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sailorholly · 6 months

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Sixty Seconds

Summary: When you’re forced to share a room with your rival, sparks fly during a friendly competition.

Warnings: Smut. 18+ Only. Minors DNI. Scratching. Orgasm denial. 69.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x F. BAU Reader

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You toss your go bag in the corner of the hotel room. You don’t know how you always end up in these situations. You are in a new city for a case. It’s a tourist town, so the team was lucky to find any lodging at all. You expected you would have to share a room with someone. You just didn’t think it would be with him.

When the lady at the front desk told Hotch there was only four rooms left, everyone quickly paired up. Penelope tightly gripped Derek’s arm, claiming him. Hotch and Rossi nodded their confirmation to each other. JJ and Emily walked over to each other. You and Spencer were the only ones left. You both shared the look of disdain, dreading being stuck together.

You hadn’t been to the local police station yet. Hotch thought it would be best to find somewhere to stay first. You were all grateful he thought of it. There wasn’t a room left in the whole city. You didn’t even look around, just put your stuff down and hurried to the elevators.

When night fell, you were surprised to find there was only one bed in the room. This case was taking its toll on everyone and you were looking forward to relaxing under the covers, mindlessly scrolling on your phone.

Spencer hadn’t made it in yet, so you explore the room. You inspect the small sofa against the wall. Surely it had a pull out bed. You take the cushions off and sigh. It was just a normal sofa. When Spencer came in, he noticed the problem too. “I’m not sleeping on the couch.” You figured you better say it first. Spencer looks over at the small piece of furniture. “I wasn’t going to ask you to do that. I thought we could sleep in the same bed and be civil, like adults. But you have to fight with me about everything.”

You can feel the anger surging through you. “I don’t like to fight with you, but you leave me no choice. Of course, we can sleep in the same bed. I just didn’t think you would want to. You might be too tempted.” You smirk, watching his dark eyes travel every inch of your body. “The only thing I’d be tempted to do is push you off the bed.”

You roll your eyes, gathering your pajamas and toiletries out of your bag. “I’m going to take a shower first.” When you’re finished, you start to panic. You thought you would have a room to yourself or that you would be with the girls at the very least. So all you brought to sleep in was a crop top and panties. You put it on, worried you might have to sleep in jeans so Spencer would be comfortable.

But his words from earlier echoed in your mind. It shouldn’t be a problem since he doesn’t find you attractive. You walk out confidently, Spencer glances up at you from his spot on the sofa where he was reading. You watch as his eyes linger on the thin crop top where your hardened nipples peak through the shirt.

He drops his gaze to the floor when he notices you watching him. He stands, gathering his belongings and walking to the bathroom. You get in the bed to check your text messages. Spencer comes out wearing a white t-shirt and blue plaid pajama pants. He gets in beside you, the bed dipping as he settles in.

You put your phone on the charger, turning off the lamp on the nightstand beside you. You thought sleep would come easily, considering the exhausting day you had. But you lay there in uncomfortable silence for what feels like hours. You turn the lamp back on, turning toward Spencer, surprised to find him facing you. “Can’t sleep?” He asks, his dark eyes glancing at your chest.

You decide to tease him a little. You might as well get some enjoyment out of this undesired arrangement. You lay on your back raising your chest and sighing. “It’s just so hot in here, I’m uncomfortable.” You lie, tossing the blanket off your body, exposing more of yourself to him. You run your hands over yourself, lifting your crop top to underneath your breasts.

You watch Spencer’s breath hitch as you sigh loudly, hands traveling down your stomach. He watches intently as you reach the top of your panties, snapping the waist band. “If I was alone, I’d be sleeping naked by now.” You sit up, your chest right in his face. Spencer shifts in his place on the bed. You watch as he moves his legs awkwardly, you notice he’s turned on.

Spencer Reid wants you. You smile, “I thought you wouldn’t be tempted by me, Reid.” He scrunches his nose up. “It’s not because of you. It’s a natural reaction to sharing a bed with a barely dressed woman. It has nothing to do with you.” You decide to push him a little further, so you climb on top of him, reaching for his hands. He goes still under your touch.

You place his limp hands on your hips. “Wha- what are you doing?” You squirm on top of him, feeling his hardness underneath you. “Proving my point. I saw you checking me out. I know you want me.” He tightens his grip on your hips, “Keep dreaming, sweetheart. I wouldn’t want you if we were the last people on Earth.” You laugh, “That’s okay, you wouldn’t be able to get me off anyways.”

You try to swing a leg off him to remove yourself, but he stops you. “Wanna bet?” You study his face, he has to be joking. “Bet what, that you can make me cum?” You shake your head, he’s being ridiculous. “I’m not worried about that. I’ll make you cum so hard, that you’ll only think of me every time you get off. How about we make it a competition?”

Now you’re interested. You love competing with each other. “What kind of competition?” He runs his thumb against the soft skin of your leg, thrusting upward, causing you to moan. He smirks, pleased with himself. “I’ll set a timer and the first to bring the other to orgasm wins.”

“So we have an unlimited amount of time to do this and just whoever cums first loses?” You ask, trying to understand the rules. “An infinite amount of time is too broad. I only need a minute.” He states confidently. “A minute as in sixty seconds?” You ask, shocked.

“If you don’t think you can do it in the allotted time then-“ “I can do it. I was just repeating the rules.” He smiles, knowing you just lied. “Let’s get naked first so it doesn’t take up any time.” He agrees by shedding his clothes. Your hands tremble a little as you lift your crop top over your head. You don’t understand why you’re reacting this way. It’s just Spencer. You blame it on the adrenaline of competing with him. “Are we going one at a time or-“

“We go at the same time so it’s fair.” He lays on his side, motioning for you to lay the opposite way, with your face by his hard cock. “Seriously, we are going to 69?” You giggle. You haven’t done this since you were in high school. He doesn’t answer as he swipes on his phone. “Time starts now.” He informs you, his beautiful face settling between your legs.

Long fingers dig into your thighs as he begins his torture. Long licks cover you as he explores you. Your wet mouth slides down his length, lips closing around him. He moans for you as you dig your nails into his thighs, pulling him as close as you can.

Spencer’s talented tongue switches from slow drags to quick flicks. Your legs shake, you’re so close already. You hadn’t expected it to be like this. You thought he would cum in the first few seconds, but it didn’t seem like he was close at all. He buries his face deeper, his tongue swirling in intricate patterns that make your head swim. Probably tracing some math thing, you decide.

You suck in your cheeks around him, one hand covering what couldn’t fit in your mouth. His lips seal around your clit, sucking lightly. You whimper as your nipples rub against his smooth skin. Your demise begins when you look down at him. His messy hair moving with every tilt of his head. This isn’t an image you want to forget any time soon.

You realize your mistake as your orgasm hits, crashing into you like a wave. You squeeze your thighs around his head, chanting his name like a prayer. You can feel his cocky smirk against you as he laps up his victory. The alarm goes off as you come down from your high.

Spencer presses a soft kiss to your inner thigh. You sit up giving him a death glare. “I don’t want to hear it.” You really shouldn’t be acting like a sore loser when you lost in the best possible way. You lay down beside him, instinctively reaching for his hand. “Don’t get any ideas, I still hate you.” He quickly removes his hand from yours.

You lift your eyebrows, ready to challenge him again. “Then fuck me like you hate me.” You don’t have time to react. Spencer is on top of you pinning your arms above your head with one large hand wrapped around your wrists. You tilt your hips as Spencer sinks into you. He buries his face beside your neck. His sharp teeth sink into the soft skin, earning a hiss from you.

You arch your back, taking him impossibly deeper. You’ve never had sex like this before. It’s fast, intense, and demanding. You move in a frenzy, bodies crashing into each other. Spencer pins you against the mattress with his hips as he fucks you roughly.

Each snap of his hips drags your clit deliciously against his pubic hair. The once silent room is now noisily filled with the sweet moans and pants escaping you. Spencer groans as you clench around his cock.

He slows his thrusts, his expression almost sinister. “I don’t think you deserve to get off again. All that big talk and you were cumming on my tongue forty three seconds in. I think you should be punished for your hubris.” His cock slowly drags against your walls and you feel tears flood your eyes. You don’t mean to whimper, but you were close again.

“Shh, shh don’t cry, pretty girl. I might let you, if you beg me.” Another torturously slow thrust, and the tears fall down your cheeks. “In your dreams, Reid.” You struggle against his hold on your wrists, but it’s no use. He still has you trapped right where he wants you.

“Come on, admit it. You need me.” He sounds more sure of himself than normal. You want to be annoyed, but he’s right. You’re desperate. “Please.” You give in. He smiles, thrusting a little harder this time. “Please what? Use your words.”

“Please let me cum. I promise I’ll be a good girl. I need you. Please, Spencer?” He senses the sincerity in your voice. “That’s more like it.” He snaps his hips forcefully, releasing your hands. They immediately cling to his back, scratching and clawing at him as he hits all the right spots.

He hooks one arm under your back, bringing you closer. Your cries and mewls encourage him to go faster. “Ah f-fuck. You’re being such a good girl for me.” His praises make you flutter around him. He reaches between you to circle your clit. You cry out as you shatter beneath him, nails digging so deep, they could draw blood.

You feel his thrusts grow sloppy as he spills into you. He pulls you against him, “This doesn’t mean anything.” He almost whispers against your shoulder. You hum your agreement, enjoying the moment.

Tags

@cindylynn @potter-puff007 @multifandom-worlds @mochie85 @wheredafandomat @cynbx @lover-of-books-and-tea @lamentis-10 @zzumkii @megharat-barnes-reid @anonymously-ominous @kats72 @vivian-555 @itzdarling @emarich7 @nomajdetective @aelinismyqueen @wildernessflora @academiareid @loz-3

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potionpeddlerpatchy · 1 year

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word count: ~4.3K

paring: Kageyama x fReader

warning(s): panty stealing, male masturbation, nonconsensual listening (he purposefully listens in on the Reader getting it on), peeping (a hint), and slight obsessive behaviour, Kageyama is a perv in this, so be warned.

authors note: well, much like the Bokuto fic, this has finally arrived; and has taken just as long to complete. After the success of the Perv!Bokuto fic, figured I would continue on and make a series out of it - with the next character (due to popular demand) being Kageyama. If you like it, and want more, please let me know (and who you wanna see next), otherwise please enjoy this fun little piece with our favourite tsundere volleyball player~ 🔮

Having a roommate was a sensible thing.

It meant that bills and rent were split evenly, which in turn meant less stress on a young person’s life to make ends meet - to not have to worry as much about having enough to eat or being able to buy the important things in life - and it meant shared resources, things like appliances, necessities, and cleaning supplies; which meant not having to worry if you’ll go without for long. And it especially made sense that an up-and-coming professional volleyball player would want a similar professional as a roommate.

At least, that was how Hinata Shoyo put it as he begged, nearly going to his knees, the taller raven-headed man, trying to convince his closest friend to get an apartment in the city with him.

And that was Hinata’s main point:, that he was a friend. One that Kageyama had known for years, which meant that not only were they in a similar boat together (having similar schedules, and professional careers), but Hinata was one of the few people Kageyama could stand being around for more than a few hours.

“So come on please!?” Hinata cried out, clinging to the taller man’s shirt. “You won’t get a better deal, 'cause I know you can’t afford to live in the city yet! And do you really wanna chance moving in with a stranger that you can’t stand!? That might have disgusting habits?”

And well, that was what sold it for Kageyama.

Within a month he was packed and standing in the middle of an empty apartment, with an over-eager red-head as they took the lay of their land; it wasn’t a big place (a standard two-bedroom, one-bath) but there was room to breathe and get comfortable in. And, at the end of the day, if Kageyama had to be stuck living in a place like this and needed a roommate, Hinata was his first and only choice.

It didn’t take long for things to be unpacked and for the dust to settle; because really there was only so much furniture two early twenty-somethings had to their name, but the principal remained the same - that a routine was formed, and rather quickly, that fit Kageyama’s standards.

And really, how could it not? Kageyama would wake up, shower, eat breakfast, and be almost out the door by the time his roommate would finally wake up - meaning there would be no hindrance to the strict routine he wanted to keep and maintain further. And the same can be said whenever he finally got home, he was able to eat and get settled for the evening without too much fuss or interference; able to enjoy the living room, and the apartment as a whole, in peace and silence for a few hours. To allow him to recharge and be more prepared to deal with his more extroverted friend/roommate.

That’s what the weekends were for anyway, to let loose and enjoy life; and that was where Hinata’s presence was appreciated the most - how he was always able to convince him to step out of his comfort zone and try new things. Though Kageyama would be reluctant, would complain and think of any excuse to not go somewhere, he was always thankful at the end of the day to have someone who cared enough about his social life to not let it crumble. Almost strangers during the week, but roommates and friends when the weekend arrived - it was an ideal situation.

And then you showed up.

Appeared within the apartment without warning; sitting on his couch, on your phone, when he woke up one morning, getting ready to start his day and routine of training and maintaining his schedule; you even had the audacity to tell him, with a sickly sweet and obnoxious smile, coffee was made and ready if he wanted any - as if caffeine was good for an athlete. He left without a word, just a mere roll of his eyes and an annoyed scoff before leaving for the day; coming home later in the evening to give Hinata a piece of his mind.

The redhead was apologetic, as always, doing his best to apologize for the lack of proper warning. “Though, to be fair, she has been over before! You just were never around!” he tried to reason as if that made anything about the situation better. Hinata explained that he met you at a game; you were the one fan he remembered that night - cheering for him the loudest as they played another round-robin in their division - coming up to him afterward and offering him a celebratory drink; and hey, the man was only human.

One drink turned to two, then three, and soon, they spent the night chatting away; he even left with her phone number and the promise to see each other soon. After a few dates, Hinata proposed the idea of going steady, “‘cause seriously dude, she’s really an amazing girl! I couldn’t pass up this chance and let her go!” Things were going pretty well, and after hanging out the night prior you decided to spend the night, that was all.

And it all made sense, one way or another, as to why you were there that morning; you weren't just some stranger in his home - you were a guest, his roommate's girlfriend. Though Kageyama found it hard to believe that the ‘amazing girl’ Hinata kept gushing about, kept going on and on until Kageyam’s eye would twitch in annoyance, could possibly be you.

Because you were a nuisance to his entire way of life. A constant hindrance and blockade in his way as he tried to go about his usual routine.

In the mornings, when he used to be the first and only one up, he would have the bathroom and kitchen to himself; to shower and eat in a timely fashion before heading out the door. Now, after you got comfortable staying the night, he would be lucky to make it to practice on time. You hogged the bathroom, your annoying humming as you brushed your teeth and did your hair took too long for Kageyama’s liking - forcing him to use the kitchen sink to get rid of his morning breath. And if you weren’t taking up the bathroom, you would be in the kitchen, monopolizing the space as you made breakfast; constantly getting in his way, dirtying as many of his dishes as you possibly could, and using up all his food that was in the fridge…; he can’t help but roll his eyes, a scowl on his face, whenever you try to offer the sad excuse of a breakfast you had just created to him - he was always too angry to say anything to you when you did, he would just simply put his coat on and leave.

And it wasn’t just the morning routine you would infiltrate and destroy;, oh no, you seemed to want to rip apart the entire routine - one that took him months to build and maintain. Now, when he would come home after a long day of training, of pushing his body to the utmost limit and wanting to do nothing more than relax in his living room (an area normally empty and silent most days of the week, to just breathe deeply and meditate for a few hours and recharge, was now ruined, as whenever he would walk through the door, there you were sitting on his couch, playing some obnoxious and loud game on your phone, and greeting him once again with that stupid giant smile on your face like you’re happy to see him. It made him stomp to his room annoyed and frustrated - always ensuring he slammed the door for you to hear.

At night it was the worst; normally he would go to sleep without issue - as he would go to bed early enough to miss Hinata’s loud nighttime routine - ensuring that he would get the 8-hours of rest he needed to ensure peak performance the next day. But now? With you staying the night? He doesn’t get nearly that many hours. He knows you do your best to muffle the sounds, to make it seem like nothing else is happening on the other side of the paper-thin wall then you and Hinata trying to get comfortable in bed, but it doesn’t work. Kageyama can hear everything; your moans, mewls, gasps, and sighs of pleasure, they all ring so loudly in his ears making it impossible for him to fall asleep - even after they go quiet, after you have been tuckered out and are fast asleep, they play on a loop in his mind.

He knows that neither of you are aware that he can hear you, that he inadvertently listens whenever you fuck, given the bright and cheery smile you both cast his way in the morning as if nothing has changed, as if he wasn’t in on your dirty little secrets.

