that day.” Then he entered you, rough, strong, badly.

He forced your walls to get used to him size and sank to the bottom of the well, clutching his hands to your hips and pulling you against him dick. You screamed against the tie, pressing your fingers to the pillows, sobbing when Five set a fierce, wild and badly pace, mistreating every inch of you.

One of him hands went to your neck, closing his fingers there and pouring out all the fury and jealousy he felt in the thrusts, going in as deep as he could and pushing your limit. The pornographic sounds of the two of you moaning, the sound of his hip hitting your ass, invaded the room, mixing with the smell of sex, lust and hunger.

You shouted him name when Five left and brutally entered you, making you choke on your own sobs.

“What's it? Are you unaccustomed to my dick?” He tasted it, leaving your neck to slap your ass aggressively “Is it too much for you?”

You sobbed, stopped by the tie, and Five hit you again.

“Do you think someone can fuck you like me?!”

Now him voice was angry and his movements too. Five fucked you like he had spent his whole life in fury at you, waiting patiently for the day when he would discount everything on you. Him hand went to your mouth, pulling tie from there and releasing your toxic moans.

“Answer me, fuck!” One more slap, leaving your ass on fire.

“N-no!” You cried “Nobody ... no-nobody fucks me like you!”

You talks with a more thrust, and Five pushed your chest to the bed, keeping his hand on your back, him moans mixing with your.

Then he reached the peak of anger.

Five came out of you, turned you up and bent your legs, placing your knees on your shoulders. He entered in a brutal way inside you, the new position making him occupy all the minimum vacant spaces. You screamed, tears welling up in your eyes, your hands tightening on his arms, your heart already racing.

It was too much. Your body begged for more, for the climax, for the lust, for anything fierce that Five could give you. He dropped his mouth on yours, biting your bottom lip instead of kissing you, making you swallow his lines when he said:

“Maybe I should leave you like this, that way anyone who wanted to use you could have a go with you. Would you like that? ”

You desperately denied it. Five could very well come out of you and not let you come, and just that thought made your body tremble and tears flow.

“Plea-Please!” You sobbed “I beg you!”

That did things with Five. He stuck his body to your, him arm going around your waist and fucking you as if that could chase away all his anger. This time he kissed you, sticking his lips to yours as he felt you pulse around him and break up in a hushed scream, trembling at the climax.

Five did not falter, his black hair clinging to his forehead with sweat, his heart pounding. He cum strongly inside your core, filling you with hot cum. You groaned, wrapping your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss as he came inside of you, slowly calming down.

The two of you sighed, the room flooding with the smell of sex and desire, your hearts thudding at the same pace. You whimpered in his mouth, and when Five want to leave inside you, you denied it, tightening your legs around him waist.

“N-No.” You moaned softly, "Stay inside, please."

Five drew air through his teeth, him hands gripping the sides of your body, stirring inside you, beginning to feel the lust rising.

He kissed you again, whispering:

“You want to have a child of mine, don't you?" It was an arrogant, provocative voice, and you sighed. “You are such a fucking sensitive little thing.”

Then Five started moving again, and you stayed in that room for much longer.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

This may be oddly specific but what the heck, how about a scenario with a g/n reader where they’re a fashion designer, and they’re talking with the Adeuce duo in Mostro lounge about modelling their latest designs for a magicam photoshoot, but Adeuce are too busy and can’t help, so they’re trying to figure out who can substitute on short notice, all while a certain pair of twins can’t help but overhear their conversation (delete if this is too much)

I fastforwarded past the “reader talking to Adeuce about their designs” part so I could get to the more interesting bits~

I wanted to actually write the part where the twins modelled, but I hit my 1k word limit just doing the build up to it. If you’re interested in seeing the twins model, please consider submitting a follow-up request when I’m taking new ones!

Model Jade though--

[Image used is credited to KawaiiR.]

Imagine this...

Not enough. The hit of sugar from the fruit juice you downed wasn’t enough to settle your stress. As soon as your glass was drained of liquid, you slammed it down upon the counter, head snapping to the bartender.

“Another round,” you grunted, motioning for him to make it quick as you slid your empty container over.

Jade received your cup with a sigh and passed it off to his twin, who had taken advantage of slow business to invade the counter space. Floyd was collecting glasses and stacking them into a neat pyramid. His heterochromatic eyes peered out at odd bends through the curved cups, shining with glee as he used his newly acquired cup to crown off the formation.

Jade’s gaze returned to you, paired with a fake sympathetic smile. “I’m afraid I will have to ‘cut you off’. Drowning your sorrows with drink is not a healthy means of coping.”

If they keep this pace up, we won’t have anything left for the lunch rush. And how bothersome it would be if he had to take precious time out of his break to restock on their beverages.

“Who cares, as long as I pay for it,” you muttered, slamming a hand on the counter. “Another round, Jade.”

“You are already incurring a hefty tab.” He shook his head--a polite refusal.

“Good,” you grumbled sarcastically. “That means Octavinelle gets another indentured servant when I can’t cough up the cash.”

Jade chuckled, bringing a hand to his chest and not making any effort to deny your grim prediction. “Rather than drag yourself further into the depths of debt... May I ask what it is that troubles you, dear customer? Perhaps we may be able to hear you out and assist with your woes.”

“I’m not sure if you can,” you retorted, fingers rubbing at your temples. “I’ve just lost my two models, and I don’t know where I’m going to find replacements on such short notice.”

“You mean Kani-chan and Saba-chan?” Floyd asked, propping his face up with curled fingers. His cheeks squished against his touch, granting him a more innocent look than usual. “They were with you earlier and left all in a hurry.”

“Yeah. Deuce had a Track and Field Club meet he forgot about, and Ace got detention with Crewel for failing the last quiz,” you groaned, “which leaves me without models for my new collection.”

“Collection?” Floyd’s face suddenly lit up with interest. “Like a fashion collection?”

“Yup, that’s right.” You fished your phone out of your pocket and unlocked it, pulling up your Magicam account. The students of NRC may have boasted magical pens, but you wove your own magic with needle and cloth. “I share the outfits I design and make.”

You tilted your mobile device to show your page. Each image cropped nicely, expertly shot and edited to perfection--very aesthetic. Floyd “ooh”ed and “aah”ed at the designs parading across the screen, but Jade’s eyes immediately honed in on your follower count.

It wasn’t celebrity status like Vil’s cool 5 million count. It wasn’t even decent-sized influencer status like Cater’six digits. But it was at least a few thousand, and numbers like that had reasonable sway.

“I could take pictures of mannequins with my clothes, but it just doesn’t feel the same as when real, breathing people are wearing them,” you explained. “It’s hard to find the right types for this sort of thing...”

The twins hovered over your phone, nearly cheek to cheek and shoulder to shoulder, as they absorbed your Magicam gallery. Spitting images, reflections with slight differences--the shape and colors of their eyes, the black tufts of hair that swung like pendulums, framing their handsome faces. Features delicate, yet sharp.

Your voice trailed off as realizations lowly set in. The longer you stared at the twins, the more pieces seemed to fall in place of the puzzle. “Tall, broad shouldered, and the facial symmetry...” You brought a hand to your chin, brows creasing in concentration.

That’s it.

“You’re exactly what I’m looking for!!” you blurted out, abruptly standing and seizing each of their hands. “Please, be my models!”

“Mmm? Sounds fun!” Floyd threw his head back and laughed, eager to be amused by something new. He turned to his brother. “Ne, ne, Jade~ Can we?”

“Hmm.” Jade cast a cursory glance around the Mostro Lounge. Not a soul in sight. Then he returned to your Magicam page, and its tempting follower count. “Well, the Mostro Lounge has been looking to increase its social media presence. What better way to achieve that than by cross promoting with a fellow content creator? And what’s more...”

He snickered into his hand. “I could not possibly allow Floyd, nor myself, to continue to wallow in boredom.”

“Then...!!” You clutched their hands tighter, hope filling your heart.

“We will lend you our aid for this endeavor.”

“Yes...!! Thank you, thank you so much!!” You clapped in excitement, your legs caught up in a little jig. “Oh, I’ll need to take your measurements, then tailor Ace and Deuce’s original outfits to your sizes. We also need to find a suitable spot for the photo shoot--a place with natural lighting would be best--and, and, and...”

“There will be plenty of time to sort those details out,” Jade calmly reassured you. “Ah, but first... there remains the matter of your drink tab.”

“... Oh.”

“Furthermore, since you are contracting us... You will need to draw up a formal agreement with Azul, and agree to his terms and conditions by signing off on the dotted line,” Jade continued, his tone even and pleasant.

You swallowed hard. A deal with Octavinelle? It may as well have been signing your soul away.

“You got it, riiight?” Floyd inquired in a lazy drawl. “Cuz you’re a fashion designer and all. You must’ve worked with contracts before.”

“You understand, yes?” Jade pressed, chiming in with his twin.

“E-Er, now wait a sec...”

“It’s just business,” the twins recited in unison--their smiles dangerously devilish.

[writefightandflightclub]

Disarming (Santi x fem!reader)

Summary: you and Santi - good friends- are Best Man and Maid of Honour at Frankie’s wedding, and guess what? There’s only one bed!

What is this? This is 5/10 one-shots/blurbs for my “friends to lovers” event. The prompt is “We can share a room, right? It’s only for a weekend”, requested by @woakiees​. Another double trope extravaganza! Hadley, I’m so pleased you suggested Santi for this one, as he immediately came to mind when I was writing this prompt :D Thank you so much for requesting! <3

If you’d like to  read/keep track of the other fics, I’m keeping an up-to-date friends to lovers list in my pinned post.

Author’s note: Apparently I get carried away EVERY time I write Santi. WHY AM I LIKE THIS?! :-/

Word count: 7.5k. I’M SO SORRY. PLEASE FORGIVE ME.

Rating: 18+ ONLY (minors out, please, do not read or interact)

Warnings: it gets angsty in the middle. Reader has nightmare- comfort offered. Mentions of reader being “hurt” in the past but vague and unspecified. They have a fight. One or two alcohol mentions- no actual consumption. Food mention. Swearing. Steam leading into smut but not explicit- mentions of masturbation, erections, making-out, one brief allusion to choking kink. Let me know if I missed anything.

Tagging: @isvvc-pvscvl​ @casifer-is-king​ (loads of the tags aren’t working :-/)

GIF: @nathan-bateman​

From the first moment you met Santi, you had simply fallen into step with him. It was effortless, and so, as soon as you found yourself by his side, you stayed there. What’s more, that’s exactly where he wanted you to be.

Despite the man’s hard, no-nonsense edge -which you also appreciated- he was warm and charming. It was easy to connect with him, in a way it hadn’t often been for you. For him too - or so the boys told you - the way you surpassed his defences was a rare thing. It shouldn’t have worked, perhaps. Usually, he was slow to trust and you were quick to love, but on this occasion none of that seemed to apply, the two of you tumbling squarely into a fast-friendship; one deeper and more intense, perhaps, than its duration might suggest. Still, despite the boys’ inferences that you would quickly become an item, and Santi’s continual attempts to blur the lines between this and… something more, “friends” is what you have remained.

You had felt it immediately with him. Something different. You simply... flowed. You fit. It was immediately evident, even on that first night, in the way you orbited around one another, setting up an impromptu beer pong of all things. You moved together with a fluidity and a precision that seems almost tactical- as though you too had run countless manoeuvres in the field with him. You could read him and understand him as though you had drilled his habits and patterns and idiosyncrasies over and over; learning him. However, he was never that much effort - the two of you came naturally to each other, little learning required. You knew each other with your gut.

At that fateful party, when you each escaped to the back porch steps for some air at a serendipitous moment, the conversation had immediately flowed, and not only as a result of his natural, disarming charm. The silence even came easily rightaway – a comfortable thing, the space between you stuffed with contentment, rather than the feeling of a gaping vacuum, needlessly filled. It turned out his best friend was dating yours (the pair to be wed this very weekend) but that almost seemed like the cherry on top, rather than the thing bringing you to each other.

Safe to say, what was true then is true now. You get on so well. You find him fun and easy and generous and you love the man dearly.

…Most of the time.

Those other times, though? Santiago “Pope” Garcia can be a pain in your ass. But that’s another reason you love him, you guess. Keeps things interesting.

“Please don’t kill me,” Santi says sheepishly, and it’s obvious to you he’s laying on the charm - actively trying to be as disarming as possible as he saunters over from the reception desk. For a moment, despite all his training, he looks as though he believes you could pull it off, too.

Your annoyance is already prepped; locked and loaded, as he pads squarely towards the banquette where you are sat - amidst a sea of luggage. You’ve been observing his attempts to charm the desk clerk with interest (his efforts, you surmise, at least partially effectual), and judging from the slight level of desperation in his efforts, you can already tell he fucked up somehow.

“What did you do?” you say impatiently, even as a smile twitches at the corner of your lips.

“I booked all the rooms we needed, for all of the wedding guests, right? 13 rooms here, and all 10 at the hotel across town. 4 more in guesthouses,” he recaps. “Got Frankie and Mila a great deal too, remember?”

You remember. And yet, you fold your arms across your chest, looking up at him incredulously. Okay then. Rolling with your attitude, the man takes a different tack. He sits next to you. Smiles. Leans in. Pats your thigh. He’s trying to disarm you too, you realise. It’s going to take more than that - you’re not some flimsy desk clerk who will form a puddle and bat your eyes at the first sign of his charm.

“Well, funny story. I may have forgotten to book our rooms,” he blurts.

Oh? Oh, great. Yeah. This is a grand fuck-up. The whole damn town is booked-out. It’s a small town. No longer amused, your nostrils flare in annoyance as you tug in a slow breath, schooling your tone just a little before you speak. “You what?” Okay, you didn’t manage to school it all that much.

“Look, I already sort of fixed it,” he smooths. That explains the flirting with the clerk. Although, you think, glancing back at her. She’s pretty. That partially explains the flirting with the clerk, then, you mentally correct. “There’s just one, teeny-tiny issue.”

You raise your eyebrows and widen your eyes. Well?

“We’re gonna have to share a room.”

You blink at him a few times, in surprise. Well, it’s not ideal. For a number of reasons. But you can think of worse things, truth be told. And he’s not wrong. It is a solution. Still, on his reveal, a succession of emotions and micro-assessments are bounced back and forth between your eyes and his, until you land on resigned annoyance, exhaling a long sigh. That is, until Frankie appears in the lobby, swanning in like he’s walking on air. He probably is, given that he’s getting married this weekend. His face splits with a smile so wide you reckon it should be painful to maintain, and you stand to greet him as he heads over.

You’re glad he’s happy. It means that you and Santi, as Maid of Honour and Best man, respectively, are doing a fantastic job of deflecting all of the stress away from the happy couple. Indeed, that assessment certainly feels true – you do feel stressed. Still, the two of you immediately paint your faces with masking smiles; though, in fairness, it’s hard not to smile while looking at Frankie – his obvious joy is infectious.

Frankie wraps you both in a hug, then rubs his palms together like an excited kid. “I don’t have much time. Just gonna say a quick hello to my parents. Apparently, my mom’s already started crying? Can you two sort some extra tissues for the ceremony or something? Oh, and is everything okay with the rooms?”

“With this guy? Are you kidding?”, you say before you think, throwing your thumb towards Santi. Immediately, his eyes submit a powerful plea to you to keep schtum- it is written all over his face that he doesn’t want to let Frankie down. Not even in the smallest of ways.

Frankie would find his little error funny, probably. But he can find it funny after the ceremony. “Everything is A-OK! This guy? He has every single detail taken care of.”

Frankie grins, his eyes narrowing proudly at Santi as he slaps him on the back, laying profuse thanks on the two of you; then, he floats away again, as if on a cloud. Santi’s brown eyes are big with gratitude when you look at him again, and you can’t help but weaken. You’ll admit, it’s really not that bad of a fuck-up. Besides, you’re tired. Between the drive out here, the wedding rehearsal, and a never-ending list of errands, the day has been long. You just want to get to the room, and maybe even clock a snooze before the rehearsal dinner tonight.

“Fine,” you agree, albeit through gritted teeth. “We can share a damn room.”

Santi looks visibly relieved, and squeezes your shoulder in thanks. You’d even been nice enough not to bite his head off. “Yeah. We can share a room, right? It’s only for a weekend.” Suddenly, he doesn’t sound quite as certain.

“Sure. I mean, what could possibly go wrong?” you smile nervously.  

He returns your smile and swivels, heading back towards the desk.

“Oh, wait!” you call after him. “Is it a double or a twin?” you ask in horror. Sharing a room is one thing, but sharing a bed?

He turns, looking over his shoulder. “Doesn’t matter!”, he winks. “Whatever it is, we’re gonna have to take it.”

Oh. Oh dear.

You’re inclined to agree -you don’t have many options- but when you catch yourself stealing a glance at the man’s shapely butt as he walks back to the desk, you begin to chew your bottom-lip nervously.

Right. Ha.

What could possibly go wrong?

**********************

It turns out, sharing a room with Santi is resoundingly not bad at all. In fact, at first, it’s as easy as everything else is with him - even between your hurried preparations for the evening, unpacking, shuttling items to the relevant members of the wedding party, and calling down to reception several times to check the logistics for the rehearsal dinner. Even getting dressed, you find an easy flow as you each flit in and out of the bathroom, dancing around each other with ease and only a hint of friendly bickering.

Santi’s respectful too- always knocking and announcing himself before entering a space, and averting his gaze when he needs to, given that you’re rushing around and undressing. You even manage to ignore the fact there’s only one bed for the longest time, parking that specific panic for later. Even then, he has already made reception send up extra pillows and blankets, forming a barricade in the middle of the bed so you two can comfortably separate.

Thankfully, you are so busy that the idea of sharing a bed with Santi doesn’t even cross your mind until you’re finally ready, dressed in your finery. When you step out of the bathroom, Santi -sat on the edge of said bed- stands up, thrusting his hands into his suit trousers as he takes the sight of you in, pulling the material taut -in a rather pleasing way- across his hips and thighs. He ends up slightly slack-jawed for a moment as his eyes trail over you, brewing with a gentle, self-conscious heat. “Fuck,” he says softly, his voice gruff. “You look…” a little gulp trails down his throat as you give him a little twirl. “…hot”, he says, his eyebrow ticking up on the last beat.

“Wait until you see my bridesmaid dress,” you smile, and he returns it easily, those gorgeous creases appearing around his eyes.

Unconsciously, you lick your lips. You can’t help but wonder, vaguely, what it would be like to push him down on to the mattress. Maybe straddle him. Fuck, you should have known this would be a bad idea. A heat rising in your face at that thought of that, you distract yourself by lifting his suit jacket from the back of the chair, holding it out for him as he slips it on to his shoulders, and feeling the luxurious texture of it beneath your fingers.

It’s a grey suit, tailored, and it hugs him in all the right places. The cool colour is perfect against his warm-toned brown skin, and brings out the salt in his salt-and-pepper curls, and in the rough rasp of grey flecked through his stubble.

You try desperately not to notice how good he looks, but this may be your greatest challenge yet.

“Come on,” you encourage, nodding towards the door. “We better head down.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, half-heartedly. The way his eyes are subtly roving over you, though, he looks like he has something entirely different in mind for dinner.

“You’re probably going to spend all night being chased by the single bridesmaids,” you add casually as you collect your purse, and apply a final dab of lipstick in front of the mirror. You’ve already clocked a few members of the wedding party eyeing him up, and you don’t exactly blame them for being thirsty. Besides, Santi is a huge flirt; so perhaps he’ll be the one doing the chasing. You wouldn’t be surprised if he ended the night with his tongue thrust deep in someone’s throat, which -you assume- is typical Santi fashion.

“Isn’t it traditional, anyway,” he smirks cheekily, applying a splash of cologne, “for the Best Man to hook-up with one of the bridesmaids?”

Lord, does he have to smell so… edible.

“Got news for you, man. You fucked up. You can’t exactly bring a girl back to your room now, can you?!” you tease, nodding back towards your shared bed, a wall of pillows already arranged down the middle. You mean it to come out in good-humour, but you can’t scrub the hint of jealousy from your tone entirely.

You feel so silly for being jealous of whomever he may hook-up with. After all, Santi is always the one testing the boundaries of friendship with you. It’s not like he’s ever made a secret of the fact he’s attracted to you- and you are the one here will a firm line in the sand. A line you simply won’t cross with him. Can’t cross. You want to - of course you do, but after being hurt in the past, you have simply built-up far too many defences; or, more accurately, just the right amount of defences, you think, to protect you. So, no matter how disarming the man is, you simply have to keep your guard up; because if he breached your walls, you know everything else would come tumbling so easily down.

You had fallen so easily into friendship with him, and you are certain that you would fall just as recklessly in love with him.

You’re not ready for that.

You can’t take being hurt again. Besides; Santi? He’s an incredible friend. He’s tenaciously loyal and dedicated to his squad. But when it comes to love, and sex, you doubt whether serious is even his thing - and you’re too afraid to ask.

“You ready to do this?” he asks, with a wink.

“Yep,” you nod. “Let’s roll,” and with that, you turn, heading for the hallway.

“Princesa- that dress really highlights your ass,” he praises as he tags along behind you.

“Thank you, it’s true,” you smile devilishly, already beginning to let your guard down, just a little. He’s simply so disarming. “Speaking of, Garcia – did you get your trousers a size too small on purpose?”

“Oh, you noticed?” he retorts, smugly, guiding you through the door with a hand on the small of your back.

Okay. Sometimes you flirt back. After all – look at him.

Especially in that damn suit.

***********************************

The rehearsal dinner goes swell. Frankie and Mila are a picture-perfect, loved-up couple, and they grin their way through the evening as if they slept with coat hangers in their mouths. The speeches are well-received, including Will’s, thus setting a high bar for you and Santi tomorrow. (You may be biased, but Santi’s is ten times funnier, and it’s going to kill, in your opinion.) There are no dramas through the evening- logistical or familial, and thanks to you and Santi overseeing everything with a military precision, it looks as though -so far- it is shaping up to be the perfect wedding weekend.

Finally, once your duties are over for the night, you are able to let your hair down a little, so to speak, and enjoy the food and company on offer. Still, with a big day ahead tomorrow, things wind down relatively early, and -having lost track of Santi at some point- you find yourself back at the shared room a little while before him. You usually burn out more quickly than he does in social situations, but even taking that into consideration, you begin to fret about where he has gotten to. With the way he was flirting his way through the party, though, it doesn’t take a genius to guess what (or who) might be keeping him up.

You try to sleep but you can’t, your mind going to the worst places, so, by the time Santi does return -softly cracking the door, and padding in with his shoes in his hands so as not to wake you- you have stewed in your own thoughts long enough to have become a little cranky. A little… green-eyed.

“Hey,” he greets in surprise when he enters, immediately noticing the soft lamp glow, and seeing you still sitting up in the bed, mindlessly watching the flicker of the tv on mute.

“Hey,” you return, your voice noticeably strained. “Have a fun time?” You find yourself wishing you weren’t sharing a room, then you wouldn’t have to know what he got up to.

“Yeah,” he replies softly, slipping off his jacket and laying it over the back of a chair. “Did you? How come you’re still up? Thought for sure you’d be wiped out by now.”

So, he did think of you, then?

“Couldn’t sleep,” you reply neutrally, fixing your eyes dead ahead as he begins to slip out of his trousers and shirt too, until he’s dressed in only his tight black boxers. Next, he takes off his watch and sets it at the bedside, and you notice that he smells of perfume. A cloying, floral scent that makes you feel a little sick.

“Just gonna have a quick shower and then I’ll slip in with you, okay?” he says, his voice slow and deep and muted, matching the soft light.

You still don’t look at him. You can’t.

“Do what you want. You usually do,” you bite, the words tasting bitter as soon as they have left your lips, and tears of regret pooling as your anger dissolves.

You don’t blame him if he was with someone – you really don’t. You’re simply angry at yourself; because you wish you could be that person, and you can’t for the life of you seem to find a way.

“Okay. What was that for?” he bristles, reacting defensively, turning towards you. And perhaps it’s because it’s late and he’s tired, or because certain demons feel safer coming out under the cover of darkness, but he doesn’t stop there. Especially when all he gets from you is a stony, pointed silence. “You know what? Actually, no. You don’t get to do this”, he hisses, and it is the first time you’ve ever heard him direct any genuine anger at you.

It doesn’t half sting.

“Do what?” you ask, but you already know the answer.

“You don’t get to be mad when I give my attention to someone who actually wants it,” his voice is hushed, but his words rattle through you as if he had yelled them. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Guess what, I’m not yours.”

“That’s not fair”, you snap back, and then things are quickly escalating.

“Isn’t it?” he asks, rasping a hand over his stubble in distress. “I mean, come on. Shit. You know that I want more but I…” he exhales a disgruntled laugh. “You shoot me down, which is your prerogative, honestly, but you can’t have it both ways. You can’t knock me back all the time and then be pissed off when I look elsewhere.”

You meet his face, the planes of it shadowed and angled harshly with anger, suddenly so unfamiliar to you, and it causes your eyes to bloom with tears. You two look the opposite of Frankie and Mila; of a picture-perfect couple. But you’re not even a couple at all, are you?

You see him try. To blunt the emotion which is bubbling up. To soften. But he has uncorked something he now can’t put back in. “Fuck, I just wish that….” he pinches his lips together and shakes his head, planting his hands on his hips and looking at the floor. “If you don’t want me, just put me out of my fucking misery. Just say it. Just fucking tell me.”

