#“hey babe so i want to tell you about an opportunity that changed my life”

[ace-to-the-face]

The similarities between Christian religious nuts and MLMs are insane

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

BNHA Boys: 1st Time Noncon

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

Female Reader

Boys -> Hawks + Dabi + Bakugo

Warnings at each part (but the title is quite explicit, right?) + NSFW Link (be careful + on twitter (you need a account to see)

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback + Gimme ideas

–

Hawks

-> Manipulation

Keigo is a cunning guy, always looking out for a way to get things done his way. He’s used to tricking people, using his tactics to reach his desired goals. But honestly? You have to be the biggest chump he’s ever met in his life. 

Did you actually believe when he deeply sighed and pretended to relent to your begging, just before meekly offering you to walk away from him?

Did your ingenuous self really trust him when Keigo swore on his hero honor - what honor really? - that he’d let you go home, safe and sound?

But the reality is that you fell for it, like a bee attracted to honey. It’s moments like those that Keigo acknowledges how naive and kind-hearted you are. Too cute and good for this twisted, cruel world. 

So that’s why a minor part of him is almost satisfied at the reluctance and doubt that shades your pretty face when he tells you the inflated price for your freedom.  

You clearly don’t want to sleep with him. Your attempts to bargain are immediately turned down and it takes less than five minutes for you to crumble down. 

Keigo almost feels bad at your distressed teary face. But hey, a win is a win.

You try to relax when he starts kissing and touching you. To be calm when he slowly starts making love to you.

But it feels so dead wrong and the overwhelming realization that Hawks was lying about letting you go finally hits you like a brick and you try to push him away, pointlessly make him get off from you. 

But no point in that cause Keigo isn’t gonna let you go anywhere. 

“Deal’s off, babe. I mean, I was willing to let you go and all, but since you ruined the whole mood…there was no need to fight me, ya know? I wasn’t forcing you into anything, was I? But since you broke your promise, I suppose I’m gonna have to keep you here with me.”

(VISUAL)

Dabi

-> Noncon

Dabi isn’t one to shy away from what he wants.

He takes what he wants, when he wants and how he wants and you don’t get any say in it. 

So, if for a moment you actually believed you could argue or convince the black-haired villain to leave you alone, then you’re not up for a great start with him. 

Dabi doesn’t care when you start crying, spirit battered over the small burns he gives you for trying to fight back. He doesn’t care for your wails of pain when he fucks you in the way he wants to. 

Dabi is sadistic like that, he actually enjoys the terror that floods your entire face when he explains in extensive detail all the scary lustful needs he wants to fulfill by using you. 

He’s definitely one to use tight ropes to bend you in uncomfortable positions when fucking you - just because they allow him better access and less struggle from you.

Doesn’t give a crap about your wellbeing or if you get to cum, those are unnecessary thoughts for him. 

As long as Dabi gets to end his night with a few orgasms, he’s good. 

“Oh sweetheart, there’s no point in begging. That’s not gonna change my mind. And can you even blame me? Just look at you, such a pretty body you have. You’re just too tempting to let go and trust me, I’m not planning to.”

(VISUAL)

Bakugo

-> Forced Oral - (male receiving)

Bakugo has mild-anger issues and everyone knows that so, if anything, it was entirely your fault for provoking the anger out of him. 

You saw an opportunity to try an escape and you took it, even though it was meant to fail miserably.

Bakugo ends up wrestling you back inside the house, tightly clutching your hair as he angrily shouts at how much of an ungrateful brat you are.

He’s so damn pissed that you almost got away that he can’t control himself. All the adrenaline and anger mixing up in his blood and all he wants is to teach you a proper lesson. Scare you into submission. Make sure that you’ll never act up again.

His hands are cruel as he roughs you up a bit, ignoring your scared shrieks. 

But the real punishment is the way he fucks your mouth.

His pace is so insanely fast, demanding and brutal, and he carries on without caring for the numerous times you gag and choke around his length, unable to pull away because of the vice grip he has on your scalp.

The way he facefucks you is humiliating and brutal, and the cherry on top of the cake is when Bakugo shoots his sticky cum all over your face before leaving you bruised up and with a hurting throat.

Afterwards, Bakugo might feel a bit bad because that’s definitely not how he planned your first time doing something intimate together, but on the bright side - you get much more obedient and calm towards him. 

“The hell you giving me that pathetic look for, huh. You fuckin’ deserved that and you know that. Had you not acted all lunatic and none of this would’ve happened.”

(VISUAL)

[quirrrky]

—•✦ 𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙉𝘿𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙉𝙀𝙓𝙏 𝙏𝙊 𝙔𝙊𝙐

KUROO, your business partner and bestfriend, had one birthday wish and that's for you to attend a party as his fiancee, his fake fiancee

3k+ f!reader, friends to lovers, fake dating

ꨄ︎ happy birthday to the male lead of my life! wishing you'd finally show up for real now lmao

“So Kuroo, you’re turning thirty this weekend, right?”  

“No, sir, just twenty-nine.” Kuroo gave a stiff and stony grin. Mr. Onitsuka, the CEO of the sportswear company he was trying to get as a sponsor, happened to be a rigid family man.

“Just twenty-nine...” There’s certainly some hint of disappointment with how it sounded from the older man.  

Kuroo gulped and bit the inside of his cheeks. This deal was his most important thus far. We’re dealing with one of Japan’s prestigious brands. He couldn’t let this opportunity pass, especially that he just recently got promoted as the Sports Ambassador for the Japan Volleyball Association. 

“Well, we can feature our players-” 

“You mean athletes.” Mr. Onitsuka corrected. 

Kuroo gulped and almost banged his head against the nearest wall. Of course, athletes! Not players.  

Not a “player” like...him.  

Who would’ve thought that his singleness was not a good credential for the strictly traditional man in front of him? Everyone who’d see the specimen of a man Kuroo was could tell that he had a high market value among the ladies, which screamed one thing. He must be a player! 

“Yes, that’s right. Athletes...”  

“Look, Kuroo, it’s clear that you had everything well-planned out.” Mr. Onitsuka closed the folder. “But I’m sure you can’t do all this by yourself...” 

“I know someone who could cover this partnership.” Kuroo beamed, excitedly. His face lit up like he had the most brilliant plan out of his pocket. “We’ve been together and conquered a lot by now. I would even bet my life to guarantee you that she is the best!” He pronounced, loud and proud. 

“I never heard about her before.” Mr. Onitsuka's expression changed into something a bit lighter. “So when did the both of you start together?” 

At last! He’s passing the test. Kuroo thought. 

“Oh, me and Y/N? We began working on a project about a year ago and we really hit it off so well. Our chemistry’s just...out of this world.” 

Kuroo’s phone rang with the Star Wars’ Imperial March, a ringtone you personally assigned for yourself. Mr. Onitsuka saw your name and said, signaling for Kuroo to answer the phone, “Your girlfriend.” 

In a slight panic, Kuroo almost juggled the phone in his hand. For a short while, he thought that he was now accepted by Mr. Onitsuka, however there seemed to be a misunderstanding. He wanted to clear it up, but he had to answer you first... 

“H-Hello...” Kuroo gulped. “How’s my girl?” He saw a tinge of disappointment on Mr. Onitsuka's face, and he got agitated, mindlessly spouting things off. “How’s my beautiful...” Of course, he couldn’t say girlfriend. “Bride...” Shit! That's too sudden, so he added. “...to-be.” Bride to-be? 

Oh crap. He ran his mouth without thinking. 

You laughed. “Wait...Are you drunk?” 

“Mhm hmmm...so drunk on you, only on you, babe.” Kuroo winked at Mr. Onitsuka, who was obviously enjoying the show he was putting on. 

“What have you gotten yourself again, Tetsu?” You cracked up and followed, “Hey...listen, I already reserved the bar for your birthday party. It’s all good now.” 

“You’re the best! Wait, love. Just hold on a sec, okay? I’m in the middle of a meeting, but I’ll be there in a heartbeat once this is done.” 

You scrunched your face, laughing. “What’s wrong with you? Are you being hit on by an old lady again?” 

Kuroo chuckled, genuinely. Oh...that smartmouth of yours... 

“Let’s talk about it in a few, alright? See you the soonest, sweetheart. Bye bye, love you.” He hung up and sighed apologetically at Mr. Onitsuka. “Sorry about that. My woman needs me.” 

“Then I suggest you go to her right away. You musn’t keep her waiting.” Mr. Onitsuka said, sounding more relieved to have found out that JVA Sports Ambassador Kuroo Tetsurou was a “committed” man. “If that’d be my wife, I’ll be having an earful by now.” The older man oddly broke his rigid exterior and laughed.  

“I’ll take that advice to heart,” Kuroo affirmed. 

“I’ll be sending the documents with my signature within the week.” Mr. Onitsuka extended his hand and Kuroo shook it. “It was nice meeting you, Kuroo. I’ll see you and your fiancee on your birthday party.” 

Kuroo chuckled, nervously. “Can’t wait, sir.” 

Now, he’s left with convincing you to be his future wife even just for a night.  

⋆ ˚ ꩜ ｡ ⋆୨୧˚

As the new sports ambassador for JVA, Kuroo now carries the image of the sport, well, including its athletes. As much as it’s great to recognize that Volleyball athletes were good-looking, values such as commitment must be reflected as well. Kuroo knew that.  

Though he admittedly had a past of dating around and exploring his options, it wasn’t the deal now. Kuroo wanted to commit but...he wanted to be slow and careful... 

Opening up the door to the restaurant, he immediately spotted you browsing on your phone. He didn’t miss the look of the man seated beside you on one of the bar stools. He sighed. Another one of those bastards... 

Approaching you, Kuroo wrapped an arm around your shoulders and planted a kiss on your forehead. “So, how’s the check-up? Is our little peanut okay? I’m sorry I missed it.” He said, making sure that the man heard.  

You subtly rolled your eyes and answered back, “He just kicked inside me now like he wanted to kick you instead.” 

Kuroo acted animatedly amused. “Sounds like his mother. That’s too early.” Taking the other seat beside you, he swiveled your chair so you’re facing him.  

“Last week you put a ring on me and now it’s a baby.” You snickered. “What’s next, Tetsu? Retirement plan?” 

“Come on. I’m just being the best bestfriend there is. Plus, you have saved my ass a million of times too.” 

Indeed, you didn’t know when it started but you and Kuroo played as each other’s fake partner whenever you’re both being hit on by strangers you didn’t like.  

“Yeah, remind me to pose as your lovesick wife next time.” You joked and Kuroo rubbed his chin. 

“Maybe at my birthday party?” He suggested. 

You took a sip of your juice. “Yeah, sure.” 

“No, seriously, though.” He took your hand and held it firmly. “Mr. Onitsuka...” 

“Oh, Family Guy...” 

“Exactly! I...” He’s now starting to take out his greatest weapon, his sad boy pout and unfortunate doe eyes. 

Oh. “How did you mess up this time?” 

His hold on your hand tightened. “I might’ve made it seem like we’re getting married.” 

That explained the cheesy lovey-dovey petnames a while ago. 

You were speechless. Kuroo’s not the one to lie. He’s always the straightforward guy, so... “How the hell did that...” 

“I don’t know. Man, he’s been grilling me with my life plan, my age and all, that I had a slip-up.” 

Well, you’ve done this countless times before, but his birthday party was a different thing. His friends and some colleagues will be there. You looked at your joined hands and then back at his troubled expression. 

“Y/N, just for my birthday, please...” Kuroo pleaded, “Be my lovesick wife even just for that day.” 

⋆ ˚ ꩜ ｡ ⋆୨୧˚ 

Kuroo leaned on his car as he marveled at you so breathtakingly beautiful in a red dress. Playfully, he whistled. “It might be hard for me to think this is all pretend when you’re doing some serious damage on me with that dress.” 

Equally, you admired how handsome he was in that black sweater, and got lost at the sight of him that you almost trip on your wat to his side. Almost.

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep you in check.” Lightheartedly, you set an alarm in your smartwatch. “You got me until midnight, love.” 

The two of you laughed. 

Today’s the big day. Tetsu’s birthday. And yes, the birthday part did get you to agree to his "proposal". 

In no time, you reached the little bar you rented. It was cozy and had a little dancefloor and disco lights that could make the activities later on at night extra special.

You assisted in arranging a party for him, inviting his close friends and some colleagues. No lies, you’re a little nervous. This was different from the strangers you’d been fooling. 

This is it...  

Kuroo pulled you closer to him, grabbing you by the waist. “You got this, sweetheart.” He brought your hand to his lips. You gave him a prim smile and he opened the door for you.  

You were welcomed by familiar faces which put you at ease, while he had a hand at the small of your back. All the worries you had earlier dissipated. Having Kuroo right next to you like this made you feel more confident.  

Though everyone had their eyes on the two of you, everything about this situation felt natural. The electricity that surrounded you...It was so strong. The chemistry you had the first time you met was glowing in front of everyone right now. You could tell that they looked at you and Kuroo like you’re made for each other.  

“Here comes the future Mr. and Mrs. Kuroo,” Kenma welcomed, mischievously knowing fully well what the both of you were up to.

Lev greeted, “Happy Birthday and Congratulations!”  

“What? I thought you two are already married!” Bokuto remarked, which shocked the both of you. “I mean... ever since you two got along, Kuroo talked about nothing but you. I even got a little sad because I thought I wasn’t invited.” 

Kuroo was just pretending not to be affected by all this, but he’s definitely dying on the inside as Bokuto ratted him out. Slowly, you tilted your head to sneak a glance at your “fiance”. 

“W-What?” he asked. 

You giggled and teased, “I didn’t know I’ve been on your mind a lot.”  

Kuroo just simply scoffed. This was totally not how he planned things to work out.  

Mr. and Mrs. Onitsuka finally arrived at the scene. Kuroo squeezed your hand as if you were going to face the biggest challenge of your life.  

“Kuroo,” The old man called as he patted Kuroo’s shoulder, “Happy Birthday, boy!” 

This was shocking. Mr. Onitsuka went from a scary strict dad to a friendly goofy one. It must be the effect of being with you.  

“Thank you, sir. Ma’am,” Kuroo acknowledged Mrs. Onitsuka’s presence, taking her hand and placing a kiss on her knuckles.  

“Hmm...You sure know your way with the ladies.” The older woman complimented.  

“Gives me headache every now and then,” you said, playfully, which made the old couple laugh.  

“You must be Y/N,” Mr. Onitsuka shook your hand. “Now, I know why you got this boy to settle down.” He patted Kuroo’s chest twice. “You’re such a lucky man to have someone like Y/N right here beside you.” 

“See, even you could tell how bad she got me.” Kuroo glanced at you with an unexplainable softness in his gaze. “So damn bad.” 

The way he looked at you, his smile, his eyes, almost stopped your heartbeat. You felt so little...small? Cute? Weak in the knees? Excuse me. You’re probably smiling like a preschooler having a crush right now, but this felt like a fairytale. Someone must stop you. 

“You both looked so good together I wonder how you fell in love with each other.” Mrs. Onitsuka mused.  

Kuroo confidently replied, “It was love at first sight...” 

You choked up a laughter at his statement. Love at first sight? Crazy.... 

He raised a brow at you with a vexed and hurt expression on his face. 

“Hey, now! It sounds like a Hallmark movie. You can’t blame me,” you reasoned out.  

“But it was the truth!” 

Kuroo took a long and deep inhale. His eyes refused to look back at you as he explained, “When we met for the first time to finalize our partnership for the Volleyball video game project, I really thought you’re beautiful, and as lucky as I am, you’re also smart, funny and someone whom I found comfortable to be myself with.” 

Smiling, you recalled that moment. It wasn’t only him who felt that way that day. “Yeah...that’s...” ...what you felt too. You almost forgot this was all just a pact.  

The two couples found your bickering very amusing, which roused their curiosity even more. “Well...let’s go to the proposal. How did our lady’s man right here propose?” 

“I first asked her to marry me during the successful launch of our first project.” Kuroo shared to spark a memory in you, bashfully rubbing the back of his neck. 

“What?” 

“You really can’t remember?” He complained. 

You explained, “I thought you’re just talking about our next projects to come.” 

He gave you a stare of disbelief like you’re the stupidest, silliest girl alive. 

You paused for a moment, trying to grasp what happened in the past when Mr. Onitsuka cut your musing with a laugh. 

“Those were the days...” Mrs. Onitsuka admiringly commented.  

Mr. Onitsuka sighed. “I guess we’ll leave you two alone then.” 

You and Kuroo bowed your heads as gesture, watching the older couple take their seats.  

A sigh of relief escaped the both of you and you looked at each other chuckling.  

“Let’s go?” Kuroo invited, taking your hand to pull you close to him until he had an arm around your waist. 

You nodded your head, giggling. For the rest of the night, you did nothing but that. He was greeted from time to time, but he’d always return his attention to you. He pulled your chair close to him and playfully fed you with spoonfuls that had your mouth full—ridiculously full that you were swatting his arm almost non-stop.  

You didn’t drink anything alcoholic, but it felt like you were tipsy. You didn’t know where this endless happiness was coming from. It’s that free bubbly feeling that just fizzled out inside you. You were always playful and childlike around Kuroo, but there’s something in this moment that was just different. It was like you were set free–free to express whatever it was you wanted to for a long time.  

Kuroo rubbed your belly, “Looks like our little peanut is getting bigger now.” 

You both laughed at his teasing. “It’s ‘cause you’re feeding me a lot, dummy!”  

“What can I say? I’m just simply being a good provider. Making sure that the love of my life is well-fed and happy.” He boasted and you rolled your eyes.  

Kuroo was so close to you, the warmth of his body surrounding you in full as he had you caged all to himself. Your body moved on its own and you laced your arms around him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. All of a sudden, you didn’t want to let go.  

You didn’t know why, but your heart was about to burst at any moment now. He’s right. You’re... “Happy...” You said with a muted voice. “Birthday, Tetsu.” 

Kuroo embraced you back and even tighter, closing his eyes firmly while he was holding you so close like you’re something that could melt away in his arms at any moment. “I’m happy. I’m very very happy right now, Y/N.” 

He parted a bit, cupping your face with both hands. You searched for his eyes, and he probed yours. Your gaze shifted to his lips while his did the same thing, lingering a little on yours. You swallowed.  

What is this? 

Kuroo bit his lip. His eyelids were getting heavy as he was reaching forward. You had your lips parting a bit, just enough so you’re breathing from the space between.  

What’s happening? What’re you anticipating? 

Slowly, your noses touched. 

Just a little bit more... 

But the speaker close to you started blaring, shocking you both from your little moment and made you laugh instead.  

Kuroo stood up and extended a hand, “Care for a dance?” 

You accepted, taking the dance floor with him. He had his hands on the sides of your waist as you both swayed to the music. Your eyes were not leaving each other’s as you both got lost in the moment, cheeks hurting from the smile that won’t just fade away. 

“Screaming, I testify that we'll survive the test of time they can't deny our love.” The lyrics blazed all over and you let yourselves loose, singing the song together. “They can’t divide us. We’ll survive the test of time. I swear that I’ll be right hereeee!” 

You both burst out laughing at each other with how your voices cracked, failing to hit the high note.  

“I don’t know why it feels like I’m drunk right now,” Kuroo pondered fondly.  

“Drunk on me?” You teased, recalling what he said on the phone last time. 

“Most likely,” he smirked and returned, “You know I didn’t have any alcohol.” 

You laughed. “Yes, because that mouth of yours may run some BS again.” 

“Oh...” He scoffed and rebutted, “You speak as if my mouth is only good at talking.” 

Your quirked a brow up. “What else would it ever be good at?” 

You’re really getting him so bad like this, huh.  

The look in his eyes turned dark and he bit his lip. He stopped dancing, pulled you closer and whispered, “A lot of things.” 

His gaze slickly traveled down your lips thirstily taking in how he wanted them so bad. He grazed back to pin your eyes with a serious stare that showed how he’s already at his limit. You gulped, air got stuck in your chest. You were lost at the sight of his handsome face being accentuated by the colorful lights that you failed to ready yourself when he placed a hand behind your head and brought your lips together. Your eyes automatically closed, arms snaked around his body as he had a hand at the small of your back. Your lips danced, gobbling each other passionately, intensely. You’re taking one another’s breath.  

At that moment, only the two of you existed, intoxicated by each other’s taste and fully consumed by the fire inside you that finally came blazing after a long time being kept hidden. 

Miya Atsumu whistled. “Man, this got me frustrated.” 

“Ugh, get a room.” Oikawa chided, bitterly. 

“Just admit you’re jealous nobody wants to kiss you that way,” Iwaizumi rebutted while Kenma had his phone up, streaming the entire show.  

Your smart watch started alarming, cutting off your kiss. You glanced. It’s already 12 o’clock, which brought you back to reality. This...This was all just an agreement. An odd stabbing pain hit your chest. You looked around and the Onitsukas were nowhere to be found. They must’ve gotten home already. Your heart was knocking loudly in your ear, and you just looked at Kuroo painfully confused. 

All these emotions... 

“Excuse me,” you said, and briskly walked outside the hall.  

Your hands were cold and trembling as you placed them over your lips. It’s done now. You couldn’t run away from it anymore. For so long, you’d been telling yourself it was all just friendship even if you knew that all this time, the person you wanted to be next to you was just him.  

With this heavy feeling in your heart, you knew you wouldn’t be able to handle denying anymore. You love Tetsurou more than just a friend. 

“Y/N!” You heard him called out, and you shut your eyes firm.  

You’d just end up broken if you’d keep on pretending. 

Kuroo held your elbow, and you were swept away when he spun you around so you were facing him. He had you in his arms, with his hands clasped at the small of your back. 

“Tetsu...” You placed a hand on his chest, putting up a boundary. “Mr. and Mrs. Onitsuka went home already.” 

“And so?” He answered, noting that you’re not pushing him away. 

“I-It’s already past 12,” you reasoned out with a shaky voice. 

He bumped his head into yours. “We can have it extended, you know?” His tone was almost begging.  

You chewed on your bottom lip. “What do you mean?” Your heart stammered so hard against your ribcage.  

“The love at first sight, the proposal...they’re all real for me, Y/N.” His voice was staggering that you could feel how nervous and scared he was. Scared of losing you and letting this moment slip away. He might not get another chance. “I slipped up that you’re my bride-to-be because that’s what I’ve been wanting to happen all this time.” He ran the tips of his fingers across your cheek. “I love you, Y/N and should’ve shown you how much a lot earlier”  

“Oh, Tetsu...” you smiled at the brink of tears. “You’re such an idiot!” You lightly smacked his shoulder and scolded, “I thought I’m gonna be single forever because of you, dummy!” 

You both laughed, finally feeling the freedom of having things all let out in the open. 

Leaning close to your face, he teased you with his lips lightly grazing against yours as he spoke. “You’re still not answering me...” he muttered under his breath. “It’s past midnight now. Are we extending?” 

You smiled against his lips and asked, “For how long?”  

Kuroo grinned, pressing your noses together. “Indefinitely.” 

And you answered him with a kiss, knowing that you both won’t have anyone standing next to you aside from each other, indefinitely.  

𝑐𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 w/ my fellow kuroo babes @mayarii-darling @sookisaurus @tetzoro @shidouryusm @kuroosexuall @jotatetsuken @boosyboo9206 💋

© quirrrky 2023 - All rights reserved. No work shall be reproduced, reposted, modified, translated in any form or by any means.

[hazbin-a-helluvamagines]

Bee, Ozzie (+ Fizz, if you wanna) and Loona with a shy, human male S/O who has metahuman abilities, specifically time manipulation (controlling the flow of time, such as speeding it up, slowing it down, moving it forward, moving it back, etc) and time alteration (changing the time around an object, either inanimate or living, and making that object into a different thing entirely, with living things still retaining their sentience, but are unable to move)

Sorry if this is long and/or hyper specific.

Ozzie + Fizz, Bee, and Loona with a Shy, Human Male S/O with metahuman abilities

Both Asmodeus and Fizzarolli think you're extremely cool! They're both really sweet to you, though. The last thing they need is for you to have a panic attack on them!

"Fuck, you can mess with time?! That shit's pretty scary~!" Fizzarolli would tease playfully in a sing-song voice.

"Can you show us how it works, baby?" Ozzie would ask you. Of course, he'll understand if you say no or refuse. He's just happy to give you the opportunity to talk about yourself.

Since you're shy, they'll be the first to open up all sorts of doors for you to interject your opinion into things, too. Plus, with you being human, Ozzie in particular would be incredibly protective of you.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?! I'll destroy any motherfucker who tries to hurt my boyfriend!" Ozzie would shout after someone had been harassing you. And Fizzarolli would quickly join in.

"Yeah, our boyfriend is wayyyyy too good for a piece of shit like you," he'd say in that smug tone he always used on people he didn't like and wanted to taunt.

Honestly, they'd both want to kind of see you snap. You've earned it dealing with all the bullshit in Hell. Change that Karen into a pot or something, and let her be in agony stuck that way for the rest of her life in Hell. Or age her so much that her husband won't ever want her again (as if he even does now- 🤭)

A wholesome pair, certainly, but with their darker, more mischievous sides!!

They'll probably bring you to Ozzie's with them so they can better keep an eye on you. After all, they don't want to watch anyone try to hurt you without being able to stop it.

No, Ozzie learned his lesson after OOPS with Fizz-

Oh boy. You're in for a treat with our lovely Queen Bee.

See, it isn't necessarily that she's mean about you being shy, it's just that she doesn't quite understand it. After all, she's a total party animal, she can't understand people who don't enjoy getting scrappy and having fun!

She'd be the type to first offer you drugs to help you loosen up, insisting she can get you anything that your heart desires.

"C'mon, babe! Alcohol? Sugar? Fentanyl? Ketamine? Oxy? Chardonnay? Come on, anything you want, just lemme know! We gotta be ready to tear this shit up together!"

She's only being playful, of course. She's trying her hardest to understand, she really is. Once she understands it more of an aspect of your personality, rather than a problem she needs to fix, she's a lot more chill.

"Hey, hun, I know you're not really a fan of socializing at my parties. Wanna go to a private section of the place and just chill with me?"

She's also so sweet, she'll offer you any accommodations you may need! Comfort foods? No problem! Cuddles? You got it! Her attention? You don't even need to ask!

She's a lot less focused on your abilities than some of the others. But still finds them really cool, although more for just messing around!

"So are you telling me you could totally turn that plant over there back into a seed?! Yeah! Do it! C'mon, show me, babe!"

Probably finds it really hot how powerful you are, actually.

The Gluttony Ring is a lot more chill, so she's a lot more comfortable leaving you by yourself as a human there than in, say, the Lust or Pride Rings. Most everybody in Gluttony is sweet.

After all, nobody would really want to get on her bad side, anyway.

And yet, if you approached her with any sort of issues... i.e., someone tried spiking your drink, someone spilled a drink on you, you're being made fun of, etc., out comes the monstrous Bee form. It's their own fault!

"Which of you fucking bitches tried some shit on S/O?! I'll fuck you up so hard that not even all the ketamine in the world will numb your stupid ass!"

It's honestly amazing how protective someone normally so chill can be when their S/O is human.