But he knows, and it plagues him constantly.

Now whenever he finds you in the kitchen, either making coffee or breakfast that is far too much for one person, he cannot stand near you or look in the eyes whenever you offer him a mug or plate; cannot begrudgingly work alongside you as he tried to fix his bowl instant oats and honey; cannot just merely scoff and roll his eyes at you like he normally would - his biting responses now turned into quiet shakes of his head, his heart beating out of his chest as he tries not to stare at you; as he tries not to be entranced by your plush thighs that were barely caged within the smallest shorts he had ever seen; how they would ride up and hide nothing, giving him plenty of fuel for his imagination.

Whenever he sees you on the couch when he gets home, all sprawled out playing on your phone, he doesn’t stomp off to his room and slam the door like he normally would after finding out you ruined his plans; instead, he’s almost stunned in the doorway as you greet him; having the unusual giant impact of making his cock twitch in his pants, made worse when he realizes you're wearing his old high school's jersey. Merely greeting you with a slight raise of his hand before scurrying off as quietly as possible to deal with the newfound tent problem in his sweats.

And at night, he can’t help himself from pressing his ear to the wall; shirt tucked between his teeth to keep his whimpers and moans down as he stroked his heavy, leaking cock to the sounds of your high-pitched moans; closing his eyes and picturing what position you must be in, how pretty you would look with your mouth stuffed with his length, and how thankful you would be with your pussy leaking his cum. The guilt and shame that washes over him once he cums into his hand is almost devastating, but he cannot help but think it’s worth it whenever he wipes himself clean.

You, on the other hand, were clearly blissfully unaware of the situation that had been slowly unfolding over the past few weeks; sweetly ignorant of the secrets your boyfriend’s roommate had been hiding. For all you know, the man who seemed to hate the very earth you walked on - the man who could barely tolerate your existence or be in the same room as you - was slowly starting to warm up to you, becoming somewhat tolerable to be around.

You were ecstatic, happy to know that your relationship with Hinata would no longer jeopardize his friendship with one of his closest friends and overjoyed that the possibility of forcing Hinata to choose a side would not have to befall him. And Hinata? He was just happy to see his two favorite people slowly starting to get along, especially as it meant more opportunities to invite you over.

You liked Kageyama, in the simplest of terms. He seemed to be a decent guy, even if he was high-strung, but you knew it was due to his passion for being the best he can be - and how could fault him for that?

Besides, you liked his company. He was quiet and more relaxed than Hinata was, which at times was a little more welcomed after a long day of work, or when you first got up and haven't had a cup of coffee yet. And he was polite–sweet even, surprisingly so. It always caught you off guard; Whether that be telling you he bought the kind of yogurt you liked or allowing you to watch something on the TV, even though he was clearly just trying to enjoy the living room in peace, Kageyama's niceness always caught you off-guard.

You were grateful for the change in dynamic, even if it did seem out of the blue; it was a welcomed happenstance, one you weren’t going to jinx or question too much. For you were happy to continue on without the answers, happy to continue to be with Hinata and the perks that came with it, happy to finally feel comfortable in his apartment - to live in the shared space without being seen as a burden.

You finally felt comfortable, and really, what was better than that?

Well, you were too comfortable.

Kageyama knew it to be fact, though Hinata would disagree.

He was grateful you finally felt comfortable in his home. Kageyama wishes you didn't. Because when a person is comfortable, the little, embarrassing habits that they try to hide slowly start to show. For some, like Hinata, it’s having conversations with himself - sometimes loud, sometimes quiet - as well as leaving half-eaten food in the most random of places because he got distracted and forgot them. Kageyama can even admit that he oftentimes forgets food in the microwave, or leaves his shoes in entranceways, inadvertently causing people to trip on them. All things normal, and natural, once comfortable in a space.

Kageyama wishes yours were little things like that. Talking with your mouth full, or singing loudly in the shower, or leaving wrappers all over the place; anything that could put you in a normal, negative, light (would be better than your bad habits).

But no. Your bad habit was leaving, your panties where just anyone could find them. And he can tell, neither you or Hinata are aware of it.

Kageyama didn’t notice at first, why would he? Why would he care about your clothes, not like he had any use for your dirty laundry? When he finally did, it was an accident. He entered the bathroom after you had taken a shower, and as he placed the bathmat down on the floor he saw them; a navy pair of lace panties just sitting there, right by the tub. The shower he took afterward was long and very cold.

After that incident, he found them more and more; much like noticing red cars only after you start thinking about them. He would notice that you often forget about your panties when you leave the next morning after spending the night; whether in the bathroom crumpled in the corner nearest the tub, or scattered in some hap-haphazard form near Hinata’s doorway.

At first, he tried to ignore them, leaving them there and pretending they didn’t exist. It did help you were usually close by, your “would you like some coffee, Tobio-san?” or “your breakfast looks ready, don’t forget it this time~” often effectively stealing his attention and thus having him suppress his thoughts to speak with you about the little things you leave behind.

Then it turned into something he couldn’t ignore. Llater as he stared at them a moment or two too long before walking away from them; burning into his memory the colour, shape, and fabric type as he uses the image of you wearing them whenever he wakes from a naughty dream, or needed to cool off in the shower after a stressful day, or whenever he couldn’t sleep because his cock ached for you.

But it didn’t take long before an embarrassing habit of yours turned into a disgusting habit of his. His cheeks would burn red as shame would fill his being, knowing he was the very roommate that Hinata had threatened about when convincing him to move in together, but he couldn’t help it; you unlocked something depraved in him and he was just trying to keep it at bay.

He knows you don’t mean to leave them, or at least not in plain view, but after a while he couldn’t help but have that perverted voice in his head tell him that you were purposefully leaving them for him to find; that they were for him, so why not take a pair? What was the harm in doing that?

And try as he might, that perverted voice broke him down - he was only a man after all. A sinful, disgusting man, who was utterly, hopelessly, and inappropriately attracted to his best friend’s girl.

Kageyama didn’t steal every pair, he had to be applauded for that. Not because he had self-control, but rather out of self-preservation to not be caught or confronted by you or Hinata. If he stole every pair then you would start to get suspicious, and that could lead to you asking him the dreaded question of ‘have you seen my underwear Tobio? Maybe it got mixed in with your clothes’ and he knew if you did, his flustered face and voice would give it all away. Or worse, that you would take matters into your own hands and start snooping around his room. He could already feel his stomach drop at the thought of your pretty eyes widening in horror once you found his little stash.

No, he couldn’t have it. So, despite all the voices in his head telling him otherwise, he had to have some self-control; even if it was killing him slowly.

He wanted to take your prettiest pairs, the ones with lace and silk, but he worried you would notice that for sure, for panties like that are always remembered, so instead he took some of your more plain ones - ones he was sure you wouldn’t notice they were gone as you had plenty of them to spare.

And how useful they proved to be late at night, when he could hear your pretty mewls get higher and higher as you tried to stifle them; not that it would do much, not with how he moved his bed so his head was next to the shared wall, thus gaining a perfect (and comfortable) spot to hear all your pretty sounds. He would wrap your panties around his aching, heavy cock as he used them to help get him off to you; the soft material providing just the perfect amount of friction, different from his fist, to further make believe he was the one ravaging you.

Arm over his face, shielding his eyes from what he was doing and trying to cool his flushed face as his teeth would bite down harshly to his bottom lip,trying to keep his whimpers quiet as he vigorously pumped his twitching cock to you, angry and red in overstimulation. He tried his best to feel satisfied; to reach that high that would finally allow him to sleep…but always ended the same: him bringing a hand up to stifle a wail as he painted those cotton panties of yours with his cum - wishing it was your pussy instead. Shame washed over his being as he kept his eyes shielded from the world. Now that he's gotten away with it, it's only going to get worse from here..

And it did.

Kageyama didn’t want it to, but he fed the beast and now it was clawing at him for more.

And more meant beig risky, much to his dismay. If he could, he'd keep this part of himself hidden deep; but this part could never be sated, not unless he could finally have you. And since he able to fuck you, he had to get as close as he could.

Close meant dangerous. Close meant palming himself through his shorts as he stood behind you while you bent over to grab something out of the oven–trying to distance himself enough so you couldn’t feel him, fighting the urge to pull you by your hips to be flush with his own. Close meant pulling his leaking cock out of his sweats in the morning as he tries to get off as quickly as he can while he peeps through the keyhole of the bathroom door, trying to get a glimpse of your wet naked form through the shower curtain.

Soon, even all that wasn’t enough. Soon, just hoarding your panties wasn’t enough, he had to carry a pair in his pocket - even to practice, despite how easily the flimsy fabric would fall out of gym shorts Soon, just smelling your shampoo as you walked by didn’t leave the lasting impression it once did, now he was reduced to smelling your lavender lotion you kept in the bathroom as he tried to imagine your soft skin in his hold. And soon, after a long day of training= he would find he was too pent up and tired to even make it to his room. Simply spreading him out on the living room couch and slowly slide your panties up and down his shaft; pretending it's your pretty lips wrapped around his sensitive tip; enjoying the thrill, the shivers of pleasure, in the thought of knowing that you could come home at any moment and catch him in the act.

It was bad, and he knew it, but he still couldn’t stop himself from doing it; from spreading his legs wide on the plush cushions and taking hold of his cock with a delighted sigh; for really, it was the only time he could be vocal and let out his frustrations that he was currently faced with - and the possibility that you might find him was more than worth it for it either meant you would finally confront him and snap him out of his lust-filled craze, or you would join him; either way, it was a victory for the man.

And this habit, this vile and disgusting habit, had now grown into his routine. Instead of coming home, kicking his shoes off, and meditating his stress away he now found peace by coming undone by the thought of you as he did his best not to make a mess of the shared couch.

That was where he found himself now, panting as he pulled his athletic shorts down and freeing his rock-hard cock from where it was uncomfortably caged; wrapping his hand around it with a strangled moan, he began to squeeze the tip; normally he would have a layer of cotton to help soothe his angry erection and provide it that sinfully sweet friction it craved, but you hadn’t visited in over a week - away with Hinata for an away game - and thus he didn’t have any new pairs to use as the others were hidden away, awaiting being washed and returned to you so you could dirty them again.

His hand just had to do as he slowly dragged it up and down, the longwinded whimper clear he needed some relief as his precum slowly lubricated his length, providing less resistance and allowing him to go faster and faster. Before long the only sound that could be heard in the empty apartment were the wet sounds of his hips thrusting up into his fist and the occasional whine that would escape his throat as he tried desperately to finish; all the while his eyes remained closed as he visualized about how pretty you could look bouncing up and down on his cock, how blissfully you would look with your head thrown back as you moaned over how good he made you feel.

“That feels good, doesn’t it baby?” He babbled out, pretending he was teasing you as his hips purposefully thrust up into his tight fist. “Like the feeling of my cock stretching out that pretty pussy don’t you? Nngh! Feels… fuck,,, feels better than Hinata’s doesn’t it?”

His voice was getting higher the closer he got to cumming, feeling his lower stomach twist in knots as he tried to hold back just a little bit longer, wanting to remain in the fantasy he created.

“Just want me to fill you up, don’t you? Make a mess of you for him to find, yeah? Want to show him how to really make you feel good, naughty, dirty, fucking girl. Yeah, just like that, keep doing it just like that, keep squeezing me! I’m! I’m gonna, fuck, gonna cum!”

He cried out, your name leaving his mouth in a broken wail. His body tensed harshly as he threw his head back violently into the pillows and came all over his fist and stomach, body twitching and jumping as he slowly pumped his angry, red cock. He tries coming down from his high slowly; regaining his breath and coming back to reality while still savoring that euphoria.

But his reality came crashing down when he heard your startled and shocked gasp, piecing his ears so sharply that it felt like ice water had been poured over his head,.He whipped his head to face you, entire being filled with fright as gazed at you. Watching as you stood there with the most horrified look on your pretty face, making it clear to him that you had heard everything he said as he feels his whole body heat up in shame and embarrassment; unable to even squeak out a word of explanation or apology.

And yet, a moment passed, and then another, and you still stood there looking at him with the same stunned expression; shoulders still by your ears and body still frozen in shock as your eyes never left his cock - still oozing with sticky cum.

You didn’t run away…. He thought to himself as he heard you gulp down a breath as he stood up. So maybe…. maybe you wouldn’t mind helping him out?

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mediumgayitalian · 4 months

Text

“Oh, gods.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Oh, gods.”

Nico scowls, wrenching just eyes away from Will’s poorly-covered grin and shaking shoulders.

It’s not that bad. It isn’t.

Sure, the complete lack of lighting except Greek fire torches makes the cabin look like a little piece of the Underworld, right here on the surface. But that’s comforting. Honestly. Nico knows the Underworld. It’s — familiar.

And, yeah. It would, probably, be pertinent to have some furniture, or something. At least somewhere for him to store his clothes, because he has more than one set of those now, and maybe a shelf, or something. And, admittedly, the obsidian altar could take up a little less space than it currently does.

But it’s not that bad.

“Are those. Coffin shaped beds.”

The tone of Will’s voice is unlike he’s ever heard it. He turns back to face him, slowly, and finds him biting his fist, hard, every muscle of his body tense as live wire.

“I was twelve godsdamn years old,” Nico snaps. “Forgive me if interior design wasn’t my passion.”

Solace loses it.

In his defense, not that Nico is too worried about defending him, he does appear to try very hard to not lose it. When the first giggle slips out of his lips, he clamps his jaw shut tighter. When his whole body begins to shake with the force of repressing his laughter, he curls inward, as if making himself smaller might reduce the chance of a lapse in control.

But then he glances back inside and looks, really looks, at the dreary, stone walls, the lone skeletons standing guard, and the plush, teakwood black coffin bunk beds, and he collapses to the floor.

“I’m going to open a chasm beneath you,” Nico threatens. “You are going to fall and crack your spine into a million pieces on the bank of the Styx, rotting there with every other forgotten hope.”

“You are a Black Parade lyric personified,” Will wheezes.

Nico doesn’t know what that means, so he kicks him. Unfortunately, he only laughs harder.

“I mean it, Solace. It’s a long way down to the Underworld. You will spend the entire fall petrified with the knowledge that nothing can save you.”

For added effect, Nico makes the floor under the medic’s body shake, makes the tip of a skeleton hand peek out from the earth.

Ironically, this stops Will’s laughter, but not for the reason Nico was aiming for.

“Hey!” A bright blue flipflop-clad foot darts out and collides With Nico’s ankle, sending him sprawling. “I said no spooky magic for the next two months! Put that skeleton away!”

“Fuck off, Solace! It’s barely half a bone! You are so annoying!”

“That’s my specialty.” Will pushes himself upright. He waits until Nico sits up, too, so he can catch his eye before his face splits into a dazzling grin. Actual sparkles seem to flicker beside his face. “And you are ever so easy to annoy.”

Nico stares, unimpressed.

“Anyways.” Will coughs. “You can’t stay here, Neeks —”

“Don’t call me that.”

“— it’s straight-up too depressing.” He peers inside. “It’s also cold, and, like…borderline unliveable? So. As your doctor, I can’t allow it.”

“You’re a medic,” Nico says, raising an eyebrow, “first of all, not a doctor. Second of all, you can’t tell me what to do. Third of all — where am I supposed to sleep? The woods?”

“Hm. Good question.”

Will gets to his feet, brushing the dirt off his shorts and offering Nico a hand. After a second of hesitation, he takes it, allowing Will to haul him up.

“C’mon!”

Nico snatches his hand away, face burning. (Gods. Why does Will have to be so…touchy-feely? And why does it always do weird things to Nico’s stomach?) But it hardly takes a look over Will’s shoulder before Nico’s feet are following after him, without his permission.

“Where are we going?”

“Well, my dad’s kind of a hoe,” Will says matter-of-factly. Nico chokes. Will’s grin widens. “And our cabin was built with that in mind. I know we’ve got an extra bunk or two for ya. Hurry up!”

This…cannot be allowed. Nico doesn’t have a ton of Camp Half-Blood experience, or anything, but as far as he knows, Hermes is the only cabin that can really do that. He doesn’t want to incur the wrath of Apollo, or whatever, by staying in his cabin uninvited.

Well. Will’s inviting him, technically. And there’s a confidence to his offer, like maybe this isn’t the first time he’s done it.

“What if I don’t want to live in your stupid sunshine-y cabin,” Nico grumbles, trying to cover up his nerves. “Holding hands and singing about how much I love being alive isn’t really my cup of tea.”

Will snorts. “Oh, di Angelo,” he says dramatically, shaking his head, “you are in for a world of discovery. Welcome to the Cabin Apollo. Take your shoes off at the door and remember that Kayla bites.”