Your heart shatters into a thousand pieces at the thought you make him miserable. At the way his voice breaks. At the way he thinks you don’t want him. Maybe you were wrong, thinking that you could be friends at all. Thinking that could be enough for him.

Your lower lip trembles, and your fingers clutch the edge of the blanket. “I… I can’t tell you that. I can’t tell you that I don’t want you, Santi.”

You can’t because it isn’t true. It could not be further from the truth, in fact.

He puffs out air, an exasperated sound, his hand raising up to tangle in his grizzled curls. Raising his voice a little more. “Let me guess. You can’t tell me the other thing either?”

“I.. I..” You try, but no words will come. You simply shake your head, swallowing a sob, your eyes almost brimming over.

He nods. He nods, his mouth slanted down. “Great. Got it,” he huffs.

You hate this. You hate how much you’re hurting him.

“Santi,” you breathe weakly, but it is too weak to blunt the force of his emotion. To halt his trajectory, and so, resigned, he turns towards the bathroom, grabbing-up a fresh white towel from the counter. Before he closes the door, he turns to you once more, now speaking softly, his eyes as sad as yours. “You know,” he says, his index finger sawing back-and-forth over the stubble at his chin. “For the record, I wasn’t with anyone else. I can’t even fucking think about anyone else but you. I was late back to the room because I couldn’t face it.” His voice becomes small and pained. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to just curl up next to you and act like I don’t care.” His eyebrow ticks up, and he adds, with a final flourish. “Guess I should have taken a lesson from you.”

Oh, how it stings, pain flowering in your chest like a bruise, but you hold yourself together until he’s out of sight. Then, when he’s gone, you immediately cave in on yourself, falling on to your side and screwing your eyes shut, clamping your hand over your mouth so that he can’t hear you crying as wet tears spill onto your pillow.

When he comes back into the room, after a long shower, you simply screw your eyes shut and pretend to be asleep. You hear him sigh heavily, and mumble something to himself under his breath, before dragging a few pillows and a spare blanket down on to the floor.

A few more silent tears roll over the bridge of your nose.

You guess you wouldn’t be sharing a bed with him after all.

***********************

You wake panicked in the night, sitting bolt upright in the bed. A cold wash of sweat over your skin chills you, even though you feel like you’re burning-up.

Immediately, you reach for him, for Santi, calling his name even as your fear strangles the sound in your throat. Your heart is thudding, and your breaths are sawing in and out of you, but your grasping hands find nothing to your side but pillows and blanket.

Unfortunately, you are used to this occurrence, and you quickly realise it was “only” a nightmare. Still, the feelings and images it conjured linger in your body, and around you in the shifting, seemingly fluid shadows of the room.

With a release of tension, you whimper, leaning forward and cradling your head in your trembling hands, and you try to ground yourself. To steady your breath and your heartbeat, like you’ve practiced. As you do so, the shadows to your left shift and change, and, even in the pitch-black you can feel him, a safe and warm presence, instantly travelling to your side, his weight dipping the mattress. His soothing, sandy voice filtering through the shadows and cutting back the tendrils of your nightmare like a Disney prince hacking through cursed vines.

You vaguely remember that he’s mad at you - but you can’t help it. Can’t help asking. “Hold me?” you plead, desperately afraid that he won’t.

Still, without questions or hesitation, you feel the wall of remaining pillows coming down, the defences around you quite literally being dismantled – a figurative wall between you shifting away along with it. He shushes you, and you focus on his voice, until he is close enough that the scent of him wraps around you, before his arms follow closely after.

You reach for him in return. You reach for him in every way possible.

“It’s just a nightmare,” he soothes. “I’m here, baby. I’ve got you,” and there is pain in his voice on your behalf, as if he tries to bear the burden of it for you.

“Closer,” you plead, and before you know it, he is shifting you on to your side, slotting his sturdy yet soft body around you, not caring that you feel clammy and hot against his bare skin. He simply loops his arms and draws your back, closer to his chest, becoming your big spoon.  

He calms you, hands enveloping yours and bundling them against your chest, his nose nuzzling into your hair, and his deep steady breaths slowing your breathing as you let his calm and his rhythms overcome you. He holds you, until the feelings pass, not caring how long it takes – and with any anger from before apparently forgotten.

This pain is all too familiar to him, you know. It something that Santi understands. It is your own and it is not the same as his, true, but you know it is familiar enough that he will feel the ache of it echoing in his own chest. You know that he is accustomed enough to bearing his own pain, that when yours is too heavy to carry, he will help you hold it for a while. And so, he holds you, while you are a tender thing, bruised and afraid, and he keeps you safe; with all your walls down, all of your defences collapsed, he becomes your fortress.

You never thought that letting yourself be so vulnerable could allow you to feel quite as safe as this.

As you lie together, Santi continues to usher soft reassurances into your ear, his words like charms and incantations to ward off the ghosts which haunt you. And, after a series of slow, stretched moments, you become more settled, and Santi feels you relax against him.

After a few moments more, he eventually whispers a small question into your hair. In the dark, the question feels safe to come out, perhaps.

“Do you always call for me when you…?” he trails off, thinking better of it. “I’m sorry- forget it, you don’t have to answer that.”

You don’t. You know you don’t. You don’t even truthfully know the answer. It’s likely that you do call for him, though how would you know, when you’re usually alone? But, there is something else you can tell him, while it is safe to come out in the dark. Something you want to tell him, before you build your walls all the way back up.

“Santi,” you begin, timidly, and his fingers skim softly up and down your arms, encouraging you to go on. “I-I’ve been hurt before. And, I want to be with you. I want to let you in but… I’m. I’m not ready. I’m trying so hard but I… I can’t.”

There is a long beat, and you realise he has held in a breath only when he releases it all at once, fanning hot across the back of your neck.

You are afraid. Afraid of what he might say, in response – what he might feel, but you think, maybe, it might be something like relief? And, Santi squeezes you, just a little tighter. A little closer. “Don’t worry about that now, okay?” he soothes, his voice feather soft. “Just… know one thing, okay, Princesa? Whenever you are ready? I’m waiting.”

This time your heart fills with a different emotion, all the spaces in it flooded with contentment, Santi’s words followed by a perfect, happy silence.

A soft smile blooms on your face.

It was not a confession of waiting impatiently, you understand, but an invitation to take your time to arrive at him. He’s not trying to bring down your defences at all, is he? He’s waiting for you to open the door, and invite him in. He’s waiting until you are ready. He simply needed to know that you are on your way, even if your footsteps are getting you there slowly.

For now, though, the thought of it is too much. More than you’re ready for.

So, you simply let him hold you.

To disarm you further.

To walk yourself a little closer toward where you want to be. With him; by his side.

****************************************

In the morning, you wake up tangled around each other, Santi’s arm wrapped securely around your back and your head settled on his chest. He is still snoring lightly – cutely - when you awake, and so, as the night prior comes flooding back to you, you hastily try to extricate yourself from him; even if his bare skin feels so good against yours that you never want to move. You’re apparently not so subtle- or he’s a helluva light-sleeper – as, just when you pull away, Santi wakes up, quickly rushing to prove his innocence.

“You had a nightmare,” he croaks, still trying to peel his eyes open. “You asked me to- “.

“-I know. I remember,” you reassure, sitting up in bed, the blankets tugged to your chest. Santi shuffles, opting to assume the same position on his own side, mirroring you, rubbing his eyes.

You’re still not sure whether to apologise to him or thank him. Or maybe even to wait for an apology from him? Christ. Maybe all of those things or none of them, who even knows? You mentally spin a wheel and land on a casual “Uh. Thank you, for…. You know.”

“Anytime,” he says, turning his head to the side and looking at you earnestly. As if your bickering -your jealousy and his outburst- is all but forgotten. What’s more, you know that he means it.

Admiringly, your eyes wander over him, enjoying a side of him you’ve never quite seen before. Apparently, he’s even more handsome in the morning, with an even thicker, darkened brush of stubble, his grizzled curls dishevelled, and his swooping eyelids still heavy from sleep. Combined, it gives him a sultry, bedroom look. Feeling an involuntary rush of heat in the pit of you, your gaze drops to his corded neck, where, given the special occasion, he has substituted his dog tags for a silver chain, drawing your gaze down over his smooth, brown chest.

Your skin now cooling in the conditioned air of the room, you long for his body heat again, recalling how it felt to be held by him and wishing you had lingered a little longer while you could. Even with your interrupted sleep last night, you have somehow woken feeling refreshed, as though you had slept unreasonably deeply in his arms, reaching a whole new level of contentment - as though you just fit together, perhaps. As though it comes naturally for you to be held by him, and for him to hold you.

There is a silence and it isn’t awkward exactly; more… pregnant, with possibilities. Possibilities you see brewing with a gentle heat in his eyes. So, tearing yourself abruptly away from that line of thought, you lift your phone up from the nightstand, and note that there isn’t long before your alarms sound anyway.

Operation Wedding Day is go.

That should be enough of a distraction for you, shouldn’t it?

“You ready for this, Best Man?” you ask him, with a gentle quirk of your lips.

“Sure. Are you ready, Maid of Honour?”

Ready. Are you ready?

Thoughts of last night swirl in your head.

Well – as Santi flashes you a tentative, disarming smile, with hooded eyes, you certainly feel like you’re getting there. Like soon you could be ready.

“Sure. Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Atta girl,” he encourages, folding his arms behind his head as you jump out of bed.

You suddenly don’t care that you’re in nothing but your underwear, as you stretch out your body and track towards the bathroom. “I’ll shower first?”

“We’re sharing a bed,” he teases. “Sure you don’t want to share a shower too?”

You scoff, flashing a mischievous smile right back at him. You’ve always had a soft spot for his flirting, but you feel like -after all that transpired last night- you truly see if for what it is now. You realise why it has never felt like he’s pressuring you - not once. He’s simply reminding you, that as soon as you call for him, he’ll be there. That he’s waiting, when you’re ready.

Reminding you, that as soon as your walls drop, he’ll be your fortress.

“I don’t think you’re gonna get quite that lucky this morning, Garcia.”

You do linger in the doorway, just a little longer than necessary though, so that he can get a better look at you. He’d never look without permission – he proved that yesterday, when you were in various states of disarray- but this time, sensing your invitation, his eyes graze over you slowly, keenly. So, when he strategically moves his hands from behind his head to hide the tenting covers, you don’t mind at all.

You smile devilishly as you slip into the bathroom, closing the door behind you. You’re not sure if he will… take care of himself out in the room – how could you know? But, feeling inspired, you certainly do so in the shower, and it’s a pretty great wake-up call before you face the wedding day.

Maybe sharing a room isn’t so bad. Maybe you could even get used to it.

*********************************************

Frankie and Mila get hitched without a hitch.

Santi goes to the ends of the earth to make sure that Frankie has the best day possible- and at some points, he goes even further than that. His speech was moving and flawless, and pretty fucking funny; even if you are a little (or a lot) biased. Not a dry eye in the house, just as you predicted.

The man adores Frankie with his whole heart, and you could barely hold back the glow of admiration as you listened to him, feeling like it might burst from your chest like a beam of gold sunlight. You felt it especially strongly every time his eyes met yours during the course of the speech, and you couldn’t help but smile yourself stupid each time he did so. And, of course, you were overjoyed to see your best friend have the day of her dreams, with the man of her dreams. If you do say so yourself, you think your speech was pretty killer too.

Suffice to say, you ate until your belly was full, loved until your heart hurt, laughed until your sides ached, and danced until your feet ached.

Tonight, unlike last night, you and Santi retire to your shared room at the same time, your arm linked into his, and your shoes carried in your hand to spare your sore feet – there’s a reason you never normally wear shoes like this. Without your heels though, you keep tripping over the hem of your dress almost every few paces, causing you to giggle and Santi to steady you with a warm, rich chuckle, sometimes throwing you an extra hand to assist you.  

You look over at him, furtively, as he recounts some of the more choice moments from the day, immensely enjoying the simple pleasure of hearing him talk and smile and laugh. Seeing him happy. Of course, enjoying how he looks too, you have to admit - even more handsome than he did yesterday (somehow) in midnight blue dress pants, and a white, crisp shirt, now tieless. He’s only grown sexier as the evening drew on too, now with a wide open-collar and rolled up sleeves to accommodate all of the dancing; or, at least, as much dancing as his knees could handle, until he’d simply opted to sit to the side and watch you boogie, his eyes apparently transfixed on you and only you - the advances of the other bridesmaids be damned.

There is something that hits different about the way he looked at you today. His admiration shining deeper than usual. Less like a casual lust, and more like something… serious. You’re not sure why you doubted it before, exactly. Why you have been so inordinately afraid that he might hurt you. You broadly figured him for a smash and dash type of man, which is fine, but you have every reason to believe that he wants more with you.

After all, Santi can be deeply and tenaciously loyal. He has dedicated himself to things deeply and unwaveringly several times over in his life. To his country, to his missions, to his morals, to his squad. And there’s something about the way he looked at you today, you think, that suggests he might dedicate himself to you with the same tenacity. Something far deeper than appreciating how you look in this bridesmaid dress (and oh boy do you look hot). It’s more like the way he looks at Frankie. A little different to that, obviously. But you’re realising he looks at you like he’d never let you down. Not even in the smallest of ways. Like he’d rather go to the ends of the earth -or beyond- than do that.

At least… you think so.

You are sure about one thing though. The way he looks at you? It’s thoroughly disarming.

And so, you arrive at your shared room, utterly wiped out from the day (and night), yet still somehow buzzing with an energy. A gentle suffusing heat under your skin as you watch Santi walk inside and kick off his shoes at the end of the bed, before turning back towards you.

You have entered a few paces behind him, after nearly tripping on your gown all over again by the door, but now, you are quite steady on your feet - aside from that slight, nervous tremble in your quaking legs as he looks at you like that. As Santi looks you up and down, eyes skimming over the contours of your dress and hence everywhere it hugs your figure. Evidently, he likes what he sees.

“Wow,” he breathes, his brown eyes shining as if he’s looking at you for the first time that day, even if his gaze has barely left you all night. “I know it’s the bride’s day, but you look fuckin’ smokin’, sweetie.”

“You think so?” you ask humbly, suddenly feeling unreasonably shy. Flustered even.

“Yeah. I think so,” he nods, positively certain. “Shit, you’re so beautiful.”

You look at him. You look at him in a way which suggests an answer in your eyes instead of a question. A clear intention in your body, instead of uncertainty. But he doesn’t push you. He doesn’t assume. He doesn’t make a move. Instead, his mouth tugs up into a lopsided smile, offering you a lazy flash of teeth, and he shoves his thumbs into his belt loops.

“Well, we’re officially off the clock now, so I’m calling it. Well done, Maid of Honour. Think we nailed it? Made a pretty damn good team?”

A smile lights your face. You did. You flowed. You fit. It was easy.

Fuck. It feels so easy. Why had you ever thought this would be hard?

You nibble on your lip, eyeing him with intention, and a hard swallow trails down his throat in response.

“Off the clock, hmm?” you say breathily. “No more titles or duties? Huh. That’s a real shame.”

“How so?” he asks, his eyes devouring you alive, but his body fixed resolutely in place. Transfixed to the spot.

“Because it’s traditional for the Best Man to get with one of the bridesmaids, isn’t it?”

A slow, disbelieving smile inches over his face, and he looks at his feet, a little bashful. “Gross tradition. Kinda sexist,” he says, and your gaze fixates on his full, curving lips. On his hands, poised and broad at his belt.

“So, you don’t want to make out then?” you ask in your most sultry voice, mere breath.

The man huffs out a quick, broken exhale. “Fuck me. You know I do, sweetie. But only if you’re ready.”

Ready. Are you ready?

“Santiago,” you say, with conviction, your eyes dancing between his. “I’m ready.”

Santi searches your face one last time, just to be certain. He’s sure, of course – has been for a long time, but he needs to know that you truly want this. That you want this now. So, he looks at you, and he finds nothing but permission. Even so, after so long, he still can’t quite believe it. He would go to the ends of the earth to keep you safe – or beyond – and, so dammit, he will ask you again.

“C-can I..” he begins, and his voice already sounds choked; hollowed out with need. “Fuck, Princesa, can I kiss you?”

Too long. Too long without moving. Without touching. Too long.

If you were suddenly ready, his kiss becomes even more suddenly overdue.

“You’d better,” you encourage, feeling like vapour. “Unless you want me to do it first.”

With permission granted, you expect him to be on you, with a surge. All at once. But Santi has been patiently waiting for you long enough. He can wait just a little longer, and, when he subtly tips his chin up, ever so slightly, and when he near growls “come here then, honey,” somehow, it is perfect. Somehow, it is a thousand times hotter that he makes you come to him.

You lift the hem of your dress, and you pad delicately towards him, feeling like you are wading through molten honey to get to him, the air thick and sweet.

“That’s it. Come here, baby,” he encourages, with a curl of his index finger beckoning you to him, his voice curling in the pit of you, making you feel weak in the best way possible. Making you feel spent before he’s even done so much as brush you with his hand or his lips.  

You close the remaining distance with your steps, the anticipation too much, and your legs feeling so weak from the reckless lust and the light, liquid softness in his eyes. By this point, you are begging for his arms to reach out and clasp you- to hold you up; make you secure and safe in him. You are begging for his lips to sink down on to yours. But he makes you wait, through a few more slow, stretched moments. Makes you inch your mouth closer and closer until your lips are almost skimming his. He makes you wait until you are moaning his name into the air before he has even touched you.

“Santi.”

And, if there’s one thing you know for sure, it’s that when you call for him, he is always there to take care of you.

You know he will take care of you.  

With that, his name a plea, he swoops his broad, large hand up until he is holding you, his fingers closing around your jaw and your throat, trailing down your neck. His touch is painfully gentle, but in a way that makes you want him to squeeze, a little harder. In a way that makes you push yourself ever so subtly into his hand. A way that draws a silken moan from deep in your chest, and Santi is moved to dip the pad of his thumb into your mouth, where it meets your wet and willing warmth. When your tongue skims him, humming as you taste his saltiness, that seems to be the final straw, a wrecked groan sounding from his throat, and finally he surges on to your lips, leading with his tongue, thrusting into your open mouth and drinking down every sound and moan he can draw from you, his stubble rough against you. You don’t care if he leaves you raw.

It’s tender, and it’s gentle, but Santi knows all about control, and you can tell he’s holding back. His hands are lethal, and he knows just how to kill you softly; but, you are certain, that if you want more of his power, he’ll give it to you. That he’ll take care of you however you like.

So, he kisses you more deeply, harder, and you go near limp against him until one of his arms wraps at the back of your head and one at the small of your back, making you feel a feeble thing, waning in his arms as his large hands support you. Except; you’re not feeble though. You’re not by a long shot, and you know exactly what you want.

“Santi,” you suspire, letting him walk you back against the wall, pressing his bulging arousal into you as more wrangled sounds and little grunts slip from his parted lips.

“Yeah, baby?” he asks, already sounding wrecked for you.

“There’s only one shower. Wanna share?!”

Even as he releases an endlessly eager, disbelieving breath, his eyes keenly search your face, checking you are ready. He watches, enraptured, as your lips curl into a deliciously sinful smile.

“You know. We don’t have to rush this,” he insists, even as he shivers with need, closing his eyes and biting his lip when you angle your hips to brush the tenting bulge at his crotch, ever so fleetingly, his hips bucking into you immediately in pursuit of more pressure.

“I know,” you say coolly, your body an undercurrent of frenzy, but your mind calm and sure. You push him back, with your palms to his chest, making room for you to about-turn into the bathroom, shimmying off your dress as you go and letting it waft to the floor like a sigh. Looking at him over your shoulder, with lust-blown eyes, you leave Santi stood there, entirely dumbfounded, as you reveal all of yourself to him.

You retreat, but once the water is running you call out to him, wondering where he has got to. “Take a hint, Garcia. If you’re ready? I’m waiting.”

And, he doesn’t waste another second before joining you.

THE END

(BONUS: Outfit inspo, if you wanna imagine him in the suits a lil better 😉)

[novoaa1writes]

candles

image source

pairing(s): dark!wanda maximoff x reader

summary:

you’ve been feeling strange for the past month, particularly when it comes to dating. 

you do your best to ignore it, thinking it’ll resolve itself on its own—given time, that is.

it doesn’t. 

(and it’s got everything to do with wanda.)

[also available on ao3]

word count: ~5,300

rating: mature

warnings: dark!wanda, NON-CON spanking (with a belt), NON-CON BDSM play, mental manipulation, partial mind control, emotional manipulation, mental coercion, trauma bonding, toxic dynamics, drinking, possessive!wanda, non-con mind-reading, vandalism, adultery (not in reference to you or wanda), brief instances of slut-shaming

notes: [requested by anon] reader’s sexuality isn’t explicitly stated, but ex-partners of different genders are referenced/mentioned

— —

wanda uses a couple bulgarian terms of endearment for reader here, so below is a lil’ list in the order of which they appear.

принцеса | printsesa | princess [feminine term of endearment] мила | mila | honey [feminine term of endearment] любима | lubima | sweetheart [feminine term of endearment]

*note: all of these are exactly one letter away from being precise matches to synonymous terms in russian. HOWEVER, the bulgarian alphabet and the russian alphabet are different—granted, in fairly minor ways. for one, while both are comprised of cyrillic lettering, russian has 33 while bulgarian only has 30.  

— —

You have no fucking clue what’d gotten into you. 

One moment, things were fine—good, even. And the next… well. 

You’ll explain. 

It was something like 11:30 on a Saturday night, and you were drunk. 

Well, not drunk. More like buzzed. 

But whatever, right? Considering the week you’d had, you deserved to let loose, even if only for a night. 

Monday night saw a very angry and decidedly unhinged soccer mom banging on your door, screeching vehemently about the ‘two-faced slut’ who ruined her marriage and demanding to be let in so that she could ‘make her sorry.’ Turns out, the older guy your roommate had been sleeping with as of late was married—not that he’d bothered to share that particular bit of information with her, obviously. 

The two of you spent the better part of the evening barricaded inside, passing a bottle of cheap wine back and forth while trying to explain to the 911 operator that you weren’t messing around, that there really was an angry soccer mom on your doorstep and you were actively fearing for your safety. 

She eventually left around 10:00pm—no thanks to the police, since the 911 operator hadn’t even bothered to give them a call. It wasn’t until the next morning when you left for work that you saw the woman’s parting gift to the pair of you: the word ‘HOMEWRECKER’ spray-painted across the front door in obnoxious red lettering. 

Bye-bye, security deposit. 

That same night, you made your roommate promise to start dating people in a similar age range—because really, the both of you were stressed enough as it was without worrying about coming in between yet another middle-aged couple’s dying marriage. 

The rest of the week wasn’t much better. 

On Thursday, your balding creep of a boss had made yet another blatant pass at you in the workplace, making you seriously consider (and not for the first time) the prospect of just quitting and being done with it. 

Then, at shit o’clock on a Friday morning, you awoke to an urgent phone call informing you that an ex of yours (one you were actually on semi-decent terms with) had gotten into a fairly serious car accident, and still had you marked down as her emergency contact. 

30 minutes later found you showing up at the hospital just moments after your ex’s current girlfriend had arrived, which then prompted the whole ‘you still being your ex’s emergency contact’ revelation when the current girlfriend demanded to know what you were doing there, which ended up being… well, you’ll just say it wasn’t pretty, and leave it at that. 

And your ex was going to be completely fine, anyways. She just had some minor cuts and abrasions, and would need to undergo a fairly minor (read: minimally invasive) surgery over the next couple days. 

Before leaving, you instigated a quick check-in with the doctors to ensure they had everything they needed—which then turned into you providing a list of allergies, as your ex wouldn’t likely be conscious for another couple of hours, and apparently the current girlfriend didn’t know of her sensitivities to penicillin and phenobarbital… which the current girlfriend was less than happy about, if the daggers she glared at you were any indication. 

Whatever. You were just trying to help. 

You thanked the doctors, told them to feel free to call you if anything went awry, then asked if they might tell your ex to call you when she awoke. You thought about offering some words of comfort to the current girlfriend as she sat vigil at your ex’s bedside, but the murderous glower she shot you the moment you got within ten feet of her was more than enough to make you think better of it. 

With that, you left. 

So… yeah. It’d been a shitty week. 

And now, here you were: a girls’ night out at the lively nightclub you and your roommate had scoped out just last weekend, tossing back $12 cocktails and letting the trashy EDM beat blaring over the speakers drown out the rest of your thoughts. 

You’d been feeling a little weird all week—all month, really. 

As far as you were concerned, this was exactly what the doctor had ordered.

 So, when a cute guy wearing black jeans and a white T-shirt that was at least a couple sizes too big yet did well to compliment his well-muscled torso came up to you and started chatting you up at the bar, you didn’t blow him off.

The exact opposite, in fact.

He was nice, and funny, and had a gorgeous smile that made your chest feel warm for reasons that had nothing to do with the alcohol. When he flirted with you, you flirted right back. 

You felt a little guilty for doing so, though you couldn’t exactly put a finger on why that was. Either way, you didn’t allow yourself to dwell on it for very long. 

