#I regret this so much I should be the one with her

[nobodyfamousposts]

Scarlet Lady Top 10 Favorite Characters: Number 10

For @zoe-oneesama

Okay, I realized as I was writing these that there is way way WAY too much to each of these and why to be able to put them all into one post, so I'm breaking them down into individual essays focusing on each one to keep them palatable.

So without further ado....

Number 10: EVERYONE

Yeah, I know it may be cheating but at this point it was the only choice I could make.

I came to regret making this list, specifically because I couldn’t seem to make up my mind as far as who all would be on it. I reread the entire series. I kept switching people in and out as I was reminded of characters or scenes I loved. And I came to a realization that there is no character in the whole of this series I didn’t enjoy to some extent that they didn't deserve some love in this list and I kind of wish I could have added all of them just to give them all some spotlight.

Yes, it is partly because everyone is vastly improved compared to Canon. But as I reread the series, it came to mind that if Canon didn’t exist and I didn’t have the comparison between the characters, I still very much would have loved this series and everyone in it.

Cause and Effect Exist

It's important to have a setting in which the characters and their actions make sense for the world they live in. When the setting is supposed to be modern day earth, we need the people to be able to show that they are capable of surviving in it on a day to day basis without being so massively incompetent that they would do something like accidentally ingesting poison. Or forgetting how to breathe.

I would think it would be obvious, but sometimes Canon makes me wonder. Which is never a good look for a show that is supposed to have some level of seriousness and involve superheroes.

Here’s the thing Canon can’t seem to get: when a majority of the things that go wrong in a plot are because of everyone having to be stupid to make the plot work, you have a problem with the writing. Changing the material in a story so that younger people can enjoy it does NOT mean dumbing down the characters and throwing in arbitrary lessons with no real reason to them. Even if the show itself is geared towards kids, you can’t treat the audience like they’re stupid.

In Scarlet Lady, the people aren’t stupid.

Silly, yes. Wrong, often. Overdramatic, definitely. But while they may make stupid choices sometimes, they aren’t so dumb that anyone should have concerns about their ability to function at a higher level than an overcaffinated 2 year old.

They’re fooled initially the way many of us would be with a biased story that hits the news first. Oblivious to the problems in a situation that they logically wouldn’t have much direct insight into. Prone to making mistakes and incorrect judgement the way that anyone would. That's normal. That's expected.

But they’re not so incapable as to forget things that happen right in front of them between one day and the next. Or even between one scene and the next.

Things carry over. We see cause and effect. We see consequences—bad and good. And those consequences extend not only for the episode or season but for the entire series.

Aurore KNOWs Alec cheated her before and maintains a tight control over him and prevents more of his antics.

Adrien and Alya maintain a cold attitude towards Lila for some time after her reveal as a liar. And it even remains a point against her as used by Chloe as herself and as Scar to discount what she says.

The boys of the class remember Adrien’s “love letter to Marigold” and try to win him her merch because they’re bros like that. 

Adrien himself remembers the instances of his dad being a massive prick and instead of being surprised and “sad boi uwuwu” each time it happens like it’s supposed to be a surprise that the massive prick would choose to be a prick, he very clearly moves through the stages of grief to the point of a sort of acceptance that involves planning around and even for him.

Gabriel’s horrible parenting and general lack of concern for Adrien or his wellbeing as he ends up a casualty of various akuma attacks was played off for laughs when such incidents occurred. Then they were brutally called out against him in the Finale as a way to counter his claims of doing everything for Adrien’s sake. And the big reveal of the Birthday Scarf…utilized in the last way anyone would have wanted.

And Chloe is perhaps the biggest example as her antics ARE NOT forgotten or ignored by anyone. The classmates still interact with Chloe and are relatively nice to her, but they don’t just forget that she’s treated them horribly. They don’t act surprised when she does anything horrible. Nor does anyone just laugh it off or excuse it as “just who she is”. We see follow up to her behavior—the class fully expecting her to cause trouble and actively try to plan around it. People calling her out on past behaviors. And even bigger consequences as time goes on. Such as Adrien breaking off the friendship. And a blink and you miss it fridge logic moment in Ikari Gozen when you realize that when they said she was banned from all future Gabriel-involved competitions, they meant it.

The fact that by the time the big reveal happened that Chloe was Scarlet Lady, no one was shocked.

Story-wise, this is showing the passage of time and the effect the events of the story are having. It’s showing that there is lasting impact and that what happens to the characters matters.

Meta-wise, this is Zoe rewarding us for paying attention.

Continuity exists in Scarlet Lady. Time exists. The people exist. When anyone does anything, you get the sense that they aren’t operating in a vacuum. The things they do matter. There are consequences. There is an impact. And if there is an impact in the story, there will be an impact on the audience.

Which leads to…

Character Depth/Character Growth

Usually in TV shows of this nature, if there ARE character arcs for the side characters, they only occur over the course of a single episode devoted to focusing on them before moving on elsewhere. 

Canon didn’t give us that much at all in favor of having every episode that should focus on other characters learning and growing instead forcing Marinette to be wrong in some way and learn an arbitrary lesson that often would have better served for someone else.

In Scarlet Lady, the arcs we get are impressive for all that they’re relatively unobtrusive. They aren’t big. They aren’t world-ending. And the thing is, most change in life isn’t. It can just FEEL that way.

Like the way it felt for Kim when he first found out Ondine liked him and then had his confession to her screwed up.

And the way it felt for Kagami when she lost that first match against Adrien.

Then there’s the way it felt for Chloe when she was dismissed by her mother, had her popularity go downhill, and ended up losing her Miraculous.

…or the way it felt for Adrien when he discovered his dad was Hawk Moth.

The reactions we witness are in a great part due to actions outside of the characters’ control, but are ultimately a result of the experiences they have had and the ways they have changed as a result.

The question becomes: are the characters that we meet at the beginning pretty much identical to how they are at the end? Is the world?

The answer in Scarlet Lady is no.

Whether because the characters themselves change or our perception of them does, we can see that they have all undergone some sort of events that create a difference between the start and end points.

Not all of them HAVE to undergo some big emotional arc. Not all of them NEED to. But the characters still mostly go through some sort of growth by the end that I feel make them stronger and healthier people.

You’ve got the big life-altering changes like Lila and Sabrina.

You’ve got the little changes like Nino and Ivan.

You’ve even got the most minuscule, beginning stages of change in Chloe.

You’ve got growth that creates such perfect setup with Mylene when she starts off scared and traumatized by how things went with Stoneheart then is the one who confronts him in the end. And the parallel between the finale and the beginning when she returns him to normal by kissing him just like they did in that first episode to change him back then, too! (Just….GOD, I CANNOT GET OVER THIS!)

You’ve got them reaching out and making friends and relating to people they hadn’t before.

And by the end of it all, we get characters who feel like people rather than props.