———

Living in the Apollo cabin is strange.

Four days in, and Nico is only just starting to get used to it. He’s not entirely unused to sharing space with people — he’s had two sisters — but the Apollo kids argue like they enjoy doing it. One minute, Will and Kayla will be screaming at each other at the top of their lungs about touching each other’s shit, then they’re teaming up to pull Gracie off Yan’s face for the exact same argument, only now they offer sage advice on respecting boundaries and compromising. It’s bizarre.

(Austin is pretty chill, actually. Nico has noticed him starting quite a few fights — it was he, in fact, who moved Will’s shit and then gracefully framed Kayla — but he has a very powerful eyebrow raise and a very powerful image as Unproblematic. He has quickly become Nico’s favourite.)

He’s only just barely beginning to understand how they work together, and the struggle comes in because everything is so chaotic. When Nico spent time with Hazel in New Rome, she was in the barracks. He never really had to worry about squabbling over counter space in the bathroom with her, because she had her own little toiletry caddie like everyone else, and bathrooms were public. With Bianca — well. There’s no one alive who knows this about her, but she was bossy. She was sweet and wonderful and self-sacrificing and brave and kind and the centre of Nico’s life, but by the gods, did she take her authority as a big sister seriously. She ordered Nico around all the time. He never had to worry much about when he would have the chance to use the bathroom they shared at the Lotus, or who got the T.V. remote, or who go to sit on the bus instead of standing, because he was not the one deciding. He could stick his tongue out and whine all he wanted, but she was boss. He knew that.

The Apollo kids are not like that.

As well as Nico can figure, it’s kind of a free-for-all. You want first shower? Either wake up the earliest — a strategy only Will every manages to employ with any success — or manage to jab an elbow in someone’s rib and sprint. You want whoever’s humming to shut the hell up so you can sleep? Make sure your threats are quick and believable, or just straight up start throwing shit until they finally stop. You want the coveted middle of the bench spot at breakfast? Well, tough shit on that one, actually. Nico has yet to make that one happen for himself.

He won’t admit it, but he has kind of learned to enjoy it. It’s annoying, and the Apollo siblings do indeed sing at all hours of the day (although the content usually skews more towards diss tracks and delighted insults, if not straight-up curses), and it is so godsdamn bright in there, seriously, is it a gimmick or what, but there’s something to be said about the fact that he’s so surrounded by people and chaos that he hasn’t even had the chance to feel lonely. Not even at night, panting to himself after a nasty nightmare, because all it takes is a particularly loud snore from Will one bunk down to remember where he is. To remember that he’s safe — by demigod standards, at least.

But, still.

He kind of misses his privacy.

“Will,” he whispers urgently, on his fifteenth day of rooming with the Apollo weirdos.

The medic hums noncommittally, attention very focused on the test tube in front of him. Nico has been fighting the urge to try and launch a piece of dust inside it for forty minutes, just to make him explode.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Sounds good, Nico.”

Nico narrows his eyes. “You’re ignoring me.”

“Uh-huh. Agreed.”

“I can say anything I want right now.”

“Sure. Maybe double check with Austin.”

“…I’m going to put a colony of ants in your pillowcase.”

“Good idea.”

“Then I’m going to douse your hair products in gasoline and set them aflame.”

“Baller.”

“After that I’m gonna read your super secret diary to the entirety of camp at singalong tonight.”

“You betcha.”

“And then I’m going to shadow travel to Russia.”

Will blinks, frowning. “Hey, no shadow-travelling. What’s this I hear about shadow-travelling?”

Nico rolls his eyes. “Nothing, stupid. You were just ignoring me.”

Will smiles guiltily. “Aw, I’m sorry, Neeks. Got focused on this. I’m finished in twenty, then I’m all yours?”

“…Don’t call me Neeks,” Nico grumbles, furious with himself for how quick he’s relented under wide blue puppy-dog eyes.

“Sorry, Neeks.”

Huffing at Will’s quiet laughter, Nico slides off the nurse’s station counter and wanders around the empty infirmary. Things have luckily finally cooled down in here, nearly three weeks after the end of the Giant War. Some of the exhaustion has faded from Will’s features now that he’s had time to sleep properly.

Not that Nico has noticed, or anything.

“Okay,” Will says a few minutes later, holding his hands up protectively in front of his geeky little setup. “I just gotta do this last step, so long as I calculated it right, it should be fine…” He squeezes a drop of something into the liquid bubbling over the burner, freezing immediately. One, two, three seconds pass and nothing happens, so Will relaxes, sighing in relief and turning to face Nico fully. “Okay, we’re good. What was it you wanted to —”

The text tube contents explode in his face, dousing him in slimey green goo.

Nico bursts out laughing.

“Great,” Will says darkly, swiping the stuff from his eyes. “The one day I don’t wear goggles. Great.”

Nico gasps, sides aching. “Oh my gods —”

“Feel free to help, di Angelo.”

“— you look like a cartoon! Your face!”

It takes Will twelve cloths and seven whole minutes to clean himself and the nurse’s station off of the goo. Nico cackles at him the whole time, and tastefully does not mention the many globs of goo that remain caked in his hair.

“Whenever you’re done.”

Will is very, very bad at being stern when he doesn’t really mean it. And he doesn’t really mean it now, because every time he tries to glare at Nico, his mouth twitches.

“I’m good,” Nico finally wheezes, forcing his face back to normal. “I’m good, I’m good.”

He very pointedly does not look at Will’s hair.

“Dick,” Will huffs, fondness bleeding into his tone. “What did you want?”

He must notice the change in tone at his asking, because he clears the bench fully, hoisting himself on top of it and patting the spot next to him. Nico hesitates for half a second, then crawls up, sitting criss cross applesauce, knees touching.

“I need to move back to my cabin,” he manages, finally.

Will’s face betrays no judgement or emotion. “Oh?”

“Yes.” He picks at a loose thread in his jeans. “I need — space.”

The thread loosens, allowing Nico to tug on it. A hole begins to unravel along the seam as he pulls and pulls and pulls. He stops himself before it gets too wide, tearing the thread off and winding it around his fingers.

“I can tell everyone to tone it down,” Will offers softly, eyebrows creased. “We’ll be more quiet, we’ll —”

Nico places a hand on his knee, cutting off his sentence. “It’s not about that, I promise. You guys have been great.”

A wounded look still pulls at Will’s strong features, as much as he visibly tries to pull his face back to something more supportive. “It’s not?”

“No, no. It’s just —” He frowns, trying to articulate the tangled mess of his thoughts. “I have my own cabin.”

“So?”

“And I can’t stay in yours forever.”

“I mean, you could.”

“Chiron’s been giving me looks, Will.”

“So what! I’ll — write you a doctor’s note, or something!”

Nico snorts. “A doctor’s note letting me sleep in your cabin?”

Will nods fervently, although he seems to acknowledge the ridiculousness of his suggestion, if the grin on his face is any indication. “Yes! For medical reasons, you know.” He mimes writing. “‘Patient’s cabin is dank and sad. To avoid bouts of misery, patient must sleep in the presence of the coolest and best and prettiest and most uplifting people in camp.’”

“Hm. Not sure Chiron’s gonna buy that last part. Not sure I buy that last part, actually.”

“Hey.”

Nico dodges Will’s shove, chuckling.

“Seriously, though, Will. This was never a long term solution, right?”

“I know. You’re cabin just — sucks so bad, man. No offense.”

“I take great offense to that, actually. My cabin is art.”

“Sure, Eddie Cullen.”

“I don’t know who that is, so that’s a horrible insult.”

“Travesty, honestly.”

Outside the open infirmary windows, Nico can hear distant, triumphant screaming, laughter, and the clang of metal. Today’s a good day. The weather’s balmier than usual, for late August, and some of the gloom that’s hung over everyone’s head for the bast few weeks seems to have lifted.

“You can’t go back to your cabin like it is,” Will says into the silence, startling Nico, “but —” he grins when Nico begins to protest, holding up his hand. “We can definitely change it up.”

He slides off the bench, botching his landing and almost sprawling on the floor. He holds a dramatic hand out to Nico when he rights himself. Nico ignores it, rolling his eyes and getting to his feet by himself.

“C’mon,” Will says, grabbing his hand anyway. Sparks shoot up Nico’s arm. “We need to go ask Chiron for the van keys and approximately five hundred dollars.”

———

Three hours is too fucking long to be in a vehicle. Especially when Will is driving, because all he does is play nonstop country music and let everybody cut in front of him.

“I’m driving us back,” Nico informs him as they (finally) get out of the stupid van, snatching the keys from his hands.

Will shrugs. “Sure.”

Nico had expected more of a fight, honestly. But he supposes neither of them are legally allowed to drive, age-wise, and besides, Nico technically has seventy years of driving experience on Will.

(…The Lotus had a racetrack.

Nico was very, very good at it.)

“What is this place, anyway?”

“This place,” Will says grandly, throwing an arm over his shoulders, “is essentially the mortal version of the Labyrinth, minus, you know, the soul-sucking terror.”

“Okay. All that’s telling me is that you have horrible ideas and we should leave immediately.”

Will rolls his eyes. “It’s a furniture store.”

“Well, then —” he punches Will’s shoulder, huffing when he only laughs. “Say that, then!”

“But then what would I do with all the drama in my heart?”

“Choke on it, hopefully!”

Ikea is weird.

Since Will did not tell him what the plan was, he didn’t draw up any plans. Luckily, Will has the dimensions of his cabin — although where he got them, Nico does not ask — so they spend an hour or so in the cafe drawing out a plan.

“You need more than two beds, Neeks.”

“Uh, no I don’t. Unless my father has something very important to announce to me, I need a bed for me, and a bed for Hazel.”

“What if I want to sleep over?”

“You can sleep on the porch.”

Mostly, they wander around the sets. Nico isn’t really sure what he wants his cabin to look like — he has to remind himself that yes, actually, he cares about the space he’ll be spending at least the next three years of his life in. It’s a startling reality, to have control over his own space. He must’ve had some say in his childhood bedroom, but he has no memory of it. He spent the most time in his and Bianca’s room at the Lotus, but that was already furnished when they got there, and besides, it only felt like they were there for less than a year. It always felt like a hotel room, never his room. Westminster was no different. His room in his father’s palace had already been designed, too. In fact he’d based his cabin on it.

What does Nico want his bedroom to look like, without someone else deciding for him?

“I’m not getting a fucking Lightning McQueen bed, Solace.”

“But it would be so sick! And look — it’s got little cubbies!”

“I’m going to ditch you, and shadow travel back to camp,” Nico threatens. “And I have the van keys, so you’ll be stuck here for real.”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Will looks at him sternly, hands on hips. “No shadow travelling for you, Death Breath. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t fade into nothing on my watch.”

“I’m joking,” Nico says, exasperated, but cannot deny the warmth that fills him up at Will’s concern.

In the end, he decides on a pretty normal bed. It’s bigger than Will’s bunk (“Or anyone else’s bed,” Will grumbles, “you lucky asshole.”), but not ridiculously designed. He picks a similar size for Hazel, only the frame is white, not black, and the bedspread that comes with it is a soft, coral pink that he knows she will like.

“Wanna see if they’ve got a Mythomagic bedspread for yours?” Will teases.

That would be the coolest thing ever in the entire world, Nico thinks, and is so embarrassed that he shoves Will, shrieking, into a giant basket of pillows for making him think it.

“Obviously I don’t want that.”

“You are such a turd! I’ll get you, di Angelo!”

He does not. Nico is way too sneaky for him, and after the fifth time Nico manages to give him the slip, he gives up, sulking in a display for a bedroom of a nine year old girl.

“Fitting,” Nico teases, gesturing to the princess wallpaper. “You drama queen.”

“Buzz off.”

Next, they look for furniture. It’s pretty easy — Nico doesn’t need much, and he’s not too concern with cut or style or anything. He quickly picks out two dressers, one to match Hazel’s bed frame, and one to match his, and then a couple bookshelves.

Four hours into their trip, Nico is exhausted. They have a three hour drive ahead of them, they’ve been out all day, and he wants to go home.

But Will stops him before they go get all the boxes for their furniture.

“This is still pretty bare bones,” he says quietly, then grins at his own accidental pun. Nico shoots him a venomous look, warning him against making it more obvious, and for once he actually listens. “You know, we’re still under budget. We’ve got around $200 left — we can get a motel, stay the night, then we don’t have to drive back right away. And tomorrow, maybe we can check out some other stores, look for smaller decorations and stuff. And if we don’t have to drive back tonight, we’ve maybe got another hour in here, if you wanted to get a couple more pieces.”

Nico opens his mouth to refuse — that’s way too much effort to spend on one person’s cabin, c’mon — then pauses, thinking about it.

Chiron hadn’t even thought about it before handing them the money. Will had barely gotten the words out before he’d started counting out the bills.

“I want you to make a home here,” the centaur had said, touching his hand. There was a pain in his kind eyes, stopping any protests. “I made a mistake, Nico, the first time you came here. In another life, you felt welcome enough to stay the whole time. Take what you need.”

What does he need? What does home look like, to him?

“There was a beanbag chair, in our room at the Lotus,” he says, pushing the words past the lump in his throat. “Me and Bianca used to fight over it.” His voice shakes. A tear gathers at the corner of his eye, and he blinks it back. “It wasn’t real fighting. When I called mercy she’d — scoop me up and throw me on it and squish in after me, and we’d sit together and play video games. Or read. She liked to read.”

Will squeezes his trembling hands. “We can get a beanbag chair.”

“And I — don’t like the blackout curtains. The dark makes me think of — the pit.”

“Okay. They sell lotsa lamps here, too. Might be nicer than the Greek fire.”

Nico nods. There’s — more, far more ideas, now, flooding his brain; Hazel crowding over him on a rug-covered floor, shrieking as he teases her about Frank; a desk tucked in the corner where Will sits, mouthing along to his textbooks as Nico sharpens his sword; Jason running his fingers along rows of books on a big, cluttered shelf; Reyna with her fist curled around her mouth, studying a chess board across from him, hair shining under the natural light from the window.

He can have that. He can have that.

Thankfully, all their stuff fits in the back of the van. Despite his insistence earlier, Nico hands Will the keys, and he drives around until he finds a shitty motel with a vacancy sign flashing out front. He pulls into the farthest corner of the parking lot, killing the engine, then waits.

“You okay?”

Nico shrugs. “I’m…not sure.”

“That’s okay,” Will assures, pressing a fleeting touch to his shoulder. Nico grabs his wrist before he moves away, tugging down his hand and linking their fingers together.

For once, it doesn’t make him feel all sparky. The warmth of Will’s hands is grounding, and so is the gentle squeeze, the smile he feels pointed in his direction.

“C’mon. Let’s check in and sleep, huh?”

Nico’s exhaustion compounds in the walk from the car to the lobby, so by the time Will is speaking quietly to the host, he’s half asleep, leaning on Will’s shoulder. He vaguely feels it when Will shifts his weight, sliding a hand around his waist to hold him better. He blinks and they’re standing in front of a door.

“Almost there, Death Boy,” he murmurs. “Hold on a sec.”

It takes him six separate tries to make the keycard work. He gets huffy when Nico snickers tiredly at him.

“Finally, yeesh.”

He guides Nico in, dropping the backpack he brought somewhere near the door. As soon as the bed is within Nico’s sights, he makes a beeline, barely remembering to shuck his shoes and jacket.

“Please do not sleep in your jeans.”

“Mmmfuck off,” Nico groans, already sliding under the covers. He’ll regret it in the morning, but whatever.

“Goober.” Callused hands brush through his hair, resting lightly on his forehead. “Goodnight, Nico.”

Nico’s out before he can even think to respond.

———

He wakes up, in the middle of the night, scream caught in his throat and heart pounding in his ears. The air smells like smoke and fear. The rushing of the Phlegethon is so loud it’s overpowering.

A loud snore knocks him back to reality.

Crawling desperately towards the source of the sound, he hangs over the bed, eyes adjusting rapidly to the dark to see a curled lump on the floor, head resting on his own hands. A quick glance behind him confirms the other half of the bed has been left untouched.

“Stupid,” he mumbles, tiny smile chasing away the last of his fear.

He tugs the blankets off the mattress, pulls off the two pillows, and joins his dumbass, selfless friend on the floor.

———

“Question,” Will asks, swallowing the last of their disgustingly delicious greasefest of a breakfast. “Were you alive when Walmart was invented?”

“I was alive before your great grandmother was.”

“No, I mean — were you out and kickin’. Have you strolled the endless aisles of corporate soullessness, basking in the wonder of American overconsumerism?”