After all, you’d been feeling hints of that for the past month, if not longer. It seemed to happen whenever you flirted with a cute guy, or went out on another Tinder date with a pretty girl, or even hugged one of your close friends. 

You’d get this painful tightening sensation in your gut, nausea roiling in your abdomen… a distant, lofty voice in your head telling you that this was wrong, that you already belonged to someone else. 

Which was pointless, really. Stupid. 

You were single. 

Your last serious relationship (barring the one with your now-hospitalized ex-girlfriend) had been over seven months ago with an eccentric guy named Lukas. He was kind, well-meaning… a bit of a dork at his very core, but you always found that more endearing than anything else. You’d dated him for four and a half months before deciding to break it off; because as much as you cared for him and enjoyed being around him, you didn’t love him, and you knew by then that you never would. 

You thought about him, from time to time—even missed him now and again.

And yet, the strangest thing about the shameful feeling you’d get whenever your roommate so much as brushed a friendly kiss up against your cheek—it had absolutely nothing to do with Lukas. 

You didn’t know how you knew that, but you did. 

Whatever.

This guy was not Lukas. 

His name was Des—short for Desmond, you learned over your fourth sugary-sweet cocktail of the night. He was charming and slightly foul-mouthed, but conscientious and passably polite where it mattered. He didn’t grope your ass or stare at your tits, nor did he make any lewd commentary about your body in any capacity. 

He also smelled… really good, like Old Spice and spearmint gum and the barest hint of cigarette smoke. 

That was more than enough for you. 

(Whatever, alright? Decent guys were in short supply these days.)

You smiled and let him buy you another drink, even after you’d insisted that he really, really didn’t have to. And when an obnoxious pop song with a beat that was far more catchy than you’d have liked to admit came over the speakers, you let him coax you out to the dance floor with minimal resistance. 

It was… fun. You liked the way his hands rested on either of your hips—gentle, almost careful; holding you like he understood he didn’t have a right to your body, like he was more than content that you allowed him this to even think of demanding any more.

Despite the twinges of guilt flaring in your gut, you let yourself get a little more comfortable… dancing closer and closer to him amidst a packed crowd of writhing bodies, letting your breasts graze up against his chest. 

It was teasing—provocative, even. A test, of sorts—one that Des passed with flying colors. 

He didn’t do a thing to rush you, just kept dancing across from you with his hands on your hips and his darkened gaze on yours—seeming fully content to let you set the pace for the moment. And God, but the way he was looking at you… patient but eager, like he wanted nothing more than to crush your body against his own and grind himself into you like an animal—and yet, still, he held himself back. 

You couldn’t help but find that attractive as hell. 

Looping your arms around his neck, you let your body to press flush against his as you swayed to the beat of the song, not shying away from the slight stiffness you could feel growing against your hip. 

That guilty, nauseous feeling in your gut pulled tighter. 

You ignored it, and, when he leaned a little closer to shout over the deafening music, “Would it be alright if I kissed you?”... well. 

You wasted absolutely no time in lunging up on the tips of your toes to capture his lips in a messy open-mouthed kiss, the strobe lights of the club fading into obscurity around you. His lips were warm and gentle against yours—tentative, at first, until you pressed a little harder and traced the seam of his lips with your tongue… and, yeah; that did the trick. 

A moment later, his lips parted to let out a quiet groan directly into your mouth as he began to reciprocate in earnest, setting every nerve ending on your body alight with electrifying want. 

And that’s when it happened. 

Seemingly out of nowhere, a twisted sort of clarity hit you square in the chest—slowly, and then all at once. 

The next bits were something of a blur. 

You tore yourself away from Des, turned to forcibly elbow your way through a floor of grinding bodies. You thought you heard him call out your name, and more than a couple people on the dancefloor turned to glare at you as you rudely brushed past them without care—but, whatever. 

You texted… someone, telling them you were headed back to the apartment, so they shouldn’t bother waiting up. The group chat, maybe? 

And now… Now. 

Before you can blink, the past crashes into the present, and you find yourself back outside in the pitch-black night. 

It’s dark… chilly. A brisk wind catches you the moment you stumble out onto the sidewalk, assaulting every inch of your exposed skin like scores of needles piercing your flesh. You whimper, shudder, and hug your arms around your body—trying to warm yourself back up like a scared little kid who forgot their jacket. 

For the first time that night, you regret the tiny black babydoll dress you’d chosen to wear for the evening—and that’s not even to mention the four-inch heels. 

It’s miserable, to be sure, but you can hardly focus on it for very long. 

No, you have to go somewhere. You feel sick, and cold, and wrong in a way you’re loath to even begin explaining to anyone else. 

And your head… you’re positively aching for something—someone to make this better.

You need… Wanda. 

Yes, Wanda is the person you’re looking for. She can make all of this better. 

You don’t know why, but you’re sure of it. You just need to find her. Hopefully she’s spending the night in her apartment on that super cozy sofa of hers, drinking hot chocolate and binge-watching something on Netflix like the two of you did a couple weeks back. 

A fond grin curves your lips at the recollection as you stumble off down the sidewalk, headed for the nearest subway station. 

Another wintry gust of wind hits you square in the chest, and you pinch your forearm hard, silently willing yourself to focus. 

The station should be less than a block down, if you’re remembering correctly. 

At the next street corner, you manage to brandish your pepper spray in one hand while you rummage around in your purse for your MetroCard with the other. 

It’s cold as hell, and you’re probably a little too drunk to be walking through the City streets alone right now, but you don’t much care. 

All you gotta do is find Wanda. That’s all. 

She’ll make everything better again. 

— —

Where everything else is confusing, there’s one part that seems to make sense—Wanda. 

You nearly pick a fight with the card reader at the subway entrance when it makes you swipe your card three times to let you through, and even the stairs leading down to the lower tracks are more of a challenge than they probably should be… and yet, somehow, the rest of it is blessedly simple. A no-brainer, really.  

You know which train you need to take… the blue one that arrives in four minutes. You know you need to stay on it for five stops before getting off. 

Once you’re up at ground level, you’ll have a short walk ahead of you—one that you know like the back of your hand despite only ever having been to Wanda’s a couple of times. 

You’ll enter Wanda’s apartment building, take the elevator right up to floor four, and boom! Home free. 

You do exactly that.

It takes a short time (thankfully) and there’s not an ounce of uncertainty within you all the while, like you’ve done this 100 times before.  

In seemingly no time at all, you’re there—standing on Wanda’s doorstep, knocking a couple times just beneath the burnished bronze ‘4A’ nailed into her door. 

Your head feels all light and dizzy; you’re still shuddering from the time you spent out in the cold; but—

“One sec!” Wanda’s muffled voice comes from inside, the mere sound of it washing over you like a soothing balm—promising relief. 

You’re safe now. 

You made it.  

— —

The moment the door swings open to reveal a bleary-eyed Wanda Maximoff dressed in tiny grey pajama shorts, an oversized Star Trek T-shirt, and nothing else, it’s like everything falls back into place. 

It’s like… like you can breathe again.

You’re still drunk, and shivering, and more than a bit confused; but now that Wanda’s awake and here and smirking like she knows exactly what’s happening even if you don’t, you feel… better, somehow. Not nearly so lost as you were before. 

“Y/N,” Wanda greets, stepping aside and offering out a hand to help you inside. You’re quick to take it. “I was not expecting you,” she drawls, though everything about her demeanor is saying the opposite as she shuts and locks the door behind you. 

You pay it little mind. “Yeah, I... ” you trail off, turning to face her even as an embarrassed flush warms your cheeks. All of a sudden, you can’t help but feel rather ridiculous for knocking on her door and barging in so late—especially without calling first. “I’m so sorry, I...  I don’t know why I’m here.”

Wanda just tilts her head, appraising you curiously even as the ghost of a knowing smile curves her lips. “Are you sure about that?”

The heat in your cheeks seems to intensify tenfold at that. “I… I need to tell you something,” you hear yourself say, and the moment it’s registered, you realize that it’s true. 

You feel… guilty, all of a sudden. Nauseous, too. Scared. 

You danced with that guy—Des. You flirted with him. You let him touch you… You kissed him. Why would you do that?

In the present moment, Wanda nods, like that makes perfect sense. Like all of this makes perfect sense. 

“Okay,” she acquiesces lightly, flares of crimson flitting through her measured gaze. “Is it something I’ll have to punish you for?”

‘Punish’ me? What—?

You feel Wanda’s presence in your head… inconspicuous tendrils sifting through your thoughts, worming their way through your scattered memories. 

No point in lying. 

“Y-Yes,” you hear yourself say. Much like earlier, it isn’t until the moment you’ve confirmed it aloud that you know it to be true. You danced with someone else. You flirted with him. You let him touch you… kiss you. “I… I’m so sorry, Wanda; I-I don’t know what I was thinking.”

You see the moment Wanda finds it—your memories of the nightclub. Meeting Des at the bar. Flirting with him… Kissing him. 

The look on her pretty features goes from bemused to disbelieving to absolutely murderous in zero seconds flat, and the realization hits like a freight train that you’re really in for it now. 

Fuck. 

“Go to the bedroom,” she snarls, her typically blue-green eyes burning with scarlet light. “Then take off that slutty dress. I want you on the bed, face down, naked. Do you understand?”

Your head is spinning; confusion rears its ugly head in your gut even as every ounce of your being screams at you to just obey—‘cause if you can just do that, the rest of it will start to make sense. (Maybe.) “O-Okay.”

— — 

You don’t know how you know the way to Wanda’s bedroom, but you do. 

You slip inside a room shrouded in darkness, and no matter how it strains your eyes to look around, you don’t dare turn on the light. 

It’s a modestly-sized bedroom with hardwood flooring, fairy lights along one wall, and an adjoining bathroom just opposite the entrance. There’s a tall, wooden dresser pressed up against the wall directly across from a large, king-sized bed. That’s pretty much all the detail you can manage to make out in the darkness.

Well, either way, you suppose it isn’t really your business. 

Wanda gave you specific instructions, and you intend to follow them. 

Not for the first time tonight, you’re quite happy about the babydoll dress you’re wearing—particularly for how easy it is to pull it up over your head and off, leaving you in panties and a strapless bra in a matter of moments. 

You fold the dress neatly in your hands, then leave it atop the dresser. Your panties and bra come next. In seconds, you’ve formed a small, tidy pile. 

As you step out of your heels and approach the neatly-made bed, you’re struck with the strangest sense of déjà vu… like you’ve done this before.

It lingers in the forefront of your mind as you crawl up onto the bed, biting back a groan at how easily the plush mattress gives way under your hands and knees. 

God, you’d kill to have a nice nap in this absolute cloud of a bed.

You shake the thought off, simultaneously willing the haze of intoxication fogging up your brain to abate.

You’re not here to nap. 

You settle face-down onto the bed, just like Wanda said. You’re careful not to rest your face on the pillows, though, since you have the distinct feeling that’s not something Wanda would want you doing without permission.

Instead, you fold your arms and rest your head atop your forearm, staring straight down into nothing. You scrunch up your features and let out a quiet huff as the black duvet tickles the tip of your nose. 

It smells like her—all of it does. Cinnamon, vanilla, and something indefinable; something that belongs to Wanda, and Wanda alone. 

You feel your body stiffen as a familiar set of footsteps draw near, approaching the room where you lie—naked and vulnerable atop Wanda’s bed.

The patter of Wanda’s gait becomes almost soundless as she enters, circling around the bed over towards the nightstand. You don’t dare to turn your head and watch as she pulls out one of the drawers, rummaging through it until she finds… well, whatever it is she’s looking for, you suppose. 

A moment later, there’s the telltale chk! of a match being struck, and a hiss as the phosphorous tip lights itself aflame. 

It’s quiet for a minute... then two. The only sounds you can hear are your breathing and the strike of a match every time Wanda lights another. 

Gradually, gentle flares of light grow in your periphery, bathing the room in a dim, yellow-y glow. She’s lighting candles—a lot of them. 

You’ve always loved candles. 

A couple minutes later, she’s finished, and she returns to tuck the matchbox safely back in the drawer. 

You lose track of her as she retreats once more, and your mounting curiosity is more than piqued when you hear her rummaging through the dresser near the foot of the bed; still, you don’t dare turn and look. 

Instead, you wait, fetid nausea churning low in your gut, pinpricks of apprehension dancing across every inch of exposed skin. Your heart thuds painfully against your ribcage as she takes something out from the dresser drawer, then shuts it with an audible thud!

You swallow the lump in your throat and urge yourself to focus on your breathing. 

In, out. 

In, out. 

In… out.

“I’m disappointed in you, Y/N,” Wanda’s voice comes from somewhere behind you, genuine hurt coloring her hushed tone. 

You have to fight the urge to shudder as a chill runs down your spine. “I… I’m sorry, Wanda,” you say meekly, pathetically, cheeks hot with shame. 

And the worst part? You’re not lying. 

You listen carefully for the sounds of her bare feet padding across the floor as she circles the bed once more, crouching down right beside you in the very corner of your periphery. 

“Look at me,” she orders, gentle yet firm. 

You do. 

The moment you meet her gaze, you can’t help the errant thought entering your mind that she looks so pretty like this—face bare of makeup; long brown hair piled into a messy bun atop her head; dainty features cast into darkened shadows by the low, yellow light of burning candles clustered together atop the nightstand. 

The muted light seems to soften her anger, her pain… allowing her to really look her age for the very first time since you’ve known her. 

“You think too loudly, Y/N.” Wanda’s words are dry, almost teasing as they jolt you back into reality. “Focus on me, please.”

You do. 

“You belong to me,” she asserts after a beat of silence, an uncharacteristically intent and almost solemn look splayed across her dimly-lit features. “I thought you understood that.”

The words confuse you even as they seem to resonate poignantly with some fundamental part of you… a part of you that categorically refuses to be ignored. 

“Wanda…” you trail off, bewilderment and contrition warring violently within your chest until it aches to draw breath. “I’m confused, Wanda,” you whimper out finally, overwhelmed tears burning in your eyes. “I-I-I don’t understand what’s happening—” 

Wanda cuts you off with a derisive snort. “Yes, clearly,” she agrees, her tone ripe with sardonic ire. “You’ve forgotten yourself. You’ve forgotten who owns you.”

You worry your lower lip between your teeth, desperately trying to make sense of it all. “Is that why…” You search Wanda’s eyes intently. “... I-I felt sick, an-and… guilty about dancing with Des.”

Something like anger flares in her gaze, hot and bitter, and you have to resist the urge to shrivel beneath it. “That boy had no right to touch what’s rightfully mine.”

“B-But then… why didn’t I remember?” you ask, utterly forlorn. “I-I felt it last weekend, too, but I… I didn’t—” 

“Last weekend?” Wanda repeats, features hardening.

Oh, shit. You feel your cheeks get hot again. “I… I shouldn’t have brought it up, Wan’, I’m sorry—”

“What happened last weekend?” she interjects, her tone cold and hard like a double-edged blade. “You can tell me yourself, or I can start looking.”

You shiver. “I… I went on a-a… a date with a girl that I met online,” you admit, tears welling in your eyes even as Wanda’s jaw visibly tightens. “I-It was just the one time! A-And nothing happened; we didn’t even k-kiss! I just… I didn’t… I didn’t know—”

“Yes. You’re right; you didn’t know.” Wanda stands abruptly, then, and it’s at that moment that you see the folded belt in her hands—thick, worn leather with a sterling silver buckle. 

An icy sense of dread blossoms in your chest, chilling you from the inside out. 

Is she going to—? 

“I was indulgent before… I let you get away with far too much. I will not make the same mistake again.”

With that, she turns to circle back around the bed, the belt buckle audibly jangling in her hands with every step. 

“I have to punish you, принцеса,” she continues, her voice scarcely more than a whisper as she comes to stand near the foot of the bed—and somehow, you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that there’s no convincing her otherwise. 

She’s going to punish you, and it’s going to hurt. Bad. 

All at once, panic seizes you. You squirm, writhing in an effort to get up and off the bed—

Only to be stopped by tendrils of lurid crimson curling around either wrist, forcing them together just over your head like magic—glowing crimson cuffs holding both arms fast to the headboard. On a whim, you test your legs—tensing and pulling, only to be met with iron-clad resistance encircling either ankle in a tight, unrelenting grip. 

Well, fuck.

“W-Wanda,” you plead, hardly paying any mind to the way your voice trembles. “Please, I—I don’t want—”

“I do not enjoy punishing you, мила,” she laments, almost sounding genuinely apologetic. It tugs at your heartstrings in a curious way—something you really don’t have time to examine right now. “But you did something bad. And when you do bad things, there are consequences. You understand that, don’t you?”

A tear trickles down your cheek, warm and wet as you steel yourself for the first hit. “Y-Yes.”

“Good girl,” Wanda lauds, and you can’t help the surge of warmth that washes over you at the simple praise—the pride that blooms in your chest at knowing you’ve finally done something right. “Now—try and relax, принцеса, okay?”

It’s all the warning you get before the first blow comes down upon your bare arse with a resounding Crack!

White-hot pain flares across your bottom, racing up your spine like wildfire and tearing a strangled whimper from your throat. 

Jesus fucking Christ, that hurt—

Crack!

Crack!

Holy fuck. 

The impact of the leather against your naked cheeks leaves strips of fire burning in its wake, expelling all the air from your lungs in a choked-out rush. 

“P-Please, no, Wan’,” you beg breathlessly, struggling in vain even as coils of vibrant scarlet hold you fast, “it hurts, please—”

Crack!

“This is for your own good, baby,” Wanda coos, sounding for all the world as though she truly believes every word of it. 

Crack! This one lands directly across your sit spot, ripping a shriek from your lips as molten agony rocks you to your core. 

“Wan’—Fuck, please, no—”

Crack!

“G—God, fuck, pleasestop, please—”

Crack!

“P—Please, hurtssobad, I’m—”

Crack!

Crack!

Crack!

Crack!

“FUCK !”

Tears stream down your cheeks, wetting the black duvet beneath your face. You’re absolutely beside yourself with torment, your bare ass aflame with a pain unlike any you’ve ever known. 

Crack!

Crack!

… And the hits just keep coming—raining down stripes of blistering heat across your sore, bruised buttocks; pummeling your throbbing, exposed rear until it feels as though the entire area has just become one puffy, pulsating bruise. 

Crack!

All the fight has completely gone out of you; now, your body completely slack—devoid of any resistance even as every hit seems to sear itself into your impossibly tender bottom like a third-degree burn… The pain is absolutely incredible, unlike any else you’ve ever known.

You’ll do anything—and you really do mean anything—to make it stop. 

“P-P-Please, stop it, Wanda, PLEASE—”

Crack! Another hit directly across your burning sit spot rips a watery sob from your throat, followed by—  

Crack!

Crack!

It’s all you can do to keep yourself from hyperventilating until you pass out. 

Crack!

Agony blackens the edge of your vision, fresh tears streaking down your cheeks as you await another strike… 

But it doesn’t come. 

Wh—?

“Have you learned your lesson, мила?” Wanda asks, and this time, her voice comes from closer… like she’s right beside you. 

You don’t have it in you to be startled when a feather-light kiss lands itself between your shoulder blades, nor when one hand begins stroking up and down your heaving torso in soothing motions. 

“Y-Yes! I—please, God, yes,” you babble, overwhelmed by the sensation of unadulterated pain branding every inch of your battered arse. “I promise I’ll never, ever, ever do it again, Wan’—Won’t ever be with anyone else—jus-just please stop hurting me—I’ll be so good, please—”

“Shh,” Wanda shushes you tenderly. You feel yourself twitch as the mattress suddenly dips beside you. “It’s okay, любима,” she soothes, coming to rest beside you. “Just breathe, okay? Breathe.”

‘Breathe’...

Your pulse thunders in your ears; your ass is on fire with an anguish far beyond your years; and yet, there’s something undoubtedly soothing about her words as they wash over you in gentle waves… something that tells you you’re safe.  

Were you a little more lucid, you might’ve found that quite the nonsensical paradox—this feeling of safety and security with the woman who’d just beaten your arse raw without mercy no matter how you wailed and sobbed and begged for her to stop. 

But as it is, you’re not. 

Instead, you’re just broken and teary-eyed and in pain, and Wanda’s tenderness is a most welcome respite to alleviate that excruciating ache. 

You take a deep, shuddering breath, even if it burns your lungs something awful, and force yourself to let it out slowly. 

In, out. 

In, out.

In… out.

“That’s it, мила,” Wanda praises gently, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “You’re doing so well… Just like that.” Her fingers come to rest beneath your chin, urging you to turn and face her…

And you do, far too exhausted to even think of doing anything other than what she tells you to. Your lungs burn; your nose runs; and the pain in your bottom hasn’t abated any—if anything, it’s intensified.

You’re more than happy to be given something else to focus on.  

When you look at her, her blue-green eyes are wet—glossy with tears.

“Wanda?” you manage weakly, feeling your brow crease with worry. “You ‘kay?”

Wanda sniffles, huffs out a watery-sounding laugh. “Yes, Y/N, I’m alright,” she whispers, then leans forth to plant a gentle kiss upon the tip of your nose. “I’m just so very, very proud of you.”

Despite yourself, you feel a pleased flush spread throughout your body at that. “Really?” you mumble, exhaustion drooping your eyelids until it’s a challenge just to keep them open. 

Wanda nods, a tear sliding out of her eye that you yearn to reach forth and catch with your thumb—but alas, you’re far too weak. “Really.” 

You hum, burrowing your face further into the duvet beneath your cheek—even if it is still damp with your tears. “‘M sorry I was bad, Wan’,” you murmur, feeling darkness near on every side. “Didn’t mean’ta make you upset.”

“I don’t like punishing you, принцеса,” she says once more, and this time, you have no reason to doubt that she means it. Honestly, you don’t know how you ever could. “It hurts me just as much as it hurts you.”

You hum again. Your eyelids feel too heavy to open. “‘M sorry,” you say. “Gonna do better… make you proud… I promise.”

Wanda chuckles. The sound of it makes your chest feel loose and warm and happy. “You already do, darling girl,” she murmurs. You don’t know if it’s because she’s whispering, or you’re fading into sleep, but you can barely hear her when she repeats it once more: “You already do.”

Sleep descends upon you, then, and you succumb to it willingly, feeling safer and more at peace than you have in a very long time. 

— —

tagging:

[marvel]: @normanijauregui​

— —

end notes: yeah i don’t know what this is either. i was only aiming for maybe 1,000 words or something, but things happened and...

look. i haven’t been to therapy in a hot minute, ok?

link to masterlist

[nugnthopkns]

if everything could ever feel this real forever

word count: 4.3k

warnings: explicit!fem reader, cursing, alcohol consumption, allusion to sexual content (nothing explicit but minors please be aware!)

recommended listening: everlong | foo fighters

a/n: broke down and wrote for ratty matty. alternalty titled four times matthew thinks you’re the one and one time he knows (4+1′s are fun to write, pls don’t fight me). also pls ignore the fact i don’t know how airports work, i’ve only ever flown domestically lmao

Matthew feels different when you’re around. 

You don’t turn him into a completely different person. He’s still himself – an absolute pest at times – but more genuine. With you he can feel everything deeply, say whatever’s on his mind without the fear of being judged. It’s the best kind of different, and he wouldn’t change it for the world. His teammates constantly ask him when he’s going to lock you down; put a ring on your finger and change your last name, but he needs to be sure before he makes such a big commitment. 

one

It’s the beginning of July, and you’re sweating buckets in the back of an Uber. The driver has the air cranked, but nothing seems to alleviate the heat. You know it will be worse in St. Louis so you do your best not to complain, but it’s hard. Taking two weeks off to visit your boyfriend in his hometown sounded like a great idea, but reading the weather forecast has you re-evaluating the trip. 

Your phone lights up in your lap, and you eagerly unlock it. It’s a text from Matthew. Have a safe flight. Text me when you land. Tayrn will be there to pick you up – Brady and I’s on-ice got extended. I’ll see you when I get home. Love you. 

Though you wish he could be the first person you see when you touch down, you understand that his job comes first. Besides, your re-unification will be more private this way. I get to see the best Tkachuk first, fuck yeah you reply, before following it up with Love you too Matty. See you soon. 

Soon after sending the text you arrive at the entrance of Calgary International Airport. With a polite thank you to your driver, you grab your suitcase and head inside. The working air conditioning answers your silent prayers and you feel your body slowly return to a normal temperature. Check in is fast, and before you know it you’re breezing through security. A slightly nervous traveller, you’re at the gate earlier than you need to be. The plane doesn’t take off for another two hours. You don’t mind the wait, listening to a couple of podcast episodes and grabbing a snack at the lounge before boarding. 

The five hour flight passes in the blink of an eye. St. Louis is busier than Calgary, and it takes you longer than you thought it would to get through customs. Once passed immigration and at the baggage carousel you let Matthew know you’re safely inside the city limits. You grab your obnoxious suitcase – a bright red thing with a giant Flames logo that Matthew thought would be funny to give you – and set out to find Tayrn. She’s easy to spot, waving a giant poster with your name on it. Abandoning nearly all airport etiquette, you rush through the crowd to see her. Over the years she’s become a little sister and close friend, and you really wish you could see her more frequently. 

“Y/N!” Taryn squeals as you wrap your arms around her. The pair of you embrace for another moment or two before making your way to her car. Neither of you can stop talking, so excited to be in each other’s presence.