They don’t all have to change. They don’t necessarily need to go through an entire emotional arc and back again. They just need to be part of the world they’re in.

Nino doesn’t just pop into existence when Adrien or Alya need someone to interact with. Kagami isn’t just a non-horrible or non-evil love rival for Adrien or a stepping stool for him to “practice“ at being in a relationship before it’s time for him to try the “real thing” with his endgame pairing. Luka isn’t just a decent guy who is the only actual form of support for the female lead and yet only lacking that precious “male lead” title or all around just not “Adrien enough” to fill the role.

Adrien isn’t just a “sad boy” meant to be a main love interest, Villain’s Morality Pet, and the one everyone idolizes and chases after just cuz he’s the male lead and that’s how you show he’s desirable I guess. Marinette isn’t the atlas keeping the story alive because no one else is apparently capable of learning lessons and changing, or even just the bare basics of functioning as individuals. Chloe isn’t just there to be horrible for no reason and get away with it so she can continue to be horrible until the writers suddenly need her to be sympathetic.

And the rest of the classmates aren’t just some Greek chorus there to fill the background.

We see them interact. We see them making jokes or jabs. We see them even…*gasp* having different opinions!

And on something as major and life-controlling as feelings about the “Hero of the City” no less! Why, that’s the sort of thing that would break up friendships and determine who you can sit next to at the cafeteria! The horror! The scandal!

And…oh hey. This puts the characters in different groups. It links them with characters other their Canonically designated pairings and groups. This lets them disagree on things and not need to vilify any of them. This creates implications that add depth to the story and to the people in it.

The characters can disagree without being enemies. They can be wrong without having to be evil. They can make mistakes without having to be stupid. And they can change and grow—both for better and worse.

And we see both and in different ways. SO many different ways.

Adrien goes from excited and impulsive to buckling under the forced responsibility and weight of a partner who hinders more than she helps.

Lila goes from selfishly bad and self-serving to selfish but friendly with better direction of her talents in a less self-serving way.

And Chloe just goes from selfish and bad to selfish and worse..

I mean, it says something that the combination of Lila’s growth and Chloe’s fall from grace resulted in Hawk Moth being unable to use Lila as a tool for his Heroes Day plot like he originally intended.

The key is that whether they necessarily grow or become better people, these characters are still IMPACTED by the events around them and AFFECTED as a natural result of the world they live in. 

You can’t help but feel for them in some way as a result. It’s part of why I love them.

The other part of why I love them is a bit more epic though…

Crowning Moments of Awesome

If there’s one thing I love, it’s seeing characters be awesome. I love it when characters get to be awesome. I would love to see more of it. Especially when the ones involved are characters you wouldn’t normally expect or get to see have a chance to shine.

And it’s when you see these characters be awesome that you really get the sense that yes, this character would work as a hero.

Seeing Max help against Robustus. Seeing Kim help against Odine. Alix stepping in during Pharaoh, calling out her brother’s fan fiction, and helping the heroes escape the security system at the Lourve. Alya stepping in during Copycat to clue Chat in to what’s going on and later keeping Anansi distracted to keep her away from Chat while he’s trapped. Rose kicking Nightmare!Chat in the face to defend Marinette even when she’s on the run from her own nightmares in Sandboy. Luka leading groups twice to stepping in and helping the heroes deal with akumas. Nathaniel standing up for Marinette and Sabrina when they’re accused in Rogercop and then helping the heroes in Reverser.

These little moments of support make such a big different and really make it make sense that the heroes would trust these people with magical jewelry to help them in battle.

And the little moments of characters being petty or strong or smart or turning the tables or just showing off what they’re capable of. Even without superpowers.

Adrien getting petty revenge for Nino and finding a tactic to counter Gabriel in the future.

The Police Force in Rogercop just saying “Nope” to obeying an obvious akuma. 

Zoe manipulating akumas twice to help the heroes. Her two Reasons You Suck Speeches to her mom and Bustier.

Every instance of payback that Tikki gets against Chloe.

Everyone in the Finale. Just…EVERYONE in the Finale. The characters who manage to avoid akumatization by either spotting the flaws in the illusion or refusing to give in to fear and even protecting others. Nora smacking any akuma that enters the home. Claudie pulling off Power Mom and ordering Max to stop attacking the city then helping to calm him down. Prince Ali and Juleka freeing Rose by kissing her! Chris, Ella, Etta, and Manon saving Mylene! Mylene saving Ivan with a kiss in a direct callback to how they first got together in Stoneheart! (Yes, I am still stuck on that!) Ondine saving Kim! Lila and Sabrina saving Alix! Luka facing Riposte alone and unarmed and then Kitty Section saving Kagami! ALL of the Heroes making a final comeback to help take down Hawk Moth for good! Just—AAAAAH!

How could Miraculous have peaked with this in Season 2 when this is Grand Finale material? Because there are few things more awesome than getting to see ALL the characters the heroes met and befriended and helped throughout the course of the story stepping up at the final battle to help take the Big Bad down!

Like…can we just take a moment to appreciate how everyone gets a chance to stand out in some way? Not all of them necessarily good, exactly (looking at you Andre). But still stand out and be memorable. Even characters who didn’t originally get much focus. Especially characters who were originally functioning as cardboard cutouts to fill a scene.

Anyone remember Aurore? How for the FIRST akuma in the pilot of the series and one who is quite frankly the most interesting and noteworthy, we don’t really get to see her again except in the background.

In Scarlet Lady, we got to actually look in to the contest and how she lost as well as the aftermath. She wasn’t some arrogant showoff who deserved to lose to the “sweet down to earth rival”, she was a girl who legitimately tried her best and had valid reason to be upset. Seeing her get revenge on Alec for cheating and humiliating her on live TV was well worth it.

Or how about the Photographer? Just there to take photos of Adrien in the park for a photo shoot or be the school photographer, but otherwise has no personality and is only remembered for his weird “spaghetti” line.

In Scarlet Lady, his role is two-fold. He acts as a sort of supporter for Adrien in his crush. Taking really good pictures of him being happy with the girl he likes. Taking more class photos at the behest of this girl for the sake of a friend who missed out on the class picture. And then there’s his OTHER role as a sort of antagonist to Chloe. He becomes one of the only ones in the early seasons willing and capable of dismissing her tantrums.

They’re both given more character. They get moments to stand out and BE awesome. So is everyone.

EVERYONE. From the classmates and big named characters we see regularly to the side characters who only appear once or twice. They all get some good scenes and focus that give them their own identities. All of them are memorable. None of them can really be ignored or forgotten. And part of what made making this list so difficult was that I found myself getting attached to pretty much everyone as I came across each of them that I couldn’t quite make up my mind.

Everyone in this fic has done something to make me happy and warrant my approval. Even the characters I normally wouldn’t like at all had their moments to shine and elicit an “okay, that was cool” from me.