“…You’re such a weird, particular person.”

Will looks delighted. “You’re a Walmart newbie!”

He pulls into the dead, cracked parking lot way too happily for this hour in the morning. Nico would even say he takes the nearest exit to get to the store gleefully. He is embarrassed for him.

Walmart is…underwhelming.

As stupid as it is, Will had hyped it up so much that Nico was almost a little excited. It just looked like any other basic superstore. Will, for whatever reason, seemed delighted by that fact.

“I do not like this store,” he explained when Nico asked, expression not matching his words, “it just means so very much to me that you are joining me in the misery of having experienced it.”

They spend more time than they mean to just dicking around. At one point they nearly get thrown out by management, because Will finds a pair of NERF guns that some child dug out of its packaging and no words need to be spoken. They gear up and scamper off, hunting each other through fluorescent-lights hell.

“Please just get your shit and leave,” says the very tired looking manager, and they have the good gall to at least appear embarrassed as they mumble, “Yes, ma’am.”

It doesn’t take long when they have their head on straight. They get some fairy lights, a couple cool posters, dorky little trinkets that Nico probably doesn’t need, per se, but what was he supposed to do, leave the little plastic crow skeleton behind?

Unlikely.

With his own money, Will buys several cans of paint and a CD. He explains neither of these purchases. The look on his face gets steadily more infuriating as they make their way through the line, and Nico really, truly considers leaving him behind.

The purchase of the CD becomes very obvious very quickly. Even though Nico is driving, and therefore Nico should get music control, Will pouts and pleads until Nico gives in and lets him play his stupid country album. He justifies his decision in his own brain by noticing the radiance of Will’s smile as he belts out the words, badly, at the top of his lungs. He then spends the rest of the drive back to camp convincing himself not to be embarrassed for having said thoughts.

They get back to camp about lunch time, and Will destroys any attempt for a subtle reentry by whistling the second they cross the property line.

“Austin! Kayla!” he hollers, making Nico jump. “Come help us unload!”

“We coulda done it ourselves,” Nico grumbles.

Will pats his head condescendingly. “It has been twenty-four long, long hours since I’ve bosses my siblings around, Neeks. I need this.”

It does go by quite a bit quicker with Austin and Kayla’s help. Lou Ellen, Cecil, Yan, and Gracie come to help, too, but Gracie’s too little to carry much more than a small desk lamp. Instead, they lay down the biggest box — Nico’s bed frame — and let her climb on top of it, carrying her like she’s a queen atop a throne back to Nico’s cabin. She has the time of her life, giggling to herself like a madwoman.

By the time everything’s unloaded, a couple hours have passed, and the Hades cabin looks like a clusterfuck.

“Maybe you stay in Apollo a couple more nights,” Will suggests.

“Might have to,” Nico agrees. Will looks inordinately pleased with himself.

All in all, it takes about two days to disassemble the old furniture, get rid of it, and start putting together the new stuff. Will helps for most of it, but he has a few shifts in the infirmary, so Nico ends up trying to do a fair bit on his own.

“May the wrath of Zeus come down upon this fucking piece of shit, no good, poorly designed garbage-looking idiotic mother fuc —”

“Maybe time for a break from furniture assembling?” suggests a voice, accompanied by a quick knock in the open door. Will leans on the doorframe, grinning, box propped up on his hip.

“Will, thank the gods,” Nico sighs, relieved. He angrily shakes a tool in his direction. “Allen wrenches are fucking useless. I’m three seconds away from throwing this through the window.”

“Definitely time for a switch, then.”

Will’s smile is wide and crinkles his eyes. He’s got dimples, too, Nico is now noticing, and then very rapidly un-noticing then because gods above that is a dangerous path.

“Did you and Rachel get into another prank war?” he asks, praying the flush on his cheeks goes away.

Will glances down at his paint-spattered clothes. “Nah, this is just my painting outfit. Why ruin more than one set of clothes, you know?” He sets down the box in the middle of the room, then heads for the half-built furniture sprawled all throughout the cabin, tugging it all towards the middle. Nico inches towards the box, curious, and finds it full of dozens of paint cans and brushes, including the ones he got at Walmart.

“I didn’t know you painted.”

He flashes another grin in Nico’s direction. This one has a little mischief to it, a little teasing. His stomach swoops.

“Gotta have at least one artistic talent or my dad would disown me. Help me tape down this tarp, will you?”

It takes them twenty minutes to prep the room, protecting the floor and the furniture. Once everything is ready, Will jogs over to the CD player he gave Nico a few days ago, flicking through the stack of CDs and choosing one at random. Soft opera music begins to float around the cabin.

“Okay,” he begins, clapping his hands, “first we need a base coat. Get the white paint and the rollers.”

It takes them the rest of the day, painting until dinner, then waiting past sunset for it to dry. Nico follows Will back to his cabin that night — he wouldn’t let him sleep around the paint fumes — and the two of them return the next morning, re-donning their paint-spattered clothes. Will braids his hair, this time, tucking the little pigtails behind a kerchief. It makes Nico smile every time he looks at him.

As much as he’s in painting clothes, Nico doesn’t really do much of the painting. He stays in the centre of the room, half assembling furniture, half watching Will bring his walls to life with more colours than he’s ever seen in one place.

Will doesn’t ask what Nico wants him to paint in his murals. Instead, Nico watches as the streets of Venice begin to unfold on one of the walls, bright and blue and exactly as he remembers, even though he knows for a fact Will has never been. The shining fruit of his stepmother’s garden is next, with a notable absence of the pomegranate tree, and then the hills of New Rome, the sunflower field in rural New York Nico used to visit, the Chinese mountainscape from the first big shadow travelling jump he ever made. Even the poplar forests of the Underworld, looking much kinder and livelier in Will’s rendition than in real life, with Mrs. O’Leary and Cerberus chasing each other through the flickering leaves. Beautiful, colourful, breathtaking scenes; Nico’s favourite places, Nico’s many homes.

“I get a lot of dreams,” Will admits, dragging a smear of rich purple near the ceiling. “You’re in a lot of them. These are the places you’re smiling, the most.”

“They’re beautiful, Will.” Nico’s throat is drier than any desert he’s ever been to. “Gods, they’re more beautiful here than they are in real life.”

“Liar,” Will teases, although his smile is shy.

Nico has never seen him smile like that. He’s seen a lot more of Will in these past few days, actually; his softness, his kindness, his love.

He has only knows Will for a little over a month, he thinks. But Will loves him. That much is obvious.

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

His eyes are still trained on his work. He is on his tiptoes on a step stool, one leg extended precariously, tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth. The curve of his brush is careful, meticulous. Only the best for his friends, for Nico. That’s Will.

“Hey,” Nico says again, more urgently. He steps forward, wrapping his fingers around his wrist.

“Just a sec, Neeks, as soon as I’m done we can —”

Nico pulls until he loses his balance, falling into Nico’s arms. He stares into wide, blue blue eyes, for one second, two, then presses their lips together. Will’s squeak of surprise is swallowed by his mouth, hands sliding up his arms to cup his face, tilting his head to the side.

“Oh,” he sighs, eyelashes ticking Nico’s cheeks as they flutter close. “Oh.”

He melts into Nico’s hold. There’s a thunk and a crinkle as his paintbrush falls from his loose fingers, splattering onto the tarp, and paint-wet hands tangle into his hair. Nico finds he doesn’t mind.

“You love me,” he murmurs in between breaths, lips brushing Will’s with every word.

“Yes,” Will breathes. He kisses Nico again, and again. “A lot.”

“Good.” He’s not sure if it’s the paint fumes making him lightheaded, or the odd, slightly uncomfortable position, or the intoxicating, delirious feel of Will’s warm skin. He’s not sure if he cares. “Good.”

It’s not quite an I-love-you-too. The words won’t form on his tongue, so instead he tightens his hold, sending them that way, and presses closer, closer, closer.

Will smiles into the kiss.

He understands just fine.

#i could write an essay about how i think they’re dynamic would be immediately post three days in the infirmary #also i fit SO MANY of my personal headcanons in here hell yeah #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #nico di angelo #will solace #solangelo #nico/will #will/nico #gently falling in love #love #i’m tagging it bc. will loves so clearly in this one it kills me a little #fic #my writing #longpost

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jeonqkooks · 1 year

Text

our beloved summer (05) | jjk

You made a vow to hate Jeon Jungkook ever since he packed up and left you without a single explanation, but when he shows up at your door after years of radio silence, it turns out that maybe your resolve isn't as strong as you thought.

pairing: producer!jungkook x songwriter!reader

genre/warnings: exes au, fluff, angst, eventual smut, drinking, swearing, crying, Sad Boy JK Hours ??, valentino!yoongi bc that should be a whole warning 🥵 even though he's there and not really there for literally 2 seconds lol

rating: PG-15

word count: 9.5k

note: this is the most stressed out i've ever been while trying to post a fic 💀 argh anyway, 2 obs updates in one month ?? is this even real life !! consider this a (lunar) new year's present from me to everyone who celebrates it and also to everyone who doesn't !! idk i'm bad at notes and i'm delirious so that's it 😗

series masterpost / main playlist ; interactive playlist ; moodboards ; taglist

— as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

Hey, I feel like if we gave it one night You'd hate me less and make it alright Just wish that we could fight now I'd hold you on the comedown

Rockland - Gracie Abrams

One thing about you, is that you don’t do well with change.

After you moved out of the first apartment you got as an adult, you constantly went back to your old neighborhood even though it wasn’t close to your new place. You kept walking those familiar streets, kept shopping at the stores where the workers knew your name. At night, you still pictured yourself living there, with all of your furniture and clothes and decorations that you’ve already emptied from those old bones. Then, you imagined what the new tenant was like, if they could feel the lingering love you had for that apartment. You wondered if they were putting the coffee table you left behind to good use, or if they thought that it looked out of place among all of their belongings and had already thrown it away.

Jimin called you weird for that, but he didn’t know that you always leave a piece of yourself everywhere you go. The biggest pieces, you think, are hidden somewhere in a closet in your childhood bedroom where your mother still lives, and in the tiny space of your dorm room where you spent most of your college years.

It took you more than half a year to finally start considering your new apartment home.

Because you hate change. Change is scary. Change is walking into a pitch-black tunnel with no flashlight, not knowing what awaits you in the darkness and not knowing if you’ll make it to the other side.

That isn’t to say that change is inherently bad. You’ve experienced good changes before. Arguably, Jungkook was a good change when he went from someone you couldn’t tolerate, to the love of your life back then. You were happy with him, so blissfully happy that for a while, you forgot what it was like to experience any other emotion.

Yoongi has always been your friend. It didn’t take you two very long to become well acquainted with one another and from there, develop a good friendship. You have never thought of him as anything other than a friend. Even when he was your boss, he still felt more like a friend.

As you sit next to him in a bar too empty for your liking – but seems right for a Tuesday night – you feel a palpable shift between the two of you.

When your phone vibrates with a notification, you glance at it only to exhale annoyedly – unclear whether this frustration is directed toward yourself, or the person blowing up your mobile; maybe it’s both. That’s the nth message that Jungkook has sent you in the last couple of hours, and you don’t need to read it to know that it’s probably another iteration of the same apology. How many different ways are there to say “Hey, I’m sorry for fucking the receptionist and then having the balls to tell you that you’re the unprofessional one when you didn’t even do anything.” Apparently a lot, because the texts just keep coming.

“Jungkook again?” Yoongi asks from beside you. Fuck. You’ve mostly been silently moping since he brought you here, too enmeshed in your own web of muddled thoughts that you forgot he’s someone you need to make amends with too.

You give him a nod but still continue to stare at the drink in front of you, trying to disentangle your Yoongi thoughts from your Jungkook ones.

Taking a sip of your drink, your face manages to keep a grimace at bay as the liquid ambushes your tastebuds. You don’t like whiskey, but you need something to hate more than yourself tonight. When you set the glass down, the alcohol sloshes around like a compact sea of your own amber-colored miseries.

“I’m sorry,” you say finally. “This is unfair to you. I don’t know what came over me. I just want you to know that this isn’t me responding to…” To your confession.

“If you’re about to say what I think you’re about to say, then I have to stop you right now.”

“Yoongi…”

“I’m not saying that you can’t turn me down, although I hope you don’t do that,” he chuckles. “I’m just saying that whatever you do, whether you give me a chance or reject me, I want you to decide after you’ve really thought about it, about me.”

You can’t say no to that; it’s only fair. Yoongi knows what he deserves. You haven’t looked at him in any other way, but that doesn’t mean that you can’t. Didn’t you say it yourself, that maybe you should start putting yourself out there? Well, here is someone coming to you before you even have to look anywhere. You may not have expected Yoongi, but then, you didn’t expect Jungkook either.

Yoongi could be the good change you need.

Nevertheless, you want to tell him you’re sorry for the other night. It should be fairly simple, but the words have a hard time dislodging themselves from your throat.

“I’m sorry about what I said that night at dinner… and what I did…”

Yoongi props an elbow on the bar top and leans forward to rest his chin in the palm of his hand, his eyes glimmering with mischief. “Remind me what it is that you did again?”

“Come on, I’m serious.” You are grateful that he’s trying to keep it light, though.

“I’m serious too. I seem to have forgotten.”

“Yoongi…”

“Yes, Y/N?”

You sigh, shutting your eyes momentarily. Recalling the moment makes you flush with embarrassment, bringing a splash of color to your cheeks which Yoongi always seems to enjoy.

In a quiet voice, you say, “I’m sorry for throwing salt at you…”

“You threw salt at me!” He tips his head back, laughing freely. The bartender spares you two a glance at the sudden disruption. “You shouldn’t go around throwing salt at people!”

“Stop laughing! I’m trying to apologize.” You punch his arm out of habit and for a second there, you forget that your relationship with Yoongi isn’t the same anymore. Changed forever.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop. Jeez, why are you so violent?” He rubs the spot where you hit him, muttering under his breath something about him bruising like a peach. “Apology accepted. No hard feelings.”

“Okay, good. But I still want you to know that if you were expecting anything from tonight…”

Yoongi ruffles your hair with a scoff. “I’m not that dense. Of course I’m not expecting anything.” When you peer at him with curious and unsure eyes, he continues, “Y/N, earlier you looked like you wanted to set the place on fire and Jungkook looked like he was about to shit himself. Tonight, I’m just a friend who’s here for you if you want to vent. We’re just two buddies having a drink, that’s all.”

He makes it sound so simple, while your brain is already going haywire.

Despite yourself, you chuckle at his words. You tell him how much you appreciate it, though you don’t really tell him anything about what happened this afternoon, just that Jungkook said some stuff that pissed you off. You can’t tell him exactly what Jungkook did to anger you without alluding to the confession for which Yoongi is letting you off the hook for now.

“Do you wanna come with me tomorrow?” Yoongi asks.

“Come with you where?”

“I have a shoot with Valentino in the morning.”

“You have a photoshoot not even 12 hours from now and you’re here drinking? Aren’t you gonna wake up puffy or something?”

“Yeah, my manager would kill me if she knows what I’m doing,” he replies casually, like his manager has a telepathic connection with him and she can sense him mocking her over a drink. When people see Agust D, they tend to only see the icy exterior that he dons. That tough, maybe even callous, image has sustained him in the entertainment industry for years. For many, Agust D seems intimidating and unapproachable. That’s how you felt when you first met him too. But after a while, you got to see Min Yoongi, and Min Yoongi is nothing if not warm and tender-hearted, even if he’s a little shit sometimes. At least, that’s what he has always been like to you. “She thinks I’m getting my beauty sleep right now.”

You lightly snort at that, telling him, “Yeah, you need it.”

When you start to yawn, Yoongi calls a driver to drop you off at your place. The ride is mostly silent, because you’re tired and because you’re not sure what to say to Yoongi in the presence of a stranger taking you home. The car pulls up to your building soon enough, and before you can step out and tell him goodnight, he offers to walk you up. He takes the elevator with you to your floor, how gallant but unnecessary. When you reach your door, you wonder whether you should invite him in for a glass of water or something. If this was a week – or even just a couple of days – earlier, you would’ve had no reason to hesitate. He doesn’t ask if he can come in but instead takes one of your hands.

“I see you’ve been giving yourself some TLC. They’re a lot better now,” he comments, smoothing his thumb over your skin. You’ve been diligent with your hand care routine since he gave you that lotion. It feels nice, and it smells amazing. Besides, your hands were starting to hurt anyway.

Silence descends upon the two of you as you become aware of Yoongi touching you, and the weight of the answer you’ve yet to give him. He must feel you stiffen, because he lets you go and smiles.