“It’s so nice to be back,” you sigh. “I really do like St. Louis.” 

Tayrn giggles. “You’re just excited to see Matthew.” 

Though she isn’t wrong, you swat her bicep in faux annoyance. “What? Can a girl not enjoy a nice Midwestern city?” You push your sunglasses up onto the bridge of your nose before continuing. “Besides, I only came here to see you. I see enough of Matt at home.”

She rolls her eyes but extends her arm so you can fist bump her. With a quick look to make sure the way is clear, Taryn exits the parking spot and heads in the direction of your temporary home. The open sunroof allows the wind to whip through your hair and you struggle to tame it enough to put it in a ponytail. One Direction blasts from the stereo, and you join Taryn in screaming the lyrics until your lungs hurt. Being on vacation, even if it’s only to St. Louis, is so freeing. You don’t have to deal with work deadlines or friendship drama. All that matters is spending time with Matthew. 

When you pull into the Tkachuk’s driveway it’s empty. It’s Thursday afternoon; Chantal’s at work, Keith is golfing with friends, and the boys are at the rink. You take a few minutes to unpack, filling Matthew’s drawers with your clothes, before joining Taryn by the pool. St. Louis is just as hot as the city you left, and the travel has left you feeling below average. A quick swim is sure to be the perfect remedy. 

The water is the right kind of cool, and alleviates any stress you were possibly feeling. You’re properly in vacation mode now, lounging on pool floaties and gossiping with Taryn. An hour later when Matthew returns home you’re in basically the same position. Stepping out into the yard he sees you urging Taryn to turn around so you can place sunscreen onto the one spot she missed, laughing all the while at some ridiculous celebrity rumor she’s telling you. Seeing you get along so easy with his sister, and the rest of his family, makes his heart swell.

In the couple of months you’ve been separated, Matthew’s thought a lot about his future. Specifically about his future with you. When he closes his eyes he can see it clearly: the two of you married with children and a dog, living in a house in the mountains and loving life. It’s idyllic, and even though he knows you’d say yes if he asked you, Matthew still can’t bring himself to do it. There’s something in the back of his brain telling him to wait until he knows with absolute certainty that you’re it for him.

Not wanting to be separated from you for a minute more, he snaps out of his daze and scurries over. Wrapping his arms tightly around your waist and pressing a kiss to the base of neck, he relishes in how you mould to him immediately, not even questioning who it was. 

“Welcome back baby,” Matthew mumbles into your skin. 

With a chuckle you wriggle slightly in his grasp, allowing yourself to face him. You press a kiss to his lips and it feels like heaven. Absence does make the heart grow fonder, you suppose, because you could stand here kissing Matthew your the rest of your life and be happy. 

“Hi Matty,” you giggle against his lips, parting from him only to rest your forehead on his and twist a curl around your finger.

From somewhere inside the house you hear Brady yell,  “Jesus Christ, you two, get a room.”

Without taking his eyes off you, Matthew replies, “Fuck off Brady!”

two

The energy inside the Saddledome is electric. It’s the Flames’ first home game in nearly a week, doing an east coast road trip and sweeping every team they faced. Six games later the team is on a nine game winning streaking and are hoping to keep it going. You know how much it matters in this moment – the playoffs are fast approaching and all points they can tally up are needed. 

You had decided months ago to buy rinkside tickets for this game, planning to surprise Matthew. He loves when you sit in the regular crowd, cheering and spilling your beer like any old fan. It’s humbling for the both of you, and honestly you enjoy it. Though you love those in the Better Halves box, you were a hockey fan before dating Matthew and sometimes like to enjoy games by yourself. Plus, your friend was supposed to be in town and join you at the game, and you figured she’d like to experience how insane the area is firsthand.

So you do your best to quickly shimmy around those blocking your seat, beverage in hand. It was all you could do to get to the rink on time, sitting in the dense downtown traffic for nearly three quarters of an hour after rushing out of work. You wanted to make it before warmups started to make sure Matt knows you’re there supporting him. No one really bats an eye at you, which you’re thankful for. In no way are you notorious, but it wouldn’t take a die-hard fan long to recognize you. Sitting down and letting a soft sigh escape your lips, you carefully place your jacket over the seat beside you. At the last minute your friend had to cancel her trip to Calgary, leaving you solo. With a quick look at the clock you see that warm up will start in just under a minute. The players begin to step onto the ice as you sip your beer. Matthew is yet to notice you but you don’t take offence. He’s in the zone and most likely won’t realize you’re sitting right in front of him until halfway through the third period.

“Look daddy, it’s Matthew Tkachuk!” you hear a young boy shriek in excitement. “He’s so fast, I want to play just like him.”

You turn to look and see two rows above you there’s a father and son, who looks around eight. He’s wearing a jersey identical to yours, and from the sounds of his excited chattering it’s his first game. Seeing the young boy so happy to be here, to see your boyfriend, has your heart swelling. You want to make this a game he’ll never forget.

“Hi,” you smile at the father. “I don’t mean to intrude, but I know Matthew quite well. Would you like me to get his attention so your son could meet him?”

A shocked expression makes its way onto the dad’s face, but he doesn’t react negatively. “You’d do that?” he asks. “Riley loves Matthew. Wants to be just like him.” When you nod, he lets you approach the boy. 

“Hey there Riley, I’m Y/N,” you say, smiling and extending a hand to him. “I’m a special friend of Matthew’s. Would you like to meet him?”

The boy looks at his father tentatively, and only once he nods encouragingly does Riley respond to your question. “Yes please.”

“Why don’t you come down here with me and we’ll get his attention?”

With a little help from you, Riley climbs over the seats and plops unceremoniously beside you. You help him straighten out his jersey before beginning a conversation. He tells you he plays in a local youth league and wants to make it to the NHL one day. When prompted, you explain to him that you work a boring office job that you love even though it makes you angry sometimes. It’s all very formal, but after cracking a few jokes you get him to loosen up.

Matthew, still not having noticed you, begins to skate along the boards in your direction. “Watch this,” you whisper-yell to your newfound friend, “I bet he’ll jump super high.”

As soon as Matthew passes your spot you bang on the glass and scream his name. Sure enough, his skates lift a good three inches of the ice and he shrieks. Teammates around him laugh and the look on his face is priceless when he discovers you’re the culprit. 

“Babe!” 

You smile. “Matty, this is my new friend Riley. He wears number nineteen just like you!” A glance at the boy lets you know he’s starstruck, and your eyes lock with Matthew’s. 

He leans down and rests his hands on his knees, at eye level with the child. “Hi Riley,” he begins. “I’m Matt. I like your jersey.” 

After that, Riley’s a tap that won’t turn off. He details every bit of his day to Matt, and even though their voices are muffled a bit from the glass they get on like two peas in a pod. Matthew is great with children and doesn’t shy away from having legitimate conversations with them. He talks to them like they’re people, which is something you admire about him. The warmup time runs out, but before he heads back to the dressing room Matthew hoists his stick over the glass, giving it to Riley. The younger boy beams and waves goodbye. You blow Matthew a kiss, which he gladly returns, and turn your attention away from him as his figure retreats. 

“Is he your boyfriend?”The question makes you laugh.

“Is it that obvious?” you ask, to which Riley just shrugs. 

“He called you ‘babe’, and my mommy calls my dad that. That means you’re in love,” he says as though it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world. 

Matthew cannot pay attention in the locker room for the life of him. He’s trying really hard to listen to everyone’s hype speeches, but his mind keeps wandering back to the interaction you shared during warm up. You looked so happy watching him interact with the boy you found god knows where within the arena. It’s then he realizes he wants to watch you act like that for the rest of his life. He wants to see you bring excited children to meet him because you have the power to make their nights. His suspicion is confirmed when he steps onto the ice and looks in your direction, finding you and Riley pressed up against the glass cheering loudly.

three

The Giordano’s are hosting an end-of-season barbeque before everyone scatters into the wind, and you’re going to be late. No matter how much you reminded Matthew of what time you had to leave he still started getting ready as you were finishing up. This typically wouldn’t be a big deal, but he has recently started taking care of his curls, and the routine eats up a lot more time than he anticipates. 

“Matty, are you almost ready? There’s going to be no parking!”

His footsteps echo off the hardwood floor as he comes towards you. “That’s what you’re worrying about, baby? Parking?” Matthew laughs, pulling you into his side and kissing the crown of your head. 

“Yeah Matt, I am. You know I have parking anxiety.”

“I’ll drive then,” he says sweetly. “Besides, it’s been a while since I’ve driven us. Have some fun tonight.”

The short drive across town is full of laughter. Neither of you are great singers, but it doesn’t stop you from belting out lyrics at the top of your lungs. At some point Matthew breaks out a rather terrible impression of Axl Rose and you just have to post it to your instagram story. Captioning with a simple microphone emoji, you slip your phone back into your sweater pocket. Though most certainly warm enough to spend the entire evening outside, Calgary currently has a bit of a proclivity for wind, and you’d rather be prepared. Outside of Mark and Lauren’s house Matthew finds a spot and parallel parks with ease.

“Shut up,” you mumble, poking your tongue out at him. 

Matthew ruffles your hair in retaliation before jumping out of the vehicle, booking it around to the other side so he can open your door. He isn’t slick about hiding his intentions, grabbing a handful off your ass before leaning down to kiss you. Though you’d much rather stand in the cul-de-sac and make out with your boyfriend, you both have appearances to keep up. You get him to stop being a pest kong enough that you can enter the party and pass him off to his teammates. 

You congregate with some of the other girls in the corner of the yard, and enjoy a drink while the sun sets. It’s fun to gossip with them, to catch up one final time before most of them leave. You’ll be staying in Calgary, job tying you down for the foreseeable future. The only thing that’s better than spending time with your friends is glancing at Matthew from across the space. 

He’s enjoying himself, glass of water in hand. When he offered to be the designated driver he was serious, and he took the shit the boys were giving him in stride. Though you’ve only had one gin and tonic and can’t feel the effects of the alcohol, you’re glad he’s staying true to his word. The heightened water intake makes his skin glow, and you’re having a hard time staying focussed on the story Lauren is telling. He catches you staring and shoots you a dazzling smile. Tired of keeping your distance, you excuse yourself from the conversation and saunter over to your boyfriend. 

“Hey Y/N,” Noah says breezily, raising his glass to you in mock salute. You wrap your arms tightly around Matthew’s waist.

“Hanifin,” you smile. “I’m really sorry to do this, but I need to pull Matt away for a quick second.”

No one in the group is the least bit surprised. The two of you have a reputation for being young and in love, sneaking off often and doing everything that entails. Once the two of you are alone you rest a hand on his chest, dangerously close to the button of his shirt. You then move kissing along the underside of his jaw, pressing your body closer to his to ensure he gets the point. 

“Needy baby?” Matthew tries to smirk, but his voice wavers when you reach the junction of his jawbone and earlobe. 

Declining to speak, you continue your actions until he’s just as desperate to get home as you. Though you try to be sneaky as you exit through the back gate, you won’t be surprised if you wake up to a few crude text messages. You’re too far gone to care, solely focussed on showing your boyfriend how much you love him. 

The entire ride home Matthew can barely focus on the road. Not because you’re doing anything particularly risqué, a few too many close calls have put you both off of initiating things in the car, but because he doesn’t ever want to stop sneaking away from events with you. It’s exhilarating in more ways than one, and he hopes the feeling never goes away. Being with you, his best friend, is something he wouldn’t trade for the entire world. So what if he gets chirped by the boys for having precariously placed marks on his back.

four

September brings a chill to Calgary, but you couldn’t feel warmer. Matthew is due home this afternoon after nearly four months of being away. Of course you visited him in St. Louis, and he even flew back to the city once, but the two of you were mostly separated. Your shared apartment felt cold and lonely without him to annoy you, so you had spent as much time away from it as possible. No longer do you have to fall asleep with Matt’s side of the bed stone cold. 

Though you know he likely won’t care, you’re nervous about the new decor. In an effort to make yourself feel better in Matthew’s absence, you completed some home renovations. Most are superficial, like a new sectional and an ungraded home speaker system, but you had redone the entire kitchen after scrolling through pinterest. The cabinets are a bright yellow, and the walls are a warm cream. Subway tile has also replaced the previous backsplash. You’re quite proud of the way it looks – doing pretty much all of it yourself and only calling your dad when you really needed help. 

You spend much of the morning not doing anything productive, pacing the hallway back and forth. It’s nerve wracking and exciting to have Matthew home. Things will go much smoother with his presence even if he can sometimes be the most annoying person on the planet. You force yourself to eat a small meal before continuing to wear holes into your floor. He’ll arrive in a matter of minutes, and you’re practically vibrating with how much your legs are shaking. 

A key twists in the lock, as though it’s a Pavlovian response, you bound towards the front door. Not even letting him step over the threshold you wrap yourself around him as tightly as possible. Matthew giggles sweetly, and you swear it’s the best sound you’ve ever heard. Tears flow freely down your cheeks and soak through his shirt. In a very ungraceful waddle Matthew carries the both of you inside your home and shuts the door lightly. 

“What’s the matter, Y/N?” Matt asks, obviously concerned because this is more emotional than any homecoming you’ve ever had. 

Through hiccupping sobs, you stutter out, “I painted the kitchen cabinets yellow and you’re going to hate them. And then you’ll want to break up with me but I won’t be able to take them with me.”

“Woah woah woah, slow down baby,” he soothes, rubbing circles on your back. “Why am I going to hate it?”

When you can’t come up with a justifiable answer, he knows your anxiety just got the better of you. Repositioning you slightly so you’re tucked into his side, Matthew walks through the apartment to see the kitchen for himself. He’s blown away by its beauty, and he can see just how much work you put into it. The room is so much brighter and inviting – he can’t imagine having any other kitchen now. 

Once you ramble off an apology for being so dramatic that he won’t accept, the two of you settle into the couch and start a reality television marathon. It’s a tradition that both of you take very seriously, and though he’d never admit it to anyone but you, Matthew looks forward to watching the outlandish dramas. The night is quiet, with you getting through quite a few seasons of Desperate Housewives, and at some point you fall asleep on Matthew’s chest. He knows he should gently move you off of him, start to unpack his bags, but he can’t tear himself away.

He can’t help but stare as you snore softly. There’s nothing Matthew would like more than to spend the rest of his life relaxing after coming home to you. If he’s being completely honest, St. Louis doesn’t feel like home as much anymore, and he finds himself counting down the days until he can return to Calgary. Matt supposes you’re the defining factor, and even Antarctica would feel like home to him if you were there. He never wants to lose that feeling. 

+ one 

There’s ten seconds left on the clock. Ten seconds until the Calgary Flames will become Stanley Cup champions. You’re holding your breath – you know a lot could happen in such a short amount of time. The lead isn’t as wide as you’d like it to be, only one, and you squeeze Taryn’s hand tightly. Everyone in the friends and family box is just as amped up as you. If the choice had been yours, you’d be sitting in the stands of the Saddledome, but in event the Flames win you need to be with everyone else if you want to join the team on the ice. 

Matthew carries the puck up the ice, and you audibly gasp. At the last second, a Bruins defenseman is blocking his view of the net. Not letting the scoring opportunity go for his team, he snaps a pass backwards to Elias Lindholm. A nano-second later the puck is in the back of the net. You possibly scream the loudest of anyone in the box, jumping into Brady’s arms excitedly. 

“Holy shit, they’re going to do it,” you whisper, and Brady nods enthusiastically. The clock now only has two seconds, and there is virtually no way the Bruins can make a comeback. 

You untangle yourself from your boyfriend’s brother and approach his parents. “How exciting is this!” Chantal gushes. 

“So fucking exciting,” you say honestly. “Listen, I want to talk to you about something.”

The Bruins’ head coach is halfway through his timeout, so you have to talk fast. You explain that you want to hang back while the family celebrates with their son and brother. Keith and Chantal try to argue, but you insist. You want them to be the first people to greet him as a Stanley Cup champion. 

A horn signals the return to play, and you return your attention to the ice pad below you. Everything seems to move in slow motion; all you remember is the final whistle being blown and getting crushed in a group hug by everyone else in the room. Your voice goes hoarse from screaming, and tears stream freely down your face. 

The party continues for a short time in the box, but then you’re being led through the arena and out onto the ice. Nodding in the direction of Matthew, you urge the Tkachuks to greet him. You congratulate other members of the team, snapping candid pictures of everyone to share in the group chat later. So many families will treasure the photos that you can’t bring yourself to stop, trying your hardest to grab everyone. 

Once enough time has passed for Matthew to properly be congratulated by his family, you make your way towards him. Wasting no time, he skates over and lifts you off your feet. Your lips meet his in a passionate kiss, and if you weren’t so proud you’d have reservations about sticking your tongue down Matthew’s throat in a packed arena. 

“I’m so proud of you,” you whisper against his lips. “My champion.”

Matthew blushes profusely at your words, and you can tell he likes them. “Couldn’t have done it without you supporting me,” he responds, leaning into your touch as you rake your fingers through his hair. 

While you celebrate with the rest of the team, holding babies and snapping pictures, Matthew realizes he can’t live without you. No one else will fit into his life as perfectly as you. There’s no one he wants besides you. Matthew makes a mental note to go through your jewelry box in the morning to get your ring size. His mom always said he’d know when someone was ‘the one’, and now he understands what she meant.  

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

taglist: @jamiedrysdales​ @kiedhara​ @tortito​ @brokeninsidebutnobodyknows​ if you want to be added shoot me an ask :)

[seijorhi]

Acts of Devotion

👀 i um 👉 👈 i hope this is okay...

Akaashi Keiji x Female Reader

TW blood, gore, violence, murder, dub con, nsfw

Akaashi loves you.

He’s known that for a long time now, probably from the very first moment he laid eyes on you, back when you were both just wide eyed first year uni students, wildly out of your depths.

A lot’s changed since then. For one, he now gets to call you his, and it’s his arms that you return to at the end of a long day, his house that you both live in. It’d be a lie to say that it doesn’t bother him that he wasn’t your first love, but he’s contented himself with the knowledge that he’ll be your last. Your only great love.

The only one that matters.

But it hasn’t been without its challenges. He’s learned a lot about love since those early days, about what it means to truly devote yourself to somebody, to give everything you have for them.

Love essentially boils down to two things, Akaashi’s come to realise - sacrifice, and forgiveness. 

You always look so beautiful when you’re sleeping. Of course, Akaashi thinks you’re beautiful all the time; when you’re smiling and laughing, when your face is screwed up in petulant anger, when those pretty eyes of yours well with tears and they glimmer and shine - but there’s something about the peaceful expression, so soft and unguarded when you’re asleep that inexplicably draws him in. 

There’s a part of him that wants nothing more than to stay, to reach out and brush away the hair that’s fallen across your face, pull you closer and let sleep drag him under, but he can’t. 

Not tonight.

Instead he cranes his neck to press a kiss against your lips, a small smile tugging at his lips when you let out a quiet mewl in response. He loves you so, so much… that’s why he has to do this.

He’d forgive you anything. You know that, don’t you?

Sure, it hurt him when he found the messages. Scrolling back through your text history, it was like somebody had grabbed him by the throat and plunged a knife into his gut, twisting it for good measure.

Kaito i don’t know what to do

i love him but lately it feels like idk he’s being a little controlling i guess? 

… but maybe i’m just being paranoid?

He knows it’s not entirely your fault. For all the amazing qualities you possess, you are remarkably naive and so very, very impressionable - which worked to his favour in the beginning, he’ll be the first to admit, but now…

Now it’s becoming a problem.

You haven’t realised yet that everything Akaashi’s doing - it’s all for your own good. 

Your family wanted you under their thumb. They always asked too much of you, guilt tripped you whenever you tried to stand up for yourself or set boundaries. They’d never be happy for you, not truly. It hurts, he knows that, but some people don’t deserve to be in your life, especially when they treat you like that. 

Your job was causing you stress, and your boss was an arrogant, nasty piece of work. His salary is more than enough to support you both, why put yourself through that if you don’t need to? Aren’t you happier now that you don’t have to trudge into that office every day and pretend that it isn’t making you miserable?

Your friends were bad influences. Jealous of your relationship for one, but they were also petty, self absorbed and vapid, always trying to drag you down to their level so you wouldn’t ever outshine them. You’re better off without them, why can’t you see that?

Akaashi’s the only one you’ll ever need.

And he really thought that he’d solved that little problem, but apparently not. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised that out of all of them, Kaito’s the one who’s been the hardest to shake. An old friend of yours from high school, Akaashi had known within five minutes of meeting him that he was head over heels in love with you and had been for a long, long time. 

He can’t blame him for that. You’re beautiful. Perfect. Entirely his. It’s painfully obvious that even before he came into the picture to sweep you off your feet, you’d never so much as looked twice at the guy. So Akaashi was more or less content to let his somewhat pitiful one sided crush on you slide. Considering that he had absolutely no intentions of letting him or any of your other friends remain part of your life for much longer, it was hardly worth wasting energy thinking about.

Until, that is, he read the messages that Kaito’s been sending you.

Leave him

I’m serious. 

My sister had a friend who was with a guy like that. She had to get a restraining order because he wouldn’t let her go - it got scary… You can come stay with me. I don’t want you getting hurt :(

It’s that last one that bothers him. Not the attempts to lure you away from him under the guise of being a safe haven from your ‘dangerous’ boyfriend, painting himself as your knight in shining armour - mildly irritating if not a little amusing - but for putting the idea in your head that Akaashi would ever hurt you.

That he can’t forgive.

He won’t have you look at him with fear in your eyes. 

Akaashi’s never tried to deny that side of himself, but he’s kept it from you, locked it away and buried it deep. The things he does… you’re too pure for that. He loves you, loves the way that your eyes still soften when you catch sight of him, the warm, trusting naivety that bleeds out of your every pore. If you knew what the hands that caressed you so gently had done, would you still beg for his touch?

You wouldn’t, he knows that just as he knows that even if you were to uncover the truth, he wouldn’t let you go. He can’t, you’re his.

Is it really so selfish of him to want to preserve that innocent naivety? 

But it seems like now he’ll have to indulge once again, and Akaashi, really, truly can’t say that it bothers him. Killing other people has always thrilled him, made the blood in his veins race… Killing other people for you, oh, that’s going to be a whole other level of pleasure he can’t wait to explore. 

The pads of his fingers trace the curve of your jaw for just a moment. “Back soon,” he whispers, gracing your cheek with a feather light kiss.

You’ve never asked why the door to the basement locks from both sides, he doesn’t even think you realise that the walls are soundproofed. Tonight he’s grateful. You won’t wake up, he’s almost positive of that, but Akaashi has no desire to be gone from your side for any longer than absolutely necessary.

He usually prefers to take his time. 

His first kill was more of an accident than anything else, there was too much blood, he panicked and it was over in the blink of an eye. There wasn’t time to savour it, to really enjoy the sight of the light leaving their eyes, the weak, desperate struggles and whimpers, the tantalising fear that inevitably bleeds into the air, growing more potent by the second - even the strongest break eventually. He’s learned since then how to draw it out, how to have fun with his work.

But he doesn’t have that luxury tonight, and, as he keeps having to remind himself, this isn’t about his pleasure.

Guns are quick. Messy. Akaashi’s never really taken a liking to the crude, graceless weapon. He prefers his knives. 

Waving a gun in somebody’s face gives them the idea that they’re going to die, and there are only so many times that you can shoot somebody before they just… bleed out. It’s not nearly as satisfying a death. A knife, on the other hand, brings with it more opportunities. It isn’t death that his victim becomes worried about, at least not initially, but pain. And as his hand glides over his collection, Akaashi decides that Kaito is due for a little pain.

I love him, you’d texted. I love him. I love him. I love him.

That’s what he’s trying to protect. 

Long, pale fingers wrap around the handle of his chef’s knife, (eight inches, sharp - a familiar, comforting weight in his hand) and he takes a deep, steadying breath.

Kaito’s mouth is taped shut. Akaashi doesn’t want to hear a filthy word out of those lips. His hands are bound behind his back, his ankles tied to the old, wooden chair. He’s good with his knots, the more Kaito struggles, the tighter they pull. And judging from the ugly, purpling shade of his hands and the tears leaking from bloodshot eyes, he’s been struggling for a while.

Good.

Akaashi smiles as he strolls towards his captive audience, fingering the straight edge of the knife. Kaito doesn’t try to speak, but the muffled whines and sobs grow louder with every step closed between them. The fear and tension in the air is palpable. 

His breath is little more than a frantic wheezing by the time Akaashi stops in front of him and drops into a crouch. Cool, gunmetal blue eyes meet Kaito’s deep brown ones, blown wide with terror.

“I’m not the monster you think I am,” he admits quietly. 

Looking up at him from beneath long, dark lashes, a faint smile on his lips, Akaashi could almost pass for an angel if not for the gleaming kitchen knife in his hand. Kaito pales, his entire body going taut as his gaze slides from Akaashi’s face to the gleaming blade in his hand. He shakes his head in desperation, another muffled scream escaping his gag-

Akaashi strikes fast, like a viper. The blade plunges into the meat of Kaito’s thigh and without an ounce of mercy, Akaashi yanks it back towards his knee.

The scream that rips through the air sends a pleasurable shiver of warmth down his spine, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips as he feels the muscles beneath him convulse. The gash isn’t too long, maybe a few inches, but it’s deep and Akaashi’s smirk only grows as warm blood gushes from the wound, coating his hand in slick vermilion. 

