#(That’s also half a joke I’m just neutral on most of the other characters I don’t love)

[cq-studios]

For the Kingdom Hearts ask game: 3 and/or 5 for the general asks!

(For the KH ask game that it’s not letting me link for whatever reason??)

3. Who's your favorite character?

Oh no. The cursed question (/j)

Uhhh…. Uhhhhh…. UX, next question lol

So I’m actually awful at choosing favourites, my top however many characters are so close it could actually turn on a dime. Like what pushes a character over others is generally who I’m talking about in the moment. So here’s a list, in no specific order, of my top characters that could be my favourite at any given second.

Ephemer, Skuld, Player, Brain, Ven, Lauriam, Strelitzia, Elrena/Larxene, Luxu, Baldr, and Xion.

5. Favorite world?

You know how I just said I was bad at choosing favourites, we’ll forget that because Daybreak Town. No long lists. No question. It’s Daybreak Town.

I know that place in and out. I love its messed up culture, the colours of the buildings, and the music, and I could go on forever.

Excluding that though, Traverse Town.

And only including Disney Worlds, Kingdom of Corona. Sora and Repunzel’s interactions are so cute and fun, and we get to see Marluxia? I love that world so much ^^

[yinemw]

𝐚𝐧𝐱𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲

context: taking care of bf Tamaki when he’s anxious (gender neutral reader)

warnings: none

character: Tamaki Amajiki from MHA

m.list

“Oh Tamaki” you say softly, walking up to the poor boy who was standing up against the wall. Head rested against the cold stone, hands in his pockets as his body quivered ever so slightly. Mirio had texted you that he was having one of his ‘meltdowns’ again, knowing you always manage to make him feel better. “Hey, it’s me”

“…hey” he replied, taking a step back from the wall. Knowing what was coming next, it had become a habit of some sort for the two of you, almost a routine. Moving to stand in front of him, you let Tamaki rest his forehead against yours instead of the wall. Hands wrapped around your waist instead of being stuffed in his pockets. He wasn’t a pda type of guy, but it was better than standing alone against a wall.

Your arms circle around his shoulders, pulling him even closer. His eyes close and you feel his body calm down. “So, what happened?”

“Oh you know…the usual” he mumbles, arms tightening a little around you. He liked the contact of your body against his, to feel the warmth radiating from you. With his eyes closed, all he has to focus on was your breath fanning his face and your sweet voice reassuring him. “I just want to go home”

You can’t help but let out a soft chuckle, rubbing his tense back with your fingers. “I know you do, but the day isn’t finished yet. We have one more class to attend, and after that we can go home, okay?”

“Not okay” he shakes his head slightly, leaning his head down to your shoulder instead and squeezing you in his arms suddenly. Feeling your heartbeat slowly sync up with his own. His heartbeat slowing down the longer you stayed standing like that, in each others arms. “They don’t look like potatoes Y/n, and I freeze up, unable to do anything”

You did truly feel bad for your boyfriend, his anxiety always eating up at him, making his daily life more difficult then it should be. But sometimes it also happened to be a little funny. Potatoes? You had heard that one before, first time he met you he had mumbled the same thing. Calling you a pretty potato and running off in embarrassment when he realized he had said the words out loud. “Maybe that’s a good thing? Talking potatoes would be creepy” you mumble into his pointy ear, continuing to rub your fingers into the muscles of his back.

Tamaki shudders, burying his head deeper into your neck. Eyes closed shut so all he saw was black and all he felt was you. “Let’s go home”

“Where exactly is home?” You ask softly, it’s not like you two lived together, but it seemed like recently you hadn’t been at your own place for ages. Always going over to Tamaki’s place, sleeping in his bed with him. Half of your clothes were in his closet and all toiletries in his bathroom.

“Wherever you are” he replies, not realizing the effect it had on you. He was being fully serious, meaning it wholeheartedly.

“What? That’s so cheesy…” you laugh nervously, trying to hide the fact you felt a clear blush on your cheeks.

“Is it?” He asks panicked, lifted his head from your shoulder, eyes slightly wide, looking into yours to see if he had done anything wrong to upset you or make you uncomfortable.

“No no! I was joking, it was cute. You feel like home too, why do you think I spend most of time at your place?”

His panic seems to fade, heartbeat still racing though, but for other reasons now. “O-oh, yeah, I like having you at my place”

You can’t help but smile, nodding your head in agreement. “Okay you know what, let’s call in sick for the last lesson today, I can say I got a fever and needed someone to take me home, and that someone is you, okay?”

He seems to light up immediately, letting out a relived sigh. “Yes please, I also need to buy some takoyaki on our way home”

“That’s fine, I’m pretty hungry anyways” you take his hand into yours and start walking with him. Leaning over and trying to press a kiss to his lips, you barely graze his lips before he pulls away.

“Y/n!! We’re in public!!” He covers his face in embarrassment and you don’t hold back your laugh, pulling him into a hug. Placing kisses all over his soft skin.

“I will always understand your anxiety and take care of you, but like hell I’m not gonna kiss my boyfriend no matter where we are. That’s just something you have to get used to”

Tamaki lets out a sigh, knowing you were right, he did have to get used to it. He couldn’t picture his life without you, and if it meant getting embarrassed in public by your kisses just to see your smile, he’d let you do it any time.

[callsign-rogueone]

study season

fourth wing characters (Aaric, Bodhi, Brennan, Dain, Garrick, Imogen, Liam, Mira, Rhiannon, Ridoc, Sawyer, Sloane, Violet, and Xaden) x reader the ways our faves help you study for exams. words: ~900 🏷: no book spoilers, no triggers. gender neutral. and I included the girls this time!! some of these can be read as platonic and others mention kisses / cuddles, implying you’re a couple. idk, I just work here. I’m really liking this format lately, and it’s (fairly) quick and easy so you can expect more of these in the future while I procrastinate all the girlfriendverse chapters and smut I have to write lol

First, the more studious of the bunch:

Brennan is all-in, no hesitation, pulling up a chair next to you and learning this with you for moral support, but also for fun (can you believe this guy?) though you suppose it’s easier to enjoy this if it doesn’t count for a grade. Either way, he’s a very nice study partner, and he encourages you to take breaks every hour / chapter / etc. Brings snacks, too.

Violet somehow already knows all of the material, and explains it better than the textbook or the professor. Walks things back if you don’t get it and gets into the why and how, which so many teachers skip over, even though it helps explain the what (pet peeve of mine showing here lol). 

Aaric’s study skills are unmatched -- years of the best private tutors money can buy really paid off. Teaches you new strategies that you’ve never heard of in your life, and when you ask, he admits a bit shyly that he came up with it himself, but it works, and you get it done in half the time you would have before. (work smarter, not harder, baby)

Rhiannon gives you the pep talk of your life (we all need a Rhiannon in our lives) and convinces you that you’ve got this. Packs you a little snack for the day of your exam with a little note reminding you that you know this, just breathe and think. 

Xaden sees you struggling and forces you to take a break. During said break, he’s reading the book himself and figuring out what exactly has you so stressed and exhausted. Breaks down the tasks into smaller, more manageable steps and guides you through it -- “find three reasons why XYZ happened.” done with that? “Now make them into paragraphs.” etc etc, and an hour later, you have a passable essay. 

Dain is taking this more seriously than you are, and his discipline is like no other; you’re not stopping until the work is done, or until midnight, whichever comes first (because sleep is important for the brain, or whatever. Definitely not just because he misses you and wants to cuddle). 

Garrick may have no idea what you’re talking about, but he suffers through it with you, offering to let you explain things to him, because teaching is a good way to test if you understand something. Though you get what you pay for -- he’s a total smartass about it, asking questions about the littlest details even if they’re common knowledge -- he’s gotta be thorough, right? 

Ridoc may be the class clown type, but he’s smarter than a lot of people think. He comes up with a bunch of jokes that actually help you remember things. Somehow manages to relate the most complex topic in your book to a sandwich, and it actually works. He’s incredibly smug about this for the rest of the week, especially when you get the highest score in the class (he’ll take payment in kisses, thank you.)

Bodhi makes flashcards with you, quizzing you and giving you a kiss if you get it right (this definitely is not a distraction, and things definitely don’t escalate from here, nope.) He’s also really good at proofreading essays, and gives excellent feedback regarding the structure and the order of the information.

Liam sits there with you all the while, completely silent, working on one of his wood carvings at the other end of the table, but you know he’s there and he’s watching -- and that provides a healthy amount of peer pressure and keeps you on task. He’s an incredibly observant person, and he can see the stress building; he knows when to intervene and suggest that you take a break.

Sloane is the best person to commiserate with. She doesn’t want to be doing this either, but she’s also incredibly stubborn, and she doesn’t give up; after a healthy amount of complaining, she’s forcing you both to keep trying until it works / until it’s done, and then you’re treating yourselves to something for getting it over with, because you deserve it.

Sawyer is gentle and supportive, having a heart-to-heart conversation with you and reminding you that yes, this is important, but the world will not stop turning if you fail one exam. He knows how it feels to be compared to his peers, especially in how long it takes you to accomplish something (poor bb) and doesn’t want you stressing yourself out about that, either. 

Imogen is the opposite, all tough love, giving you gentle but firm reminders: “you didn’t make it this far just to give up,”, “I know you can do this, so do it,” but she balances it out with tender affirmation when you’re done. She’ll even let you skip out on training for the day since you’ve been studying so hard (and she takes training seriously, so this is more of a reward than it seems). 

Mira’s default approach is similar to Imogen’s, but she can see that you’re reaching your limit and dials it back, being more gentle with you and doing whatever you need -- encouragement? someone to just sit there? help / explanation / etc? she’s got you covered. herds you into bed at a reasonable hour so you’ll be well rested for the classes and exams.

And all of them are incredibly proud of you for working so hard and getting good grades 🤍

[hydroelectricjaya]

I have finished finally finished the first 10 episodes of Ninjago Dragons Rising season 2. Wow. I’ve never been into Ninjago for the lore, only for the jaya, but now the lore is calling to me.

My thoughts on DR Season 2:

Nya being the only one to snap out of the weird energy draining plant of despair because the thought of Jay forgetting her is inconceivable. 💀💀💀

And then we find out that it was the “Test of Fears”. Does this mean Nya secretly fears Jay forgetting her and falling out of love with her?

We are not ready for the upcoming jaya angst.

The concept of the source dragons is awesome. I like that they have unique titles such as life motion, strength, energy, and we have yet to find out the names of the other three.Some people are theorizing that the core dragon of strength is Raz’s master, but I think that’s too on the nose and doesn’t quite fit with all the information we’ve learned so far. 

The next gen of ninja are really starting to grow on me. I wasn’t that excited about them during season one, however, season two has allowed their personalities to shine, and I’m excited about all of their character arcs. 

Bonzel is a spell. Interesting. Season two is diving into both high-tech and theoretical physics/science, but also the occult. I love the “her?” joke about Jordana (Arrested Development reference ICU) but also, she is gifted in both tech and magic. Laugh all you want about everyone forgetting her name but she is very powerful. 

But back to Bonzel, who turned out to be the MVP of these first 10 episodes of season two, the fact that she was a spell that became sentient is giving me sci-fi A.I. vibes. Kai might have been sacrificed for a forbidden five member, but Bonzel is the one who closed the portal and is now with Kai, therefore the variables have changed. We don’t have to wait for another blood moon for the portal to be opened. Plus Jordana got possessed by either a fragment of the portal or one of the forbidden five.

Here’s my prediction for the next 10 episodes: the most entertaining outcome is the most likely. How does Bonzel and Kai escape the nether purgatory? Obviously they’re not gonna wait for another millennia or two for the next blood moon. Somehow the portal will be opened again so they can extract Kai and Bonzel. And who else has all powerful portal technology? The Administration. Bonzel is now an accessory to the capture of Zane. The funniest way to extract Bonzel from this purgatory is for the Administration to apprehend her. 🤷‍♀️

Speaking of the Administration, who is excited for more than 33 seconds of Jay on screen? We found out some juicy details. He knows his name is Jay Walker. He knows he can control lightning and we know now that he hates his job and is just there for the paycheck (I can relate). 

This makes Jay joining Raz’s team, if it is even him, more interesting. Maybe he leaves the Administration because Raz offers him a better job or maybe he gets an invite to the tournament of source dragons and is a neutral party. I’m excited to see the second half of season two because it’s not as predictable as we once thought it was. 

But if Jay does end up joining Raz’s team, I’m excited for the jaya angst. If you’re never fantasized about hatefucking a sexy member of the supervillain group that hates you, have you even lived?

Tell me your thoughts and theories on next the ten episodes of season 2.

Unrelated: On April 8th CERN is turning back on the large hadron collider, same day as the total solar eclipse.

[pillow-anime-talk]

really funny!s/o.

request @cadetsfanfictionblog12​: hi there, i’m luna, i saw that requests are open may i request headcannons for hifumi, doppo and sasara with an funny s/o?

# tags: headcanons; current relationships; light romance; fluff; comedy; jokes; kisses; sfw

includes: gender neutral reader ft. hifumi izanami, doppo kannonzaka & sasara nurude {hypmic}

author’s note: hiii, luna! thank you for your request!

— HIFUMI

↘ Hifumi loves your humor and whenever he has a bad time, he comes to talk to you and listen to your pretty voice. In addition to being his mental support and the person whose advice always goes to his heart, you are also his spiritual helper and you make his moments of uncertainty or stress disappear with yours laughter and a few innocent jokes.

↘ You’re definitely a master of situational jokes and you love making silly faces that only make Hifumi die laughing and fall in love with you even more.

↘ I think you’re the funny half of the two of you. Hifumi also tries to make up or repeat the jokes he hears from others, but definitely no one (even him) can beat you.

↘ And even if someone tried to do it, you have even better stories up your sleeve that the world is definitely afraid to hear.

— DOPPO

↘ You can’t joke well with Doppo, because you don’t want him to take things personally, so instead of stupid anecdotes and remarks, you just try to make his time better with stupid riddles or crazy stories in which you are the main character.

↘ Your boyfriend appreciates it a lot and always gives a little smile when you say something funny or really stupid. You also often try to cheer him up with silly memes or funny pictures, which fortunately he understands most of the time.

↘ And in the worst cases, when your boyfriend is really mentally unwell or doesn’t want to meet people even his friends or family, you just send him your own photos that instantly cheer him up. You often decorate them with stickers or additional text, and that’s enough to put a sincere, though shy, smile on his gloomy but sweet face.

↘ No matter what you tell him or send him via phone, or record with your front camera, the man really loves it and it makes work, a lonely evening in his own apartment, and even a failed performance a little less sad for him.

— SASARA

↘ The young comedian never thought he’d ever meet someone whose humor was similar or even identical to his own. For Sasara, it was... a huge shock.

↘ He was very impressed the first time he went to your show with his two male friends. Your stand up show made the whole audience laugh and then even brought a slight smile to the faces of the Dotsuitare Hompo members. After the show, he got into your private locker room, and there you exchanged your phone numbers and also talked about performing together.

↘ And so after a few weeks you not only worked together, but also lived together in a relationship full of romance and also laughter, jokes. You loved doing silly antics to your boyfriend, and Sasara liked it when you listened to his next show schedule and helped him come up with funny situations.

↘ People valued you not only for being a good duo, but above all for your extraordinary humor and funny situations that often happened on stage by accident.

[enbyonsteriods]

About me

Hi, it’s your tumblr hellhole guy. (All important text is in red, if you are just skimming through this post)

My main name is Arson, but some other names include: Ollie, Mellon, Wynter, Buddy, and Seek (based off another one of my usernames). (Also, I don’t mind you calling me by my username.)

My pronouns are basically everything but she/her (which is including of neopronouns), and I’m VERY uncomfortable with feminine terms like “girl” or “mrs”. I don’t care if you call me a “boy” or “mr”, but I really like gender neutral terms.

For more information about my identity, go to my pronouns page: en.pronouns.page/@enbyonsteriods

What’s below is kind of long, so hit “Keep reading” at your own risk

I have a very simple do not interact (DNI) list: if you’re a bigot, get out. That’s it.

If you are part of the DNI list, (how are you even on tumblr?) please don’t interact. If you do I will block you (that isn’t a threat, just go away plz)

Oh, and if I reblog anything from somebody in my DNI list and you (the reader) know that they are, PLEASE privately message me and tell me!!!

I lurk in fandoms that I’m interested in, and reblog posts of fandoms that I really like or am hyperfixated on.

Fandoms I currently am interested in/really like/am hyperfixated on (IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER):

Object Show Community (mostly Battle for Dream Island and Inanimate Insanity)

Vocaloid/Vocal synths

Jujutsu Kaisen

The Disastrous Life of Saiki K.

Honkai: Star Rail

Delicious in Dungeon

[BOTH ASKS AND SUBMISSIONS ARE CLOSED RIGHT NOW, SORRY] I would really like if someone were to ask me a question about myself, or maybe even request something for me to draw (but don’t expect it to be too good, I’m better at graphic design and drawing objects than drawing people and animals)

I like making original characters (OCs), but I struggle with designing them (especially clothes since most of what my characters wear is utterly boring, unless I use a reference photo).

I almost always use tone indicators/tags to help indicate what message I’m trying to convey. I mostly use “/j” (joking), “/hj” (half-joking), “/srs” (serious) “/sarc” (sarcastic), “/gen” (genuine), “/pos” (positive), “/neu” (neutral), and “/neg” (negative). I won’t ever use “/srs” as “/j” because it’s confusing for people, including myself.

As my last pinned post said, please don’t follow me unless you want to see random stuff that I’m hyperfixated on in your following tab. I won’t be reblogging things from certain fandoms once my hyperfixation ends, so don’t follow me if you want to see reblogs of a specific fandom!!! That is, unless you want to be friends/mutuals or you like the memes/hyperfixation stuff that I reblog.

I will continue to update this post if I need to add anything or change anything.

[waifuoftomonori]

Thoughts on Scarlet Fate Characters (Love Interests and Shiki)

Before I get into the nitty-gritty: these opinions are based on incomplete information. No, I have not read all of the characters’ routes or stories, and yes, I am biased by the ones I have read. (I don’t know if anyone else ever grows so deeply attached to one or two characters from an otome that reading any other character’s route becomes painful, because the whole time you’re thinking of how wrong it feels to be with anyone other than the character you really care about, and they must be so hurt and/or lonely in this route, and if you do interact with them the interactions will probably revolve around the designated love interest and not even a simple check-up on your true love’s well-being— or if that’s just a me thing. But yes, that happened to me with Scarlet Fate, so I’ve only read a couple of routes and have no desire to complete any others.)

Furthermore, I apologize if my assessment of certain characters comes off as rude or disrespectful. Sometimes it’s a joke, for what that’s worth. Obviously, you are allowed to disagree, love whoever you love, etc. At this point it would be cool just to meet someone else who’s still as obsessed with at least one of these characters as much as I am. Or, well, even just half as much. If you are a fellow Hiiro no Kakera 4 enjoyer, even in September of 2023 (or later!), please message me and we can gush together. I know I write a lot of sexy stuff, but I’m happy to keep the conversation on strictly PG topics if you’re not comfortable with that.

Sorry that took so long. Onto the opinions. (Warning: some of the details might be a bit NSFW.)

Shiki (a.k.a. Princess Tamayori)

One of the most badass otome heroines I’ve ever encountered, and definitely the edgiest (but in a good way.)

Cool enough to get her own CG. (Technically multiple CGs, if you count the one from the summer festival story where she’s performing the dance.)

Single-handedly made Gentoka’s route enjoyable.

Hard for me to assign a DnD class to. (I’ve spent probably an abnormal amount of time thinking of what class everyone would be.) I can see elements of Cleric, Fighter, Paladin, and Warlock (probably the celestial kind for the healing). Maybe she’s a multiclasser or took some feats or something.

Tomonori

The guy who ruined all other otome love interests for me, for which I am eternally grateful.

Definitely a top.

Fully clothed eye candy.

Halfling (reskinned as short human) mastermind rogue, easy. —Yes, he’s a halfling. You read what happens in Tomonori’s story and tell me he doesn’t display both a notable resistance to intimidation attempts, most of them by a man twice his size, and an uncanny amount of good fortune right when he needs it. Probably a lightfoot because they’re the sneakier ones.

HIs DnD alignment is a more complex question. Where to start? He’s perfectly willing to either destroy or save the world at the request of the woman he loves. He’s willing to kill innocents for her, if necessary, and he encourages people to sacrifice themselves for her (as with the suicide-bombing mages in one of the early prolonged fights against the Void), but all of the people who die for the Princess do it knowingly, of their own free will, and he’s not happy about their deaths. He’s also fully willing to sacrifice himself for this purpose. He’s a government figure and comes up with a lot of plans and schemes, which are usually logical and well-thought-out, but he’s also secretly dedicated himself to freeing Shiki and dismantling the whole system from within. Oh, and he commits outright document theft in Akifusa’s route. I think he’s mostly a good person, but I also can’t overlook that he knowingly bound himself to a Chaotic Evil artifact bent on ending the world and allowed it to possess him for a time. For the purpose of destroying it. …I’m going to be a little controversial and say True Neutral, although I think you could make a convincing argument for several alignments.

Surprisingly kinky. His route alone includes bondage, punishments, controlling people via the Power of Words, emotional sadism, bodily possession (as the one possessed), drinking blood via kiss, and plenty of teasing. …Do I exaggerate his dominant tendencies in my fanfiction? Yes. Is there a solid basis within the game for that interpretation? Definitely. Does the list of kinks grow even longer in the CD Drama? You bet it does. (He would probably also enjoy vanilla sex, though, and it’s hard to imagine him going in for physical sadism with Shiki, for obvious reasons.)

Akifusa

Sunshine-and-puppies cinnamon roll boi. Deserves head pats.

Definitely a bottom.

Barbarian who thinks he’s a paladin (or at least a fighter who adheres strictly to an Oath of Honor) because he doesn’t learn how to fully rage until halfway through his own route. Lawful Good, of course.

Zero sex appeal… until you realize you’re looking at him from the wrong perspective, and he’s a sub with high pain tolerance, incredible stamina, and insane recovery time (canonically from near-death experiences, but it’s never specified that he doesn’t also recover from orgasm at the same rate :P). Oh yeah, and he transforms into his uber-buff ancestor with horns and fangs when he “rages”, so you could play with that aspect of it too.

Gentoka

One of the three characters whose main routes I’ve fully read.

I found him boring. (Read his route if you want to see Shiki kick ass, though.)

The most interesting thing about him is Aterui.

Probably a wildfire druid. Alignment: Chaotic Good? He really likes fire and ignores societal rules, but meeting (and instantly falling in love with) Shiki somehow made him reconsider most of his life’s choices and decide that some humans are okay after all.

Furutsugu

Pox-ridden whore who committed two unforgivable acts at the end of Gentoka’s route: 1. killing the cinnamon roll and 2. indirectly killing the best boi as a result. (True, you’re left to read between the lines for why Tomo suddenly “disappeared” after his best friend got murdered protecting Shiki from this bourgeoisie bastard, and the woman he’s loved for years gets hitched with some random fox guy she met in the woods a couple months ago… but personally, I think it’s pretty obvious. He doesn’t feel loved or needed, it’s probably torturing him to see Shiki with Gentoka but he knows she’s happy now and doesn’t want to make a scene, and Akifusa’s no longer there to talk him out of it and bolster his spirits with unflagging optimism. So yeah, fuck Furutsugu. Not in the way he’d want.)

I kinda love to hate him, though. He’s great inspiration for fanfic plots, largely because he still hits on Shiki after she’s married, and hating / mistrusting him is one of the few things Tomo and Aki agree on without question.

One of the high-rizz spellcasters. Not Warlock— Sorcerer or Bard? The source of his magic’s probably closer to Sorcerer (I think; I’ve never played his route), but he acts more like a stereotypical Bard. He’s flirty and plays the flute. Would gladly seduce a dragon if given the opportunity. Alignment: I’ll tentatively guess Chaotic Neutral. (Tempted to knock him down to Evil out of spite, but I’ll resist the urge.)

Kuso

Darling of the Internet. Everyone online who’s played Scarlet Fate, other than me, seems to have something nice to say about him.

I’ve heard his route is good, for people who haven’t fallen so desperately in love with Tomonori that the mere thought of “romancing” someone else breaks their hearts. Go play it and tell me if Tomo has any cute / snarky / sweet / sexy / romantic / just Tomo moments in it.

Probably some kind of -dere? He gives -dere vibes. I think there’s one that acts like a snob on the outside but secretly has a soft center. Yes. That is probably what he is.