Thus I grant this spot to everyone. To all the characters I don’t get the chance to mention. To all the ones I like albeit somewhat less than others. To all the ones I know are horrible but can’t help but like regardless. To all the ones I fought with myself for THREE MONTHS over which one would get this spot.

I love all of them.

[focusonkayjay]

between the ride and the roses (final)

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: biker/ motorcycle shop owner! jungkook x flower shop owner! reader, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, slow burn, angst, smut, fluff

Word count: 13.4k+

Series summary: There's an insane turn of events when your calm and peaceful life is intruded by Jungkook, a biker boy who sets up his loud business right next to your own. Your paths cross under unlikely circumstances, starting with a clash of personalities but gradually you find yourself establishing a deeper connection with the annoyingly attractive biker jerk. You both have no idea what's in store for you guys as you try your best to put up with each other.

Chapter Warnings: protected sex, oral (f. receiving), mentions of hospital, stitches, wounds, injuries, scars, angst (lmk if i missed anything)

A/N: wow, i can’t believe my first-ever series is finally over. it’s been almost two months since i started this, and you guys have shown me immense love and support for this story—something i’ll forever be grateful for. a part of me feels sad to let go of these characters, but i think i’ll be coming back with a few drabbles every now and then.

i truly hope you’re satisfied with the ending, and i hope reading this series brought you comfort the same way writing it brought comfort to me. thank you so much to everyone who stuck around until the very end. stay tuned for more of my work. also HAPPY NEW YEAR GUYSSSS i hope all of you have the best year ahead. love you guys <3

final: garden of the open road

"Or maybe you should get her flowers!!" Hoseok chimes, his tone bright and optimistic as he leans over the workbench, twirling a wrench in his hand like he’s just unlocked the secret to the universe. "I mean, flowers solve everything, right?" His grin is infectious, lighting up his entire face as he glances between Jungkook and Jimin for validation.

Jimin, lounging across from him with a barely concealed look of skepticism, raises an eyebrow. "Come on, Hyung. Y/n owns a flower shop. Do you really think giving her flowers would be anything other than redundant? That’s like giving a baker bread... or... or a mechanic spare tires. Think it through." He crosses his arms, leaning back smugly as if he’s already won the debate.

Jungkook remains silent, his attention absorbed by the bike in front of him, polishing it. The rhythmic motion of his cloth on the metal feels almost meditative, but inside, a storm brews.

It's been a week since you stormed out of his shop, and the silence between the two of you has only amplified the weight of his regret. Every word that Yoongi had said to him echoes in his mind... Yoongi's disappointment, his advice, and his harsh yet caring words.

He knows now, with absolute clarity, that he can’t keep doing what he’s been doing. Avoiding, running, pushing you away... it was never just about protecting you, it was also about his own fears. And Yoongi was right... he needs to stay. To show you, not just with words but with actions, that he’s in this. Fully. Wholeheartedly.

Meanwhile, Hoseok and Jimin continue their back-and-forth, brainstorming creative suggestions for Jungkook to make it up to you.

Jungkook doesn’t respond, his thoughts spiraling as he grapples with how to make things right and undo the damage he’s caused. He’s been giving you space, knowing you probably need time to cool off.

But he can’t stop himself from wondering. How are you holding up? Are your wounds healing? Are you still angry with him? Do you still hate him? The questions gnaw at him relentlessly, each one heavier than the last.

Every moment without you feels like a thousand lifetimes, and the weight of his inaction is suffocating. His silence, his avoidance… it’s all been one colossal mistake. He loves you too much to keep fumbling this, and after you poured your heart out to him like that, doing nothing would only cement the fact that he’s the biggest idiot on the planet.

Yoongi was right. Jungkook needs to be with you, not just in the easy moments but in the tough ones, too. He needs to be the person who gives you peace, not the one who makes you question everything.

As Jungkook continues his silent contemplation, Hoseok and Jimin’s bickering grows louder, their voices rising as they try to outdo each other in the "perfect apology to Y/n" department.

The two suddenly pause when the sound of the shop door opening cuts through their debate. All three heads snap towards the entrance, and they see Yoongi walking in, his expression as calm and unreadable as ever.

He cracks his neck, adjusts his shoulders, and strides towards Jungkook. Without a word, he reaches into his pocket, pulls out a pair of keys, and tosses them at Jungkook.

Still seated by the bike, Jungkook barely manages to catch them with his greasy hands. He looks down at the keys, confusion flickering across his face. “You… you got my bike back?” he asks, his voice laced with disbelief, his brows furrowing as he lifts his gaze to Yoongi. “Hyung… how did you—?”

Before he can finish, Yoongi shakes his head, cutting him off with a raised hand. “You don’t have to worry about it.” he says, his tone firm. “Just focus on making things right with Y/n. And listen to me carefully... don’t even think about getting involved with Mingyu again. I’m serious, Jungkook. No second chances there.”

The warning in Yoongi’s voice is enough to make Jungkook nod, a mix of gratitude and guilt bubbling in his chest. Yoongi’s sharp gaze briefly sweeps over Hoseok and Jimin, and with a subtle nod in their direction, he turns and heads toward the storeroom.

“Damn, Yoongi-hyung is so cool.” Jimin mutters under his breath, sounding almost awestruck.

“Anyways, like I was saying…” Hoseok begins again, picking up right where they left off, as though the brief interruption never happened. In no time, the two are back at it, listing an increasingly sappy and downright cringey array of suggestions for how Jungkook could apologize to you, the ideas growing more and more outrageous by the second.

Jungkook shakes his head, tuning them out as he looks down at the keys in his hand. He knows that none of their over-the-top plans will work. If he wants to make things right with you, he has to do it his own way... authentic, heartfelt, and real.

He needs to let you know how much he cares, how much he wants you in his life, and how deeply he loves you. No grand gestures or flashy displays. Just him, making it right.

As the minutes tick by, Jungkook finishes working on the bike in front of him. He wipes his hands clean, his mind already racing with thoughts of how to approach you. Just as he’s about to step away from the bike, the shop door creaks open again, drawing everyone’s attention.

This time, it’s Mr. Kwon, the town head, stepping inside. “Hey, boys.” he greets warmly, his gaze sweeping across Hoseok, Jimin, and Jungkook. Yoongi steps out, emerging from the storeroom and raises an eyebrow in curiosity.

“Oh, Mr. Kwon…” Yoongi says, folding his arms as he leans casually against the wall. “What brings you here today?”

“Ah, nothing too pressing.” Mr. Kwon replies calmly as he fixes his suit. “I just wanted to inform you boys about the meeting at the townhall this Friday. The agenda is to discuss the upcoming community drive-in movie night that will be happening on Sunday. It’s an annual event we do for fun and fundraising.”