He tugs the knife free, rewarded with another choked howl from his captive as more blood sprays. Bound to the chair, there’s not a whole lot of room for Kaito to move, but it’s somewhat amusing to watch him try to thrash, escape the white hot agony radiating from his thigh through his entire body. It’s hard for the human body to comprehend that level of pain, and from experience, Akaashi’s well aware that it won’t take long for his body to go into shock and simply shut down from the blood loss, and once that happens, he won’t be of much use to anyone. 

Kaito’s trembling, face pale, his skin clammy. Impossibly black pupils swallow his irises whole, erratically tracking his captor’s every movement as Akaashi pushes himself to his feet and takes a moment to study him. Tears and bubbles of snot leak in a disgusting mix down his jaw, dripping onto his lap as he sobs against his bindings. It’s pitiful, seeing a man reduced to a whimpering, terrified wreck, but as the hand still holding his knife grips at his chin and yanks his face closer, Akaashi can’t help but gleefully drink it all in. 

Your would be knight in shining armour doesn’t look quite so strong and capable now, does he?

Akaashi doesn’t have much time left to make him suffer, but he can’t seem to resist trailing his fingers along Kaito’s injured leg, digging them deep into the ruined muscle - grinning wildly when he convulses and screams, arching up off the chair. 

There’s still so much that he’d like to do. He toys with the idea of taking his tongue, of carving his knife deep into his skin just to watch him whimper and bleed… but no. This isn’t about indulgence. This is about you. He has to have more discipline than that.

Dangling on the edge of consciousness, Kaito meets his gaze one last time. Maybe he senses that his death is close, or maybe he’s just searching for a last minute reprieve, mercy from the cold blooded killer before him. Terrified, agonised, delirious from the blood loss, he tries to speak - a plea, he thinks, or maybe just incomprehensible babbling, but his eyes burn into Akaashi’s, desperate and hollow.

Akaashi’s never been one for theatrics. He won’t waste more time monologuing while your friend clings to the last vestiges of life. If Kaito hasn’t guessed by now the reasons he’s ended up here, at Akaashi’s mercy, he’s far less intelligent than he gave him credit for, but he supposes that he owes him something, at least. 

“I love her,” he says with a small shrug, as if it explains everything.

And maybe it does. 

It hardly matters though, as Akaashi decides to finally end it with a vicious slice across his throat. Blood sprays like a fountain, splattering across the room and drenching him, Kaito’s body slumps in his seat, the last flicker of life slowly snuffing out, and Akaashi revels in the pure, sweet euphoria that floods his system.

He’s never killed anybody while you were home with him before. Normally he’s methodical, quick to clean up whatever mess is left behind. Tonight though, Akaashi doesn’t have the patience for all that.

He should at least take a shower, rid himself of the blood that soaked him to the skin, but the call of your arms, the sweet, soft floral scent he longs to drown himself in beckoning is too hard to resist. He sheds his clothes, casting them aside haphazardly along with the bloody knife as he stalks down the hallway to the bedroom. His heart is still racing, excitement drumming through his veins as he crawls onto the bed and slides the covers off of you.

Dimly, he registers that this is a monumentally bad idea, but all he can think about is the vivid memory of the light leaving Kaito’s eyes and you. Tonight, he killed for you, and it was exhilarating.

He doesn’t think he could stop himself even if he wanted to, and why would he want to?

You’re perfect, beautiful - his. Nothing and nobody will ever be able to separate the two of you, he’ll kill anybody who tries. 

You stir a little as Akaashi’s lips graze along your skin, his fingers sliding the silk of your nightgown up over your hips.

“‘Kaashi?” you sleepily murmur, trying to blink heavy eyelids open.

He wonders if you can feel the way his bloodstained hands are trembling as they ease your supple thighs apart. “Shh, baby,” he presses a kiss against your leg as he manoeuvres himself between them, “It’s okay, go back to sleep.”

Let me take care of you. 

He needs this.

[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.”

[wield-the-mighty-pen]

Analyzing Marinette’s hairstyles

So, I’ve actually seen a bunch of different posts and takes of what Marinette’s hairstyles represent and symbolize especially in regard to the episode “Heart Hunter”, but I wanted to go through all the different styles of hair instead of solely focusing on the pigtails/hair down of that particular episode.

With that being said, in no particular order, here we go:

The Bun

This hairstyle is almost exclusively seen in the episode “Animaestro”. However if you’re paying close attention, you will see Marinette wearing this hairstyle, in the old class picture, featured in “Reflekta”. I find the fact that the show made this connection between these two (scenes? examples?) incredibly interesting and very telling. Putting the class picture aside for a moment, one must analyze Marinette’s behavior in the episode “Animaestro”. To be sure, it isn’t great. For the most part, Marinette acts foolishly and immaturely and her actions in this episode, indirectly lead to the akumatization. Marinette, in her jealous state, goes so far as to join up with Chloe (a person she despises), and attempt childish pranks on Kagami. In short, I think that the bun hairstyle symbolizes a sort of immaturity for Marinette. The fact that she wore this hairstyle when she was younger only goes to prove my point. Marinette is not a perfect character, but her actions in “Animaestro” are arguably some of her worst, and naturally when she has hit a low in her maturity level, she reverts back to a hairstyle of her youth.

The Braid

The braid can be easily shoved aside as not holding any symbolism, as just a way the design team chose to incorporate the tail in her costume. However, there were a number of ways the tail could have been incorporated into the Ladynoir costume, and as such the braid must be analyzed. Now, a braid can be considered an almost restricting thing, it carefully tucks back locks of hair and traps them better than an ordinary ponytail can. However, the Ladynoir braid almost has a ‘fun’ twist to it (pun not intended but appreciated). It is long (like really long), and we even see her flick it playfully over her shoulder. I think that the braid is supposed to represent that dualism between responsibility and fun that the job of superhero can have. I have heard a lot of people criticize “Reflekdoll” for its lack of parallels. In other words, Chat Noir learns something and better appreciates Ladybug, but the reverse isn’t true, and I would say that in many ways this is true, Ladybug is not privy to the lesson that Chat Noir is. However, I would argue that she did learn something. Ladybug learned that it’s okay for her to have fun and to joke around. Towards the beginning of the episode we see Ladybug chastising Chat Noir for his joking around, however by the end we see Ladybug embrace this approach and even make some jokes herself. The braid shows Marinette acceptance of balance, of the combination of enjoyment and responsibility within her life.

The Space Buns

This design as well can be attributed to the design team finding a way to show mouse ears, but I’m still going to try to analyze this. I have two different ways to possibly explain this hairstyle. The first being to draw parallels to the bun hairstyle as this is essentially the same thing but two instead of one. The correspondence between the two hairstyles could be seen through Marinette’s feigned naivety in front of Chat Noir. She “accidentally” reveals herself as Marinette and pretends to be less informed than she really is. The other way to translate this hairstyle is as a security blanket so to speak. I haven’t gotten into the metaphorical interpretation of Marinette’s pigtails yet, but I will briefly explain a part of it now (and go into depth a little later). The pigtails serve as a sense of security for Marinette, as a source of status quo. The space buns are that, but elevated. In the episode this hairstyle is featured, “Kwamibuster” (I don’t think I mentioned this before), Marinette is desperate to keep her identity a secret from Chat Noir and develops a convoluted plan (including Multi-mouse) to accomplish this. She wants the security of her identity and wants to use her comfort style at this moment. However, Marinette is trying to distance herself from Ladybug and as such she uses a slight variation of her pigtails in her alternate hero form.

The Ponytail

I’m gonna be honest and say that I can’t fully analyze this hairstyle as we have not yet seen the episode where this hairstyle makes its second appearance. So I’m just focusing here on the ponytail from “Optigami”. I might make another analysis on the ponytail after “Sentibubbler” comes out but it might make more sense to wait until after the whole season comes out, in case there are new examples of ponytails (or other hairstyles for that matter). I don’t want to say anything about Pegabug’s ponytail, because as I’m sure you know, Miraculous trailers can be very misleading. Anyways, after that ramble, I now focus on Ladybee’s ponytail. To be frank “Optigami” was a bit of a doozy. I watched that episode with a sense of dread that did not lighten by the end of the episode. This isn’t a bad thing, but it was intense for a typical episode of Miraculous, a show where my usual reaction is a mix of “oh this is cute” and cringe (to be fair I cringe easily). But what I like so much about season 4 is that we get more than that (I won’t go into this now because I’m straying from the topic too much). Ladybee comes at a time of great stress for Marinette, she gets stuck in an elevator with someone and is thus unable to transform (let alone the fact that that “someone” is Adrien), she is without the help of Chat Noir and most of the other heroes, and (unbeknownst to her for a majority of the episode) her friend has been replaced with a sentimonster. Yet, despite all of this, Marinette remains cool, calm, and collected. She, unlike Alya, does not fall apart and despair when Senti-Nino is revealed, she knows she has to get the job done. A ponytail gives an image of “getting the job done” of focus. Although the situation is dire and dangerous, Marinette displays her competence in crisis and the ponytail magnifies that trait. I have a feeling that the same will be true for Pegabug, but only time (and the episode coming out) will tell.

Hair Down

In the two episodes that we have seen Marinette wearing her hair down, they were both in connection with Adrien and her relationship with her. I want to separate the two examples because though they both wind up achieving similar goals in regard to their symbolism, they do it in different ways. Focusing first on “Chat Blanc” Marinette wears her hair down in part to distinguish to the audience the difference between the two timelines. Though the surface level explanation of her hair would be sufficient explanation, this choice of hairstyle also has a deeper interpretation. This being as a metaphor for Marinette’s vulnerability. She is allowing her feelings to be known to Adrien, she is allowing herself to be open and honest about her emotions and with that freedom she lets her hair free as well. It is also significant that she is free from her secret identity (albeit unknowingly) and as she allows Adrien to see the full spectrum of her personality, she frees her hair from its restraint. In “Heart Hunter” too, this hairstyle signifies vulnerability and freedom. In this episode we see Marinette having fun with Adrien and Kagami, without the worry of how she is being perceived by Adrien, without the stress about her feelings for him. It is of great significance that when she lets her guard down, when she “lets her hair down” (both literally and metaphorically), Adrien comments on her beauty. We already know, as viewers, that Adrien has fallen in love with Marinette’s personality as Ladybug. But as Marinette, Adrien has not been privy to her full personality. He has only been given glimpses, as in this episode, to the full extent of her persona. Marinette is seen later on in the episode to revert back to her old hairstyle once she is no longer comfortable, when she feels inadequate compared to Kagami. She puts back on her guise when she feels she needs the security. Which leads us to that source of security.

Pigtails

I feel a bit bad as I have simplified this hairstyle in earlier paragraphs to a symbol for security. While this definition is a correct one, this hairstyle has more than one explanation. As Marinette’s primary hairstyle, in both her every day and hero outfits, we see this hairstyle A LOT. Because of this, there is an array of interpretation as to what this hairstyle could mean. Starting with the aforementioned, this hairstyle works as a form of security for Marinette. The style required her to hold her hair back, to keep it in check, away from possible disasters and viewers (wind can tangle hair very easily). The pigtails are the antithesis of letting her hair down, a common symbol for freedom and relaxation. The pigtails therefore show that she is on her guard and is protecting herself. The pigtails also represent her quality of being a do-er. She likes to do things, she is an active person, she doesn’t stand aside or wait for things to happen, she works to make them happen. As a do-er she needs focus, she needs a restraint for her hair that could get in her line of sight, and the pigtails do that well. As Ladybug, the same is true. She is focused and determined to accomplish her goals, to succeed in her battles and she needs to tie her hair back to best accomplish this. There is importance in the fact that she chooses to focus herself with pigtails rather than the equally practical ponytail. This can be attributed to the child-like quality that pigtails have. Marinette, simply put, is still a child. Though as a whole she is particularly mature for her age, at times she can show a bit of immaturity. It is interesting to note that as the seasons progress, the more we see her with other hairstyles. As she matures she wears the pigtails less. The pigtails are also a girly hairstyle and show how Marinette is a girly-girl in a plain and easy way. Additionally, the pigtails give her the approachable, girl-next-door look. In simply looking at Marinette one gets the image of her sweetness and good nature. In visual media, it is important to make a connection between personality and visage. In cartoons especially, a character’s design should fit with how they interact with their world, and the pigtails are an immediate signifier as to Marinette’s character. This about sums up my analysis of her pigtails. I know that there are more ways to interpret them, and feel free to comment if you think of any other interpretations!

[tastyykpop]

𝑆𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑡 𝐶𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑢𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛-Final

Pairings: jaemin x reader

Genre: smut, fluff (mostly at the end but it's short 🤠)

<previous>

Warnings: dom!jaemin, brat!reader, brat taming, punishment, overstimulation, edging, face slapping (literally slaps her once), choking (wOw iM sO sHocKeD), hair grabbing, degradation, jaemins gets angrier throughout the story, fingering, finger sucking, praising, unprotected sex, soft sex, y/ns pretty dumb but I think we knew that by now, once again jaemin calls himself nana because shut up

Tag list: @ahgastayzen @allykookiez @wooyugta @dreamlesswonder86 @taetaeismy @nanaysa @patchi-chi @simplicitysbabe @sweetjaemss @huangvibez @kaitherring @xxjaemchenct

It was obvious how tense and awkward jaemin was the entire time you stayed at his house, which lasted longer than you thought. You stayed for two days, per jaemins request, and you thought what if he's finally angry and decides to break. No, it was the complete and utter opposite. Jaemin was sweet, something you've barely seen when he used to bully or make fun of you before all this happened. He made sure you were okay staying with him another night and took care of you when you weren't hungover.

Did anything special happen though? Nope, just you and jaemin cuddling every so often while binge watching Netflix shows while he sometimes cracked jokes here and there.

It was definitely a sight to see. Even made you wonder if this is what its like to date him.

"Nana," you spoke, jaemin lifting his head off your shoulders to give you his attention, "Get up, we need to go to school."

Jaemin groaned, putting his head down on your pillow like chest and began, "Can't we just skip school?" He whined, "Maybe play a bit too?" Jaemin lifted his chin up, placing it on top of your breasts as he pouted, waiting for you to give into his cuteness.

Wouldn't that be nice- but you weren't going to miss school to mess around with jaemin. No way. You weren't even his girlfriend yet and you were sure his little play thing, seulgi, wouldn't be too happy, shes been calling him since he brought you here.

"No." You grabbed him by his hair and peeled him off your body. Jaemin wasn't very amused by the action.

"Oh i get it." He mumbled, "You want to see jeno, right?"

The question caught you off guard. But jaemin being jealous wasn't unknown to you anymore. He was possessive, that much you knew, and he always found a way to guilt trip you about it.

"I mean, we have been talking a lot more so a lil bit." You smiled, earning an eye roll from jaemin as he got up with nothing else to say and stalked his closet for something to wear. You glanced at your clothes which were actually his. And since you never went back to your apartment to get another outfit, you had to wear what you wore at the party.

Eyes stared into your bare back after you threw off the shirt that covered your body. They lingered, but didn't settle on staying until you slipped the bralette on.

Jaemin was going to comment about it, yet kept his mouth shut because there was no use saying he could give you a t-shirt instead, youd just complain about how it didn't match.

But the skirt was a different story. It was a party skirt, something way too short for school. No wonder jeno liked it. And to be honest, jaemin didn't hate it himself, he'd just rather not have people like jeno staring at you and your thighs. You were his. At least in his head you were.

"Fuck!" You screamed, "My bags at home." Softening your voice, jaemin just about wanted to smack you for scaring the shit out of him. He actually thanked the heavens your bag wasn't here, it gave you a reason to change.

"Let's go to your place quickly before school starts." Jaemin grabbed his things and you nodded, following behind him almost speed walking because of how long his strides were. "And change when we get there too."

You looked down at your fit and hummed, stepping into the car ready for jaemin to go.

"I don't think I can handle trig anymore." You bit your lip at the paper in hand. Jaemin looked down over your shoulder and almost scoffed. It was the homework due today, of course it was also one of the hardest pages the professor had given the class too, making it ten times harder for you to finish.

"If you had come over these past few nights, you wouldn't be so stressed." Jaemin shrugged.

It was like you knew he would say that with the way you rolled your eyes and crumpled the paper up, "Im actually thinking of dropping that class." You stated.

"Dont." He rested a hand on your shoulder, "Come over later and I'll help you." It wasn't even a question, in fact it was him telling you to do something. Its clear jaemins had enough of you ignoring him and hes also fed up with your complaining. Even wondered why you held out this long.

"But-"

"I'm not taking no for an answer anymore." Jaemin stated sternly as he sighed, stopping in front of your classroom and put his hands in his pocket. "Stop trying to ignore me," he leaned forward, just inches away from your face, "its not working."

"Just because you think its not working doesn't mean its not working...." You tilted your head to the side questioning your own words, "Anyway, you're jealous." Crossing your arms and leaning against the wall, your ego fed off of jaemins glaring eyes.

"Bullshit," jaemin tsked, "why would I be jealous?"

You smirked despite knowing you were playing a dangerous game with him. And jaemins good at playing games, he's done it to you for years.

You took a step forward, ultimately getting closer to his still leaned over figure and said, "You kept staring at jeno and I at the cafe and you had an attitude the entire time. Its obvious you know." Slithering a hand up his cheek, you pinched his smooth skin, "Nanas jealous."

It was an understatement to say jaemin didn't feel shivers go up his spine from your low voice. For once jaemin didn't have anything to come up with. Nothing crossed his mind to tell you that what you saw of him wasn't him being jealous, but that would be the dumbest of lies.

"Quiet for once? That's a first." You snickered at the small shade of red on his cheeks. It was either anger or him actually getting flustered. Either way you still claimed victory for keeping him surprisingly quiet.

Jaemin pulled your hand away from his face and opened his mouth, "Admit that you're purposely doing it then. There's no way you and jeno are magically good friends now. You hate him just as much as you hated me."

"Im not purposely making you jealous," you lied, "And I never hated jeno, just strongly disliked him for being friends with you."

The older almost laughed in your face from how stupid your lie was. "If you want my attention, say it." He smirked, proceeding to push you against the wall behind you without a second thought making you uncross your arms, "Its not hard y/n."

His hands trailed down to your waist, intensly watching your face as you looked around him, afraid that what he'd do will go too far and some students will see a not so innocent sight.

"Youre full of yourself." You inhaled sharply as he leaned forward ever so closely, just barely brushing his lips over yours.

"And you'll be full of nana soon." Jaemin almost closed the space between you with his lips, but someone stopped him.

"Jaemin!!!" Seulgi came running up to jaemin in her cute high heeled shoes. Her hair bouncing perfectly against her back as she pulled him away from you and into a hug, not before she planted a kiss to his lips as if you weren't standing right there, "I haven't seen you in so long, babe. You didn't call." She pouted with more puppy eyes than normal.

You missed the way jaemin growled at her, almost throwing seulgi off him since you were so focused on them kissing. Never did you think you'd witness it either. Something about it made your stomach churn and you couldnt bare stand there for long before walking away, taking zero notice of the way jaemin called out for you.

"Let's get some coffee before the bell rings." Seulgi pulled jaemin, but his eyes still lingered on the door you entered.

You couldnt stop your mind from racing in class. It was like your mind was playing games on you, telling you that jaemin wasn't in the slightest interested in you and thats why he never answered you, because he was too embarrassed to be seen with someone like you.

But that was only you overthinking.

Obviously jaemin cared for you, he wouldnt have let you stay over his house, tutored you, or be possessive when it came to you. So why did he kiss her back? In front of you too? Was he actually dating her for real?

These questions ran through your head, giving you a mini headache from thinking too hard about it.

It was like you were in high school all over again where everything was dramatic for no reason, well in some aspects you made it this way, but your point still stands.

"Y/n," someone tapped the table repeatedly, bringing you back to reality, "Class is over." jeno looked at you with suspicion but brushed it off thinking you were probably tired.

You glanced around the empty room before looking back at jeno, "Oh...yeah."

"Well uh," he scratched the back of his head, "You should probably get to your next class."

That's the last thing you wanted to do. Jaemin would be there and so was one of seulgis minions that always kept an eye out for anything he did. As annoying as it was, you weren't surprised anymore.

"Im gonna skip."

Jeno grimaced as you stood up and grabbed your things, walking towards the rooms exit as he followed close behind, "You? Skip? What the fuck??"

You stopped in your tracks, jeno almost bumbing into you in the process, "Do I need to spell it out for you or something? S-k-"

"No shut up. Its just shocking that your skipping." Jeno half grinned at the way you stared at him stoically.

"What are you getting at?"

The man before you chuckled, "Im saying youre a goody two shoes and you've never done a bad thing in your life."

You can't say he was wrong, but you also have to admit that you have stepped out of your shell recently and maybe for the better.

"Everyone changes some time in their lives." You pointed out, strolling out of the class to nowhere specific. "Better run to class jeno, dont want the teacher calling you put again."

"Yeah yeah." He eye smiled, giving you a quick pat on the back before saying bye and walking to his class.

You couldnt help but smile at him as he moved further and further away. You had to admit, jeno wasn't as bad as you thought. Not anymore anyway. But as jeno soon disappeared around a corner, you sighed and sauntered to the library where you were going to do your work until class ended.

Students were scattered everywhere in the library, some typing away at their laptops or school computers while others had papers and books sprawled out in front of them. Unfortunately for you, you were going to be the ones with almost any school supply in front of them. And with a sigh and slouched shoulders, you sat at an empty desk near the front of the library, taking your homework out as well as some books.

Normally it wouldn't be a problem for you to focus, but it was stressful with so many things laid out for you. Face palming and groaning quietly at your trig paper, you attempted the first problem which honestly didn't seem too bad, but you weren't always so sure of yourself when doing these kinds of things. Mostly because you second guessed yourself making you pick the wrong answer when you were originally right.

"This is so fucking stupid." You threw your head into your hands, giving up on trying since it was useless anyway. You needed jaemin. He was the only reason you started getting some good grades on your work.

"Whats stupid?"

Speak of the devil.

"The trig home- wait why aren't you in class?" You gazed at him before averting your eyes, not trying to let them linger too long.

Jaemin pulled a chair out and sat closely beside you, raising a brow as you inched away from him. "I could ask you the same thing." He tipped the chair back a little, keeping his eyes locked on the side of your stoic face.

"Im doing something if you can't tell." You snapped, instantly regretting the way your voice raised once you noticed jaemin clenching his jaw out the corner of your eye. But you couldnt help it, you were still frustrated, embarrassed, and jealous from earlier.

"Whats wrong?" Jaemin calmed himself, not wanting to blow up at you.

"Nothing." You ignored his eyes that watched you do out the problem. Probably silently telling you that it was all wrong but you weren't trying to pay attention to him.

"Youre doing it again."

"Doing what? I'm just trying to do my work." After writing your answer down, you checked over tbe work before you smiled to yourself. This had to be the right answer.

"Stop playing dumb." he grabbed your chin, "You know what you're doing."

Wiggling out of his grasp was no use, jaemin managed to move his hand to your jaw to keep you still.

You winced at the sudden squeeze, "I dont know what you're talking about."

Jaemin had enough of this bullshit, now grabbing your neck instead. Your eyes wondered the room hoping no one was paying attention, "Im not playing games with you. Why are you ignoring me again?"

"That's a good question." You looked away and though jaemims grip was starting to hurt more each second, you still found a way to show your disinterest.

Jaemin sighed, letting his hand drop and you inhaled deeply without a second thought. "Whats wrong then?"

"I told you its nothing."

"Bullshit." Jaemin took the pencil out of your hand just as you were about to write, your hand flying up to try and take it back but he pulled away.

"You really wanna know then?" You asked sharply to which jaemin nodded, "You kissed seulgi. Happy now?"

Jaemins mouth fell at your confession. Yes he figured that upset you a bit, but he never thought it was enough for you to ignore him.

"I never even went that far with jeno."

"Never went that far, huh?" He snapped back, shaking his head in disbelief as his face once again was steaming with anger. "Need i remind you how you made out with him at the party. Or were you that wasted and cant remember?"

The new found anger overlapped the previous one with more than just anger, but annoyance. There was no way jaemin was telling the truth, you would never kiss jeno.

"No i didnt."

"Dont tell me you didn't, I fucking saw it." His hand found its way on the table creating a loud bam that startled not only you, but a few kids that even lifted their heads to see what caused the noise. "You were the first one to go that far, so blame yourself before you blame me."

Taking a deep breath, you had to calm down before you said something you'd regret. Knowing jaemin too, you already had something waiting for you at his house.

"I believe you." Jaemin was ready to open his mouth but you were quick and responded, "because i remember." The problem with this answer was because it was untruthful. You already dug yourself a whole from the beginning yet you knew what you were getting yourself into. There was something about playing with jaemins anger that made you go wild.

Determined with your lie, you kept the straightest face like it was proof you recalled that night. Jaemin too was focused only on your face, his hand balling into a fist ever so slowly.

"I remember....he was a really good kisser," you whispered, "And you looked so mad." Snickering away at your words, you placed a hand on jaemins lap and watched his expression go from anger to almost frothing at the mouth.

Bingo. He was too far gone to see through you at this point and this is where you smirked to yourself.

"You're unbelievable." He scoffed, rolling his eyes thinking about how fed up he was, "Lets go."