You're shy, male, have powers, and above all, are human?! Oh no, no, no. Don't ever let her dad find out, he will be at your house the same day-

Aside from that, she pretends not to care much about your abilities. After all, she's more interested in you, not what you can do. And she finds your abilities impressive, and something she'll secretly record so she can remember how cool it was, but she'll avoid bringing it up. She never knows if it's a sore spot for you, after all.

Since you're shy, she'll take it on herself to tease an embarrass you in public, but only playfully and as much as you're comfortable with. All you have to do is say the word and she'll stop and never do it again. Kisses to the cheek, pulling you to sit on her lap (or vice versa), sickeningly sweet couple photos, you name it, she's already on it, most likely.

Of course, only she's allowed to do it. Anyone else who tries is already basically a goner, because they're going to be unrecognizable by the time Loona is done mauling them- Who's to say Hellhounds aren't loyal and devoted?

With that said, if someone ever messed with you,

She's pretty chill with you, though, just acting very normal and a little more sweet. Not quite as abrasive as she is toward Blitzø, for example.

"Hey, S/O. There's this thing coming up in the Greed Ring next week. Wanna go? You don't have to, it's just an idea."

Since you're human, and she both lives and works in the Pride Ring, which is full of sinners, don't expect to EVER be left alone.

She can't risk one of those awful creatures getting their hands on you and hurting you! No, she'll be at your side 24/7, insisting you call her just to be able to leave your house for the day. It may seem overprotective, something that apparently runs in the family, but she just doesn't want to see you get hurt.

"C'mon, S/O. I promise it's not personal. But Pride is full of shitty people with shitty personalities and shitty crimes that got them sent to this shitty place. 'Kay?"

She does care, even if she doesn't always show it all the time. <3

[sweetchaosbabe]

I hope this isnt trauma dumping or sm but i just needed to get this out and also get some advice and i think i really like ur advice. So i have been jn a relationship w my bf for 2 years now and i love him with my heart and soul and we plan to get married ( ee are still young but we see that as the futuregoal) so up tntil a few months back i used to just go to random s*x chat groups and something and would share my nudes nd just stuff like that and would also watch p*rn .. these are both things that me and my bf would a 100% consider cheating and if he did this to me i would kill myself out of sorrow. I absolutely hate myself and am disgusted at myself i was distracted for a little while with my exams but now they are over and now im crying all the time again just thinking about what i did to the boy i love the most. At the time i didnt think much of it and at first i would just talk w people but slowly i started sharing nudes and i did this a couple of times until i realized a few months back how wrong it is. I have no idea how i didnt realise how wrong this is?Up until this i was a really good person i dont think ive ever hurt anybody and i am very nice also but now idk i just hate myself and everything about me .Every day whenever i think aboyt this i cant help but cry and think there really isnt anything else i can do. Of course i have changed and wouldnt think of doing such a thing again but still the fact that i did it in the first place makes me want to die.

Ik its so selfish but i cant keeo thinking that he will do sm like this to me also and that ill get my karma. Does karma really even exist and how do i get myself to atop thinking this now i always suspect him of cheating and talking to other girls. Hes done sm similar to cheating to me but nothing on this level. What he did is nothing ckmpared to what i did.

And in the context of manifesting, should i manifest that none of this ever happened and for me to be a really nice person or shoukd i manifest that this completely gets erased from my memory or what?? This also messes up my manifestion so much i cant helo hut tell myself that i dont deserve good things as im a bad person . Please help. If youre not comfortable answering this then im sorry for wasting ur time

Hey babe, I’m really sorry you're feeling this way. First, let me say this: you are not a bad person. We all make mistakes, and what you did doesn’t define your worth. What’s important is that you recognize the situation and want to grow from it—that shows you have a lot of self-awareness and care.

As for manifesting, this is a beautiful opportunity to shift your mindset. Here’s what I’d suggest:

Forgive Yourself: Manifesting starts with how you see yourself. If you keep telling yourself you’re bad or don’t deserve good things, you’ll stay in that cycle of lack. Start affirming that you deserve love, you are forgiven, and you are enough. We all do things we’re not proud of, but holding onto guilt keeps you stuck.

Focus on the Present: Instead of manifesting that it “never happened,” focus on who you are now. Say things like, “I am always loyal and honest,” “I am growing every day,” and “I create beautiful relationships.” Don’t manifest from guilt or fear—manifest from a place of love for yourself.

Karma and Fear: Karma doesn’t mean you’re doomed to be punished. It’s more about energy. If you keep focusing on fear or punishment, that’s the energy you’ll bring into your life. Instead, shift to trust and positivity. Affirm, “I trust my partner fully,” and “My relationship is healthy and secure.”

Lastly, please take care of your mental health, too. Talking to someone you trust or seeking professional support can really help.

You deserve to feel good and live fully. Sending love your way

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Hey, Sex Witch! This one's uhhh probably different than your usual fare BUT here goes. I'm pretty close to middle-aged, monogamous (m/f), and having some trouble with like. positions. Because we're both like ow my knees and ow my hips and yes this is the one position that seems to work but now we're BORED. Which has led to all sorts of anxiety issues around initiating and having sex at all. Do you know of any resources to help a couple of old farts out?

hi anon,

this is actually soooo normal for what I do here! a lot of Sex Witch Advice(TM) boils down to "okay, so try something different then," and that's exactly what we're going to do today!

right off the bat if knees are an issue: hey. have we tried some padding. you could buy, like, this 95 dollar sex pillow from goop if you really wanted to

but you could also just, like, fold up your own blanket or strategically place your own pillows to do exactly the same thing! padding in general can be a huge help; just prop em up wherever you need them to support the parts of your body that need support and go to town.

or, hey, just buy some knee pads and/or knee braces. this may just be the roller skater in me talking, but knee pads are so sexy. having sex that requires its own gear is soooo sexy, and knee pads are no exception!

this is lingerie. to me.

also, pro tip for you and anyone reading this: this also 100% applies to things like wrist or elbow braces! any supportive devices! whatever you need to support your body and keep it comfy during sex, just do that!

aside from just padding things out, let's talk about sex that requires less hip movement. y'all have, presumably, fingers and mouths and a variety of exciting erogenous zones, all of which can be combined in fun and exciting ways.

there is also a wide, WIDE world of sex toys out there to explore together. hips too achey to thrust much anymore? that's fine; just buy a thrusting vibrator and get each other off that way, babe. I've heard particularly great things about Hot Octopuss, a company that found unexpected popularity with elderly customers who enjoyed how accessible many of their toys were for bodies that aren't quite as flexible as they used to be, but obviously anything that tickles your fancy is fair game.

(just, you know. check the packaging to make sure it's body-safe. no jelly dildos, so help me god.)

it sounds like the problem absolutely isn't you and your partner not wanting to bone. in a strange way I consider it a great sign that you've gotten bored, because it tells me that you and your partner like variety and expect to have fun when you have sex together!

to me, that means you're in a fine position to get back in the swing of things by doing a little experimenting together. approach sex like a game, playing together find out what works. try things like the list of positions offered in this article, seeing what works for you, what doesn't, and what just feels silly. when something doesn't work for you, that isn't a failure - just a learning experience, and a great opportunity to laugh together.

listen, you guys are in a super cool part of life where the gift of your lived experience is starting to make itself known and require different accommodations. learning how to do that now is GREAT, because (if everything goes right) you're just going to keep getting older, and your body will continue to change! how great to get to learn what intimacy will look like as you spend more of your lives together!

[notsocheezy]

Brain Curd #217 - Brain Curd NaNo #4

Brain Curds are lightly edited daily writing - usually flash fiction and sometimes terrible on purpose.

Any resemblance to real events is entirely legally coincidental. Names and locations have been changed to protect the identities of the fictional.

“‘New friends,’ huh?” My mother studied my face to see if I’d crack.

“Yeah. Lots of people use these apps to find friends.” It wasn’t a lie to say so. And it was only barely a lie to say that it was my goal here. I hadn’t kissed anyone new yet, let alone fucked them. But I knew deep down that to tell her the truth would jeopardize my delicate living situation.

After all, I lived in a conservative household. I had to move back in with her, my stepfather, and my brother after COVID derailed my apartment life in Irvine. I finished my bachelor’s degree over the internet and it had been nearly a year at this point since graduation. A year entirely fruitless in career development. All the money I had was in my savings account or tied up in stocks, and I owed most of it in student loans - not exactly poverty, but if I was forced to start paying rent someplace, it wouldn’t last long.

It wasn’t a total loss of a year, mind you - I wrote quite a lot, including taking stock of the main formative events of my life in fifty-thousand words or so. But I didn’t go out much. My main opportunities to socialize were restricted to driving back to Orange County to stay with my girlfriend for the weekend once a month or so. A soul-crushing lonely drive culminating in a good night’s insomnia on a lumpy futon. I needed more than this.

“Why don’t you see if Ocean wants to hang out?”

“Ocean?” I rubbed the back of my neck. “Ocean works a lot… I never know their schedule.”

By pure happenstance, Ocean moved to the desert a few years before I did. But I could count the number of our interactions in that time on two hands - or three fingers, if I did it in binary. They moved out here because their boyfriend had family in the area, and the two of them were practically joined at the hip. He and I got along fine enough, but the two of them had enough going on that I practically only saw Ocean when they needed to get away from him for one reason or another.

“What does his schedule have to do with anything? Just ask her when she’s available.”

“Huh? Oh, no, I was only talking about Ocean. They use singular they/them pronouns…” I shrank. “Remember?”

“Oh yeah… she’s a they. I really don’t understand all that.”

“You get used to it.”

“I could never. Well…” She turned around and started poking at a spreadsheet. “Just be safe out there, okay?”

“Yeah. Uh, I’m gonna go pick up Anorma at the bus stop now, okay?”

Anorma: A bizarre name perhaps, but she picked it herself. She was my first girlfriend. We'd been together for a few years at this point, but we were apart for most of it. I'd met her smack dab in between two occurrences I refer to, respectively, as ‘the incident.’ Which one I mean must be discerned from context. If it's about sexual trauma, it's the first one. Abandonment issues? The second. And she stuck by me through it.

I pulled up to the bus stop - which was right between a Mexican restaurant and an Autozone - and waited in the car. The bus arrived shortly afterward and passengers shuffled out. She wasn't among them. My phone rang.

“Hey, babe,” I answered. “Where are you?”

“I missed the train. My parents didn't get back soon enough to get me to the Amtrak station on time.”

I sighed.

“I'm sorry.”

“It's alright,” I reassured her. “I was really hoping you'd be able to visit me this time, but -”

“I am!”

I squinted one eye. “You missed the only train out from Orange County to La Quinta. You'd have to try again tomorrow and then we wouldn't even get a full day.”

“My parents are driving me over!”

“Right… now? That's two hours each way, on a good day.”

“They felt bad.”

I found that hard to believe. I didn't think these people ever felt bad about anything. Her father once fired a guy for following health codes in their restaurant.

“I'll… see you back at home, then. Love you.”

“I love you too! Mwah!”

I hung up. I should have learned to expect this sort of shenanigan at this point.

Please comment, reblog, like, and follow if you enjoyed - I'd love to know what you think! See you again tomorrow.

[ejzah]

A/N: Kensi and Deeks have a heart-to-heart.

***

The Other Shoe, Part 9

She stopped just inside the doorway. Apparently Deeks hadn’t heard her, his head still lowered over the desk. It was so rare to see him like this, in his own world, and she took the opportunity to just watch him.

He had multiple bills spread in front of him and other documents—likely insurance claims or other forms from the hospital. It was a never ending battle to keep up with all of it, one which Deeks insisted on shouldering from the beginning. A few weeks ago, she’d offered to help, feeling bad about him dealing with such a stressful aspect of the situation. Deeks had met that offer with barely contained annoyance.

Looking at him now, as tired and sick as he was, she suddenly realized that Deeks needed this. The same way he needed to work. He needed a purpose, some control over his life, even if it did tax his already incredibly low energy.

“I know I’m stunningly attractive, but staring at me for five minutes seems a little excessive.”

Kensi jerked at Deeks’ comment, not having realized he’d looked up from his work.

“Hey, what’s going on?” he asked, his frown making Kensi wonder how long he’d been watching her, and what he’d seen in her expression. He gestured for her to join him, taking her hand once she was in reach to tug her onto his lap.

It was a little more intimate than she’d been expecting for this conversation, but maybe that would keep her from stalling again.

She cleared her throat, settling a hand on Deeks’ chest. She forced herself to ignore the increased definition. “Babe, there’s something we need to talk about,” she began.

“Is it about the price of dialysis these days? Because I agree, it’s outrageous,” Deeks said and gestured to a bill for reference.

“I’m being serious.”

“Me too. Thank god we have pretty good insurance.”

“Deeks.” Kensi closed her eyes and inhaled once, holding it to a count of three before exhaling slowly. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but yesterday—”

“You checked the test results?” Deeks guessed, tilting his chin to meet her eyes. He raised an eyebrow, but otherwise, his face was a mask.

“I thought you didn’t want to know the results,” Kensi said.

“At first, I didn’t. I saw the email alert when I was at dialysis and I was really angry. I mean, I didn’t even want any of you to take the damn thing. But I figured I should probably know the results to prepare for my next appointment. And then when I saw them…” he shook his head and laughed ruefully.

“What?” Kensi asked, surprised that he might have a reaction other than relief. Especially since one of the reports was for her.

“I was disappointed,” he admitted. “I guess as much as I don’t want to match with any of you, subconsciously I assumed I would be a match. Finding out that I wasn’t…well, that’s just another avenue closed, right? I didn’t expect the defeat.”

Kensi stilled in his arms, not sure she’d heard him correctly. After so long, she couldn’t believe that he might have changed his mind. If she let her thoughts go down that path, she might start to hope, and she didn’t have the strength to have that hope torn apart again.

“How are you doing?” Deeks squeezed her hand, bringing her out of her musings. “I know you were counting on someone being a good match.”

“I was upset and disappointed obviously. I cried. But I’m glad that we still have more opportunities.” She didn’t mention that Nell was with her, figuring he wouldn’t appreciate the lack of privacy. “So, what are you going to do if one of the others does come back as a good match?”

Deeks stared beyond her for several seconds, playing with her fingers. She realized he seemed less willfully positive and determined than he had during all their previous discussions and wondered if she should worry. As much as it had frustrated her at times, she needed Deeks to be stubborn.

Finally, he nodded, his smile resigned as he cupped both of her hands between his newly thinner fingers. “Depending on who it is, I’ll consider going forward with a transplant,” he said. There was a moment of complete silence and then Kensi whispered,

“Really?”

“Yes.” Before Kensi could say anything else, he inclined his head, adding, “I’m still not completely sold on the idea and there’s a lot of caveats, but yes.”

Kensi stared at him for several seconds in disbelief, then grabbed him by the shoulders, crushing her lips to his, tears instantly filling her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered against his mouth.

***

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this addition to the story. Happy Easter to those who celebrate!

[azure-cherie]

Initials: IM

Aries Sun

Taurus Moon

Libra Rising

My current energy: i was very happy bc i hosted a party yesterday and i will be travelling in 2 days so yay

Thank you ❤️❤️❤️

Hey babe sorry for the delay , I needed to be in right energy to do this so let's get started 🫶💖

I see you starting the year with a bang and it's true since you celebrated with your friends the three of cups invites in the good energy of bonding and love amongst the people around you you'll feel connected with the people the divine and everything around you . With the nine of coins luxury is in your counter this year emotional material spiritual everything you are getting the gifts of your hardwork and spirit is actively supporting you in going towards all your dreams and everything you want . I beleive you'll be very intelligent this year or just you know learn a lot about manipulation, understanding people psychology etc . People are seeing you as someone who has so much wisdom i see so many people come to you for advice since you have a lot of experience in each sector.

You'll be climbing social ladders or in general get more opportunities as you go one advice with the chariot is that you should take every opportunity that comes to you this year as the waves move the sea goddess supports you idk why I felt the need to say that you may connect to sea god's like Aphrodite, Poseidon, Oshun, Varuna , etc maybe mermaids as well , they will guide you if you need .

Now comes the part where i tell you where to be cautious this year , take care of your wealth and your heart , you give openly but there's a miser whom you spoil and they will turn their back on you not to scare you or something but that is a fair warning to keep into consideration I also believe towards the end of the year you might have an awakening and everything will change around you i see this year making you a hardworker and a hustler . If you were worried about your love life I see you succeeding with the lovers card but the lasting of the relationship entirely depends on you and how much efforts you put into this !!!!

With the six of wands you're gonna be a leader this year and you're gonna be getting the love and recognition of the people under you even if it's a small group project you're leaning into the collective gooooodddd .

Back of the deck energy is the fool so this year you're gonna learn a lot and gain a lot of new experiences. Your thoughts are gonna change a lot and become better I wish you the best 💞

[taegularities]

hey rid, i was hoping i could vent/get ur advice on smt? u don't need to post this if u dont want to!

im an elementary education major and i rlly want to be a kindergarten teacher... like rlly bad. i still remember my first day of kindergarten and i knew from that moment that's exactly what i wanted to be. i changed my mind a couple of times (mainly because of family pressure) but i always came back to teaching. my dad is so not supportive about it and it usually doesnt get to me, but it rlly is rn. he's one of my favorite people in the world and i love him to bits, but it absolutely destroys me that he still cant be supportive of it. i want nothing more than to make him proud but i dont think i can as a teacher.

it's been getting to my head and now im uncertain if i wanna be a teacher or not.. like i cant see myself being anything but a teacher, but knowing all the cons (the low pay, the amount of people leaving the field) it scares me and is rlly discouraging me. i feel like i need to choose my head and be practical rather than choosing my heart and following my dreams, but i almost feel like i would be betraying myself if i did that. im genuinely so lost and dont know how to feel about it :( any advice would help!

- wife from war anon 💂‍♀️(side note, why do i feel so nervous signing my tag on this ask HAHA)

hey babe !! don't worry about it, you can vent anytime <3 i'm sorry it's been affecting you like that :(

it's a difficult situation you're in, and i understand how it must feel to not have someone's support on something so important, especially when that person means so incredibly much to you. but that said, in the end it'll be you who'll be stuck with a job for the foreseeable future.

the problem is that, in life, you can't always satisfy everyone, right? and if you keep trying to do just that, you might end up neglecting your own needs and desires and that might affect your mental health in the long run. so what i'm trying to say is – if you feel like that's the job for you and you really can't be happy anywhere else, then you should stay. ugh i know, the pay in this area is a full disappointment, the entire teacher body has been complaining for years lol i guess that's something that's a constant.

but are there perhaps courses or people you know that could go through opportunities that you might like? something or someone professional? oftentimes, there are jobs out there that cater to your interests, but you just don't know it yet. or perhaps you could be a tutor on the side, for some extra money?

it's a tough situation, but i hope you get through it and know that your stress is valid – still, please remember, that in the end it's your life, and it's you who you need to make happy. if your gut's telling you you'd betray yourself if you did something else, then that probably means something. i found a few links (i'm not sure if they're good, but maybe you could try?): 1, 2, 3.

i'm so sorry you've been feeling that way, love 🥺 vent anytime you need... i hope things get better soon 🤍

[corrodedhawkins]

Role Play

Pairing: Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader, Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Content warnings: Graphic smut (minors DNI) language, role play, oral (m! and f! receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, praise.

“It went really, really well” he beamed. “We finally nailed down the perfect wig, the whole look is perfect”. He pulled out his phone and showed you a photo he snapped in his full costume.

Before you could stop it, you audibly gasped. You had never seen your boyfriend look like this before. You didn’t realize metal heads with long frizzy hair, a leather jacket and rings did it for you, but it definitely did. You felt ridiculous, getting turned on like this.

Joe frowned, “You don’t like it?”

“No! No I do, I do. Looks perfect for the character. I’m just shocked.” You felt your cheeks redden. “You look so…different.”

Joe studies your face curiously “You’re breathing a little hard there, sweetheart” he chuckles “Are you hot for Eddie?”

“No!” you immediately protest, face growing even redder. “I just-I”.

Smirking, Joe puts his phone down and wraps his arms around you. “I think you are babe” he whispers right into your ear, making you shiver.

You shrug him off, laughing uncomfortably. “Yeah sure, I’m so hot for a fictional character”. You start puttering around, tidying the kitchen counter.

In a lame attempt to change the subject, you ask what Joe wants for dinner. He takes a moment, debating whether he should let it go or press you on it. Finally, he sighs and answers, “Pizza. Definitely pizza. We’re celebrating.”

“Well a celebration definitely calls for stuffed crust” you say, relieved the subject has been dropped.

Joe smiles, pecking you on the cheek. “I like the way you think” he shoots you a wink.

A few weeks later, filming on Stranger Things season 4 began, and you graciously accepted Joe’s invitation to join him in Atlanta. You worked a remote job, which meant you could work from virtually anywhere. You spent your days working while Joe filmed.

One night, a few weeks into your stay in Atlanta, you got a text from Joe saying he would be filming late and not to wait up for him. You’d miss him, but this gave you the perfect opportunity to catch up on your guilty pleasure reality shows. You poured yourself a big glass of wine and took a long bath, setting up your laptop on the counter for you to watch while you soaked.

You were just stepping out of the tub when you got a call from Joe. “Hey babe, filming wrapped earlier than I thought, but I forgot my keys. Can you open the door for me?” You wrapped a towel around yourself and went to let him in.

You opened the door and Eddie fucking Munson stood before you. You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Joe I-What are you doing?”

The man in front of you shook his head and chuckled. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. I know you weren’t expecting me. I’m Eddie, a friend of Joe’s. He’s tied up on set filming late and said I should come and keep you company”.

There were very few times in your life you were utterly speechless, and this was one of them. You stood there for a minute, staring up into your boyfriends eyes.

You were torn. On one hand, you were very into this. Just standing in front of “Eddie” was making you throb. On the other, you were embarrassed for wanting this. But Joe was clearly not judging you, right? He was giving you what he knew you wanted but were too scared to ask for.

“Sorry, I know this is a surprise. I can go if you want?”, he gestured to the stairs behind him, “I can tell Joe you weren’t up to hanging out.” He was giving you an out. If you didn’t want this, he would go and act like this never happened.

“Sure”, you moved aside to let him in. “I’d love some company”.

The second you shut the door, Eddie spun you around and pinned you against it. He leaned in, whispering “This ok?”. You nodded, letting out a shaky “Yeah”.

Eddie chuckled, moving your long hair away from your neck so he could litter it with kisses. “Joe told me all about you sweetheart. Told me how hot seeing my picture got you. He said he even heard you say my name when you were touching yourself. Is that true? Do you want me that badly?”

You let out a whimper, your face growing hot. You had indeed touched yourself thinking about Eddie, but you were sure Joe was sleeping and hadn’t heard you.

“Shh. None of that, baby. No need to be shy. He wants you to get what you want. And I’m what you want, isn’t that right?” Eddie spoke into your ear, his warm breath ghosting over your neck.

You shuddered, finally looking up to meet his eyes. “Fuck it”, you muttered, grabbing the back of his neck to bring him down into a desperate kiss.

Eddie immediately responded, his hands coming up to frame your face as he sucked on your bottom lip. The cold of his rings felt like ice against your heated skin.

“Jo-Eddie” you gasped, testing his name on your lips. He resumed peppering your neck with wet kisses, occasionally stopping to suck and nibble on your skin. “Can we…bed?”

Eddie hummed against your skin, as if he was weighing your request. Suddenly, he grabbed you right under your ass and hoisted you up, and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist.

After carrying you to bed, Eddie stripped you of your towel and laid you down. He tore off his jacket, vest, and Hellfire Club t-shirt before situating himself on top of you, laying between your spread legs.

You could already feel his hard cock grinding into your pussy through his jeans, seeking friction. You gasped, bucking up into it.

“Patience baby”, Eddie muttered, “I want to take my time with you”. He kissed his way down your neck and chest, groping one breast while he took the other into his mouth. You groaned, snaking your hand into his hair.

Eddie slowly kissed down your body before looking up at you for confirmation that this was still ok. You nodded, and he all but dove into your pussy. He used his thumbs to spread your folds, licking and sucking on your clit, then licking a hot stripe down to your hole. You whimpered, your pussy clenching down on nothing.

“Fuck. Fuck, Eddie”. You held onto his hair like a lifeline, bucking up into his mouth, grinding into his tongue.

Eddie hummed, making his way down to your hole once again. “You’re so fucking wet for me, fucking soaked”, he reached down to take off his rings, but you immediately stopped him.

“Keep them on, please” you begged. Eddie’s eyebrows shot up with a devilish grin. “So the rings do it for you, huh? Want to feel them when I stretch you open?”

You moaned, begging him once again. “Please give me your fingers, wanna feel them”.

Eddie obliged, slowly inserting a finger, teasing you at first. When you grunted and grinded down onto it, he chuckled and added another. He immediately hooked them into your gspot, setting a punishing pace. He leaned up and continued sucking and gently nibbling on your clit.

You yelped, the dual stimulation almost too much for you. Your legs began to shake, too far gone to even care. “Eddie. Eddie please”. You weren’t even sure what you were begging for at this point.

“I got you sweetheart” he promised, licking slowly over your clit. “You’re gonna cum for me just like this. Can you do that for me?”

You nodded frantically, feeling your release just out of reach. “I-I’m gonna cum. Fuck I’m gonna cum. Please. Please don’t stop”, you whimpered.

Eddie sat up, bringing his lips right to your ear. He continued finger fucking you, bringing his thumb up to rub incessantly at your clit.

“Come on baby, be a good girl and cum for me”. Your muscles seized and your pussy clamped around his fingers, eyes rolling back as you came. Eddie helped you through it, only stopping when you collapsed back onto the pillows, chest heaving.

“So good for me sweetheart. Such a good girl”.

Having been with you for over a year, Joe knew exactly what you liked, and he was using it to his advantage. Manhandling? Check. Dirty talk? Check. Praise? Check. He was pulling out every trick he could think of. You didn’t know if you loved him or hated him for it.

After you caught your breath, you reached down to his belt and quickly undid it, shimmying his pants down and off of him. He was so hard, cock an angry red, glistening at the tip.

Your mouth watered, all but throwing him down on the bed so you could get your mouth on him. You started slowly, teasing him with kitten licks to the head, swirling your tongue around it before quickly retreating.

Eddie groaned, bucking up to get you to take him into your mouth. You took pity on him, slowly sinking halfway down on his cock.

He immediately wound his hands into your hair, not tugging, but helping guide you up and down on his cock. “That’s. That’s so good baby. Your mouth is so good”.

You looked up at him, mouth stuffed full of his cock, and sank the rest of the way down. Hitting the back of your throat, you felt his cock kick and twitch.

Eddie threw his head back, finally tugging on your hair to bring you up. “Gotta stop baby. Your mouth is so good, can’t blow my load before I get to fuck you”.

He grabbed your hips, pulling you into his lap. You immediately wrapped your arms around his neck as he reached down and guided his cock into you. You both let out long groans, taking a moment to savor the feeling.

You rested your forehead against his, slowly rocking back and forth onto his cock. He grabbed your hips to help guide you, leaning down to catch a nipple in his mouth. You moaned and clenched down on him, causing him to bite down, quickly soothing it with his tongue.

You picked up your pace, bouncing on his cock, sweat practically pouring off of both of you. Eddie reached up and grabbed the back of your neck, bringing you into a heated kiss.