“Relax, princess. Get some sleep, you’re the one who needs it. I said I’ll let you think about it, didn’t I? Stop stressing so much.” His index finger taps your cheek playfully, so familiar yet so foreign at the same time. The wink that he tacks on makes you roll your eyes. You watch Yoongi make his way to the elevator, step in and press the button for the ground floor. He maintains eye contact with you as he waits for the doors to shut, and you don’t think you’ve really noticed before how Yoongi carries himself with such confidence and poise even when he’s off-camera. That’s just the kind of person he is and it’s… kind of attractive.

You can’t even fish around in your bag for your keys, you just stand there because he keeps your gaze trained on him. His eyes are alluring even under the shitty lighting of your building’s elevator. Before the lift closes, his voice carries over from the metal box to your door, and you don’t know if it’s the echo of his low timbre in the empty hallway that makes you shiver, or if it’s just Yoongi.

“I’ve waited this long, what’s a little more time?”

One week. This is a record for you and Taehyung.

You’re still baffled by his attitude that night, and no one has cleared anything up for you. He was right, but that doesn’t mean you were wrong. You stand by your initial reaction. Could anyone really blame you for that? In your defense, who the fuck could believe that a worldclass megastar has romantic feelings for them? Not to mention that the person whom the megastar in question has feelings for is you! You, the pathetic girl who can’t seem to get over her ex. Yoongi had to sit through a whole hour of you drunkenly crying over Jungkook, for fuck’s sake!

That really wasn’t your best moment, but it’s not like you even remember it anyway.

Your phone buzzes to life with Jimin’s face taking over the whole screen – a photo of your hand squishing his full cheeks until his lips jut out. “Hey Minnie,” you greet him once you’ve swiped to accept the call.

“Y/N,” he says, sounding out of breath. “Where are you?”

“I’m at home. Where are you? Are you doing pull-ups again? You know you practically hyperventilate when you do more than 3.”

“Shut up, I’m at dance practice. But listen, have you talked to Tae yet?”

You purse your lips at the mention of his name. “No. We’re supposed to go grocery shopping tomorrow like we always do, but I guess that won’t be happening.”

Jimin hums, like he’s in thought. He doesn’t speak again until his breathing has calmed. “Well, can you go to his place right now?”

“Why?”

“He’s sick and I’m kind of worried about him. He hasn’t answered my messages.”

You frown. “Tae’s sick?”

“Yeah, he must’ve caught a cold the other day. Could you go over there and check on him? I would go but I can’t leave for another few hours.”

You agree to go, because of course you would. Even if you’re stubborn and hot-headed, no amount of pettiness could make you ignore your friends especially when they’re unwell and need somebody. Especially when it’s Taehyung who’s been there for you so many times.

You stay on the call with Jimin for another ten whole minutes even after you have said you would go, because he keeps droning on and on about how shitty Taehyung looked yesterday.

Before you go to your best friend’s apartment, you stop by your regular diner to pick up some comfort food for him, and the pharmacy for some medicine. During the rest of the drive there, you start getting a little worried. When Taehyung takes care of a sick you or Jimin, he practically goes into full mama bear mode, making sure that you’re as comfortable as humanly possible and not leaving your side until you’re a functional human being again. But when it comes to his own wellbeing, Taehyung doesn’t seem to be that concerned. It’s not that he neglects his health, but you wish that he would show himself the same kindness that he shows you.

It feels weird to use the spare key that you have to his place, considering that you aren’t really on speaking terms. In hindsight, it feels so childish. How old are you to still be pulling the silent treatment on each other?

You ring the doorbell and wait a couple minutes until you hear Taehyung shuffling to get the door from the other side. When it swings open, he tenses up a bit, not expecting to see you at all. His hair is damp; he must’ve just gotten out of the shower. Taehyung doesn’t look as bad as Jimin described though. Just some dark circles under his eyes.

You raise a hand and wave. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he parrots somewhat awkwardly. It’s understandable; neither of you thought you’d be the one to break the ice. “What are you doing here?”

Bringing your other hand up, you show him the bag you’re holding. “Brought you soup and cold meds. Jimin said you’re sick.”

His brows knit together in confusion. “Thanks…” he says slowly, “but I’m not sick?”

“But Jimin said you caught a cold and you’ve been wheezing like a dying fisherman and–” You purse your lips, catching onto what’s really happening here. “He tricked me, didn’t he?”

Park Jimin…

Taehyung tuts under his breath, shaking his head at the ground. “Mhmm.”

“He could go into acting. He sounded really worried on the phone, like you were on the verge of death.”

“No, yeah, he really could,” Taehyung agrees. “Jimin is bizarrely good at lying sometimes. We should be worried about that.”

You laugh, and that makes him feel like the air is relaxed enough for him to laugh too. It only lasts a few seconds before you’re left staring at each other again. You hate it. You really, really hate it.

You thought that the universe sent you a sign, gave you a reason to come over and make nice with your best friend. Turns out that “the universe” is really just Park Jimin and his scheming tongue. But you’re already here, and you have to talk to him eventually. Jimin might have lied, but you would’ve just waited for Taehyung to reach out first to offer an olive branch anyway.

“Well, can I come in?” you ask. It’s weird that you even have to ask.

“Of course,” he says absentmindedly, stepping to one side to let you in. He takes the bag from your hand and brings it to the kitchen while you kick off your shoes and change into the pair of fuzzy bear slippers that he keeps for you here.

You want to tell him what happened as much as you hate admitting that you were wrong.

“Have you eaten?” you ask, a sad attempt at delaying what will inevitably come.

“No,” comes his simple reply.

“Should we eat? I bought enough for two people.”

“But I’m not sick.”

“You don’t have to be sick to eat chicken noodle soup.”

Taehyung looks at you like the thought has genuinely never crossed his mind. “Interesting… Okay, then.”

You put on an episode of your favorite show while he heats up the food. When you both sit down to eat, it’s mostly silent while the TV continues to play. The most you and Taehyung thing that you exchange in these 30 minutes is him saying soup tastes like shit when you’re not actually sick, and you telling him to stop being such a hater. When you both finish, Taehyung rinses the bowls and puts them in his dishwasher.

Before you came over, you thought you would only be making him eat, take his meds, and sit there for a bit while he sleeps. If you had known this would happen, you would’ve prepared yourself for it.

But then again, you were tricked into coming.

Ugh. Just do it. You are so freaking dramatic.

“Well,” you start, keeping your voice light and trying not to stand around like you’re out of place in his apartment, “you were right.”

“About what?” Taehyung asks, wiping his hands on a towel.

“About Yoongi and… all that.”

“Oh.” His expression is one you aren’t too familiar with. There’s surprise – yes, that you’re making peace with him – in the way his brows slightly lift, but there’s something else too. Something odd that you can’t quite put a finger on, and it makes you slightly uneasy because you don’t like it when you can’t read Taehyung.

He’s pretty quick to mask it, and it makes you even more conscious that there’s something he isn’t telling you. Of course, this feeling is miniscule, practically a seed compared to the blooming garden of nerves that the events of these past few days have dumped upon you, so you can’t categorize it as a high-level priority to nitpick. You need to deal with your main concerns first, aka what to do about Yoongi and Jungkook, both individually and together, and then you can begin to inspect what’s going on with Taehyung.

It all sounds so easy in theory.

Taehyung goes to the couch and you wordlessly follow. You sit down when he pats the spot next to him – your spot. “How did you come to that conclusion?” he asks. “You know I don’t get to hear you tell me I’m right very often.”

Because you aren’t right very often, is what you almost say. It’s light and playful, and you both know it would diffuse the leftover tension, but you chuck the words aside in favor of something more serious. There isn’t that much to catch him up on, but there is a lot to unpack from the few things that did transpire over the last few days.

You give him a recap of what happened with Yoongi and subsequently what happened with Jungkook. Those are the two things weighing the most on your mind. You haven’t really processed anything; blame it on Yoongi for telling you that you have time to think things through.

One thing you love about Taehyung is that he doesn’t tell you what to do, but rather helps you sort things out on your own. Come to think of it, these conversations often take place on his couch. He’s like your own personal therapist at this point.

“Can you give me a hug?” You probably can’t ask a licensed therapist to do this, though.

He softens even more with a smile. Opening his arms, he says, “C’mere.”

You shuffle over to sink into his embrace. You sigh as you practically melt in his hold. Taehyung is a little bony, but hugging him feels exactly like hugging a giant teddy bear. He’s soft, and always knows how to hold you just tight enough, how to stroke your hair the way you like, how to be just the comforting presence you need amidst a whirlwind of anxious thoughts. And he smells like jasmine, though that might be because you keep deliberately gifting him colognes with scents that you like.

With your chin perched on his shoulder, you feel yourself start to relax, walls coming down if only briefly.

“You okay?” Taehyung asks after a moment.

You’re suddenly aware that you’re crying. You don’t know how it started, but now that the waterworks have begun, it seems like there’s no stopping. “No,” you sniffle. “Can I just…”

You feel him exhale. “Of course.”

Taehyung is one of the few people – oh who are you kidding? He might be the only one – whom you feel comfortable enough around to let yourself cry to your heart’s content.

You’ve been feeling it for days now, even before all that shit happened. Every cell in your body is constantly vibrating, with anxiety, with guilt, with a heaviness that sinks into your bones. You’re shaking even when your hands are perfectly still. People, memories, thoughts you keep only to yourself – they all phase through you, not giving you a single moment to catch your breath.

When it rains, it pours.

Everything is weighing you down like someone has tied you to an anchor and pushed you into the unrelenting, unforgiving water. Grief is an ocean and you don’t know how to swim. Your job, your friends, the unbridled mess that you call a love life… Everything is changing and you’re the same. You’re different, but somehow still the same. Deep down, you’re still that scared little girl who doesn’t know what to make of the world. Your knees are bleeding but your mother is telling you not to cry. Why can’t you cry when you’re hurting? Every minute feels like a lifetime but every day feels like it’s going by in two seconds. Things are moving so fast. Things are moving too slow. You can’t remember the last time you actually cried. Really cried. Bawled. Sobbed. Let out all the dirt until you can see your roots again. Until you originate back to being a blank canvas. Sometimes it feels like that’s the only way that can help you see things more clearly. Your vision might blur for a while but afterward, it’ll have washed everything away. At least a little bit. So you can get your footing again.

You miss clarity, or the illusion that you have any control over your life. You miss looking out the window and have something to look forward to, even on overcast days where the sun can’t be bothered to bring you light. You miss hearing your heart beat a melody that doesn’t ache, doesn’t rattle you to the core. Pieces of you have been held together by nothing but tape and glue for the longest time. Eventually, they’ll deteriorate, and you’ll go back to being skin and bones always on the verge of falling apart.

Some of your best writing was never meant for anybody to hear. The best lines that you’ve scribbled down are diary entries disguised as music, as poetry. They’re results of your lowest and weakest moments, it just happens that there was a journal lying around and you thought that if you had to keep all that sadness inside for a second longer, you would burst. Those immortalized lines represent your heartbreak, your self-hatred, your sorrow and your grief. They come from a lifetime of unshed tears, from the burden of having a heart that feels too much but is always silenced. Words are your escape when time rushes through you like a child skipping stones. Everything hurts all the time but no one knows and you don’t bother explaining to anyone how you wish you could be a different person living a different life because it seems like the universe has made a mistake with this one. How it feels like a divine power has miscalculated and misread your false stoicism as resilience. Just because a person carries it well doesn’t mean they have to carry it at all.

Sometimes you like to muse that if anyone could catch a glimpse of what it’s like inside, they’d think, Wow. How are you holding all of that weight? How are you so silent through it all? How do you live with an ache so allconsuming that I can hardly see you underneath it?

It’s the only way you know how to express yourself. But even then, when you’re screaming and burning, you’re still quiet. Those words are your heart on paper, raw and bleeding all over the place, covered in a million cracks that no one can see or even pay enough attention to notice. They’re there whether anybody likes it or not. They’re right there, red ink staining white pages, begging in a voice small like a child asking for love. Please see me. I’m here. Nobody taught me how to swim. Please see me.

But nobody does. They walk past you every day. They sit with you, smile at you and laugh with you. They leave you. They stay. They break your heart. Even when they love you, nobody sees you.

You love Taehyung, but you don’t think he understands. He knows you better than almost everyone in this world and he tries to help you in any way he can, but at the end of the day, maybe this isn’t something that a person can understand even if they want to. It’s worse, to realize that perhaps it isn’t because people don’t care enough to see it, but that no matter how hard they try, they can’t.

The only person who has ever come the closest is Jungkook, with his big doe eyes that always see through you and see into you. Sometimes, you think there might be parts of you that he could see but you still don’t. He knew things about yourself that you never want anybody to find out, and he loved you anyway. He went the lengths that nobody ever did because they all gave up after a while. Someone once told you that you felt like a fortress wall impossible to climb, that nobody had the time, the patience to wait for you. In other words, you weren’t worth it. Not worthless, just not worth the effort it would take to break down your walls.

But Jungkook showed up and tried, every day. The one person that you never saw coming. You might have resisted at first, but then you became his biggest supporter. You were rooting for him to know you, how fucked up is that? You were right there. He was so close.

And then he stopped.

You suppose that’s what makes everything awful now – to know that you should let go of him when he’s the only person who ever came that close.

You don’t know how long Taehyung has had to sit here, comforting you like this, but at one point, your stomach starts growling and you feel your best friend trying to hold back a giggle. Jungkook might have mastered the art of loving you, but Taehyung is an expert at comforting you.

“Shut up.” You wipe away the dampness on your cheeks with the back of your hand and push Taehyung off. “Crying makes me hungry.”

“Should I order us fried chicken then?”

“And soju. Get some soju too.”

Jimin is a strategic trickster. There was no dance practice. He just ran around his apartment ten times until his breathing turned ragged, which if you ask anyone, was completely unnecessary. He’s very extra, but at least it was effective.

After he got off the phone with you, Jimin immediately went to your shared phone tracker app – today was one of those times where it proves to be the most useful. He stared at the little circle with a silly photo of you as it moved from your address to Taehyung’s with a couple pit stops along the way. Jimin giggled to himself when he saw your circle meet Taehyung’s, because at that point you two must have realized already that you’d been swindled. Of course, there was always a chance of you leaving the moment you figured out you had come all that way for no reason at all, but when Jimin saw after a couple of hours that the two circles are still next to each other, he knew that you and Taehyung made up already.

Jimin sends a message to your group chat, a simple hello but Taehyung knows what he’s trying to get at. The text thread shared by the three of you lights up with a selfie of you and Taehyung each holding a chicken drumstick and wearing a content smile. In the background, there are some soju bottles, a box of chicken and some fries.

Jimin doesn’t question why your eyes look a little puffier than usual. He just replies with a smiley emoji and a thumbs up. The triumph of his mini victory almost makes him forget that there’s someone else in his home.

Jungkook peeks over Jimin’s shoulder to peek at his phone, curious to see what’s making his friend so delighted. When he sees you and Taehyung on Jimin’s screen, he sinks again, heart sitting in the pit of his stomach. The words you told him just the day before ring loud in his ears, as if they haven’t been stuck on his mind, playing on a loop.

You’re such a fucking hypocrite.

You weren’t wrong, but man, did that feel like a punch in the gut.

He goes to sit across from Jimin, taking note of every single sound that notifies his friend of a new message. For the first time, he feels like an outsider, like he’s intruding on a private moment.

“I fucked up,” Jungkook admits quietly, cracking open a can of beer and taking a long sip. It makes Jimin look up and put away his phone. “With Y/N,” Jungkook clarifies.

“Yeah, I’ve been informed. That was the stupidest thing you’ve done in a while.”

“In a while? When was the last time I did something stupid?”

Jimin doesn’t even have to think about it. He answers right away, “When you left her.”

Jungkook hums, unclear whether the noise is meant in agreement or just in acknowledgment. His tongue darts out to swipe across his dry lips before he breathes out. “I don’t know what to do. She hasn’t replied to any of my texts. I feel like a fucking asshole.”

“From what I’ve been told, you were a fucking asshole,” Jimin says lightly, his words emphasized with a chuckle like he finds Jungkook’s predicament so funny. “I can’t believe you would say that shit about Yoongi to her right after he confessed.”

Cue a pregnant pause, and a pair of doe eyes staring right into Jimin’s skull, unable to decipher if what he’s hearing is a joke or not.

“Yoongi– what?”

Jimin slaps himself internally. Shit. It slipped, he swears. “Nothing,” he sighs, but he knows it wouldn’t be dropped so easily.