Despite being told what to do, you sat looking between jaemin and your sprawled out homework. "I have things to do."

Jaemin literally shoved all your papers into your bag, not caring how they crumpled in the small space as you complained and swatted at his arm. Of course though, jaemin payed no mind to it, grabbing your hand and bag before dragging you out of the library.

You fought and struggled to get out of his grip. From the start you knew what you were getting into, that's why you did what you did. Now being dragged to his house it dawned on you that it was time to suffer whatever he had in mind.

"When we get to my house," jaemin locked his eyes with yours as he led you to his car, "We'll study trig, and depending on my mood and your attitude after, I might go easy with the punishment later."

"Im not going over to study and then be punished afterwards." Your voice faltered as you saw a familiar someone walking towards you and jaemin.

Jenos eyes lit up sadistically, smiling at you, telling you to smile back for one reason: to set jaemin off.

You did without hesitation, jaemins hold getting tighter and tighter as he glared at his best friend who walked by, holding the proudest grin on his face.

Once at the car, jaemin shoved you inside the passenger seat, slamming the door before he situated himself in the drivers side. Your eyes watched in annoyance yet you were intrigued. Maybe because you haven't had any action with jaemin since about a week ago.

Resting your head against the headrest, you stared outside the window. There wasn't any way you could hold another conversation with the man, it would only drive your hormones insane.

Its been thirty minutes and to say you were paying attention would be the stupidest thing ever. every word that jaemin said went in one ear and out the other. Some part of you was purposely choosing to ignore him, but your attention span was almost non existent in the first place. So listening to jaemin talk about trigonometry was only boring you.

You tapped out, playing with your pencil or doodling on the paper. Each time you weren't paying attention, jaemin would ask you to write down the answer or a land a slap right on your thigh. It stung and made up jump with shock in your eyes as jaemin told you the same thing each time: "pay attention." But did you? God no. It was impossible. With the thought of a punishment too, it made your mind run like it was in a marathon.

"Little girl," jaemins voice once again brought you back to reality, "what did nana just say?" You shrugged your shoulders slightly, keeping your head down like you were shy yet you were far from it, holding a small grin on your innocent face.

"I dont know, nor do I care." You finally looked up. Jaemin was none too happy, letting his chest fall.

Shaking his head, he said once more to listen and pay attention.

Jaemin took your pencil so he could write out the problem for you, deciding to be nice even though you weren't returning it. You watched the way his pretty hands flexed with every number or letter he wrote. The subtle veins showing every so often too made you almost drool at the sight. Oh what you would do to have him wrap his hands around your neck again.

"Solve it." Jaemin threw the pencil down in front of you, resting his head in his hand to watch you. But you didn't move, not even a simple budge.

"No."

"Y/n its not that fucking hard, just solve it."

You glanced at the paper then the pencil that laid on the table before grabbing it and snapping it in half.

"Im not doing it." You faked a smile, ready for jaemin to snap just like the pencil.

"You need to pass this class, y/n. Stop messing around and pay attention."

You shot up from your seat, "I. Dont. Care. I'm going home."

It wasn't long before he suddenly stood up too, grabbing you by the hair and threw you on his bed, "Okay you wanna act up?" He hovered over you, pinning your arms down on the soft bed as he straddled your lower half. "I dont get why you continue to act like a brat when you know you're going to be punished. Unless you want it?" Jaemins face was merely inches in front of yours not until you blew into his face and smirked when he flinched and pulled away.

"Ever wonder why I act this way? Your easy to push, I can get in your head and make you get mad so I get exactly what I want." You snickered, "Not to mention its to make you suffer for not answering my question." A hand was placed on his covered chest, rubbing small circles on the fabric of the shirt.

Suddenly, jaemin laughed. Though, it wasn't a joyful one. It was more sadistic and filled with amusement, "How is it making me suffer if you're the one about to be punished?"

"Cuz i still get what I want in the end."

"My dick or my attention?"

"Both."

Jaemnn chuckled dryly, quickly sitting back and tearing your clothes off without a second thought.

You were ready to protest about your clothes until jaemin took matters in his own hands and shoved his fingers nearly down your throat to shut you up.

"Im tired of your voice." He spat, "All you talk is shit."

Whimpering around his fingers, you tried anything in your power to try and pry them out. He never moved back, sticking his fingers deeper and deeper until he heard you gag and whine the best you could. Your throat felt so tight and it was getting harder to breathe. Jaemin didn't care, deciding to just fuck your mouth with his fingers as he started pulling your pants and panties down, lifting his hips up so he can take them off all the way.

"It would be so much nicer if you weren't a brat you know." Jaemin began, easily shoving two fingers inside your dripping cunt, "Nana could've stuffed you full of his cock, made love to you, and made you happy. Instead," his fingers that were buried in your heat, curled and pushed in a certain way that made your eyes roll, "You wanted to be a little bitch."

You drew out a long hum, the pleasure felt so good after pushing jaemin for so long. All his anger was going to this one punishment and you should've felt scared, but you weren't. You were excited and loved every bit of it.

The way he fingered you was almost too surreal. It made your body crumple against his will and he wasn't even fucking you yet.

It was getting harder to breathe being filled by his two fingers. Just barely becoming too overwhelming so you tapped his hand to signal you needed to breathe. Jaemin took his hand out, watching your face to make sure you were okay as you gasped for air.

"Are y-you try-trying to kill me or s-something?" You moaned at one particular hard thrust that made your breath hitch.

"Oh shut up, I know you liked it. Probably imagined my cock down your throat." He bit his lip, taking in the thought of what you would look like on your knees for him before shaking it off.

"I-i was n-not."

Jaemin smirked devishly, scissoring his fingers to stretch you out more, but you kept clenching around him. Your hand grabbed his wrists in a death grip, moans fell from your open mouth and jaemin ate that all up. Loving how your body shook, knowing you were so close.

Right when you felt your orgasm coming, jaemin ripped his fingers out of you, essentially letting your juices flow out. But you didn't cum, no you were just that wet.

Your hips lifted up like you would get friction but there was nothing to get friction from, you looked dumb and pathetic.

"Not fair..." you mumbled, frowning at the annoying smirk on jaemins face.

"Punishments aren't supposed to be fair," he said a matter of factly, pushing your hips back down on your bed as he grazed his fingers over your wetness before pushing back in again.

This time setting a ruthless pace, taking in your fucked out expression.

"Jaemin- please im s-so close." Fidgeting and clawing at his wrists, the orgasm built back up. It got closer, closer, closer. Right there, it was right there, but jaemin took it away from you again.

"God, I love this way more than I should. Breaking a brat is so much fun." His fingers dripped with your arousal. He stared at the strand connecting his fingers. It was so much and so lewd, it should've been embarrassing to you yet it made him want more from you. "How many times should nana edge his pretty girl? Maybe-"

"Fuck you." You cried, ready to take this into your own hands and finish yourself off.

Jaemins hand made a perfect necklace on your neck, tightening his grip on the sides so you felt all his anger, "Thats the last thing I would say if I were you."

"W-what are y-you gonna do? Spank me?" Thinking he actually would if you said that, you were slapped across the face, eyes not staring at jaemin anymore but the wall next to the bed.

"Dont test me anymore, your already in for it." He growled into your ear. Leaving his hand wrapped around your neck, he slipped back inside, this time fucking his fingers into you at an antagonizing slow pace.

You wanted to scream and push him away for being a tease, but you reminded yourself that this is what you wanted, this was what you'll get. You had no idea how long this pain will continue though. All you could think about was cumming. In fact, that was the only thing on your mind as he fingered your tight pussy. The pain of not being able to orgasm was so unbearable, it just about made your eyes tear up. Were you that desperate that you'd cry over it?

"I wanna...c-cum so bad..."

The man above you stared at you in disbelief. He basically just started and you were already a mess.

"You really want to cum that badly?" You nodded hastily, tears at the brink of falling, you couldnt hold it in anymore, "Then apologize for all the shit you put us through. Starting with you ignoring me, fake dating jeno, and purposely pissing me off for the hell of it." Jaemin said with his whole chest. Being able to say it out loud reminded him of everything. From the time you started this crap, to now.

"I-im sorry- I'm so f-fucking sorry, jaemin." You forced yourself to look into his eyes, his angry red eyes that tore into your soul to find any lie, yet you had none. You meant what you said with full honesty, "Please nana, l-let me cum."

Jaemin simply gave you a nod and thats when you let everything out. You came all over his fingers but jaemin didn't stop nor slow down. He kept the same rough pace as before and you could only scream and cry from the sensitivity.

Then jaemin started rubbing and pinching your sensitive clit before giving your cunt a slap that made you jolt and cry out.

"Ahh- w-wait jae-mmm....s-so sensitive."

Jaemin rolled his eyes, "thought you wanted to cum? I'm giving you what you want, babe."

Your legs closed around his fingers though it didn't stop him from curling and fucking them inside. He could just easily push them open yet he found your sensitivity amusing which led you to cum again without warning.

"What a pathetic little fucking brat you are." He gathered the white substance that leaked from your clentching hole and shoved it back in, "Making such a mess of yourself."

Your back arched, even more sensitive than before.

The hand on your neck moved down to your breast, squeezing at your nipples and playing with everything he could get his hand on. Your nipples were so sensitive that that alone could make you cry and moan just from a simple touch.

His fingers brushed against your sweet spot where you screamed his name. Being over sensitive made everything feel more pleasurable and painful. Every small touch on your pussy brought you to a shaking pleasure that you couldnt control. It was becoming too much and too overwhelming.

"Fuck, are you gonna cum again? It hasn't even been five minutes." He watched, eyes filled with amazement as you shook and once again, came on his sheets and fingers.

Your shaking didn't stop though, it was like the kind of shake you get when your cold, though you were far from it. The intensity of this orgasm was just too much where even jaemin had to pull his fingers out and let you breathe for a moment.

"You okay, baby?" He asked quietly, kissing your temple as you nodded your head, "Can you give nana one more then?" Not wanting to stop, you nodded without a thought causing jaemin to smile and lean back.

Jaemin finally got rid of his clothing, crawling back on the bed before giving you a kiss so you wouldn't notice how he slipped his cock inside.

Surprisingly jaemin took his time pushing in, savoring your sweet little moans that drove him crazy. He started and kept a slow pace that made the overwhelming feeling dissolve away. Now you were wrapping your legs around his waist and staring into the soft eyes of jaemins that were just red a second ago.

Every vein against your walls made you feel ecstasy. Jaemin was careful with each thrust and it felt like pure love. They were passionate and he didn't fail to show it.

"Taking nanas cock so well, just like the good girl you are." Jaemin smiled at your beautiful face that contorted into pleasure. Both of your moans filled the room. More cuss words were thrown from you like it was the only thing in your dictionary.

The lewd sounds of your bodys bounced off the walls as jaemin fucked you slow and steady, grabbing your hips gently as he kissed all over your face, neck, and breasts. He sucked on your skin here and there, creating small bruises that looked like a tattoo as you grabbed the back of his head, lifting him up by the hair to bring his face to yours so you could place a kiss to his red lips.

The kiss was sloppy and slow. Neither of you cared though, both focused on your orgasms that kept coming closer.

Jaemins thrusts stuttered and his cock twitched inside you. The hand in jaemins hair pulled and messed up his locks, sure to create a messy sight later on.

" 'm gon-gonna cum." You moaned, lifting your hips up to meet his along the way.

"Cum, princess."

The final orgasm left your body feeling like it was on a cloud while all you saw were stars making jaemin coo at your fucked out face.

Pulling out, jaemin finished on your stomach before letting his body fall next to yours, wrapping an arm around your hips and pulling you into him..

You both panted out of tiredness, neither one bothering to move as you were both spent.

"Did I hurt you, princess? Are you feeling okay?"

You smiled into his chest, "no you didn't hurt me and I feel fine."

"Good." Jaemin smiled, petting your hair before laying his head on top of yours, "Wanna go on a date?"

You swear your heart stopped as your face heated up, "Jaemin, you're doing everything backwards."

"So is that a yes or no?"

"Of course its a yes!"

It was a peaceful restaurant that jaemin brought you to, saying it was supposed to be a place a lot of couples went to which you thought was absolutely sweet of him.

"So...uh." jaemin looked anywhere but your face like he didn't just have sex with you for the second time.

You snickered and sipped the drink in your hand, "Why are you so awkward all of a sudden? Its just me."

"I know it's just- I feel like I can't say what I wanna say because I'm afraid." Jaemin sighed.

"Of what exactly?" You placed the drink down, watching as jaemin fumbled with the menu before he covered his mouth and mumbled something you coulsnt quite grasp, "What did you say?"

"...nothing."

"Jaemin."

His doe eyes stared into yours like it was some sort of contest, wanting you to look away first but you and he did, "Alright fine. I said I'm a bit nervous if I were to ask you out."

Tilting your head to the side, you puffed your cheeks out in confusion, "Why?"

"The last relationship I had, the girl cheated on me. Afterwards she said it was because i wasn't good enough." He frowned, returning his attention back to the menu where you presumed was his hiding place for the time being.

"Well she's a bitch and is missing out on an amazing person." You pushed the menu down, "Is that why you acted that way when you saw jeno and I at the cafe? Did you think I thought you weren't good enough?"

Jaemin nodded slowly, "Kind of. I didn't want to lose someone I loved again."

"Loved? Na jaemin-"

"Dont say it." He groaned.

"You've gotten soft! Does this mean what I think it means?" You quirked a suggestive brow at him causing him to put his head in his hand.

"Yes, ill be your boyfriend." He said in his hand before you took it away and grabbed his face to kiss him. "I- princess when did you become do confident?"

"When did you become so shy?"

"Fair point."

Everything felt right all of a sudden. No more of jaemin being your bully. No more coffee being poured on your head. No more stupid high school drama that wasn't even drama in the first place. It was all right for once. And you couldnt say you could complain. After weeks, you got what you struggled to have before; na jaemin.

[undyingskies]

Teach Me

request: yes; “Hi! I just discovered your blog and I really like your fics!! Idk if you’re taking requests atm, but if you are, could you write one where the reader asks him to teach her to play the drums? lots of fluff?? thanks!!”

A/N: I did my best to teach myself about drums, I quickly gave up as I understood nothing but I was able to put some drum explanation is this! I really hope you enjoy! xoxo

Warnings: None, just lots of fluff!

——————————————————-

The last few days have been spent locked up in your shared apartment with your boyfriend Owen. Season 2 of Julie and The Phantoms was finally renewed, so they sent Owen a few songs from the new season to learn.

He had locked himself up in your spare room which housed his drum set. He spent the last 48 hours in there just banging away on his drums, hoping to get the hang of the news songs. He’s an amazing drummer but for some reason one of the songs just isn’t clicking for him.

You can hear his sighs and yells of frustration every time he attempts the song. He will get through part of it and then make a mistake or forget a certain part. What he really needed was a break, he knew that, you knew that, but he refused.

You finally hear the banging stop. You look up from the book you were attempting to read as you hear the door open and his footsteps make their way through the hallway. Owen rounds the corner and you see the tension in his shoulders.

His hair is a mess, pushed up in all different angles. You assume from his hand constantly running through it out of frustration. He is also missing his shirt and one sock. Random you know, but this disheveled look is normal in times of frustration like this.

Owen doesn’t think twice before he’s pushing the book away from your lap and plopping his head in replace of it. He doesn’t say anything when he grabs your hand and places it on his head. You automatically start to rub your fingers through it, scratching softly at his scalp. You know what he wants without him having to say a word.

The both of you just sit in silence. Owen enjoying the feeling of your hand running through his hair, his stress and tension leaving him as time passes by.

“Feeling any better now?” You ask him, noticing the stress leaving him. You move your other hand to scratch softly at his bare chest. He sighs at the contact.

“This is definitely helping.” He tells you.

“Want to talk about what’s frustrating you so much about the song?” You ask him continuing your movements.

“I’m not even really sure babe, something about it I’m just missing.” He sighs.

“Have you played anything else since trying to figure it out?” You ask him. He shakes his head no.

You know how Owen works. He gets frustrated by a song and he will only focus on that one. Usually if he would just move on, playing something else, even do something else he can figure it out once he goes back to it. Except he is stubborn, as stubborn as they get and in the moment he won’t admit that he needs to move on.

“Wanna teach me how to play a song?” You ask him. He’s asked you a few times if you wanted to learn but you were always caught up in something else. This felt like the right time.

A wide smile comes across his face and he’s sitting up and facing you in a flash. “Really?” He asks, the excitement evident on his face.

“Yes really! Come on, it should be fun!” You say as you grab his hands and drag him back into the room.

The two of you walk around his drum set and he pushes you a little to have you sit down on the chair. He runs back around the set to grab another and places it directly behind yours. He also has his drum sticks in hand.

“Okay so the basics. These are your sticks, obviously. If you look down at your feet there are two pedals. The one on the right is your bass drum pedal and the one on the left is connected to the hi-hat stand which makes the hi-hat cymbal make noise. Okay?” He asks you making sure you’re understanding or either keeping up with what he’s saying.

You nod your head yes, then he continues.

“This is the bass drum, then the floor tom. There is the tom-toms, ride cymbal, snare drum, and crash symbol.” He points to each one as he names them. You follow along the best you can.

He then goes into the logistics of all of it.  You couldn’t repeat it even if you wanted, it was a lot of information and you did your best to keep up.

“Want to try to learn a song now?” He asks you once he’s done explaining all of it. You hesitantly nod yes, he laughs.

“You got this baby!” He tells you with a large smile. He places the sticks in your hand. He wraps his arms around yours and places his hands on top of yours as well. His breath on the back of your neck, tickling you, causing you to giggle.

“Alright so first you’re going to want to put your foot on the bass drum pedal and hit it at this beat.” He demonstrates the beat, then has you to do it. “See you‘ve got it, good job!”

“Next you’re going to hit the floor tom, and then...” You do your best to listen and follow his lead as he demonstrates and explains to you what you need to do.

It was hard to focus though. His bare chest pressed up against your back, his arms wrapped around you, and his breath tickling your neck. I mean could you blame a girl?

He notices that you’re no longer paying attention. He laughs a little at the way you’re kind of just dazed off. He moves his hands to tickle your sides, your attention is brought back to him and laughter erupts from you.

You fight his hands off best you can as you continue to laugh. You’re able to slap them away after a few seconds.

“Owennn, what was that for?” You breath out heavily catching your breath from laughing so hard.

“I was just trying to get your attention back!” He laughed. “I thought you wanted to learn how to play the drums?” A pout makes his way onto his lips.

You spin the small chair around to face your pouting boyfriend. His arms find their way around your waist again.

“I did baby, I was just getting distracted! I’m sorry!” You tell him as you wrap your hands around his neck.

“Distracted? Distracted by what?” He asks confused.

“By you baby! You’ve got your body all wrapped up around mine and you’re breathing down my neck. It makes it hard for a girl to focus!” You tell him. A proud smile makes its way across his face.

“Oh so you think I’m distracting?” He wiggles his eyebrows at you, causing you both to giggle.

“You know it Joyner.” You tell him and lean in to connect your lips. The two of you getting caught up in the kiss, your bottom lip between his. He pulls away slightly biting your lip as he goes. Your lips follow his, not wanting to lose contact.

Your grip on his neck tightens as you pull him closer, crashing the two of your lips back together. The kiss is passionate and full of love. You pull away after a few minutes. The two of you swollen lipped and breathing heavily. You smile at him, now who’s looking dazed you think to yourself looking at his current state.

You break your grip on his neck and quickly spin around in your chair to face the drums again before he can say anything.

“What was that last thing you said about the cymbal?” You ask bringing the attention back to the drums.

You’re spun around to face him again, you drop the sticks you had just picked up at the movement. Owen has his arms wrapped around you yet again, pulling you impossibly close.

“Now what do you think you’re doing Y/L/N?” He asks you breathing out heavily.

“Just trying to learn the drums.” You giggle out, knowing you wouldn’t be doing that.

“I think I’ve got something else in mind after that little stunt you just pulled.” He says.

Then his lips are back in yours for another passionate kiss that takes your breath away. He has the two of you back on your feet, your hand in his, and he’s pulling you into your bedroom. You giggle as he pulls you.

Maybe you should ask to learn to play the drums more often you think to yourself as his lips are back on yours.

[dweetwise]

i’ve been kinda quiet while finishing a project over on ao3, but now i’m back with some riconti to share <3

ship: felix x ace (only implied; can be read as platonic if you wish!)

word count: 1640

Someone to Lean On

"—and I thought for sure she wouldn't pick me up! I ran straight into her after being unhooked, but she didn’t even hesitate calling my bluff. Well played, Spirit!"

Felix kept half-listening as Ace rambled on about their latest trial. They were walking back to the campfire together through the fog, having both been sacrificed by the ruthless katana-wielding killer.

It wasn't uncommon for Ace to wait around for him in the plane of nothingness if he didn't survive the trial. Felix had lost count of how many times he'd regained consciousness only to see the familiar, smiling figure calling over to him through the fog.

He wondered if Ace knew how much he appreciated the gesture. The gambler’s friendly banter was always a welcome distraction from the harrowing experience of having every fiber of his being torn to shreds and consequently be reassembled.

But this time was different. Felix could barely make out Ace's words, his own thoughts sounding deafening inside his head despite the silence of the fog. His body didn't feel like his own; it was like the Entity's claws were still twisting and turning around his insides. 

Felix’s feet dragged behind him and when they eventually came to a stop, Ace stopped right with him and patiently waited for their journey to continue. Only once Felix made no move to do so did the Argentine’s brilliant smile falter from uncertainty. 

"Felix?" Ace asked.

"I can't do it," Felix said.

According to people back at the campfire, it had been over a year since Felix was taken into this horrible realm. It felt even longer than that; with nothing in this world but means to make them suffer, Felix was starting to forget the things he used to enjoy.

"Sure you can, champ!" Ace grinned.

Felix knew Ace was trying to be encouraging. He knew he should go back to his play-act, should plaster on a fake smile and brush off his struggles as nothing more than a bad trial, like he’d done countless times before.

But he couldn’t.

"No," Felix said, a surprising determination in his voice. "You don't understand."

“What do you mean?” Ace asked.

Felix wasn’t sure how to describe it. The more he thought about this world and the absolute wrongness of it, the harder it was to pinpoint its exact cause.

He felt lightheaded and almost delirious. It was like he was in a dream; a terrible nightmare that he couldn't wake up from. Nothing in this place made sense, yet all this time he had accepted it as truth. What if it was all a figment of his imagination?

"Is any of this real?" Felix asked.

Ace’s smile made way for a confused frown, and his expression was the only thing in their surroundings that looked lifelike. The unnatural fog surrounding them felt neither damp nor cold, the unending darkness somehow allowed them to see perfectly, and even though there was nothing to guide them they still knew exactly which way to go.

Felix felt his breathing pick up as he only now seemed to realize the vast emptiness of nothing they were standing in. He’d been here countless times before but never fully aware of it, and his heart was racing as he frantically looked around, feeling the terror rising in his chest—

Until a warm hand was placed on his shoulder. 

"Hey, deep breaths," Ace said, turning Felix to face him.

The touch helped to ground him and the panic started to fade as Felix looked into familiar brown eyes. Ace felt real, but how could he be sure?

"It doesn't make any sense," Felix said. "The Entity doesn’t exist. It simply can’t."

Ace said nothing. Whether he was giving Felix space to speak or thought he’d finally lost his mind, Felix didn’t know.

"What if this is just a nightmare? What if I'm going crazy—having some sort of episode from work stress, and I'm really hospitalized in an institution?" Felix said, his frantic eyes finding Ace's. "What if I'm in a coma, or—or I died, and this is all my brain shutting down? What if this isn't real?"

Felix realized he was shaking. Ace looked at him silently; like he was pondering what to say. Felix didn’t think he’d ever seen him look so serious.

Abruptly, the embarrassment hit. Felix broke eye contact and stepped back. Even if he was losing it, he didn't need to drag Ace into this—

"So what?" Ace asked.

"What?"

"If you wake up in a hospital tomorrow and realize none of this was real, what does it matter?" Ace said. "It's not gonna change that this feels real."

Felix was silent, mulling over the words.

"I think that, sometimes, it's best to just take things at face value," Ace continued. "Fucked-up things like the Entity exist? Alright. One of them yoinked us into its world for fun? Sure. Whether we like it or not, right now we're stuck here—might as well try to make the most of it."

"Don't you want answers?" Felix asked.

"What I want is to get the hell out of here," Ace huffed dryly.

Felix couldn’t remember Ace ever talking about an escape before. The gambler had always seemed surprisingly well-adjusted to their predicament, but he should have known that even the most optimistic person would be eager for the chance to find a way out of this nightmare.

"But since that's not on the table, I'll take the next best thing of living to see another day," Ace said. "And if I wake up in a real bed tomorrow and it was all a dream? Even better."

"Have you never thought about it? That this could just be a product of your mind?" Felix asked.

"Briefly, yeah," Ace said. Then he smiled. "But then I remembered how shit my imagination is. No way I would've been able to come up with something like this."

Felix huffed out a dry chuckle despite the situation.

"But it's probably easier for me," Ace said. "I know you tend to overthink things. And with the kind of year you've had? I'm kinda surprised you've adjusted so well."