You panted into each other’s mouths, unable to focus on kissing for more than a few seconds at a time. You quickened your pace again, earning a loud moan from Eddie.

You could feel yourself getting close, your muscles beginning to tighten deliciously. Eddie felt your pussy start to pulse, asking “You gonna cum for me again sweet girl? Let me feel you cum on my cock”.

Your orgasm ripped through you, shaking enough for Eddie to have to reach up and grab you to steady you in his lap.

You came down from your high, slowing your pace to grind down on his cock to take him even deeper.

“Fuck” Eddie muttered to himself. He grabbed your hips, trying to guide you back to your quick pace. You shook your head and leaned down to whisper into his ear. “Don’t rush me” you gasped, grinding back down onto his cock slow and dirty. “I’m trying to savor this” you giggled.

He laughed, the movement making his cock nudge deeper into you. You both gasped, getting lost in the sensation.

Eddie gave you a few more moments to enjoy your slow and deep thrusts, until he couldn’t stand it anymore. He grabbed your ass, hauling you up until only the tip of his cock remained inside you before slamming you back down.

You screamed, grabbing onto his shoulders, leaving scratches in your wake.

“That feel good, honey?” He asked, starting to fuck up into you. “You like how my cock feels?”

“Yes” you screamed, not caring about the neighbors. Filming wrapped in a few weeks then you would never see these people again. Why not give them a show?

“Yes. Fuck, I-I fucking love your cock Eddie”.

A shit-eating grin broke out on his face and he mutters, “hold on” before grabbing you and pinning you to his front while he rises up onto his knees. He quickly leans down, bringing you to lay flat on your back. He hooks one leg over his shoulder, very nearly bending you in half.

You scream (again, sorry neighbors) and rise up onto your elbows so you can get enough leverage to rock down into his thrusts.

“You think I can get you to cum for me one more time sweetheart?” Eddie asks, reaching down to rub your clit. You jolt at the touch, so sensitive from your two previous orgasms.

“I- I don’t know. I don’t think I can” you whimper. Eddie shushes you, grabbing the side of your face to bring you closer. “I think you have one more in you. Why don’t you try for me, hmm?”

You nod, gulping in a shaking breath. You tried to relax into Eddie’s touch, but the dual stimulation was too much. He slowed, removing his fingers from your clit and slowly pulled out. “Wha?” You asked, confused he stopped.

“Get on all fours for me honey, want to try something”. You obliged, grabbing a pillow to prop your forearms on. Eddie slid back into you, increasing his pace slowly. “Touch yourself for me babe” Eddie leaned down and whispered, grabbing one of your hands to lead it down between you and the bed.

You touched your clit, once again jolting at the sensation. You unknowingly clenched down on Eddie’s cock at the sensation, making him let out a surprise gasp. “That’s it, let me feel you”.

“Too-too much” you gasped out, your fingers stilling on your clit.

You felt him shift behind you, hands suddenly gripping your ass and spreading you. You gasped, knowing exactly where he was going with this.

Joe had asked you to try anal about a month ago, and while it wasn’t high up on your list of sexual fantasies, you were curious and wanted him to enjoy himself. He was so gentle, slowly stretching you on his fingers. He made sure to make you cum few times before so you were completely relaxed. When he finally slid into you, he made sure you were ok, asking for permission to move.

As it turns out, you didn’t need much time before he was slamming into your ass, hands knotted in your hair as he pulled you back onto his cock with every thrust. Anal was…different. It was deliciously overwhelming in the best way. Joe in your pussy was amazing, but this? This made you almost black out from how hard you had cum that first time.

You hadn’t gotten a chance to do it again with his busy filming schedule, but clearly he hadn’t forgotten how it had made you cum quick and hard, and was hoping it would do the same now.

He leaned down and spat directly onto your hole, pulling out of you to smear his spit and your juices around with the head of his cock. “You’re dripping baby, don’t even need any lube”. He quickly tested your resistance with his finger, finding you so relaxed it sucked him right in .

“Jesus Christ baby. I bet I could just slip right into your ass right now and you’d be gagging for it, huh?” He was right. You nodded, whimpering out a low “please”.

He shuffled closer, holding his cock to your hole, smearing your juices around one last time. “Let me know if you need to stop”. At your nod, he slowly pushes in.

You groaned, feeling unbelievably full. You lifted yourself higher on your forearms and rocked back onto his cock, hard.

“Careful, don’t hurt yourself” he warned, soothing a hand down your back. You shook your head, continuing to all but impale yourself back onto him. “Not hurting me. Need it. Feels so good. Please fuck me. Please m-make me cum”. You gasped out.

Eddie immediately set a punishing pace, his balls audibly slapping against your ass. You were in sheer ecstasy, so close to coming already, and you weren’t even touching your clit.

You could feel Eddie getting close too, his rhythm beginning to falter as his grip tightened on your hips. “Come on baby. I can feel how close you are, gripping my cock so fucking tight. Cum for me babe, cum for Eddie”.

That did it. You seized, your pussy clenching down on nothing as you gushed. Your ass gripped Eddie’s cock so tight he tumbled over the edge himself. He ground his cock into you spurting rope after rope of cum inside of you.

You collapsed face down on the bed, Eddie right on top of you. You both gasped, letting yourselves slowly catch your breath.

Finally, he pulled out and rolled off of you, shifting so that he was laying at your side, your neck exposed for him to litter with kisses.

You shivered, still an utter mess from your orgasm. “So Eddie, huh?” Joe teased, his British accent back. You turned over and smacked him square in the chest. “I can’t believe you” you laughed.

“What was that? I think you mean ‘Thank you Joe, thank you for bringing Eddie home for me so he could fuck the shit out of me Joe. How can I ever repay you?’” You giggled, nodding your head in agreement.

“Fine, thank you. This was…amazing”. Your tone turned serious. He looked down at you, thumb rubbing over your cheek. “Of course, my love. I’m so glad I was able to give that to you”.

You shifted onto his chest, laying your head over his heart. You were starting to drift off when you heard Joe whisper, “You know, now that we’re into role play, there’s a Star Wars one I’ve always wanted to try”.

You groaned, seeing golden bikinis and space buns in your future.

Read on AO3

[iguana-eyanna]

Where We Come From

Pairing: Shang-Chi x Pregnant reader

Summary: Your boyfriend admits what's been troubling him these past few weeks.

“Babe, I'm home." you hollered as you entered in your home. You shuffled past a few unopened boxes as you and Shaun moved in to a new place for your growing family.

"Where is he?" you mutter to yourself as you are often greeted with a kiss when you arrive back home.

You hear paws running towards you and see your pup, Maisey, greet you by your feet.

"Hey girl," you say as you bed over as much as you could, carrying her in your arms.

"Where's dada?" you question as she barks to the hallway where the nursery was at.

You slowly walk to the room and see your adorning boyfriend building the bassinet for the baby.

He knits his eyebrows as he tries to screw in the corner, but gives up. Shaun huffs in distress and throws one of the bars down angrily.

Maisy barks from the loud noise and Shaun shoots up to see you standing there, a bit stunned by his large reaction.

"As much as I love you building stuff for the baby, I think it's time to ask someone to build it for us." You joked to lighten the situation.

Shaun has been working on this project for the past few weeks now, and he was driven to finish it by your third trimester.

Now, you were seven months pregnant.

"I'm sorry... it's just..." You could see how your troubled boyfriend is trying to make an excuse for his behavior. You walk up to him, being careful of the little knickknacks that decorated the floor.

"Something is telling me it's not about the bassinet." You look at him.

He exhales and reaches for you to join him on the floor.

You carefully place down Maisey as she travels elsewhere so you could join Shaun on his lap.

"Did you have another nightmare last night?" you ask.

He nods his head. You place a comforting hand behind his neck and let him cuddle at the crook of your neck.

"Shang-Chi..." You muttered as your fingers rake through his combed hair.

When you and Shaun found out together that you were pregnant, you were both ecstatic. But as the weeks passed on, Shaun has been getting nightmares. He told you when there were a few nights he woke you up and the dreams he's been getting were more graphic and descriptive. You hate how he tries not to sleep anymore and uses the excuse to work on the nursery so you won't stress out.

"Last night, I felt like I was reliving the moment I lost my mom. And then, it twisted into losing you." He pulls away and stares at you with his deep brown eyes.

"I can't face a reality where I'll lose you." he whispers, hoping that by cruel nature, reality won't shatter what you two have.

"Hey, I'm not going anywhere." You try soothing his worries, but he turns away.

"You don't understand, my dad was a changed man when he fell in love with my mom. They were happy. Then when she fought to her very last breath and my dad comes back seeing her lifeless body on the ground, it broke our family. We were never the same and I don't want to become what dad was."

You stay silent for a moment, but guide Shaun's hand to your bump.

"You feel that? We made this baby together, Shaun. A bit unexpected, but we realized it was something good for both of us. I want you to realize that.

Where we come from also shapes who we are, we can't choose the good or the bad from our upbringing. We have to accept all of it. Yes, there was a time where your father was a good man. Unfortunately, his grief overtook his morality. But, you have the opportunity to choose how to live your life now. You either dwell in the shadows of your past, or embrace a new life with me... with us."

You smile down as you hug your midsection.

" I love you, Shang-Chi. I'll remind you every single day for the rest of our lives so you could realize you're worthy of it."

He holds the side of your face and gazes upon you with softer features.

"How did I ever get so lucky to have you in my life?" He questions.

You shrug jokingly, making both of you laugh.

"C'mon, let's take a break from here. I'll make us some fried gyoza if you want." Shaun said as the mention of food made you hungry.

"I would love nothing more." You said, squealing as he lifted you in his arms as you both made your way out of the nursery.

You're glad that you have your Shang-Chi back, who was happier than ever.

[starcandymaknae]

Your Night, Baby (I want you to be)

pairing: kim namjoon x park jimin

genre: hurt/comfort, romance, angst

warnings: anxiety, mental health, panic attacks

word count: 21.2k (approx)

tags: university au, ex-dancer!Jimin, protect namjoon at all costs, side Taejin, jin is so done, side yoonkook, golden maknae jeon jungkook, no beta we die like men, growing up, the pursuit of happiness, spring day vibes, promise vibes

synopsis: People change as seasons do, all in the name of growing.

a/n: This is my first ever bangtan fic! I've been writing fanfic for different fandoms for nearly eight years now, but this is the first time I've ventured to create content for army. In a time of great uncertainty and chaos, both in the world and for army, I hope this story will bring you a little bit of comfort. Everything will be okay.

—

—

SPRING

Ilsan isn’t anything like home.

For one thing, it’s so sunny Jimin finds himself shielding his eyes with his hand, his fingers braced like a visor over the crease of his brow. It’s so sunny he finds himself missing the rain, the hovering dreariness that casts the city in a cool grey shadow.

It would certainly be a better reflection of his mood at the moment. He’s always loved some good pathetic fallacy.

He loves Busan, too, loves the fish markets and the grainy sand and the dull streets stuffed with colourful people. He loves the warm cover of a cloudy day, the dense breath of summertime when even the fish seem to be alive above the water.

But this is not home, and he is not Jimin, not today. Instead, he basks in the light that filters through the glass ceiling, in the dry warmth that washes over him like a rolling tide.

He isn’t supposed to be here. He’s supposed to be in the fifth floor studio at the academy, kneading choreography into the meat of his bones until every step he takes is whispering with the memory. The performance lineup for the Spring Festival is set to be finalized at the end of the month, and Park Jimin is a household name at the London Academy of Contemporary Performing Arts.

Most dancers would donate a kidney for a slot in the senior showcase. Most dancers would pay a fortune for the best resources in the country. Most dancers would be in the studio, deaf to the rainfall of days passing, grinding their bodies into nothing but sweat and rosin, molding their futures to the pressure of a desperately waning opportunity.

Instead, Jimin had woken up that morning, hefted his duffle bag quietly onto his shoulder, and hailed a taxi to the London City Airport before the sun had even crested the horizon.

It wasn’t until he was halfway to the airport that he remembered how afraid he is of flying. The last time he was anywhere near a plane, he had nearly had a panic attack thinking about all the ways he might die between Korea and Europe.

This time was a little different. This time, instead of worrying about how he might fall out of the sky, Jimin spent every minute of his eleven-and-a-half hour flight thinking about how many people were going to kill him if he didn’t.

If he was going to run away, he probably should’ve gone straight home, back to his family and his half-dead orchid and the sky that, even now, is probably rolling with rain clouds. Instead, he had stepped off the plane in Seoul and boarded the first bus he’d laid eyes on: a longline shuttle to the Goyang Flower Festival at Ilsan Lake Park.

He’d ended up here, alone, in a city he had never been to with no idea where he might be going next.

In his pocket, his phone buzzes again.

from: TAEHYUNGIE <3 PARK JIMINIE LOVE OF MY LIFE LIFELONG SOULMATE I WILL NEVER FIND ANOTHER

Tell Jungkookie to stop drinking my pear juice or I’m kicking him out

JIMINNNNNNNN

Um hello sir?? Why does your find my friends say you’re in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean?

???? Are you on a plane??? You hate planes

Hey babe It’s been like twelve hours You okay?

What’s in Ilsan????????

Call me when you can, okay? Just wanna make sure you’re safe <3

It’s not that he doesn’t want to talk to him. On the contrary, Kim Taehyung is probably the only person on the planet that would listen to him have a mental breakdown and not judge any of his poor life decisions. He’d probably say something stupid, like damn, when I said get out of your comfort zone I meant fuck Tom Holland, not flee the country, and then Jimin would probably laugh through his tears and get on the train and go back to London where he belongs.

The problem is that Taehyung is so good at convincing him that he is brave enough to go after what he wants, and the truth of the matter is that Jimin has absolutely no idea what that might be.

It goes like this:

Jimin wore a hole through his toe shoes sometime near sundown yesterday. It wasn’t a big deal; he sewed ribbons into a new pair for half of an hour and beat them against the barre for the other. He put them on and broke them in until he couldn’t feel the difference between cardboard and bone.

It goes like this:

Jimin is tired of breaking new things as a means to an end. He is tired of waking up, alone in his bed, and wondering where all his housemates have gone. He is tired of calling his mother at 7PM every Friday and saying, I love it here, I can’t imagine coming home, and then letting himself into an empty studio until it is almost a full truth, until he is too tired to feel the hollow blackness ringing like a gong in his chest.

It goes like this:

For his eighteenth birthday, Jungkook dragged them all to a sensory deprivation centre. Yoongi-hyung made a joke about how he was already living in one and Jin had whined for a full ten minutes about wrinkles in his skin, but in the end they had each gone in, one after the other.

He hadn’t thought much of it at first. The lady at the front desk said something about how falling asleep is normal, just embrace it, and so Jimin had gone into this whole thing with the full intention of taking a nice, relaxing nap.

And then the lights had gone out, and the door had sealed, and Jimin was all alone. Really alone, in a way he hasn’t been since Taehyung stepped through the door of his eighth grade homeroom, since Tae dragged his stupid kid cousin to the park with him one summer, since Jimin fucked up a coin drop so badly that Hobi-hyung had laughed himself into next week.

The thing about drifting into a void is that there is nothing in it to distract you from yourself, nothing to smooth over all the ugly parts of a living body, all the pieces that everyone is too polite to acknowledge.

There was nothing to hide the gurgling of his tummy or the squelch in his throat, the bubble of air that slipped from his diaphragm, sliding upwards until it squeaked itself out. There was no mirror to show him he was fine, no sneaker soles to keep him grounded. There was only him, and his brain, and thoughts like am I doing this right is this how it’s supposed to feel did I do it wrong am I doing it wrong what if I am wrong I am wrong, I am wrong, I am wrong, until he was thrashing in the water, flinging his hands against the closed door and screaming into the silence, tumbling out of the chamber into Jin-hyung’s arms in near hysteria.

Some days, Jimin can still hear the pulse in his ears, can hear his own voice echoing from the blackness back to him.

Some days, Jimin finds himself frozen in time, watching the world turn around him and wondering why he cannot muster the momentum to turn with it.

Evidently, today is one of those days. Today, a group of teens is racing up and down the water bank, shrieking with laughter as they pretend to shove each other into the lake. Today, a father balances his son on his shoulders, tilting him from side to side like a swooping airplane. Jimin sees the child laughing, sees the wife scolding him through a poorly suppressed smile, sees his own reflection in the water and wonders why he does not smile along.

Everywhere he looks, there are people soaked in the vibrancy of their own small universes, and suddenly the afternoon serenity of the glass lake is shattering like a lightless mirror, dragging him under the surface and pressing down against his windpipe in fists of white smoke.

The problem is he doesn’t know what he’s doing. The problem is that he is tired of never being enough, of breaking in over and over and over again, of spinning in place and never stopping, never resting, never finding peace.

He gasps for breath, clawing at the neckline of his thin sweatshirt, and he can’t breathe, can’t see, cannot exist here, cannot be enough.

Someone screams. Faintly in the distance, Jimin can hear the sound of a crashing tide, can feel the ground beneath him pounding with an urgency that matches the dizzy buzzing in his front teeth, can taste the salt on his lips and tongue as he sobs violently into his shaking hands.

It’s alright, it’s okay, you’re not alone, you’re right here with me, it’s alright, it’s okay, don’t worry, I’m here—

“Hey, you gotta slow down,” someone murmurs into his ear. When did his hands leave his face? “It’s alright, you’re okay, I’m here,” the voice echoes distantly, keeping up a soothing stream of chatter as he chokes wetly on a ragged breath. “Slow down, sweetheart, you’re okay, I promise, you’re not alone, it’s going to be okay.”

He gasps for air.

In.

Out.

Again.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Gradually, the storm eases. The screaming stops.

In.

Out.

Slower, slowly this time.

In.

Out.

Breathe.

His heart slows down to a drizzle instead of a hailstorm, and Jimin comes back to himself in pieces like a mountain peak at dawn.

“Are you okay?” The boy’s fingers are wet where they’re pressed against his cheeks. Jimin’s face is cold as they fall away, but he doesn’t have the energy to do much more than shiver.

“Yeah,” his throat feels raw. He shifts to sit properly on the hard ground, barely registering the way the broken skin under his knees prickles and stings as he lifts away from the sharp gravel.

He expects questions. He expects the boy to get up and walk away, to ask if he needs to borrow his phone, to pat him awkwardly on the shoulder and tell him to take care on his way home.

Instead, the boy pulls off his black baseball cap (his hair falls over his eyes in soft waves of chestnut and coal, and Jimin’s breath is still busy spinning like a wind chime in his hollow chest) and plops it onto Jimin’s head, pulling the brim down slightly so that it shadows his bloodshot eyes and cherry nose.

The boy then grabs Jimin by the elbows and draws him gently to his feet (Jimin comes face to face with a clavicle and the junction of a neck and shoulder, and it occurs to him how small he is, how small his panic must be in the grand scheme of the moving universe), grinning down at him with a cheery smile that washes away the embarrassment of his episode entirely.

“Do you want to disappear with me?”

—

—

The air in Ilsan is sweet. It lingers on his tongue, rolling down his throat in waves of citrus and honey as they meander down the forest path. Although the glaring sun has given way to a patchwork of heavy clouds, the bright sky that stretches overhead seems limitless, undisturbed by the glow of satellites or the roar of passing airplanes. Jimin tips his head upwards, examining the horizon that blurs green and grey above the treeline.

The company isn’t half bad either— Kim Namjoon, the boy had said. His skin is warm where it touches his own, his elbow brushing gently against Jimin’s upper arm with every step. He smells faintly like sweat and aftershave and the kind of soft freshness that lingers in the air just after a long rain.

They walk quietly, picking their way over fallen brambles and wildflowers that have strayed from the safety of their clustered brethren.

“Do you have somewhere to be?” Namjoon’s low voice breaks through the murmur of birds somewhere overhead.

Home. Seoul. The UK. There’s still enough time to catch a late flight back to London, to get a good night’s sleep before his technical conditioning class, to blame it all on nerves and exhaustion and a momentary lapse in judgment.

“No,” he answers firmly, the word floating past his ears and into the thicket of trees with a decisiveness that surprises him. “No, I don’t.”

If Namjoon notices Jimin’s slight hesitation, he doesn’t show it. “Good,” he grins, sliding his large palm into his own to draw him off the path.

In hindsight, he probably shouldn’t have followed a stranger into the woods, but despite the very real danger of getting murdered in the middle of nowhere, he cannot find it in himself to be afraid.

"Because we're here."

Here turns out to be a giant oak tree in the middle of a natural clearing. It’s gargantuan, so tall it seems to burst out from beneath the moss that blankets its thick roots, towering above their heads in a shower of long branches and wide green leaves.

“Wow,” Jimin breathes.

“Wow,” Namjoon agrees. He releases Jimin’s fingers to clasp his hands to his chest, bowing deeply to the giant oak as if he were greeting an important elder. “Jimin-ssi, meet Lady Amany. Lady Amany, this is my new friend, Park Jimin-ssi.”

“She has a name?” Jimin isn’t sure if this guy is weird or adorable. So far, it’s a little bit of both.

“Lady Amany. I read it in a book once, when I was really little,” Namjoon explains, crouching down to get a better look at a line of aphids that dot the green stems of a few tall weeds. “It was about a young girl who lived on the moon.”

The forest is moist and warm, pale sunlight falling across his skin in sheets. He watches Namjoon’s t-shirt stretch over the planes of his back, following the calm rise and fall of his breathing as best he can. “Tell me?”

Namjoon’s back twists as he glances up in surprise, his kind eyes widening against the silver light. “Really?” Jimin just hums, fiddling with a callous on his palm.

“Well, once upon a time there was a girl named Amany. Every night, when the moon returned to earth, she would sit and listen to the wishes of the people below her. Wishes for success, for the health of family members, for promises of love and happiness and prosperity. And every night, she would cry, and her tears became the stars that scattered across the night sky. Because the truth was, Lady Amany had no powers at all. She could not grant their wishes, even if people kept begging for her help.”

“That’s… incredibly sad,” Jimin murmurs softly, crouching down next to him and nearly losing his balance on a patch of wet soil. Namjoon catches him before he can fall, his large hand snaking out to press soundly against the dip in his small waist, and Jimin isn’t sure if he’s imagining the way his warm fingers linger on the sliver of skin between the hem of his t-shirt and the waistband of his shorts.

And then he’s gone again, retreating back to the safety of his own knees as he remains bent over them. He turns to the side, shifting to face Jimin as well as he can, his cheek pressed to the palm of his hand. “What is?”

Jimin keeps his chin pillowed on his forearms, rocking back in his crouch to sit more comfortably on his heels. “The fact that she spent her whole life giving in to the wishes of others. Everyone thought she was a goddess, that she could do anything or be anyone.” Tears prick harshly at the corners of his eyes, but he is tired and warm and too full of sunlight to cry, so he keeps his eyes wide open, staring straight ahead at the thick trunk of the oak tree. “They must’ve thought she was the most powerful person in the universe, when the truth was she was trapped on the moon, all alone, and all she could do was let people down.”

The oak tree is getting blurrier by the minute.

“Would you like to hear how the story ends, Jimin-ssi?” Namjoon’s voice is gentle.

“Yes,” he whispers hoarsely.

“Well, Lady Amany felt so discouraged one night that she wanted to give up altogether. She laid on her back as the sun rose, watching as the stars she had cried were erased from the sky, one by one, and she made her first wish to the moon that had been her home as long as she could remember. She asked desperately if there was a reason that she had been born here, if there was a reason she was allowed to stay even when she was unable to help anyone at all. And for the first time in her long life, the moon answered.

‘You have been a blessing all this time,’ the moon told her. ‘Even while you feel like you have not changed a single thing.’

‘How?’ Lady Amany sobbed into her hands. ‘I cannot make the sick healthy. I cannot give money to the poor. I cannot make dreams come true or nightmares disappear. How am I a blessing if I cannot grant the wishes that are made to me?’

‘You give them hope,’ the moon said. ‘You listen to their wishes and allow them to feel seen and heard, even on the darkest nights when you are their only confidant. You give them the courage to make their own dreams come true, to make even the ones who are sick and poor feel as if they are doing the best they can do.’”

Jimin doesn’t know what to say. He stares with wide eyes, his heart thudding loudly in his chest, but Namjoon’s velvety voice pierces the roaring in his ears with all the ease of a soap bubble popping.

“You see, Lady Amany forgot the most important thing: that people make wishes based on dreams, and people have expectations based on the hope that they will exceed them someday. And sometimes, dreams are not about the wishes that we make in the dead of night, but rather how they give us the motivation to move forward even under the spotlight of morning.”

Namjoon’s voice trails off. He studies Jimin carefully, his dark eyes roving over Jimin’s small face as if searching for an answer to a question he does not dare to ask. Jimin doesn’t blame him. It’s not every day that you find a stranger having a panic attack and decide to take them to your secret place in the woods.

This day just keeps getting weirder.

It’s a long time before either of them speak. They just crouch there, completely still, listening to the forest as it returns to the possession of the wildlife and the trees. They crouch there, watching as the plants seemed to speak to one another in little fluttering bursts of petals and brushing leaves. The only indications of their presence are the sounds of their soft breathing and the comfortable band of familiarity that seems to bridge the space between them, tying them together with the intimacy of two strangers who have somehow found peace in one another, even when the whole universe is crashing down around them.

And then the moment breaks, and Jimin rises to his feet, brushing away the imaginary dust that has settled on his scabbing knees. He clasps both hands to his heart and turns to the tree, bowing long and low with a quiet, sincere reverence. “It’s nice to meet you, Lady Amany-nim,” he says softly. “I’m Park Jimin. Please take care of me.”

Namjoon chuckles, and his laughter echoes into the forest with the birds’ song.

—

—

SUMMER

Yoongi-hyung has a new roommate. Jungkook’s voice echoes faintly in his ears, but it’s hard to remember the details of Jungkook’s rambling when there is scalding coffee dripping down your shirt and Kim Namjoon is freaking out in the doorway.

“I’m so sorry! I’m such a klutz, I just came out of the room so fast and I wasn’t looking and I didn’t know you were standing there,” Namjoon babbles, pressing the t-shirt in his hands into Jimin’s abdomen in a desperate attempt to pat him dry.

The t-shirt.

In his hands.

Jimin registers that the other boy is entirely shirtless right as Namjoon leans down to swipe at the coffee on Jimin’s bare thighs. There is about a half mile of smooth caramel skin shoved into his line of vision, Namjoon is crowding him against the doorframe in his frantic dismay, and Jimin would think he was dreaming if it weren’t for the fact that his leg still burns like hell.

He thinks he says something like, it’s okay, it was an accident, but what comes out of his mouth is probably more like, “Uh-oh kay yeah.” As it is, he’s just grateful his ceramic coffee tumbler hasn’t shattered all over Jin-hyung’s nice wood floor.

“Holy shit, Namjoon, what did you do?” Jin comes out of his bedroom just in time to save Jimin from his misery. “Jimin-ah, are you okay?”

The answer is a resounding absolutely the fuck not, because Kim Namjoon is in Jin-hyung’s apartment and he is shirtless and Jimin should’ve washed his hair this morning instead of stuffing his face with too much French toast—

“I was looking for Taehyung,” he says instead.