“A drive-in movie night?” Hoseok’s eyes light up, leaning forward with genuine excitement. “I didn’t even know we did things like that around here! That sounds amazing.”

“It’s one of our most cherished traditions.” Mr. Kwon explains with a nod. “We set up a big screen on the old field just past Main Street. Everyone gathers in their cars, bring snacks, and enjoy the movie under the stars. It’s also a way to raise money for community projects. Last year, the proceeds went towards renovating the public library.”

“Oh wow, that sounds amazing!” Jimin chimes in, his tone enthusiastic. “Do people suggest the movie beforehand, or do you just pick something classic?”

“We like to keep it democratic.” Mr. Kwon replies with a chuckle. “That's why there's a meeting. People pitch ideas, and then we take a vote. It keeps everyone involved and ensures we pick something most people will enjoy. Last year, it was Back to the Future. Quite a hit.” he explains and the boys nod, giving him approved hums.

“So it would be great if you boys showed up on Friday.” he adds, glancing around at the group. “We could all sit down and decide what to watch together.”

“Of course, Mr. Kwon. We’ll be there.” Yoongi says with a small smile, straightening up from his casual stance. Hoseok and Jimin eagerly nod in agreement, their excitement evident. “Well then, I’ll see you all on Friday.” Mr. Kwon says warmly, before stepping out of the shop.

As the door shuts close, the shop falls into a brief silence. Jungkook, who has been standing still the whole time, listening to the exchange without a word, finally moves. He steps away from the bike and towards the counter, his expression thoughtful.

The town meeting. He wonders if you’ve heard about it too and the idea of you being there stirs a mix of anticipation and unease in him. Just the thought of seeing you, after everything, makes his chest tighten and his head spin.

//

"So, you're gonna go back to the shop from next week?" Seokjin asks, gently placing the dinner he just prepared onto your small dining table. His voice is calm, but the concern in his eyes flickers as they briefly land on your bandaged hand.

You nod, offering a faint smile. “Yeah. I can’t just sit at home any longer.” you reply.

You’ve just returned from the hospital with your friends after getting the stitches removed from your head. You glance down at your hand, where the injury is slowly starting to heal.

Thanks to Taehyung and Namjoon, the repairs of your shop have been completed... each detail meticulously taken care of, with them keeping you informed every step of the way.

Over the past week, your friends have been your unwavering support. They’ve cooked for you, comforted you, and stayed by your side, especially after you opened up about everything that happened with Jungkook. They didn’t have all the right words, truth be told, there weren’t any, but their presence alone was enough to carry you through.

You’re not okay, not completely. But you’ve begun to accept the harsh reality that maybe… just maybe… things with Jungkook aren’t meant to be.

That thought cuts deep, especially considering how he hasn’t reached out since that moment. Perhaps you were too harsh, too out of line when you called him a coward, even though all he wanted to do was protect you.

Yet, a part of you still feels a seething anger. You miss him, more than you care to admit and the emotional storm inside you leaves you confused, raw, and aching.

"Also..." Taehyung starts, catching your attention as you glance at him from across the table. "Mr. Kwon called all of us for a meeting at the townhall this Friday." he says, his voice steady but with a hint of excitement. Juwon nods in agreement. "Yeah. It's about the drive-in movie night." she adds.

You’ve known about the drive-in movie night for a while, and you expected it to happen soon, just like it always did every year. When things became official between you and Jungkook, you’d often daydreamed about the two of you sitting together in a car, hands intertwined, sharing pretzels and popcorn while watching a movie.

You never mentioned it to him. It was just one of those scenarios you let your mind wander to. But now, that dream feels like a bitter memory, especially with how things ended between you and him.

Still, despite everything, you know you want to attend. You’ve always enjoyed participating in these fundraising events with the people of your town, and the thought of missing out doesn’t sit well with you. "Will you be coming?" Namjoon asks carefully, his gaze soft and understanding.

You smile at him, your heart a little lighter, and nod. "Of course. Let’s all go to the meeting together." you say, glancing around at your friends.

//

Friday sneaks up on you, and before you know it, you, Juwon, and Taehyung are strutting down the pavement towards the townhall. Juwon has her arm looped through yours, clinging tightly to you like a koala. “It’s freezing!” she whines, shivering dramatically.

“It’s not that bad.” Taehyung says, hands in his pockets. “You’re just overly dramatic.” he shrugs. “Says the guy who wears four layers when it’s below 20 degrees.” Juwon fires back.

Taehyung gasps in mock offense. “Excuse you, I’m fashionably layered, thank you. There’s a difference.”

The chilly banter keeps you distracted until you step inside the townhall. Almost immediately, Mrs. Han spots you. “Y/n!” she exclaims, rushing over. Before you can blink, she’s holding your arms and scrutinizing your face like a worried mom.

“How are you, dear? My goodness, look at this scar. Oh, those boys! Nasty, nasty boys!!” she huffs, her face scrunching in outrage. You smile weakly, trying to reassure her. “I’m doing better now, Mrs. Han. Really.”

She shakes her head, unconvinced. “Better? Better?! I heard they just had to pay a fine. A fine! That’s like paying for parking after committing a hit-and-run. Absolutely ridiculous! I hope karma runs over them with a dump truck.”

Juwon chimes in, nodding furiously. “Preferably a truck full of cow poop.” she says and Mrs. Han agrees with her, her expression serious. You bite back a laugh, trying to keep it together. “Thank you, Mrs. Han. I appreciate your concern.”

As you inch away, you pass more familiar faces, each one stopping to check on you. The flood of questions and well-meaning outrage is almost too much, but you manage to navigate through the crowd and find Namjoon and Seokjin, who’ve saved seats for all of you.

You plop down in the chair, letting out a dramatic sigh. “I’ve survived the auntie inquisition.” you say. Namjoon chuckles. “You’re braver than I am. Mrs. Han once interrogated me for twenty minutes about why I don’t eat enough spinach.”

Seokjin smirks. “Spinach is important. Haven’t you seen Popeye?” Before you can retort, Taehyung slides into his seat. “So, what movie are we voting for? I say Shrek. It’s a masterpiece.” he says. Juwon groans. “Taehyung, not everything can be solved with ogres.”

“First of all....” he replies, raising a finger. “Shrek is a cinematic masterpiece. Second of all, it’s funny, heartwarming, and has layers. It’s perfect.”

Namjoon shakes his head. “I’m betting on something classic, like Forrest Gump. You know, a movie that makes you think about life.”

Seokjin snorts. “More like a movie that makes you think about shrimp. Shrimp gumbo, shrimp soup, shrimp salad…” he says as Taehyung giggles. “Okay, but what about Mean Girls?” Juwon suggests. “Everyone needs a little high school drama now and then.”

“Oh my god... I can quote that entire movie.” you add with a grin. “So fetch.” you say, winking at your friends. Taehyung dramatically raises an eyebrow. “Stop trying to make fetch happen. It’s not going to happen.” he beams and the group bursts out laughing, and for the first time in a while, you feel a little lighter.