“No. Not nothing,” Jungkook sits up straight and puts his chilled beer down on the table, missing the coaster entirely just to piss off his friend. “The fuck do you mean Yoongi confessed? Confessed what?”

Jimin sighs with pursed lips. “What else? What do you think he confessed to?”

Jungkook gulps, and blinks a few times. When? Why? Was that the reason you looked so distraught yesterday before all that shit went down between you and him? Who confesses to someone in a freaking break room?

Then Jungkook remembers that you and Yoongi went out for drinks last night. What did he say? What did you say? His stomach churns at the thought of something… happening between the two of you.

Jimin takes in his friend’s dumbfounded expression. “Why are you shocked?” he asks. “I thought you expected something like this. Isn’t it why you spewed all that crap about Yoongi flirting with her?”

“Fuck, I don’t know! It feels like the guy is out to get me for some goddamn reason. I thought he was just playing with Y/N to piss me off!”

Jimin shakes his head, looking thoughtful. “Yoongi wouldn’t do that to her.”

“How would you know?”

“Because when they first worked together, from the things that she told us, the stuff that Yoongi would do for her, Taehyung and I thought he liked her back then too,” Jimin says. “This has nothing to do with you.”

It sucks. It fucking sucks.

“Should I go over there?” Jungkook asks, a newfound sense of urgency in his voice that borderlines panic. He’s acting like this fact that Jimin just dumped upon him is unraveling just as this conversation is taking place, but in reality, he’s one of the last people to know.

“And tell her what? If you’ve said sorry a million times and she hasn’t responded, then saying it one more time won’t change anything.”

“What am I supposed to do when I see her tomorrow?”

“Nothing? Are you incapable of leaving things alone? If she wants to ignore you, let her ignore you. If she wants to yell at you, let her yell at you. If she wants nothing to do with you, let her do that too. Why do you keep making things worse for yourself?”

Jungkook runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “So your solution is for me to just let her hate me?”

Jimin levels him with a look, which just annoys him even more. “You had no problem with that before.”

“If you’re not gonna help me, should I ask Taehyung then?”

“Don’t go to Tae about this.”

“Why not?”

“Just don’t,” Jimin snaps, and it makes Jungkook falter for a few seconds before the petulance in him clouds his better judgment.

“Why? He’s her best friend. They’re practically joined at the hip. He’s gotta be able to help me with this.”

“You really want to go to Taehyung for advice on how to suck up to your ex-girlfriend? He’s the most protective of her. What makes you think he would be willing to help you?”

“He’s my friend too, isn’t he? Shouldn’t he want to help all of us be civil with each other?”

“Yeah, he’s your friend. I’m your friend and Y/N’s too. And you’re right, all of us should get along, but we shouldn’t be put in a situation where we’d have to try. You did that to us and nothing is going to be the same again. I don’t even know why you did it. You kept your mouth shut for years no matter how hard me and Taehyung tried to get it out of you. Now you suddenly can’t make peace with the consequences of your actions? Now you want us to help you win over the person you fucked over, who is also our closest friend? I don’t get you, JK. I’m starting to regret not letting Taehyung punch you back then.”

Jungkook stares at his friend. Is this shock that he’s feeling? He still remembers that night, because he doesn’t forget a lot of things. He can’t forget it. He had never seen Taehyung – who is usually so calm and cordial – get that angry before. His friend, who is a saint of a man, felt so much rage toward Jungkook that Jimin had to physically hold him back.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” Jimin asks. “You’re not used to me not being on your side all the time?”

He knows that. The only person who seems to be on Jungkook’s side is himself, and sometimes he isn’t sure if this is even true at all. What you told him at the dance studio’s opening party, what Jimin is telling him now, and even the things that Taehyung shouted at him a couple of years back – it’s all true. He knows these things already, but it feels different to hear them from other people. You’re all right; nobody is overreacting. To an outsider, it might come across as harsh, but to anyone who knows anything, it’s rightfully deserved.

Nevertheless, Jungkook admits quietly, “Actually, yeah.”

Jimin sighs, because he knows that his friend has no malicious intent toward you or toward anyone. Jimin knows that Jungkook doesn’t mean to hurt you, any more than he already has. Jungkook is even more crazed now that Yoongi is somehow a factor in all of this. It’s the insecurities bubbling at the surface. He’s panicking and he can’t even see straight. This is just his own stupid take on fight or flight. It was flight for a while, and now apparently it’s not. Jimin doesn’t really understand it, but he gets that this is his friend’s way of dealing with shit. “I tried, man. I did. But it’s really, really hard to have your back on this.”

Jungkook is well aware of it too – that to leave you alone is probably the best thing he can do at this point. Everything he says or does seems to backfire; instead of pulling you closer, all he manages to do is push you further away and make you hate him more than you already do.

But in a way, isn’t that a good thing? Better to have you hate him than be indifferent toward him. After all, there’s a thin line between love and hate. You yourself blurred this line long ago. You can do it again, can’t you?

Jungkook sits there for a while longer to finish his beer, even though he doesn’t have anything else to say. It’s clear what Jimin’s stance on this is, and no matter what he says, it’s unlikely that anyone will help him try and get back in your good graces.

Before he leaves, Jimin says something that makes him nauseous. Makes him want to fucking cry and kick something and speed over to your apartment just so you could reassure Jungkook that he’s still the one you hate the most. That all of your feelings, whether they’re good or bad, are still reserved for him and only him.

It isn’t what his best friend should tell him, but it’s what a good friend would say. It's not about Jungkook, it's not about Jimin or Taehyung or anyone else. It's about you, who has been hurt the most here.

“If she wants to choose Yoongi, let her do that too.”

[10:48] Yoongi: Attachment: 2 Images.

[10:49] Yoongi: got yelled at for showing up puffy yesterday

You tap on the notifications and the photos pop up within seconds. It’s Yoongi at his Valentino shoot probably. He never used to send you stuff like this, nor asked you to come watch him at his photoshoots. Why would he?

You zoom in on his face to inspect if he really was puffy, but you can’t really tell. Maybe if you were a makeup artist with a sharper eye, you would see it. But under your regular-person gaze, everything seemed fine. Yoongi looked handsome in the pictures.

[10:55] You: you don’t look puffy to me

[10:57] Yoongi: so how do i look to you? ;)

[10:58] You: the fits look good

[11:01] Yoongi: i wasn’t asking about the fits

[11:05] You: and i’m telling you the fits look good anyway

[11:07] Yoongi: what about the model?

[11:10] You: are you fishing for compliments?

[11:11] Yoongi: what if i am?

[11:14] You: the model looks Not Puffy

[11:16] Yoongi: you’re no fun ;(

You consider your next reply for a moment. It doesn’t seem like that big a deal. You want to send it. It seems innocent enough, and it’s the truth. A simple praise can’t hurt, right?

Your fingertips tingle just typing the words out. You’re suddenly so jittery for some reason as your thumb hovers over the arrow symbol that would whoosh away your message. It's a good kind of jittery. You might even say that you’re excited.

[11:22] You: the model looks good too

You put your phone face-down on the table, not even checking when it vibrates with Yoongi’s response to your latest text. It’s so weird that you’re feeling like this, maybe because it’s been so long since someone has shown an actual interest in you? Or is it because it’s Yoongi? If it were anyone else, would you still react the same?

It’s weird, but not necessarily weird in a bad way. You just aren’t used to it, or it’s been such a long time that you forgot what it feels like to be… wanted? You don’t think about it often but it’s true, you’ve missed the thrill of being chased.

“So… word on the street is you have a secret song.”

Seokjin’s voice makes you glance up, wondering who he could be talking to when the only people in the room beside him are you and Jungkook – whom you haven’t spoken a word to all morning despite him glancing not-so-subtly at you every two seconds. When you got here this morning, there was already a chai latte on the table with your name on it. The order was too specific for it to be Seokjin, but you didn’t say anything.

“The street?” you ponder for a moment, knowing exactly who the culprit is. “Is that what Yoongi calls himself these days? He’s been here for what? A couple weeks? And he’s already blabbed to you.”

“So it’s true?” Seokjin leans back in his chair, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Yoongi said it’s real good. Top shelf kinda stuff. And you know he never says things like that.”

It’s not a song, or at least that isn’t what you would call it. Maybe more like an essay composed of sentences that go together like misfit puzzle pieces. You don’t think you would ever rework it and pitch it to anyone because it’s yours and it’s personal. You would never tell anyone about it, and Yoongi wouldn’t have come to know about its existence if he hadn’t stumbled across it in your journal by accident.

“Don’t listen to Yoongi,” you say. “At this point, I feel like you should know that Yoongi tends to exaggerate sometimes.”

“He never seems to be exaggerating when it comes to you,” Seokjin muses. You almost blush, thinking about what else Yoongi could’ve told Seokjin. He doesn’t notice the split second in which your cheeks redden just the slightest, or he doesn’t mind it enough to comment. “What’s the title?”

You shrug, saying nothing.

“You can’t even tell me the title? Damn, Y/N. Are you the CIA?”

“I’m not telling you because there is no title. There’s not even a song, just something I go back to sometimes. It’s mostly just word vomit. I promise you, it’s nothing.”

“Tell that to Yoongi. He told me whoever’s gonna get that song is one hell of a lucky bastard.”

Again, what is it with the praise? You know working with Yoongi and being associated with his last album gave your career a boost, but you weren’t aware that he was talking about you with other people. Maybe he only does it with Seokjin because they’re close, but still, it makes you itch with curiosity.

“By any chance are you gonna give it to… me?” Seokjin asks, and seems to immediately hear how flawed it sounds. You stare at him blankly, trying to bite back an amused smile, and even Jungkook turns his head to look too. Seokjin’s ears turn red in an instant. “Okay, that came out kinda wrong. I’m really, really sorry. But you know what I mean.”

You continue to stare at him until his face is so flushed, you swear he’s like a tomato that’s about to burst. You can see why Yoongi likes to tease people this way. “Okay, boss,” you acquiesce with a laugh, relieving Seokjin of the fear that he genuinely offended you. “If the song ever gets to see the light of day, I’ll make sure to ask you to lend your voice.”

“Ah, so you admit it’s a song.” He grins brightly at your empty promise, making you roll your eyes half-heartedly. He goes back to his normal shade in a minute, no longer ridiculously red like a cartoon character. “What’s it about?”

You ponder his question silently, missing the way Jungkook takes this moment to glance at you. When you look up again, he’s already averting his gaze.

What is it about? That’s a question that you yourself have never really considered. It’s about everything and it’s about nothing. It’s love, it’s loss, it’s the infinite in-between. You give Seokjin an answer that won’t satisfy him, but it’s the truth.

“I haven’t figured it out yet. I’ll let you know when I do.”

He tuts at you, like he was expecting the obscurity from you anyway. “You’re really not beating the CIA allegations,” he says.

You flip him the bird, which only compels him to stick out his tongue and make a face at you. Then, he diverts his attention to the person who hasn’t contributed anything this whole time.

“JK, why are you so quiet today? We’re not gonna eat you.”

Jungkook mutters something to Seokjin that you don’t quite catch because the words come out of his mouth like an inarticulate mess, which is so unlike him. He sounds jumpy, like he’s too nervous to speak in front of you. Seokjin’s eyes land on you again as he mouths a confused What?

You just shrug, and Seokjin has to take Jungkook’s weird response as him having an off day. The man checks his phone, lets out a quiet whine, then addresses the both of you. “I have a shoot this afternoon so you two will have to hold down the fort, by the way.”

You come back from your solo lunch date to an empty studio.

Well, almost empty. There’s something new that wasn’t there before.

Another chai latte waiting for you equates to another apology hoping to be acknowledged. The paper cup is still hot when your hand reaches out to touch it. You sink into your chair with a sigh. You could laugh at yourself for feeling so nostalgic at the sight of a beverage in the middle of a workday.

Jungkook walks in about 15 minutes later, and the air turns suffocating at his arrival. He feels it too, you know he does.

You chew on your bottom lip until it starts to hurt, bite down on it until it almost bleeds.

“Jungkook,” you say, catching his attention. It looks like he didn’t expect you to initiate any conversation. It’s not like you want to, but you have to. You keep having to do this, because he just wouldn’t listen. “Stop buying me drinks.”

It translates to: Stop saying sorry. Stop trying to make things right. Stop doing things you think would make me happy. Stop making me have the same argument with you over and over again.

“Because you wouldn’t hear me out,” he says, and proceeds to repeat the one thing that you’re sick of hearing from him. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” you verbalize it. “If it’s not about work, I don’t think it’s necessary for me to hear it, Jungkook. I don’t want to hear it.”

“You do need to hear it. Because I can’t function properly until you know how sorry I am.”

“Well, that sounds like a you problem.”

“Y/N.”

“What?”

“Hear me out,” he says, sounding a little firmer now but you still catch the crack in his voice. “Please.”

Jungkook must take the way you hesitate to shut down him as reluctant permission for him to keep going, because he stands up and moves to a spot closer to you. Not close enough that he could reach out and touch you, but enough for you to see the tiny mole under his bottom lip and how it quivers when he looks at you.

Fuck. You’re letting him win again.

“Okay, fine. Talk then. I’m listening. You’re sorry, right? You keep saying you’re sorry for everything, but what exactly is everything? What are you even sorry about? Are you sorry about annoying me right now, or are you sorry about being a prick the other day, or are you sorry about leaving me five years ago? When did you become this pathetic, Jungkook?”

“W–what?”

“When did you become so pathetic?” you repeat. “If you had to come back, couldn’t you come back as someone better? Someone who’s sure of himself and has a good life, not this… person who has to grovel at my feet for forgiveness. Even when you were at your lowest, you weren’t like this. I don’t even know who this Jungkook is. What happened to you?”

If you think that you saw him at his lowest, then you’re wrong. He didn’t hit rock bottom until he’d left you and had to live with what he chose to do.

“You’re right. I am pathetic,” Jungkook agrees, dropping his gaze to the floor like he’s ashamed. “But fuck, I’m trying to be worthy of you.”

It’s a truth that he doesn’t want to face, doesn’t want to admit how very real it is until you’ve just said it and it fucking guts him. He knows his friends pity him sometimes, even if they don’t want to view him as someone to be pitied. No matter how much of a front he puts up, he knows that Jimin and Taehyung see right through him. They won’t say it to his face, and for that Jungkook has gotten away with avoiding this fact for so long. But to hear it from you, to watch you spell it out for him, it hurts.

He wants to mention Yoongi, but he doesn’t know how to phrase it in a way that wouldn’t immediately aggravate you. After all, bringing up Yoongi is what got him into this mess, isn’t it?

Regardless, he wants to ask you a question that he already knows the answer to. What does Yoongi have that he doesn’t? The answer is: A lot of things. Yoongi has a lot of things that Jungkook doesn’t, one of them being the self-assurance to not run away when it comes to you and what you deserve.

He wants to ask, but he doesn’t, because he’s scared it might drive you right into Yoongi’s arms and Jungkook can’t compete with a man like that.

He can barely keep up even with just himself in the running.

There’s a big question mark that pops up in your head, along with a slight sting in your eyes that you blink away. You’ve never seen Jungkook like this before. This whole time, was it not only you who was miserable?

He looks so small that it breaks your heart. For once, you aren’t sad for yourself but you’re sad for him. It never occurred to you that he could’ve been lonely too, having to keep all of this inside because you know he didn’t share it with anyone else. You catch a glimpse of him again, like you did when you were making ramen together in your kitchen while a storm was raging outside. In a lot of ways, Jungkook is still that kid stuck in an adult’s body, lost and scared and loved you. It feels like you could’ve seen him in the same ocean while you were just trying to keep your head above water.

The sight of him, so vulnerable and astray, placates you. Your resolve crumbles, but not like it was ever that strong to begin with. You suppose you could see why he was being a jerk to you. Even though it doesn’t justify what he said, you understand just a little bit where he was coming from. You find yourself forgiving him for some of it. It’s part of letting things go, right?

But no matter how much you want to reach out and comfort him, you know you shouldn’t. What are you supposed to do in a situation like this? You’re confused and it feels like you two have been going around in a circle, looking for a solution that doesn’t seem to exist.

Coexisting doesn’t work. Telling him to leave things alone doesn’t work. What else can you do?

Why do you have to resolve a problem that isn’t even yours? Jungkook says he’s trying, but his efforts keep making your life harder and harder. You practically blew up in his face, then apologized for being harsh even though you were fully aware that you had nothing to be sorry for. You called him a hypocrite and now you’re ready to cave just because he’s on the verge of shedding a few tears. This constant back and forth between your anger and your reluctance to see that anger through is possibly the thing that’s hindering you.