“He ran out to the bakery across the street,” Jin sighs, picking up the coffee cup still lolling around on the floor and plucking Namjoon’s shirt deftly from his outstretched hands. “Well, now that you’ve met,” he says, breaking through the silence with his high, swooping laugh, “Jiminie, this is Kim Namjoon, my old roommate from back in the day and—yah, I guess you’re my new roommate again!” he jokes, whacking Namjoon’s shoulder in glee. Namjoon groans, but he’s laughing, belly-deep and hearty right before Jimin’s eyes. “Namjoon, this is Park Jimin, Taehyungie’s best friend.”

“Ah, yes. Taehyungie,” Namjoon says knowingly, snickering at the blush that threatens to rise in his hyung’s bread cheeks. “Nice to meet you, Jimin-ssi.”

And just like that, the excitement thrumming in Jimin’s bloodstream evaporates. It’s like Namjoon has just pressed a candle to a snowbank, the lit wick sputtering for a moment before it hisses and dies out.

The fond warmth in Namjoon’s eyes is gone, and so is his gentle forest boy, traded for this stranger with a polite smile and unwelcoming hands.

He nearly says something stupid, like why are you acting like you don’t know me, but then he sees Namjoon’s white knuckles clutched tightly at his side, sees how his gaze does not meet his own, sees the tense set of his sharp jaw behind his cheery smile, and in the end all he can say is, “It’s nice to meet you, Namjoon-ssi. I hope we’ll get along.”

—

—

“What an absolute fucking asshole,” Taehyung fumes, throwing a kernel of popcorn at the wall. It bounces off Ed Sheeran’s face and rolls harmlessly onto the bed.

“Yah, every time you eat in my room I find crumbs in my bed for a week,” Jimin complains, pushing the kernel onto the floor with his socked foot.

It’s been a full eighteen days since Kim Namjoon quite literally crashed his way back into his life, and Jimin is still having trouble reconciling the boy in the forest with the newest perpetrator of their (somewhat) organized chaos. This Namjoon is less spring rainfall and more winter storm; this Namjoon is the youngest elder in a room full of hyungs, cheerful and mischievous in a way that most burgeoning adults never get to be.

The moments in which Jimin is able to catch a glimpse of the Namjoon he knows are speckled into the silence of the days, when Taehyung peels himself from Jimin’s side to disappear in the direction of Jin’s room (judging by the amused glances flitting about the room he’s certain everyone knows anyway), or when Yoongi raises his arms in a full body stretch, his head tipped back, groaning all the while—and then he slips into the comfortable familiarity of being who you are when no one else is watching. His brows soften, his full lips part (sometimes his tongue edges the backs of his teeth as if he were posing the answer to his own question), and there is a mindful solemnity that settles in the dimple at his left cheek, an underlying tension that always siphons from the laughter still lingering in the air.

“I can't believe he pretended not to know you,” Tae shoves another handful of kettle corn into his mouth, chewing furiously with his mouth wide open. He looks a lot like a cow Jimin saw at a petting zoo one time, except Tae is arguably cuter, with big brown eyes and a mountain of fluffy hair. "You guys had a meet-cute straight out of a fucking movie, and instead of admitting that you're probably the love of his life he decides he'd rather be alone forever.”

Taehyung is, of course, the only person on earth that knows what happened the day Jimin came home. He had tracked Jimin’s phone right up until the moment it had showed up on his street, throwing open his apartment door before Jimin could even ring the bell.

 Jimin shrugs half-heartedly, slouching further down his pillow to lean his head on Tae’s thin shoulder. “I’m basically a perfect stranger. We never actually went out, you know.”

“No, you just had one magical forest adventure that was more romantic than all of my past dates combined." Taehyung says sarcastically.

"That's because your taste in men is shit. Just date Jin-hyung already and put us out of our misery.” He dodges the incoming shower of popcorn with a snicker. “We met once four months ago and didn't exchange contact info or agree to keep in touch. You can hardly blame him for not remembering what I look like.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “How many Park Jimins do you think there are in this world?” he demands.

Jimin raises an eyebrow. “Probably more than you think.”

“I still think he’s going to wake up one day and realize you’re the one that got away,” Tae insists. “Look, I like Namjoon, but you know he could literally pull the sun chariot across the sky and I’d still take your side.”

Jimin pinches his cheek, snuggling further into his shoulder. “I know,” he says fondly, reaching over to snag a handful of kettle corn. “But I’m not going to fight him because he forgot about me. It probably wasn’t on purpose, anyway.”

Tae frowns doubtfully, “I’ll tell Jungkookie to ready the body bag.” And then, before Jimin can say anything else, “Hey, Jimin-ah.”

He hums, poking at the moles on Tae’s upper arm, tracing lines into his tan skin until he’s drawn a long face there.

“Are you okay, Jimin-ah? Really, though.”

He’s not okay. That much is clear, because Jimin sleeps less in a forty-eight hour period than most ants do in a year. It’s become routine at this point, that Jungkook takes double portions so he can offer bites off his plate that Jimin is too polite to refuse, that Taehyung stocks the drawers with chamomile and the cupboards with coffee, that the hyungs keep their phones switched on, ready on stand-by at all hours of the day.

It’s a twenty-four-seven Park Jimin Watch, and while Jimin is touched that his friends think he is worth watching out for, part of him wants to crawl out of his fucking skin every time someone looks in his direction.

He’s not okay, but he’s trying. He gets up in the mornings and makes himself presentable, showers at night, brushes his hair. He does his skincare routine and dresses like he cares, makes sure he is so pretty that who he is on the surface is all anyone will notice when they look at him.

The thing is that Park Jimin has always been liked by the people around him, and that is nearly entirely due to the fact that he is very good at being who people want him to be. It’s easy to be liked, as long as he doesn’t laugh too hard or frown too much or talk about what’s going on in the cyclone inside his head.

Are you okay, Park Jiminie?

“Yeah,” he answers, as easy as breathing, and no one ever has the heart to disagree.

—

—

A month and a half after he is reunited with Kim Namjoon, Jimin is smashing a slice of cake right into his stupid dimpled face.

“Why are your traditions always so violent?” Namjoon shouts through a mouthful of buttercream frosting. He's laughing, swiping bits of sponge cake from his cheeks with the pads of his calloused fingers. To the side, Jin and Jungkook are shrieking with peals of unbridled laughter, chasing each other up and down with cakes poised at the ready.

“Because we are passionate about good luck," Jimin retorts, dropping the paper plate on to the table to take another swig of his drink. He doesn’t bother to wipe his hands, effectively smearing the glass neck of his Corona in cake and globs of pink frosting. It leaves a sweet aftertaste in his mouth, coating his tongue in vanilla and lime, and Jimin isn’t sure if it’s the corona talking but Namjoon’s laughter sweetens alongside every sip.

“Doesn’t the birthday boy usually get to decide what will bring him luck?" Namjoon's eyes are sparkling with mirth.

His gaze lingers on Jimin’s face, even as Yoongi passes him a wad of clean napkins, even as Hobi drags Yoongi away by the back of his collar, crowing something about another shot and too many unused glasses.

“The birthday boy should be grateful he has friends that love him enough to throw him an awesome party,” Taehyung cuts in, draping himself over Namjoon’s back to steal another bite of his hyung’s cake.

“You are literally holding your own plate,” Namjoon complains, but he scoops an extra bit of frosting into Taehyung’s boxy smile, watches the younger boy wobble back to the group with a fond shake of the head, and Jimin is warm; he is soft and bubbly from the inside out.

Namjoon offers Jimin the next bite, holding out his fork with a steady hand that does nothing to betray the shine of drink in his chocolate eyes. And Jimin, for all that he is chaotic and flamboyant in the easy company of his chosen family, is hyperaware of the gleeful sting of Taehyung’s eyes on his neck, of the distant hum of the rooftop lamplight that illuminates his every expression in a warm yellow glow.

He closes his lips around the outstretched fork, and he doesn’t pretend to miss the way Namjoon’s breath hitches infinitesimally in his throat as he pulls away.

“You owe me another slice of cake,” Namjoon’s voice is a low hum that rumbles up the narrow column of his spine. He drifts closer, dabbing at the inside of Jimin’s wrist with the corner of his crumpled napkin. It’s so saturated with cake and frosting that it only serves to smear the sticky mess further into his skin, but Namjoon’s big hand is gripping his waist and his smile is sugary sweet and slathered in the joy of this eternal summer night, and Jimin cannot bring himself to care, not when Namjoon’s pink tongue has poked out of the side of his mouth to hover somewhere just above his eye line.

“It’ll cost you,” he murmurs, watching the neckline of Namjoon’s cotton shirt quiver under his shaky exhale. He wonders if that is sweet, too, wonders if Namjoon still tastes like rain and sweat and early spring morning, wonders if he pressed his lips to the mole on his neck he could feel how fast his heart is fluttering.

Namjoon isn’t even pretending to clean him up anymore, the napkin stilling in his palm. He wraps his long fingers around Jimin’s slender forearm, the barest pressure, and holds it there. “I’m sure I can afford it. What’s your price?”

“I’ll have you know I’m expensive,” Jimin informs him.

Namjoon grins teasingly. “So are my services as a park ranger, and I gave those to you for free.”

The easy smile slips from his face.

If there were ever a moment in time when Park Jimin felt like an idiot, it would be here, inches from the precipice of a tentative possibility, toeing the line between a reckless decision and his pride. If there were ever a moment in time when Park Jimin felt like an idiot, it would be upon the realization that Kim Namjoon remembers exactly who he is, and he just doesn’t care, doesn’t care about him at all.

He can pinpoint the exact moment when Namjoon realizes he’s fucked up, because he freezes, his eyes widening as they fix themselves on Jimin’s stony expression. “Look, I—”

Jimin pulls his wrist stiffly from his grasp, steps back to a more appropriate distance for two relatively new acquaintances with mutual friends.

“Jimin—”

He doesn’t hear the rest of that sentence. He’s already walking away.

—

—

Jimin has never thought of himself as a pushover. His mother calls it being more stubborn than old rice in the pot, but Jimin prefers to think of himself as having an outstanding tenacity for sticking to his choices. It is, after all, a characteristic tied directly to his ability to stay motivated in the face of great adversity, mostly due to the fact that he hates losing more than anything else on the planet.

That being said, Jimin thinks he has the right to be upset with Kim Namjoon.

It’s too bad that no one but Tae seems inclined to agree with him.

“Don’t you think you’re being a bit unreasonable?” Hobi asks, carding his long fingers through Jimin’s fluffy hair. He’s had a headache all day, and it’s made him so grumpy that Jungkook had called in reinforcements on his way to his boxing club. He feels a little bad about taking up so much of their time, but it’s nice, sometimes, on days like this when he doesn’t want to be alone. “You’d think he was the dictator of your impoverished country.”

“Did he shoot your best gal? Or break both of your legs?” Yoongi snickers, peeling the last of the skin off his tangerine. It joins the pile of orange strips stacked neatly in a heap on the coffee table—Yoongi undresses tangerines almost as fast as he can eat them.

“Why do you always pull your references from a thirties mob film?” Yoongi shrugs through his gummy smile, stuffing the remnants of the tangerine into his mouth before starting on another one. “I don’t understand why it’s so hard for you guys to accept that I don’t get along with Kim Namjoon,” he complains. “He’s not the fucking Dalai Lama.”

“Jimin, we’re talking about a guy that literally spent thirteen hours looking for the neighbour’s cat after it escaped from his house. The only explanation for this level of hostility would be if he got possessed by the devil and desecrated your entire family.”

“It’s worse, actually,” he grumbles. They’re being way more dramatic than he is, which goes to show just how lost in Namjoon’s proverbial sauce they are. “We met like three months ago and he’s pretending not to know me. Who even does that? How the fuck are you supposed to make friends if they just decide to pretend you don’t exist?”

“Are you sure?” Hobi frowns. “He would’ve told me if you’d met.”

“No, I’m totally not, I’m making this all up so you think I’m the Wicked Witch of the West,” Jimin retorts sarcastically, throwing his arms into the air in exasperation.

“Jimin-ah,” Yoongi says reproachfully.

“Sorry,” he mutters, crossing his wrists back over his eyes. The pain in his head has gotten exponentially worse, a bad combination of stress and lack of sleep making his temples throb in time with his heartbeat. His skin is dry and dull today, the headache making it nearly impossible for him to follow through with his usual three-step skincare routine.

The world spins a little as Hobi shifts in his seat, Jimin’s head lolling with the rise and fall of the cushion beneath him.

“Is it possible that you guys met very briefly and he genuinely doesn’t remember?” Hobi asks gently, scratching at Jimin’s scalp in a soothing gesture.

(His hair is misbehaving today, refusing to fall around his eyes the way he’d wanted no matter how long he’d stood in the bathroom fiddling with it.

The nice thing about his hyungs is they never seem to care how he looks. It’s nice to be comfortable, once in a while.)

“I don’t think so. I mean, I met him the day I came home,” Jimin shrugs as nonchalantly as he can, given the fact that his lower body is dangling over the side of his couch and Hobi’s hand is still buried in his hair. He cracks his eyes open just in time to see his hyungs exchange wary glances.

They’ve never really talked about the day he ran away; a series of events Taehyung has kindly dubbed Jimin’s New Life, Bitches Not Welcome.

All they know is he showed up on the doorstep of Taehyung and Jungkook’s apartment at a quarter to midnight with a duffel bag over his shoulder, the collar of his shirt stained with dry tears and the soles of his sneakers caked inexplicably in mud and damp leaves. All they know is that he moved into the apartment shortly thereafter, that he walked the long way to his new classes just to avoid the performing arts department on the east side of campus.

All they know is he received a letter confirming his withdrawal from the London Academy of Contemporary Performing Arts a few weeks later, and that nobody but Taehyung heard a word from him for nearly four days.

Yoongi’s voice breaks through the silence first. “You went to Ilsan?”

“It just kind of happened,” Jimin grits his teeth, well aware that his body language betrays the nonchalance of his tone. “We met and I had a meltdown in public and then he introduced himself and I came home and we never talked about it again. It wasn’t a big deal.”

It is a big deal, at least to him, and they all know it.  “I’m sure he didn’t mean to be rude,” Hobi reasons carefully. “Maybe he just thought you wouldn’t want to talk about it.”

“Or maybe he was embarrassed to see me again,” Jimin says bitterly.

“Jimin-ah, you know he isn’t like that,” Yoongi chides gently. “Just talk to him like an adult.”

“I’m not an adult.”

“You’re twenty-two years old, you can have a damn conversation with your hyung.”

“I don’t call him hyung,” Jimin says petulantly.

“Park Jimin.”

“Fine.”

—

—

He doesn’t talk to Namjoon about it. In fact, he doesn’t talk to Namjoon at all, much to the displeasure of his friends.

“You’re going to have to stop avoiding him at some point, hyung,” Jungkook reasons, smoothing the spatula over another glob of pink frosting. Jimin has to physically restrain himself from punching him in the shoulder—he’d shown him how to ice a cake no more than fifteen minutes ago and Jungkook’s technique is already flawless, the cheeky little shit.

“I’m not avoiding him.” He’s mixing up another batch of buttercream with maybe a little too much force, but hey, nobody’s ever been mad at a very homogenous frosting.

The preparation for Jin’s Event-of-the-Month party is well underway. Hobi has stocked his fridge with enough liquor to drown a whale (he chugged the rest of the milk to make room for it and then spent an hour trapped in his own bathroom, moaning about how he isn’t usually so lactose intolerant). Taehyung and Namjoon had laughed themselves to near tears, cackling at the banner above the dining room table that proudly displays Jungkook’s loopy handwriting:

Happy “you found a white hair and threw a tantrum for six days until Yoongi revealed he had a hair chalk disaster in the bathroom” Party!

It’s even better than last month’s, which was Jungkook’s (Happy “that mole on your chin turned out to be week-old chocolate”), or the month before, which was Jin’s again (Happy “the modelling agency that scouted you was legit this time and not a front for a shady MLM”).

The first Event-of-the-Month Party Jimin ever attended was his own: Happy “escaping from those elitist snobs and coming home to the people who love you” (it’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for him. Jimin had nearly choked up at the gesture). When he asked why the group as a whole insisted on throwing parties that had nothing to do with anything, Jin had only scoffed.

“Well we can’t have a birthday every month, Jiminie, some of us are doubled up,” he said, as if it were obvious.

Yoongi nodded sagely, “He’s right. And we can’t keep adding people to the group chat until we have a birthday every month. Can you imagine the chaos?”

“We’d never make any real decisions,” Hobi added sadly, shaking his head.

“Right,” Jimin echoed slowly. He’s lucky Taehyung is his best friend in the world, or he would’ve thought he was losing his mind.

“—he sat across from you at dinner the other day and you nearly choked to death on the amount of chicken you shovelled into your face,” Jungkook deadpans, bringing Jimin back to the present moment with a start.

“I was hungry.”

“I’m right.”

“You’re not.”

“Hyung.” There it is: Jungkook’s signature bunny stare. Jimin stares down at the mixing bowl in his hands, carefully adding a few drops of blue food colouring before taking up the whisk again. He ignores the prickling sensation of Jungkook’s doe eyes boring into the side of his head for all of twenty seconds before he cracks, dropping the whisk back into the bowl with a metallic clatter.

”What am I supposed to say, Kook? Hey, sorry I’ve been a dick to you because the first time we met actually meant a lot to me and you dropped me like a hot sack of garbage?”

The side of Jungkook’s mouth tugs up in gentle amusement. “I was thinking more along the lines of hey, but whatever works for you, hyung.”

“You’re a little shit.”

“You love me more every day,” he sings, dodging the spoonful of blue frosting that whips past his head with a cackle.

“I hate you.”

Jungkook drops a kiss to the side of his hair, bumping his shoulder in silent truce. “It would make me very happy if you forgave him, “ he says quietly. “He’s been tutoring me in Contemporary Literature this semester and he’s one of Yoongi-hyung’s best friends, so—he’s really nice, hyung. I promise.”

I know, Jimin wants to say, I know he’s really nice. That’s the problem, but he only sighs. He ruffles Jungkook’s hair, smoothing back his fluffy bangs with practiced fingers, and then nudges him in the direction of the unfinished cake. “Wash your hands first,” he nags, poking his back with a pointy index finger.

Jungkook grins knowingly. “Yes hyung,” he laughs, “Anything you say.”

—

—

Jimin wanders into Yoongi’s class early one evening, balancing his laptop and textbooks in one hand and the biggest cup of coffee he can manage in the other.

Yoongi, while easily the grumbliest of his hyungs, is generous with his time and patience in a way that has his dongsaengs doting on his every request. For example, Jimin has deemed himself Yoongi’s designated coffee delivery boy at least twice a week, so long as Yoongi helps him through the convoluted hell that is Advanced Music Theory.

It’s a symbiotic relationship, one that keeps Yoongi sane and caffeinated and Jimin’s GPA high enough that his parents keep quiet about why he’s in Seoul at all.

As usual, Yoongi is slumped over his desk in the front of the lecture hall, his head bobbing sleepily against his chest. He looks so snuggly, wrapped up in his orange sweater and curly black hair that Jimin can’t help himself.

from: Jimin-Sssiiiii Image.jpg

from: J-kAYYYYYYY JKSAFLSDLSNFLKSDFN SOFT SOFT BOI IM SO SOFT PLS WHY IS HE A FUCKIGN CAT I JUST WANNA BITE HIS CHEEKS

from: Jimin-Sssiiiii Your boyfriend is fucking sleeping in class and this is all you have to say lmao

from: J-kAYYYYYYY Not my boyfriend God I fucking wish Look at him Soft meow I’m so fucking soft I hate him I’m so sick of him

from: Jimin-Sssiiiii You’re a fucking mess

“Namjoon-seonbae!” a tall guy calls over the bustle of the lecture hall, startling Jimin away from his phone long enough to realize that students are spilling around him in the doorway trying to get out.

“Sorry,” he mumbles to no one in particular, bowing his head in flushed embarrassment. He ducks out of the way and hurries over the Yoongi, who at this point is blinking blearily at the papers in his hands like he’s trying to decipher a stack of runes.

“Hyung,” he calls, slipping the coffee into his outstretched hand.

“I made the horrible mistake of promising to wait for the golden boy,” Yoongi groans, by way of greeting. “Thanks, Jiminie.”

Jimin’s brow furrows. He’s no expert on the list of job expectations for a TA, but he’s pretty sure it doesn't include being swarmed by confused students after a class they don’t actually TA for. “Isn’t he supposed to have office hours, or something?”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Last year, a group of students got so desperate that they camped outside of our apartment for a week straight. Jin-hyung couldn’t even go to the grocery store without getting mobbed by half the acting department.” Okay, he’s only been at this school for all of one semester, but he knows for a fact that’s a violation of at least four or five rules in the code of conduct. “Sorry, Jiminie,” Yoongi sighs again, “We might have to wait a bit. Did you leave your notes at home?”

This would be a great time to leave. It would be a great time to say, hyung, I’m going to head home and grab my notes, come by my place when you’re done, and walk out the door without looking back. He’s exhausted, anyway. He has an English Literacy paper to write and a Business Marketing presentation to prepare for, and every fibre of his being is screaming for a strong drink and thirteen hours of sleep.

Now is the perfect time for Jimin to extract himself from the situation, to leave this room exactly as he was when he arrived.

Instead, he plops into the empty seat next to Yoongi’s and pretends not to stare at Namjoon’s every move.

Namjoon in the classroom is different than Jimin thought he’d be.

On an average day, Kim Namjoon towers over Jimin’s small frame with a quiet certainty only found in the kind of people who are determined to see the world as it fits in the palm of their hand. He reminds Jimin somewhat of a preschool teacher, all fond amusement and dimpled smiles, dicking around with Hobi and Jungkook like he isn’t a fully grown man with a genius level IQ.

For someone who was confident enough to set off sixteen fireworks in the deep end of an empty pool that one time they all got drunk and thought raiding a party supply store was a hilarious Thursday-night activity, Kim Namjoon the Teaching Assistant is both distant and familiar in a way Jimin hadn’t expected.

It’s not just the brushed hair or the clean-shaven jaw, the thin sweater over a dress shirt that has been pushed up to his elbows like he’s preparing to wade into war (and jesus, Jimin does not have the mental capacity to dissect whether or not that kind of thing is working for him right now). It’s in the way he holds himself, tall and strong, his shoulders rolled back with the easy conviction of knowing what the world needs from you today and knowing just how to give it.

It’s in the fact that Namjoon’s eyes in the classroom look a lot like his did in the mirror at the academy, his ribs pulled up and in, turning and turning on the straightest knee. He looks like he knows how it feels, spotting on a single point and never truly seeing it.

It’s in the fact that he doesn’t stop smiling, the corner of his mouth stretched like a hamstring on the brink of overuse, kindness glazing over until Jimin cannot see much Namjoon behind his eyes at all.

He watches him chip away at himself in incremental pieces, and he thinks about how thin he must have to stretch to wrap those pieces into something that looks almost whole again.

Jimin thinks he feels something soften inside him a little bit.

Just a little at a time.

—

—

AUTUMN

It doesn’t rain in Seoul as often as it does in Busan, but what Seoul lacks in frequency it makes up for in gusto.

Jimin is used to it by now, to the creaking pipes and the rattling windowpanes and the leak in the ceiling fan that has Jungkook sleeping in Tae’s dry bed at least three times a month. It’s different, but he likes it. The rain in Seoul is more tidal wave than rolling shoreline, but the sound of the water pattering against the street outside is enough to make Jimin feel at home.

Jimin has always liked the rain.

He’d probably like it a lot more if he wasn’t soaking wet and cowering outside Jin and Yoongi’s apartment building like a cat trapped in the shower.

In his defence, he was one hundred percent certain that it wasn’t going to rain when he left the house this morning. In his defence, he had walked the eight blocks to his first class without spotting a single rain cloud.

It’s only on the evening walk home that he realizes just how well and truly he has fucked himself.

It starts with the tarmac, the smell of the city rising off the pavement in waves. He thinks, huh, rain, and breathes it in as deeply as he can, lets the cool air settle in his belly like a long drink of water.

It starts with thunder, a tremor in the distance that raises the soft hair at the base of his neck. He thinks, uh oh, rain, and starts to march a little faster. The bag slung across his shoulder is heavy this evening, weighed down by the impending doom of exam season, but his feet stay light, skipping along the squares of sidewalk until he feels like flying.

It starts with, oh no, fucking rain, and suddenly the sky is splitting in two, and Jimin is tearing past the crosswalk sign, sprinting the three blocks to his hyungs’ apartment before his four hundred dollar textbooks can lose any more resale value.

There’s only one person he can call. Jin, Jungkook, and Yoongi are in class. Taehyung is in the studio, probably moaning about the sculpture midterm that he has yet to start but will undoubtedly blow out of the water. Hobi-hyung teaches hip hop on Wednesdays, and there’s no way in hell Jimin is going anywhere near the dance centre with all its prying eyes.

His only other option is to wait it out, shivering under the damp weight of his thin fleece and sweatpants. He’s thankful, at least, that it’s warmer than it should be at this time of the year— even if his dark hair is plastered to his forehead, rainwater dripping mercilessly down the back of his neck.

He sneezes so hard he thinks he can hear his lecture notes rattling around in his skull, English vocabulary bouncing against his eardrums in a disjointed cacophony.

He takes it back. It’s fucking freezing out here.

OUTGOING CALL: Kim Namjoon

“Hello?”

He doesn’t know why Namjoon’s voice on the line surprises him so much, but he nearly tosses his phone into a nearby storm drain. “Hi,” he squeaks. “Um, sorry to bother you, but is there any chance you’re home right now?”

—

—

Namjoon’s room looks like a filler episode of Hoarders.

“Sorry for the mess,” the older boy sniffles in the hallway. Jimin emerges a moment later in a clean hoodie and a pair of sweatpants so long he’s had to roll them at the cuffs, sidestepping the fucking mountain of laundry that’s been hastily shoved against the side of Namjoon’s wooden dresser.

“It’s okay,” Jimin says politely, still towelling the rainwater out of his damp hair. He eyes the garbage bag of used tissues by the bed, the cold bowl of soup on the desk, the curtains that have been pulled over the window for so long that the dust has begun to make a graveyard of the light peeking through.

Everything about Namjoon’s bedroom screams absolutely overwhelmed.

And then, because Jimin might be upset with him but he’s not a fucking monster, he asks, “Are you okay, Namjoon-ssi?”

“Yeah!” It comes out a little too quickly, a little too forced, and Namjoon winces, bracing his arm against the wall in an attempt to look casual.

It takes Jimin all of one second to realize he’s trying not to fall over.

“Are you supposed to be in class today?” he asks suspiciously.

Namjoon smiles again, his cheeks tight and his eyes dull, and Jimin hates it. “Oh, yeah. I think I’ve got a bit of a cold, so Jin-hyung made me stay home. You know how it is,” he tries to chuckle but sneezes violently instead, folded over and paper-like in the doorway.

Worry flutters through him, quick and sharp, and he reaches out to steady Namjoon before he becomes a witness to a homicide. Death by overachieving. “Okay, back to bed for you, sir,” he mutters, grabbing him by the shoulders to steer him back into the room. He drops the towel onto the pile of laundry as he passes, making a mental note to scold Namjoon about it once he’s feeling better.