While you and your friends continue to laugh, Jungkook lingers by the entrance of the townhall, his gaze fixed on you. He notices the absence of the bandage around your head, the way your laughter fills the room, and the brightness in your smile that feels almost contagious.

It’s such a stark contrast to the image burned into his mind from a week ago... your pain, your tears and though he knows he isn’t the reason for that smile or your happiness, he feels a quiet relief seeing you like this.

“Stop staring.” Jimin’s voice cuts through his thoughts, low and teasing. He nudges Jungkook with his shoulder, breaking his trance. “You’re not exactly subtle, you know.”

“I wasn’t staring.” Jungkook mutters, his jaw tightening slightly. “Sure, sure.” Jimin retorts with a smirk, gesturing towards the hall. “Now move, loverboy. People are trying to get in.”

Reluctantly, Jungkook steps further inside. As he walks past your group, your laughter rings out again, soft and warm. It tugs at something deep inside him, bittersweet and impossible to ignore. He glances at you briefly, the temptation to linger overwhelming, but you or none of your friends notice him. Maybe that’s for the best.

He follows Jimin, Hoseok and Yoongi to the back, where they quietly settle into one of the last rows. Slumping into his seat, Jungkook sneaks another glance your way.

You’re surrounded by your friends, immersed in their lively chatter, and for a fleeting moment, he lets himself just observe. Seeing you like this... laughing, smiling... is somehow enough to ease the ache in his chest, even if he’s not the reason behind your happiness.

For now, that will have to be enough, at least until he musters up the courage to finally talk to you.

Eventually, Mr. Kwon steps onto the dais, commanding the room's attention with his usual calm authority. He begins the meeting, and as expected, what follows is a spirited and seemingly endless debate about which movie to screen for the drive-in event this Sunday.

Suggestions fly across the room, each met with enthusiastic agreements or vehement objections. Some champion a nostalgic classic, while others argue for something modern and thrilling.

The discussion grows lively, with raised hands, animated gestures, and occasional laughter rippling through the crowd. Mr. Kwon, ever the patient mediator, lets the town hash it out, his steady gaze sweeping over the sea of opinions.

Eventually, a consensus is reached... a fun, family friendly timeless classic that everyone agrees will be perfect: The Parent Trap. Satisfied murmurs fill the air as Mr. Kwon finalizes the details, his booming voice carrying over the low hum of excitement.

As the meeting concludes, the energy in the room begins to shift. People gradually drift towards the exits, chatting in clusters as they wrap up their conversations.

Your friends are caught up in their own moments. Namjoon stands by the side, deep in conversation with the grandpa from the bookstore, their voices low and amiable. Taehyung and Juwon hover near Mrs. Han, listening intently as she animatedly recounts some anecdote. Seokjin, ever the comedian, laughs with one of the local kids at the back.

You find yourself standing quietly amid the bustle, a small pocket of stillness in the lively atmosphere. You have the sudden urge to take a moment for yourself, just to step out and catch a breather.

The noise and movement of the hall fade into the background as you quietly slip towards the door, seeking the cool embrace of the evening air.

You walk carefully away from the town hall, the faint hum of voices and laughter fading behind you. The soft glow of the streetlights reflects off the pavement, casting long, quiet shadows that stretch into the night.

Eventually, you spot a bench nestled under a tree, just far enough from the hall to feel secluded but close enough to hear the occasional burst of laughter from the remaining crowd.

Without hesitation, you make your way towards it, the crisp evening air brushing against your skin. Taking a seat, you lean back, exhaling slowly as you let the weight of the day settle over you.

Despite the lively meeting and the buzz of energy around you earlier, your mind has been elsewhere, caught in an endless loop of memories and emotions. Back at the meeting, while the townsfolk were fervently debating over the movie choices, your gaze had wandered... and landed on him.

Jungkook was sitting at the back, his figure partially hidden behind the other people. At first, you weren’t even sure it was him, but when you caught sight of his side profile, the way his hair framed his face, you knew. For a fleeting moment, your eyes lingered on him, drawn like a magnet.

You don’t know if he noticed you, he gave no sign that he did. But just seeing him was enough to stir something deep within you... a longing you’ve tried so hard to bury.

The memories, the outburst, the ache of everything, all of it came rushing back with a vengeance. You miss him. Not just in the quiet moments when you’re alone but even in a room full of people, with laughter and chatter all around, you still miss him. So much.

A soft sigh escapes your lips as you close your eyes, surrendering to the quiet embrace of the evening. The breeze whispers across your skin, cool and gentle, carrying with it the faint scent of the earth after dusk.

Above you, the leaves sway softly, their rustling a rhythmic lullaby that contrasts with the chaos unraveling in your mind. Thoughts you’ve tried to bury rise to the surface, each one heavier than the last. You let them swirl and settle, the weight of them pressing against your chest.

For a brief moment, you allow yourself to simply feel, untangling the knots of emotions that have been wound too tightly for too long. Then, the faintest shift in the air pulls you back. It’s subtle at first, almost imperceptible, but it grows... the unmistakable presence of someone nearby.

Your eyelids flutter open, hesitant, as if you’re afraid of shattering the fragile stillness around you. When your gaze shifts to the side, your breath catches.

Jungkook stands a few feet away, the soft street light casting delicate shadows across his face. His expression is unreadable at first, but his eyes… they speak volumes. They hold a hesitance, a yearning, and something deeper... something that pulls at the threads of your heart.

You blink slowly, your pulse quickening. “Y/n…” he murmurs, your name falling from his lips as though it’s a prayer, fragile and reverent, laden with everything he can’t say.

The sound of his voice sends a shiver down your spine, and instinctively, you look away, unable to meet his gaze. The emotions surging within you feel like too much... sharp, raw, overwhelming.

Without a second thought, you rise from the bench, the sudden need to put distance between you and him overtaking all reason.

You move quickly, your feet carrying you past him. The weight of his presence feels unbearable... the memories, the words exchanged, the vulnerability you showed him, all crashing over you like waves. Each step you take feels like an attempt to outrun the past, to escape the heaviness that standing before him seems to evoke.

But Jungkook doesn’t let you go.

Before you can get far, his hand reaches out, firm yet gentle, catching your wrist. His fingers curl around it, his touch warm and grounding. “Wait…” he says, his voice louder now, tinged with desperation. You freeze, your heart pounding against your ribs.

Jungkook stares at the back of your head, his breath shallow, his heart drumming in his ears. The warmth of your skin beneath his fingers feels like a tether, keeping him steady even as his emotions threaten to overwhelm him.

“Please…” he repeats, softer this time, his voice cracking as though each word costs him something. There’s a vulnerability in his tone, a rawness that slices through the storm in your mind and roots you in place.