Felix hadn’t thought about it that way. After the numerous panic attacks and freezing from fear in his first trials, Felix never considered himself particularly well-adjusted to his new existence. He owed most of his meager success to the people around him, always there to lend a hand and pull Felix up when he wasn't strong enough to do it himself.

And most of the time, that person had been Ace.

"I had some help," Felix said, offering a hesitant smile.

"Ah, true—almost forgot about Élodie," Ace grinned. "Must be nice, having a friend like that in a place like this."

Felix didn't have the heart to correct the assumption. Having the familiar face of a childhood friend among their teammates had no doubt been beneficial for both Felix and Élodie while they learned to survive this new world.

But it wasn't Élodie who had been by Felix's side those first months. It wasn’t her encouraging words that got through to Felix when he felt paralyzed from inaction, or her who took the time to involve him in the group when Felix was too lost in his own head to participate.

"It really makes a world of difference, having a good friend," Felix said.

Ace kept looking at him, until his face spread into a bright smile at the realization.

"Well, in that case, can I offer you some friendly advice?" Ace asked.

"Of course," Felix agreed.

"Don't get too wrapped up in the 'how's and 'why's," Ace said. "It's just gonna consume you. And…"

Felix waited as Ace paused in an unusual gesture of uncertainty.

"I'd hate to lose you," Ace said.

He was still smiling pleasantly, but his eyes betrayed his real emotion; it was the first time Felix had seen genuine fear in Ace's eyes. And it wasn't from a brutal mori or the hopelessness that they might never escape.

It was from the possibility of losing Felix.

"Alright," Felix said. "I'll try."

"It's a start," Ace said, his demeanor back to the usual playfulness. "You ready to head back?"

Felix realized he felt much calmer now than only minutes prior. There was still an uneasiness in the back of his mind due to the unspeakable horrors that haunted them on a daily basis, but he felt grounded. This wasn't just about him; no matter whether it aligned with the objective truth, this was their reality.

"I think so, yes," Felix said.

"'Atta boy," Ace said. 

Ace's hand left his shoulder, and Felix immediately missed its warmth. The moment of camaraderie they had shared was exactly what he had needed. Even Ace seemed more at ease, his smile relaxed as he fell into step beside Felix.

"By the way," Ace said conversationally. "If this is all in your head, could I request you make it a little… I don't know, less guts and gore, more flowers and booze?"

Felix chuckled. "I can try."

"Oh, and while you're at it, can you give me one of those makeovers?" Ace said. "Make me like ten years younger? I think I’d look great in brown hair—ooh, and a six pack too!"

Felix listened to Ace ramble with a smile. It would never cease to amaze him how the seemingly lighthearted man could go from joking to serious and right back to silly banter in just a few short moments. Ace was like a bolt of lightning; chaotic in nature and gone in the blink of an eye, but always managing to calm the storm in Felix’s head.

"Ace?" Felix asked, interrupting Ace still talking about his hair.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you," Felix said.

Ace’s smile flashed bright and warm in the darkness surrounding them.

"Anytime."

[lackingspace]

Vindictive (Ghostface x Reader)

Rated: Explicit 

Word Count: 4.8k

Summary: Danny is jealous and that’s your fault. 

Warnings: Rough oral sex, degradation, humiliation, dirty talk, cum swallowing, light daddy kink, Danny just being Danny.

A/N: Had a request for a Jealous Danny. Here it is! I hope you like it. Sorry its taken so long!  ･ﾟﾟ･(>д<)･ﾟﾟ ･

When you were first dropped in this place you’d been confused, scared, and a little more than annoyed because what the fuck had you done to land yourself here? After the first few freak outs of death and despair, being sacrificed, and the general malaise of being here became your new normal. Falling into a routine became easy after that- trial, struggle, escape if you were lucky, die if you weren’t, and repeat. 

Quite frankly, things were getting boring. The others trapped with you made it better, talking, joking around on occasion- friends forged in unfortunate circumstances. It was a tiny slice of normality that you were grateful for because who knows how long you’d been here or would be here. Time didn’t mean anything when there was really no way to measure it. You just knew that it was far longer than you’d have liked. Long enough to become numb to the killers and their brutal treatment. To find them not so threatening and more of an inconvenience. 

You missed the real world. Missed the simple things in life- a walk in the park, meeting up with friends, food- God did you miss food. But what you missed the most was an intimate connection. And sex. You definitely missed sex. Relieving tension and having something to distract you from this monotonous existence would have been a blessing. 

None of the others trapped with you really appealed to you. Sure Jake was cute, and Yui had that badass look, even Ash had the daddy thing going for him...but none of them really set your nerves on fire. At least not even enough to try it out and spend eternity awkwardly if it didn’t fly. But damn did you need release. so with no options for a partner, you settled on sneaking away into the woods to take care of yourself. 

And that’s how he found you. One hand down your pants and the other up your shirt, eyes closed, head tossed back, and softly moaning. He’d leaned against the tree directly in front of you and waited quietly until you opened your eyes. You’d almost had a heart attack when you opened them to see Ghostface casually leaning there while staring you down. It was altogether embarrassing but still had your senses buzzing.

All he did was firmly tell you to keep going. That he was enjoying the show. And something about it, his voice? The command? It just worked for you. Maybe it was the combination of him being dangerous, a killer- someone familiar, but not, an unknown that made your senses tingle mixed with his nonchalant attitude and that damned voice that made your toes curl. So you’d done what he’d asked and kept going. 

That marked the start of whatever it was you had going on with Ghostface. At first, it was just hooking up- sneaking away when you saw him lurking and wandering back with a few new pleasurable aches, pains, and bruises. You were sure some of your friends noticed- you knew for a fact Bill, Ace, and David did. The raised brows they’d give you on occasion told you that you were found out. That they knew a clandestine meet up just took place. As long as they knew what you were up to, just not with who, you didn't care. For all they knew it could be another survivor who hadn't wandered back from a trial yet because who would be fucking a killer?

You were content with ignoring them and they seemed fine with not questioning. Besides, it wasn't their business and you have no plans on stopping because it was something you enjoyed- it unquestionably helped deal with the mental stress of repeatedly dying. After a while though, and you really couldn’t pinpoint when, it turned into something a little more. At least for you. 

Made you unnecessarily giddy when he was the killer in your trials. Both of you more playful in chases, he had a habit of drawing those out with you, grabbing your ass before letting you run away only for him to ambush you, down you, and then run his hands up all over you before picking you up. 

If he caught you jumping through a window? You better expect a few well-placed slaps while he teased all sorts of dirty things he'd do to you once he had you alone. 

You didn’t want to admit it, but feelings had reared their ugly head in you for this sarcastic bastard. You caught yourself being soft for him when you really shouldn’t have. Honestly, you felt a little bad because you weren’t the best teammate if he was the killer of the trial. You should have been focusing on gen rushing, saves, or even trying to distract him- which you were more than capable of doing. 

But instead, you found yourself being distracted by him. You'd be there staring, sighing while watching him sneak around. Giggle to yourself about how much of a sadistic bastard he was when in a chase. And if he found you? And God did you want him to- you were even more useless. You weren’t fooling anyone with your pseudo-chase. You didn’t really try to escape but that was ok, both of you liked it that way. You always blamed it as an off match when questioned why you’d done so poorly. No one seemed to notice it was only during a trial with him, and you were totally fine with that. 

So that was how your existence was for now. Honestly, you weren’t mad about it either. His attention in and out of trials gave you back a spark that had been dulled after one too many sacrifices. This trial was no different, you found yourself relaxed, good-spirited, and snickering at a comment Zarina just made. When the gen popped you looked over to see Jane shaking a hand with a mumbled apology. A second later she let out a shriek and started running away. 

You knew what that meant and so you tried to gauge if you should sneak away as well, but you hadn’t seen what she had. Would've been nice if she’d have at least said the killer before sprinting off, but you understood sometimes they just caught you off guard and fight or flight took over. 

Cautiously looking around you decided it was best just to move on, Zarina had the moment Jane ran. You probably waited around too long and would get caught, but at least you'd be prepared after you got off the hook. The fact that you hadn’t heard any footsteps or seen anyone usually meant it was someone stealthy too. You really didn’t want the shape. He was always terrible to play against in this underground lab. Harder to outmaneuver him within the space. Hope welled inside you that it was your...boyfriend? well, whatever he was, you wanted Ghostface. Trying to quietly sneak away seemed like it was going fine until you were suddenly stopped.

Something had gripped the back of your shit and yanked. You stumbled and then felt yourself being dragged around a corner only to have your face pressed against a wall. You were pretty sure you knew who it was, but shit why was he being so rough? 

“So that’s the game you want to play, huh?” Your wish came true, it was your sarcastic boo, Ghostface- you had no idea what he was talking about though, “What the hell do you mean? What’s th-” he cut you off as he pressed in against your back while placing a hand in front of your smashed face, “Don’t give me that. You know damn well what I’m talking about.” He said it with so much venom dripping in his voice, you’d never actually heard him like that before. 

He was usually snide, sarcastic, kinda dark, sometimes angry, but this? He sounded well beyond any of that. And it was all aimed at you….shit.

“Dude, I really” He pressed a forearm to the twisted side of your neck and gripped your shoulder. You winced at the pressure, “Really have no idea what you’re talking about. What game?” There was silence as you felt cold sweat run down your spine. In that same vicious tone, he answered as his grip tightened on your shoulder, “I saw you and that bastard.” 

You wracked your brain trying to figure out what he meant. It had to have been something in this trial, he wasn’t upset when you’d seen him be-- oh god it hit you just like that. You’d slipped and would have had a nasty face-first fall into some crates, barrels, and a pallet, but Ace had grabbed you. Unfortunately, it’d been by the hips and as soon as he got you up he’d apologized for the placement while patting a shoulder. 

He must have seen that. It had to be what he was talking about….But did that mean....was he jealous? His knife suddenly stabbed into the wall next to your face, ohhh, even if he denied it you could tell, he was. There was no question with the growl in his voice, the tight grip he had- which you’d like to point out was only getting tighter, and now the knife threateningly in your face? This wasn’t his normal rational ‘let me weasel my way in, tease, and manipulate to my advantage’, this screamed irritated topped with irrational. 

And even though your brain screamed it was an awfully bad idea, you were going to have fun with it. 

“Not even going to deny it? You little fucking whore.” The rage in his voice felt like someone had submerged you in acid. It really did make your skin crawl that he thought you’d do something like that. After everything the two of you got up to he should have realized how much his dick did it for you. And only his dick. That aside, you weren’t going to just lay down and take his attitude. Nope, not at all. If he was going to be a jealous prick then you were going to be a coy bitch. It might land you in hot water, but you were hoping it was the kind you liked with him, “Oh, but Ghostface, I thought you liked it when I was bent over?” 

The arm still pinning across the back of your neck lifted off quicker than lightning only to move into your hair and rip your head back with a snarl, “Only when your bent in front of me you little cunt!” You moaned at the pain in your scalp but still enjoyed the feeling. It sent some nice jolting tingles straight to your nipples, “But I was in front of you.” The grip in your hair was impossibly tight as the knife scraped against the wall as it moved from next to your face to press against your newly exposed throat. Ignoring that you pressed on, “You’re just pissed that it wasn’t your hands on me.” 

Even with his knife millimeters away from cutting into you and the very real possibility that he was beyond reasoning, would just slit your throat and throw you up to hang- there was still an overwhelming feeling of bravado and the need to tease just as much as his anger was crushing down on you. 

With that feeling overflowing, you took the chance before he responded to push just a little more, “In fact, I bet you’re mad because you couldn't make me stay like that.” Wiggling under his tight grip had your hair pulling and the knife pressing harder into your throat- a wet trickle down the side told you skin broke, “Bet you would have fucked me right there too. Let my friends see who's been giving it to me.” The hiss he let out had a smirk clawing its way onto your lips. That feeling of getting under his skin made it impossible to keep your next thought locked inside, “Too bad it was just Ace...His rough hands grabbing me, having him pressing against me, he could have pushed me however he’d wanted...too bad it wasn’t you.”

Growling out, “You little bitch.” he quickly pulled his knife away as he pressed his hips into yours- he must have liked what you'd said because he was half-hard already. Pulling your hair harder had you moaning out at both the rough treatment of your scalp and the hard length now pressed against your ass. A hot flush circulated your system as relief filled you- The fact that he hadn’t plunged the knife in was a good sign. It seemed like your gamble had paid off.

You moved your hips against his as he leaned in to hiss in your ear, “You’re fucking right I would have fucked you right there. Would have shown that prick exactly who you belong to.”

His knife hand grabbed your hip in a bruising grip and directed you how he liked, “I should just throw you up on a fucking hook with your tits out and my name carved across your chest for everyone to see.” Another wave of heat flushed through you at that, Would he? That’d be embarrassing as hell and you really did not want to explain that to your friends, at least not yet. But it sent heat through you all the same. "Show them how nasty you really are." On second thought explaining wouldn't be that big of an issue. Your squirming gave away how much you liked the thought, which he pointed out, “Of course a dirty girl like you gets off on that. I shouldn't even let you come. Should just use you and make you wait until you're really fucking sorry. ” 

Ignoring that last part to focus on his phrasing. He had said should, which implied that he was questioning it, so you asked in a shaky voice, “But?” Between his hands and his hips, you couldn’t hold back the moan at the pleasurable drag of him against your ass- he was only getting harder, “But nothing, I might just fucking do that...either way, they're going to talk. ” The hand in your hair released and reached around to hold your cheeks in a harsh grip, “I’m going to teach you a fucking lesson because it seems like my mouthy whore needs to be reminded of who she belongs to and what that means. They get free tickets to the show...Lucky them.”

The venom was still there, but instead of the pure angry tone from before, it was colored by an undercurrent of something darker- something hotter. Something that told you on an instinctual level you wouldn’t be walking the same if the entity didn’t have pity and heal whatever he was about to punish you with. Fuck, you wanted it though. Wanted all the pleasurable pain he was about to dish out to you. “You’re going to regret letting that bastard anywhere near you.”

Your brain wasn’t functioning not when he’d just declared he wanted everyone to hear him fucking you. See the evidence of it. Threatening it like he’d done about carving up your tits was a hot possibility, but he was actually serious about this. You weren’t sure what it was he was going to do to you, but you could tell you most certainly weren’t going to be quiet about it.

Ghostface could get rough sometimes, but it wasn’t the usual. Demanding? Yes. Controlling? Definitely. Explicit? Absolutely. But being rough just to be rough was generally only when he was especially frustrated, and that wasn’t often. Maybe only a handful of times since you’d been together and at this point, you weren’t even sure how long that was, all you knew was that it’d been a while. 

Which boasted to how much this affected him. How jealous he was seeing something that really, really hadn’t been anything at all. It should have turned you off, sent you running by how possessive he was, but you ignored that in favor of knowing he got you wetter than anyone else had ever done before. There was no way he’d admit to being jealous though, not outright, but you knew that’s what this was all about and fuck did that work for you. Having him teach you a lesson? All you could do was moan at the prospect. 

“Such an eager slut for it even after knowing your friends are gonna see. So pathetic.” You whined, whether in protest or confirmation it wasn’t clear, “You think it’s ok to let someone else put their hands on what’s mine? That’s not going to work, kitten.” at the pet name you knew this was going to be fun- but you couldn’t let him know that though, would have to turn up the waterworks, “We’re going to show them just what a disgusting whore you really are for me. Let them see you taking my cock and how you beg for it.” 

He shoved you down to your knees. The impact against the hard concrete making you wince, “Good, feel the sting. Better get used to it because your throat is about to feel it too.” he was going to fuck your face? God. You loved when he made you choke on it and you could tell with how aggressive he was you really were going to choke. 

The thumb on the hand on your face swiped across your bottom lip, dipping in to press down on your tongue causing some drool to slip down before regripping your face with the now wet appendage, “You’re going to open wide and let Daddy use this pretty mouth of yours while we let all your little fucking friends know whos been sending you back to that fucking fire pit covered in bruises.” Goddamn that set your nerves ablaze and if your panties hadn’t already been drenched that was added insurance. He was usually subtly possessive but this was flat out plain as day possessive and it had you crying for it. 

You didn't care anymore. You didn't give a single fuck if you had to explain why they'd caught you with a mouth full of Ghostface's cock- and maybe more. if this meant him declaring to everyone that you were his you’d happily tell them to fuck off if they had any issues. 

You were going to beg him for it, but the hand gripping your face prevented anything escaping outside of mumbled strained moans. He answered for you though because he forcefully made you nod up and down. In a mocking falsetto, he voiced for you, “Yes, sir. I’ll open up like a good girl and apologize with my filthy mouth. I'll show you how sorry I am for letting some asshole put their hands on me.” 

Yes, fuck yes! is wanted to say, but all that came out was a garbled moan through your closed mouth. At the sound, his grip tightened, “Such a fucking slut. Would you have moaned for that fuck too?” At your muffled outrage his grip forced your gaze up, “At least you fucking know better on that.”

You thought he would release you to undo his pants, but after a second of silence and you quietly looking at him, he said, "well? Get to apologizing with that pretty mouth before I decide to gut you instead." Ah, he wanted you to do it. That was fine by you, didn't really want him to let go of your hair anyways. You opened his pants with ease, already intimately familiar with the clasps and he squeezed your cheeks forcing your mouth open before he finally released the grip as you took him in. 

He was hard and pulsing when you pulled him out, precome just slightly swelling at the tip. He would have shoved into your still open mouth if it hadn’t been for the entranced look you were giving him. The affectionate desperation you wore while staring helped quell the rage clawing through him. He decided he'd let you play for a second, seeing you so willing to drool for him tore against the need to roughly shove down your throat.

Unabashedly licking a hand before wrapping it tightly around his base to give him a rough tug. Staring up at his mask again you pleaded with him, "I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t do it on purpose." Teasing his tip against your lips before you kissed the head, "I don't want him. Or any of them. Wanted it to be you" Licking the underside followed by a few gentle nibbles to the base made his breath catch, "Always you, daddy." 

His cock twitched against your tongue as he hissed, "And I like that they'll know. I want them to hear what you're about to do to me." He retightened his fist in your hair to pull your head back slightly. He took himself from your hands to slap his cock across your cheeks, "Yeah? You're gonna get off on them hearing your mouth full of killer cock? Filthy thing." You whined desperately trying to nod against his grip, "Then open fucking wide." You dropped your mouth quicker than he finished speaking and you were rewarded with another slap across your cheek before you felt him rest heavy against your tongue. 

It was hard not to close around him and start working on the shaft, but you could tell he wasn't going to let you warm up to it. He wanted you wrecked- a gagging crying used looking mess. And the heat that sent through you had your clit pulsing in want and made you squirm around for some type of relief. But you'd be a good girl and take it for him. 

"Keep your fucking eyes on me and don't you dare try to keep quiet. You better make as much noise as you fucking can." Before you could answer he was shoving to the back of your throat and down. The choked sob you made was just what he wanted as you gagged around him. Sliding down your throat, he mockingly cooed, “Aw, is that too much? Don’t lie, I know you can take it, kitten. Just relax and swallow like my good girl. Impress all your survivor friends.” 

You gagged hard and sputtered around him while he kept thrusting using the grip in your hair to hold you in place, “Don’t even try to deny it. You’re always gagging for it regularly. I bet those little boys wish they were here in this tight wet heat instead.” His voice was strained and you could hear him holding back his own moans. 

Gripping his thighs tightly while trying to relax like he'd suggested, but the burning stretch of your throat was hard to ignore, “But that's why we started this, huh?” his thrusts had been rapid and shallow, but were turning slower while he held in your throat longer, “None of their cocks would do it for you.” Swallowing around him only made him hold deeper, “ For as much of a dirty slut you are, none of them could get you going like I can.” 

Tears were freely falling- leaving tracks down your cheeks, drool was constantly spilling out, your throat ached at the persistent gagging, and the obscene noises you were making with each thrust was driving the both of you wild. “None of them. None...of...those...pricks!” He punctuated each word with a deep thrust, “No one can fuck you like I do.” You moaned sloppily around his cock in agreement, “ They’re not going to throat fuck you like this. And they not going to bend you over and make you fucking take it like daddy.” crying out around him just as much as you were gagging- near constantly and God did you love it.

You’d be begging for him to fuck you if you didn’t have a mouthful at the moment. So instead you were squirming, tightly gripping his thighs, tears continued to spill down, and taking anything he gave you. He knew you well enough to know what your pathetic looks and sounds meant, but he wasn’t folding, “Aw, do you want something?” all that came out were some choked sobs, “What's that? I can’t really understand you.” He shoved completely down your throat and held your head there causing you to swallow and make some disgusting throat sounds, “You should really learn not to talk with your mouth full, kitten.” He tutted at you while you sobbed harder, “ But I can’t expect any manners on such a dirty girl.”

His hand tightening and his voice gaining a shakiness betrayed how close he was even if he looked like the picture of control, “You’re not meant for them.” His pace quickened, “Your place is right fucking here.” He was using both hands to direct your head now, “On your goddamn knees for me.” He pulled out as he ripped your head back, “Gone on, tell them who fucking owns this you!” It only took you a second to catch your breath before you were rasping out his name, “Ghostface! I’m yours, just yours!” Movement in your peripheral caused your eyes to widen, someone was definitely watching. Maybe they all were, but you wouldn’t fuck this up by looking over to them. Who knows what he’d do then. 

You could hear how smug he was when he whispered, “Yeah they’re fucking watching. Saw you choking on it like a professional. Now show them how much of a cumslut you are for me and beg for it. If you do it good enough, maybe I’ll be nice and let you cum before the end of the trial.” Denying him wasn’t even a question, you’d said you wanted them to hear and now they had. The satisfaction that at least one of them knew was sending a burning hot pulse through you. 

So you started begging with your raw voice, “Please, I need it Ghostface! I want it so bad! Need your cum! I wanna taste it so bad. Please! Please, daddy, can I have it?!” He was still pumping his cock in front of your face while you continued to say his name like a prayer, “Open that pretty mouth for me, Babe.” You did as you were told and opened wide while staring up at his mask. The hand not working himself gripped your chin, sliding his thumb inside before moving back up into your hair to yank your head where he wanted. Keeping your mouth open as far as you could you moaned for it.

You could see more movement to the side, but you ignored it when you felt the first spurt of his cum splash against your cheek. He covered your face before giving you the last on your waiting tongue. “Keep your mouth open.” You heard the telltale clicks of his camera and embarrassment flushed through you just as a new wave of arousal settled low in your stomach. “You can swallow it now.” You made a show of savoring the taste for him, and anyone watching. 

Slowly opening your eyes you could feel your lashes heavy with his cum. You moved to wipe some of it away, but he caught your wrist, “You’re going to leave that right where it is.” You gave him a questioning look that he answered with, “I’m going to hang you up on that hook and you're going to run around the rest of this trial with it on your face.” Your jaw dropped as your face burned. That was so fucking embarrassing. You’d think that wouldn’t bother you since you let everyone watch you be thoroughly face fucked but having to talk to them with cum on you went to the next level. But you wouldn't try to stop him- didn’t want to. It sent a nasty pulse of perverse heat through you, “If you keep it like a good girl, I’ll fuck you in front of them before the trials up.” You were begging before you even realized.  

He chuckled while brushing some of your hair back from your face, “Well, let's get you up there on the hook then.” He lifted you with ease and surprisingly gently compared to his treatment just a second ago. You felt the familiar feel of the hook entering you, heard yourself scream, and then you were hanging there and he was patting a cheek of your ass, “Remember, no wiping it off until I say.” and then he was walking off. 

You hung there for a few minutes before you saw Jane silently walking towards you. You tried to look away, but she was already lifting you off of it. Settling on your feet had you unconsciously looking up to her. She was taking you in with a raised brow and a slight smirk, “Ghostface, huh?” Hearing her say it was about enough to kill you from embarrassment. 

[dustofbrokenheart]

The Covenant: A Little Jealousy

Reid Garwin x Female Reader

Word Count: 1,886

Summary: Reid accompanies you to a grad student social and gets a little jealous. Inspired by @saviorsong​s headcannon! 

The night air was crisp and the moon shone brightly overhead. It was well into spring so you were able to go out in a thin coat and a dress without feeling the icy prick of freezing temperatures on your skin.

The two of you were on the way to a dinner social your department put together for its grad students. A chance to get to get to know one another outside of the stresses of school life. With midterms over with, you were more than ready to have some fun.

Almost immediately after getting the email, you sent in your RSVP and put Reid down for your plus one. He grumped a little when you told him but you didn’t take him too seriously. He’d be contrary even if it was something he was actually interested in, just to get a rise out of you.

Reid and you lived only a few blocks away from the restaurant district, and opted to walk instead of circling around forever trying to nab a parking spot. Streetlights lined other side of the road. There was ample lighting. Still, you somehow managed to lose your footing.

Another couple was coming the opposite direction on the sidewalk and you scooted over to make more room for them. But when you moved to the side, your foot got caught in a crack at just the right angle. Next thing you knew, your leg gave out and you were stumbling forward, arms swinging wildly in a failed attempt to regain your balance.

You thought that you were going to hit the cement, and hit it hard, but strong arms were suddenly wrapped around your waist. It was a little jarring to come to a complete stop and all the air in your lungs was pushed out.

“Whoa!” Reid exclaimed in your ear. “That was a close one.”

You craned your neck to neck at him with large eyes. He slowly lowered you back to your feet but didn’t remove his arms from you.