“You should dry your hair,” Namjoon protests weakly, but he’s already climbing under the covers, shuffling around for a moment before he settles. He allows Jimin to tuck him in like a baby koala, his eyes scrunching shut in a way that makes Jimin want to protect him from every harsh thing in the universe. “You’re going to get sick, Jiminie.”

He pretends the term of endearment doesn’t feel like a kick to the ribs. “I am not going to get sick,” he says sternly, pressing the back of his small hand to Namjoon’s forehead. He’s burning up, so much so that it’s a wonder he got out of bed at all. “You’re so busy worrying about other people that you’re literally two seconds away from your deathbed.”

That earns him a laugh. It’s small, barely a chuckle, but it’s bright and whole and loosens an ache in Jimin’s chest he hadn’t realized was there. “I’m only,” he coughs, “One year older than you.”

“That’s seven in dog years,” Jimin retorts lightly, tying up the bag of used tissues and throwing it into the corner next to the laundry. “Hyung,” it feels weird to speak so casually, but he just touched a bag full of this guy’s snot so he thinks he can forgo the pleasantries, “You should learn to say no to people when you get overwhelmed.”

The dimple on Namjoon’s left cheek deepens just a tad. “I’m not overwhelmed.”

“Sure,” Jimin says flatly. “And I’m not standing in your Shrek swamp right now trying to keep you alive.”

“Exactly,” Namjoon breaks into another coughing fit, rolling away from Jimin to face the wall until it subsides. Jimin rubs small, soothing circles into the palisade of his back until he feels it melt away, until Namjoon softens like clay under his searching fingertips.

“Don’t you think you’re spreading yourself a little thin? You’re not superman, you know,” he chides gently.

“Of course not,” Namjoon scoffs lightly. “I’m not nearly cool enough for that.”

It’s supposed to be a joke, he knows, but there’s something murky and brown in the way he says it, something like mud kicked up in a riverbank, leeches and calloused toes all turned around underwater.

I’m not nearly cool enough, he says, and Jimin cannot even begin to explain how much he disagrees.

“I think you’re plenty cool,” he says softly, and he wishes Namjoon would hear how sincere he is, how there is not even a sliver of him that is saying it for the sake of being kind.

If he squints hard enough, he thinks he can see the moment when Namjoon almost believes him.

Instead, the older boy reaches out his large hand to close his fingers around his wrist, and suddenly they are not two awkward acquaintances who do not know who they are to each other when everyone else is watching. Suddenly they are just as they were, Jimin and Namjoon, falling apart one at a time with only the quiet to hear them.

He allows himself to be drawn onto the bed, curled around a warm body with his fingers buried in a halo of dark hair. The rain continues to batter against the window panes in a steady rhythm, a smooth, hollow pattern that lulls the panic to rest in his chest.

“What would you be, if you could do anything you wanted?” Namjoon asks a little while later, his stuffy nose rendering his voice thick and buttery around the edges.

If he could do anything he wanted?

He’d fly to New York and convince every gallery in existence that his best friend is worth a shot.

He’d make a bunch of money and pay off his parents' mortgage, put them up somewhere nice and comfortable where they wouldn’t have to worry about him ever again.

He’d dance, probably, and he’d make sure that no one could ever see him do it.

Jimin thinks for a moment, feels the way his voice resonates through Namjoon’s ear pillowed on his chest. “Just me, I guess,” he says finally. “I’d be someone who knows what they want, who they want to be, and I wouldn’t worry about whether or not who I want to be is the right thing to do.”

Namjoon exhales, his body relaxing further against his own. “That’s a good answer.”

And then, because he’s feeling brave and he’s waited too long and this is maybe the only chance he will ever get to ask again, Jimin says, “Hey, hyung?”

“Yeah?” Namjoon hums, absentmindedly dragging his pointer finger in gentle circles against his thigh.

“Why did you pretend not to know me?”

Namjoon’s hand doesn’t so much as stutter, and Jimin gets the feeling he’s been waiting for him to ask for a long time. “To be honest with you, I panicked,” Namjoon admits. “That day, when I met you—let’s just say I wasn’t in Ilsan by coincidence. I just didn’t want anyone else to know.”

Jimin bites his lip, rolling the flesh tentatively over his bottom teeth. “You weren’t, like, embarrassed to have met me or anything?”

The hand stills. “Is that what you thought?”

“A little bit,” he confesses.

“Jimin, no,” Namjoon twines his fingers firmly through his own, twisting his neck around until he meets Jimin’s eyes head-on. “It had nothing to do with you. Jin-hyung and Hobi—even Yoongi-hyung doesn’t know how often I need to disappear. The city… I feel like it gets smaller every day, you know? I can’t breathe, sometimes, and I—"

“—I know,” Jimin interrupts before he can spiral, scratching gently at the base of his neck as if to give him a physical reminder that he is not alone. “I know exactly what you mean.”

It seems like he has more to say, though, and Jimin knows Namjoon isn’t the type to ask a question without good reason. “What about you, then? Would you do music?”

He’s seen the Book. They all have. Namjoon’s Book, stuffed to the brim with lyrics and time signatures and more harmonies than Yoongi would know what to do with, shoved with careful hands into the deepest recesses of Namjoon’s leather book bag.

Of all the dirty little secrets one could have, Jimin thinks Namjoon’s darkest is a sacred thing.

“I would love to,” the wistfulness in his tone is answer enough. “But we both know it would never work out.”

He doesn’t know that. He doesn’t think that at all. “You don’t think music could get you by in life?”

“I think loving something isn’t always enough to make it work.” It’s a simple admission, but it pulls the breath like a thread from his lungs, coiling through the moisture in the air until Jimin can almost see the apology shimmering over the bed like a blanket.

“Do you ever think about just running away?” Namjoon asks, so quietly Jimin might have missed it if he hadn’t felt his back rumbling beneath his fingertips.

Every day. “You know I do.”

“Do you ever think about not coming back?” Something about the gravity of his tone makes Jimin pause, the pads of his lithe fingers crawling upwards to soothe the clammy skin above the neckline of his t-shirt. Namjoon sighs, letting his head fall back into the palm of Jimin’s hand, heavy and warm despite the bitterness of the afternoon sky.

“Sometimes,” Jimin admits, letting the air whoosh out of his lungs all at once. “Sometimes I think about how much easier it would be if no one had to put with me anymore,” Namjoon anchors his fingers around the slim curve of his hip, presses his chest flush to the stretch of his clothed stomach, and Jimin lets the steady calm of their bodies meeting bleed through him like ink to water. “But then I think about Taehyungie, and how he cries sometimes when he’s homesick, or Jin-hyung, and how he forgets to eat because he’s busy taking care of everybody else, or—well, you,” he says, and Namjoon’s gentle grip tightens around him like a slowly drowning sailor, “And us, talking about this right now, and then I think maybe sometimes it’s okay to be selfish about it.”

It's quiet in the apartment.

“That’s a good answer,” Namjoon repeats softly.

Jimin can’t see his face right now, but he can tell he’s smiling.

—

—

There’s nothing going on between him and Kim Namjoon.

No matter how many suggestive texts Tae has sent him, wiggling his eyebrows over the screen of his phone, Jimin refuses to take the bait.

“You’re burning it, hyung.”

“I’m not.”

“Right there! It’s burning!”

“Jung Hoseok, I swear to god, if you do not get out of my kitchen right now I will throw your Lady Gaga posters into the fucking garbage disposal,” Jin snaps, waving the kitchen tongs in the air and sending droplets of hot oil spattering across the glass stovetop.

“Yah!” Hobi shrieks, although it’s unclear whether his distress is due to the threat or the fact that he nearly just became the most well-cooked thing in Jin’s kitchen, “Those posters are signed, you heathen!”

“Never a dull day with those two,” Yoongi hums, unbothered in his seat at the marble island. He stabs another piece of steak with his fork, bringing it to his lips to blow the steam away before feeding it to Taehyung, who is deeply invested in an animated conversation to focus on his meal.

“I’m just saying, a fortress on the side of an active volcano would be practically impermeable to ground attacks,” Taehyung explains clearly, squeezing Jungkook’s wrist with long fingers to emphasize his point.

“But that’s because it’s in a volcano,” Jungkook argues. He pauses to accept a piece of steak from Yoongi’s fork, dropping a quick kiss to the inside of his wrist in thanks. The older boy flushes a sharp, violent red, biting back the bashful smile on his lips (as if he and Jungkook hadn’t spent the entirety of Hobi’s last house party piss-drunk and publicly sucking face in an armchair only meant for one). “What are you going to do, sweep the lava out of the foyer every morning? You can’t waste your own resources just because it ups your defence.”

“Jimin-ssi, what do you think?” Taehyung leans more heavily into his side, dropping his chin onto his shoulder and drumming against his thigh with quick fingertips.

“That’s so not fair,” Jungkook complains loudly. He wipes away the meat juice dribbling down his chin with the back of his hand. Somehow his mouth is full of steak again, his brow furrowed with the effort of talking without spewing out little bits of meat all over the counter. “Hyung has been your best friend for like ten years, he always takes your side!”

“Jiminie is a fair and impartial judge,” Taehyung defends, puffing out his chest indignantly. He taps his leg again, “Jimin-ah, what’s better? A lair on the ocean or a lair in a volcano?”

“Hmm?” Jimin answers distractedly. He’d tuned out of the supervillain debate a while ago, too busy watching Kim Namjoon with a mixture of disbelief and complete horror. Namjoon has abandoned his steak to wander over to the fridge, rooting through the sea of glass Tupperware (Jimin is reminded of a very large racoon he saw in the alleyway behind their apartment building one time) to emerge with the biggest jar of smooth peanut butter Jimin has ever seen. He watches in morbid fascination as Namjoon grabs a cereal bowl and a spoon from one of the upper cabinets, scoops three heaping spoonfuls of peanut butter into it, and tosses the utensil unceremoniously into the sink with a clatter. He then returns to his seat with the bowl of peanut butter, the open jar left forgotten on the counter and the cabinet door swinging freely on its hinges.

“Yah, Namjoon, clean up after yourself!” Jin shouts exasperatedly from the stove. “Is this a restaurant? Are we in a hotel? Honestly, when I live with you I can’t tell if I’m your mom or your maid,” he prattles on, grumbling to himself as he slices the last steak that’s been resting on the cutting board into manageable strips. “Yoongi and I should’ve moved in with Hobi instead of you, at least he likes to keep his place clean—”

“Sorry hyung, but no can do,” Hobi interrupts cheerfully, screwing the lid back onto the peanut butter and pushing the cabinet door closed. “I finally found a place I can afford by myself, there is no way I’m sharing with any of you barbarians.”

“And to think I invited you all for dinner,” Jin sobs in mock hurt, clutching at his chest with a clenched fist, “Only for you to forsake me so!”

“Why do you keep your peanut butter in the fridge?” Jungkook wonders aloud, all thoughts of evil volcanoes long-forgotten amidst the pandemonium.

“Why are you eating peanut butter with your fingers?!” Jimin bursts out, throwing his hands wildly into the air (it’s a testament to their many years of friendship that Taehyung leans away just in time to avoid being smacked in the face). He watches, scandalized, as Namjoon scoops up another glob of peanut butter with his thumb and middle finger and brings them to his full lips, sucking them clean with a loud smacking sound and making an absolute mess of his dimpled cheeks and angular chin.

“I really enjoy peanut butter,” Namjoon blinks slowly, bewildered by the storm of chaos that has risen up in the wake of his peanut butter anarchy.

“Right, but why aren’t you using a utensil?” Jimin insists, pressing his palms into the cold marble and balancing his sternum along the edge of the countertop to get a better look into the bowl. “You know, one of those things specifically invented so that people wouldn’t have to eat with their hands? Like a spoon? Or a fork? Remember those?” If his mother only knew—if he had tried this at home she would’ve had a heart attack on the spot.

Behind him, Taehyung and Jungkook are scarfing down the remnants of Namjoon’s abandoned steak like a pair of starved hyenas. Yoongi, ever the good sport, is cutting the meat into smaller pieces like a frazzled single father trying to feed his toddlers at a family reunion.

“Oh, that,” Namjoon laughs, and his whole body beams with the effort, all scrunched eyes and wide mouth and cherub cheeks that dimple with the hearty rise and fall of his broad chest. It’s a joyful sound, golden with the untouched serenity of a Spring morning, and Jimin—

Jimin is lost, tumbling over the edge of a cliff without a parachute.

He thinks, briefly, that he wouldn’t mind cleaning up peanut butter messes for maybe the rest of his life.

“I used to eat so much peanut butter I made myself sick, so I decided to cut down to only three tablespoons a day,” Namjoon explains, mistaking his stunned silence for confusion. “I always eat it too fast, though, and then I get disappointed, so now I eat it with my fingers to make it last longer,” he laughs sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck with his clean hand.

“He’s like a little kid,” Hobi chimes in, wiping the island down with a wet cloth and passing Namjoon a handful of clean napkins. “You’d never know he was older than you, Jiminie; he requires supervision all day every day.”

“He broke the lamp we had in the living room,” Yoongi snickers, pointing to the empty spot on the floor next to the TV. “Tripped over the cord in broad daylight and shattered the bulb.”

“Then he spilled his tea all over the socket trying to clean it up!” Hobi chortles.

“Why wouldn’t you put down the tea before you cleaned the glass?” Jin scolds, pulling a ceramic dish full of roasted vegetables from the warming rack in the oven. “Namjoon-ah, you’ve got a 148 IQ but you’re still just a disaster waiting to happen.”

Namjoon’s face is flushed deep, shameful red, but he shakes his head good-naturedly at Hobi’s endless laughter, smears a little more peanut butter into the corners of his puckered lips, and Jimin is so busy studying the way Namjoon’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows that he forgets to be subtle about staring.

Namjoon makes eye contact before he can look away, and Jimin just. Stares. Cannot stop staring.

Jin coughs. Three things happen in consecutive order.

Firstly, Jimin slips off the seat of his bar stool and tumbles unceremoniously to the ground. He’s so mortified that he catches his bottom lip between his teeth, biting down so harshly as he hits the tile that his mouth fills with the copper taste of blood.

Secondly, the room erupts into chaos. Jungkook doubles over in his seat, clapping his hands and cackling with laughter over the sound of Yoongi’s bewildered, “What? What happened? Jimin-ah, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Jimin mumbles, climbing back into his seat and burying himself into Tae’s shoulder until only his eyes and scarlet ears can be seen over the neckline of his (Namjoon’s) oversized hoodie.

(He’ll give it back eventually, he really will, but it’s warm and cozy and smells like rain and boy and aftershave, and he just couldn’t find it in himself to give it up.

It’s not forever. A couple days at most. Maybe a week. He would’ve given it back the next day if he’d been asked for it, but Namjoon has seen him wear it twice in the last week and hasn’t so much as blinked.

If that knowledge makes the little voice inside Jimin’s head more than ridiculously pleased, well. That’s nobody’s business but his own.)

Taehyung has the decency to rub his back despite his laughter, reaching over to pat his limbs and pinch his cheek gently to make sure he hasn’t bruised anything more than his pride.

The third thing that happens is that Namjoon does not look away, not even while the residual tumbling in Jimin’s stomach is pinned like a butterfly under the weight of his loaded stare.

Jimin can only stare back, the grip on his hoodie loosening until it slips from the peak of his chin, kitchen air snaking down his neck in icy fingers. He shivers, licking away the blood that has pooled along the seam of his pressed lips, something like satisfaction coiling low in his belly as Namjoon’s eyes dip to follow the path of his tongue.

The side of his mouth pulls up, just barely, his dimple deepening in the faintest of smirks, and Namjoon winks, raising a singular eyebrow at the blush that floods Jimin’s cheeks before he turns his attention back to the surrounding chatter.

“Anyway, the point is that Namjoon is a peanut butter monster and a toddler rolled into one,” Jin is saying, blatantly ignoring the way Taehyung is sneaking bits of meat off his plate.

“I see,” Jimin chokes out. His whole body is hot, his brain a scrambled mess of awkward pauses and bad pickup lines.

He’s pretty sure Kim Namjoon is outright flirting with him, and Jimin has no fucking idea how to handle it.

“I thought you were supposed to be perfect, Kim Namjoon,” Jimin wants to say he sounds normal, unaffected, but Jin’s lips are twitching and Hobi’s trying not to laugh, so he doesn’t think he’s being particularly successful.

He shoves steak in his mouth and wills the smoke alarm to go off right this minute.

“Oh, I am,” Namjoon answers calmly (Jimin’s eyes zero in on the subtle flush that creeps its way up the side of his neck, and he’s fine, he’s good, he isn’t trying not to combust out of his skin).“You don’t even know what you’re missing.”

(It’s not even Taehyung that brings it up this time. Jimin throws himself across Jungkook’s lap later that night and rants about Namjoon’s chipmunk cheeks for an hour.)

—

—

The first time Namjoon gets a non-birthday Event-of-the-Month, Taehyung cries for nearly an hour. Granted, it’s their fault they let him anywhere near the liquor—Taehyung’s blood is as needle-thin as his silhouette, and it takes anywhere between one and three drinks to turn him into an incoherent mess on the floor.

“Hyung, why don’t you cuddle me?” Tae sobs, flinging himself over the arm of the couch and nearly knocking the bottle out of the older boy’s hand. Yoongi, seated on the floor with Jungkook’s head lolling about his shoulder, snags it out of his hand before he has to take a Heineken shower fully dressed in his black hoodie and jeans.

“What do you mean, Taehyungie?” Tipsy Namjoon is as indulgent as ever, patting his dongsaeng on the head as if to prove he does, in fact, cuddle him. The card on the dining table behind him reads, Happy “you accidentally set your bed on fire but it didn’t even burn that bad” Party!

“You only love me when I’m sad,” Taehyung cries, rolling over onto his side and nearly falling off the back of the couch. Luckily for everyone in the room, Seokjin is there, scooping him up into his arms and settling him into his lap in an unoccupied armchair. Tae is drunk enough for the both of them, but the way Jin nearly stumbles into his seat proves that even the heaviest of weights cannot escape seven of Yoongi’s bomb shots unscathed.

“Namjoonie isn’t the cuddling type, babe,” Hobi says soothingly, but the flush creeping down his exposed neck betrays the steady timber of his voice. Hobi is just as gone as the rest of them.

“It’s true,” Jungkook pipes up, abandoning all pretense to swing both legs into Yoongi’s lap and slumping his full weight onto his hyung’s shoulder. “Last week I tried to put my head in his lap and he got so startled he pushed me off the couch.”

“One time the power went out in Ilsan and instead of sharing a bed with me he slept in the bathtub,” Jin deadpans.

“It was summer!”

“The tub was half the size of you.”

“Everything’s half the size of me,” Namjoon actually pouts, sliding down in his seat and pressing the long line of his thigh more firmly against Jimin, who is curled up against the arm of the couch and has way too much party punch in his bloodstream to properly contribute to the conversation.

Namjoon’s large hand curls around the back of Jimin’s calf, his long fingers pressing absentmindedly into the stiff muscle as he laughs.

“That’s fucking bullshit,” Jimin mumbles around the lip of his glass.

There’s a pause.

“What’s bullshit, Jiminie?” Namjoon asks carefully. His fingers still their ministrations on his calf long enough to slide upwards, resuming with soothing strokes in the crook of his bent knee.

“That hyung isn’t the cuddling type,” he shrugs, the pink liquid swirling about his glass nearly sloshing onto the rug. He takes a big sip to reduce the risk of spilling, squinting at his hand as he lowers it carefully back into his lap.

“What do you mean?” Hobi’s voice is warm, but there’s an undercurrent of amusement behind his patient smile.

“Look,” Jimin insists, his eyes comically wide, and then his fingers are skating past the thin skin of Namjoon’s wrist (and his pulse is going thumpthumpthump against his own), up into the dry crease of his warm palm. He laces their fingers together as he lifts his prize, gesturing at Namjoon with their clasped hands as he babbles, “Hyung is always touchy. He holds my hand when I’m sad and he gives nice hugs and he pats me on the head if I do a good job, right hyung?"

Yoongi is laughing so hard he chokes on his drink, pressing his forehead into Jungkook’s shoulder as he coughs violently.

“And how do you feel about that, Jimin-ssi?” Unfazed, Jungkook polishes off the last of Namjoon’s Heineken, holding his fist out like a microphone in grand fashion.

“I mean,” Jimin can’t stop giggling, leaning over Namjoon’s lap to press his lips to Jungkook’s closed fingers. He lowers his voice in a stage whisper that does nothing to shield his thoughts from the quiet room, “Have you seen his hands? I’d let him do anything.”

He doesn’t know exactly what Hobi put in the punch he made, but he’s pretty sure he saw him dump an entire bottle of Moscato into the bowl about three glasses ago. Seokjin sputters something intelligible, Taehyung’s lips at his neck completely forgotten in lieu of the chaos that has been unleashed upon the room. Jimin tilts his head to the side, draining the rest of his drink in one long sip before dropping the glass somewhere near Jungkook’s knee.

Somewhere deep inside the haze of fog that clouds his mind, Jimin hears a voice that sounds vaguely like himself screaming this might not be a good idea, but he pushes it away with a shake of his dark hair. It’s reading break and he’s surrounded by his chosen family, and the pleasant warmth that bubbles up inside his chest is seeping through every inch of him, pink and fizzy all the way to the tips of his toes. He feels good.

He moves to return to his usual seat, bracing his free hand against Namjoon’s thigh to push himself upright (and if his hand lingers on the way the hard muscle bunches up under his touch, well, that’s a problem for another day). It’s all going well until he makes the mistake of glancing up at Namjoon’s face.

Jimin has spent more time than he’d like to admit secretly observing the many nuances of Kim Namjoon, but he’s never seen that look before.

His friends are still talking, the pause of the earlier moment quickly dissolving into the usual chorus of bad jokes and shouting, but Jimin doesn’t hear a thing. He’s too focused on the tongue that protrudes from the inside of Namjoon’s cheek as he works his jaw, the crease of his pinched lips and his furrowed brow, the way something dark and hungry is swirling dangerously in those dragon eyes.

He looks like he wants to eat him alive.

Goosebumps break out along his arms, a tremor bursting from the nape of his neck and scurrying down his spine in a great hurry. He shivers so violently that it jostles their clasped hands, their fingers still intertwined on the couch between his bare thigh and the curve of Namjoon’s hip.

The thing is, Jimin is used to being watched. He’s used to being observed at every angle, he’s learned to curve his body and change his tone by watching the expressions of the people around him. It’s a bad habit, but there are days when he searches for his reflection in the sheen of every window just to make sure he looks okay, that he isn’t giving anyone even the tiniest reason to judge him.

But right now? Right now, Jungkook could dump a bucket of mushroom soup over his head and he wouldn’t even bat an eye. Right now, Namjoon is looking at him like he is a burning star come to life.

It’s so intense that, for a moment, Jimin almost believes it.

—

—

WINTER

Jimin kind of hates the big lecture hall. It’s the newest addition to campus, meant to be a pillar of innovation amidst a slowly changing society (at least, that’s what the university bulletin published last winter), but the arched ceiling and wood tiles feel out of place amidst the sea of steel and glass that make up the rest of the humanities department.

He might be projecting, but he knows how the building must feel. He catches another student staring as he hovers near the door, raising his eyebrows tiredly until they blush and scurry away.

He gets it, he does. Every dance major at Seoul National University is dying to know what Park Jimin is doing here, of all places, selling his soul for a generic BA as if his lifetime of dance training has all but ceased to exist. He’s heard the rumours: that his Visa got revoked, that he got a girl pregnant (Jungkook had laughed so hard he snorted banana milk out of his nose), that he was expelled for pushing someone down the stairs in a fit of jealousy, that he was the one who got pushed down the stairs and was now recovering from post-traumatic amnesia. The gossip gets more and more ridiculous as time goes by, which is why Jimin has learned to stop eavesdropping for the sake of his own peace of mind.

He understands why everyone is curious. He just wishes they would stop staring.

“Jimin-ah,” Namjoon materializes out of the stream of students just as Jimin is about to throw his backpack at the wall to really make a scene.

“Hi,” he greets breathlessly, relief flooding through him at the familiar dimpled smile. He reaches out as Namjoon approaches, curling his fingers into the pocket of his open bomber jacket to draw him closer. As usual, Namjoon doesn’t bat an eye. He just tucks his phone into his back pocket, turning his body to welcome him properly as he enters his space.

“Hi,” Namjoon repeats, smiling. His hand comes up to cup the back of Jimin’s head for a moment, his thumb stroking the nape of his neck before it falls away. It’s brief, so quick that anyone watching might have missed it, but it’s enough to soothe the wave of anxiety that threatens to overwhelm him, pushing back the tide as quickly as it had come. The cool touch of Namjoon’s palm across his skin brings Jimin back to earth, drawing crisp air back into his lungs and reattaching his brain to his body. “Is Jungkookie done yet?”

“No,” Jimin answers, glaring at the door as if it might make Jungkook’s seminar come to an early end. “Did you eat already?” He asks, glancing up just in time to see the fond smile that creases the corners of his eyes.

“I was going to grab something after we study. Wanna come?”

“Only if it’s kimchi jjigae.”

Namjoon snorts, “The last time you ate spicy food you had stomach cramps all night.”

“It wasn’t that bad!” he protests indignantly.

“You looked like a Charmander trying to spit fire for the first time,” Namjoon teases, leaning in and pinching his cheeks with deft fingers.

“You have the references of a seven-year old degenerate,” Jimin sputters, smacking his stupidly hard stomach in a futile attempt to escape.

“Pokémon Ruby came out when I was eight, thank you very much,” Namjoon retorts.

Jimin twists out of his hold before he can do something stupid, like kiss him. “You’re such a fucking nerd,” he mutters, clamping down on the giddiness that has come to a rolling boil in the pit of his stomach. Namjoon only snickers, casually pushing his hair back like he has no idea what he’s doing to Jimin’s heart right now.

It’s nice to see him like this, Jimin decides, glancing up at him under the cover of his long eyelashes. When he’s not weighed down by the expectations of a successful future, Namjoon is just as childish as the rest of them, cracking bad jokes and laughing with a vibrancy that seems to tremble every blade of grass in sight.

If he could, Jimin thinks he would bottle this moment, would keep it tucked away in his pocket like a talisman. If he could, he’d keep it safe, would use it to brighten every one of Namjoon’s rainy days until even the dust was stained with a Crayola sunrise.

“Hey, Jiminie,” Namjoon starts thoughtfully, but he’s suddenly interrupted by a heavy hand that drops itself onto Jimin’s shoulder, jostling him with enough force to push Namjoon back a few steps.

“Park Jimin-nim!” The newcomer exclaims, “I knew it was you!”

Jimin wants to crawl into a corner and die.

The last time Yoo Kihyun saw him, he was piss drunk and naked in his bed, trying to wash away the crushing pain in his chest with a long chain of reckless decisions.

The last time he saw Kihyun, he was sneaking out of his apartment at six in the morning, tiptoeing around the sleeping body to make sure he wasn’t leaving anything behind.