You don’t turn around. The silence stretches, settling heavily between you. You feel his hand slip from your wrist, the absence of his touch as startling as its presence.

For a moment, you hear nothing but the faint rustling of leaves and the distant hum of life in the town. Then, his footsteps draw closer. “Y/n…” he says again, his voice steady but achingly tender. “Would you please look at me?”

You take a deep breath, your chest tightening as you will yourself to move, to do something but your body refuses to obey. You remain still, a statue carved from conflicting emotions, unable to summon the strength to face him.

Feelings of embarrassment and awkwardness surge through your veins because, frankly, you don’t know how to look him in the eye after the way you unraveled last week.

But beneath the vulnerability lies another emotion... a flicker of anger. A part of you is still just a tiny bit mad at him, for how he handled everything. For the way he didn’t show up when you needed him most, for the way he shut you out when all you wanted was to be let in.

And now, standing here, completely unprepared and caught in the unrelenting pull of his gaze, you feel trapped. The hurt, the resentment, the yearning... they all collide within you, creating a maelstrom of emotions that leaves you frozen.

So, you do nothing. You let the silence hang, your feet rooted to the ground as you wrestle with the chaos inside.

Minutes pass, or perhaps it’s only seconds... time feels warped, stretched thin under the weight of the silence. And then, suddenly, you feel his arms carefully snake around your waist, the movement almost hesitant, as though he’s unsure of his place.

Your breath hitches as he gently pulls you back, his chest pressing firmly against your back. His warmth envelops you, seeping into your skin, and his breath grazes the curve of your neck, soft and uneven, carrying with it the weight of emotions he can’t put into words. There’s a fragility in his touch, a silent plea, as if he fears that holding on too tightly might cross a line.

Your body stiffens at the contact, every nerve igniting under the intensity of his presence. His touch burns through you like a fire, its heat both searing and soothing, a contradiction that leaves you reeling. For a second, you sway on the edge of surrender, the thought of leaning into him tugging at the corners of your mind.

“Y/n…” he whispers, your name tumbling from his lips, heavy with sorrow and regret. His voice quivers, faltering as the words fight their way out. “Please, just… just give me a chance to explain myself. I’m… I’m so sorry. I’m sorry... sorry for everything.” he says, his tone raw and husky, cracking under the weight of his emotions.

You feel his arms tighten around you, as if afraid you might slip away. The grip is firm yet tender, grounding yet fragile, and you close your eyes, surrendering—if only for a moment—to the storm of emotions stirring within you. Almost involuntarily, you lean into him, your body finding solace in the warmth of his embrace.

Time seems to still as you stay there, the world outside fading into an indistinct hum. Slowly, your hand rises, hesitating before it rests gently on top of his where it rests on your stomach.

You inhale deeply, the steady rhythm of his breath against your shoulder grounding you, even as your heart pounds furiously against your ribcage.

For now, you allow yourself this momentary indulgence... to bask in the bittersweet safety of his hold, the unspoken solace of his touch, and the ache of longing that lingers between you.

“You could’ve reached out…” you whisper, but it cuts through the stillness. Jungkook stiffens behind you, his grip faltering ever so slightly at the sound of your voice. “You could’ve called, you could’ve texted…” you continue, your words trembling under the weight of everything.

Slowly, you flutter your eyes open, the reality of the moment settling in like a quiet storm. “But you didn’t, Jungkook.”

He says nothing, his silence deafening, and for a second, the unspoken emotions between you feel suffocating.

Then, as if the universe conspires to tear you apart, your phone buzzes in your pocket. The sharp vibration feels like a cruel reminder of the world waiting outside this fragile moment. You don’t even check the screen... you know it’s probably one of your friends, calling to ask where you disappeared to.

You seize the interruption as an excuse. Gently, with the hand that rests on his, you grasp his wrist and peel his arms away, stepping out of his hold. “I… I have to go.” you say, your voice barely holding steady as you take a step forward.

You don’t turn to face him... you can’t. If you do, you know you’ll crumble under the weight of his gaze, those deep, expressive eyes.

You pause for a moment, teetering on the edge of staying, of turning back. The urge to look at him, to search his face for answers, nearly consumes you. But you don’t. You inhale sharply, steeling yourself, and before he can say or do anything to stop you, you’re gone.

As Jungkook watches you walk toward the town hall again, he stands frozen, realizing just how crucial timing truly is. How he should have seized the opportunity to make things right, especially when you came running to his shop, pouring out everything that had been frustrating you.

How, instead of fighting Mingyu, he should have been by your side at the hospital.

How, from the very beginning, he should have set aside his pride and admitted to himself that he liked you all along instead of being mean and hurting you with his words.

Timing. It’s always about the damn timing.

But somehow, even now, as the chance to run after you and stop you slips through his fingers, he remains rooted to the spot like a statue, trapped by his own hesitation.

//

You sit in your apartment, tapping your foot against the floor, the faint rhythm filling the otherwise quiet room. You glance at your phone to check the time— 7:14 PM.

It’s Sunday evening and tonight is the night of the drive-in movie and Namjoon had promised to pick you up, along with your other friends. With the movie scheduled to start at 7:30 PM, worry begins to creep in as the minutes tick by with no sign of your friends.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, you get up from the couch. Deciding to head downstairs, you grab your shoes, figuring it’s better to wait outside rather than pacing your apartment like a caged animal.

Just as you slip them on, your phone buzzes with a message from Namjoon. “Here.” it reads. A small smile tugs at your lips as you grab your keys and step out, locking the door behind you.

As you step outside your building and onto the pavement, you immediately spot Namjoon’s car parked across the street, its tinted windows glinting under the lights. You allow yourself another smile, shaking your head lightly at his lateness, and make your way towards the car.

“Hey, what took you so lo—” The words catch in your throat, fading into silence as you open the car door and slip halfway inside. The face behind the wheel isn’t Namjoon’s.

You freeze, your hand gripping the edge of the doorframe, one foot still planted on the pavement outside. The air seems to thicken, time itself grinding to a halt as you stare at him.

Jungkook sits there, hands gripping the steering wheel, his dark eyes fixed on you with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. “Hey.” he says, his voice low and cautious. He offers a tight-lipped smile, but it falters, and you can see the tension in his jaw.

You blink, the shock rendering you immobile for a moment too long. Finally, your instincts kick in, and your body shifts as if to retreat. But Jungkook moves faster.

His hand reaches out, gently but firmly catching your wrist. “Wait.” he pleads, his voice suddenly louder, tinged with desperation. “I know… I know I’m the last person you expected to see.”

Your chest tightens, a flood of emotions crashing over you all at once. But his words stop you. “I know I screwed up...” he continues, his voice softer now, almost trembling.