You can’t – and shouldn’t – accommodate him anymore. You have to put your foot down, no matter how difficult it is with the lingering ghost of your past love.

Because you’re always weak when it comes to Jungkook.

Because you’re still holding onto something.

Because Jungkook will always be the first person that you have ever loved, and those four years meant a lot to you even if they didn’t to him. Maybe it’s even fair to say that you might never truly get over it, and that doesn’t have to be such a terrible thing. Maybe he was never the person you thought he was, or maybe you never meant as much to him as he did to you. Somehow, that’s okay. It’s manageable because it’s routine at this point. You’ve internalized it. The years have taught you that sometimes, things get shitty just because they can and you just have to deal with it.

The intrinsic pain of the human experience. C’est la vie.

What a world this is.

Is it bad that you’re thinking about Yoongi in a moment like this?

Yoongi could be your future, if you’d let him.

You should let him. Maybe this is your answer right here.

“Jungkook, let’s stop.” He looks at you with crestfallen eyes, but you have to keep going. The only way out is through. “Let’s stop. You want me to listen to you, but you haven’t been listening to me. I don’t have the strength to keep this up anymore, and I have told you that repeatedly but you wouldn’t listen. Jungkook, move on.”

You pretend not to notice how his lip trembles even more. “What if I don’t want to move on?”

This feels like a conversation that should’ve happened ages ago. Five years ago, you should’ve screamed at him, cried with him, held each other as you both fell apart. He stripped you of that right and gave you no say at all.

“You’re being awfully selfish,” you tell him, but in your head, you’re already thinking about what his words actually mean.

“Have you completely written me off then? Is there nothing at all that I can do? Because I would do anything if you asked. You know that.”

Your throat is so dry that it feels like you’re swallowing sand. You dig everything back up again until you find the memory of that day hidden at the very bottom.

It’s terrible. He’s making you relive it again.

“I remember calling for you and you didn’t even look back,” you say, but your voice breaks toward the end. “I can’t trust you anymore.”

Jungkook just stares at you then, and for the longest time, neither of you say anything. This is the first time that you two have addressed the problem, properly addressed it instead of half-heartedly sweeping it under the rug like you tried to do.

You breathe in, he breathes out. You hate the way you feel, and you resent the way he looks like he’s breaking down just as badly. There are tears in those eyes, tears that Jungkook doesn’t let spill because he defiantly wipes them away with the back of his hand after a moment.

When he speaks next, you want the world to end.

“Then I’ll earn your trust back. I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I will.”

647 notes · View notes

w2soneshots · 4 months

Text

Soft launch -Angry ginge

Words: 1.1k+

Warnings: light smut.

In which you and Morgan announce your relationship, he asks you an important question and you celebrate Valentine’s Day.

y/username

Liked by kaci.jay and 104,690 others

y/username: soft launch?? @angryginge13

-comments-

angryginge13: hard launch??

dannyaarons: so cute man❤️

user20577940: omgggggg finally!!!!!

Me and Morgan have been together for just over 6 months. We decided to keep it a secret since we didn't want other people's opinions effecting our relationship while it was still early doors, but ended up putting it off for a lot longer than we anticipated. Last night after watching the KSI vs Tommy Fury fight, we decided to quietly announce it.

We met in a pub, he was hanging around with his friends playing pool, and I was with my best friend Lana. Nether of us drink so had something in common when our friends started to become increasingly more pissed.

Today I'm tagging along to one of his house viewings. He's been trying to find a home for a while now, with no luck. I knocked on his door and he opened it a few minutes later. "Hey babe." he said pulling me into the house and then into a kiss. I smiled into the kiss. He pulled away "What?" He questioned. "What was that for?" I asked with a smile still plastered on my face. "I've just missed you." He stated. "I saw you last week." I said. "A week too long." he said and I shook my head with a giggle.

We left the house around 10 minutes later. "You exited?" I asked while he drove. "Not really, I've been to so many of these so I don't have my hopes up". he said focusing on the road. "This could be the one!" I poked his side. "I hope so." he said quickly glancing at me. "We're here." he said as we pulled up. "Ooo this is nice!" I said excitedly. It's pretty big, with light brick and a dark roof, it has big windows and a nice sheltered driveway.

"And this is the master bedroom." the estate agent said showing us the final room. "This is lush!" I said looking around. "I'll leave you to discuss." the man said leaving the room. Morgan grabbed my arm "y/n?" "Yea?" I said slightly confused by his seriousness. "I know we've only been together for a few months but- I- hate it when you're gone even just for a day, we spend most nights together anyway and I know the lease on your house is running out I- I was just wondering, only if you want to, move in with me?" I was stunned, couldn't believe the words that just came out of his mouth. "I-" he cut me off "you really don't have to." he said. "No, I do." I said. "You do?" I nodded "of course I do you idiot!" he smiled and pulled me into a hug.

y/username just posted a new story!

Morgan officially bought that house soon after and we moved in the next month. We had minimal furniture for a little while but after many trips to Ikea we were finally getting somewhere. It's a three bedroom, 2 bathroom house with a lovely kitchen and living room along with a relatively large back garden. Our bedroom is almost finished as well as Morgan's gaming room where he streams and the third bedroom which he turned into my beauty room. I told him It was his house so he should do whatever he wants in it and not use a whole room just for me but one day I came home to him sat on the floor building an Ikea dressing table. Once he spotted me he stood up and said "non refundable." pointing to the pieces on the floor, I shook my head and laughed.

Today is valentines day so I sat at my dressing table getting ready for dinner. Morgan is currently filming a football video with Chris (md). He felt awful for not being here but booked a nice dinner to make up for it. Once I was fully ready I took some pictures for insta. I heard the front door open and hurried downstairs. But I stopped in my tracks when I saw Morgan standing there with a large bouquet of flowers in his hands. "happy Valentine’s Day." he said. I stepped toward him and he handed the flowers to me. "They're beautiful, thank you!" I said with a big smile. I quickly placed them on the table and pulled him into a hug. "You look beautiful by the way." he said and I pulled out of the hug to give him a kiss. "Now, get ready we need to leave." I said.

y/username

Liked by dannyaarons and 360,855 others

y/username: happy valentines day💘

-comments-

angryginge13: ❤️❤️🔥

kaci.jay: so beautiful!

-> y/username: 🤍🤍

tenesseethresh: STUNNING🖤

user74108510: where's that dress from? x

-> y/username: oh polly xx

Morgan quickly had a shower and got dressed. We left and arrived at the restaurant just in time. We were seated and given menus. "Mmm, this all looks so good!" I said scanning the paper. "I think I'm gonna get the burger." he said, and I laughed "what?" He asked with a smirk. "so predictable."

We ordered and ate our food. By the time we left it was pitch black outside. We got into the car and Morgan drove us home. He kept his hand firmly on my thigh the entire way and we sat in a comfortable silence. Once we arrived home we went inside and I slipped my heels off. "thank fuck for that." I sighed. I looked up to see Morgan standing a few centimetres from my face. I looked into his eyes and his flickered down to my lips. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and he pulled me into a kiss. It quickly became more and more passionate and soon we were in our bedroom. He pulled the zipper of my dress down so it fell to the floor. He broke the kiss for a second to look down at me, he gasped slightly "no panties, you dirty girl." he whispered before pulling me back into the kiss. I smirked into the kiss and pushed him towards the bed so he fell backwards onto it.

I crawled onto him and pulled off his shirt. Both of our breaths were heavy as I removed his pants and underwear in one swift motion. His hard cock hit his stomach and I resumed the kiss. His hands were harshly grabbing my ass as I grind down on him slowly. "y/n," he groaned. I slowly pushed myself onto his dick. He let out a loud groan and began bucking his hips up into me. "fuck, y/n."

#x reader #fanfic #image #oneshot #angry ginge x reader #angry ginge #morgan burtwistle #smut

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otteropera · 1 year

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Protector (Jon Snow x Reader)

A/N - This doesn't really take place at any specific time in GOT, I kinda got the idea and went on a writing rampage all in one night lol. Its been almost two years since I've posted a fic on here, and I've found comfort in writing these silly little stories. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it :)

Warnings - violence, mentions of blood, attempted kidnapping(?)/adultnapping

Word count - 3.1k

My parents were almost assassinated in their sleep. I was only alive because of the guard who saw the assailant climbing up to my window. My father immediately demanded I go into hiding, and worked hard to find an able-bodied man he trusted to help me get somewhere safely.

The Starks of Winterfell had always been trusted by father, he’d known Eddard and Catelyn longer than I’d been alive. So it wasn't too much of a surprise when I found out who would be taking me to safety, and where I would be going. The journey from Barrowton to Winterfell is about eleven days, if you don't stop for any reason. If you do, then it's closer to fourteen. There are only a few inns and taverns on the way to Winterfell, and I’d only convinced Jon to stop at one of them.

The Riverside Inn was a small establishment in the middle of nowhere. There was a family that owned and ran it, who were very friendly to Jon Snow and I. We'd been on the road for the past few days and I was desperate to sit next to a warm fire and eat homemade stew, rather than biting off pieces of dried jerky and contemplating if my extremities had fallen off due to frostbite. The more we traveled, the farther north we were, and the colder it got. Jon had tied our horses up outside.

"Evenin' you two," the innkeeper smiled at us. The sun had just started settling below the trees. "What can I get ya?" His voice was brash, but welcoming.

"Two rooms and some food." Jon answered. "And whatever you've got that will keep us warm."

He chuckled. "I'll have your room ready right away. And what'll you have? Stew or soup?"

"Stew please," I said.

"Me as well."

He nodded. "You're lucky. It's really good tonight. I made it myself."

We both sat down at a table near the fireplace. It was nice to be sitting inside again. I took off my thick gloves and warmed my hands on the stones, I could have melted right there. I looked up at Jon who sat across from me, but his gaze was making its way around the room, like he was trying to study every inch, making sure it was safe. It was a quaint little inn, with wooden floors and furniture. A staircase led up to a lofted area, with a few doors that I assumed were the different bedrooms. The walls were decorated with tapestries and various antlers. The large hearth dominated the center of the common area. The innkeeper walked over with bowls of stew and some bread. The smell was heavenly, I had to hold back a smile on my face.

"How long has this place been here?" I asked the innkeeper. He put the food down in front of us as Jon fumbled in his pouch for some coins. He gave me a look that said 'Don't be too friendly, we don't know this man.'

"Oh, forever. This is my home," He laughed. "It's been here since before I was born. Me wife and son help run the place." He collected the coins from Jon. Thankfully, my fathers advisor had given us more than enough to get to Winterfell. The Innkeeper headed back to the front of the Inn.

I couldn't imagine it would ever get too busy here, we were in the middle of the woods, only a small dirt road led up to this place. I started digging into my stew, sopping up the bread with the hot liquid. I could eat this meal for the rest of my life. As I was shoveling scoops of stew into my mouth, I felt Jon staring at me. I looked up at him.

"What?" I asked, wiping my mouth.

"Nothing, My Lady," He shook his head. My stomach flipped. Gods, if he wasn't looking at me like that, this whole trip would be much less nerve-wracking.

"There's no need to call me that," I muttered.

He sighed. "Sorry."

"It's fine," I muttered, somehow even quieter.

He glanced at me. "Are you alright?"

I nodded. "Yes, why wouldn't I be?"

"Just checking."

He stared at me for another moment and then turned back to his stew. I ate quietly for a while, enjoying the warmth of the fire and the company of him. I devoured my stew, and finished the last piece of bread. I wiped my bowl clean with a crusty chunk of bread, and placed it on the table.

"That was delicious," I said, looking up at the Innkeeper. "Thank you."

"My pleasure."

I noticed Jon looking at me again, trying to suppress a smile, or a laugh.

"What is it?" I asked incredulously.

"I've just never seen a Lady eat like that."

I rolled my eyes. I supposed I was being quite sloppy, but in my defense, we'd barely eaten all day. I was famished.

"Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it," I said, standing up, I grabbed my gloves and the pouch of coins Jon had set on the table and walked over to the Innkeeper.

"Excuse me, you wouldn't happen to have any horse feed, would you?" I asked. He turned around, eyebrows raised. "We're riding out tomorrow morning, and our horses are getting hungry."

He smiled. "Of course, I'll be right back." He ran off towards the back of the inn. I heard him rummaging through the shelves. He returned with a sack full of grain.

"Here you go," He handed the sack to me. "Is this enough?"

"It should be," I replied, taking the bag. "Thank you," I handed him coins, which he seemed surprised at.

"No problem," He grinned. "Enjoy the rest of your stay."

I smiled at him softly and headed out the front of the Inn. The snow was starting to layer the ground, it crunched beneath my feet. I heard the same crunching a few paces behind me. It was Jon, not letting me out of his sight. I huffed.

"Do you mind?" I asked, turning around.

"Not at all," He said. "I just don't want you walking alone."

"Why?" I asked, feeling slightly offended.

"I was told to bring you to Winterfell, unharmed. That's what I plan on doing."

I bit my tongue. "You can't protect me from everything, Jon."

"I can try."

I gave up on the back and forth as we approached the horses, holding the bag of grain up to them one at a time. They sniffed curiously at the bag.

"They're pretty well fed," I commented, "I don't think they'll starve."

"I hope not," He chuckled.

The sun had gone down almost entirely, the sky darkening quickly.

"I know it'll be safer for me elsewhere, but I miss my home already," I commented.

"I'm sure you do," his voice was soft. I glanced up at him and saw him looking back gingerly. "But it will be safe there."

"How do you know?" I whispered.

"Because I'm going with you."

Once we finished feeding the horses, we went back inside and flocked to the hearth, but the Innkeeper wasn't anywhere to be seen. We sat by the fire for a while, listening to the crackling flames and talking about nothing important. I found that my eyelids were growing heavier, the warmth from the fire practically lulling me to sleep.

"You should probably get some sleep," Jon insisted.

"You as well. I am tired," I agreed, yawning. I stood up and made my way up the staircase, Jon following me. The rooms were small, but Jon and I each had our own. That was the most important thing.

"Good night, My Lady," he said, trying to suppress a smile. I let out a dry laugh.

"Good night, Jon Snow." I closed the door behind me, finally alone for a moment. I tore off my boots and stripped out of my clothes, leaving only my underclothes, and crawled into bed. I pulled the furs up to my chin and laid there, closing my eyes. I could hear Jon moving around in the room next to mine, the walls so thin. I found it comforting for some reason.

I drifted off to sleep, thinking of home.

***

I'd never been a particularly light sleeper, but this was something different. I'd been a bit on edge during the journey, less so with Jon Snow accompanying me, but still. This was more than I'd ever experienced before. I woke up suddenly, hearing a noise outside the window. I looked over at the wall, seeing nothing unusual. I listened carefully, hearing the sound again. There was definitely something outside the window. I got out of bed and crept over to it, peering out cautiously.

There was a figure standing by the horses. It was hard to tell in the darkness, but it appeared to be a man. He was dressed in dark colors, and wore a hooded cloak, making it difficult to see his face, but I could tell he was staring straight at me. I held my breath, hoping he would leave soon.

He did not.

Instead, he began to walk towards the inn. I rushed as quickly as I could out of my room and one door over. I yanked it open.

"Jon-" I started, but the bed was empty. Was this the wrong room? No, I remembered hearing him last night before falling asleep. Before I had more time to think, a bag was thrusted over my head, and I felt a blade at my throat.

"Don't scream," A deep voice said. "Or I'll slit your throat."

I froze, terrified. The knife pressed against my neck was cold and sharp. I couldn't move, my heart racing wildly. His grip, wrapped around my shoulders, started forcing me down the steps. I would have tripped if he hadn't been holding me so tight. I tried to keep my breathing even, but my chest sputtered with every breath.

We reached the bottom of the stairs, and I was pushed forward through the common room, toward another pair of arms that grasped me. How many of them are there? Hands roughly grasped my wrists, securing them together with an itchy rope.

"Where is he?" One of the men demanded.

"We don't know sir."

"Well, bloody find him!" The man angrily demanded. I could feel his hands on my back, pushing me further along. I stumbled, and the man grabbed my arm tightly.

"Let go of me!" I yelled, struggling to free myself. "What do you want with me?"

"Shut up," The man growled, pulling me closer. "Keep walking."

I could tell we exited the Inn by the sudden drop in temperature and remembered I was still only in my underclothes, suddenly feeling exposed. It must have been snowing still because the cold powdery substance stuck to my feet and sent a chill up my spine. The man shoved me to the ground. I nearly face planted, but rolled onto my back. I wish I hadn't because the man put his foot down on my chest to keep me from getting away. He made it much harder to breathe. The bag over my head forced me to use other senses to interpret my surroundings, but all I heard was the crunching of snow beneath my feet. And then shouts coming from the Inn.