The last time he and Kihyun saw each other, Namjoon lived in Ilsan and had no idea Jimin’s slew of one-night stands even existed.

“Kihyun-nim, it’s been a long time,” he says, plastering a smile on his face that he hopes is polite.

“Yeah, well, you didn’t exactly leave me your phone number,” Kihyun teases. “Usually I’m the one that sneaks out, you know. It’s easier on my pride.”

“Right,” Jimin echoes. He’s hyper aware of Namjoon to his left, shifting slightly on the heels of his chunky sneakers. “I’m sorry about that,” he adds sincerely, because he does feel a little bad.

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Kihyun shrugs him off good-naturedly, squeezing his shoulder one last time for good measure before he steps away. “I just came over to say hi. And to tell you that you’re welcome back any time,” he winks.

Jimin shakes his head, but his smile is a little more genuine now. “Don’t hold your breath,” he answers lightly, but Kihyun only laughs.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart. A year is a long time.” He waves cheerfully as he walks away, weaving through the crowd of students until he’s out of sight.

Yoo Kihyun is a nice guy, funny and kind and easy to get along with. He might’ve been exactly the kind of guy Jimin could fall for, if not for the fact that Kim Namjoon is standing beside him with a perfectly blank smile, both of his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

An unsure silence settles over them. For the first time in a long time, neither of them have any idea what to say.

Jimin isn’t stupid. They’re adults at an institution that romanticizes letting loose just as much as it does a well-rounded education, and they’ve both probably slept with more people than they’d be happy admitting to a pastor.

It’s not a problem. He isn’t ashamed of his body, nor the decisions he makes with it, and if this were any other friend he wouldn’t hesitate to openly discuss the circumstances of his post-homecoming hookup.

The problem is that Namjoon isn’t just a regular friend. The problem is that Namjoon resides somewhere in the space between friend and more, that he’s stretched so far into the planes of Jimin’s heart that he’s begun to bleed through the proverbial line in the sand.

The problem is that he’s grown so used to Namjoon’s fond attention that he doesn’t know how to breathe when it disappears.

“You and your friend seem pretty close, huh?” Namjoon’s tone is neutral, unbothered, but Jimin knows the clench of his jaw, the set of his spine, the forced scrunch of a dimple-less smile.

“Not really,” he shakes his head quickly. He shifts his stance towards the other boy, but Namjoon’s shoulders remain carefully turned away. “You know you guys are the only ones I can stand,” Jimin makes a silly face, but Namjoon doesn’t reach for him, and Jimin aches.

The other boy just hums quietly, “Yeah, I know.”

 “Hyung?” He should really shut up.

“Yeah, Jimin.”

He needs to stop talking. “Are you upset?”

And because Namjoon has always been able to see straight through him, he says, “It doesn’t have anything to do with me.”

Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to.

Jimin swallows hard. “Yeah.”

How are you supposed to apologize for hurting someone you have no business being able to hurt?

Jungkook can’t get out of his class fast enough.

—

—

When he was little, Jimin was afraid of the dark. He would lie awake for hours, pinned to the bed by the dread of an impending nightmare. It wasn't the nightmares that scared him, really. It was the knowledge that there was nothing he could do to stop it, that the wispy talons of the lengthening shadows could sink their claws into his skin no matter where he went or what he did in the predictable clarity of the waking world.

On nights like those, it was easier not to sleep at all. He just lay there, frozen in his bed until the morning came, until the sun tiptoed past the windowsill and the heavy hand of sleep came to drag him under at last.

He feels like that today, sitting on his bedroom floor with his ballet shoes cradled in his lap, the cuffs of his long sleeved tee soaked through with dark patches of snot and tears. He’s lucky Tae and Jungkook aren’t home—he’s been crying for the better part of an hour, and while he knows there are no two people more supportive than his best friends, they’ve never quite been able to understand the depth of his anguish. And it is anguish, for all that it is melodramatic and cliché. He can feel it in his body, this physical representation of a heartache. He feels it in the stiffness of his muscles and the tightness in his chest, in the simmering urge to move, trapped in his own head like a sideways hailstorm on a sunny day.

It feels like the aftermath of a murder, except he doesn’t know how to reconcile the thought of being both the weapon and the victim all at once.

The sound of his phone buzzing in his pocket breaks him out of his stupor long enough to answer it.

“Hey, Jimin-ah, Jungkookie asked to borrow some equipment so I’m just gonna drop it off before I head to class. He gave me his keys and everything but in case you were home I didn’t want to scare you,” Namjoon’s baritone voice filters smoothly down the line.

“Okay,” Jimin sniffs wetly. “I’m home, so just come in.”

The telltale huff and puff of Namjoon’s quick stride stutters at the sound. “Hold up, are you crying?”

Yes. “No,” Jimin wails.

“Jimin, you’re definitely crying. Why are you crying?” He sounds so concerned that it brings forth a fresh wave of tears, the flood rising at an alarming rate until it spills over the dam in Jimin’s composure.

“I’m not crying! You asked me if I’m crying which makes me cry but there’s no reason for me to be crying, so I’m not, okay?” He isn’t making any sense and he knows it, salty snot dribbling over the bow of his lip and into his parched mouth.

“Okay,” Namjoon agrees soothingly. On the other side of his apartment, Jimin can hear the sound of a key being fitted into the lock, of the bolt sliding open with a metallic clunk. He presses his phone quickly between his cheek and shoulder, swiping at his face as best he can with the sleeves of his shirt. There’s a quick patter of footsteps in the hallway, a heavy thud on the floor of Jungkook’s room across the hall, and then his bedroom door is swinging open and Namjoon’s arms are sliding around his shoulders, careful and stable and dry.

“I’m not crying,” Jimin repeats stubbornly, anchoring his forehead against the sturdy line of Namjoon’s collarbone and allowing his hyung’s arms to curl soundly around his back.

“Tell me why you’re not crying then, hmm?”

It’s always Namjoon that finds him when he can’t breathe, always Namjoon that seems to pore over life with the same kind of frantic scrutiny that simmers beneath his skin even while he’s sleeping. Jimin has always been a worrier—empathetic to a fault, his mother says. He cries over the little things, like children with scraped knees and heartbroken actors in bad movies. He cried for Jungkookie, when he broke his arm in three places falling off a halfpipe, and for Tae, when his grandmother passed away and he was inconsolable for months on end.

He cries for the sake of a lot of people, but Jimin makes it a point to never cry for himself. It feels selfish to wallow in your own problems, to drown in your own misery when there are so many people out there who have it much, much worse than he does. He’s lucky, he knows. Most people don’t have a Taehyung. Most people don’t have three hyungs and a Jungkookie, or a family that calls every month even after he threw all their dreams down the toilet in a bout of selfish insanity.

Most people don’t have Namjoon, smoothing his big hands over the swooping hunch of his spine, perfectly content to wait in silence until he’s ready to say what’s on his mind.

“I started dancing when I was four,” he mutters eventually, letting the steady thrum of Namjoon’s heartbeat against his forehead guide the pace of his breathing. “I was a really energetic kid, always getting into trouble, always making messes that my parents had to clean up. They thought putting me into as many activities as possible would take up some of my energy. And we lived in Busan, you know, we didn’t have a ton of money, but they made it work.”

He lets Namjoon’s hum of affirmation seep into his skin as he continues. “I saw this tape from the library, of this class of little girls performing a production of Sleeping Beauty. And that was it for me, I think. I was hooked. I couldn’t stop spinning around the house, begging my parents to put me into a ballet class. I said I would give up everything else for it, that I had found what I wanted to do for the rest of my life.” He laughs wetly, sitting up to wipe the remainder of the tears from his face and to stretch out the cramp in his aching back. Namjoon lets his arms fall away, scooting back to lean against the wall and, after a moment’s hesitation, tugs Jimin in after him. He goes easily, curling up between Namjoon’s knees like candle smoke to breeze, his shoulder pressed to his chest, his head tucked against the side of his jaw as if it were made to fit there.

“That still doesn’t explain why you were crying,” Namjoon reminds him, securing his arm more comfortably around his waist. Jimin is suddenly filled with a strange sense of déjà vu, of this skin and these hands and the lingering burn of panic in his chest, and while this time it is a different city, a different season, the breath of calm that washes over him is enough to send him straight back to Spring in Ilsan.

“I haven’t danced since the day I left,” he admits finally, inhaling the scent of rainwater and aftershave that drifts from Namjoon’s skin, soft and cozy against the harsh bite of the December chill. “What if I’m not good anymore? What if it’s not the same? I can’t remember what it’s like to dance without a goal in mind, or a routine to practice, or a person to worry about impressing.”

It’s a stupid fear, he knows. It sounds like he’s just asking for attention, but the truth of the matter is that he spent every night in that studio trying to become someone who was good enough to be allowed to exist. The truth of the matter is that after all this time, he doesn’t know if he is enough when there’s no one around to tell him he is.

Namjoon’s voice rumbles thoughtfully under his cheek. “I think if you worry too much about how something will turn out, you’ll end up never doing it at all. That’s kind of the thing when it comes to passions, like art and music and film—no amount of absorbing culture could ever compare to creating it. And I think it would be a damn shame to give up on something that has the potential to make your life worth living just because you’re afraid of how it will turn out in the end.”

Jimin doesn’t realize he’s been holding his breath until Namjoon pokes him gently in the side, jostling him further into the crook of his shoulder and his arm. “There’s no way to know, Jiminie. You just have to try. And if you try and you fail, that just means you have to try harder next time.”

He lets that thought crawl its way inside of him, lets it settle against the raw ache in his sternum until he can feel it in every breath he takes.

“Hey, Jimin-ah?”

“Mm?”

“Why did you quit?” It’s an innocent question, given the situation, but the absolute absurdity of it all breaks through the tenderness of the moment, and suddenly Jimin is tumbling over the edge into a fit of unbridled laughter. “What? What’s so funny?”

“Sorry, sorry,” he giggles, turning his face into Namjoon’s shoulder. It seems to work, some of the concerned tension easing from the muscled arm that bunches at his back. “Did you know you’re the very first person to ask me that?”

Namjoon blinks. “What?”

“Yeah,” Jimin snickers. “I’ve been home for over a year and everyone has been too afraid to upset me. I’m not mad about it,” he adds quickly, not wanting his hyung to get the wrong idea. “It’s just funny. It sounds so simple when you say it out loud.” Namjoon makes a noise that sounds something like affirmation.

“To be perfectly honest, I just realized I didn’t want to do it anymore. Not dance, of course,” he amends belatedly, “But comps and auditions and recitals and classes—it got to a point where I felt like a fraud.”

“I’m sure you worked hard,” Namjoon protests, but Jimin just shakes his head.

“I did, but it was just a means to an end. I had sponsors and teachers to satisfy, a scholarship I had to prove I deserved; not to mention justifying the thousands of dollars that my parents poured into my training while I was growing up. And I was nearly killing myself for it—waking up at dawn, taking three classes a day, cardio, endurance training, dieting even though I barely had the energy to get up in the morning—” he takes a deep breath, anchoring his heartbeat against the soothing hand that cards through the short hairs at the base of his neck. “I was dancing to win medals, not because I loved it, you know? And all the other students—they resented me for it. I’m sure to them, it looked easy,” he says bitterly, staring down at the knit cotton of Namjoon’s green sweater. “And then I woke up one morning and thought, hey, I’m going to do this for the rest of my life, and the next thing I knew I was packing my bags and getting on the next flight home.”

Namjoon’s long sigh ruffles Jimin’s hair, a solid thunk bouncing off the drywall above as the column of his throat stretches upright. “I get that,” he says, more to the ceiling than anything else, "Realizing that you’re on a one way track to the rest of your life, I mean.”

The resignation in his voice makes Jimin’s heart ache. He’s sure if he looked up now, he’d see the look that Namjoon reserves for nothing but the trees, something hollow and lonely creeping like tears from the sharp corners of his crescent eyes. “Sometimes I wonder,” Namjoon continues, so quietly that Jimin would’ve missed it, if not for the resounding echo of his throat pressed to his ear, “If this is all there is to it. If stealing minutes out of our own lives is all the happiness we’re supposed to get.”

“Did you ever come up with an answer?” Jimin’s voice is small and timid amidst the looming quiet.

Namjoon turns his cheek more firmly into his temple, and Jimin thinks that’s as close to an answer as he’s ever going to get.

—

—

He wakes up to a frantic pounding on the front door that rattles the dishware inside their cupboard homes. Someone rings the doorbell once, twice, and then resumes pounding on the door like they’re trying to engrave the imprint of their fist into the wood.

Jimin stumbles out of bed, fear and adrenaline tearing through his chest and forcing him fully awake. It’s only ten thirty and Taehyung isn’t home yet, not since he’d received a mysterious text he hadn’t let Jimin see and torn out of the house with a gleeful smile that honestly had Jimin concerned for his sanity.

He’d be a bit more concerned if Tae’s Find My Friends didn’t pinpoint his location at Jin’s apartment, but hey, who is he to judge?

“Jungkook! Taehyung! Jiminie, are you home? Jimin-ah!” Hobi’s voice is muffled behind the door. Jimin pulls it open just as Hobi goes to knock again, nearly punching him in the face with his raised fist.

“Hyung, what are you doing?”

“Jimin-ah, you haven’t seen Namjoonie today, have you?” Hobi asks frantically.

Something cold and still seeps into his veins. “No,” he says slowly, shaking his head. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“I haven’t seen him in two days.” He’s never seen his hyung so worried, dark circles shadowing the pale skin of his eyes. “He had a meeting with the academic advisory council yesterday morning and Yoongi-hyung says he hasn’t been home since. He’s not at the studio or library and none of his professors have heard a word from him either. I thought maybe he might’ve talked to you.”

It’s so unlike Namjoon to fall off the face of the earth—he’s steadfast and reliable, the one person you can always count on to text you back no matter the time or place. “He didn’t say anything to you before he disappeared?” Hobi and Namjoon are usually attached at the hip, orbiting around each other in the same way that Jimin and Taehyung do, tied end to end by the same thread of intuition.

Hobi puckers his forehead between his brows, tugging absentmindedly at the thin chain around his neck. “He sent me a text saying he needed time to disappear, whatever that means.”

Jimin stumbles. “What did you say?”

“Huh?” Hobi looks like he’s about to burn a hole through the soles of his shoes from fidgeting.

Do you want to disappear with me?

Jimin sighs heavily, holding up a single finger to his hyung before darting back into his room. He nearly makes himself dizzy, scrambling through his closet to find a clean pair of jeans, his wallet, and his phone. He snags his earbuds from the charger on his nightstand and shoves them hastily into the pocket of Jungkook’s thickest hoodie.

“Tell Yoongi-hyung not to worry. I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” he calls over his shoulder, pulling the hoodie over his head and nearly getting stuck in the sleeves. He relieves his keys from their hook by the door, jamming his feet haphazardly into his dirty sneakers.

“What? What are you doing?” Bewildered, Hobi follows his flurry of activity with wide eyes, stepping back into the apartment corridor as Jimin turns to lock the door behind him.

“I’m going to go get him,” Jimin says, grabbing Hobi’s elbow to guide him back towards the elevators. There is something akin to adrenaline buzzing in his veins, something equal parts gleeful and uncertain, teetering on the brink of a turning point.

He isn’t sure what it means, that he is seemingly the only person on the planet privy to Namjoon’s personal sanctuary, but Namjoon is missing and that right now is the only thing that matters.

“Trust me. I know exactly where he is.”

—

—

Lady Amany looks different at night. There is something fierce and reverent in the way she reaches for the glow of the waning moon, spattering Jimin’s view of the night sky with patches of wide, puckering leaves.

Namjoon looks different, too. Jimin finds him right where he knew he would, seated on the flat plane of a thick root with his knees curled in towards his chest. He looks small, eerily childlike in the way he cowers from the moonlight in the shadow of the big oak tree.

He doesn’t speak as Jimin approaches, not even to acknowledge the plastic convenience store bag that is dropped carefully at his side. He only raises his eyes from beneath the brim of his worn baseball cap, forcing his mouth upwards as far as it’ll go.

They’re the only two people awake in a five-mile radius, and Kim Namjoon is still smiling like there is nowhere on earth where he does not have to hide.

The wind shifts the leaves a little, moonlight slicing across the planes of his face in harsh lines of white and black. His heart clenches as he takes in the sunken brows, the sallow cheeks, the dim glow in Namjoon’s usually brilliant eyes.

Jimin is so furious he wants to scream.

It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair that the most brilliant person he has ever met is cowering under the shadow of an oak tree like there is no one alive who will want him exactly as he is.

Jimin, standing in front of him in the middle of the goddamn night like he doesn’t have classes tomorrow, should be enough to prove him wrong.

It should be, but it isn’t, and he knows that there is nothing that can convince someone they are allowed to exist when they wake up every day and disagree.

He himself is proof enough of that.

It’s Namjoon who speaks first, peering up at Jimin with an expression too flimsy to fool him, and of course, the first words out of his stupid mouth are, “Are you okay?”

He doesn’t know whether he wants to laugh or cry. He kind of does both, tears welling in his eyes until they soak through the swell of oxygen in his lungs. In the end, all that comes out is a series of soft, wet gurgles.

“Hey—” Namjoon reaches for him, but Jimin just slaps his hands away, dropping to his knees on the tree root and not giving a single shit about the dirt that cakes his favourite jeans.

He had a whole speech planned out, something about taking breaks and leaning on his support system whenever he needs to talk, and instead all he says is, “Next time, you better fucking take me with you.”

Namjoon blinks. “That’s… not what I thought you were going to say.” His voice is raspy with disuse, smooth baritone cracking over the dry ridges in his throat.

“You better take me with you,” Jimin repeats stubbornly, pulling the other boy’s faded fleece more firmly around him, as if maintaining physical contact will be enough to draw the sting of cold away from Namjoon’s big heart with his own two hands.

Even from this position, Jimin has to tip his head back to meet his eyes, wide and round despite the dark circles that highlight his exhaustion. “If you’re going to disappear again, you better not do it alone.”

Namjoon just stares. Slowly, so slowly, the faintest flicker of a real smile edges at his lips. “Okay,” he murmurs.

“Okay, what?” Jimin crosses his arms, pouting. This whole situation is weird and he probably shouldn’t be yelling at someone so fragile that they literally fled the city, but he knows stubborn-ass Kim Namjoon won’t accept his concern unless he shoves it down his throat, so. This is what he’s going to get.

Like he knows what he’s thinking, Namjoon’s smile only grows. “I promise to take you with me next time.”

“Okay then,” he huffs through his nose, somewhat mollified by the reappearance of Namjoon’s left dimple. He reaches into the bag at his feet and pulls out a pork bun, unwrapping the plastic before shoving it into his hyung’s hands. “Knowing you, you’ve been here all day,” he mutters, eyeing the stunned expression with pursed lips. “You need to eat.”

He moves then, sliding off his knees to sit beside him with his back to the thick trunk of the oak tree. Namjoon welcomes him into his space, the still-warm bun clutched in both hands. He shifts towards him like one of Tae’s dried bouquets, soft and vibrant and pressed to the very edges between the pages of an old history book.

They’re silent for a moment, drinking in the sounds of Namjoon munching and the forest nightlife all around them.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jimin asks, still staring off into the darkness.

Namjoon’s exhale is drawn-out and heavy, a sad sound that hangs in the air on the cusp of first frost. Jimin just waits, letting him gather his thoughts as he watches his breath curl up towards the December sky.

“It’s just—” he stops. Breathes for a moment. Loosens the corners of his mouth from the bolts of an unsteady scaffolding, lets the truth of it all flutter gently to the ground. “I do a lot of things, right? I tutor and I TA and I help hyung in the studio and I’m trying to do my masters even though I don’t really know if I’m even smart enough to do that.”

The feeling of wanting to punch him intensifies, but Jimin just sits there, letting the unease coil tighter until it is something small and compact in the pit of his stomach.

“And the thing is, I’m really happy to help out. I love tutoring and working with students and learning music production on the side makes me happier than anything else has in a really long time—”

“But?” Jimin prods gently.

“But sometimes I get tired. Like really tired, like I’m so tired at night I can’t even fall asleep because I’m thinking about all the things I have to do tomorrow. Sometimes I have dreams and I’m just, I don’t know, grading papers or running to class or working on the same track over and over again even though nothing ever falls into place.”

Namjoon rubs his palms over his face, pushing his hair roughly back from the crown of his forehead. “And I don’t ever want to say anything, you know, because that would make people like Jungkookie feel bad and I don’t ever want to make someone feel like they shouldn’t ask for help—” He’s talking faster and faster now, his voice spilling into the night air and soaking into the dirt at their feet. It’s like a string has been cut, something inky and sharp stuffed away in the back of his heart that has finally broken free.

“—and it makes me so happy that they trust me enough to come to me when they need it, but sometimes I’m so deep in the shit that I can’t even see where I’m going. Sometimes I just want people to leave me alone, to—I don’t know, take a nap or read a book that’s not for class or go on a fucking hike or something.” He punctuates the sentiment with one last exhale, quick and sharp, and then goes limp, lets the tension seep out of his shoulders like a week-old balloon.

It's a lot. It’s more about himself than Jimin has ever heard him say, even though the group spends more time in the Kim-Kim-Min apartment than they do in their own homes.

He thinks he gets it.

It’s not the same, of course, not in the slightest, but Jimin thinks he knows what it’s like to run so fast you leave yourself behind.

He thinks about the only other time he’s seen Kim Namjoon like this, soft in the middle and crumbling at every edge. “What would you be, if you could do anything you wanted?” he asks carefully. He braces himself for a smile, for something along the lines of I am doing everything I want to do and I just don’t have time to do it. It’s a lot. He wouldn’t blame him.

Instead, Namjoon shrugs his shoulders and breathes another sigh, folding his hands over at his chest and mumbling, “Wouldn’t a stadium tour be nice?”

He’s not laughing at him. He’s not, but the spark of joy that ignites in his chest has the laughter bubbling out of him before he can stop it. “I think you could make it,” he chortles. For a moment he thinks he might have hurt his feelings, but Namjoon gets it. He can see the understanding in his eyes.

“Yeah?” Namjoon mirrors him, gold dust and crystalline with delight. “You think?”

“I can see it,” Jimin confirms. “World tour, t-shirt cannons, screaming fangirls breaking into your tour bus after a show. The life of a rock star.”

“Those screaming girls are going to be pretty disappointed, huh?” Namjoon winks, snickering.

“Fanboys, then.” He’s grinning so hard his cheeks hurt.

“Nah,” Namjoon shakes his head. “Just one.”

He’s looking at the sky, but Jimin thinks his cheeks are pinker than usual in the blue moonlight.

Maybe it’s the quiet, but the warmth that seeps through him doesn’t make him stutter at all. “You could travel the world,” he says softly.

Namjoon bites his lip. “That’s kind of the thing.”

Wait. “The thing?”

Namjoon’s smile is slowly fading, some of the stress returning to his posture. He stares down at his hands. “The thing that happened. That I was going to tell you guys about when I got home.”

He doesn’t like where this is going. “Tell me, then.”

“Okay, so—” he inhales once, long and deep. Exhales. Repeats. “The thing is that there’s an exchange program. For the Dean’s choice. They pick an exemplary student to go abroad to the UK—it’s Cambridge this year, I’m pretty sure—and they get to stay on scholarship for three semesters. It’s all inclusive—airfare, meal plans, dorms, the works.”

“They want you to go.” It’s not a question.

“Yeah.” Namjoon’s hum of affirmation is barely audible over the sound of the bun wrapper crinkling in his pocket.

He isn’t sure when Namjoon became such a vital pillar of his everyday routine, but the idea of existing without his presence nearby has Jimin’s heart twisting painfully in his chest. But this is Namjoon’s thing, and Namjoon’s life, and what Jimin wants should never be a relevant factor in choosing the path of someone else’s happiness. “Do you want to go?” He keeps his voice carefully neutral, pulling his knees to his chest and staring down at the rubber soles of his shoes.

The forest is very cold tonight.

“I don’t know,” Namjoon murmurs, and if they hadn’t been sitting nearly cheek-to-cheek Jimin might’ve sworn he was crying. “It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity. I’m so grateful that they chose me, and—and I earned it,” he seems loathe to say the words, something like guilt spilling into his tone at the self-praise. “I know I worked hard this year, and I earned it. But— but I—”

“But you don’t want to go,” Jimin says quietly.

The air rushes from Namjoon’s chest in a gust that rustles the dry leaves at his feet. “I don’t want to go.” He chews on his lower lip, his hand curling absentmindedly around the curve of Jimin’s ankle, two fingers slipping into his sock as if to anchor himself there. “Jin-hyung would say I’m being ridiculous.”

“Jin-hyung is literally in bed with Taehyungie as we speak, I don’t think he has the right to preach about our life choices.” That earns him a wry grin, Namjoon’s loud snort rippling like water through the tension in the air.

“It’s the kind of opportunity I’m never going to get again,” Namjoon says slowly, crossing his free hand over his lap to rest against Jimin’s bent knee. “But if I go for a year I’ll have to leave my studio, and my music, and my friends, and—”

And you.

Namjoon’s grip tightens against his ankle. The fingers at Jimin’s knee crawl upwards, searching for purchase at the soft skin of his wrist, and Jimin’s heart squeezes so tightly in his chest it’s a wonder he’s still alive at all.

“A scholarship could change your life,” Jimin offers weakly, trying not to choke on the sudden dryness that coats his tongue.

“I have a life here,” Namjoon counters. “I just moved into Jin-hyung and Yoongi-hyung’s apartment. I love the campus. I have a routine that I like and I’m…”

He doesn’t quite say happy, but Jimin understands what he’s trying to say. “It sounds like you’ve already made up your mind.”

“I think so,” Namjoon says slowly. “Although it took me two whole days as an escaped convict to figure it out.” Jimin giggles, an open-mouthed chiming that spills freely over the dark smudge of the treeline.

Namjoon hesitates again, so Jimin just waits, smoothing his thumb over the back of Namjoon’s hand in time to the murmuring of the wind. “Does that make me ungrateful?”

“Maybe,” Jimin answers truthfully. He fumbles with the cuff of Namjoon’s fleece, comforted by the weight of his arm across his lap. They may as well be full-on cuddling at this point, twisted up in each other like the straddled roots of a pine tree. “But it means you’re being true to yourself, and that’s the only thing that matters in the end.”

And that’s the thing, isn’t it? That being the best at what you do is not the same as being happy. That maybe trying to be happy is as close to happy as anyone is ever going to get.

He isn’t ready to dance again, but maybe someday he will be, and maybe someday Namjoon will be in England and he will be here, and maybe that’s how it was supposed to be all along.

“Someday, then,” Namjoon murmurs the words to himself like a promise.

“Someday,” Jimin agrees, nodding hard. “You’re going to get there.”

It is perhaps only by the grace of the universe that Jimin finds himself here once again. Here, in a forest clearing he didn’t think he would be able to find on his own. Here, in the arms of a boy who may just be as lost as Jimin is, who has somehow borne witness to so many ugly parts of him and yet still shows no sign of disappointment. Here he is strangely at peace, even though the moon is faintly waning, even though he can hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears with all the force of a rolling drum.

It might be because Kim Namjoon is perhaps the only person on the planet from which Jimin has nothing to hide, which is ironic, since there are so many things he wants to tell him but has never been brave enough to say.