“But… can you just... please... stay? Just watch the movie with me tonight. I… I begged your friend to let me borrow his car because I knew you’d get in if you thought it was him. I know that was weird and probably selfish, but I didn’t know how else to approach you.”

Your lips part, but no words come out. His hand, still holding your wrist, is warm, as your thoughts spiral. “I just… I need to talk to you. To be near you.” he says, his eyes searching yours, his vulnerability raw and unguarded. “Please... Please just give me this one night. One chance to make things right.”

The sincerity in his voice is undeniable, cutting through your walls like a blade. For a moment, you can only stare at him, your heart hammering in your chest.

With a heavy sigh, you shift your leg inside, settling into the passenger seat. You pull the door shut with a soft click, leaning back against the seat as you let out a shallow breath.

Jungkook watches you carefully, his grip on the steering wheel easing just slightly as relief washes over him. The tension in his shoulders loosens, though his eyes remain cautious, as if afraid one wrong move might shatter the delicate moment.

Without another word, he starts the car. The engine hums to life, filling the silence with its steady rhythm. As the vehicle begins to move, the atmosphere remains heavy, a mix of unspoken words and lingering emotions that neither of you dares to address... yet.

Your gaze remains fixed on the passing scenery, a blur of streetlights and faintly illuminated signs. Jungkook doesn’t dare break the silence, his grip on the steering wheel firm, knuckles taut as if anchoring himself.

It doesn’t take long before the car turns onto a gravel path, the tires crunching softly beneath them. You glance up, your attention pulled from the window by the faint glow of string lights strung overhead. They stretch out like a welcoming canopy, casting a warm, golden hue over the open field ahead.

Rows of cars are parked neatly on the wide, open lot, their occupants huddled inside, watching the massive screen that towers at the far end. It’s the typical drive-in movie setup, just like it's done every year... a sprawling outdoor space surrounded by trees, with a concession stand glowing warmly off to one side.

The screen flickers, signaling the movie is about to begin. Jungkook steers the car into an empty spot towards the back, away from the denser cluster of vehicles gathered closer to the center.

He turns off the engine, and for a brief moment, neither of you move. The quiet hum of the field surrounds you as your gaze remains fixed on the screen ahead, watching the movie’s opening sequence unfold.

Jungkook hesitates, his fingers hovering over the radio knob. “I’ll tune it to the station for the movie.” he murmurs, his voice tentative, as if testing the fragile peace between you. He twists the dial slowly, stopping only when the audio from the movie fills the car.

You turn your gaze out the window, watching the faint glow of the screen flicker across your features. The scene outside is almost idyllic... random couples perched on the hoods of their cars, wrapped up in each other’s warmth, sharing snacks as they watch the film.

Your chest tightens as the image before you clashes with the one you used to picture... you and Jungkook, sitting together just like this, cuddled up with his arm draped over your shoulders, laughing softly as you both watch the movie.

The sting in your heart is sharp, but you force yourself to look away, willing the ache to subside. You shift in your seat, eyes reluctantly focusing back on the movie playing on the big screen.

Then, near the gearshift, a faint buzz catches your attention, and almost instinctively, your eyes flicker to Jungkook's phone resting in the console. It’s probably just a random notification, but that’s not what holds your gaze. It's his lock screen.

It’s a photo. Of you. The one he took on your first date, when he playfully tucked wildflowers into your hair and insisted on capturing the moment.

Jungkook notices your silence and follows your gaze. The second he realizes what you’re looking at, his lips part slightly, and he shifts uncomfortably, unsure of what to say. With a nervous twitch, he flips his phone over, as though the simple action could erase what you just saw. But he can’t erase it. And neither can you.

A quiet tension thickens between you both. Jungkook leans back against the seat forcing himself to watch the movie, his posture stiff.

You, on the other hand, can feel your cheeks burning, a strange warmth spreading through you at the realization that he kept a picture of you as his lock screen. Of that moment. A picture you had no idea meant that much to him that he wanted to see it every time he unlocked his phone.

The movie plays on, but the sound seems to fade into the background, your thoughts swirling, caught in a delicate web of emotions you can’t untangle. Finally, you can’t hold it in anymore. "So..." you start, your voice hesitant but soft.

Jungkook’s head snaps towards you, a startled expression crossing his face, but he doesn't speak, waiting for you to continue. You keep your eyes fixed on the screen, avoiding his gaze, though your heart races. "When are you going to start talking?" You ask, the words hanging in the air, laced with a quiet challenge.

Jungkook feels the air escape from his lungs, realizing he can't stay silent any longer. In that moment, he knows he's the one who needs to speak up. If there's any hope of mending things with you, he has to step up... take action, be bold, and stop running from what he’s been avoiding. He has to stop being the coward he’s been.

"I..." he starts, his voice wavering slightly at first. "I thought you wanted to watch the movie. So I was saving it for later." He forces the words out, trying to sound steady, but his gaze flickers nervously.

You turn your head towards him, meeting his eyes with an intensity that makes his chest tighten. "Do you really think I’m worried about the movie when you’re right here?" you ask, your voice soft but firm, your gaze never leaving his.

"Jungkook, you got me here tonight. You asked me to join you. The movie is literally the last thing I care about." Your words settle in the car, quiet but weighty, as though they’ve landed somewhere deep inside his chest.

Jungkook stares into your eyes, the warmth and longing there making his heart ache. His eyes flicker over the familiar details of your face, and it lands on the scar on your head, hidden behind strands of hair. His breath hitches before he finally exhales, his shoulders slumping in defeat as he struggles to find the right words.

"I... I don’t even know where to begin...." he murmurs, closing his eyes momentarily, as if trying to summon the courage. "I thought… I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought if I broke up with you, and if Mingyu didn’t see us together anymore, he’d leave you alone." He opens his eyes slowly, locking them with yours as if he can’t bear to look away now.

"I really thought I was protecting you." He falters again, the weight of his emotions pressing against his chest. "I... I just wanted to keep you safe. That’s what I told myself, anyway. But looking back, I can see how stupid that was. So... so stupid." he adds, his voice breaking slightly.

"I didn’t realize the damage I was doing until you came to my shop that night. It wasn’t until I saw how hurt you were that I finally understood... the full extent of my mistake."

His eyes glisten with regret as he speaks, his voice trembling. "I felt like the biggest idiot. I didn’t even visit you in the hospital. And to make things worse... I was away fighting with Mingyu. Part of me still believes he deserved it, but I made a promise to you, Y/n, that I wouldn’t let myself get into fights... and I broke that promise."

Jungkook pauses, the silence stretching between you as the weight of his words settles deeper in the air. His breath is unsteady, his chest rising and falling, and you can feel the tremor in his hand as it reaches for yours, the touch tentative and unsure, as if afraid you might pull away.

"When I saw what those guys did to your shop... when I heard about you in the hospital... all I could think about was how I... how I led you into all this misery. How I added so many problems to your life." he murmurs, his voice thick with guilt and regret.