From the scant knowledge I have of him, he uses magic to gain information a lot and is the only one who actually studies it. Divination Wizard. Alignment: Lawful Neutral, maybe? In Chapter 3 of Tomo’s route, he suggests they just let the tsuchigumo die and focus on the demon until Tomo points out that means they won’t be fighting the demon with full firepower. His objection to Tomo’s sly suggestion to “eliminate” the tsuchigumo is solely logical: that’s causing the exact thing Tomo claimed his plan would avoid. He gives off strong “rational scientist” vibes (layered on top of the -dere vibes).

Kodonomae

Shirtless eye candy.

Seems like a chill dude.

Eldritch Knight Fighter, maybe. Mostly uses a giant anime sword but can use some kind of water magic effectively. Alignment: no clue, but not Evil and probably not Lawful.

Aterui

Not over Gentoka. (Seriously, why is this guy even a romance option for Shiki? I got eight or nine chapters into his story, and although she was clearly crushing on him by that point, he still seemed much more interested in his old flame, pun intended.)

To clarify, I have nothing against gay people, or gay characters in otome. I just think it’s misleading for a romance game to make a route for a character who has no romantic or sexual interest in the player character— especially when he seems much more interested in someone else throughout the whole thing.

Honestly, just let me romance Aterui as Gentoka. That would be cool, and it would solve the issue of his lack of interest in Shiki. (Also, in a hypothetical world where they did release that route, they’d probably also have a route for Aki x Tomo, considering Tomo’s Winter Snowflakes story was released at the same time as Aterui’s. And considering Tomo’s idea of a joke when the two of them are “friends” is to tie Akifusa up with rope and calmly say he’s going to leave Aki outside to die, you know that route would be kinky as fuck.)

Either Neutral or Chaotic Evil in most routes. The guy’s a serial killer murdering nobles for revenge against an atrocity none of them have personally committed by this point. In his own route, from what I remember, his killing did have more of an immediate justification, so maybe he gets bumped up to Neutral there.

I don’t know what class he is. Does it matter? Barbarian or Fighter. He’s pretty angry, but I can’t tell if that’s just his default state of being or if he gets even angrier in a fight.

Maybe also into BDSM / a dom, but if he is, it’s exclusively physical sadism. Just sheer brutal violence. Then again, I’m basing that on the time he tried to choke Shiki to death, and I don’t know if he actually enjoyed that or if he was just losing his temper. Tomo clearly gets a kick out of tying people up, ordering them around, and “punishing” them in a few notable cases; Aterui just really likes committing violence and killing people.

…Please don’t hate me for saying any of that.

[butchratchettruther]

I told my friend about mtmte and this is what she picked up from it:

Brainstorm is her favourite. She said he seems like the most sensible one, at which point I burst out laughing.

She explained that she meant that everyone else is off being incredibly “hrrduduh” whereas he’s just like “can I have my boyfriend back please”

“Is there a single straight character in this series?” “No”

I told her about Drift and she proceeded to mock him. “I’m sowwy. I didn’t meanw to commit all of those muwwders. Pwease forgive me.” (I’m so sorry Drift)

“Okay, so with Cyclonus and Tailgate, Cyclonus hated Tailgate at first, and Tailgate liked him.” “Enemies to lovers?” “Yep, kinda.” “Niiice.”

She hates Rodimus because of his name. She does think that Getaway Prime sounds stupider though. Apparently it sounds like a travel agency run by amazon.

On a similar note, she also found Rodimus’ djd funeral video very funny. He really just went “I want that twink obliterated.”

Her: Is Whirl your favourite because he’s the least problematic?

Me:

“Okay, so you know those Russian dolls? Where like you’ve got like, a big doll and inside it is a smaller doll and inside that is an even smaller doll?” “Yeah?” “That’s Ultra Magnus.”

She also thinks that Minimus’ name is stupid.

I showed her a picture of Brainstorm without his mask and she muttered something under her breath and told me he should keep the mask on.

“Okay, so then like. Getaway goes to the brig, and he grabs these two dudes from in there. One’s called Sunder, and he’s like a serial killer and also a mnemosurgeon and also addicted to it, but he doesn’t mind. And the other one is this really shitty therapist called Froid-” “Wait, Freud? Like Sigmund Freud?” “Yeah, he’s named after Freud.” “Always glad to see some Freud slander.”

Things of Brainstorm’s that she found funny: Being the worst double agent ever by repackaging information they already know and acting like it’s new information. Hanging from the ceiling because he can. Keeping a time machine in a briefcase. Building a meta gun that made Swerve realise he was in a comic book.

Me: And so then Atomizer was all like ‘Getaway, has anyone ever told you you’re an asshole? Also I’m kind of having moral trouble with all of this.’

Her: Getaway was just like, ’Yknow, if you’re having trouble with that, we have an excellent therapist on the ship! Completely neutral, no ulterior motive, he’s a great guy.’

“The therapist has an entry on the tumblr sexy man Wikipedia.” “…I could’ve gone my whole life without knowing that.”

She also found Skids’ name incredibly funny, at which point I started telling her about how when he first woke up, he thought his name was Scum, only before I finished the joke I was reminded of how Skids’ last words were “I’m scum, I’m scum,” and suddenly it was a lot less funny.

She thinks these robots all need a lot of therapy.

She thinks that Cygate need a lot more communication. I told her that she was very right.

“And so then Getaway chucks all of the Friends with Megatron and also Whirl club into the Rodpod-” “The what?” “Oh, it’s a spaceship that Rodimus has that looks like his face.” “…I hate Rodimus.”

I strongly disagree with that last point.

“Wait, so how does cutting Ambulon in half proove that Pharma is a better surgeon than Ratchet? Because surely Pharma wouldn’t be able to help Ambulon either.” “…I don’t know.”

“Are the authors of this like, okay?? Mentally???”

“Wait, yknow the therapist that has an entry on the tumblr sexyman Wikipedia? Is that Rung or Froid?” “Rung.” “Thank God.”

Her: The creators of the show when they started writing it: Robots aliens can go into cars. The creators of the show when they started writing this: the robots are addicted to drugs-

[iceprincessviviane]

Flowers of the peace

Pairing: c!Technoblade x Fem!Nymph!Reader

Type: Romantic/fluff; oneshot.

Warnings: mild swearing, mention of angst and injury and silly jokes created by me.

Summary: Technoblade is travelling to the center of smp to get some buisness done. He met Y/n and finally decided to talk with her about a very important case for him. Including more characters.

Words in red colour are Technoblade's voices.

My first x reader fic, spontaneous one.

Today was a quite warm day even in tundra, small layer of snow was covering the ground and sky was half covered by the clouds, which weren't moving a lot. Around was very quiet despite the time, it was almost noon. Animals were resting or sleeping, deadly hound lied calmly around. It seemed, it was such a lazy day. Technoblade went outside holding small backpack and putting something into it. He tied his hair into small bun, rest of them was falling on his back and he was wearing part of casual armor. Phil seeing that, also went outside.

"Hi mate, where are you going?" He asked curiously with gentle smile.

"I'm heading to main Smp part. I have some buisness to finish with Ranboo. I hope in that time it won't be crowded." He responeded and closed backpack.

They both looked at old Ranboo's home in mountain wall. Actually there still were some basic stuff, active farm and some villagers. Enderman hybrid moved to his and Tubbo's mansion in Snowchester two weeks ago. They kinda missed him, but he promised to visit them a lot of times and even stay for some cold weather and fresh air. Also he was still involved in Syndicate stuff.

"Be careful mate then." Philza said with serious tone.

'We miss Enderboy.' 'Let's do it fast.' 'Who will we meet else?'

Technoblade nodded and took Karl. He put a small backpack near the saddle and check everything. Diamond armor was shinning brightly in the sunlight.

"I will don't worry, I just hope to not meet Tommy..." His eyes narrowed. He still didn't forget and forgive young boy.

"Well just avoid bench area. You are going to meet Ranboo in Snowchester?"

"He said that he will be around Community House or Prime path."

"Tell him my sincere greetings." Phil smile widened.

Technoblade jumped at Karl and waved to his companion. Soon he was headed to main Smp part. Today wasn't the day for using a portals. Beautiful weather was conductive for horse riding. Karl seemed to be happy at sudden trip.

}*{

After a two hours Technoblade reached the Community House. He could go to Snowchester first, but honestly he wanted to avoid that area, which smelled like government. He dismounted Karl and took his bridle. Not a chance leaving his horse alone. Here was much warm then in tundra, not coulds and even wind stopped. Around wasn't even a single soul, so he sighted and started to walking down on Prime path. Karl was complelty calm, so he trusted him, but checked his sword, if he can take it fast. When he got near to Tommy's dirt house, he heard Tommy's loud laughing. After reaching the top of the hill he spotted Bench Trio standing there and chatting. Suddenly three pair of eyes looked at him. There was dead silence. Tubbo moved near to Ranboo when Tommy put a hand on Axe of Peace, which hanged of his bolt. They don't have armour, clearly having a good time in this lazy day. Technoblade nodded to them.

"What are you doing here?" Tommy asked with sharp tone.

Since Dream have been in the prison Smp was more calm, most people was minding their buisness, the biggest war was over and it seemed like everyone sighted with relief. Even now this Eggpire cleaned awful vines. Tommy started building his hotel, none was fighting.

"I came here to finish buisness." Techno responed slowly moving his eyes on Ranboo.

Tall teenager looked at his clock, gave himself a facepalm and sighted.

"Oh I am so sorry, I wasn't watching the time..." He said with embarrassment.

"What the fuck man? What deal did you make with him?" Tommy spoke with anger.

'Why he need to be so loud?' 'Just make it done.' 'Cut him.'

Technoblade moved a little bit closer and Ranboo started to search something in his backpack, mumbled to himself.

"Oh... hi everyone...!"

On the path leading to La'Manhole now was standing Y/n with basket full of field flowers and some saplings of roses, tulips and pansies. Her light dress was waving a little on sudden wind and bright smile caused everyone to smiled back.

"Hi Y/n!" Tubbo said and get closer to look at flowers. "Where did you get them?"

"Filed flowers around the... La'Manburg and saplings are from my own flowerbends. You asked me to bring some to your garden and rooms." She responed slowly.

"Oh yes! We asked Foolish of possible ways to decorate garden and flowers for a bees!" Tubbo said with excitement.

When it comes to the bees, Tubbo could talk over and over. Y/n was patience and describe in details flowers which she brought. Meanwhile Tommy moved his eyes again on Technoblade only to rise eyebrows with surprise. Piglin hybrid was like frozen, carefuly observing Y/n. Teenager lips formed into mischief smile.

"I found it!" Ranboo screamed in victory, holding something like gold in his big hand.

Technoblade snapped back to reality and nodded to Enderboy, to move away. He didn't want rest to know, what about deal is. They moved to bench. Karl snorted a little bit.

"Here it is." Ranboo opened his hand, Totem of Undying was inside. Technoblade smiled and nodded to him with satisfied smile.

"As we agreed emeralds and netherite ingot."

They made an exchange, Technoblade quickly hid Totem in his pocket and Ranboo put stones and ingot inside his backpack.

"Pleasure making buisness with you." Blade said with teasing tone.

"You too and I have more, if you want."

" We will see in the future."

Enderman hybrid moved his eyes on his husband and Y/n, there were still chatting peacefuly. Tommy was listening quietly and seemed that he lost interesting at their deal.

'Finally!' 'Let's go home.' 'Maybe stay for a while...'

"Deal is done?" Tommy asked loudly causing Tubbo and Y/n to look at Technoblade and Ranboo.

"Yes. We are done." Piglin hybrid confirmed in neutral voice.

Ranboo moved closer to group, leaving Technoblade with Karl. They stepped again on path after that.

"I think we can head to Snowchester then. Y/n has everything to make gardening and I am willing to help her!" Tubbo clapped hands.

"Yup. I am going to choose my room finally." Tommy emphasized last word strongly.

"Oh you shloud do the same Y/n. As we promised, you can decorate it as you wish." Ranboo said with warm smile.

Y/n lifted head and her eyes meet Techno's. His cute ears dropped a little, but he moved closer to them. Tommy stepped a little to avoid crash with Karl. Soft smile appeard on Y/n lips.

"Technoblade."

"Y/n."

Bench Trio silenced immediately, they could feel the tension in the air. After La'Manburg destruction Y/n lost her home, actually she was neighbor with Ranboo there, but she managed to build one small house in wild fields full of flowers, which was quite away. The closest things were Kinoko Kingdom and Niki's Underground City. Sometimes she wandered to La'Manber ruins and after that usually hanging up with Tommy. She visited Ranboo couple of times in tundra and even had a small talk with Phil. But when Technoblade showed up... they shared awkward silence and shy glances, which were speaking instead of words.

In his retirement they spent a lot of time together, despite the cold in tundra. Her peacefuly pressence caused voices to melt, only quiet whispers appeard. When she was speaking, they were always silence. Technoblade could listen and observe her for ages. They were so diffrent, but something connected them and attraced them to each other. She was standing with Phil on balcony, holding his hand so hard and tears streaming from her beautiful eyes, when Technoblade have been lead to execution. He later told him that Y/n almost fainted when he survived and escaped. She stayed in threshold, knocking sotfly at cottage doors, same day, late night and silence around. When he opened, he immediately put a finger on her mouth and whispering explained that Tommy somehow escaped exile and was sleeping in cellar. So Y/n said nothing, when Technoblade let her in, just hugged him so tightly and burried her face in his chest. With smelling her scent, he calmed himself and slowly forget about rage and happenings on that day.

But after Doomsday everything changed. Technoblade was busy with revenge, deep inside he didn't want to involved Y/n for her safety... but they moved away from each other. She need to build new house, didn't want to completly leave her friends around. Especially when Tommy and Tubbo found in her big comfort. She visited Tommy in exile couple of times, always bringing warm words and usefull advices. After Discs Finale, when Dream have been put into a prison, they needed her a lot. Tommy would never confessed that he had nightmares about Tubbo's death and himself being trapped in cell. Technoblade was busy with forming Syndicate, spending days on planning, building and searching stuff. He heard from Ranboo how Y/n was doing, but there always weren't time to talk.

And now they were here.

'We miss her angelic voice.' 'Stop staring, do something.' 'Stab Tommy.'

"I really don't want to interrupt this strange moment, but..." He couldn't even end, because Technoblade stepped at his foot. His shoes had small heels and was shod with metal.

Y/n giggled softly breaking eye contact with Technoblade and blushed a little bit.

"Can we talk?" Blade asked with deep voice.

"Of course." She nodded then handed her basket to Tubbo. He immediately straigthed his back, because of this important task. Technoblade gave without hesitation Karl's bridle to Ranboo, which eyes expanded and he grabbed it with his full strenght. When horse would run away... oh boy.

"It looks like we got important tasks." Tubbo said with full serious in his voice.

Ranboo nodded to him, when Tommy literally rolled his eyes.

Technoblade and Y/n moved slowly and silently aside, stepping away from path and walking on grass. She faced the sun, pulling her hair together, it laid freely on her back. Some strands still stayed on her face and Technoblade had to use his all strenght to resist taking them off. He just couldn't. Her scent full of flowers reached his nose, taking deep breath felt like heaven.

"Weather is very good." He started slowly and little unsure.

Y/n turned back to him with shy smile, studing hia posture. "Oh yes, it's warmer this days. My flowers age growing fast and I really enjoy the sun." She glanced at him. " Isn't too hot for you in this cape?"

"Well, I am still living in tundra and come on, style is breathtaking "Technoblade spread a little his arms.

Y/n could easily spotted part of armor on his arms and legs. It wasn't his best one, but he was still prepared for any fight. Yes, he looked very good, handsome. She couldn't help her slighty blushing cheeks.

"Are you moving to the mansion?" Techno finally asked, his voice was dead serious.

Y/n looked directly at his eyes with surprise. She didn't expect such a question. "No, I mean they offered me room, to stay in longer visits or if I would like to have a nap. I really enjoy their company."

He made a step closer and lean down, almost forgot how small she was compared to him. They both felt burning glances of Bench Trio.

"I miss you." He whispered honestly.

'We are missing her voice, scent and pressence.' 'We need her.' "We want her.'

"I... I miss you too." She responded quietly.

Pleased smile crawled at Technoblade's lips. Deep inside he was really happy about that, but didn't want to show it in front of Bench Trio. Y/n looked down with sudden shyness.

He took gently her small, compared to his hand. She squeezed lightly his fingers in response. "Would you like to...?"

"Y/n! We need to go, hurry up!" Tubbo screamed while was holding her basket.

"Yeah come one, we have a lot of stuff to do!" Tommy agreed.

Technoblade sighted after this rude cut, but Y/n shrugged with helplessness and playful smile. She hugged him tightly for goodbye, his second hand rested on her flabby waist.

"Meet me here after sunset." She whispered before letting him go.

He nodded before he let go of her hand. Y/n waved to him and went to Trio Bench. Ranboo gave Techno Karl's bridle. He observed while group was heading to Snowchester, then he jumped at horse and started to moving into tundra's direction.

}*{

Technoblade left Karl in hurry, then almost ran into a cottage. Phil frowned observing this from his window, but then shrugged and went take care of his cases. An hour passed and he heard some suspicious sounds from Techno's home, also him swearing. He decided to see what is going on, so went outside and knocked loudly. His friend opened. "Hi Phil, I'm a little busy right now..."

"What happend mate?" Winged man asked looking inside.

"I need to clean whole area..." He sighted with awkward smile.

"But why?"

Technoblade said nothing, it was a little too early to talk about it. "You... need some help honestly?"

"I will be so greatful!" Techno said and went beck to cleaning. Actually he successfuly tided first floor and kitchen, for now put food into a chest and cups into cupboard.

"Chests in magazine too?" Phil asked looking at his friend with confusion. Technoblade made facepalm. "I completly forgot about them... she would like to have order there!" He dropped everything and went down. His companion rose eyebrows with surprise. She?

}*{

Heading second time to main Smp part was faster and full of unsure feelings for Technoblade. Karl seemed to be happy of another trip. When they again reached top of the hill, she was there. Y/n stood near bench in his old crimson cloak, hemmed by fur, watching the sunset. Slowly crimson glow was turned into grey. Horse snorted and she turned head to greet him with warm smile. Technoblade responded with lazy smile and dismount Karl. Moving slowly to her, spotted that she was holding avaraged size, lether backpack and near the bench was closed chest.

"Hi again." Blade said with smile. "I am little bit late but I hope that you wasn't waiting long."

"I actually just came here. Boys let me left mansion three hours ago." She giggled softly.

"You got your room in mansion?"

"Yes... we decorated it with Ranboo's and Tubbo's furnitures."

"So... you have in this chest more personal stuff to put there?" Technoblade asked taking deep breath.

Y/n ignored the question and smiled softly to him. "What did you want me to ask earlier?"

"Well... I think it doesn't matter now." His shoulder dropped.

She looked directly into his eyes. "It matters, because the answer is yes."

Technoblade moved closer with visible confusion. "What?"

"Yes. I am ready for a trip, I have this cloak if it happen to be very cold and even have gloves in pocket."

He studied her figure quickly, under cloak she was wearing warm, woolen dress, completly diffrent that early, light one. High boots and hair braided tightly.

"No." Technoblade looked at her in disbelief.

Y/n nodded and her smile widened. In a blink of eye piglin hybird hugged her tightly. She rested her head against his chest, feeling heat from his body.

'She is going with us.' 'We can't belive.' 'Hurry up, before someone will show up.'

"Let's go, you have to be tired." Technoblade said after a few minutes. He took her chest and pinned it to saddle, Karl stayed calmly. She pated his neck, smiling softly. Blade mounted horse and offer her his hand to help. She grabbed it strongly and sat down sideways.

"Karl can lifted us both?" She asked unsure.

"He lifted heavier things than you sweetheart, you can belive me, he will be good." Techno smiled, he always was impressed by her caring way.

Y/n hugged his waist and again rested her head against his chest. The trip was quietly, they enjoyed each other pressence, when they reached tundra, night fell and snow started slowly rain. Finally they stopped in front of Technoblade's house. Deadly hound didn't even react to new person nearbay and bears was sleeping peacefuly around. Piglin hybrid first dismounted Karl and help Y/n by grabbing her waist and put her on the ground. She nodded in gratitude and grabbed his hand. He took her chest and they reached the stairs.

"You didn't introduce me new visitor?" Phil's voice caught them near doors. Winged man stood in his threshold with crossed arms and playful smile.

"Hi Phil." Y/n said and blushed hardly.

"Tomorrow my friend. You shloud go to the sleep old man." Technoblade teased him.

"I hope you will be gentelman and offer lady a separate bed." Phil winked to them and then went inside his house. "Goodnight lovebirds."

Blade rolled his eyes and opened doors for Y/n. She went inside and looked around carefuly. Nothing changed at all, but maybe one thing...

"You... cleaned whole house." She giggled softly.

"Oh yes and I even created some spare place in cellar for your flowers." He put her chest on the ground and closed door. Their eyes met. Technoblade quickly had covered the distance between them, then cupped her face and gently pressed their lips together. Y/n breathing quickened, same as his heartbeating. After a kiss, their hands found themselfes, when Techno lean his forehead against her.

"I love you." He whispered softly.

"I love you too." She responded quietly.

'We love her.' 'We are going to take care of her.' 'Never, ever let her go again.'

[sinnamonrolle]

Headcanons: Endearments [Obey Me!]

❀  gender neutral  ❀

! slight spoilers for Belphegor and Solomon !

I was thinking about this for a while, and I really want to share it with everyone else too.

These are gender neutral terms of endearment! And no matter how big you might be, you'll always be their lovely little human being ;)

Here are my headcanons for the terms of endearment from all 12 characters, including my reasoning for them! I had fun thinking about them.

Demon Brothers:

Lucifer

"Vesper", with variations such as "little Vesper" or "my little Vesper"

Lucifer means "Morning Star", and so after some digging online, there's actually a name for the "Evening Star'' as well, which is Vesper. Lucifer and Vesper both refer to the planet Venus, and so the reasoning behind why Lucifer would call you "Vesper'' is because he sees you as his other half, the other side of him. Together, you and him make up the brightest star in the sky.

I suppose it is more of a nickname than a term of endearment, but it's all the same. It's filled with love and adoration for you! No matter the time or place, he will always call you "Vesper" because it is also how he shows his pride in you, but he uses "darling" just as much. Leave it to him to call you his "darling Vesper."

Mammon

"Fortune", "little fortune", "my little fortune"

When you hear Mammon, of course you will think about money and physical possessions. The word "fortune" can be understood as related to the amount of owned assets, but also related to luck, chance, and destiny. So, to Mammon, you are his everything—his human, his wealth, his future. You are priceless in every way, and he’s so lucky, so fortunate to have you.

The endearment “little fortune” comes about accidentally. Mammon blurts it out one day, and he hurries to correct himself because “wait, wait, wait, I didn’t mean little fortune as in the amount because ya ain’t small at all. You’re really big—agh, that’s not what I mean! It sounds cute, okay! Little or big, it doesn’t matter. I won’t ever spend you.”

Leviathan

“Pearl”, “Henry”

I think we all know where “Henry” comes from, but what about “pearl”? Firstly, pearls are from the sea, which Leviathan is strongly related with. Leviathan himself has reptilian features—his snake-like tail, his birthmarks that resemble scales, his coral-like horns—in fact, Leviathan is known as a sea serpent. Pearls are treasures of the sea, and they are extremely beautiful as well. But there is also another connection you can make, this time with East Asian mythology. In East Asian mythology, dragons are often related to the sea, even residing in them. They are long, serpentine, wingless, but they still have two arms and two legs. They also are often depicted with a pearl, and this pearl is very, very important to the dragon. Seeing as Obey Me is a Japanese game, I think connecting Levi with an East Asian dragon isn’t too big of a stretch. Actually, there are many similarities, but there’s no need to dig into it today.

You know how Leviathan is. It will take Levi a long time before he begins using terms of endearment with you because of his insecurity. However, once he feels confident enough in using them, he’s super dramatic (and low-key romantic) with them. He’s watched enough anime and played enough games to know many terms, but is he able to use them? It’ll depend on how comfortable and confident he feels.