Namjoon said to try and fail, right?

“Hey, hyung?” Try and fail. He’s surging forward before Namjoon can answer, pressing his lips soundly to the dimple in his cheek before he can talk himself out of it.

And then he waits. And waits. Namjoon looks like he’s short-circuiting, his synapses firing in rapid succession, trying to find a justifiable explanation and finding none. He blinks at Jimin, the exposed whites of his eyes a stark contrast to the shadows that map his face. 

His voice, when he finds it, is wondrous. “Did you just kiss me?” he asks, prodding at the spot with the tips of his fingers like he isn’t sure if he’s dreaming.

He’s so adorable Jimin doesn’t even feel embarrassed about it. He just giggles, reaching out to poke the spot himself. “Maybe I did,” he teases. “What are you gonna do about it?”

“Well,” Namjoon squares his shoulders like he’s trying to present a thesis, and this isn’t the kind of situation where you’re supposed to coo at someone, but Jimin is so fond and so bubbly inside he almost does it anyway. “I guess I should tell you I’m kind of in love with you, Park Jimin. You’re kind of the coolest person I’ve ever met.”

He doesn’t think you’re supposed to snort, either, but he does it anyway. “I wholeheartedly disagree, Kim Namjoon-ssi. You’ve known yourself your whole life.”

He wants to kiss that other dimple, so he does, and there’s not a trophy on earth that could make him feel as euphoric as he does when Namjoon blushes the colour of a ripe plum.

“I’m kind of in love with you, too, actually. More than kind of. Kind of a lot, but I don’t know how to tell you I like every single thing about you without accidentally scaring you away.” It’s rushed and awkward and for once in his life he doesn’t know if what he’s saying is something Namjoon wants to hear, but he does it anyway.

“You stood in my Shrek swamp, remember? I don’t think there’s anything you could do to scare me away.” Namjoon smiles and smiles and the whole world is bathed in gold.

They sit there smiling stupidly at each other, two idiots in love trying to figure out if this is the kind of thing that happiness is made of.

He thinks the answer might be yes.

“Hey, Jimin-ah?”

He bites his lip. Something shifts. 

Namjoon’s gaze drifts downwards, and for the first time in so, so long, Jimin doesn’t push his hair behind his ear. He doesn’t smooth the wrinkles in his jacket, he doesn’t search for his reflection in the trees.

Namjoon’s breath ghosts over his face, his nose brushing the high curve of his cheekbone, and Jimin could get drunk on this, on the lush pink of his mouth, on the cleft of his bottom lip, on the way he smells like soy sauce and sugar and Yoongi’s fabric softener, on the little freckle just below his left eye.

There’s a little bread crumb in the corner of Namjoon’s mouth and he doesn’t care, not when Namjoon is touching his face so gently, not when he’s drawing impossibly closer, not when he’s pressing his full lips to his, tender and hungry and home.

Namjoon kisses like a summer storm slowly building; light, gentle, and then deeper every time. His mouth is soft and slightly chapped, and Jimin’s nose is kind of runny from being out in the winter air, but none of that matters. 

He threads his fingers into Namjoon’s hair, tugging at the strands until he tumbles into him with a little grunt of surprise. The ache of wanting flares like a bonfire in his chest, and then Namjoon is coaxing his lips open and his tongue is sweeping against the roof of his mouth, and the whine he makes in the back of his throat as Jimin nibbles on his bottom lip is nothing short of unholy.

He practically crawls into Namjoon’s lap, anchoring one hand on his broad shoulder and sliding the other past the bulk of his open jacket. He searches, fingertips splayed out against his chest until he can feel his heartbeat thundering through the layers of muscle and skin, racing frantically in time to the sound of his own blood roaring in his ears.

It's a long time before either of them come up for air, dizzy and gasping into the freefall, tumbling recklessly off the peak of a long-suffering climb. He presses a final kiss once, twice to the bow of his puckered mouth, and then pulls reluctantly away.

Namjoon nearly knocks their foreheads together in an attempt to keep him close, but neither of them seem to mind. They rest their foreheads together until the heaving of their breaths has slowed to the rhythm of a shoreline. “You still owe me a tour of this forest, Park Ranger Kim,” he teases, delighting in the burst of laughter that erupts from Namjoon’s chest, joyful and unrestrained in the first blush of morning.

“I thought we established that my services are expensive,” Namjoon shoots back, cradling his face between his palms like a treasure. He looks at him like he is something wholly marvellous, inside and out, and for once Jimin thinks he believes it.

For the first time in so, so long, it feels like the whole world is watching and Jimin does not care one bit. He lets the monumental weight of this moment, small and unseen as it may be in the scope of the moving universe, push him in steady rotation with the rest of the world.

It smells like Spring.

FIN.

[strangerthingsharrington]

Can’t Fight This Feeling volume 2

when i’m with you

Title credit to REO Speedwagon and Sheriff. GIF credit to owner.

Warnings - shitty parents, shitty home life. Cursing. Angst. Again, there will be spoilers throughout this for season 4 volume 1 & 2

Also apologies if there’s spelling of grammar mistakes, I’m writing this all on my phone haha

-3-

The day had dragged by, the anticipation of spring break hung over the school heavily. Everyone was just trying to get through the day, by whatever means necessary.

Once that final bell rang and I went through the main doors to start my walk home all the burn out and school stress faded only to be replaced by the absolute anxiety of knowing I had to tell Steve about my letters.

That was my only thought on the way home. How the hell was I supposed to tell him. He already had it in his head that he believed he was stupid.

Not true, and I would tell him that daily. But it’s hard to undo nineteen years of being told that by your parents and teachers.

I reached my house and saw my moms car wasn’t there yet so at least I didn’t have another lecture waiting for me inside the doors.

I went in and changed into a different outfit and sat at my desk, leafing through the letters laid out.

I read and reread all of them. And, honestly, as much as I desperately wanted Purdue and would have killed for a scholarship opportunity a year ago, I was happy to pass it up. As hard to believe as that was.

But when I looked at the picture frame on my desk of Steve and I at Christmas, arms wrapped around each other, Steve in this ridiculous reindeer wooly sweater and me on a matching one he bought for me, looking at each other smiling. I knew staying in Hawkins was my chance at happiness.

“Lou?”

“In my room!” I called, turning to watch Steve walk into my room with a small grin.

“Hey, babe,” he said walking over to me and leaning down to kiss me quickly.

“Hi, love,” I responded.

“You already doing homework?” he chuckled looking over my desk.

I looked down, feeling the nerves all over my body.

I cleared my throat and looked up at him, “Can you sit down? I need to talk to you about something…pretty important.”

His smile faltered as he stepped back to my bed and sat, “Are you okay?”

I turned my chair to face him, “Yeah-no I’m fine. Everything’s fine. It’s just that, okay- you remember how I told you mom said I should apply to some of the universities?”

He nodded, “Yeah, and you tried to fight her about it?” he smirked.

I breathed out a laugh, “Yeah, yes exactly. So I-huh…I heard back from them,” I explained, watching his eyes begin to shift and his breathing hitched for just a moment, “I got in, Steve. To all three of them.”

His eyes widened slightly and he began nodding his head a bit, “I mean,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck, “that’s amazing, Lou. Yeah, I mean…yeah! Congratulations babe!” he smiled before getting off the bed to hug me tightly.

I buried my face into his chest and he rested his head on top of mine, “Thanks, Steve,” I said, breathing in his cologne.

He let go of me and sat on the edge of the bed, “So…what does it all mean then?” he asked awkwardly.

As much of a brave face he was putting on, I knew Steve. And I could see in his eyes the beginning stages of worry.

I smiled softly at him, “It means that I cannot wait to go to the college with you next year, Steve Harrington.”

The relief that washed over him was instantaneous. I could visibly see his shoulders relax and he let out a breath, the worry evident in his eyes seconds ago replaced by happiness once again.

“Are you sure?” he gushed with a big smile, “I -I don’t want you to go to the college if you wanted to go somewhere else? I want you to do what you want, you know? Not that I want you to leave. Or stay, if you don’t want to…you know?”

I laughed and shook my head, “I’m doing what I want, love. And what I want,” I said as I stood up and closed the distance between us sitting on his lap, looping my arms around his neck, “is to be here with you. I want to be wherever you are.”

He put his hands around my waist holding me to him, “I want you to be happy.”

I kissed him softly, “You make me happy-very happy, Steve. I’m happy here with you.”

He pushed some hair behind my ear, “You’ve made me happier than I’ve ever been,” he whispered, “as long as this is what you want then that’s what will make me happy. I don’t want you to…not do something because of me. Especially if it’s something that you want.”

I cupped his cheek and smiled when he leaned into my touch letting out a small sigh, “This is what I want. Trust me.”

“I do,” he promised, “as long as you’re happy.”

He leaned up to kiss me holding on to my waist tighter I ran my hands through his hair causing him to groan lowly. He deepened the kiss before flipping us around so I was on the bed laying down with him hovering over top of me, never breaking the kiss.

I wrapped my legs around his waist instinctively and pulled him closer to me. I slipped my hands under his shirt and clawed softly at his back.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he whispered, pulling away from the kiss.

I giggled, “We’ve got some time,” I whispered back to him, removing my hands from him and pulling my top off.

He bit his lip and smirked, “You’re so beautiful,” he told me before he started kissing my neck, trailing his lips down towards my chest.

I moaned softly once his lips made contact with my breast, I started reaching down towards the buttons of his jeans when I heard the front door open down the hall.

“Lou? Steve?” I heard my mom call out.

Steve rolled off of me immediately and i reached next to me for my discard top throwing it back onto me. I looked to Steve with a small bashful smile, “You coming out?”

Steve nodded with a small laugh, “Yeah…just need a minute. I’ll be right there. This is why we save this for when my parents are gone,” he said chuckling.

I laughed and nodded before leaving my room.

“Hey, mom,” I said when I got to the kitchen.

She was just turning the oven on, “Do you and Steve have time to eat?” she asked looking to me.

I made a face and looked at the clock, “I have dinner tonight at the Harrington’s, remember?”

She sucked in some air and patted my shoulder, “Right. Well, good luck?”

I snorted and nodded, “Yeah I’ll need it.”

“Hey, Mrs. Henderson,” Steve said easily as he walked into the kitchen, standing next to me.

“Hi, Steve,” she smiled, “remember to pick up Dustin after the game and his club, okay?”

He grinned and nodded, “Yeah, no problem, Mrs. H, all good.”

“Well you kids go have fun,” she told us.

We both said our goodbyes to her and headed out to Steve’s car, “So you really don’t know why they asked me over?” I questioned Steve on the way to his house.

He shook his head, “I swear. No idea. I mean, it’s fine, as much as…I don’t get along with either of them, I appreciate that maybe they’re making an effort to know you, ya know?” he said looking to me quickly, “maybe this’ll be a turning point. Maybe they see that I’m happy and getting my shit together because of you and they want to get more involved.”

I smiled slightly at him before turning to look out the windshield. The optimism he had was admirable. But…something didn’t feel right. I didn’t think they were about to offer their only child an olive branch suddenly.

I had been to Steve’s house countless times in the past eight months. But only a handful of those times were while his parents were home. And definitely not at his parents insistence. When I was there with them, they only wanted to talk about school. How I was doing, my classes, my grades, my assignments.

He pulled into the driveway and parked behind his parents cars. The house was all lit up so from an outsider perspective it looked nice and welcoming and homey. But for me, after having Steve call me many times after fights with his dad or snide comments made by his mom I knew that it wasn’t exactly as picture perfect as Mr & Mrs Harrington might have wanted it to appear.

I went to open the door and Steve reached for my arm, “Wait,” he uttered.

I looked to him and saw the nerves written all over his face. He was bitting his lip, and his eyes were shifting all over the place like they were in my bedroom.

“What’s wrong?” I asked taking his hand in mine.

“I dont know why they’re having you over,” he began, “I just…don’t want them to scare you or try to…change this.”

“Steve,” I said gently, “please look at me,” I coaxed, he finally met my gaze, “nothing they do or say would change how I feel about you. I promise, love.”

He sighed and nodded, “Okay, okay,” he whispered before leaving over and kissing me quickly, “I love you,” he told me passionately.

“I love you,” I said squeezing his hand, “come on, let’s not keep them waiting.”

We left the car and headed inside, fingers interlocked tightly together. Steve hesitated at the front door with his hand on the knob, where he sighed before opening the door to what sounded like the vinyl player playing some old jazz music.

We walked into the living room where his dad was sitting reading over files with his briefcase opened on the floor next to him.

“You almost made the two of you late, Steve,” he said not looking up at us.

I looked to Steve and saw him falter, his mouth opening and closing.

“I’m so sorry,” I interjected looking back to Mr. Harrington, “I was late from school and then had to change. So that’s on me.”

He looked up at me for a moment before nodding, he put his file back into his briefcase and closed it before standing up. He walked over to us and put his hand out for me to shake.

“Staying at school even on the last day before spring break. You have an aptitude for education, it’s very admirable,” he told me as we shook hands.

“Thanks,” I said quietly.

He let go of my hand, “Well let’s go to the dining room, my wife should be about done,”

He left us and started to the dining room, “Not even through the door for two seconds,” Steve muttered to me.

“It’s okay,” I reminded him as he lead me to the dining room.

His mom was just putting the last plate of food onto the table, “Hi mom,” Steve said to her.

She looked up and smiled to him, “Hi Steve. Hi Louise, thank you for coming,” she said as she came around the table to offered me a small hug which I returned awkwardly, looking over to Steve how had his eyebrows furrowed.

She let me go without a second glance and took a seat at one end of the table while Mr. Harrington was already seated at the other.

“Sit down,” his mom told us with a stern edge.

Steve and I sat next to each other waiting until his parents started serving themselves before we did.

“So,” his dad began, “we wanted to check in on the future, college and university applications all of that. You’ve applied, right, Louise?”

I nodded, “Yeah, I’ve applied to a few different schools. We’re just waiting to hear back about Steve’s application to Hawkins Community,” I said, smiling over to Steve and smiled back at me gently.

He hummed and took a sip of wine, “Have you heard back?” he questioned.

“I did, yeah, I got my letter about a week ago now,” I explained.

“Have you…committed yet to the school, Louise?” he put his attention onto me, I looked and saw Mrs. Harrington looking at me as well.

Steve put his hand on my leg, I took a small breath and looked back to his dad, “Yes, unofficially but I’m going to be headed to Hawkins Community this year!”

He didn’t bat an eye at me, “You didn’t get accepted any where else?”

I felt my persona start to crack a bit, did they invite me over to ask me about if I’ve been accepted? Why?

“Well I mean I did, but the college is where I’m planning on going,” I started to explain.

“Where else did you get accepted?” his mom asked me.

I hesitated and looked to Steve who nodded at me with a small smile, “Well…Purdue, Indiana State, Norte Dame, and Hawkins Community, obviously,” I told them, “but like I said, even though I haven’t sent it my like, formal acceptance I’m committed to the college. It’s close to home, and in the Henderson family budget,” I said with a small laugh trying to break the tension in the room.

His dad leaned forward towards Steve and I, “I’m sorry- let me get this straight, you got accepted to three universities. And you’re going to the community college instead?”

I smiled slightly, “Yeah, I mean, I really want to stay close to home for my mom and brother. And Steve too of course. It’s the same courses that I would be getting at the universities. So it was an easy decision to me.”

Mr. Harrington scoffed, “But, you have to understand this, Louise, employers are going to look and see Purdue or ISU or Notre Dame and want you immediately. No matter what. They’re gonna look and see Hawkins Community College, and all you’re gonna get is either the Family Video or Scoops Ahoy whenever that gets rebuilt. My son will become the prime expample of that.”

“I mean,” I stuttered awkwardly, “I have total confidence that I’ll be able to get a good job-a job I really want by being in the college. They’ll look at my grades and work ethic, and me. I’m going to be my own selling point when I do interviews for jobs. Steve too! We’re just waiting on his letter too and everything will be okay,” I explained breathily looking from his dad to his mom then to Steve who was watching me intently.

“Louise. Listen,” he started, putting his fork down and resting his arms on the table, “I’m going to offer you something, and it’s because my wife and I are very fond of you. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, you’re smart. If a university is what you want, we can give you the money. Not a loan. A gift from us to you. While our son didn’t take the direction we were hoping he would as far as going to a good school goes, you have that chance. Steve doesn’t, unfortunately. Not from lack of trying from my wife and I. Listen, we have money that would have gone to Steve’s tuition. It’s a hefty sum, and would cover university several times over. So if you want to go to one of the other schools, but can’t afford it, we’d want to help you get there. We want to see at least someone succeed.”

I could feel Steve go rigid from next to me. I felt myself frozen in place too. I wasn’t considering their offer at all. Not even a little bit. If I wanted Purdue I had the scholarship. But I wanted Steve more than that. I wanted to stay here.

“That’s…a very generous offer, Mr and Mrs Harrington. And I’m so appreciative of that. But, I truly want to stay in Hawkins. That’s my goal, to be here,” I started, I looked to Steve and saw him looking to me with sad eyes, “But I dont think it’s fair for you to say that stuff about Steve. Steve is smart, really smart. He’s…he’s the best person I’ve ever known. Steve will be incredibly successful after college, I know it,” I said before looking to Steve and offering him a small smile.

I looked back to his dad and saw him looking to his son then back to me, “The offer will continue to stand, Louise. I appreciate this young love you have with our son here, but there’s a big world outside of Hawkins, Indiana. You shouldn’t keep yourself planted here for a boy who a year ago wasn’t attached to your hip trying to get you to stay here selfishly. And if my son had any sense, he’d be trying to get you to do what’s best for you, not him.”

My jaw fell open at his words, “Steve isn’t trying to get me to stay here this is my-“

“My husband is right,” Mrs. Harrington said cutting me off, “if Steve felt any sort of devotion to you, he would be pushing you to challenge yourself outside of here. Outside of a community college. A four year university is something people dream of but never get the chance to do. You have that chance three times over. Steve doesn’t. Why waste your intellectual abilities at the college when you could be exploring them and moulding them into something more?”

A scoff slipped past my lips before I could stop it, “Like I said, I know that I’m smart and that will be an obvious benefit at the college. I’ll be able to start my career sooner and we can start building our life together sooner. I’m going to get into the nitty gritty of the courses I want quicker at the college. I’m okay with going there,” I knew I shouldn’t have even been trying to justify myself or explain myself. I didn’t need to. But I wanted to fight on Steve’s behalf, and let them know that Steve wasn’t talking me into anything.

“You shouldn’t be,” his dad said calmly, “you should be pushing yourself to do more. More than just a community college. You’re willing to throw away this huge opportunity.”

“I don’t believe I’m throwing it away,” I disagreed firmly, “my happiness is just as important as where I go to school. And if I can go to a good school and still be happy then I’m going to do it.”

“Louise, don’t let Steve bring you down with him. Don’t feel like you have to…dumb yourself down to make him feel happy,” he said, effectively blowing off what I had just told him, “you could make yourself happy at one of the universities. You don’t need Steve stuck to your side at the community college to be happy.”

“That not okay to say!” I exclaimed, trying my hardest not to shout, “Steve is very smart and it’s not fair for you guys to say that stuff about your own son! He’s been working his ass off the last few months trying to get ready to apply. And I know he’s going to get in! Maybe it’s not a good enough school in your opinion, but it is what’s going to work for us.”

His dad stared at me for a moment before snapping his gaze over to his son, I looked to Steve and saw him sitting motionless staring down at his water glass, “Steve, maybe you should stand up and act like a man and tell Louise that she shouldn’t chase after a happy ending with you, when you used to pick on her in school! You don’t think your mother and I would’ve looked into Louise when you started dating her?” he put his glare back to me, “We know he was an asshole to you. And you’re willing to throw away a higher, better education for someone who didn’t even know your name until July?”

The tears pricked my eyes before I could try and stop them.

“The Steve from high school and the Steve sitting here are two completely different people,” I said quietly averting my gaze to the wall behind Mr. Harrington, “We’ve both-we’ve acknowledged everything that happened during school. Neither of us like it, but we’ve moved on. So that’s really not fair to throw back into his face,” I told him, trying to rationalize everything.

“Steve, you’ve been quiet as per usual. Anything you’d like to add? Are you in support of Louise throwing everything she’s worked for, for the last four years because of you?” his dad said, adjusting himself so he was fully facing Steve.

I looked to Steve and saw his face was red and he was staring down at the plate in front of him.

“Steve,” I whispered, silently begging him to stand up for our choices.

He looked to me quickly before looking back to his plate.

“I want Lou to be happy,” he said quietly.

His dad pushed his chair back hastily, “Well unfortunately, son, it appears her happiness is dependant on you. The boy who grew up with everything handed to him. The boy who felt the need to torment his peers to make himself feel better. The boy who after graduation went to work at Scoops Ahoy. The boy…who didn’t even know Louise’s name until eight months ago,” he was staring at Steve with such contempt and disappointment, my jaw was hanging open at the words spilling out of his dads mouth, “Look in the mirror son, and see if you’re the man that’s going to make her happy. See if you’re the man who will be able to build a happy life with her working at Family Video. Because you haven’t even gotten accepted yet. And then what? You get rejected? What will happen to your little fantasy then? You’re willing to let her throw away a university education because you can’t be alone? Man up, Steve,” he said before leaving us at the table.

His mom tutted and sighed, “I’m disappointed in you, Steve. You can’t bring people down with you. Your father and I tried to give you the best of everything, so maybe this is partially our fault. But you never put any effort into anything about school until Louise came around. And thank goodness she did, or you’d still be moping around here about Nancy Wheeler and not caring about your future. Louise is the one that has put that fire under you, so your father and I are very appreciative of that. And Louise, like my husband said, that offer will still stand. We like you very much and appreciate what you’ve tried to do for him. But you can only lead a horse to water,” and with that, his mom pushed away from the table as well and left the room.

Steve and I sat there in silence. I had my hands on either side of my dinner plate and was staring at the china cabinet that was across from us.

I couldn’t believe everything that had just happened. How they were undermining my decision when I wasn’t even their kid. And worse, the way they were talking to their own kid.

My tears had already fallen and were a steady stream down my cheeks.

It was like they used this ruse of a dinner to go after Steve in front of me. To get one of us to back down on this.

I turned my head slightly to look at Steve and saw him slumped in his chair with his hands on his face.

“Steve,” I coaxed turning in my chair to face him, “please look at me.”

He put his hands down and looked over to me with his hair falling in his face. His face was red and blotchy and had tears stains all down his cheeks. His nose was running and his eyes were bloodshot already.

“It’s okay,” I told him gently, placing a hand on his, “don’t listen to them,” I whispered.

“Can we please go?” he asked, looking away from me.

I nodded and stood up quickly, “Yeah. Yes, of course, love,” I told him.

He got up and went right for the front door, not bothering to wait or walk out with me. I followed after him and closed the door behind me. Steve was already in the car when I got there.

“I’m so sorry,” I let out as soon as my door was closed, “you didn’t deserve any of that.”

“Is that what people will think?” he asked quietly.

“What?”

He sniffled and stared down at his lap, “Will people think that I’m keeping you here?”

I grabbed his hand and held it tightly, “No, Steve. I know I’m not thinking that, that’s all that matters to me. You’re not keeping me here, I’m staying here there’s a difference.”

“I want you to have a shot, Lou. I don’t want you to feel trapped or anything,” he said, looking over to me finally.

I sighed and took his hand in mine, “I’m not trapped here. If I wanted to go, I would. But I don’t want to, Steve. Don’t worry about your parents or any of that shit. It’s us. Always, right?”

He sent me a sad smile but nodded once, “Always,” he agreed.

Smiling slightly, I pushed his hair away from his face, “Come on, let’s get to this basketball game and get it over with. Sooner today is over, sooner we can spend tomorrow together, just us.”

“Okay,” he said quietly, kissing the back of my hand.

He started the car and kept my hand held tightly in his lap.

We didn’t speak on the way to the school. I could still feel the uneasiness and sadness rolling off of Steve in waves. I knew he was trying compose himself so that no one would see him upset when we got there. I was doing the same. I wanted to forget everything that his parents said to us.

It wasn’t fair that they said all of that about Steve, and it wasn’t fair that they didn’t understand what we wanted. It wasn’t like I wasn’t going to school, Steve and I just wanted to give ourselves a fighting chance to make this work. We knew it would work. We wanted it to work.

Once we were at school and parked, Steve met me on the passenger side of his car.

“I dont want to talk about it anymore tonight,” he said quietly, “I just want to watch this game, pick up Dustin and be done with today. We can talk about it tomorrow when the shit storm has settled.”

I put my arms around his neck and he rested his hands on my waist, “Whatever you want, love,” I began, “but I want you to talk to me. Tomorrow or when you’re ready or whatever. I don’t want this to…bottle up inside you. I know you used to have to just keep what your parents have said to you and how they made you feel inside, but you don’t have to anymore. You can say anything you need to, to me. Okay?”

Without answering me he leaned down and kissed me softly, lips just grazing mine, “I love you, Lou,” he whispered.

“I love you too, Steve,” I repeated back.

We let go of each other and made our way into the noisy gym, hands locked together trying to put on brave faces, not letting anyone in on the fact that we just had the worst dinner party ever.

Once we found seats my mind wouldn’t stop reeling. I felt like I was in shock about what had transpired. I could understand to a very small extent that they were trying to help me, but I’m trying to help and give their advice, they were being so mean to Steve. And throwing his past back at him was uncalled for. That was something between the two of us. No one else.

Once Tammy Thompson was done the anthem and the game had started, I would look up to Steve and see him engrossed in the game, but the sadness was still evident in his eyes. Every little while I’d turn and look at him, most times he was watching the game, a few times gnawing at his lip, and only once he was looking back at me. I offered him a small smile, and he barely returned it.

I could almost see the gears turning in his head. He was so far away from right next to me.

The only time he showed some real emotion was when Lucas scored the game winning basket causing all of us in the crowd to go crazy along with the guys on the court. Steve and I were both cheering and jumping once the ball sank through the basket.

We went down and met him on the court, Steve patted his shoulder proudly, I pulled him into a hug and told him how proud I was of him.

Lucas looked around me then back to me, “The others?”

I sighed and shook my head, “I’m sorry, Lucas. But…Steve and I ….we’re so happy for you.”

He smiled sadly back to me and nodded uttering a small thanks before going back with his teammates.

I shook my head and looked up to Steve, “I can’t believe those two missed this,” I told him.

He shrugged limply, “At least we were here.”

He turned and started leaving the gym, with me following behind him heading outside towards the main school doors where we knew the club would be leaving from.

Again we didn’t speak, just walked next to each other in a stifling silence. There was definitely an awkwardly feeling between us now and I hated it. He was so worried about his parents making me change how I felt about Steve but he should have been reassuring himself.

“Louise!”

We both stopped and looked behind us, among the hoards of people I could see the school councillor Ms. Kelly smiling and waving to me.

“Hey, Ms. Kelly,” I smiled as she made it to Steve and I.

“Louise! I think some congratulations are in order! I heard you got into the universities you applied to! And a full ride scholarship to Purdue! That’s fantastic!”

Not this. Not now.