“Y-yeah,” you stammered, adrenaline still coursing through you. There was ringing in your ears and your muscles were like jello. “Sorry, I—I’m still a little shaken.”

He rested his chin on the top of your head. “You’re alright, babe,” he assured you, his presence a big comfort. “Now, let’s get moving. If they eat all the appetizers before we get there, I’m gonna be pissed.”

The adrenaline drained out of you instantly and there was no stopping the snort that came out of your mouth. “Gee. Thanks for the motivation.”

“I know, I know: I should really do motivational speaking for a living.”

He let you go but kept your hand in his. You started walking again and it took him by surprise that you were going faster than him. So much faster that he had to stretch his arm straight out if he wanted to keep holding your hand.

Reid squeezed your hand to get your attention. You saw his brow raised in question and you returned the squeeze to his hand. “What? I’m going to be mad, too, if we don’t get any appetizers.”

You arrived at the restaurant in no time, half speed-walking, half running the rest of the way there.

Inside the restaurant, the hostess led you upstairs to the room reserved for the department. There were a lot of familiar faces, classmates and professors alike. There were even some kids running around which added more energy to the affair.

Guided by his nose, Reid quickly found the appetizer spread on a table that lined the far wall. The choices were top notch. Egg rolls, hors d’oeuvres, and meat filled phyllo cups all made his mouth water.

And even better than the finger foods were the drinks.

“Am I dreaming? Or are they really serving alcohol here?” He pointed to some people who walked by with bottles of craft beer in hand.

“I guess,” you answered less enthused. You’d been to several conferences by that point and alcohol had been served at all of them. But you didn’t want to bring him down. “You should go see if they have your favorite.”

“I think I will… What do you want me to get you?”

You thought for a second. “I’m feeling like white wine tonight. See if they have any good selections?”

He brought your hand up to his lips to place a gentle peck to your knuckles and promised he’d be back. You shooed him away equal parts thrilled and flustered. Despite most people’s first impression of him, Reid was quite the romantic, and normally you loved him for it, but you could already feel the stares from his display.

Holding your head high, you smiled politely at the onlookers and quickly made your way to a table in the corner with familiar faces. You said hi to your friends and in turn they introduced you to their plus ones. The conversation flowed effortlessly and your table was almost obnoxiously loud in your laughter.

“So where’s the boyfriend? Or did you come by yourself?”

You turned to the body besides you. Ben and you had a friendship that went back to your first semester in the program. The two of you had been in the same orientation session and found that your personalities meshed together well.

You knew that he was genuinely interested in meeting the boy you constantly talked about. Reid, however, walked in at precisely the wrong moment and took the question as a challenge.

“The boyfriend is definitely here.”

Setting down a plate of food and your serving of wine, Reid draped his arm across your shoulders and planted a kiss on you. The use of tongue would’ve been obvious to anyone who watched, including poor Ben.

Breathless, you pulled back and Reid allowed it. He kept his arm where it was and turned to Ben with a hard grin. “Who’s this?”

You cleared your throat as if to wipe the slate clean, like swipe of an eraser on a chalk board. “Reid, this my friend and classmate Benedict. He goes by Ben for short. Ben, this is Reid, my boyfriend.”

“Yeah, we’re basically married,” Reid joked.

You elbowed him under the table and gave him a look. This was nothing for him to be jealous over.

Ben stuck his hand out but rather than shake it, Reid picked up something off of the plate and pushed a small piece into your mouth. His fingers linger on your lips as you chewed the unexpected bite. Your friend slowly lowered his hand, realizing that a hand shake would not be happening.

Unbothered, Reid chatted away. “Do you like it? I knew you would. When I saw they had some, I made sure to get a lot.”

You were put in an awkward position.

On one hand, if you paid too much attention to Ben, Reid was likely to get more territorial. On the other, if you gave into Reid’s posturing, he may feed into it and put on an even bigger air. Not to mention that Ben wasn’t stupid. He probably already figured out that Reid wasn’t a fan.

Yes. You would have to play this very delicately.

“It is really good. Thanks, baby.” He practically preened and continued to feed you. “Hey, Ben? Have you started thinking about your final project for Bird’s class yet?”

The two of you shared your respective plans for a class you were both in, Reid observing with sharp eyes.

“I feel stupid now that I know what you’re doing,” Ben confessed. “You’re so smart. Probably the smartest in our year.”

“Yeah. She is,” Reid answered before you had a chance to speak up. His jaw clenched and he pulled you slightly closer into his chest. The boys stared each other down until Ben abruptly glanced down at his stomach.  

A loud, angry gurgle rang out. Ben looked horrified as he excused himself in a panic, presumably to rush to the nearest bathroom.

“Nice to meet you, Benedict.”

You figured out what was going on when you saw Reid trying to hold his laughter in. You glared at the blonde and he couldn’t control himself any longer. He wiped a tear from his eye he was giggling so hard.

“Are you crazy?” you hissed, trying to keep the volume down despite your anger. “That was totally uncalled for!”

He tried waving it off. “He’ll be fine. The spell wasn’t even a strong one.”

“First, he’s a good friend and only a friend. He didn’t deserve to crap his pants because you got jealous. Second, you promised to stop using so much.”

Still, he insisted, “It’s not a big deal,” as he reached to pick at the food plate.

Not backing down, you took a grape from him and flung it at his face. He rubbed his forehead in frustration.

“Seriously? He’ll be fine in ten, fifteen minutes max. Until then, he can think about how douchey it is to flirt with other people’s girlfriends.”

Flirting? At what point was any of that considered flirting? “Just because someone gives me a compliment, doesn’t mean they’re interested in that way.”

At last he deflated a little. Scratched the back of his neck where skin met blonde locks. “Okay, maaaybe I overreacted…but can you blame me? You’re amazing and I’m just a guy that manages to screw up all the time.”

Reid was a great guy, no question about it, but his self-doubt got the best of him sometimes. Being the “black sheep” of the family and the Sons left him with insecurities that he still worked through. Getting him to admit he was wrong was always half of the battle. Once he did, it was a simple matter of reassuring him.

“Hey,” you said as you stroked the back of his hand. “How many times have we had this talk? I’m not going anywhere.”

“Not even for Benedict?” he pouted.

“Not even for Ben,” you answered, pulling him into a hug. “And why are you so hung up on calling him by his full name?”

Reid scoffed. “It’s so pretentious. He definitely comes from old money.”

“Umm, baby, you come from old money. Is that the pot calling the kettle black?”

He muttered so you couldn’t make out what he said.

“Okay, how about we make a deal,” you offered. He lifted his head, seemingly interested. “You apologize for your behavior when Ben comes back—and you’d better call him Ben. You do that and I’ll give you a reward when we get home.”

To show him the kind of reward you meant, you kissed the corner of his mouth, your finger trailing up his thigh. His eyes widened, the black of his pupil dilated in normal, non-magical way. Oh, he was undeniably down to agree to the deal.

You gave hi one last peck. “Now remember: Ben. Not Benedict.”

“I don’t know. Benedict has more of a ring to it—” He stopped mid-sentence when you glared. “Fine. I’ll be nice to Ben.”

He may be a dramatic goof, but he was your dramatic goof. And if he needed a reminder every now and then, along with some tough love, then you were happy to do it.

“Good boy,” you said with a big smile.

_______________

Hopefully I did jealous Reid justice! I haven’t written him in a while so I hope he’s not too off the mark. Older Reid still has childish impulses when he gets jealous but he is mature enough to admit when he’s in the wrong now. And even though Pogue is the head foodie, I think all the boys are big eaters with the magic use and working out. 

Thanks for reading :) 

[cheegu3]

yooo i just thought of something else i don’t know where i’m getting these ideas from and i’m sorry if i’m being super annoying you don’t have to write it or you could wait like six years to write it if you don’t want to right now but i have another idea for yandere jay ����🥴

basically his s/o tries to be saved by pretending to order pizza for them but actually calls the police and tries to tell them her situation by pretending to order pizza, but he figures it out and stops her 😶

sorry if i’m pressuring you by bombarding you with ideas you don’t have to write them if you don’t want to 😭 you’re a queen and i hope you have a good day :)

Noo it’s okay cutie I only appreciate you!! I hope u have a good day too ;-; also sorry for lowkey writing smut again and then soft asf lmao

~ Trapped pt. 4 - yandere Jay ~

sooo i’ve like finally figured out how to end the series, can’t drag it out forever. Buuuut I can’t spoil wether it’s a happy or sad ending just throwing it out there :p

TW / trigger warning: yandere themes, abusive relationships, violence, gore, blood, murder, cursing, sexual themes

word count: around 2k

Summary: y/n is a stupid ass bitch who won’t give up

“ Get off me! “ you shrieked, still trying to kick him off. You heart was already beating a thousand times per minute thinking of his punishments that would follow this time. They only got worse as time went on. And now that he knew your soft spot, you were fucked.

You were met with a blank face when you were turned over to lay on your back. He was still holding your wrists in a firm grip but his expression baffled you.

‘‘ You’re..you’re not mad ‘‘ your voice sounded small, ready to flinch at the slightest movement in order to protect yourself.

‘‘ It was a fun game. That’s all it was ‘‘ he responded and got up, pulling you up with him and heaving you over his shoulder.

‘‘ Hey! Let me down ‘‘ you shrieked.

‘‘ Behave ‘‘ he hit your butt which made you shriek again and from your place you could see that he had started to move. The world was bouncing up and down. Your boyfriend went up the stairs and then towards your shared bedroom, throwing you down aggressively on the bed. 

You held your breath and watched him pace back and forth in the room, still with a blank expression on his face.

‘‘ My punishment? ‘‘ you said slowly, like a question thinking that it’d be better to just get it out the way.

‘‘ You won’t get one this time- ‘‘ you looked up at him in surprise having stared at your hands ‘‘-BUT, if you try even the smallest thing I will make you feel pain like nothing you’ve felt before ‘‘ he smirked, knowing that it would probably happen very soon and the thought of punishing you again turned him on.

‘‘ I haven’t seen you cry in a while ‘‘ he suddenly said, lost in his thoughts and you saw the growing bulge in his jeans as he said this making you feel disgusted but also well..intrigued. You couldn’t deny that he was good looking he looked almost ethereal having his back turned gazing out into the garden through the window. His shoulders were so...

No stop stupid y/n! you thought to yourself and physically gave yourself a light smack on the head. You suddenly realised what he had said.

‘‘ What? ‘‘

He turned to you and sat down on the edge of the bed.

‘‘ Don’t worry. I’m sure it won’t be long until I do...’‘ Jay was speaking more to himself now than to you and when he trailed off he put his hands up to your face slowly stroking your cheek.

You smiled at his rare display of affection willingly letting yourself get pulled into a hug.

‘‘ I love you ‘‘ he whispered and rested his chin on your shoulder like a little kid clinging onto its mother.

‘‘ I love you too ‘‘ you ran your fingers through his hair.

You two sat like that for a while. It was peaceful like this, only the sound of your breathing filling up the room. Without noticing, he had pulled you down on the bed and now he was more holding you than you were him. The sleepiness had crept up on you and when he noticed, he started rocking you a little bit giving soft kisses to the top of your head. You tried so desperately to keep your eyes open but failed and the last thing you felt was the kiss of the person who loved you most.

When you woke up it was dark outside, assuming it was evening and you had just taken a nap. You listened for sounds and caught a few voices and clattering. The possibility of it being food made your stomach growl loudly so you made your way out of the bedroom. On the top of the stairs you saw that the dining table was decorated, several dishes peeking your interest. Jay was sitting on the chair on the furthest end facing the stairs. He was expecting you and gave you a warm smile when you met his eyes and made a gesture to the seat next to him.

‘‘ Morning sleepy ‘�� you hurried down the stairs practically running and sat down next to him.

‘‘ Ha ha ‘‘ you said sarcastically and poked your tongue out at him.

Not giving it a second thought you started diving in not noticing your boyfriend watching you closely.

‘‘ What do you want to eat for dinner? I have some work to do, from home ‘‘ he asked once you had basically cleared the whole table, saying the last few words sharply. He could only refer to when you’d tried to escape when he was away at work...twice.

‘‘ Pizza ‘‘ you tried to ignore his tone, clearly he was still pissed and thought you would try it again.

‘‘ You call when you’re hungry yeah? ‘‘ he stood up and waved at one of the guards who called in a server to clear the table.

You only nodded and suddenly it dawned upon you. Another escape opportunity. He had told you to call which means that you could try the pizza method when you’re calling 911. Only what he said next would prove to be a slight hinderance to your plan.

‘‘ But you will have guards following you all day. Don’t try anything ‘‘ he smirked a little and left it at that, walking up the stairs and disappearing into his office.

Dammit

You could still try it, surely you still had a chance?

A hand firmly grasped your arm making you jump.

‘‘ Miss, Jay requested that you be in your room ‘‘

It was a guard, and another one in a black suit joined you on your other side. You felt trapped and so small. 

‘‘ What the hell ‘‘ was all you could whisper out. 

They had started pulling you up the stairs and when by the bedroom door, you were harshly pushed inside and the door slammed in your face. You had tried to turn around and push down the handle but a click sound told you it was too late. They had locked you in. And sure enough when you tried to push it open, the door didn’t move an inch. 

You sighed and laid down on the bed staring up at the ceiling. You imagined that this day would be quite eventless, being locked up in your bedroom like Rapunzel you’d have nothing to do. You spent the day looking out of the window, thinking about freedom, just hating Jay in general, planning your escape, then hating him a little bit more and reading a book while taking a bath. When hours had passed by, as you could see on the large clock hanging above the door, you decided to put your plan into action. Clearing your throat and trying to come off as innocent as you possibly could you leaned against the door and said,

‘‘ Heyy, I’m uh hungry now. Jay said that I could call for pizza. ‘‘ 

Some rustling and grunts were heard, the door rattled and then the lock was turned. You were met with the grumpy face of one of the guards and also...

‘‘ Sunghoon?? ‘‘ you bursted out.

One of your boyfriend’s bandmates was standing there. Real and breathing. You had never met any of them since Jay was very possessive and protective, well more jealous in your opinion. He thought they would ‘’ steal you away from him ‘’. He bit his lip nervously, looking around as if waiting for someone to pop out at any moment.

‘‘ Listen we don’t have much time “

You couldn’t help but feel bad, he looked so stressed but also you were curious. How the hell did he even know about you? From what Jay had told you, no one close to him knew about your existence. The fact that his bandmate was here, talking to you was a mystery in itself.

“ what? What do you mean? “

The only reason you knew it was Sunghoon was because you had memorised all their names, because you were home alone one day and very bored. Jay had been at work and it was safe to say that he was pissed and suspicious of you learning their names, punishing you for it that very night.

“ I will help you escape “ he said as if it was obvious.

You suddenly were aware of the guards’ presence now and came to the realisation that they didn’t care. They were within a distance which meant they would be able to perfectly hear everything that was said. Yet, they didn’t seem worried or angry, maybe he had some good guards after all.

“ How? “ you no longer cared about how he knew about you or your situation. The thought of someone finally helping you even in the slightest way made you excited.

“ The pizza thing, you know that method when you pretend to order a Pizza but you call the police? “ he explained.

“ yes, I was gonna do that “ you answered a bit disappointed, thinking he’d come with something easier or revolutionary.

“ Okay good. I’ll try to distract him, the band is meeting here tonight and I think he had plans of hiding you in this room all night “

You nodded in agreement. Then he gave you a small encouraging smile and looked to the guards, slowly backing away and walking down the stairs. You were alone now and everything was on you, no time for mistakes. When Sunghoon had disappeared downstairs to the library you assumed, one of the guards handed you a smartphone.

Your hands were slightly shaking as you put the number in. The signals seemed to never end, before a spark was heard and a voice spoke, relieving your anxiety slightly. But then, the door to Jay’s office opened which made your heart skip a beat.

He was coming over here, he knew what I was gonna do. He’ll kill me, you thought and swallowed, trying to speak as casually as you could. No one had come out of the office yet but you heard voices from inside.

“ Hi, uh..I would like, I- “ you caught sight of your boyfriend, walking out with two other men behind him and he looked at you. He stopped for a moment turning his back to you and started chatting to the men again.

You cleared your throat, trying to not let the anxiety win. Everything was gonna be okay.

“ I would like to order a pizza “

You sounded a little bit more confident than before but on the inside you were screaming. You weren’t even sure if this was gonna work.

“ What? Ma’am this is the wrong number “

“ No, no no no! “ you shrieked, making Jay turn around and give you a curious look.

“ Oh yeah, the address it’s umm...it’s “

He was still watching you closely, and the fact that he hadn’t turned around to continue to talk was worrying you.

Instead he was moving, straight to you. And when you saw his eyebrows furrow and the look in his eyes you knew that he knew.

Paralysed with fear you couldn’t move and could only watch as he snatched the phone out of your hands. Everything became a blur, the voices fading out but amidst the chaos you could make out what would be the signal of the end of your escape attempt.

“ Yeah sorry. My wife is mentally ill, she often calls 911 to prank call or accidentally thinking it’s another number- “ he continued but you couldn’t hear at all now, only feel the tears that slowly traveled down your cheeks.

You didn’t even feel it when his guards dragged you into the basement as you stared hopelessly into  nothingness. Only realising what was about to happen when the sound of the door being slammed was heard and the darkness surrounded you. Footsteps came closer and closer.

You were terrified. He was coming.

[imthepunchlord]

so I recently read through your "Always a hero"-works. And now I am hooked on LfM. And while Adrien Seems so much different from canon, he really isn't? Marinette not being in his "friends-folder" means he sees no reason believing her over Chloe. (I cannot recall situations like that in canon but when does canon explore sidecharas much other than to akumatize them)

It essentially is canon Adrien, though been focusing on his worst aspects as we’re going into 4 seasons, and those issues have yet to be addressed and I’m a tad salty and LfM is a salt fic response fic. And Adrien for a while will have that salty focus. Largely because

And yeah, canon won’t put focus on side characters (or even truly focus on our lead herself) as those characters have to circle around the love square, their akumas, or 

Actually the most we got is Chloe. 

She got focus outside Adrien and the love square. Unfortunately, all her focus was a big waste of our time and essentially another tease of “is she going to be redeemed or not”. Ultimately not and its like, why even bother spending two seasons focusing on will she won’t she be better. That could’ve been shortened down to one. Now she’s a very irritating character and canon wise, I don’t want to see her with another miraculous ever again. 

Which is a shame as I was one of many up to see Chloe redeemed, especially since I’m fed up with the idea that 14 yos girls are irredeemable but Gabriel will probably be redeemed. It shouldn’t be like that for Chloe or Lila. But they want to push that these girls are absolutely evil, more so than the active terrorist who is a neglectful father and by Chat Blanc abusive so... 

It’s also a big shame cause there was so much potential in the side characters outside love square and Adrien. 

Putting this under cut cause I just go off and it gets lenthy. 

Alya could’ve had an amazing arc if she was a full time hero. Could’ve had a struggle of balancing her hero and civilian lives, as one she is essentially living her dream. Another option is learning, hey, being a hero isn’t all glory and glamour. And depending on the miraculous, there was more to learn, especially since I myself am not big on her having Fox anymore and there are better alternatives, both in matching her but also teaching her things she needs to learn. She could learn to be more of a team player and to be more conscious of her friends as when she gets going in her goals, she can be quite inconsiderate. She can also learn to be more self conscious of her own security as she can rival Adrien in reckless behavior around akumas. And in truth, any miraculous can teach her the importance of secrecy, not Fox exclusively. 

Honestly, Alya and Nino should’ve had their miraculous swapped (most characters actually don’t have a miraculous that suits them in terms of kwami,  powers, or/and symbolism).  Alya at the core is meant to be a supportive friend that is supposed to have her friends’ back, but also prefers to be on the front lines. Turtle would allow this, and teach her to be more aware of the danger she and her friends are in. It won’t essentially stop her reactive behavior, but she can learn to be more smart about it. 

And with Nino, it was always weird to me how popular it was for him to get Turtle. And then it happened in canon and I’m just put off by the assignment. Nino at the core isn’t a character that wants to be on the front lines, but Turtle is a miraculous that is meant to be on the front lines as a protector. Nino is a support role, but not in that sense. Fox would’ve been better as its more designed to help from the shadows. It won’t be as aesthetically pleasing still as Nino is so color coded for Peafowl, but would fit better as it allows Nino to be a background support. It would also help him learn to be more observant and aware of others, and wanting to be a director, you need to learn to put on a good show that draws your audience in. Mirage can give him a chance to truly practice this. Mindful, Fox still isn’t my top pick for Nino (I think Fox would be more fitting with Marinette or Felix), Peafowl still is as that’s what he is coded for, and even canon wise, it would be a more fitting miraculous for him than Turtle. But of what Fu has, Fox would’ve been the better pick for Nino. 

And speaking of Nino, it’s revealed from a tweet from Thomas that Nino had lost an older brother and that his hat belonged to him. That actually gives Nino an emotional tie in to the plot as, while he wants his brother back, he wouldn’t go to the extent that Gabriel is. 

Classmate wise, there’s potential too. 

Origins shows that everyone was afraid of Ivan and assumed the worst of him, he could’ve had an arc of changing those views. Go from being feared to being seen as a hero to trust. A source of protection and security. 

Juleka wants to shine out more. But she struggles in that spotlight and to even be heard. She could have an arc about being heard, and building her confidence. 

Rose is a girl ruled by her heart and is full of love and trust for others. It could be interesting seeing her have a miraculous and struggling with the factor that fighting is involved, but she herself is a pacifist (at least I get that impression). And that can be an interesting thing to explore, as she’s not wrong, but sometimes fighting is the only way. She can also learn to be more conscious that there are those who will take advantage of her and will have active malicious intents to her and others. 

Kim actually states that he wants to be a hero. Not only could him as a hero be fun, it could help him mature as a character and be more serious, as akumas demand focus and be treated as serious. Copycat shows that he can be an observant character, I’d be intrigue to see ML’s residential himbo be surprisingly observant and offer up advise to his friends. 

And of alternative love interests... 

Well, this is more Kagami than Luka, at least in terms of character potential and an arc to see. Though, as of now, if all the predictions are correct SPOILER ALERT, Lies will break up Adrien and Kagami, to me its going to make them another Chloe. More specifically, why did we spend two seasons building up and teasing these alternative love interests only to immediately break them up at the start of s4. 

To me, that sets them up as pointless inclusions who ultimately didn’t bring anything to the narrative. 

Either way, this is about character potentials and I see more potential to explore with Kagami than Luka, and that’s more on the writers and how they handle Luka as most Luka episodes wound up more about Adrien than him. So he is largely a character I just don’t know what to do with. 

Kagami though, she’s an aggressive character that could learn to cool it, she wants to branch out/rebel from her mother, she wants to make friends but struggles with it, and can learn to be more conscious of others and step up into the hero role, of helping others. 

Honestly, working solely off Riptose, she would’ve been a better rival for Adrien than Marinette. Not just as a love rival, which he truly has yet to have, but a rival in general. While she wants to branch out from her mother’s influence, fencing is still her passion and her goal, something Adrien himself lacks. Outside being romantically involved with LB, he has no passion or goal for himself. Kagami can challenge this, why is he here when he doesn’t truly care about fencing? 

And as a romantic rival, she’s one of the few who doesn’t need a miraculous to join fights, she can vigilante to assist LB and pay her back for her helping in cleansing her, but could end showing that she’s a better partner to LB as she takes things more seriously and is more battle smart in fights. Which ultimately would force Adrien to step up his game, take things more seriously, and wise up for throwing a tantrum will only take you so far. Especially when there’s a 3rd party member that’s judging you for your immaturity and shows LB she doesn’t have to bow to his whims just because he’s having a tantrum. 

...You know, maybe Luka then would’ve been better as Marinette’s rival. Not a love rival, Marinette has enough between Chloe, Lila, and Adrien’s fanclub. But more of a rival for Ladybug. Though, it won’t so much be an arc for Luka himself but one for Marinette. If Kagami and Luka are supposed to help Adrien and Marinette grow, then this at least keeps in that theme. 

With the show taking a turn that Marinette is feeling overwhelmed and stressed with her role as a hero and now Guardian, and slightly playing off Origins and her doubts of whether she’s a good hero; Luka could’ve been an interesting character for her to come across and consider. Ultimately, he is set up to be a very solid hero: he is calm, mature, shown to be a planner, and considerate and aware of others. Only thing he has against him is that he’s a removed character and is mostly seen sitting on that boat. 

Romance between them I’d leave as optional, but it could be intriguing to see Marinette considering the possibility of retiring as Ladybug and passing it on to Luka so she can fully embrace her Guardian duties and not be so overwhelmed. And in general, it is a big wonder, who would take over as the Ladybug if Marinette has to leave and not come back, or that she can’t balance between being a hero and being the Guardian (and in truth, Tikki is no longer a good kwami for Marinette to have as she’s developing an Atlas complex through her and she hasn’t been helpful as a guide and adviser in a long time). 

Now the show writers would butcher this, but it could’ve been interesting to see. Maybe Luka could’ve been a means to help her learn to manage things better if she has to stay LB and Guardian. 

But yeah, it’s a shame that this show won’t delve past the LS which has long since gotten stale and quite toxic. There’s a lot of potential, but they won’t touch it. Won’t care to.