Satan

“Precious”, “beloved”, (and of course) “kitten”

Satan is extremely well read. This means that his arsenal is particularly wide. “Kitten” is a term that many of us may find familiar, and understandably so. We all know Satan’s love for cats. But I think Satan, as a being who is born from emotions, is more sensitive to them than others, and they make up an important part of him. Which is why, despite his large arsenal of endearments, he uses the “simpler” ones, but the ones that he does use, there’s a lot of emotions behind them. You are simply precious to him, and the most befitting endearment for it would be “precious”. There is nothing sweeter than a pure “beloved” filled only with love for you.

Asmodeus

“Treasure”, “jewel”, “my love”

If Asmo is the jewel of heaven, then you are the “treasure” of his life. You are as beautiful as a “jewel”, and you reflect the light like a “jewel” as well. The love they show you is reflected back twice as strong. For Asmo, his endearments for you don't come from the physical value behind them. In fact, Asmo himself doesn’t care for treasures or jewels, but out of them all, you are his “treasure”, his “jewel”, his “love”. He puts you equivalent (or maybe even higher) than himself, and he wants to show it to you not only through actions, but words as well.

Beelzebub

“Pudding” (and perhaps, other cute food endearments)

We all know how much Beel loves food, and we all know how much Beel loves his family, and so it’s almost obvious why Beel calls you “pudding.” As a human, you are squishy, squishier than demons, and you are also delicious looking. You smell good, you look good, and the comfort that food brings to Beel is equivalent if not greater than how you soothe and comfort him.

Although, while Beel loves calling you cute endearments, it makes him hungry, so he has to hold back on them. I guess that means more endearments when he’s full, but when he has to cope with his hunger and there’s no food around, Beel calls you by a wonderful amount of endearments. You do have to be careful though! He might decide to sample you. (In what ways? Who knows, heh.)

Belphegor

“My little sun”, “little sun”

He doesn’t call you his “little sun” because you are little, but because Beel is his bigger sun. Beel was in his life first, and then you came. But the order doesn’t really matter to Belphie because you are still a very important sun to him. In the twins’ bedroom, Beel has a sun motif on his side, and Belphie has a moon motif. Belphie is more comfortable with the darkness (literally and figuratively), so to him, you are his light that shines through and guides him to a better place. You are everything that he needs to survive.

Belphie’s trauma has affected him greatly, even if it doesn’t seem like it. So it takes a long time until he gets really attached to you, but when he does, he can’t live without you. Calling you his little sun is placing you in his heart, at the same level as Beel (Or perhaps even higher).

Other Demons:

Diavolo

“Little gold nugget”, “gold nugget”, “nugget”, “little nugget”

Contrary to how it may first sound, “little gold nugget” isn’t to diminish your value or your worth. To Diavolo, who probably has a low-key obsession with gold, “little gold nugget” is super adorable. He’s also never really been called an endearment before, nor has he ever called someone by one, so this is all new territory to him. Also, as a future king and a prince, everyone is important to him as his citizens. Diavolo is the king above all nuggets, but you in particular are his “little gold nugget.” He also wants you to call him by an endearment, a term only used for him, but that is something for you to decide on.

Barbatos

The closest thing to an endearment would be “Your Grace” for Barbatos. “Puffling”, if you can get him drunk enough (I’m somewhat joking here).

If you’re expecting something else, I’m afraid Barbatos is too polite, too cautious to simply throw around the usual terms of endearment. In fact, I think from the way Barbatos is, he turns a way of addressing nobility into an endearment for you only. However, if you do manage to worm an endearment out of him, he will jokingly call you a “puffling” after baby puffins. I think he finds them adorable, but it isn’t a serious endearment. Barbatos won’t be caught dead calling you a “puffling”—not because he doesn't want to—but because it’s not at all appropriate. He has an image to keep.

Angels:

Simeon

“Little sparrow”, “little droplet”, “little lamb”

“Little lamb” is a familiar term, and “little sparrow” is also something Simeon calls you. A sparrow represents many wonderful things, like joy, love, good fortune, luck, and so on, and Simeon considers you every one of those things and more. Like sparrows, droplets are also fragile—ephemeral in their lives. Droplets fall and disappear so easily. But droplets also signify uniqueness in that one droplet is separated from other collections of water. To Simeon, you stand out among others. You are wonderful, joyful, full of life, and so, so beautiful.

Luke

“Lamb” (perhaps “lambling”? I’m really unsure.)

He means it in a platonic way!! Like a guardian angel to a baby human, except that baby human is you.

We all see Luke as a child, but Luke, in this case, doesn’t see himself as one. He’s way, way older than you, and so while he is still immature among other angels, he’s lived way longer than you have. It might seem weird to have him call you an endearment, but you are a lamb in his eyes—pure, kind, gentle. You are someone who must be protected! And so while Luke doesn’t use endearments too much with you, he will use it when he’s feeling a little playful or dramatic. He prefers your own name because he loves how it sounds.

Human:

Solomon

“Little star”, “breadcrumbs” (as a joke)

Solomon has lived for who knows how long. As a human who has lived for that long, his mentality towards certain things might be a bit different from a regular human. Attachment is difficult for him due to his lifespan, and this is reflected in his attitude. Many people are fleeting in his life. The mundane becomes hard to appreciate after so long. Even memories erode after a lifetime. There is no particularly heavy sentiment behind “little star”, but he has begun to consider you as a part of his destiny, a star in the constellation of his life. And like a star, you appear so far away from him, so unapproachable due to how you are always surrounded by others. He can only appreciate you from afar, until you let him close.

“Breadcrumbs” is a lighthearted endearment that he once heard somewhere in the human world. When he calls you “breadcrumbs”, he doesn’t mean anything at all by it, only that it sounds absolutely ridiculous but also so adorable at the same time. It’s an amusing endearment he heard in his long, long life. “It’s the joy in the little things, and breadcrumbs are exactly that—little things,” Solomon will say, but no need to take him seriously. You will always be the star twinkling brightly in his life.

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Feel free to add what you think the characters would use as terms of endearment! I wanted something special for each character, so that's why this post was made lol

(If there are any errors, I will catch them sooner or later. Please, don't mind them.)

Masterlist!

[erensangel444]

i think i’m falling in love

oikawa tōru x reader

the title is inspired by i think by tyler the creator :-)

this fic is oikawa x fem!reader, if you guys would want to see some gender neutral fics just let me know in my asks inbox! i’m open to any suggestions, if you want a fic that’s specifically tailored to you whether that be race-wise, gender-wise, any disabilities, etc,. just let me know!

likes/reblogs/comments are always appreciated:D

this fic has been proofread but if i missed something just let me know!

this would be oikawa in his last year(when he was a third-year), for this fic, the reader would also be a third-year!

a/n: i remember when i first started watching haikyū!! i had hated oikawa, and now looking back i don’t know how. he’s a beautifully written character and like actually thinking about it makes me so sad. he tries so hard and just :(            i’m gonna start crying about it again. 

there’s a lot of fluff in this fic, probably the most i’ve ever written, but there’s also smut cause you know your girl couldn’t resist🙄

warnings: language(most of my fics do contain language), drug usage(just weed, small mention), alcohol consumption, smut; semi-public sex(bathroom at a party), oral(fem and male!receiving), unprotected sex(use of the shitty pull-out method, practice safe sex don’t be a weirdo), dryhumping.

word count: 5.3k

summary: moments in oikawa tōru’s life that helped him come to the conclusion that he was in love with you.

oikawa didn’t think love was a real thing, and he knows that’s cliché, but it’s the truth. did you know that around 40-50% percent of marriages end in divorce? what’s the point in getting married if there’s only half a chance of it lasting? oikawa thought it seemed like too much work.

until he saw you, and then, maybe, he thought it might be worth it to work that hard. maybe he could understand why couples stay together despite the fights, the yelling matches. maybe he could take a stab at love.

or not. he expected you to fawn over him the first time you met, like most girls do(men too!), but you didn’t. in all honesty, you seemed bored while conversing with oikawa. you shattered his newly-born hopes of love...well maybe that’s a little dramatic, but oikawa was always one for the dramatic flair. 

from that moment forward, he had deduced that he strongly disliked you, at least he had until that one day in math class. he was struggling, the equations on the pages seeming like an entirely different language. he was huffing out breaths in frustration, roughly erasing the writing his pencil had made. 

he was certain he was doomed, there was a test tomorrow and this review made no sense, yet there was a glimmer of hope when he felt that light tap on his shoulder.

he looked up, meeting your eyes, all doe-like, a light blush on your cheeks as you sentence stumbled from your lips, “h-hey um it seemed like you were a little confused, um i-i could help if you’d want,”. oikawa couldn’t do anything but stare up at you, “or- or not! maybe it was rude for me to come over here, sorry-” “no, i could actually use some help,”. oikawa’s response caused a smile to show on your face, and for a split second he dreamt of making you smile like that for the rest of your life. 

he brought himself back to reality, remembering his declared disdain towards you, but all of it slowly drifted away as you grabbed a chair from a nearby table, setting it down next to oikawa’s desk and sitting down.  “so what’s confusing you?” you asked, your voice soft as you peered up at oikawa. 

he couldn’t control the slight blush that rushed to his cheeks, calming himself down before he spoke, “well i’m confused on the variables, and i don’t understand what i’m supposed to do after setting it equal to zero, and it doesn’t help that the professor doesn’t teach for shit,” he whispered the last part, causing you to laugh a little as you grabbed the pencil from his hand. 

oikawa shuddered at your laugh, and at the contact of your hand on his, even if it was for a slight moment. there was too much of you stimulating him at once, fuck, what were you doing to him? 

“i know he fucking sucks,” you responded, the word slipping out of your mouth seeming so foreign to oikawa, even if he had only talked to you for a couple minutes, but he liked it, nonetheless. “okay so,” you turned oikawa’s paper slightly towards you, “after setting it equal to 0, you have factor the quadratic equation,”. your handwriting looked so neat compared to his, so delicate. he listened intently as you continued writing on the paper, your tongue slipping out to wet your lips. 

after explaining it to him, he tried one at your request, the math seeming easier now, no eraser marks littering the page. after checking his answer, you grinned at oikawa, lifting your hand up. oikawa was confused for a moment, smiling after realizing, and softly high-fiving you. 

oikawa started to notice you in the hallways after that day in math class. you walked through the halls not necessarily confidently, but giving off an aura of aloofness. it was almost like you thought no one was paying attention to you. ‘how could you think that?’ oikawa thought. he was paying attention, he couldn’t help but to pay attention.

not when you always carried your binder under your left arm, it slipping some times, causing a slightly shocked expression to grace your blank face as you resettled it in your arms. your tote bag slang off of your right shoulder, a light cream color. he always noticed your outfits, different for every day of the week. he always thought they were cute though, fitting for you. 

he noted the rings on your fingers, the necklaces you sometimes wore. some days you had on makeup, other days you were bare-face. he thought both were equally beautiful.

after a couple days of passing you in the hall, he finally worked up the courage to wave to you. his hand softly ran through the air, his arm rigid. yet, you didn’t notice him, your eyes taken by something else. the failed greeting embarrassed oikawa immensely, he remembered beating himself up about it for the rest of the day.

when he thought about trying again, he realized he should probably just call your name. which he couldn’t remember. you had met last year, and in his memory, the entire encounter was centered around his ‘dislike’ for you. you also hadn’t told him your name in math class. he racked his brain for any memory, wanting to know the name that fit your pretty face. 

in the hallway the next, day he decided he’d just yell out a ‘hey!’, hoping you’d turn to him, which you did. oikawa waved at you, a smile lighting up your face -god he could get used to that- as you waved back. oikawa couldn’t help but feel your smile for the rest of the day.

he had learned your name the next day in math class, the teacher calling on you. ‘y/n’, he almost didn’t catch the teacher say it, but he did, and he was so glad he did. lying in his bed later that night, he let the word fall off his lips, your name quietly echoing throughout his room. he couldn’t imagine calling you anything else, it fit you so well.

a couple of days later(he had waved at you every day since), you were walking in the hall with a friend. more specifically a friend who was a boy. honestly it didn’t matter their gender, oikawa would’ve been jealous either way. why were they making you smile like that, and why was your binder in their arms instead of in it’s usual spot, tucked under your left arm?

he wanted to walk in the halls with you, look down at you smiling at him. he devised a plan that night, running through the scenario in his head before he fell asleep. 

the next day, he called out your name as you walked out the door of the math classroom, doing a slight jog to catch up with you. “hey, um i never got to thank you,” your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “for that day in math” he explained, as he continued, attempting to push down his nerves. “you really helped me,” this caused you to smile softly, and oikawa couldn’t help but smile back at you. that’s all he wanted, to make you smile. 

“of course, no problem,” you had said softly. oikawa offered to walk you to your next class, and you obliged. suddenly it shifted into a daily thing, walking out of math class with you, and oikawa could get used to it. 

he learned more about you every day, your favorite movie was pride and prejudice, you loved key lime pie, you had a mini-garden in your backyard, you hated shellfish, you loved painting, you never left the house without chapstick. he found himself adapting to your humor, telling jokes that he knew would make you laugh. he wanted to hear your laugh all the time, he wanted it to echo throughout his brain on a constant loop.

in math class one day, you had pulled lotion out of your bag, popping open the cap, and squirting some into your hand. upon seeing you pull it out of your bag, oikawa walked over to your desk with his hand held out, “can i have some?” his voice was light as he looked down at you, a dollop of lotion in your hand. “yeah!” you said softly, rubbing some of the lotion from your hand onto oikawa’s.

he had just expected you to give him some from the bottle, and he could walk back to his desk, happy with the small encounter. now as he walked back to his desk, he was happy, so happy, but reeling at your touch. he wanted to feel your hand on his again, he longed for it now, knowing now what it felt like. why couldn’t you just give him lotion from the bottle?

oikawa had gathered the courage to ask for your number a couple days later, and to his delight you smiled after telling him that you planned to ask him for his. the idea caused him to smile internally as he wondered if you thought about him as much as he thought about you.

the nights after he had put his number in your phone were spent texting you. he’d send you random tweets that he’d thought you’d like, and videos that reminded you of him -he wouldn’t ever tell you that, though. one night when he had decided to watch pride and prejudice, for no apparent reason, he sent you a picture, to which you replied with a picture of your hand covering your mouth, your eyes lit up. he stared at the picture for a solid five minutes, unable to tear his eyes away.

you looked so pretty, your hair up in a bun, your eyes looking up at the camera. he finally shut off his phone, turning back to the movie, excited to see you the next day.

one night, oikawa texted and asked you if you wanted to facetime. instant regret filled him after sending the text, his search history littered with ‘how to delete imessage’ ‘is there a way to delete message on iphone’. he opened the text app back up, three bubbles popping up on the screen. they disappeared shortly after, oikawa’s regret increasing. 

he threw his phone down on the bed, shoving his head into his pillow as he muttered, “fuckin’ stupid, god what am i doi-”, a text message ping interrupting his self-deprecating mumbles. the text from you read, ‘hey, sorry just got out the shower, i was trying to text before but i got a fucking eyelash in my eye LMAO’ oikawa chuckled at your message, a second one popping up below, ‘lemme get dressed rq and then i’ll call u:D’. 

oikawa had so many thoughts rushing through his brain. you were in the shower? after rationalizing, he realized he shouldn’t be surprised that you showered, it was just the fact that you were naked in the shower. and if you were getting dressed now, that means you were naked while you texted him. 

oikawa attempted to shift his thoughts elsewhere, chastising himself in his head for being a ‘perv’. he didn’t need a boner while he was on a facetime call with you. he thought about how you offered to call him, did you really want to? he had hoped you weren’t just doing this to pity him.

his phone rang, interrupting his slew thoughts, your name flashing against his screen. he fumbled for his phone, his finger hesitating before he hit the green button. “hi,” you said softly. oikawa took in your appearance, a few water droplets still falling from your hair, your eyebrows slightly disheveled, cheeks a light pink. “hey” he responded. 

“why’d you wanna facetime?” you asked, oikawa blushing more at your question, ready to respond before you continued. “not that i didn’t want to too, cause i did, i do, i w-was just wondering why you wanted to,” oikawa smiled at the camera before speaking. “well i thought that we really needed to discuss the plot holes in pride and prejudice,”.

oikawa had spent the whole night talking to you, reluctantly hanging up at 4AM.

the nights after that were followed by facetime calls, oikawa’s mom knocking on his door and telling him to quiet down, his laughter too loud. on one call, he had invited you to his volleyball game the next day, and you quickly said that you’d ‘love to go’, oikawa’s smile growing.

surprisingly, he wasn’t nervous. oikawa knew he was good at volleyball, everybody did. he knew that this was a moment where he could show off in front of you. what if he hits the net on a serve though? 

okay, so maybe he was a little nervous, but he wouldn’t let his nerves consume him. stepping onto the court, he did his best not to look up at the crowd, not wanting to see your smiling face in the stands. he was set to serve first, the volleyball in his hands a familiar feeling, comforting him. 

the power behind his serve was incredible, one of the best one’s he’s hit, he thought to himself. the ball landed right in the corner of the opposing team’s court, before bouncing out of bounds. 

a service ace right out the bat. oikawa cheered in his head, his teammates patting him on the back. “are you gonna look for her now or what,” iwaizumi said to him, ever so-bluntly, “looking down at the floor like a pussy,” hajime muttered the last part. “iwa-chan!” oikawa slightly raised his voice, his eyes looking up towards the stands.

you had secured a seat in the front row, and when oikawa noticed your face he couldn’t help but smile. you were grinning down at him, waving like a lunatic, causing him to lightly chuckle. he waved back, the volleyball being handed back to him as he set up for his second serve. 

you had waited outside the locker room for him, and when he walked out with iwaizumi and issei, he spotted you leaning against the wall parallel to the locker room door, scrolling through your phone. hearing the door open, you looked up, meeting oikawa’s smiling face.

“hey,” he said softly, his heart doing flips at the fact that you waited for him. you responded softly with a ‘hi’, holding your arms open for a hug. oikawa couldn’t help but grin, his heartbeat growing in pace as he pulled you in for a hug, his arms falling to the small of your back. “did so good,” you said, your voice muffled by his chest. 

“thank you,” he smiled at you, “for-for uh coming,” “of course,” you smiled back at him. suddenly an awkward tension had consumed the conversation, both of you peering at the other, than looking away, the silent words behind your looks so obvious. “so i- “i just-”, you both started at the same time. you laughed, oikawa joining in as he motioned for you to go first. 

“um, i-i came today because i wanted to, but also cause i wanted to ask you something,” oikawa nodded for you to continue, biting his lip in anticipation. “i feel like i’m not just imaging things here, and i don-don’t want you to think you are either,” you hesitated for a moment, oikawa noticing it before speaking up, “i like you,” he said abruptly. he could feel his blood pumping, feel his heart beating on his chest. you smiled at him, eyes wide, “i-i like you too,”. you both stared at each other in silence, the eye contact easier. “what now?” you said jokingly, oikawa laughing. “wanna go get mcdonald’s?”

the first few weeks with you had been bliss, oikawa thinks that he’s died and floated up to heaven. you’ve gone on small adventures together, late night drives, reveling in the honeymoon-like phase of your new relationship. now, oikawa sits across from you atop the striped picnic blanket. oikawa knew that this past week had been stressful for you with school and some stuff going on with your friends so he decided to surprise you with a picnic.

he got sushi from your favorite place, ordering a wide-spread of different rolls and then picked up two boba drinks before heading to your house. much to your dismay, he wouldn’t tell you where you were going until you could hear the water brushing along the shoreline, oikawa had taken you to the beach.

now, there you sat on the blanket on the sand, sushi laid out in front of you as you took in the beautiful day, a slight breeze brushing past your figures, small clouds in the sky. oikawa grabbed a california roll with his chopsticks, bringing it over to you as you opened for mouth for the food. “so good,” you mumbled mouth full of california roll causing oikawa to chuckle. 

“my mom asked about you today,” oikawa noticed the slight hiccup in your breath as he continued, “wants to meet you,” you stayed silent, peering at oikawa. “no pressure, if you don’t want to, i just wanted to let you know,”. you took a sip from you drink before you spoke, “no i want to. just nervous, don’t wanna make a fool of myself,”. oikawa smiled at that, happy that you wanted to make a good impression with his mom. “she’ll love you,” he said softly, blush rushing to your cheeks. 

“here you have to try this tuna roll,” you said, the roll between your chopsticks and headed for oikawa’s mouth. “mmm so good,” oikawa said mimicking your response, making a show of the food in his mouth. you laughed before shoving him, “you’re disgusting,” 

oikawa had picked you up for dinner at his house, and now here you both were, in his car, in the driveway of his home. he could see you bouncing your leg, your bottom lip taken in by your teeth. “you’re gonna be fine, i promise she’ll love you,” “i hope so,” you said, your voice so quiet. 

oikawa racked his brain for a way to help calm your nerves, settling for a kiss. his lips met yours, and you whimpered at the abruptness, but kissed him back. your leg stopped it’s incessant bouncing, and oikawa smiled at you. “alright i’m ready,” you said softly. you reached for the car door, oikawa stopping you with an ‘uh uh uh’, exiting the driver side of the car and running over to the passenger side to open your door.

“my knight in shining armor,” you joked, oikawa grinning at you. the pair of you walked to his front door, hand in hand. oikawa wasn’t nervous, he knew his mom would love you because she knew that he loved you. woah. he loved you. or maybe it was the excitement of the night forcing him to say those words. he pushed the thought away, opening his front door as he yelled out a “i’m home!”

his mom ran over from the kitchen, looking to you and then oikawa and smiling so brightly. “hi!” she said, her voiced laced with excitement as she shuffled over to you, pulling you in for a hug, “i’m a hugger,” you laughed, hugging her back. 

“oikawa’s talked about you so much,” “mom!” your smile grew. you took off your shoes, setting them neatly next to the door, oikawa’s mom leading you to the kitchen. it smelled amazing, meat buns sat in a container on the stove, orange chicken in a separate container next to them. white rice was in the steamer, the whole kitchen filled with wonderful smells.

oikawa pulled out a chair for you as you thanked him, sitting down. eventually the food was in front of you, oikawa had made your plate for you, asking if you wanted anything to drink. he began rambling, listing off options, but you opted for water in not wanting to be difficult. 

you all sat, oikawa’s mom and you discussing your current course schedule in school as she smiled “oikawa bagged a smart and pretty one, i raised him right,”. you couldn’t help but blush at her words, oikawa smiling at your reaction.

dinner had left your stomach happy, oikawa’s mom giving you another hug when you left and making you promise that you’d be back soon. oikawa ushered you into his car, holding your door open for him. he told his mom you were driving to get icecream from somewhere, and that wasn’t necessarily a lie.

you had gotten the icecream, it’s just that now it sat, forgotten in the passenger seat as you straddled oikawa in the backseat, your mouths moving against each other, your hips grinding on his. “fuck,” oikawa panted against your lips, the friction of your hips grinding on his feeling indescribable.

before you knew it, you were grinding on oikawa’s lap like a woman possessed, set on reaching your high. “tōru,” your voice sounded so soft, oikawa did a double take. he’d only heard his first name slip past your lips one time, and the desperation that came with it this time had his cock straining in his pants even more.

“g-gonna cum!” you yelped, your hips stuttering from the pleasure. oikawa’s hands drifted to your hips, rocking you on his lap, wanting you to reach your high, but also desperate for his own. your whimpers increased in volume as you finally reached your orgasm, your face contorting in pleasure. seeing you come on his lap was all oikawa need to cream his pants, the liquid seeping through the fabric of his boxers and black jeans.

you both panted, catching your breath, your head laying in oikawa’s shoulder. “that was fucking hot,” oikawa remarked, causing you to laugh and remove your head from his shoulder, pulling him in for a kiss. 

oikawa had invited you over a couple nights later to watch a movie. you had come over in plaid pajama pants and one of oikawa’s hoodies that you had borrowed last week. you were laid in his bed, snuggling into his figure, Love, Rosie playing on his laptop. As the movie progressed, and the popcorn disappeared from the bowl, you began to slowly drift into sleep, feeling comfort from being so close to oikawa.

as the movie neared it’s end, oikawa could hear your light breaths, looking down at your sleeping figure. drool had slightly started to dribble out of your mouth, your eyes were shut ever so softly, and you looked so peaceful. so angelic, oikawa thought. he wanted to wake up to this, to you for the rest of his life.

‘getting ahead of myself’ oikawa reasoned, pushing away any and all thoughts of the future as he relished in your sleeping features and irked at the funny feeling in his stomach, was it butterflies? it was something, because he felt it whenever he saw you. you turned his brain to mush, made his heart beat faster. oikawa’s love for you was so obvious on a physical level just based on how he reacted to anything and everything you did. 

his love for you was obvious, wasn’t it? did you know he loved you? he loves you. ‘i love you’ the words softly fell from his lips, the breaths still falling from your lips as you slept. 

your parents were out of town, your mom on a business trip, your dad visiting some friends in the states. you had invited oikawa over to bake some brownies, but somehow baking led to his head now being buried between your thighs.