I glanced up to Steve and saw him looking at me wide eyed and his lips parted.

“What?” he asked quietly.

I stuttered trying to think of something, anything, “Steve,” was all that came out.

He looked so hurt and betrayed and I knew this was on me. I should’ve told him.

“I’m gonna wait for Dustin,” he said lowly before turning and walking away from me.

“Sorry, Lou. I thought he would’ve known by now,” Ms. Kelly explained.

I looked back to her and put a small fake smile on my face, “It’s okay! And yeah-yes, thanks so much, it was a um…surprise to say the least.”

“I’m assuming that’s where you’re going to commit to?” she questioned with a smile.

“No,” I began, looking behind me seeing Dustin standing with Steve about five feet from me, speaking to him and Steve had his eyes locked on where I was standing, “I’m staying local and going to Hawkins Community,” I said as I turned to face her again.

Her eyebrows went up in surprise, “Oh? This time last year you basically had your bags packed for Purdue,” she chuckled.

“Yeah, no, plans have changed so I’m really happy that I’m staying close to home!” I told her, trying to feign happiness.

“Well…if that’s what you want. But doesn’t hurt to think about it a little longer. You still have time to accept if you want,” she encouraged, putting a hand on my shoulder, “just do what makes you happy,” she said simply before turning and walking back into the throng of people.

I took a deep breath and turned, seeing Steve and Dustin both standing there looking at me. Dustin looking confused and Steve looked absolutely distraught. I walked towards them but Steve walked ahead of me, leaving my brother and I in his wake.

“How was the campaign? Did you finish?” I asked, trying to not draw attention to anything.

“Yeah. What’s going on with you and Steve? He never just…I dunno, doesn’t walk with you? Usually you two have at least some body part touching,” he said as we walked slowly towards the parking lot.

“We had dinner with his parents. Didn’t go great,” I sighed, crossing my arms watching Steve unlock his car and get into it, slamming the door behind him, “and some other stuff.”

“Other stuff?” he proded.

I rolled my eyes, “I got into a few universities. And a scholarship.”

“What?” he gasped, “Lou that’s…Lou thats great honestly. Congratulations.”

I smiled down at him, “Thanks, Dusty,” I told him, “I don’t think everyone is super stoked about it though.”

He sighed, “Don’t take it personal, I mean, it’s Steve. He’ll get over it.”

“But I don’t know if he’s mad at me or his parents? I just…need to talk to him,” I explained as we reached the car and got in.

Steve took off as soon as the doors were closed with the uncomfy tension continuing. So Dustin began prattling on about the campaign Eddie had put together and how they pulled Erica into it and they ended up winning on the last roll.

I engaged him a bit, telling him now Lucas had won the game for the team which he was happy for, but still happier that he went to Hellfire.

We pulled up to the house and Dustin got out quickly, leaving Steve and I alone.

“Are you okay?” I asked after taking off my seatbelt, turning to face him as best as I could.

“No,” he said quietly, “I -I’m not okay, Lou.”

My heart dropped. He was never really ever short with me. My heart began beating faster and my hands were beginning to sweat.

“Talk to me,” I begged, “however you’re feeling, we’ll fix it, Steve.”

“You didn’t tell me about the full ride, Lou,” he started, “why?”

I furrowed by brows and stared at him, he continued to look at me expectantly, “I - Steve I only found out about the universities and scholarship yesterday. I didn’t think the scholarship mattered because, like I told you this afternoon, those school didn’t matter because I’m staying here.”

“And what if you change your mind?” he wondered, gripping the steering wheel tightly, avoiding eye contact with me, “What if you accept and we go there and you hate it? What if-what if you’re absolutely miserable?” he let of the wheel and turned to me, “What if you regret saying no to Purdue to Indiana State or Notre Dame?”

“I’m not going to, Steve. I would never regret staying here with you and my family,” I rushed.

“But we wouldn’t know for sure until it happened,” he groaned, “I don’t want to hold you back!”

“You’re not!”

“I am! My folks were right! You’ve been dumbing yourself down to be with me! Spending your time helping me, trying to get me ready to go to a college. Helping me apply and helping with my essay-rewriting my essay. Filling out forms, just-God!” he shouted running a hand through his hair, looking away from me, “you’re the one that’s gotten me this and we don’t even know if I’ve gotten accepted. What if I get rejected, Lou?” he looked back to me.

“You’ll get in,” I said softly, “I’m not worried about that.”

“I am!” he exclaimed, “I’m absolutely terrified of not getting in! You got your letter a week ago, Lou,” he cried, “where’s mine? Why would they take me? I -I’m a total shitshow, Lou!

“And that’s not fair to you! You shouldn’t put all your shit you wanted to do on hold to see if your moron boyfriend gets into community college!“

“Steve! Stop!” I demanded, “You’re not a moron or a shitshow and I’m not putting anything on hold!”

He hesitated and looked to me again as his eyes filled with tears, “I just think…listen this isn’t about not loving you or-or not caring about you, Lou. It’s the opposite. You’re the only person for me…there’s no one else out there better than you.But there’s probably someone out there better for you other than me. Everyone is right, Lou. I’m not going anywhere. I’m destined to live and die in Hawkins and-“

“There’s nothing wrong with staying in Hawkins, Steve,” I urged.

“Yes there is, Lou, when you have the opportunity to get out of here! I don’t want you dealing with demogorgon and demodogs and the upside down and all that shit. You deserve to get out of Hawkins and be with someone who is literally going somewhere!” he shouted emotionally. His voice had cracked and I could hear the sadness in his voice.

“Isn’t it enough that I just want to be with you? Why doesn’t that count for something?” I asked, reaching for his hand.

He moved his hand back to the steering wheel, “I want you to have a shot! I want you to go to Purdue or Norte Dame or Indiana State! You’re too good for me and for fuckin Hawkins Community College!”

“But that shit doesn’t matter to me, Steve!”

“It matters to me, Louise! I want you to go to a school that you want to go to, that’s going yo be the best place for you! Not somewhere that you’re only going to because of me! That’s not fair to you!” he stated, avoiding my gaze.

“What you’re doing right now isn’t fair to me, Steve! That’s what’s not fair! You’re trying to act like a martyr acting like this is all for me without letting me have any input!” I shouted, “If it made sense then we coul discuss it, but this doesn’t make sense to me!”

“I’m sorry, Lou. This is what i want to do…I’m sorry. I just want you to have the space you need to make the best choice for you,” he stated quietly, his hands fidgeting on the wheel.

“So what? Are you-you’re breaking up with me? Forcing me out of this relationship-out of this town so I can go to a different school? The last thing I want from you is space, Steve!“ I told him as the tears spilled over my eyes.

He kept his eyes downcast, “Please look at me Steve. If you’re gonna do this, please look at me.”

He sighed deeply and looked at me, eyes full of tears ready to fall and a quivering bottom lip, “I’m sorry,” he said before the tears spilled over.

I wiped my cheeks, “So that’s it? We can’t even talk about it? This isn’t fair Steve.”

“But it’s right,” he told me, “you deserve so much better. You deserve someone who’ll actually do something with their life. It’s not fair to you.”

A small sob broke through as his tears spilled over, “You doing this isn’t fair. We can talk about this, Steve.”

“No,” he croaked as he hastily wiped his eyes, “because if we talk you’ll try to change my mind…this is for the best, Lou. Please.”

I leaned my head back against the head rest and openly sobbed as Steve sniffled from next to me. I finally pulled myself together to open the door to his car and get out, slamming it shut behind me. I stormed into my house and went straight to my room, sliding the door shut behind me and engaging the lock.

I collapsed into my bed and sobbed into my pillow, unsure if my mom or Dustin could hear me.

How could he do this? I couldn’t understand how he thought he was the only one that could make decisions like this in our relationship. That my feelings didn’t matter at all in this.

I understood why he was upset, after the things his parents said earlier in the evening I got it. But it really didn’t matter to me. Maybe hearing Ms. Kelly pushed him over the edge, but again…we could’ve talked through it. He didn’t have to end it like that.

We could’ve talked, we could’ve done something else besides breaking up.

Not we. Steve. Steve could’ve done something else besides breaking up with me.

My head was throbbing from the heavy sobbing in such a short period of time. I couldn’t believe it was over. I couldn’t believe he let outside opinions cloud his head, after eight months together and planning life in Hawkins together…I just couldn’t understand how he could do this without trying to talk about it first.

I couldn’t believe Steve Harrington broke my heart.

[katsuumi]

 # ! EYES ONLY FOR YOU . ❞

// MASTERLIST ! //

STARRING — KOZUME KENMA ; IWAIZUMI HAJIME ; TSUKKISHIMA KEI + OIKAWA TOORU .

SOLILOQUY — KENMA IS MY BOYFRIEND, BUT ANYWAYS, LET ME BE A REMINDER FOR YOU TO DRINK WATER AND TOUCH GRASS .

EPS. DESC — IN WHICH THESE HAIKYUU BOIS ARE JEALOUS OF SOMEONE HITTING ON THEIR S/O MAKING THEM REALLY POSSESSIVE 😻‼️

RATINGS — PG-16 ;; GN!READER — CURSE WORDS + A BIT SEXUAL WITH TSUKI IF YOU SWINT REALLY HARD, BESIDES THAT NONE .

## — K3NM4 ! !

↳ i would hate to be the guy hitting on you right now ↳ as soon as he sees you getting catcalled or get uncomfortable from some person flirting with you he will drop. every. fucking. thing. ↳ the sounds of someone hitting on you will definitely send chills down his spine ↳ after coming up to you and the person talking, he would come and just stare at them ↳ tell me he can’t literally kill you just by staring at you. he’s scary as hell ↳ his stare causing the person to stutter and tremble over their words, already feeling their stomach shrink ↳ as if that wasn’t enough to stare at them, he immediately comes and hugs you from behind crushing the others confidence completely

not many things could pull kenma away from his game, but no, this- this definitely could. “do your twitter dms work? if so, can i have your tag? i would love to hang out sometime” kenma perked up from his slouchy position in his seat. the questions asked by the currently faceless deep voice made him uncomfortable in his skin. he stood up and made his way to you two. his feet tapping the tiles of the store, catching your attention. “oh, h-hey, ken.” you nervously chuckled, acknowledging his presence. the mood of the entire room seemed to change as his eyes became fixated with the man in front of you. “um, a-anyways, you don’t have to - um - you don’t have to give it to me, that’s fine.” the stranger said, scratching his neck. you watched as he started to fiddle with the cotton fabric of his shirt, glancing at kenma’s stare and then back to the floor. “oh-“ kenma cut you off, finally seeming to be able to remove himself from his trance. “yeah, you don’t have to give it to him, babe.” he reassured you as a smug grew on his face, “uh, i guess-“ your boyfriend refused to let another word come out of the mans mouth. “anyways, i was making sure everything was alright over here.” he placed a kiss on your neck, “i wanted to be sure you were alright.” another kiss made it’s way on your jaw, you couldn’t help but melt into his embrace, completely forgetting about the guy who was hitting on you. the guy walked away, with no confidence to take with him. “are you alright?” kenma said, his soft golden eyes staring so intently into your own. “yeah, thanks. he was a pretty smooth guy.” “not better than me, though?” “yeah,” you chuckled, “no ones better than you, kenny”

## — 1W4ZUM1 ! !

↳ the possessiveness is unreal oml ↳ if he catches someone flirting with you- don’t expect a good ending ↳ he won’t let someone go after he knows they were/are trying to get with you

you weren’t ready to hear the question pop out of the strangers mouth, the conversation was so innocent until… “hey, can i have your number? you’re cute and i would love to hang out sometime.” you perked up, praying to god iwazumi did NOT just hear that shit. “oh, i-“ you were cut off by the touch of your boyfriend on your shoulder. you slowly gazed up at his face, scared to see what expression he was wearing. you watched as the veins on his neck popped out as well as the veins on his balled up fist. “iwa-“ “hey, they have a boyfriend - which is me - and i think you would be very happy if you left them alone right now because if you don’t, i will make sure that your life flashes bef-“ “ok, iwa, thanks i appreciate it, but it’s fine.” you nervously chuckled looking at the man in front of you, who somehow did not seem too threatened by iwazumi’s dark demeanor. “let them speak for themselves, can i have your number?” you felt iwazumi’s hand quickly remove from your shoulder, causing a fight or flight response in your body. you didn’t know if you should look the other way from the guy about to get his ass beat, or stop iwazumi from beating the guys ass.

## — T5UK15H1M4 ! ! ↳ tsuki isn’t going to get really jealous ↳ this bitch ↳ first of all, this boys pride is just 📈 no way he has any doubt in your relationship, he knows you’re his ↳ he would scoff at you getting hit on, but act like he doesn’t care ↳ but when he does get really jealous, it’s because the person hitting on you has no chill ↳ he would call them out, but won’t make a scene because again- my guy’s pride is up their with the eiffel tower ↳ he would become more affectionate, however ↳ so, when you get home, expect cuddles 

you walked slightly pass your boyfriend sitting on the couch to grab the remote, but you were thrown off course when tsukishima grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you into his embrace. you groaned, uncomfortable in the position you were in. “tsuki.” you said bluntly, hinting that you were uncomfortable. you felt his grip loosen, allowing you to adjust yourself. he leaned down to you resting on his chest and kissed your forehead and then your neck. a light moan escaped your lips “why are you so touchy? i mean, i’m not complaining, but…” he kissed your neck again, “because you’re mine.” huh? you sat up and turned towards him. you stared at him with confusion in your eyes with your eyebrows furrowed. “elaborate.” he rolled his eyes at your demand, becoming irritated just from recalling the situation “i didn’t like that guy flirting with you.” you couldn’t help but laugh at his blatant jealousy as you turned back around, sitting in his lap, missing that moment where you were being drowned in kisses. "you know i love you," "yeah, but that doesn't give him a right..." "yes, tsuki, i know." you turned your head to face him, "you're the only one i have eyes for. now, can you hold and kiss me again? i like that." you had to ask, who knew when the opportunity would present itself once again?

## — 01K4W4 ! ! ↳ just like tsukishima, his pride is unreal, he KNOWS FOR A FACT you’re his ↳ but you best believe he gets jealous ↳ and oh this dramatic ass boy- he’s kinda cute tho ↳ pretty hypocritical if you ask me, always with those damn fangirls, but anywho- ↳ get ready for him to cause a scene

the obnoxiously loud sounds of someone’s feet hitting the concrete caught your attention, but you were more caught off guard by the aggressive feel of arms pulling you in for an unnecessarily tight hug. “hey, kawa.” you mumbled into your boyfriends chest, “HEY, Y/N, I’M DONE GETTING THAT THING I NEEDED!!!” his scream scratched your ears, causing a chill to run down your spine. “seems to me, i’m the only thing you’re holding.” you felt cold hands caress your face, “ah, yes, because you’re more important than that.” he cooed, whilst placing a thousand kisses on you face. you felt his gorilla grip lossen as he turned his body to the man in front of you. you looked up at oikawa, feeling frightened by the calm murderous stare he was wearing, but then the corners of his mouth rose up, as if he were done planning something. “ooo, who’s that, y/n?” “oh, that’s-“ “anywho- nice meeting you we’ll be leaving now.” he cut you off, obviously not caring to know the identity of the stranger who was in front of you, he carried you two away “you should let me take you out on a date later, y/n”

© 2021 @katsuumi​​​ // do not repost, modify or plagiarize my work on any platforms. please refrain from copying my layout/theme without asking + do not translate without crediting me. i'm begging, please do NOT steal my work, trash bags.

[imagines-hoarder]

House Warming - Bucky Barnes

Summary: Hopping through some standout moments in making Bucky's apartment a place worth coming home to. (This definitely could have been a headcanon but I refuse to do headcanons at this time.)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count: 2.6 k

Warnings: fluff with a lil angst

A/N: I have finished all the assignments left for my degree and decided to sit down and write today. This is probably trash but idc because it has been written and therefore I may as well release it. It's been a while since I've written and years since I've truly tried dipping my foot into a different fandom, but I figured I'd give it ago. Please don't forget to leave comments, I love interacting with y'all. Thank you @bwbatta​ for the dividers! xoxox

Masterlist

It all started with a damn candle. A ‘sandalwood & vanilla orchid’ candle tucked away in a reused cyan jar.

“I found it at the art market down the street last weekend,” you said as you placed it in the corner of the living room window. “You know we have to support local business.”

“And I shouldn’t assume this is your way of telling me my place smells, right?” Bucky quipped from the kitchen island, a cup of coffee in his hand and a lazy smile on his face. He’d just gotten back from a 12-day mission with Sam, and the last thing he had on his to-do list was to buy candles.

The smile grew firmer as you put yourself into his arms. “Complete opposite, actually. I bought it cause I thought it smelled just like you.” You hid your face within his chest, and he thanked the stars that you couldn’t see the warmth rising in his cheeks. His barren apartment felt a little bigger with a candle in the windowsill.

From there it became decorative pillows… and a couch to hold them. The small living room had quickly become a mess by the time you both had brought it up to his fourth-floor apartment, furniture wrap and packing peanuts strewn everywhere.

“I still don’t know why you needed to buy a sofa this big,” Bucky grumbled as he leaned over the back of the beige three-seater, looking down at your splayed out across its cushions.

“Don’t get me wrong, babe. I love the transient bachelor look you’ve got going on here, but you need more furniture than an armchair,” you mumbled between heavy breaths as you tried to regain control from maneuvering the couch into the apartment.

“And the pillows?” A laugh fell from your lips as you watched him look at the indigo cushions with a remarkable amount of disdain. Who buys pillows made just to look nice on a couch?

“They add character.”

“I didn’t think character was an area we were lacking in. Transient bachelor, remember?” He walked around the couch and shifted you over so he could lay beside you. You instinctively curled into him as you both closed your eyes. For a second the place felt like home. “I also don't know how you plan for us both to fit on this couch every day along with the pillows.”

“Don’t worry about it,” You looked up from his chest with a mischievous glint that made his heart skip. “It’s a pullout bed too. I’m sure it’ll be firm enough even for you.”

The home improvements didn’t stop there, but Bucky refused to admit how much he enjoyed them.

He liked having a place and person to come home to. After you had bought neutral bedding for his room, you’d spent an evening putting together ‘his and hers’ trestle bookcases for either side of the bed. He’d try to keep up his crabbish demeanor as you argued that ‘you needed a place to set your books for when you slept over,’ and a side table could no longer contain the small collection you had spilling over. Even still, he couldn’t find it in himself to banter much about the minor changes you made to make the place feel lived in.

And God, did he love living with you around. Between missions, his continued therapy, and trying to find his place in a world that had tripled in opportunity since his youth, he knew that he never had to question who he was and where he fit in when he walked through that door. You still occasionally slept at your own apartment when he was away, but he could always count on you being asleep in his bed by the time he came home.

One toothbrush in a glass became two, and from there, hand creams, face masks, and cotton pads cluttered the bathroom counter, packed away in their clear containers. You had made sure to keep lavender bath salts on hand for the late-night baths you took together when he woke up in a panic, unable to close his eyes again for fear of falling back into a nightmare.

It took time and working through plenty of hesitation before Bucky could progress from sleeping on the pull-out sofa to the bed, but ever since, you found your nights attended by restlessness whenever you weren’t wrapped in his arms.

Once your lease was up and you had a lengthy conversation about your inability to rest without him, you quickly filled the apartment with brown boxes. Bucky had been no less than astounded by how much you fit into them. From then on, no nook or cranny was without a vase or shelf.

“How many mugs does one house need,” Bucky asked skeptically while he continued to carefully pull them from their paper wrappings.

“Oh, come on! They’re fun!” You exclaimed, wrapping an arm around his waist as you took the Charlie Brown mug from his metal palm. “Plus, we go through enough coffee around here to justify some extra mugs.”

After you put the mug into the lowest shelf of the cabinet, you busied yourself with filing away the spices one cabinet over. No matter how much he tried, Bucky couldn’t pull his eyes away from you, lost in your own world as you chipped away at unpacking your belongings, making yours his, and vice versa. The domesticity in the little things you did was something he could get used to, and he wanted to return the feeling of normalcy as much as he could. He was far from the average boyfriend, but you remind him that could be a good thing. You never wanted to be average, but in these small moments, as you both did what normal couples do, he felt that he could create a new normal with you.

“So your Christmas gift came in already, and it’s too big to hide.” Your awkward tone carried over the phone as he exited a station ten minutes away from the apartment. Even though his neck ached and the cold nipped at the top of his ears, he couldn’t stop himself from releasing a breathy laugh.

“I thought you said you were good at this gift-giving thing, doll,” he teased you as he maneuvered his way to your shared apartment.

“Oh, don’t you fret, baby. I am the best gift-giver in all of New York City. I just slightly miscalculated how big this thing was and have realized it won’t fit into our closet.”

He tsked with a smirk on his face. “If you say so.”

“Hey, you gave me my Christmas gift a week ago.”

“Yeah, that’s because I didn’t know if I’d be back before Christmas.”

“Well, you will be, and I’m glad you are,” your voice softened lovingly as he pulled out his keys to the front of the building.

Bucky had gotten used to your love, but he’d vow to never take it for granted. All the pain he’d endured had somehow led him to you, the person who didn’t see his broken pieces as a burden or a project but as a potential to be whatever he desired.

When he hung up the call and unlocked the apartment, his brows furrowed into one; the apartment was pitch black. It was only when he heard your soft footstep walking towards the entrance that his face relaxed.

Before he could even kiss you, you had your palms firmly placed over his eyes. “No peeking; your gift is in the living room.”

The uncertainty in what you could have got him made his stomach clench. “Is it an animal?”

You slowly dragged him through the front hallway, making sure to avoid crashing into the entryway storage table. “I’m sorry to say it’s not alive.”

“Is it a nice welcome-home spread with candles, fruit, and the pullout bed all set up?”

He could feel your eyes roll to completion. “Easy there, sergeant. That’s for later.” You pulled him down to sit on the couch, and he kept his eyes closed as you pulled your palms away, moving to turn on a lamp. “Okay, Buck. open up.”

When he opened his eyes, it took him a moment to understand what he was seeing nestled against the wall; when he did recognize it, he could only form two words “Holy shit.”

“Holy shit indeed.”

He was quick to stand up and cross the room, eager to get a good look at the walnut centerpiece. “Does it work?”

You scoffed as you moved to kiss his cheek. “What kind of girlfriend would get her ancient boyfriend a broken phonograph console?”

He didn’t even attempt to answer as he bent down to wrap his arms around you, his lips eager to find yours. “A fucking Magnavox radio and phonograph,” he mumbled against your lips.

“A working Magnavox radio and phonograph, you mean.” When you pulled away and saw that his face held a glow reserved only for special occasions, you knew you had made the right choice. “I’ve got some records wrapped up if you want to open those now too.”

You yelped in surprise as he picked you up and made his way towards your bedroom. “I’ve got something else I’d like to unwrap first.”

Bucky Barnes had grown up in a period when the average family could seldom afford nice things or much of anything at all. The Great Depression has resulted in the slogan ‘Make it do or Do without,” being ingrained into what memories he still had, and 'doing without' had become commonplace for the Barnes household.

That’s why every gadget and gizmo you added to your household left him in awe. For much of his life, including the decades he spent as a weapon for Hydra, he hadn’t been allowed to call anything his own; he was still getting used to living so plentifully, both in love and in life. But now, he could barely move and he thought it had all been taken away from him.

The attack was supposed to have been contained, at least three miles away from the apartment. Anything less, and he would have made you visit your family upstate instead of just suggesting it. By the time Sam had told him that there’d been some confirmed damage within a block of the apartment, Bucky was already on his way home. He couldn’t think of anything but the worse: you trapped in a collapsing apartment building or pulling up to find no building there at all.

He felt his lungs fill with air again as he pulled up to your building, completely intact regardless of the severe damage less than a five-minute walk away. It felt like both seconds and hours between when he parked his outside and unlocked the front door.

“He doesn’t have his phone on him, mom. How am I supposed to…” you trailed off from your call as he walked into the living room, turning your head away from the Breaking News report you’d been glued to for the last hour. “Wait, I’ll call you back. Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll call you back.” Your eyes never left his as he walked over to you, hanging up the phone with worry in your eyes. “Buck, are you oka-”

You couldn’t even finish your sentence before he pulled you off of the couch and into his arms. His grip was less reserved than he usually kept, but he made sure not to hurt you, eager to keep you in his arms, where he knew you were safe. A single tear fell from the corner of his eyes as he realized the real possibility that he could have lost you if you lived even 5 minutes closer to the attack. You stayed like that for a while, gathered tightly in his arms as you both settled onto the floor You didn’t push him to verbalize his fear; you already understood it. And it took this occurrence for him to realize he never wanted to experience this feeling again.

Bucky was quiet for the rest of the evening, and while it worried you, his fear had been evident enough not to require questioning. The city-wide cleanup had lasted all hours of the night; for the first time in all the years you had lived in the city, the sounds of the whirring of vehicles clearing debris off the street had been too close to ignore. The sun was rising before a single word was said between you and Bucky, tangled together on the sofa as the first ray of light made itself known.

“You’ve spent so much time piecing this place together, doll.” His voice was raspy. You know he hates when you see him cry, but his pain was always evident in his voice. “And it could have been all wiped away in seconds.” You let a heavy silence settle between you as you traced a pattern into his shoulder. He couldn’t bear to say it, but you knew what he meant: You could have been gone within seconds. “I just… I don’t ever want to feel like this again.”

You’d both gone through so much to make your relationship work. Nearly normal was as close as you would ever attain to being an average couple. The distance, the days without contact, and the ever-present fear that anything could pull you away from one another was something that had taken time to work through.

You looked around the living room and saw the place you had built together. There were photos and books scattered on any flat surface, a leftover mug half-filled with cold tea, and a record left out on the phonograph. The apartment looked like what love felt like; a messy combination of everything you and Bucky. But this apartment could not contain everything that ‘home’ was; only Bucky could do that.

The words fell from your mouth before you could restrain them. “Maybe we should move.”

Your eyes found each other, and you both sat in silence, though it felt lighter, invigorated with the new proposition.

Before he even responded, you could see tension dissolve from his shoulders. “Where do you want to move?”

You hadn’t thought that far ahead, only being able to provide him with a shrug. “I don’t know… maybe upstate, maybe somewhere else.”

“Your mom would like you being Upstate.”

“My mom would love us living next door too, but I don’t see that in the cards anytime soon.” You got a ghost of a smile for that.

“We could probably afford a house if we moved out there,” he said as he moved his lips to meet your forehead.

“Buck, I’d move anywhere with you. As long as we have each other, then we have all we need to rebuild this place.”

He pressed soft kisses to the crown of your head, and you swore you felt his chest flutter. “Tomorrow, I’m gonna look for some places, bigger ones too.” He tilted your head up to find your eyes, and you were sure that all of the love you carried for each other was incredibly visible at that moment. “You have made this apartment something worth coming home to. Now let me give you a house to make a home.” Your skin tingled with adoration as you pulled him as close as possible, burying your face into his neck.

You didn’t want to let go. You wanted to lay in this room, in this bed, and in this moment until the end of time, but you knew that something bigger and better was on the horizon for you and Bucky.

“All I heard is that you’re buying me a house.” His laugh was music to your ears.