"Stop! Stop right there!" I recognized the voice as the Innkeeper's.

The man released his foot from me, and I rolled over onto my stomach, gasping for air. I tried to push myself up, but the man kicked me in the ribs. Hard.

"Stay down," He commanded.

I struggled to sit up, but the man kicked me again, this time in the stomach. I cried out in pain, collapsing back to the ground.

"I said stay down!" The man screamed.

I heard the commotion of the men battling with the innkeeper, and from the sounds of it, it wasn't going too well. I took advantage of their distraction and scrambled to my feet, bringing my tied hands to my head and ripping off the bag, running as fast as I could. I didn't get very far before I was tackled to the ground, the force of the impact knocking the wind out of me. I felt hands grabbing my arms and legs, pinning me to the ground. My vision blurred, and I couldn't focus.

"No," I gasped, trying desperately to pull away.

The man threw me to the side, and I landed hard on my shoulder. I grunted, wincing in pain.

"You're no good to us dead, girl." The man laughed. "So you better behave yourself." I lay on the ground, unable to move. No more than twenty feet away was the Inn, with the Innkeeper lying lifelessly on the ground. I could hear the sounds of fighting coming from inside. One of the men seemed to notice the commotion as well and headed inside. I tried to stand on my feet with what power I had left, but the man who tackled me to the ground took notice and slapped me across the face. I fell back into the snow. I could hardly breathe. I wanted to cry. I wanted to see my parents one last time.

Jon Snow came barreling out of the Inn. He was covered in blood. I could see the red splatter on his armor, and he looked furious. The man next to me looked terrified.

"Get away from her," Jon roared.

The man hesitated. He seemed unable to decide whether he should stick to his plan or save his life. He turned to run, but Jon caught him. He held him close, slamming his fist into the man's gut. The man doubled over and Jon punched him again, this time in the head. Hard. The man dropped to the ground, unconscious.

Jon stood catching his breath. His head turned to me and his eyes immediately softened. He knelt beside me, pulling apart the rope that tied my hands together.

"Are you okay?" Jon asked quickly, looking at me worriedly.

"I'm alive," I said shakily. He raised his hand and grazed where the man had slapped me. No doubt the skin was red, it felt tender.

"I'm so sorry. I heard them and went out to see what was going on but there were more than I expected and-"

"Jon," I cut off his rambling. His eyes locked with mine. "It's okay. I'm okay." I wrapped my arms around myself. The snow plus my lack of clothing wasn't helping. He immediately noticed this and took off his cloak, wrapping it around me. It was bloodied but I didn't care.

"Come on," He said, helping me to my feet. "We need to get out of here." He wrapped an arm around my waist, but I hissed at the contact. He'd touched where the man had kicked me.

"I'm sorry," he said with sad eyes.

He led me to the Inn door, which was now open. I could see the fight inside was over. I counted six men in total who laid lifeless on the floor. There was blood everywhere. I couldn't believe Jon had taken them all by himself. He helped me sit down next to the fire, which was now only embers.

"I'll grab your things." He swiftly went up the stairs and into the room I had slept in. I was thankful he didn't have me try to climb the stairs. He came back down after less than a minute with the rest of my clothes, my boots, and the small satchel I had brought with me. I started dressing myself back up, and I could tell Jon was unsure about trying to help me or not.

“I-I’ll get the horses ready.” I almost groaned at the thought of riding a horse right now. Jon started making his way towards the door but stopped himself. “Are you alright? … Doing that?” It was almost funny to me, how he just murdered half a dozen folks with no problem but felt embarrassed asking me if I needed help getting dressed.

“Yes,” I replied quietly. He nodded curtly and was out the door. He came back after a minute or two, just as I was finishing lacing up my boots.

“The horse is ready, we should get going before anyone else shows up.” Jon held out his hand for me which I graciously took.

“Horse? As in one?” I asked, feeling a nervous pit in my stomach.

“They um… killed the other ones.” My brows furrowed in confusion. Why would they kill the horses? So we couldn’t escape? Why didn’t they kill me either? They had plenty of chances to.

We walked out the front of the inn for the last time, and I took one last glance at the Innkeeper, who was splayed on the ground, his blood turning the snow red. The horse sighed as we walked over to it. I wondered if it knew that it almost lost its life. Jon got up onto the horse first and I felt my cheeks redden as I further realized our situation. It was a bit awkward trying to get my leg over it, trying to stifle my whimper from the injuries I was aggravating. Did Jon get hurt at all? Did he even have a scratch? If so, he sure was good at hiding it.

Jon reached down and gently grabbed my waist, pulling me close to him. I tried to ignore the way his hands graced my sides. He pulled me tight to his body and I felt the warmth of his chest even through his thick cloak. This saddle definitely wasn't made for two people.

"How are you always so warm?" I asked as he brought his arms around me to grab the reins on the horse. Jon chuckled, his mouth so close to my ear I could feel his warm breath. Goosebumps prickled up my back and down my arms. He whistled and the horse started clopping away from the Inn.

"Maybe you're always cold."

We fell into a comfortable silence, and I felt myself relaxing up against Jon more and more. He didn't seem to mind. This was probably the warmest I'd been while traveling yet. I won't complain.

"Thank you," I whispered, "you saved my life."

"You don't need to thank me, I did what any man would do."

"No, really," I insisted. "You risked your own life for me. You could've run off when you first saw them. You could've left me there."

"I wouldn't be able to live with myself if anything happened to you."

#jon snow #jon snow x reader #jon snow fanfiction #jon snow imagine #got fanfiction #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones imagine #asoif/got

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90s-2000s-barbie · 8 days

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Hi 90s-2000s Barbie I want your help! My room looks modern and boring how could I make it 2000s nostalgia?? Here some photos of my room

I don't think my parents would allow me to repaint my room to a fun color :( I'm ok with painting any of my furniture's except for my desktop (I put so much time and effort to finally make the posters look nice in there ;-;)

Hi! Sure I think I can try to help. You room is super cute BTW. So 2000s are everything but what is your favorite things from that time? Favorite shows, music? What is your style? Do you like girly? Do you like goth Hot topic style? Rooms when I was growing up is always about personality. Representing your favorites! I love Britney, Backstreet Boys, NSYNC. I found dead stock posters for $8 on eBay. I also went to goodwill and thrifted lots of cheap NSYNC framed photos for $2-$4 dollars a piece. If you like girly, 2000s were all about beaded curtains, bed canopy’s, you can even make them super affordable. I think people have some tutorials on Pinterest. I’ve seen cool wall hangings with old CDs and that was popular in the 2000s. 😄The y2k era brought back a lot of 1970s styles like flower power, mod circles, butterflies in bedding and wall art. Glow in the dark starts are cheap and we’re super popular. You can even find wall clings of simple flowers probably somewhere. I put a bunch on my walls. I bought a Lisa Frank calendar from the dollar tree and used all the art as little posters! lol if you have things stored from childhood or parents or anyone u know lived through it or maybe was a little older, ask if they have anything in storage that they don’t want or ask parents if they kept any of your old stuff or toys. Family may help out if they still have some cool older stuff. My mom saved our old Lisa Frank trapper keeper, she saved my old Pokémon stuff and I didn’t even know till I asked. You may have some stuff hiding right in your house! lol also I always recommend thrifting. I could go to my local Goodwill today and hunt for 90s-2000s stuff and find it everywhere and I use that as decoration. I find y2k bedding and curtains and vintage toys! You can find the coolest stuff so cheap and affordable. 😊 not sure what color you’re thinking of painting your furniture. But even working with basic white isn’t a bad thing, you can put all the colors in the decorations and really use the white to your advantage if u wanted to keep it simple. It would make decor stand out.

If you like the hot topic alternative style, bands, that would be a whole other style. And I can help u if u like that as well. Music posters are the best for that for sure. My rooms were plastered with bands and skulls. lol

If you have a more questions, fill free to ask. I’ve been obsessed with decorating my whole life. lol 😆 🩷

Thanks so much for the ask and good luck! I bet whatever you decide, will look so cute because it will be you! Your personality. 😄

Here is my room if it could possibly help for inspiration?

#personal #y2k #2000s #my room #2000s room #y2k room #y2k bedroom #00s bedroom

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reneezsq · 4 days

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slender–mansion au — personal take.

this is, like the title shows it, my personal take on the creepypastas. i might make other part of this, and i will use this base as my own "version" for my writings. if you have any questions feel free to ask.

GENERAL OVERLOOK.

. according to popular beliefs, they all do indeed live in a big mansion. however, contrary to those same beliefs, the mansion is not in the middle of the woods in a random forest somewhere in the world, but instead hidden in a sub–dimension that can be accessed through different means and left under some circumstances. the person at the head of this sub–dimension is, without any single doubt, slenderman who is also known as the operator by the people working under him. slenderman is simply his alias in the human world, but we’ll go on that perhaps in another post.

. there is different ways to access this other dimension that might vary with individuals. the easiest way is to be given access by the operator himself, which is how a big part of the creeps managed to enter in the first place. another way is by simply stumbling across it, less likely to happen, but sometimes lone souls end up being sent here when there is no place left for them in the real world — which is what happened to both sally and ben. of course, we also have the infamous technique of simply following someone that enters the world and follow them, in this case we can count eyeless jack and jeff the killer as having done that. eyeless jack actually wanted to chase one of the operator’s proxy and ended up following them here, while jeff was simply searching for a cover and also followed close to a proxy. for the others, they all either have no access at all, which they do not mind, or have access given to them naturally by slenderman.

. the mansion in itself simply looks like a castle on the outside, a very old one at this. it also appears smaller than it is on the inside, and following its unnatural and even dare i say magical origin (mystical would be more fitting i believe), it is no wonder such a thing is possible. around it, there is a lot of forest with some sort of areas nearby like a lake, a river or even an open field for anyone that wants to do nothing and take a walk around. the area changes occasionally to either add something or erase something. this actually doesn’t happen because of the operator, it’s natural because of the nature of this sub–dimension and he has no say in all of this.

. inside the mansion, it works the same say: some things might change, a random radio appearing on a piece of furniture in an alleyway where nobody will notice it, or an unused room simply disappearing out of thin air as if it never appeared in the first place. it is all a bit random and can get confusing at first, especially because some corridors tend to move around at some points and change the layout of the whole interior (it is actually a sort of defense mechanism to protect from outside threats that would not understand how all of this work, it gets them confused and make it easier to simply dispose of them once taken by surprise).

. although some rooms do stay the same: such as the living room, which is always a few doors away from the entry, never moved from the left side. the kitchen also always stayed connected to the back door, a protection measure if anyone puts it on fire, and it sadly happened more than once for the mansion to decide to keep this room here forever. at least it is easier to get snacks since it will never move. as well as the dining room that remains near the living room at all times. it doesn’t change that much though, mostly once or twice a year, other than that it stays stable most of the time.

. remember how i said everyone lives in the mansion ? that was a bit of a lie actually. in fact, everyone has a room in the mansion where they can go to unwind or if they want to stay here in calmness for a few days, or weeks, but most of the creeps come and go as they please. the only exception of people that always stay here are slenderman as it is his mansion after all, sally who has nowhere else to go, same for ben and some proxies.

INDIVIDUAL CASES.

jeff the killer — definitely lives in an abandoned apartment he found somewhere in city. it’s easier there to get what he needs to survive like food, and he is close to people so for a quick murder that’s nice. his room in the mansion is a simple one with a more often than not undone bed (with a bunny plushie he hides under his bed, he will never admit sleeping with one after all) and some basic furniture to keep his things where they should be. not many colors, but not strictly monochrome. think like some gray sheets with beige walls and the furnitures are made of different kinds of wood. he drops by the mansion a lot, like, half a week at least he will be there.

homicidal liu — he found for himself a small abandoned house at the outskirts of a small city. nobody visits it so he is free to do as he pleases here. as for his house in the mansion it is, like his brother, quite basic. the only difference is that unlike jeff he has quite a lot of books around his room for when he is bored and the color scheme in the bedroom is very much green and light gray. it creates a soft atmosphere that feels safe, and sully likes the room like that too so no big problems.

jane arkensaw — she lives with mary ! the two of them have a nice house in a neighborhood filled with mostly old couples that all know each other very well. as for her room in the mansion, it does not exist as she mostly just drops by to check up on sally and leave something here for liu when he is here, sometimes eating dinner or lunch with everyone before leaving to go back to the human world. the most she stayed was when she was injured and eyeless jack had to convince her to stay at the infirmary for a bit until she could at least walk straight towards her home.

ben drowned — he lives in the mansion all the time, so he doesn’t have a home outside of it. his room is probably one of the biggest, which is understandable knowing how much he stays in here all day. he most definitely has posters around about perhaps miku with his favorite anime merch a bit around (not too much, just a few figurines here and there). there is a couch in his room where he is watching shows on TV most of the time or playing with one of his consoles. of course there is a desk with a pc for when he needs to go on the darkweb for a mission or when he wants to play on it. he has a bed, without any doubt, that’s very warm. his room is a mix of green, black and white. it looks cozy and is very comfortable.

eyeless jack — he probably lives in some ruins in a forest in the human world, there are a few rooms here that he can go into to be comfortable enough and he often just relaxes here when he wants some peace away from the chaos of the mansion. his room at the mansion looks like a college student apartment, it is his own way to relish the past and give himself a sense of normality that he lost when he became a demon. it’s nice there and smells like coconut, helps him stay calm and keeps his nerves down.

laughing jack — he doesn’t have a room in the mansion, his music box is probably stored somewhere that nobody can reach so he is left in peace and he drops by whenever he wants to. in his music box there is his carnival he mostly stays in for a majority of the time. the lost souls of all the children he has murdered stay here to keep him company, friends that will last forever for once.

brian and tim — putting those two together because they actually live together outside of the mansion. both have found a cottage where they do their own things with separate rooms and all the necessary for survival. unlike other proxies, they do not stick around in the mansion for too long, having been forced to become proxies and still feeling bitter towards the operator even if they cannot disobey his orders any time soon. they have a room awaiting each one of them, but everyone knows those rooms will be left unused.

ticci toby — he mostly stays at the mansion in a small room that belongs to only him. some things are scattered around, like drawings piled up in a random corner of his desk and a box filled with rocks under his bed. a lot of candles around and he strictly refuses to use the big lights, it creates too much brightness in the room and hurts his eyesight. so instead he uses the candles that give off a warm vibe all around the room.

natalie — she doesn’t stick around the mansion too much, especially after she broke up with toby. so now she simply drops by, a bit like jane, and stays for meals before going back to the human world. there, she managed to find a way to pay for an apartment where she mostly chill around when there is nothing to do for her. she changes the furniture a lot and arranges it quite often, that’s why she’s on the lowest floor in the complex.

helen — in the human world, he has a studio that he took from one person he has murdered. he continues to pay the bills normally and his victim was a loner so no one really suspects anything. in the mansion he doesn’t really have a bedroom per say, more of a room where he hangs around his paintings with another room next to it that has a small bed and enough things that it can be considered a small room, yet he uses it more to store things than to really sleep.

sally — she only lives in the mansion so she does not have any other home. her room is one of the biggest just like ben. it’s actually separated in two, with one part where she has a desk and her bed filled with many plushies that have been given to her on multiple occasions, and another part where she has all of her toys and a small table with chairs for when she wants to do her tea party. definitely has a corner where she keeps all of her fake makeup (or is it ?) that she will never hesitate to show out and use on her esteemed guests.

jason — he doesn’t have a room in the mansion, but a workshop where he keeps some of his dolls. it’s just more room to store for him honestly. in the human world he has a shop, and with it he has a small apartment, like just over his shop, where he lives most of the time. he has everything here, a kitchen, a living room and all of those things. he doesn’t particularly need them as his body does not need to indigest things, but it’s good once in a while to have a good taste in your mouth !

puppeteer — definitely still lives in a house. he doesn’t pay the bills but the house has been abandoned for quite a while so he does not really need to worry himself with such things. he has a room in the mansion but it is pretty basic as he spends like one day in a whole month here when it’s getting too late to go back home, but most of the time he always make sure to leave early and eat his meals at home while spending the days at the mansion bothering everybody or just hanging around with helen and jason.

nina, candy and zalgo do not visit the mansion at all. zalgo is slender’s rival so i do not see him even paying him visits, nina works under zalgo as a well trained assassin and candy just works for himself most of the time, he comes occasionally to go say hi to both jason and jack and leaves quickly before anyone else can notice him.

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