“oh my-tōru!” you moaned, oikawa’s tongue working magic on your clit. he changed from kitten licks to sucking, moaning into your center, the vibrations making you whimper even more. his fingers plunged in and out of your entrance.

oikawa had transcended from himself, or at least he thought he had. there was no way he was buried between your thighs right now, your pretty moans sounding from above him. there was no way he was holding eye contact with you as he sucked on your clit, admiring the blush accompanying your features. 

“gonna cum for me angel?” oikawa wanted you to come so bad, he wanted you to feel good, he wanted to be the one to make you feel good. “yes, yes, yes-please!” oikawa increased the intensity of his tongue lapping at your clit, the pace of his fingers increasing. 

one more look down at tōru had you coming, your hands moving to grip his hair as your orgasmed. panting, recovering from your orgasm, oikawa kissed up your body, nipping at your jaw up to your lips, kissing you passionately. 

“did so good for me, angel,” oikawa mumbled into your lips. you pulled him in for another kiss, your hand drifting down to the bulge in his pants, palming him through the fabric. 

“fuck,” oikawa softly moaned, grinding into your palm. you pushed him over, oikawa laying on the other side of the bed. your hands navigated their way to the hem of his sweatpants, tapping his hip, oikawa lifting up. you tugged the pants down his legs, his boxers along with them.

his cock bounced back to his stomach, hard and leaking precum. oikawa eyed you as your hand drifted to the base of his cock, your tongue licking at the tip, oikawa moaning loudly. he had definitely gone to heaven.

eventually your mouth and hand were moving in tandem on his cock, moans flying freely from oikawa’s lips. “fuck! y/n, god, making me feel so go-ood!”. oikawa thrusted his hips up into your mouth, his hands holding on to your hair. you placed your hands on his thigh letting him thrust into your mouth. 

“go-gonna cum!” you moved one hand down to his balls, rolling them in your hand and moaning around his cock. “shit-ah!”, toru’s cum flooded your mouth as his mind went numb from the pleasure. he’d never felt like this, god, you were ruining him. 

you opened your mouth, sticking your tongue out to show tōru that you had swallowed all of his cum. “god you’re so fucking dirty,” oikawa said smirking at you, pulling you in for another kiss.

you and oikawa sat in his car, passing the joint between yourselves, staring at the sunset, stealing glances at one another. you inhaled, the joint placed between your lips, the substance filling your lungs.

oikawa couldn’t help but stare at you, “you’re so fucking pretty,” he whispered. “no you’re so fucking pretty,” you smiled at him. “we’re both fucking pretty let’s be honest,” oikawa joked, pulling you in for a kiss.

‘wanna be yours’ by artic monkeys came on shuffle through the speaker’s as you mouthed the lyrics. “i’m hungry” oikawa said plainly, “jack in the box?” you offered, oikawa turning the car into drive. more songs shuffled, oikawa turning up the volume when cupid’s chokehold blasted through the speakers.

he had rolled the windows down, his left hand hanging out the window. he turned towards you, his eyes shifting from the road to your face, singing the lyrics to you, ‘i mean she even cooks me pancakes and alka seltzer when my tummy aches,’ his hand held yours atop the console, his left hand now on the steering wheel. ‘i know i’m young but if i had to choose her or the sun i’d be one nocturnal son of a gun’ your smile grew, staring at oikawa as he pulled into the jack in the box drive-thru. 

there were no other cars, oikawa pulling straight up to the machine. “hi could we get two buttery jack meals with curly fries and chocolate milkshakes for both,”, the server read back your order, telling oikawa the total, oikawa saying a curt thank you.

oikawa had pulled into a an empty parking lot, the music shifted to nights by frank ocean, both you and oikawa digging into your food. oikawa looked over at you, seemingly mesmerized by your buttery jack. you looked up at the sound of his laughter, staring at him perplexed before laughing too. 

oikawa had dragged you a party that daichi was throwing. you walked in waving at a girl from your history class, oikawa dragging you to the kitchen by your hand. he grabbed two shot glasses, pouring tequila into them. he clinked his glass with yours, throwing the liquid back into his throat

you walked next to oikawa working your way through the mass of sweaty bodies, spotting hajime in the crowd. oikawa patted him on the back, iwaizumi wincing at his heavy-handiness. while oikawa talked with hajime, you whispered letting him know you were gonna go talk to kiyoko, oikawa nodding and giving you a quick kiss. he watched you walk away, your ass looking so good in those pants. his eyes traveled up your figure to your smiling face, his own smile growing. 

after talking for a while, oikawa walked over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist, and kissing your cheek. “wanna go dance?” you nodded, waving bye to kiyoko, oikawa leading you to the middle of the room. ‘can’t say’ by travis scott. oikawa’s chest pressed against your back, your hands looping around to the back of his neck. 

after a few songs played, someone yelled out ‘body shots!’ people shuffling into the kitchen. oikawa pushed through the crowd bringing you to the countertop.  he lifted you up to sit on the countertop, people cheering as you laid down. he poured a shot glass of tequila, sprinkling salt over your cleavage, while eyeing it heavily. he placed the lime in your mouth smirking at you. 

oikawa shot back the alcohol, wincing at the burn. his tongue lolled out of his mouth, licking the salt on your cleavage, moving to your lips. his body hovered over yours, his lips meeting yours. he sucked the lime from your mouth, pulling away and spitting the lime out before moving down to your lips again, kissing you harshly. louder cheers sounded through the room.

oikawa pulled away as you blushed, grinning nonetheless. you grabbed the tequila pouring another shot and letting the liquid fall down your throat. ‘woo!’ you let out, shaking your head at the burn from the alcohol, dragging oikawa back out to the other room.

somehow, you and oikawa had navigated your way to the bathroom, tōru’s cock deep inside you as your moans accompanied the music playing throughout the house.

“g-gonna cum!” “me too, fuc-ah! come on angel, gotta come now,” oikawa pleaded with you, pushing you over the edge. oikawa pulled out, jerking himself off, and coming on your back.

“god,” he sighed, leaning on the wall next to you. you both grinned at each other, your lips meeting again.

your phone was ringing, tōru was calling. you answered as he said hi, his voice shaky. “are you okay?” you worried, oikawa assuring you everything was fine, “just come outside,”. confused, you threw on some pants and walked downstairs unlocking your front door.

“tōru? are you okay, you look sick,” “i need to tell you something,”. oikawa realizes now that maybe wording it that way was stupid, he could see in your facial expression your heart drop to your stomach. “no! nothing bad,” “oh okay” you sighed softly.

“i-i feel like i should’ve said this earlier, and i wanted t-to i just didn’t know how to,” you nodded at him, grabbing his hand and brushing your thumb along the back of his hand in an attempt to comfort him.

“i love you,” oikawa blurted out. “i love you so fucking much,” he said again. meeting your eyes, oikawa couldn’t help but feel nervous, he was stupid for doing this, he knew it too, yet all those thoughts melted away when he felt your lips on his.

“i love you too,” you said, smiling, your eyes slightly watering. though you and tōru had been dating for a decent amount of time, you both knew the weight those words carried.

tōru felt the weight of those words as they left his lips, and he wanted them to flow past his lips forever. he wanted their weight, he wanted his love to impact you and only you.

fin

yay! i loved writing this fic :D i really hope you guys enjoyed it, sending you so much love<3

[tribus-mantodea]

[ Intriguing.]

I... it’s. probably very much outside the realm of realistic (dialogue especially not made to be in character) but. but like.

-

for one I think it’d be great if hornet got three moms alongside monomom and some mantises /half joking (but also oh dear lord how many moms has she gotten at this point)

I’m a lil’ fuzzy on the details and I intend to look back properly to develop sometime, but as far as current things go, I entertain a “both are neutral to each other (at least in terms of contact), but also do not step into our said territory ever thank you.”

in which the lords are going to automatically go “yeah, challenge us and die or die outright.” towards any beast(?) daring enough to want to wiggle outside of Deepnest, but would absolutely entertain a duel from any said beast so long as they fit the yeah-that’s-a-sentient-(noninfected)-bug-criteria.

obviously Herrah managed out more than fine in that regard. she’s also quite sick of awkward formalities and would go Mad if she had to keep up that kind of thing even here when she crossed them every time. the lords themselves might not be the most comfortable about it, but, well, they’ll respect it then and - “hey. it’s me -- again. hello.” “please just pass us and go already.”

I won’t even go into my uncertain portrayal of Hornet (aside from not being able to exactly see her allowed in places without supervision -- but what stops her from being a troublemaker and getting into places she’s not supposed to be in anyways right... yeah......)

yet the thought of her getting to bully a restless and angry youth unprompted sounds incredibly funny to me. just an ol’ mantid minding their own business one second and the next is being whacked relentlessly with the blunt side of a needle

maybe they get to both talk shit about hallownest. maybe. (...probably not? But listen I--)

[teddy06writes]

Through Thick And Thin

requested by this anon: “If you are still doing requests, could you maybe do a royal AU of a Knight! Awesamdude x royalty reader? Thanks!” 

Awesamdude x reader

trigger warnings: some swearing, mentioned character death

premise: royalty au; you are heir to the throne of the dream smp lands, Sam is the knight who has been sworn to protect you. When L’manburg, a rising power begins to attack, Sam stays by your side, even as the kingdom falls

{also I did my best to keep this gender neutral, but it might’ve ended up leaning for feminine, sorry about that}

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“Do you take one lump or two?” You forced a polite smile onto your face. 

“Two, with lemon, not milk,” Bad said, “Try not to look so bored, you may be able to pull a smile on your face, but your eyes wandering about this room betray you.” 

Etiquette lessons were something you had finished long ago, but your mother had arranged for a brush up, seeing as the ambassadors of L’manburg would be arriving Wednesday. 

You nodded, quietly filling his tea cup with what he requested, and sliding it across the table too him. 

“Now, serve the tea cakes.” Bad instructed. 

As you cut the sponge cake into pieces you let your eyes drift again, look to where Sam stood beside the door. 

He bit back a smile, scrunching his nose at you. 

It took all your willpower not to giggle, regaining composer as you passed the plate across the table. 

~~

“I just think its stupid shit,” You said, tapping the toe of your shoe against the gravel path, “I already know how to poor tea and address nobles.” 

Sam chuckled, looking around the garden, “I suppose you do, but brushing up on those things never hurts.” 

“I did my time learning tea and titles, and dances and all that. I don’t see why I should have to do it any more. You should help me sneak out of lessons.” 

He laughed again, “I don’t know if I can partake in helping you get out of your duties.” 

“You used too.” You fake pouted, moving to sit on one of the benches lining the path.

“Yes well that was before, this is now. I’m not a stable boy any longer. We both have different duties to attend to.” He said, turning to look at you. 

You frowned, “I thought your duties were to protect me.” 

“They are.” 

“Then you’d have to go with me if,,, say I snuck away to go down to the shore tomorrow. Where we used to go in the summer.” You grinned cheekily. 

“Yes, I would have to,” He admitted begrudgingly, “But, considering you have to handle preparations for the ambassadors stay, I would be forced to suggest waiting till after they leave on Friday.” 

You chuckled, “I like the way you think.” 

~~

The morning of the ambassadors arrival came all too quickly, and you woke early, carefully dressing. 

There was a knock on the door, around 9:30, to which you sighed, “Come in.” 

Sam appeared in the door, holding a glass box, “His highness says you must wear this.” 

You look wearily at the small crown he was holding, then back at him, “You’re joking me.” 

He shook his head, “Dream insisted.” 

“Oh for XD’s sake.” you muttered, taking the box, and moving to set it atop your desk.

Slowly you extracted the crown, setting it gently atop your hair, adjusting it slightly in the mirror before turning to Sam, “How’s it look?” 

“Heavy.” He laughed. 

“Oh shut up,” You grumbled, moving past him into the corridor, “How long until the ambassador arrives?” 

“Half an hour or so.” He reported.

~~ Negotiations had began the moment Wilbur Soot and his cabinet members walked in the door, hardly leaving any time for introductions. 

You sat uncomfortably in your chair, these men were not like the ones you were expecting to be meeting. 

They were loud, harsh, and in the young blonde boys case, quite rude.

“Simply put, we don’t want to start a fight if we don’t have to, with you or any of the other neighboring  kingdoms.” Wilbur finished. 

Dream crossed his arms, looking at the treaty that had been placed in front of him, “You want our land?” 

“No, we only want a small piece of your land, just the farms that are technically within L’manburg’s borders,” The young Lord Tubbo clarified, “The original treaty clearly designates them to us.” 

“With all due respect, Mr. President, His Highness never agreed to the original terms.” Bad pointed out. 

George nodded, “Your nation has grown separately, never attached to us, the farms have never been yours.” 

Dream couldn’t help but chuckle as he cocked his head, “Your here for something else, aren’t you?” 

Wilbur sighed, “Yes, I suppose we are. Well, gentlemen, I should come clean. I come here seeking power. Something to put me at an advantage. I came here to ask for (y/n)’s hand in marriage.” 

“Excuse me?” You snapped, eyes wide. 

“You heard me. I wish to make you my betrothed, lord knows its the most you could accomplish in a life time.” He repeated, something malicious in his voice. 

The Dream SMP’s side of the table grew very tense. 

“I reject your proposal,” You stared him dead in the eye, “I would never marry a man like you.” 

Before anyone else could speak, you stood, “Perhaps you’ll work out a different arrangement. If you’ll excuse me.” 

With that you gracefully glided out of the room, loyal knight on your heels. 

It wasn’t until you reached the safety of the farthest garden from the castle that you felt like you could breath again. 

“I’ll kill him,” Sam muttered, pacing along the path, “No one speaks to you like that and gets away with it.” 

You sank onto a bench, pulling the crown from your head and running your hands through your hair, “He’s vile! The whole lot of them are!” 

“They’ll never get away with this. Everyone knows you’re mi-” He stopped himself, shaking his head. 

“Why, for a moment did it look like Dream was actually considering it?” You muttered, tears springing into the corners of your eyes. 

Sam quickly sat beside you, taking your hands, “Hey, I won’t let it happen. You’re- you belong here.... with me.” 

You looked up at him, with wide eyes, “Sam- you really mean that? With you? Truly you’d allow it?” 

Practically the whole palace staff had known since you’d first met Sam that you’d fallen for him. It had seemed like you were always destined to be together. 

“Yes, if you would.” 

You nodded, resting your forehead against his, “I would.” 

For a moment, the world seemed right. 

For a moment, nothing was wrong. 

For a moment, it seemed like there was a chance. 

Until a loud explosion rang through the castle, ripping through the tranquil morning.

Distantly you could hear screams of pain, yells of triumph and fights breaking out. 

Sam quickly stood, turning to the castle, where all the other guards seemed to be running too. 

“Sam...” 

Your shaky voice broke him from his almost trance, “What wrong dove?” 

“Sam they all had gladiolus flowers on there lapels. They all- the all had gladiolus on there lapels.” 

How you hadn’t realized it before you weren’t sure. 

“What?” 

“Gladiolus means ready- or armed.” You said quietly.

Sam stared at you for a moment, before someone else entered the garden, “You really shouldn’t have turned down that proposal (y/n)!” 

“Run!” Sam yelled, grabbing your hand to pull you along with him. 

You ran blindly with him, down the paths and toward the back of the garden. 

Sam pushed you toward the gap in the hedge, “Go! Down by the shore, where we used to go in the summer. Go! I’ll be there as soon as I can, lock yourself inside, and only open up for me.” 

You barley had time to think before he shoved you through the hedge, turning and drawing his sword to face Wilbur. 

~~ You stumbled along the path, you were almost there- almost there- almost to the abandoned light house. 

The sounds of fighting faded behind you as you tripped once more, picking yourself up and going even faster as the sea came into view. 

You threw yourself against the lighthouse door to get it to open, quickly closing it behind you and locking the door. 

You leaned against it, struggling to catch your breath. 

After a moment, your eyes adjusted to the light, and you looked around at the dusty space. 

When you were young, this had been Sam and yours special place, somewhere to avoid lessons. 

The only servant who’d known about it had helped you move furniture out there long ago, and the space seemed semi inhabitable. 

You fumbled to light a lamp, then found your way to a cabinet, looking for a cloth, or rag to clean with. 

Soon you were busying yourself with fixing the place up, desperately trying to ignore the fact that Sam was taking a very long time to get there. 

Once you finished the first floor you climbed the stone steps to the next, and began working there. 

Night had nearly fallen when you heard a rough knock at the door. 

Armed with a small paring knife you’d found in the old kitchen you crept to the door, peaking out the small window to check who it was. 

Quickly you unlocked the door, throwing it open and pulling Sam inside, “Holy shit Sam you had me so worried!” 

He grunted, moving to sit at the table you had turned upright, as you locked the door again. 

“Are you hurt at all?” 

He shook his head, “Just tired, I came the long way, to make sure no one was following. Are you alright?” 

You sighed with relief, “I’ll be okay, long as your here.” 

Sam smiled, “I’ll be here through thick and thin.” 

[mostlyoriginalmcyterstuff]

I decided to make this some really cute fluff, and I hope this is what you meant! I also used the term “parent” for Eret just because it’s gender-neutral. @ohword

Pronouns used for the reader: They/them

Trigger warnings: none

Character: Eret, I used all “main” pronouns for them in this.

Fun fact: I’m allergic to green beans, so naturally, I added green beans into the story.

Feedback is greatly appreciated!

——————————————————————————

Your parent was out doing some Kingly duties today, leaving you him alone in the castle.

Clearly, you took this as an excuse to get up to some “mischief”

Which was stealing one of their capes and backup crown.

You were walking around the castle halls, occasionally stopping to spin around, feeling the cape flow in the fake wind you created.

You giggled a bit to yourself at the movements the fabric made when you spun.

You walked through the halls looking out one of windows, it was almost 5pm, your parent should be home soon.

You, wanting to meet them when they arrived home, ran down the stairs, almost tripping over the length of the cape. (Eret is so tall-)

You arrived in the the throne room, deciding on sitting in her throne until they got home. Just so he’d see you quickly and easily, and it’d allow you to make a joke.

You climbed onto the throne, it being much more comfortable than you’d expected.

Curling up on the throne, you rested your head on your arm, which was placed on the armrest of the throne.

After about 3 minutes of waiting, you soon found it hard to keep your eyes open, every part of the room just encouraging you to sleep.

The reassuring weight of the cape on your back, which acted as a blanket.

The small slivers of light shinning into the room, being the only source of light in the mostly dark space.

The comfortable, safe vibe that the room and cape gave you weren’t helping either.

Soon, your eyes closed and you fell asleep, right then and there, on your parent’s throne.

———————————————

Eret had gotten home later than usual, the others having kept them behind to help with some extra things.

When he walked through the grand doors of his castle, she called out for you, after receiving no response, they were left confused.

She turned her head towards the throne room, preparing to call for you again, but quietly gasped at the adorable sight that greeted them.

Their child, was laying asleep in his throne, wearing his cape and his crown almost falling off the sleeping person’s head.

Eret quietly cooed at you, approaching your sleeping figure quietly.

A pang of guilt struck their heart as they thought of you waiting so long, that you ended up falling asleep.

They shook it off, going over to you, taking the crown off of your head(so it doesn’t fall off) and picking you up.

They had planned on taking you to your bed, but seeing as you most likely hadn’t ate yet, they decided on going to put you on the couch so they could fix something quick up for dinner, and get you up to eat it quicker.

They laid you on the couch, grabbing a blanket and placing it over you, before walking towards the kitchen.

They spent the next 15 minutes fixing up and reheating some left overs, and cooking some green beans as the vegetable.

Once the dinner was finished, they set the table before walking back over to the living room and kneeling beside you.

They gently shook you, trying to wake you up as gently as possible.

“Come on, (y/n), you need to eat dinner, then after you have ate you can go back to sleeping if you’d like.” They gently whispered, still shaking you carefully.

You peeled your eyes open, you and your parent making eye contact to show you were awake.

They smiled warmly, ruffling your hair a bit before standing up

“There you go, come on, let’s go get some food in ourselves, I swear I’m so hungry right now.” They offered a hand to you as you sat up, moving the blanket aside.

You took their hand, standing to your feet before quickly pulling your parent into a hug, your face buried in their shoulder/arm.

“I love you, my parental figure.” You muttered into their shoulder/arm

They laughed at the ending of your sentence, hugging you back and giving you a small pat on the back.

They half-jokingly responded, but in a gentle voice;

“I love you too, my child.”

[polyamorouspunk]

legimately feel bad for gen z, never grew up with privacy and stuff like that. I know that one anon ofc very clearly stepped outta line n I made the joke anon msg about how u gotta tell me all ur info so I can call u a faker, but like legimately it's sad seeing kids put all their info online and when they're available or not etc etc, lotta gen z didn't grow up with properly privacy and the newer generation has it even worse. I hope the kids will be alright n we can push them into having more anonymity and privacy.

I said this in the tags but honestly if someone genuinely asks me a question about myself, I will answer, honestly sometimes even if it’s something I want to keep private. Recent events have reminded me that literally anyone can see this blog and follow me and I have no idea who they are. My Instagram isn’t private when a lot of people I know have theirs private but also I don’t really tag anything from where I live, the most I do is post pictures from my house but not with the town or anything. But I mean you can easily find where I work on here (like the exact store) if you tried, I’m pretty sure I’ve posted my full name multiple times on Savvy’s blog because I think I also grew up in that era where online privacy wasn’t a thing. I mean of course I got the “creepy men might be behind the computer screen catfishing you” but like idk I’m not saying I haven’t done things like that, they’re just mentioned conversationally not in a pinned post. I mean you can find my full first name on Savvy’s blog, obviously I don’t go by that and she prefers to go by Savvy because both are a bit more gender neutral and just more comfortable for us but. I have absolutely learned how to manipulate people to call them out for things I don’t like about them… mostly when they’re like exclusionists but if I really tried I’m sure I have the technical skills to like “cancel” someone for something they didn’t even mean out of context. I learned that by growing up in the internet age. How to take things out of context. That’s not really what you’re talking about but just another thing that came to mind. Like how much easier it is now to fake things and how 1. we are less trained to spot them and 2. they are deliberately made to be harder to spot as fakes. I mean I have had penpals though, I did just send out a shirt to someone who Savvy is mutuals with so like I have their address and they have mine. It’s a fine line. But I mean I used to listen to a stalker podcast (and by this I mean a literal podcast where two people interviews victims of stalking and told their story) and some of the stuff I heard on there was WILD. Just listened to a case I finished like half an hour ago about a woman who catfished a man into thinking he was dating her dying niece who the government and doctors were trying to kill and people ended up dying from the situation all from her charade of having multiple phone numbers and being able to fake personalities of characters she made up really easily. Just wild stuff. Had an assignment due last night that was a discussion board in biology and someone brought up technology and I was like we have the technology to literally change your bone structure and shit. Not the same as social media obviously but just like wild shit. Even at thanksgiving hearing one of my cousins was constantly talking to a boy in her class but my family said in class they like never speak to each other and I’m like that’s so wild. You don’t speak face to face but you see him every day. But you talk to him for hours every night. Just stuff like that is such a cultural shift. Such a fine line too as a parent between not trying to be overbearing and like read your kids text messages but also make sure they’re being safe. Can’t imagine how to navigate that as a parent. Like how do you know your child isn’t sending photos of themselves on Snapchat. Without like invading their privacy and reading their messages and stuff. Just wild.

[snackhobi]

pairing: jungkook x (gender neutral) reader / word count: 20k / genre: fluff (author!reader, florist!jungkook)

summary: “You’re in love and you didn’t tell me?” Jimin sounds affronted. “Who is it? Are they cute? Where are you hiding them? I knew you were lying about those flowers, you lying liar.” or: the story of how you meet a pretty florist with soft hands and warm eyes, how he mends your broken heart, and how he helps you realise some other things along the way.

warnings: use of a few curse words, reader is self-deprecating and suffering from heartache towards the beginning (v mildly angsty ig? but dw it passes), but otherwise this is a Very Soft fic!

--

“It’s time to get up.”

“It absolutely is not.” Your voice is muffled under a layer of pillows and blankets, material pressing down on your body and head, covering you. A protective cocoon. “I’ve become one with my duvet and we shall never be parted.”

You yelp when the blanket is ruthlessly ripped from you. Your curtains have been thrown open and you can feel how the sun is streaming in through your windows, warming your skin, even if you can’t see it; there’s a particularly fluffy pillow smothering your face right now to keep the world outside at bay.

“This has to be against the Geneva convention,” you whine as your collection of pillows is similarly stripped from the bed, leaving you entirely bereft from their comfort and protection. You curl into a tight ball around your Pusheen cushion and try to protect her from Jimin’s grasping fingers— your final bastion of defence against him. “No! Not Pusheen! Please! Take me instead!”

Jimin rolls his eyes before stealing Pusheen right from your arms, ignoring your dramatic sob as she’s pulled from your desperate hands. He tucks the plush grey cat under his arm before fixing you with a stern gaze. “I said it’s time to get up,” he repeats, ignoring the chaos of pillows and blankets and toys now littered around him. “You know the drill, Y/n.”

You suck in a deep breath, filling your lungs with air before letting out a long, weary sigh. All your theatrics disappear with your escaping breath, strength seeping out of you. “A week of wallowing,” you say in a small voice, eyes squeezing shut. “I know.”

You don’t have to look up at Jimin to know what expression is on his face right now. You feel the mattress dip and then soft fingers are gently stroking the hair out of your face. “A week and then we get up.” His voice is soft as he repeats the mantra.

Your cheek drags across the cotton of your sheets as you open your eyes and turn your head into the hand that Jimin’s still drawing down your face. “You’ve always been better at getting back on your feet than me,” you say, and Jimin affectionately pats your cheek.

“You’re being melodramatic,” he says kindly. “You’ve seen me at my worst and you know that’s not true. I’m only good at getting back on my feet because I have you to lift me up, and I’m here for you too.”

“Can I have Pusheen back?” You sound hopeful as you pout at him, pushing your bottom lip out.

“You can have her back once you’ve showered and had breakfast,” Jimin says. 

Your limbs are leaden weights as you drag yourself out of bed. The cold water of your shower shocks some life back into them, and you’re almost back to your regular self once you pull yourself from the bathroom, thoroughly scrubbed and refreshed. Jimin greets you with a fruit smoothie bowl, the most wholesome meal you’ve had in the past week; it’s infinitely healthier than the ice cream and snacks and junk food you’ve been shovelling into your mouth.

“I didn’t realise I had half this stuff in the fridge.” You use your spoon to swirl the oats and fruit into the yoghurt, muddying the pretty rippled effect Jimin had created with it. “I’m guessing you brought it with you?”

Jimin is eating eagerly from his own bowl and swallows down a spoonful of banana and berries before he responds. “No, it was already in there, actually,” he says. 

“Oh, yeah.” Your free hand goes down to Pusheen, who’s safely in your lap, and you dig your fingers into her soft velvet skin. “Of course.”

Your face is twisted into a wince as you look down and continue to knead the cushion on your knees. Seokjin loves fresh produce, taking you to the farmer’s market for organic strawberries and blueberries and raspberries, lifting them up for you to breathe in their bright scent before laughing at how you go cross eyed at how close he brings them to your face. Your fridge must still be full of these reminders of him, food you’d bought for him, things he’d made for you.

“Well!” Jimin’s voice is loud and bright, cutting through your thoughts with all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop. “You better finish up— we’re going out soon and you’ll need all the energy for today!”

You’re immediately on guard, eyes narrowing at him. “Going out where?”

“Shopping, duh,” he says, raising his eyebrows at you. “You said you’d come with me and Namjoon to pick out stuff for our new apartment, remember?”

“Oh yeah.” It’s only been a week and it’s like you’ve forgotten that the world is still moving on around you, taking no notice of how your own world has been upheaved and irreparably fragmented. You know Jimin is being cheery and upbeat in an attempt to distract you from this, and it’s working, but it’s also highlighting exactly how much you’ve been wallowing. You normally never would have forgotten. “Alright, let me finish up and get my shit together and then we can go.”

Getting your shit together takes longer than it should. You have to wade through the piles of blankets on the floor to get to your wardrobe, and the desk in your office is in similar disarray, notes and stationery strewn across its surface from your week long stint of wallowing and writing about said wallowing. 

You’d never planned on the romance in a novel about magic in the modern world to be so depressing, but hey. They always say write what you know and all you know right now is heartbreak.

(“I’m sorry. I just… don’t feel the same.” Jaerim’s voice is soft and gentle, even now, even as he’s breaking Lily’s heart, so tender as it falls apart in his hands. “You’ll always be my best friend, Lily, but nothing more.”

Lily’s smile is pained. “I know,” she says, her own voice small and weak. “I know. I just couldn’t hold it in any longer. I— I had to tell you or I felt like it was going to burst out of me. I’m sorry.”

“I’ll always love you, Lily.” Jaerim sounds sorrowful. “But not the way you want.”

Why had she ever expected anything different?)

You’ve been feeding all of your sadness and heartbreak into your most recent heroine, using your latest novel as a way of catharsis, but the problem is that your stories always have happy endings. Right now Lily may be heartbroken after a failed confession, but at the end of the story she’s going to be happy. You, however, will still be sad and lonely once the book is finished and for all that you project your hopes and wishes onto your main characters, you know your own story will never go so smoothly— real life is never as neat as that.

You pause when you catch sight of one of the Polaroids scattered on your keyboard. Seokjin’s beautiful skin is washed out and there's a glint of red in his eyes from the bright flash of your camera; it's a terrible photo and the focus is all wrong, but he still looks radiant as he smiles at you, ever beautiful. 

The heroes you write are soft and kind and lovely; fierce and strong and admirable; talented and smart and impressive. You, however, are clownish and sarcastic and nonsensical. Just an absolute mess of rough edges and endlessly tangled thoughts. Unwanted. Undesirable. Unlovable.

(No wonder Jin— bright, brilliant, beautiful Jin— doesn’t love you back.)

You swallow and steel yourself before opening the top drawer of your desk to sweep all the littered bits and pieces of your life into it before slamming it shut, trying to ignore how metaphorically fitting it is, and then grab what you came here for in the first place: your camera. You loop the strap of the Polaroid around your neck so that you’re ready for the day ahead. 

You know that Jimin thinks you should just stick to using your phone, considering the piles of film you get through, but there’s something about the whole instant photo process that just works for you. Maybe it’s just a writer/artist thing. Maybe it’s just a you thing. Either way, you like to take your camera everywhere so that you can take photos of things that inspire you and incorporate them into scenes of your stories.

(You have so many photos of Seokjin, and he’s reflected in so many parts of your books— from the jokes that characters tell, to things they eat, to hobbies they have. You may not have ever been so transparent as to project him directly onto the love interests of your main characters before now, but he’s ever present in other ways. There's a part of him in every thing you’ve ever written, even before you fell for him.)

(Your love for him must have been obvious from the start, and yet he’d never mentioned it at all.)

(What made you think it would be a good idea to confess?)

“Y/n?”

You look up from where you’ve been staring at the same bowl for the past three minutes, the leaf pattern stamped into its edge blurring together into eyes that are staring back at you. “Huh? Yeah? What?”

Over Jimin’s shoulder you can see Namjoon trailing around the small store, staring at some pretty wall-hangings with appreciative eyes. For all that Jimin had claimed to be concerned about his boyfriend’s taste in decor, they’ve asked for very little input from you, so you’ve been left alone to zone out for most of the morning and afternoon. 

“I was saying Joonie has a suit fitting he needs to get to, so we were going to get that done before lunch,” Jimin says. “You’re welcome to come along as well if you want?”

“So I can watch someone ask your boyfriend which side his penis hangs down so they can tailor his slacks accordingly? I think I’m good.”

You sound almost like your usual self which is why you think Jimin lets this pass without comment— you’re very happy being independent but it’s true that you’re somewhat more delicate than usual so you understand Jimin’s worry.

“I’ll drop you a message when we’re done.” Jimin smiles at you. Behind him, Namjoon picks up a large ceramic crab, only to immediately drop it onto an incredibly fluffy shag carpet— which fortunately saves it from breaking. “It shouldn’t take too long.”

“Eh, take your time.” You keep hold of Jimin’s attention as Namjoon sheepishly attempts to pick up the crab, only to immediately drop it back onto the rug. “I haven’t been out for a while so I could do with a walk in the fresh air and sunshine. I’m sort of like a dog. Or a plant, I guess. Just with slightly more complex emotions.”

Namjoon has just put the crab back into place by the time Jimin turns around, though his hand lingers on it. “Baby, can we—?”

“You’ve already filled the quota when it comes to crab-themed decorations, Joonie,” Jimin interrupts.

When Namjoon looks at you with imploring eyes, you raise both your hands and step backwards. “Don’t involve me, I’m just an innocent bystander,” you say, before escaping so that Namjoon can (unsuccessfully) try to persuade Jimin to up the amount of sea-life themed decor allowed in their new home.

This part of the city isn’t one you get to often, but it’s really beautiful. You know Namjoon likes it around here, near the river, because there are a lot more offbeat and avant-garde shops than you’d find more centrally, a warren of curiosities and pretty places around each corner. You pass by shops selling antiques, fabric, jewellery; you pause to take photos of the eye-catching doorways into each of the shops, the mismatched bunting fluttering overhead, the utterly eclectic nature of it all. 

You pass by a tiny baking shop and pause in your tracks, peering into the window at a collection of rolling pins— the wood is embossed with different designs that get pressed into the pastry when it’s rolled out, all sorts of pretty patterns on display.

Jin would love these, you think, and then you tear your eyes away.

Stupid. 

You continue to wander through the maze of shops but now you’ve sunk into your own thoughts. Kim Seokjin. A close friend whom you’d been harbouring feelings for, for so long now; it had been getting so hard to try and keep that love at bay, to try and shove it down inside you, keep it hidden and safe. But it had been bleeding out of you at every turn, in the way you moved and spoke and wrote, every sharp edge of you softened by your tenderness for him, impossible to ignore.

And so you’d finally let go. You’d let it out into the world, spoken the words you’d been holding onto for so long— and for a moment, just a moment, you’d had hope. Jin is bright and kind and lovely to everyone, but surely what the two of you had was a little more, a little different; all those hours spent together, the friendship you’d built, the language you’d created with each other of jokes and references that other people didn't understand. You’d thought it was something more.

You’d thought that maybe you could get your storybook ending. That maybe, for once, rather than having to imagine a mutual love and pouring that quiet desire into your books, it could be real— that the cheesy, embarrassing daydreams you’d always kept to yourself and only expressed through your writing could finally come true. 

But no. Jin only loves you as a friend. You know he still considers you a friend, even now, for all that you’ve ruined things by opening your big dumb stupid idiot mouth; you’ve spent a week wallowing after his gentle rejection but you know he’ll still be waiting for you once you come back to yourself. 

You’re just not sure how long that’ll take.

You’re finally pulled out of your reverie when a burst of colour catches your eye. There’s a soft blue bicycle which has been adorned with flowers and trailing leaves, part of a display in the front of a store that’s brimming with blooms, buckets set up in a cascading rainbow of colours. The windows are similarly full of plants, all enjoying the sunshine of the afternoon. Your eyes trail across the flourishing bouquets and then up to the sign, lovely and pretty, in what seems to be a hand-painted cursive: Spring Day.

You have a single, tiny cactus in your office— the only thing you trust yourself to keep alive— but screw it. You’re itching to buy something for yourself and everything seems so pretty in here. You might just buy yourself a fuck-off huge arrangement of flowers, as a sort of metaphor for the death of the hope you’d held in your chest, that your love for Seokjin might be returned. 

That ship has sailed. You’ve cast it off from the shore and set it ablaze. You’re not sure they had bouquets at Viking burials, but it’s the 21st century now. You think you’re allowed to mix it up a bit.

A bell lets out a tiny, crystalline tinkle as you swing the door open, announcing your presence to anyone inside. The front counter is covered in plants, some larger, some smaller, with a few pots of flowers that you would be hard-pressed to name; there’s a glass bowl of water, too, that has unlit rose shaped candles floating in it. Cute.

You peer behind the large leaves of a ficus plant to see if there’s anyone behind the counter but it looks deserted. The only evidence that someone has been here is the book that’s open and resting face down on the wicker chair there— The Language of Flowers, okay, that makes sense, you guess. You take a sneaky photo of the set-up, something about it resonating in your chest; although there’s no one here right now their presence is still undeniable. It’s poetic, in a way. You love visual poetry.

You wave the photo about in the air to help it develop as you make your way towards the back of the shop. Spring Day seems surprisingly big, extending back farther than you had initially thought. It’s hard to gauge the actual size, with displays of flowers and plants everywhere and even hanging from the ceiling above. You meander through the store and pause to touch a hanging glass planter, which slowly spins and scatters light across you. It’s like every spare inch inside is covered, but somehow it doesn’t feel chaotic. It’s so pretty and peaceful here.

There’s clearly some sort of order to things even if you can’t tell what it is. Each display is labelled with the names of the plants and how to look after them, but just as you’re leaning forwards to read one, a noise catches your attention. You pause and tilt your head. Drifting closer to the source of the sound, you realise that it’s someone singing, a soft melody that you don’t recognise. You find that you step lightly, almost enraptured, not wanting to break the serenity of the moment with heavy footfall as you step into a greenhouse; you round the corner to find who’s singing and stop in your tracks. 

There’s a pretty doe-eyed boy bent over a selection of blooms that he’s watering, white and yellow and purple and pink flowers softly trembling at the touch of the drizzle that runs over them, and it almost seems like they’ve turned towards the lilting tones that slip from his lips. You watch as he draws the watering can in a sweeping arc, the motion causing his earrings to move, catching your attention when the sunlight cascading in through the glass of the greenhouse shines off the glinting silver; his hair hangs a little in his eyes, eyelashes fanned across his cheek as he keeps his attention cast downwards, smiling at the flowers on display near his feet.

His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and you can see the definition of his arms, the flex of his muscles under a tattoo as he moves the heavy watering can without effort— and yet he looks like he belongs here, surrounded by flowers and plants and sunlight, soft and neat in his loose shirt, narrow waist cinched in by the ties of his apron. He turns the watering can a little further and you can see that the tattoo looks like a lily, petals unfurled over the soft skin of his inner arm.

You love visual poetry. And this man is poetry in motion.

It seems like he’s finished watering the flowers because he straightens up with a smile, song finally coming to an end. “All done,” he says to them in a quiet voice, and then he finally looks up.

He immediately startles when he sees you, water sloshing audibly in the watering can in his hands. You jump too, surprised at his surprise, the two of you like startled rabbits when you spot each other. Skittering around and trying to recatch your balance.

“Sorry, sorry!” You lift your hands in apology, holding them in front of your face as you wince. “I didn’t want to interrupt, you seemed really focused!”

The florist is blushing. He looks absolutely mortified, a pink flush stealing across his cheeks and the tips of his ears, betraying his embarrassment. “I, uh. It’s fine!” He stammers. “I wasn’t busy. Um. Can I help you?”

Your hands fall back to your sides, your heart immediately going out to this poor boy, who looks like he wants the ground to swallow him up. “I was just looking around, actually, when I heard you singing,” you say. “I didn’t mean to be like— a sort of weird voyeur, I guess? Sorry. Your voice is lovely, by the way.”

The flush has crawled down his neck. “Um, thank you?” You get the feeling he’s only saying this because you’re a customer, and if this were any other circumstance, he would have turned tail and bolted by now. Unfortunately he’s trapped by the fact he works in a retail job and he can’t escape. He shuffles a little from foot to foot as he resolutely avoids your gaze.

You take pity on him. What can you ask to change the topic? Hm. “Can you give me some advice about plants, actually?”

This seems to be the right thing to say. He carefully sets the watering can down, fingers plucking at the ties of his apron as he readjusts them, but he seems a bit more comfortable now that you’ve moved away from complimenting him and onto work related talk. “Sure,” he says. “What would you like to know?”

“I was wondering what sort of plant would be good for someone who’s only good with cactuses. I mean cacti,” you correct yourself. “I’d like something different, but I’m worried about killing it if I forget to water it. You know, the bane of every novice gardener’s existence— their own forgetfulness and ignorance. Of which I have a lot. I am spectacularly ignorant.”

The florist blinks but then he gives you a little smile, finally glancing at you. His eyes are so lovely and deep, sunshine refracting from the greenhouse reflected in his eyes, points of brightness against that endless, warm brown. “I think everyone is guilty of under-watering plants,” he says, apparently unperturbed by how unsuitable you are to be a plant parent. “I think a peace lily might suit you. Would you like to come have a look and see if you’d like one?”

A peace lily. Lily. The name of your most recent novel’s heroine. How weirdly apt. “Sure, I’d love to see the lilies.”

As you follow him you notice that there’s still a little tinge of pink on the back of his neck, evidence of how he must feel embarrassed at being caught singing and talking to plants. You find it endearing, actually, but you’re not about to say this to a stranger, especially as he clearly wants this entire interaction over and done with as quickly as possible.

The peace lily turns out to be a pretty white flower, emerald green foliage curling out from the simple unglazed pot the florist hands over to you with an infinite amount of care. He holds it delicately— it looks so small in his careful hands— and makes sure you’re fully supporting its weight before he finally lets it go. Your fingers brush his as he does and you notice how he draws back immediately, shy.

“You don’t have to water her regularly, you can just touch the soil to see if it’s moist and give it a little top up if it’s not. Even if you forget, as long as you water her when she starts to droop a little she’ll be fine. Just make sure she gets a little sunlight and you wipe down her leaves once or twice a year so dust doesn’t stop her from getting enough light, and you’re good to go.” He’s smiling, but you notice he’s still looking away from you, resolutely staring at the plant in your hands instead. “Peace lilies are incredibly forgiving.”

“Oh, that’s good, I’ll probably be asking for a lot of forgiveness,” you say. “I can guarantee I’ll forget to water her so it’s good to know she can take it.”

When you refer to the plant as ‘her’ and ‘she’— just like the florist has been— it seems like he only just notices that he’s been doing that. He looks a little embarrassed, yet again. “She’ll be— I mean, it’ll be fine, I’m sure,” he says.

“I promise I’ll do my best to look after her.” You tighten your grip protectively around your newly adopted plant. “I’d take a bullet for her.”

The florist lets out a little laugh, revealing a slip of his white teeth before his mouth clicks shut. He looks almost surprised at the fact he’d let out a chuckle and tries to cover it up with a cough. “Hopefully you won’t have to.”

You watch as he draws a ribbon around the pot, looping it against the patterned, unglazed ceramic before tying it into a neat bow. His hands are sure and his motions are practiced, fingers deft as he finishes the knot and tucks a business card into the bag alongside your plant. You can’t help but watch him, magnetised— he’s absolutely fascinating. Cute and soft, but with an undeniable strength to him, underlying each of his movements, almost hidden under the clothes that envelop him.

“Is there anything else I could help you with today?”

He’s blinking at you with those large, pretty eyes. His mouth is still a little open and you can’t help but reminded of—

“What song were you singing earlier? It was so lovely, but I didn’t recognise it.” You want to find that song immediately and keep it close forever, listen to it on a loop, even if it won’t be the same if it’s not being sung in the dulcet tones of this pretty florist. It’s such a beautiful song, whatever it is.

His mouth snaps shut again and the blush returns full force. “Nothing,” he squeaks. “It’s nothing.”

You squint at him. “Is ‘Nothing’ the name of the song?”

“No! It’s. Um. I mean, it doesn’t have a name yet.” His voice is so high right now. You pause before you light up, eyes widening.

“Wait, are you saying it’s your own song? You wrote it? Oh, wow! That’s so cool,” you say. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry, I didn’t know. My bad. Totally understand wanting to keep your work private.” You quirk a smile at him. He doesn't know that you're a writer, one who publishes under a pseudonym for privacy; only your close friends know the truth. You totally get it. “Guess you probably want me to pay so I can get out of your hair now, huh?”

“N-no, it’s fine,” the florist stammers. He’s still so polite, even when he’s obviously flustered.

“Ah, you don’t have to be polite just because I’m a paying customer.” You wave your hand dismissively. Before taking off as an author you’d worked back-to-back retail jobs and it had sucked. “I’m being a pain, I know. How much do I owe you?”

He stays silent as you give him money and he hands over the change, dropping the coins into your outstretched hand. You give him one last smile before lifting your bag from the counter and turning to go, finally leaving this poor man in peace. He must be glad to see the back of you.

But then.

“Magic Shop.” His voice is quiet from behind you.

“Hm?” You pause and glance over your shoulder, confused. “Pardon?”

The handsome florist is looking down at the counter, wrapping an offcut of ribbon around one of his fingers, staring down at it as he does. “Magic Shop,” he repeats, a little louder. He tightens the loop of ribbon around his finger. “The song. I was thinking of calling it that.”

“Oh.” You continue to look at him for a few moments longer before a wide smile crosses over your face. “That’s a really beautiful name for a really beautiful song.”

He glances up from where he’s been staring at the end of his finger flush deep red, almost purple; the ribbon goes lax in his loosening hold and blood rushes back into his fingertip. “Thank you,” he says, bashful as he smiles back at you. “I’m glad you liked it.” 

--

The peace lily takes pride of place on your desk once you’ve cleared it of the crap you’ve let pile up over the past week. She watches as you bend over your keyboard and mutter to yourself, pruning back a lot of the raw hopelessness of your most recently written passages before starting a new chapter.

Lily’s escaped to the neighbouring city to get away from Jaerim and her broken heart. She gets lost as she’s wandering through this new, mysterious place, trapped in a maze of alleyways before she stumbles across a mysterious building with roses climbing up the trellis by the door. The front garden is full of flowers and tended by the prettiest woman she’s ever seen, eyes wide and dark as she startles at Lily’s sudden appearance over the small stone wall. Lily might not know it now but she’s just met someone important and special, a future friend: Yunhee, a witch who can speak to plants and sells dried bundles of herbs and flowers and spells to anyone who finds her.

It’s cheesy and cliché and you know it.

“It’s cheesy and cliché but it’s cute!” Your agent, Hoseok, is as upbeat as always, and he seems genuinely onboard with the snippet you’ve just sent him. “Especially after how sad the chapters were before this one. I think it’s a nice change of pace, considering how heavy your last novel was too.”

“Haha, yeah,” you say. 

Hoseok has no idea about your botched confession to Seokjin and how it had fuelled the subsequent heartbreak you’d put Lily through; you’d put your heroine through the wringer to let all your feelings out, because if you have to suffer, she does too. Especially if she’s going to get a happy ending after all of it. Lucky her. 

“Your fans will love it.” Hoseok continues, oblivious. “Where did the inspiration suddenly come from, though? I thought you said you were struggling with where to go with this one.”

“I don’t know really.” You sound absent as you stare at the neatly tied ribbon that’s still affixed around your lily’s pot, Spring Day’s business card still nestled into it. “It just came to me, I guess.”

You have to resist the instinct to take a photo of the peace lily to ask Seokjin what he’d name her. (He’s always so good with names.)

You know you’ll have to see him eventually. That’s the problem when all your friends are friends with each other; it might still be a while off but once Jimin and Namjoon have moved into their apartment and decorated it, they’ll hold a housewarming party and everyone will be invited. You can’t avoid Jin forever. You don’t want to, either, but right now you still feel like your heart is an open wound, and you need to give it time. Seeing him right now will just peel back the bandage you’ve tried to lay across your weeping heart to try and hold it together until it heals.

And you still feel awkward as fuck, too. Rejection hurts but it’s also embarrassing. Struggling through ten layers of repression to be sincere with someone and open yourself to pain, only to be let down? Ugh. Awful. Terrible. Never again. You’re gonna stick with repression from now on and just live vicariously through the stories you write. It might be lonely but at least you can keep your heart safe. (Not that anyone wants your heart, anyway.)

You start to play music to your plants. You can’t sing as well as the florist, but at least your lily and cactus can benefit from the sound of music, even if you’re probably off-key when you sing along to the soft songs you choose for them. 

(“Plants grow better when they’re spoken to.”

“What? Really?”

“Really,” Yunhee says with a small smile, fingers curling tenderly around the petals of the deep red tulip. “They respond to love and affection just like we do.”

Lily stares at the bloom and watches how the witch touches it so gently— with so much love and affection— and for a second she wishes was a flower, too.)

You have very little faith in your abilities to keep a plant alive, but your peace lily seems to flourish under your care. It’s only one plant but alongside your cactus it seems to bring light and life to your office, and there’s a bubbling sense of satisfaction in your chest each time you see them, still alive despite your ineptitude. It’s a brief distraction from the lingering sadness that still dogs your heels, opening up each time you find yourself thinking of Seokjin before having to quiet those thoughts.

The lily and cactus are fine but it doesn’t take long before you find yourself wanting to add more members to your green coterie. Plus, you never did buy that fuck-off huge bouquet, so maybe you’ll treat yourself to one this time around.

When you step into Spring Day you’re greeted by the sight of someone actually behind the counter today, barely visible behind the large leaves of the ficus plant; when the bell rings they pop up and it’s the same florist as before, eyes wide as he peeps over the counter and only growing wider when he spots who it is.

“Hi,” he says. He’s not as squeaky as he was last time but he still seems a little flustered at your appearance, fumbling with The Language of Flowers as he drops the book onto the chair and stands up straight; his hoop earrings have small chains today and they’re jostled by the motion. He looks away from you to brush his apron down. He’s wearing a loose button-up underneath it, sleeves rolled up like before, revealing the thin bracelets he has on each wrist. “You’re back.”

“I am.” You smile widely, surprised he's remembered you and weirdly happy at the sight of him. You’d half expected to see someone else; there’s no way this guy is the only person who works here, but you’re glad it’s him. “I was worried my lily would get lonely so I thought I’d get her a friend. Can I pick your brain for another recommendation?”

He takes you to the succulents. There’s a menagerie of terrariums to choose from, bursting with different shapes and sizes of plants, bright greens and soft teals and muted browns. 

“I think you’ll like this one,” he says, lifting up a dodecahedron of glass, each geometric plane trimmed with metal. He holds it up for you as you peer inside, small succulents nestled in a scattering of pebbles and soil. “They like bright light, but keep them out of direct sunlight because the glass can magnify it and burn them. And water them really sparingly, because there’s no drainage.” He taps the base of the terrarium. “It’s really easy to over-water succulents.”

He’s always so careful when he handles things, even if he lifts them like they’re weightless. No wonder the plants and flowers bloom so prettily here. They know they’re loved and looked after.

“They’re so cute.” You smile at the collection of contrasting plants that somehow live harmoniously together in such a small space. “And there’s more than one! So my lily will have plenty of friends.”

You’re too busy looking down to painstakingly accept the terrarium to notice the small, shy smile that flits across the man’s face as he watches you, your hands so cautious and protective as you accept more members into your growing family. “You’re right,” he says. “She won’t be lonely.”

You have the glass ball hugged against your chest as you trail behind the man, but then you come to a stand still by a selection of floral arrangements and realise that there’s no way you’ll be able to carry both the terrarium and a bouquet; at least, not one the size you’d been planning for. The florist notices the sound of your footsteps disappearing and stops to look over his shoulder. He seems concerned.

“Sorry,” you apologise, staring at one particularly large collection of flowers and foliage all gathered together in brown paper, soft pastel colours surrounded by greenery and smaller pale blooms. “I was just thinking about how nice your bouquets are. They’re so pretty.”

“Would you like one?”

“Of course, but I only have so many hands.” You laugh as you glance down at the terrarium you’re clutching onto. “I wouldn’t trust myself to hold a bunch of flowers at the same time as this. That would be a disaster waiting to happen, honestly.”

The florist pauses. “How about if I make you a boutonniere to pin on your shirt?”

You look up from the terrarium, blinking. There’s that tinge of pink stealing over his cheeks again and you find the sight surprisingly endearing. “You can do that?”

“If you’d like.” He’s looking away from you again, staring intently at a bucket of sunflowers. “So at least you have some flowers to take home.”

Something twinges, deep down in your chest, right at the bottom of your ribcage. Something you can’t put a name to. “That sounds nice. Yes, please? If it wouldn’t be too much trouble?”

You carefully put your succulents down on the counter and lean against it as you watch him select flowers for the corsage, pausing before he chooses each one; he keeps his gaze averted from you the whole time but you think it’s because he feels awkward about the attention you’re giving him. You’re not pretending like you’re not watching him intently, wanting to take everything in, intrigued. He keeps his eyes cast down as he starts to bring everything together but there’s still a flush on his cheeks. It’s… adorable. He’s adorable. 

“Feel free to say no, but can I take a photo?” You point at the camera you have looped around your neck. “Not of you! Well. Not all of you. Just… your hands as you make the corsage? I swear I don’t have a hand fetish, I just like to take photos of things I think are cool. Totally get if you don’t want me to, I—”

“Sure.”

He’s staring down at the tiny floral arrangement in his hands as he interrupts you, but he seems resolute despite the blush on his face. You pause for a second and then smile. You lift the Polaroid camera up to peer through the viewfinder and take the shot, but before you have the chance to take a proper look it seems like the florist is finished.

He only looks up at you now that he’s done and holds his work shyly up for you to inspect, as if it’s not the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen. He’s framed a soft purple rose with small blooms of lilac and white baby’s breath, offset by a burst of greenery, delicate and perfectly balanced. 

“Oh, that’s so beautiful,” you breathe. You reach out to touch it with reverent fingers, lavender petals of the rose so soft against your skin. “You did that so quickly, too! How did you choose everything? Did you just go for things you thought would match?”

“Um.” The florist has turned red. “Yes?”

You decide not to press further, even if you wonder what it is that has him so embarrassed right now. Probably because you complimented him on his floristry skills. “You have a really good eye,” you say, smiling. “It’s so lovely.”

He somehow flushes an even brighter shade of scarlet when you struggle to pin the boutonniere on and ask for his help; he’s so careful as he secures it in place, staring at his hands as he settles the flowers gently against your chest.

“Perfect.” You beam at him and feel triumphant when he gives you a small smile in return despite how shy he seems, but then he seems to realise that he’s still got his hands resting against the fabric of your clothing and rips them away like they’re on fire.

“Um.” He has his head turned away from you but there’s a wide smile on his face, teeth on show as he looks down at the ground. “Thank you. I’m glad you like it.”

You’ve just finished paying when you realise— “I don’t think you’ve charged me for the boutonniere ?”

The florist seems like a rabbit caught in headlights. “It’s a, uh, promotional thing. An incentive to come back and buy a full bouquet or arrangement. You… uh, you actually get a discount on your first bouquet if you get a boutonniere or corsage first. I just— I need your name to make sure you get the discount. Next time you come. If you come back,” the man says in a rush, before sucking his lips in and looking away from you. “If that’s okay?”

Of course you’re going to come back. “Oh! Sure! It’s Y/n,” you say. 

“Y/n,” he repeats. He’s staring at you, lips parted, soft around the shape of your name. You wait for a beat, looking back at him, before one of eyebrows rises.

“Um… do you have a book to write it down in? Or do you just memorise all of your customer’s names straight off the bat?”

The florist blinks and then his eyes go wide and his cheeks flush again. “A book! Of course, um.” He scrabbles around behind the counter, flustered, but seems to come up empty-handed. You watch as he grabs the only book he can find— The Language of Flowers— and cracks it open to the title page to scribble your name down in pencil before shoving the book under the counter and out of sight.

“I feel bad that you’ve just, uh, defaced a book because of me,” you say. “You didn’t have to write it down, I was just kidding? I know not everyone is as forgetful as me.”

“No, no, it’s alright,” he says. “It’s my book. I can write what I want in it. The, um, the logbook seems to have gone missing,” he continues, staring at his hands as he scratches his palm. “Yoongi-hyung must have moved it. I’ll, uh, write your name when he comes back with it. Yeah.”

“Yoongi? Is that your boss?”

“Hyung? Sort of. He owns Spring Day but he basically treats me like a co-owner, I guess.”

“Oh, wow, that sounds so cool, even if it must be a lot of responsibility.” You smile softly at the florist. “He must really trust you.”

He glances up from his hands, eyes warm when he spots the expression on your face. “Yeah,” he says, smiling back. “I owe Yoongi-hyung a lot.”

“Oh!” Your fingers tighten around the handles of your bag, terrarium safely encased inside. “You know my name, and now I know Yoongi’s name, but I don’t know your name…?”

He flushes again, imperceptibly, the tiniest spread of pink on the apples of his cheeks. “I’m Jungkook,” Jungkook says.

“Jungkook,” you repeat. His eyes flicker and he looks away from you. You’ll have to work on that shyness— but you’ve always been good at coaxing people out of their shells. You’re unapologetically yourself, and that helps other people feel comfortable being unapologetically themselves, too. “Alright, Jungkook, thank you for the help again today. And the beautiful boutonniere.” You wiggle your shoulder so the flowers affixed to your chest shift a little. “I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah.” He sounds a little breathless. “Yeah, I’ll see you around.”

Once you get home the terrarium is carefully unpacked and placed on your desk with your other plants; you’ve had to relocate some of your general filing clutter to another table to make space (the plants make you feel better than staring at a rose-gold in tray with letters that you need to get to, so whatever). You finally have a chance to look at that photo you'd taken earlier and fish it out of your pocket.

The background is a little blurry, not the focus of the shot, but you can see the neat pile of offcuts on the table, a small scattering of equipment. Jungkook’s hands, however, are in perfect focus. He has such lovely hands, from the pronounced knuckles to the subtle flex of his tendons to the pale blue veins that are visible as he holds the tiny bunch of flowers together and wraps them in ribbon. You stare at the picture for a little longer than you probably should before resting it against the peace lily’s pot, in eyeline as you begin to write.

(Lily watches, enraptured, as Yunhee prepares the sprigs of herbs and flowers that she hangs from the kitchen’s low ceiling. Her pretty hands are so fast as they bring the dried flora together, encircling each bunch with twine, quick and delicate. Careful. Reverent.

“Would you like a go?” Yunhee has seen her watching and holds up a spray of dried lavender rosemary, colours muted from their usual brightness, but no less pretty. “I can teach you, if you’d like.”

Lily smiles. “I would love that.”)

--

“What do I want in my bouquet? Hmm… that’s a tough one. What’s your favourite flower?”

You’re back at Spring Day the day after buying your terrarium, and once again, Jungkook is there. You’d caught a brief glimpse of another man on your way in, his hair a bleached-blond mess, but he seems to have disappeared— although his apron has been cast haphazardly over the back of the wicker chair behind the counter so you don’t think he’ll be gone too long.

Jungkook pauses. “I don’t know if I could choose just one,” he says. “But if I had to, I’d say the tiger lily.”

“Oh!” You point at his arm. His t-shirt today seems to be as baggy as the rest of his clothing choices but it leaves his lower arms visible. “Is that the tattoo you have?”

Jungkook turns his arm towards you so you can see it properly, the delicate lines of the lily blooming across his skin, and you can see the scratched lines of some words silhouetted behind it, ones you hadn’t spotted before. “Yeah.” He’s smiling. “It’s my birth flower.”

“That’s so pretty,” you say, awed. “What do the words say?”

Jungkook’s been less shy today, but when you ask this, he seems bashful. “Please love me.” He traces the words with his finger, the letters hidden behind the large petals of the flower. “It’s what the tiger lily means.”

He keeps his gaze averted from you, staring at the black and grey lines that bloom across his skin. You’ve barely scratched the surface of Jungkook, but there’s something so… so fascinating about him. Undeniably powerful and masculine, yet still so soft and considerate. Romantic.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, truthfully. “Both the tattoo and its meaning.”

Jungkook smiles shyly. “Thanks,” he says. “I’m glad you like it. I, um, drew it, actually.”

You’ve been staring at his arm but when he says this, you reel back. “You designed that tattoo? Jungkook. Are you telling me you can sing and draw?” When he doesn’t respond, still shy, you giggle. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. I know the truth.”

“So what would you like in your bouquet?” Jungkook’s clearly trying to change the subject and you laugh.

“I have no idea. I’m a dunce and you’re the expert, so I’ll let you do the heavy lifting,” you say. “How about something with some tiger lilies?”

The tiger lilies are beautiful, vivid oranges flecked with brown; Jungkook lets you select the ones you want, accepting the flowers from you carefully as you pluck them from the buckets and then laughing at yourself when you end up with water spattered over your shoes, dripping down the long stems. After that you let him take over and he chooses the other flowers to bulk out your arrangement, mulling over each decision before he seems content with his choices.

“I can recognise the roses and lilies, but what are the others?” You ask, intrigued.

“Roses, hypericum berries, tiger lilies, orange lilies, goldenrods, and some greening for filler.” He lifts each flower up as he lists them off for you, a cascading gradient of red to cerise to orange to yellow. “Do you want me to change them?”

“No.” Your voice is gentle. “It’s perfect. It’s just like a sunrise. I love them.”

Jungkook’s responding smile is wide enough to show his teeth and squeeze his eyes.

There’s something soothing about watching him work. His eyes are entirely focused as he puts everything in its place, uncompromising when it comes to his perfectionism; things will look fine to you but he’ll seem to think differently and shift things around until it passes his rigorous standards. You want to take a photo. Not just of his hands, but of all of him— the little furrow of his brows, the intense look in his eyes, the tiniest pout on his lips; the softness of his hands, the tenderness of his fingers, the relaxation of his shoulders. Someone who’s intent on perfecting his craft but finds joy in its practiced motions.

You're just considering risking it all to ask him if you can take a photo when you're (thankfully) interrupted.

“That’s a pretty bouquet,” someone drawls. “What’s the occasion?”

The other man has appeared out of the back room. His eyes are fox-like but his mouth is soft and his fluffy white jumper seems even softer, fuzzy against the dark apron that he loops back over his head.

“Hi, Yoongi-hyung. Um.” Jungkook glances up at you. “Is it… for… a partner? Or someone else?”

“Nope, just thought I’d treat myself. Is that weird?”

Yoongi looks at you consideringly, clearly thinking something, before he shrugs. “Nah. You should tell your partner to step up their game, though. You shouldn’t have to buy yourself flowers.”

You laugh, trying to cover up your sudden awkwardness as Seokjin’s face flashes in your mind. Partner? You? Haha. “I’m single, so this is the only way I’ll be getting flowers, I’m afraid.”

Jungkook drops a handful of goldenrods. Yoongi’s eyes flicker over to him, watching as the younger man scrabbles to pick the yellow flowers back up. “Huh,” Yoongi says. “I see. Well, as long as you’re paying, I’m not complaining.”

You already like Yoongi, as forthright and blunt as he is, an utter juxtaposition to Jungkook’s unassuming shyness; he plops himself down and watches Jungkook finish putting the arrangement together, arms crossed as he leans back in the wicker chair. He looks a little lazy and a little sleepy. A cat reclining in the sun.

Jungkook finishes the bouquet by wrapping it in layers of brown and white paper, layering orange and yellow and white ribbons around the stems, pulling the sunrise of plants together with more bursts of bright colour.

“It’s so beautiful,” you say. 

Yoongi makes a small grunting noise of agreement. “Good work, Kookie.”

Jungkook seems almost overwhelmed by the praise and holds a hand over his face, a shy curve of his fingers over his nose and mouth as he coughs and pretends he’s fine. “It’s alright, I guess,” he says. “Do you want anything else?”

“No, that’s everything for today, thanks.” You beam at Jungkook, who smiles back; he’s so cute. “How much is that?”

Yoongi’s mouth opens but Jungkook speaks over him to tell you the price, which is lower than you thought, but— “That must be from the boutonniere discount, right?”

Yoongi squints at you. “Boutonniere discount?”

“You know, hyung, the boutonniere discount.” Jungkook’s voice is a little high. “The promotion.”

Yoongi stares at him. Jungkook stares back. You think Jungkook’s about to break in the face of Yoongi’s blank pokerface, but then he nods. “Oh, yeah, that one,” Yoongi says, slowly. “I forgot. The boutonniere discount. Absolutely.”

Yoongi lapses into silence during the rest of the transaction, and though he looks sleepy, his eyes are sharp as he watches the two of you. Not that you notice, too busy carefully accepting the flowers from Jungkook and hefting the huge bouquet in your arms, mindful not to jostle them too much.

“Thank you so much, Jungkook!” You tilt your head forward to breathe in the soft floral scent, smiling. “It’s so lovely. And it was nice to meet you, Yoongi.”

“Likewise,” Yoongi says. “We’ll see you again?”

“Of course!” On your way out you go to take a hand off the bouquet to give them a jaunty wave, but unlike Jungkook you can’t keep the whole thing steady with just one hand and settle with giving them a nod instead. “I’ll see you again!”

As the door settles shut behind you, bell tinkling as you go, Yoongi raises an eyebrow at Jungkook. “Boutonniere discount?”

“Shut up, hyung,” Jungkook mutters, embarrassed. 

Once you get home you unearth the vase Namjoon made you in his last ceramics class, unwrapping the bouquet and easing it into the water. You watch as the flowers come a little loose from the tight presentation and jostle lightly against each other as they settle into the vase. It’s a bright burst of colour on your breakfast bar, eye-catching and beautiful. 

These flowers should last longer than the corsage from yesterday, which had already started to wilt; you know practically nothing about preserving flowers but you’ve sandwiched the purple rose and lilac and baby’s breath between layers of tissue and squashed them between some books on advice from the internet, wanting to press them and keep them close. (Maybe you’ll frame them or something. That would be cute.)

You pause. You pluck out a tiger lily, disrupting the careful balance Jungkook had strived to create, spinning the flower slowly between your fingers. Your friends send you congratulatory flowers after each new book publication, but this is the first bouquet that’s ever been made specifically for you— not the you that’s hidden behind a pseudonym. You. Even if you’d asked for this yourself, Jungkook had been the one to choose everything for you. He'd been the one to put the thought and time and effort into it.

You stare at the tiger lily for a few moments longer before slipping it back into the arrangement, turning it so it rests just as it had before you’d pulled it out.

(Spring is turning to summer and everything is starting to bloom, the garden alive with a riot of colour, full of the buzzing of bees and other insects— drawn here just as Lily had been. But Yunhee finds Lily in the greenhouse, away from the noise and activity, quiet and contemplative as she stares around her.

“What are they?” Lily points at a plot of flowers that have yet to bloom. The yellow and orange buds are long and heavy, weighted towards the ground. 

“Tiger lilies.” Yunhee squats down and touches one of the furled flowers. “They’re shy to start with, but once they start to blossom, they’ll be some of the prettiest things here. Yes, that means you,” Yunhee laughs as the plant in her fingers seems to twitch. “They’re always so bold once they’re in full bloom. You just have to wait until you can coax them out.”)

--

“You seem to be doing better.” Jimin puts his coffee down. “Have you spoken to Jin yet?”

“Good god, Jimin,” you laugh. “Straight in there, aren’t you?”

Jimin fixes you with a stern gaze and you wince a little.

“Sheesh. No, not yet.” You fiddle with your napkin, curling it around the end of your teaspoon. “I’m starting to feel… like… kind of okay about it, I guess, but I’m worried that it’s going to be weird when I see Jin again.”

It’s been over a month since your confession, and it’s the longest you’ve gone without talking to Jin since you’ve met him. It’s… weird. You miss him so much. But you don’t know if it’s too soon to try and reintroduce him into your life, even if Jimin clearly disagrees.

“It’s only going to get weirder the longer you go without talking to him,” Jimin says, and you hate that you know he’s right. “You keep asking how he is, and he keeps asking how you are, and it’s obvious you both miss each other. I’m not saying you have to jump back to how things were straight away, but you can ease back into it, you know?”

You sigh. “I know,” you say. “It’s just hard, Minnie.”

Jimin, your oldest friend, had been the first person you’d called after your failed confession. You’d been tearful and honest when you’d said that it felt like you were going to hurt forever. But it’s weird how quickly that’s ebbed away, even if you still regret opening your mouth in the first place; most of the hurt you feel right now is from missing Jin, not from lingering pain about unreciprocated feelings. You miss your-friend-Jin, not your-crush-Jin. 

“You seem to be doing okay, though.” Jimin raises his eyebrows at you over his latte. “Anything to do with whoever’s sending you those pretty bouquets that’re all over your apartment, hmm?”

You splutter into your coffee. “What? No, don’t be ridiculous, I’m buying those for myself,” you say once you’ve wiped the coffee off your chin. “Me? Getting sent bouquets? Pfft.”

You never planned on becoming some sort of manic flower hoarder, but Jimin isn’t exaggerating when he says that they’re all over your apartment. You’ve even had to buy extra vases to hold all the bouquets and arrangements you have, every hue and shape and size of flora imaginable on almost every flat surface— only your desk remains untouched, sacred ground for your potted plants. You’d bought a rubber plant a few days ago, but beyond that, nothing new has been set on your desk recently.

It’s just… whenever you’re in Spring Day it’s like there’s no space in your brain or heart to think about Seokjin. It’s a place of respite for you, now. Somewhere you can go that’s untouched by the outside world. Somewhere you can go to be surrounded by beauty and life. Somewhere you can go to talk to Jungkook, the sweet, soft florist who’s slowly opening up to you, a blossoming flower, petals unfurling further with each visit.

He’s not always there. Sometimes it’s just Yoongi, and you like Yoongi and enjoy his company, but… it’s different with Jungkook. He’s growing bolder, less shy, and every conversation with him is so riveting; you eagerly gobble up every tidbit of information he feeds you. He sings. He draws. He paints. He takes photos. He dances. Everything he finds interesting, he tries, and everything he tries, he tries voraciously— he never settles for anything less than 100%. He puts himself entirely into everything he does.

He’s incredible.

Anyway. You can’t come away from Spring Day empty-handed, hence all the flowers that are filling your apartment. Even though Jungkook says it’s okay for you not to buy things, you’d be a supremely awful customer if you just distracted him by talking and then leaving again, so you always make sure to buy something. Even if it’s just a tiny flower themed bookmark that you don't need.

“I’m all for retail therapy, but why not buy stuff for yourself that doesn’t eventually die and wilt?” Jimin seems mystified. “That many flowers can’t be cheap.”

“I’m a relatively successful author, I can afford to blow money on flowers if I want.” You wave your hand dismissively. “Besides, my latest novel involves a lot of flower and plant related stuff, so I’m basically investing in my writing. I’m killing two birds with one stone: research for my novel, as well as filling the gaping hole in my chest by buying flowers for myself because I’m destined to die alone and no one else is ever going to buy them for me.” You finish brightly.

Jimin looks equal parts frustrated and sad. “You know that’s not true, Y/n. Just because Jin—”

“It’s fine, Jimin, I’m kidding! I’m kidding,” you insist. “The reason I’ve been single for the past billion years is because I’m just too much of a catch and people find it intimidating, I know.”

You’ve used fake, inflated narcissism and mocking self-deprecation as ways of protection for years. Most people take your confidence at face value. However, Jimin knows you too well to be fooled by it; not to mention he’s one of the few people who knows about your books and has read every single one so he’s well aware of all the schmoopy daydreams you keep close to your chest.

Ugh. This is why you write under a pseudonym. Autumn Lovett is allowed to enjoy clichés and have unrealistic and dumb romantic fantasies. A lot of their platform is built around it. Meanwhile the real version of you tries to pretend that you’re not obsessed with the idea of true love and yearn for it almost every waking moment despite how utterly impossible it is that you’ll ever find it. Because it’s embarrassing.

“I’m going to kick you,” Jimin says lovingly. “Right in the shins.”

“God, please don’t.” Jimin’s kicks are lethal. “If I say I don’t genuinely think I’m some sort of unlovable cave troll, will you promise not to hurt me?”

Jimin takes longer to think about his answer than you’d like. “Okay,” he says eventually. “You have to really mean it.”

“Alright, I don’t genuinely think I’m some sort of unlovable cave troll. I just haven’t met the right person yet.” Your words seem to pacify Jimin, even if they ring a little hollow in your own ears.

The truth is that, on a deep level, you do feel unlovable. It’s maybe a bit self-pitying, because you have friends who adore you and you know you’re worthy of love, but… it’s kind of hard to really believe that when you have yet to have your feelings genuinely reciprocated. There have been a few moments in the past, a few brief, fleeting connections, but never anything wholesome and real. You feel like you’ve been waiting for something that’s never going to happen. 

Besides, if it does happen, it’s never going to be as soft and loving as the relationships you write into your books, right? You’re a sucker for clichés. You love the idea of someone bringing you flowers, watching the sunset with you, dancing together in your kitchen to a song on the radio— every overdone and overused formula that’s shoved into every romantic film ever. You want all of it. (You’ve never been on a ferris wheel but god do you want to have a date that involves one.)

Maybe you’re still alone because you’ve been asking for too much. Not everyone is as lucky as Jimin and Namjoon; you doubt you’d ever be so fortunate to find someone who loves you as much as they love each other and express that love, too.

You’re still brooding over these feelings when you visit Spring Day later. Jungkook’s singing again, something smooth and lovely and mellow, and when he sees you he brightens— he cuts himself off, but not because he’s embarrassed, but because he’s happy to see you. 

Something inside you goes soft and warm at the sight. He’s so nice.

Still, despite Jungkook’s soothing presence you’re far more distracted than you usually are and he seems to notice this; you end up sitting cross legged on the floor of the greenhouse under the leaves of a monstera while Jungkook keeps flicking you looks between watering plants.

A few weeks ago, he would be too timid to say anything, but by now he’s grown far more bold. You’ve been encouraging him to speak his mind. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” You’ve had your head tilted back to watch the fluttering leaves of the monstera plant but you look down to turn your attention to Jungkook. He’s wearing a dark plaid shirt today, loose sleeves rolled up past his elbow as he hefts his blue watering can; he looks soft and approachable, eyes warm with concern. “Yeah, I just have some stuff on my mind, I guess. Sorry. I’m not exactly a great conversational partner at the best of times, so I’m being even worse right now.”

“It’s fine, you don’t have to apologise.” Jungkook hesitates. “Do you… want to talk about it?”

You let out a light chuckle. “Ah, you don’t want to hear about the nonsense I’ve got in my brain, but thank you. It’s very sweet of you to offer.”

“No.” Jungkook’s voice is surprisingly firm and you internally startle. “If there’s something on your mind, it’s not nonsense. I’m not saying you have to tell me if you don’t want to, but— please don’t think I don’t want to listen to you.”

You blink. He’s not looking away from you like he normally does— there’s a hard set to the line of his mouth, like he really, really means what he says and he wants you to know that.

“Oh.” For once you’re the one who breaks eye contact, glancing down at your lap. You’d found a lone daisy on the floor and you’ve been cradling it in your hands, rolling the stem between your fingers, and you watch as the petals fan out and shiver at the motion. “Okay. Thanks, Jungkook.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says. His voice is gentle. You keep your eyes fixed on the daisy, and you can hear the slosh and drizzle of the watering can as he goes back to the plants. You take in a deep breath.

“What’s your opinion on romance, Jungkook?”

There’s a splashing noise as Jungkook fumbles with the can and drops it. Luckily it stays upright and doesn’t spill over the floor. “I, um, what?”

You look away from your daisy and stare at him earnestly, as embarrassingly open and raw as you feel right now. “What’s your opinion on romance? You know, love and all that.”

Jungkook pauses. 

“I know it’s a weird question.” You wince. “You don’t have to answer it. I’ve just been thinking about it.”

Jungkook stares at the watering can by his feet before he stoops over and picks it back up. He’s not looking at you. “How come?” His voice is a little strained, but you don’t notice.

“Ah, I don’t know,” you sigh. “I think about it a lot, honestly. Sometimes I just wonder if it’s realistic? Like, of all the people in the world, what’s the likelihood you’re going to meet someone that you really… really resonate with? And they’re going to feel the same for you? Part of me has always believed in fate, or like… serendipity, I suppose. Bumping into someone that turns out to be so much more important than either of you could imagine. A soulmate? In a way? But as time goes on I… I guess I’m worried I’ll never actually find that and it’s all a ridiculous pipe dream.”

You feel small and defenceless after admitting this. You might be a loudmouthed sarcastic clown, but underneath all your theatrical buffoonery and snark, the truth is that you’re an utterly hopeless romantic. It’s the world’s worst kept secret, sure, but you’ve never laid it out so plainly to anyone before. 

The longer Jungkook stays silent, the more awkward you feel, and you desperately need to break the tension.

“Bweh.” You make a little noise. “I get nauseous whenever I express real emotions. I didn’t mean to word vomit all of that at you, sorry—”

“I believe in soulmates.” Jungkook’s back is to you as he stands in front of a collection of osteospermums, but he’s stopped watering them. “And romance. And true love. I don’t think it’s always going to be easy, and it might hurt along the way, but… I think there’s love and happiness waiting for us at the end of it. Yoongi-hyung always calls me a hopeless romantic.” He laughs a little and glances over his shoulder at you, his expression warm and sincere. “I always cry at sad scenes in romantic films and books and he likes to tease me about it.”

He doesn’t seem ashamed about being open and vulnerable with you. It’s terrifying and yet Jungkook seems unafraid. Honestly, you admire it. “Me too,” you admit, your voice a quiet hush. “Everyone keeps arguing about if Rose could have let Jack onto the door with her but I’m always too busy crying to pay attention to how big the piece of wood is.”

Jungkook lets out a breath of laughter, nose scrunching as he smiles at you. He’s not judging your sappiness at all. “Titanic is such a sad film,” he says. “It makes my heart ache every time I watch it.”

You hit your knee with a fist. “I know! Why couldn’t they just be happy? Ouch,” you say. “Wow. I punched myself harder than I thought. I just get very passionate about happy endings. Sad endings— well, they make me sad, especially if the rest of the story has been sad too. What was it Guy Fieri said? I can bear any pain as long as it has meaning.”

Jungkook blinks. “Guy Fieri said that?”

“Now that I think about it, I think it was actually Haruki Murakami.” You rub a soothing hand over your knee. “But yeah. I’m not saying sad endings don’t have a place, and sometimes it’s right for the story that’s being told, but… I’m more of a happy ending person. If I were James Cameron I’d have to let Rose and Jack end up together. I’d be too soft to write the ending he did, even if it was appropriate. You know?”

Jungkook turns away from the osteospermums, his eyes as soft as he looks at you. “Yeah, me too,” he agrees. “I think everyone deserves a happy ending.”

The monstera plant above you patiently listens as you and Jungkook have a long, quiet conversation about love and romance, and it’s… weird. You never thought you could have a conversation like that without wanting to cringe so hard you collapsed in on yourself and imploded into a black hole. Submitting to the mortifying ordeal of being known is usually a lot more… well… mortifying, but somehow with Jungkook, it isn’t.

Maybe it’s because he’s so open himself. Maybe it’s because you can tell he’s not judging you at all. He doesn’t think your desperate yearning for love and romance is anything to be embarrassed about— and he clearly feels the same yearning. You find it baffling that someone as lovely as Jungkook doesn’t have someone special in his life, though. Wild.

“Monsteras are actually nicknamed Swiss cheese plants,” Jungkook informs you, running a hand over one of the leaves and trailing a finger over one of the holes in it. You're adding it to your steadily growing plant collection. “Because of these. They look like the holes you find in Swiss cheese.”

You laugh. “Oh, that’s so cute! I love that.”

Jungkook smiles. “I knew you would.”

He’s just finished tying a ribbon around the plant’s pot when he pauses. “Oh,” he says. “If you like happy endings, can I recommend something?”

He stoops down to get something from behind the counter and you can tell when he’s found what he’s looking for by how his face lights up. You’re hyped to see what it is, what’s gotten Jungkook so excited— but then he flips the book over to hand to you and you nearly choke on your own spit. 

Jamais Vu. Your most recent novel.

“I really love this author,” he says as you try to swallow down your coughs, eyes watering with the effort. Luckily he’s looking down at the book and doesn’t seem to notice. “No matter how difficult things get, or how awful things seem, the endings are always happy. Or at worst, bittersweet. They’re never completely sad? Watch out for the plot twist in the middle, though, that’s a rough one.”

“Hahahaha, alright, I will!” It was the first time you’d incorporated a murder mystery in one of your books, but damn, it had gone over really well with the critics. And Jungkook too, apparently, judging from the excited look in his eyes. “This looks, um. Interesting.”

He beams at you. “If you like it, I have the rest of their books at home. You can borrow those as well. I, uh, I've been reading them from the very beginning,” he admits, with a tiny, shy laugh. “The earlier books are skewed mainly towards romance, but the plots are always good too. If, um, you like that sort of thing.”

You feel faint. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Jungkook.”

Once you get home, you very carefully and delicately place the monstera on your desk, turning it a few times until you’re entirely happy with the position of it.

Then you lie face down on your bed.

Your breaths are fuggy against your pillow but you keep your face buried in it, even if it’s getting progressively harder to breathe. Jungkook reads your books. Jungkook reads all of your books. Jungkook is apparently an avid fan of your books— the copy of Jamais Vu he’s lent you is a hardback copy and the design on it is one you recognise as a pre-order exclusive. 

Oh, shit. Is it a signed copy?

You scramble out of bed to grab the book and flip to the title page. There it is, staring up at you: your own signature. Well, Autumn Lovett’s signature, complete with a tiny scribbled leaf. 

To Jungkook, you’d written. Thank you so much for all your support! you’d written. Autumn Lovett, you’d written.

You muffle a scream into your hands.

Even if Jungkook doesn’t know who Autumn really is, there’s no way he’s going to read your next book and not realise the truth. The tiger lilies. Yunhee’s dark eyes and dark hair and swift hands. Her strength and softness. Lily, magnetised by her, drawn in by her gravity.

(You haven't realised until now just how much meeting Jungkook has changed the development of your novel. Why?)

You’re at a loss for words. You honestly don’t know what to feel. Part of you feels flattered that Jungkook loves your writing so much. Another part of you feels like you’ve been lying to him the whole time you’ve been talking— pretending to be someone you’re not. Somehow. Autumn has lied to him by not being real, and you’ve lied to him by not letting him know the truth. Sure, you’ve only found out today, but.

The one person you’d talk to— the one person who’d help you muddle through your emotions on something as complex as this, as flippant and blasé as he might seem to people who don’t know him like you do— is someone you haven’t spoken to in over a month. 

Your eyes slide over to your phone. After your conversation with Jimin earlier you’d genuinely been planning on messaging Seokjin tonight; nothing major or big, just a dipping of your toe back into the waters of your friendship. But you need to hear his voice. You’re not going to offload on him, of course. You’re not going to make the first conversation you have after your confession to be all about you. But you just need that familiarity right now.

He picks up after one ring. 

“Hi, Y/n,” he says, and you feel like you could fold in two.

“Hi, Jin.” The sound of his voice fills you with warmth and tender affection, and you love him so, so much— but you know in an instant that it’s platonic. This cresting wave of tenderness crashing through you and making your knees want to buckle is for one of your best friends, Kim Seokjin. Your friend. “Hey. I hope you’re doing okay. Been up to anything interesting?”

You end up curled in your computer chair as you talk, your hand resting on the book that Jungkook has entrusted you with. It’s funny how talking to Seokjin comes so naturally; a month feels so long, especially after such a huge revelation from you to him, but it’s also like no time has passed at all. You think maybe you could go years without talking but the moment you came back together again, it would feel the same way. 

It’s like you exist on the same level. Like there’s some sort of unbreakable, connective membrane between the two of you. It’s why you’d fallen in love with him. It’s only now that you realise that you’d mistaken that closeness for romantic love, when it isn’t really, at all. It’s just different to your other friendships; deeply and emotionally intimate, but not romantic. 

“It sounds like you’ve been doing well,” Jin says. There’s the sound of sizzling in the background and you glance at the clock; he’ll be cooking dinner. He always cooks around now. “How’s the novel coming along?” Are you still in love with me? Are you writing about me?

You pause. Your flip Jungkook’s book open again, staring at his name written in your handwriting— months before you’d known who he was. Some tenuous, inexplicable connection before you’d even met. 

“It’s good,” you say, truthfully. “It’s not what I’d been planning, but it’s really good.” I love you, but I’m not in love with you. I’m writing, but not about you. Not really.

“I’m glad.” Jin’s voice is so warm. “You’ll have to send me what you've got so far at some point.”

“So you can point out all the inconsistencies whenever characters are cooking or baking anything? No thanks, already fallen into that trap too many times,” you say, and Jin laughs.

“If you’re going to write a character who’s a baker, you need to do your research batter,” he says, and you laugh in return.

“Did you say batter instead of better? That’s terrible. I love it, even if I wasn’t bready for it.”

“Your puns are so crumby,” Jin replies.

“Are you trying to get a rise out of me?”

You both end up dissolving into laughter at your increasingly nonsensical and awful baking puns. The puns are weak and not even good in a bad way (as in, so bad that they’re good), but they don’t need to be. Jin takes longer to finish laughing than you. His squeaky wiper noises are a familiar sound through your phone speaker and you’re still smiling once it eventually trails off.

“I missed you,” you say suddenly. “I’m sorry. Not sorry about the confession, but— sorry it took me so long to come back around afterwards. I was just worried it would be weird.”

“I understand. It’s okay. I missed you too. You know I love you, right?”

“I love you too. Not romantically. Don’t get it twisted. I realise now that I’m way out of your league, anyway, so it’s a good thing you turned me down.”

“It was for your own good,” Jin says. “As the two most beautiful human beings alive we’d been too powerful if we were together, so it’s for the good of humanity.”

“We’re just so altruistic,” you sigh dramatically, and then you both giggle. “Can the world’s two most beautiful human beings get together for lunch? That wouldn’t cause a vortex in the space time continuum, right?”

“I think the fabric of the universe can handle it.” You hear the sound of Jin taking his pan off the stove, the clunk of metal. “Let me check when I’m free, sweetheart.”

(“You seem happy.” Jaerim’s smile is a soft, hesitant thing, but Lily’s responding smile is bright and wide.

“I am,” she says. Pinned to her breast pocket is a corsage of sweet pea, soft purple and pink and white, its gentle fragrance filling her senses. A reminder of Yunhee even when she’s not here. “I’m really, really happy. But I’m always happier when I can share things with you.”

Jaerim reaches out for her hands. His touch is familiar and warm, and Lily feels as loved as she always has— the way she loves him, too. 

As a friend.)

--

“You know, at this point I’m pretty sure you’re bankrolling the entire shop,” Yoongi says, and you laugh.

“I can always go somewhere else if you’d like?”

“Please.” Yoongi snorts. “I’m not complaining. Besides, Jungkook would be heartbroken if his favourite customer stopped coming.”

The way Yoongi assembles bouquets is different to Jungkook. He’s no less skilled and lavishes the same amount of attention on each one, but his arrangements always seem a little wilder, freer— not in a bad way, just different. He’s surrounded by an increasing collection of carnations and dusty miller, the silver leaves curling around the immaculately white blooms; simple and elegant arrangements for a small bridal shower.

“That’s good to know,” you say, ignoring the warm flush that spreads through your chest at the idea of being Jungkook’s favourite customer. Sometimes you worry that you’re overbearing, actually, with how often you visit, even if Jungkook never seems to mind. “I do buy a lot, though, so that’s probably why I’m his favourite.”

Yoongi’s just finished tying a trail of silver and white ribbon around the collection of flowers in his hands, eyes flicking up at you as he eases it into a small vase. “You shouldn’t feel obligated to keep throwing money at this place,” he says. “You’re welcome to come whenever you like. Without needing to buy something.”

You feel weirdly chastened. “Um, okay.” You laugh lightly. “Kind of a weird business you’ve got running if you’re not telling customers to buy things, though?”

Yoongi snorts again. “You’ve spent more money in the past few months than most customers might spend in a year.” He reaches for another bunch of carnations. “I think we’re good.”

The bell tinkles above the door. You glance over your shoulder to see who it is and your face lights up when you see it’s Jungkook, clutching a small cardboard tray of coffees. He looks boyish and cute today, his hair is a little windswept from the breeze outside, and there’s a smile on his face that only grows wider when he spots you. You smile back. You’re always so happy to see him.

“Is that my coffee?” Yoongi says, without looking up from the bundle of flowers he's holding. “Bring it here.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes and you stifle a laugh behind your hand. Any shyness Jungkook might have had originally seems entirely gone now, and he’s unabashed when he pretends to disrespect his hyung, even if you know there’s a lot of love there.

Jungkook puts the cardboard cup out of the way of Yoongi’s work so there’s no chance it might accidentally get knocked over. “Here’s the decaf caramel cappuccino with extra sweetener and whipped cream that you asked for, hyung.” Jungkook gives you a conspiring smile and you stifle another laugh at the expression that flits across Yoongi’s face at the word decaf.

“Die,” Yoongi says mildly, before taking a sip of his bitter and untouched black coffee. “Perfect. Now, shoo, I’m busy. Go check on the herb display, I think they could do with some fertiliser.”

You keep hold of Jungkook’s cup as he mists the herbs, a tiny spritzer in his hands that he carefully aims at the stem of each plant. Unlike Yoongi’s black coffee, Jungkook’s opted for something iced, a creamy yellow blend with shavings of chocolate on top.

“If I’d known you were here, I would have gotten you something as well,” he says. You glance up to see Jungkook’s paused in his motions, hands engulfed in bright green basil leaves. It seems like he’s noticed you peering at the drink.

“Don’t be silly, I don’t expect you to buy me coffee! I’m just trying to work out what this is. It looks really tasty.”

“It’s a banana frappe. You can try some, if you want?”

You beam. “Can I?” You take a sip before Jungkook changes his mind, pursing your lips around the straw as the coldness hits your tongue and nearly gives you brain freeze— but then you register the sweetness on your tongue, the flavour of banana and vanilla and honey, delicious. “Oh, this is so good,” you breathe. “Where did you get this? I need this in my life.” You take another cheeky sip, eyes on Jungkook’s reaction, but he seems unfazed at the fact that you’re greedily slurping up his drink before he’s even had a chance to have any.

“There’s a small café a few streets away from here,” he says. “I, um.” He looks away from you, back towards the basil, before he pulls his hands out of the leaves and starts to mist the soil of the mint plants. “I could take you there, if you’d like.”

You haven’t seen him blush for a while, but that familiar tinge of pink is starting to steal over his cheeks as he looks away from you. Something churns low in your stomach, something almost like butterflies; a shifting of their wings, ready to take flight. “Oh,” you say. “That would, um. That would be nice.”

For the first time since you’ve stepped foot into Spring Day, you leave without buying anything. Instead, you leave with a day and time, hastily typed into your phone so you don’t forget. (Not that you would. How could you forget anything about Jungkook?)

You still haven’t told Jungkook who you are. Well— who Autumn is. He’d been so excited when you’d ‘finished’ Jamais Vu and had accepted another book from him, wanting eagerly to hear your opinion on it; it’s hard to not blurt out the truth to him, but you don’t know how to broach that topic. You’re worried that it’ll change this friendship you’ve built up with him and you don’t want to lose Jungkook. Even if you haven’t known him that long, he’s already so, so important to you, and you don’t want to let go of that.

But if you’re starting to become real friends, the kind of friends who get coffee together, who spend time together outside of Jungkook’s work— he deserves to know, right? You just need to find the right time to tell him.

When the day rolls around, you’re early. You’re always early for things. You skulk around the front of Spring Day, where you’d agreed to meet; you make sure to keep just out of Yoongi's eye line, ducking out of sight when it seems like he might spot you through the front window. You’re staring at a bucket of coral-coloured blooms when you hear Jungkook calling your name and you glance up, lifting your hand in a wave.

You almost choke on a breath. You’ve never seen Jungkook out of uniform, his plethora of loose, oversized shirts under a dark apron, nondescript trousers and plain shoes.

“Hi, Y/n.” The smile on his face is bright and wide, eyes squeezing into crescents. “I hope you haven’t been waiting too long?”

He’s in such a simple outfit, but it’s devastating. His hair is arranged neatly under a cap, a leather jacket over the dark, tight shirt tucked into his jeans, blue denim nipped in by a plain black belt; there’s large rips at the knees, flashes of skin visible as he walks forwards, feet steady in black boots. It’s undeniably Jungkook, but it’s so different from the version of him you’ve gotten used to over the past two months, catching you completely off guard.

“Y/n?” He repeats, concerned at your silence, and you snap to attention.

“Oh, sorry! I was just thinking about, uh,” you glance at the flowers you’d been looking at, “peonies. No, I haven’t been waiting long at all, don’t worry. You, um, look really nice today,” you add lamely, unsure what else to say. 

“You do too.” Jungkook sounds like he genuinely means it, even if you’re just wearing a pretty regular outfit, similar to the sort of thing you usually wear when you visit him at work. “Peonies only flower for about a week, actually, if you wanted to get some?”

“No, no, that’s fine! Today’s not about flowers, today is about coffee,” you say. Your heart is hammering in your chest for some reason. A single butterfly lifts off in your stomach, taking flight with a flutter of its wings, flitting to and fro. “Take me to the coffee?”

He takes you to the coffee. He leads you confidently through the maze of alleyways, past more places you haven’t seen; he waits patiently whenever you ask to stop and take photos, watching as you stare in awe at an arch built out of precariously balanced tomes that leads into an old bookshop.

“It’s just so pretty around here,” you say, flapping your hand about to try and speed up the development process of a photo. “I’m sorry I’m taking so long.”

“It’s okay.” Jungkook’s voice is soft. “We’re not in a rush.”

He’s not just saying that to be nice, either. At one point, after you’ve apologised yet again, he steals your Polaroid from you and runs; you laugh at him when he refuses to give it back, taking shots of you while he dances just out of your reach, a cascade of photos that somehow turn out distinct and unblurred. Curse his photography abilities. 

You slap him lightly on the arm when he eventually surrenders the camera back to you and he just chuckles. It’s a long, looping detour on your way to the café, but you’re having so much fun that you don’t mind— in fact you end up having to be the one to get you back on track, tugging Jungkook’s elbow when it seems like he’s about to take you down another alleyway and towards the river, which you know is the wrong direction for the café.

“Coffee, Jungkook.” You try to sound stern but you end up dissolving into giggles when he pouts at you. “Okay, how about a compromise? We can get coffee to go and then come back this way so you can show me that market you were talking about.”

He brightens. “Okay,” he says. “We can do that.”

You almost regret saying this when you eventually turn up at the café; it’s actually a few stories up a building, a narrow set of rickety steps that opens into a light, airy room, naked lightbulbs hanging in constellations overhead, the entire wall behind the counter a massive chalkboard that’s covered in art of different styles and designs. The wall facing out onto the road outside is glass— the perfect place to unwind and people watch.

“Oh, wow,” you breathe. “Jungkook, this is so cool.”

“I know,” he says, smug and cheeky, and he laughs when you huff out a little breath at him. “The drinks are good, too.”

He’s not lying. He opts for another banana frappe, and after much deliberation, you decide to try the iced honeycomb latte. He refuses to let you pay and hands his card over to the barista before you even get a chance to reach for your bag, which has you narrowing your eyes at him.

“I feel like you prepared that in advance,” you say.

“Not telling.” He taps the side of his nose, which is scrunched from his smile. Inside you another handful of butterflies take flight.

More and more take wing as the afternoon goes on, each time Jungkook laughs or smiles or looks at you; he leads you through the market and shows you his favourite stalls, excited each time he gets to show you something he likes and enjoys, stealing sips of your drink when you’re distracted— but you laugh in his face and do the same to him, so it’s okay. 

Time flows by as easy as quicksilver, liquid and bright, and before you know it it’s turned from afternoon to evening, sky softening in deepening shades of blue and purple, the smattering of clouds a pastel palette of pink; you come to a stop by the edge of the river, Jungkook a few steps ahead of you by the time he realises you’re not walking beside him. He smiles at you as you lift your camera and take a shot of him surrounded by the sunset.

“I didn’t realise how late it was getting,” you say, and Jungkook blinks. It’s like he’s coming around to himself, like he didn’t realise either; he glances around and notices the shade of the sky before he pulls his sleeve back to look at the watch on his wrist.

“Wow, me neither.” He sounds surprised, and then he looks guilty. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you busy for so long.”

“Oh my gosh, Jungkook, don’t apologise.” You tuck your latest photo into your pocket to look at later. “I’m having so much fun, I just didn’t notice the time go by. It’s not like you’re forcing me to be here,” you laugh. “I like spending time with you.”

The lampposts have yet to turn on and it’s hard to make out Jungkook’s features when he’s turned away from the soft light of the sunset like this. But you can hear the sincerity in his voice when he speaks. “Me too,” he says. “I’m really glad you found Spring Day.”

Your heart squeezes in your chest. Jungkook looks towards the river just as the first lights switch on, finally dark enough that the streetlights come to life; there're trailing bulbs between each lamppost that flicker on moments after, points of brightness that flood the path below them. Jungkook’s face is shaded by the brim of his cap but he takes it off and shakes his head, running his hand through his hair now that it’s freed. Another breath catches in your throat at how utterly mesmerising he is. 

The sound of his voice breaks you out of your trance. “I was wondering,” he says, staring at the rippling mirror of lights on the water, the fading colours of the sky overhead cast in undulating reflections that shift from moment to moment. “You like photography, right?”

“I do,” you say. “Even if I’m not that great at it myself.” 

“I have a friend who’s a photographer and some of his work’s been accepted in a local gallery.” Jungkook’s running his fingers over the hard brim of his cap, running them along its edge. “The opening night is in a few days, and, um. I was wondering if you’d like to go with me?”

He finally turns away from the river to look at you. Jungkook’s eyes are so big and dark. For once you’re the deer caught in headlights, and you don’t even know why; it’s like this simple, innocuous question has reached inside you and stolen all the air out of your lungs. 

Even so, your answer is immediate. “I’d really, really love that,” you answer honestly, and Jungkook’s responding smile is so, so wide.

You forget about that final photo until you get home. It falls out of your pocket as you shrug your coat off to hang it up, and you stoop down to pick it up, fingers stuttering and going still against its white edges as you take it in.

Jungkook’s silhouetted by the evening sky behind him, in stark contrast to the gentle colours and yet just as soft. The shadows are a little blurred, and the colours are a little muted— but Jungkook’s face is clear, his eyes warm and his smile gentle as he looks at you. 

No one’s ever looked at you like that before.

At last the final butterfly flaps its wings and joins the others, your stomach full of fluttering.

--

Your friendship with Jin has miraculously gone back to normal. If anything, it’s even better than it was before your confession— you don’t feel the need to think twice about your actions, like you’re tiptoeing around him, desperate to keep your love a secret. It’s as easy as it used to be and you’re glad.

But you still remember how much it hurt when he’d looked at you and turned you down. You’ve moved past it, sure, but it had just cemented something you’ve known your whole life: how utterly unlovable you are. How wrong you’d been at reading signs, how you’d been in over your head. How every crush you’ve ever had has come to nothing.

You’ve kept that picture of Jungkook resting against your peace lily. His lovely eyes watch as you struggle at your computer, hours of typing stilted words and phrases that you read back and furiously delete. You bury your head in your hands, frustrated. 

Why can’t you write?

By the time Friday night rolls around, you’ve added a grand total of one (1) sentence to your novel. But right now you have more important things to worry about; it’s almost time for you to meet Jungkook at the gallery downtown and the maps app on your phone has been playing up. It’s not that you’re going to be late— you don’t actually live that far away— but you’re not going to be early, and you hate that.

You can see the small groups of people trickling into the gallery, the lights shining out by the entrance cutting across them as they step inside, but your eyes are immediately drawn to Jungkook. He’s been looking down at his phone but as soon as you start to approach it’s like he can sense that you’re there, eyes rising from his screen and zoning in on you immediately. 

You stop in your tracks. His face lifts and splits into a wide smile and you smile helplessly back. He’d said the dress code for tonight was smart-casual, and he looks so good dressed like this. You love his turtleneck jumper.

“Hi,” he says. “Wow, you look good.”

“Hi,” you respond, breathless. You feel winded from his compliment and from the blush that’s rising on his face, even if he’s keeping his gaze locked on yours. “You do too.”

You stare at each other for what feels like eons when someone brushes past you and it snaps the two of you out of the moment, and Jungkook coughs. “Um. Should we go in?”

It’s busier inside than you thought. The gallery isn’t exactly small but the layout isn’t entirely straightforward and people keep clustering in certain areas and getting in the way, distracted by the photos on display. You have to wade through one particularly large group of people to get back to Jungkook, who’s been waiting for you on the other side; he looks concerned on your behalf, and when someone makes a move to walk between the two of you he reaches out for your hand, cutting off their path. Your hand feels so small in his, so warm in his grasp.

“I didn’t realise there’d be so many people here,” he mutters, looking around. You entwine your fingers with his and he startles, glancing at where your hands are joined, like he hadn’t noticed that he’d reached out for you. 

You abruptly feel embarrassed and you’re about to let go when Jungkook squeezes your hand. You glance up and he’s looking away from you, back of his neck red, but he’s not letting go.

“I think Tae’s stuff is a bit further in,” he says. “Let’s go.”

You trail after Jungkook, who keeps his pace matched to yours. It’s a little quieter back here so it’s easy to find who you’re looking for; when you spot a man with bright blue hair he waves wildly in your direction and Jungkook brightens.

“Kookie! Hi!” 

Jungkook lets go of your hand when he’s swept into a hug, and before you can introduce yourself, you’re swept into a hug, too.

“I’m Vante,” the blue-haired man says once he lets you go. “But you can call me Taehyung. Vante is my photographer name. I think it sounds cooler. Don’t you?”

“I think Taehyung is a lovely name,” you say, unphased by how full on Taehyung seems to be. “But Vante sounds really cool, too.”

Taehyung beams at you. “I like you,” he announces. “Y/n, right? Jungkook mentioned you.”

You cough into your palm, trying to act like you’re not supremely flustered right now; when you’re not looking, Jungkook hits Taehyung on the shoulder. “Yeah, that’s right,” you say, looking up. Both boys have innocent expressions on their faces. “Can I have a look at your photos?”

Taehyung is an incredibly talented photographer. You don’t need to be an expert to know that. He has a series of scenic and nature shots, some in colour, some in black and white; he enthusiastically answers your questions about each one, about the background of them and why he takes photos of what he does. Jungkook walks quietly behind you and is content to watch as the two of you talk, chest warmed by how well you’re getting on with each other.

You round a corner to another wall, and Taehyung gestures dramatically at the collection lined across it. “And these are my portrait photos,” he says. “There’s even one of Kookie up here, even if he gets embarrassed whenever I mention it.”

Sure enough, Jungkook is blushing. 

“Take me to it,” you say firmly, and Taehyung laughs out loud before he does just that. It’s a black and white shot, Jungkook in profile as he looks towards the camera, endless ocean waves and sky behind him. “Jungkook, you’re such a good model,” you say, smiling softly at it. 

Jungkook’s gone bright red, and you’ve honestly missed this sight, even if you’re glad that he’s not shy with you any more. “Taehyung’s just good at taking photos,” he says, voice high with embarrassment.

“I have a lot more photos of Jungkookie that aren’t on display,” Taehyung pipes up, and Jungkook looks like he wants the ground to open up and swallow him. “You’ll have to visit my studio some time so I can show them to you.”

You have Taehyung’s business card carefully stowed away in your bag as you walk home, arms swinging by your sides; you unintentionally brush your hand against Jungkook’s, but before you can say sorry he’s taken it as an invitation to hold your hand again. The apology dies on your lips as he slots his fingers between yours and you smile at him instead.

“Taehyung is so cool,” you say. “And talented, too. I love his photos.”

“I’m glad you both get on so well,” Jungkook says. “Sometimes people seem to think Taehyung is… I don’t know. He can come on a bit strong, I guess.”

“He’s great.” You frown. “I’m going to fistfight anyone who’s mean to him.”

Jungkook laughs and squeezes your hand.

He insists on walking you up to your door, keeping hold of your hand as he follows you inside your apartment building. You feel somewhat abashed at how wide his eyes go at how nice it is inside here. You’re not on the same level as, say, Stephen King or George R.R. Martin, but you make a pretty decent amount of money from your books and it shows.

Jungkook doesn’t actually know what you do. You’ve vaguely alluded to the fact that you’re a writer, but that could mean any number of things; for all he knows you could pen the agony aunt column in a magazine (you imagine that would be pretty fun, actually). You keep waiting for the right opportunity to come clean about your pseudonym but nothing’s presented itself yet.

“Do you want to come in? My friend Seokjin makes killer brownies and I’ve got a box of them still in the fridge,” you say. “He always makes way more than I can eat myself.”

Jungkook seems torn. He wants to see inside your apartment, you can tell, but he also probably doesn’t want to seem intrusive— even if you’re offering.

“I hate wasting food so you’d be doing me a real favour,” you add, and Jungkook relents.

“Alright,” he says, and you smile to yourself as you unlock your door.

You’ve been giving flowers to other people, too— Seokjin and Jimin and Namjoon and even Hoseok have been receiving the gifts of your bounty— but only the premade bouquets. The ones that Jungkook puts together are ones that you keep for yourself. It’s far less overwhelming now than it had been a while ago, only a few floral arrangements here and there, but it’s obvious from Jungkook’s expression that he recognises each bouquet.

He ends up sitting at your breakfast bar as you dig the brownies out of your fridge, and he smiles in delight as you warm up some milk. It’s getting late, and you know Jungkook doesn’t like coffee, anyway.

(You’ve learned a lot about Jungkook in the past few months.)

“Which one is Seokjin?” He asks around a mouthful of brownie. You’ve retired to your living room and Jungkook is peering at the strings of fairy lights you have on the wall, Polaroids of your friends and family clipped along its wire. “This one?”

“No, that’s Namjoon,” you say. You stand up from the couch and scooch next to Jungkook so you can point. “He’s Jimin’s boyfriend— which is this guy here. That’s Seokjin,” you point. “All my favourite people. Ah, don’t look at this one, it’s me and Jimin when we were back in school. We look like such dorks. Look at our hair.”

“You look cute,” Jungkook says, and you try not to blush. “Wait, is that me?”

Your collection of Jungkook photos has been growing exponentially over time. The one he’s looking at is a picture of himself in Spring Day, bent over a bucket of roses, fingers cupping the pink flowers as he smiles at them; he’s said he’s okay with you taking photos, but maybe he meant when he was actually aware of you taking them.

“Um, yeah,” you say. You feel weirdly embarrassed. “I can take it down if you want? Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.” Jungkook’s staring at the glowing light next to the photo, avoiding your eyes. “I just didn’t think I’d be on the wall with the rest of your, uh, favourite people.”

Your mouth falls open. You don’t know what to say. Normally you’d scoff at him and say duh, of course you are, but for some reason you can’t summon the courage right now. The words catch in your throat.

Luckily, Jungkook seems to notice another photo. “Oh, is that from your school prom? Wait. Are you on crutches?”

You laugh, glad for the distraction. “Oh, yeah! Jimin persuaded me to sneak out of my house a few weeks before that because I was under curfew but there was a party we were both desperate to go to. Needless to say, climbing out of my window didn’t go so well. I was on crutches for ages after that. It wasn’t so bad, honestly. People felt sorry that I couldn’t dance so they kept sitting with me and feeding me cupcakes out of pity. They were delicious,” you say with a smile. “Never did get to do that end of school dance I’d planned with Jimin, though. That’s the only thing that was bad about it.”

Jungkook’s face twists. You’re too busy looking at the photo and reminiscing to notice, but you do notice when he steps back. You turn, confused as Jungkook holds his hand out and looks at you expectantly.

“What?”

“I know it’s a bit late, and I’m not Jimin, but you can have that end of school dance.” Jungkook wiggles his eyebrows at you. “I promise I won’t step on your feet.”

You giggle, but you can feel a blush threatening to fight its way onto your cheeks. There’s a storm of butterflies in your stomach. “But there’s no music,” you say. “How can we dance without music?”

Jungkook shrugs. “I’ll sing for us,” he says. He steps forward, hand still proffered, and you slide your hand into his, unable to deny him. 

It’s been years since Jimin’s taught you the basic waltz, and you’re a little stiff because of it, but your body seems to remember the steps as Jungkook slowly leads you. You’re staring at your feet while Jungkook hums, but once you have the rhythm down he opens his mouth and starts to sing; you look up from the floor, your eyes helplessly drawn to his. 

His voice is soft and honeyed, words sweet as they hang in the air. You’re so entranced by the deep, warm brown of his eyes that it takes you longer than it should to recognise the lyrics of the song: 10,000 hours, transformed by Jungkook’s mellifluous voice.

He leads you into a turn, and when you come back together it’s a little clumsy and you giggle. Jungkook smiles at you as he continues to sing. The laughter leaves you feeling light and sparkling, like there’s a fountain bubbling inside you, and all the stiffness finally falls away from your limbs. The waltz becomes more of a swaying dance as you let your arms drop, Jungkook’s arm sliding around your waist as you step closer to him, and you end up turning in small circles in the middle of your living room as Jungkook murmurs a love song into your ear.

You suddenly realise that you’ve never been happier than you are right now: dancing in your living room in the circle of Jungkook’s arms as he sings to you, a romantic cliché that’s somehow become true for you. For you. With someone as incredible as Jungkook.

You’re never happier than when you’re with Jungkook.

Holy shit.

You’re in love with Jungkook.

The final note of the song lingers in the air as he comes to an end, the resonance of a bell that slowly fades. He smiles at you as you slowly come to a stop, still nestled in each other’s embrace as your feet finally become still.

“I’m so glad I broke my leg,” you say suddenly, and Jungkook laughs outright, face squeezing up in the way that you love so much.

You’re in love with him.

You watch as he slips his shoes back on. You feel helpless and untethered in a lot of ways, but at the same time, you’ve never felt more sure about anything. When he flashes you a smile, you can’t help but smile back— but that’s always been the case, hasn’t it?

“Hey,” you say suddenly, just after Jungkook’s finished shrugging his coat on. “I know you’ve just, um, gotten ready to go and everything, but can I quickly show you something?” Your heart is thudding in your chest. 

Jungkook blinks. “Sure.”

You give him a jerky nod before turning on your heel and walking down the corridor to swing the door open to your office. Jungkook follows behind you, waiting in the doorway as you flick the light on; he makes a noise when he notices the frame hanging on your wall, the flowers of the corsage that you’d dried and pressed safe behind the glass.

You don’t respond. You’re too busy taking a moment to suck in a deep breath and steel yourself before you open your filing cabinet to pull out a stack of papers, sheaves of writing that are stapled together— the very first, unedited drafts of each of your novels, kept for posterity.

“I, um, don’t really know how to say this.” You stare at your hands as you shuffle through the booklets. “I haven’t told anyone new in a long time, so I guess I’m out of practice, but, uh.” You’re so nervous that you’re light-headed. “Autumn Lovett is actually my pen name. These are drafts of my novels if you think I’m lying,” you say, shoving the paper at Jungkook’s chest; he grabs them before they fall to the ground. “Um. So. Yeah. Taa-daa?”

You feel like you’ve run a marathon. Your heart is racing and your lungs are struggling to take in air. You can’t look at Jungkook. You’re staring at the ceiling instead, dreading his reaction.

When he makes a noise, however, your head snaps down. He’s crouched in the middle of your office with your drafts held over his face.

“Jungkook?” You say, panicked, and he makes the same noise again.

“Oh my God,” he whines, muffled behind the paper. You squat down to grip his hands and pull them away from his face, worried; when it’s finally revealed he’s bright red and he looks mortified. “I can’t believe I recommended your own books to you,” he all but wails. “And I gushed like a fanboy in front of you about them too. Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”

You don’t mean to but you laugh. Jungkook tries to hide his face again but you pull the drafts out of his hands and send them scattering to the floor. “Oh, Jungkook,” you say, overflowing with affection. “You don’t have to apologise. I found it flattering, actually.”

He doesn’t seem bothered that you hadn’t told him sooner. He doesn’t care that you’ve been keeping it a secret. He’s just embarrassed. He stays embarrassed as he helps you gather up the papers, and he stays embarrassed as you return your own book that he’d let you borrow, and he stays embarrassed as he heads towards your front door for the second time that night. 

“I do, um, really like your work,” he says, shy as he fiddles with your door handle. “I’m really looking forward to your next novel. I’m not just saying that to be nice because I know who you are now.” His eyes are wide as he looks up at you. “I mean it.”

Your heart feels full to the brim with fondness. “I know,” you say. “I believe you. I— you can have a read through it before it’s published, actually, as long as you promise not to leak it.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen even further before he holds his hand out. “Pinky promise.”

You giggle as you hook your finger with his. “Pinky promise.”

Once Jungkook’s left you immediately sit down at your computer and write and write and write— it’s like the words just won’t stop. They come pouring out of you, and endless torrent that you don’t try to rein in. You write for so long you end up crashing at your desk, face smooshed against your keyboard as you drool in your sleep.

(“I don’t know how to dance,” Yunhee says, and Lily just smiles.

“Me neither,” she says. “We can learn together.”

They keep stepping on each other’s feet. It’s clumsy and messy and they keep dissolving into laughter between apologies to each other, but it’s perfect, because it’s Yunhee. 

It’s perfect, because it’s Yunhee, with Lily: because it’s them, together.)

--

“I’ve finished my novel,” you announce, and all the men at the table sit up.

“Wow.” Namjoon blinks at you. “I thought you weren’t due to publish for, what, another six months?”

“What can I say? I’ve been inspired.” You smile down into your glass before taking a drink of your orange juice.

Seokjin stares at you before he leans back in his chair. He’s always been able to read you through and through, and that perceptiveness doesn’t leave him now. “Ah,” he says. “You’re in love.”

You’re in the middle of swallowing your juice and nearly choke, spluttering. Namjoon pats your back with concern while his boyfriend looks askance.

“You’re in love and you didn’t tell me?” Jimin sounds affronted. “Who is it? Are they cute? Where are you hiding them? I knew you were lying about those flowers, you lying liar.”

“I wasn’t lying,” you wheeze, finally coughing the last remnants of orange juice out of your windpipe. “Well, I guess it was kind of a half lie? I was buying them, but, uh, he made them.” You fiddle with the napkin in your lap as Seokjin coos at you.

“You fell in love with a florist,” he says. “You’re literally living in an AO3 fanfic. That’s adorable.”

“Shut up,” you hiss, and Jin just laughs when you try to kick him under the table and nearly hit Namjoon instead.

“It sounds romantic,” Namjoon agrees, apparently unphased by how close he was to getting nailed in the shins.

Jimin slaps his small hand against the table. “You haven’t answered any of my questions, snake. I know what you’re like, Y/n— get the Polaroid out of your bag. We need to judge your new beau.”

Jimin’s right. He knows exactly what you’re like, the helpless romantic that you are; the three men shuffle their heads together to peer at the photo of Jungkook, the one where he’s surrounded by the sunset.

“He’s fucking cute,” Jimin decides immediately. “I’m almost offended you haven’t introduced him to us yet. You should invite him to our house-warming party. Namjoon agrees.”

You look at Namjoon, who nods despite not being consulted. “You’re so whipped,” you mutter at him. He just shrugs. “Anyway,” you continue, raising your voice over Jimin’s and Jin’s muttered conversation as they continue to stare at your photo of Jungkook. “I’m going to hold fire on the house-warming party invitation for now, because, um, I haven’t actually said anything to him yet.”

Your eyes are cast down as you say this, affixed to the sight of your hands in your lap. You’ve still been visiting Spring Day, of course, and you’ve started to see Jungkook more and more outside of work as well; each time you meet him you fall a little bit more in love. It’s almost terrifying how easy it is to fall for him.

“Y/n.” Jimin’s voice is sober and you glance up from your lap to take in the worried look on his face. “I know it must be scary—”

“Oh gosh, Minnie, I love you, but it’s okay, you don’t need to give me a pep-talk on how I’m a 10/10 and anyone would be blessed to have me,” you interrupt. “I haven’t been putting off confessing because I think he’s going to pull a Jin and turn me down—”

“Hey,” Jin says mildly. He knows you’re joking. You got over that ages ago.

“—but I, um, emailed him my book yesterday, actually,” you finish. “What he does once he’s finished reading it is up to him.”

Jimin is right. It is scary. But Jungkook is worth the potential pain and heartache. He is. He’s always so lovely to you, always so considerate; he sings for you and dances with you and he’s even painted for you, a small canvas covered in favourite flowers, ones that won’t die. Last week when he’d dropped you off at your apartment, he’d brushed his lips across your cheek before practically sprinting away, and your heart had exploded in your chest. 

You have no idea how someone as amazing as Jungkook sees something worthwhile in you, so it's hard to come to grips with, but there’s no way you’re reading this wrong. There’s no way.

The table goes quiet and then Jin leans forward and takes your hands in his. “I can’t believe you’re confessing to him with your book,” he says. “This really is an AO3 fanfic. Hashtag slow burn.”

This time, when you kick him, you don’t miss.

You spend the rest of the day with your coterie of doofuses and by the time you get home you’re ready to relax. You’ve just finished getting into your pyjamas, flopping down onto your sofa when there’s suddenly a hammering at your door. You sit up, startled at the noise. The knocking doesn’t let up as you approach the door and you’re wary, but once you look through the peephole you immediately swing it open.

“Jungkook? Are you okay?”

He’s wild-eyed and windswept and his chest is heaving as he sucks in air. You stare at him with concern as he catches his breath.

“Yoongi let me have the day off,” he says. You blink at him.

“Okay? Did you want to go out somewhere? Now? You’ll have to let me change, though, my pyjamas aren’t exactly great evening wear.”

“I’ve spent the whole day reading your book,” Jungkook says, and your heart goes still in your chest before it starts beating at double time.

“Oh,” you say. “Um. What, uh. What did you think?”

Jungkook’s face has taken on an expression that you’ve become intimately familiar with, a similar look to the one he’d been giving you that night by the river, soft and open and warm and— you can see it now, as time has gone by— full of love. He cups your face in his hands and rests his forehead against yours, dark eyes drinking you in, the smile on his lips so lovely and sweet. Just for you.

“I love you,” he says, and then he kisses you.

He keeps cradling your face in his hands, his lips moving against yours in a way that’s so tender that it makes you want to cry; you’ve never felt so wrapped up in someone’s touch like this, like you can feel exactly how precious you are to him just from the touch of his lips against yours. You know it’s a cliché to say that it feels like fireworks going off in your chest, but it does, every single one of the butterflies that have been nestled in your ribcage exploding into flames and brightness, sparkling heat that shines out of you every second Jungkook keeps kissing and kissing and kissing you.

Kissing Jungkook feels like every romantic fantasy you’ve ever written into your books is coming true all at once. You’re not unwanted, undesirable, unlovable: he wants you, he desires you, he loves you. 

(He loves you.)

It feels like every flower he’s ever given you is flushing to full bloom all at once, spilling out of your chest, brightness and colour and life curling around your heart. All those years spent quietly hoping, culminating in this moment: Jeon Jungkook pressing his lips against yours, keeping you steady as you lean into him, and you feel like all that waiting and yearning and wanting was worth it if you got to meet him at the end of it all. You’ve finally got your storybook ending.

No, actually— it’s just the beginning. 

You’re still standing in your doorway when you part, Jungkook’s hands splayed across your jaw as you give him a smile so wide it almost hurts. 

“I love you too,” you say. “If that wasn’t already obvious.”

Jungkook chuckles and you can’t help but lean into the sound, eyes slipping shut as you turn your head and rest your forehead against his jaw. “I had to reread some parts because I didn’t think I was reading it right,” he admits, and you keep smiling. “I thought there was no way it could be real.”

How could Jungkook ever have any doubts? How could Jungkook think that there was no way that you could love him? Does he not realise how amazing he is? How wildly lucky you feel that somehow— with all your flaws and blemishes and imperfections— he loves you back?

“What made you come around?”

“Yoongi-hyung took one look at the last page and threw a roll of ribbon at my head,” Jungkook says, and you laugh, and Jungkook laughs, and the two of you are laughing and laughing and laughing. You feel like you could float away, buoyant with happiness; only Jungkook’s presence is keeping your feet on the ground. “I hope you don’t mind that I let him read it.”

“It’s okay.” You tilt your head back to look at Jungkook. He’s staring at you like you’re the sun and he’s turning towards you, a fierce and beautiful tiger lily blooming in your light. “I wouldn’t mind if you sent free copies of the book to everyone in the world if it meant I’d have you at the end of it.”

Jungkook smiles at you. It’s bright and wide and his eyes are crescents as his nose scrunches and he flashes his teeth, and you love him. “Purple rose, lilac, baby’s breath,” he says, and you recognise the flowers of the corsage he’d given you, all those months ago. “Love at first sight, first love, everlasting love.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “Shut up,” you breathe. He'd seen you as worth loving, even then? “Shut up. You did not— you did not confess that you had a crush on me with flowers? After we’d only met twice?” 

“Maybe I did.” Jungkook’s smile turns cheeky and you love him.

“I can’t believe you. I can’t believe me. You were literally reading a book about flower language, how did I not— god. I love you,” you say helplessly, and he laughs before he kisses you again.

(“I love you.”

Yunhee freezes in place and looks up at Lily with wide eyes. Lily is terrified of being hurt again, terrified of Yunhee not returning all this endless love that she has in her heart— but Yunhee is worth that terror. She’s worth that pain. Even if she doesn’t feel the same, she needs to know how loved she is. How brilliant and lovely and wonderful she is, her Yunhee, her love.

Yunhee opens her mouth to reply, and says:

-

How this story ends is up to you, Jungkook. I’ll be waiting. - Y/n)