"I felt... so guilty. And I thought that maybe, the best thing I could do was let you go. To set you free from all the pain, the stress, the problems... even though it tore me apart inside."

His grip on your hand tightens, the warmth of his touch desperate, as though holding onto you is the only thing grounding him. His eyes, filled with shame, never leave yours. "I thought that was the only way. That if I stepped back, you'd be better off. But now... now I see how wrong I was. So... so fucking wrong."

A tear slips down your cheek, and despite the pain in his words, your heart aches for him. You want to tell him how wrong he is, how you could never be better off without him, how being apart from him feels like the worst kind of torment. But you hold your silence, letting him speak, letting him pour his heart out.

"I love you. I always have... ever since we got together, a part of me realized what I feel for you... is just... so much more." Jungkook continues, his voice strained. His eyes meet yours again, this time soft and tender, like he’s asking for forgiveness without speaking the words.

"Y/n... I know I messed up. I’ve been reckless. My stupid actions, my irrational decisions... they were all driven by fear, not logic. And in the process, I hurt you." His voice cracks as he takes a deep breath, the pain in his chest evident. "I thought I was the reason for everything going wrong. That it was all my fault. And that thought... it just destroyed me."

His thumb gently brushes over your knuckles, as if he needs that small, silent touch to remind him you're still here. His gaze never wavers from yours, his heart laid bare and raw. "But now I know. In the name of trying to protect you, I ended up hurting you the most... and I will always, always hate myself for it."

The sincerity in his voice, the rawness in his expression, pierces through the tension in the air. And in that moment, it’s clear... Jungkook is not just apologizing. He's laying his soul out before you, vulnerable and broken, desperate for you to understand the depth of his remorse.

"I'm sorry, Y/n." Jungkook finally chokes out, his tears falling freely now. "I'm sorry for everything. I wish I could take it all back, but I can’t. I’m just... so sorry for everything." His voice breaks as the weight of his remorse crashes down, and he crumples under the enormity of it.

He cries, his shoulders shuddering, and through your own blurry vision, you see the raw vulnerability etched across his face. It’s almost unbearable.

Carefully, you move your hand from his and reach out for him. Your palm gently presses against his cheek as your thumb softly wipes away his tears. "Shh..." you murmur, leaning closer towards him.

The space between you feels like it vanishes as you slide your arm around his trembling shoulders, pulling him into a comforting embrace. Jungkook doesn't hesitate as he clings to you desperately, his arms wrapping around you as if you’re his lifeline. Both of you pull each other closer, the familiar embrace engulfing the two of you.

"I’m sorry." he whispers again, his voice muffled as he buries his head in the crook of your neck. You feel the dampness of his tears soaking into the fabric of your top, but you don’t care.

All that matters now is the way his trembling form feels in your arms, vulnerable and seeking solace. You hold him tighter, your hand stroking his back in gentle, soothing circles as he sobs against you.

"Please... please take me back." he begs between ragged breaths. "I'll be... I'll be good to you. I’ll stay by your side, and I’ll never, ever leave you alone again." His voice cracks, each word drenched in desperation.

You continue stroking his back, letting him cry into your embrace, your own heart aching at how broken he sounds. "Please, Y/n." he pleads, his voice trembling with hope and fear. "Please tell me you still love me."

"I do... I do love you, Kook." you respond almost instantly, the words spilling from your lips before you even realize it. There’s no hesitation, no doubt. Just the truth. "How could I ever stop?" you whisper, your voice soft but steady.

Jungkook’s breath hitches, and his arms tighten around you as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear. He tugs you closer, bridging whatever small gap still exists between you, the console between your seats now inconsequential. His tears fall harder, but his sobs quiet just a little, as if your words had patched a part of the gaping hole in his heart.

//

As the ending credits roll and the movie comes to an end, you glance down at your intertwined fingers resting on your lap. You lift your gaze to him, only to find his eyes already on you.

Both of you take in the sight of each other... red, puffy eyes, tear-streaked cheeks, swollen lips. Despite the emotional wreckage, a soft chuckle escapes your lips, and Jungkook follows suit with a faint laugh of his own.

"I missed you." he whispers, his voice hoarse but steady, his grip on your hand tightening as though to anchor himself to this moment. "I missed you too." you reply, lifting his hand to your lips. You place a gentle kiss on his knuckles, the warmth of the gesture carrying all the words you can’t seem to form just yet.

Silence stretches between you, but it isn’t uncomfortable. It feels like a pause before a fragile moment you both want to hold onto for just a little longer. "I could never be better off without you, Kook." you suddenly confess, breaking the quiet.

"These past few days have been a living hell for me." Your voice wavers, but you push through. "I understood your intentions... I really did. But all I ever needed was you. Just you. To hold me, to tell me everything would be okay, even if it wasn’t. That’s all I wanted."

Jungkook’s adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. He nods slowly, his glistening eyes brimming with understanding. "I know." he murmurs, his voice breaking slightly. "I know now. Yoongi hyung... he gave me a piece of his mind. He made me realize how wrong I was. How what you needed wasn’t someone to push you away in the name of protection, but someone who would stay. Someone who would stand by you when everything felt like it was falling apart."

A faint smile graces your lips as you hear his words. "He’s right." you whisper, your voice soft but resolute. Jungkook smiles in return, a small, fragile smile that carries the weight of his regret, the depth of his sorrow, and the immensity of his love.

Leaning over the console, you close the distance between you and press a gentle kiss to his lips. The kiss is soft, lingering, a balm to the wounds you’ve both carried. "I love you." you whisper against his lips, your voice barely audible but loud enough for him to hear the sincerity in your words.

Jungkook looks into your eyes and for a moment, it feels like his entire world revolves around you. You see the way his love for you shines through, raw and unfiltered, and it makes your heart ache in the best way.

When you lean back into your seat, Jungkook doesn’t let you go. This time, he leans forward, his hand cradling your cheek as he captures your lips in another kiss.

But this kiss... this kiss is unlike anything else. It’s not gentle, not cautious. It’s raw, consuming, and electric, charged with everything Jungkook has been holding back for far too long.

Regret seeps through his touch, sorrow lingers in the way his lips move against yours, but it’s love... overwhelming, all-encompassing love that takes over, folding you both into its intensity. And in that wordless exchange, there’s a promise, one you can feel in every breathless second.

You reach out instinctively, grabbing his wrist to steady yourself as the kiss deepens. The console between you feels like a meaningless barrier as Jungkook’s hands cup your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks with a tenderness that contrasts the ferocity of his kiss.

He tilts his head, his nose grazing against yours, and the sensation sends a shiver racing down your spine. Your lips part slightly, inviting him in, and he doesn’t hesitate... his tongue brushes against yours, the intimacy making your head spin.

It’s dizzying, intoxicating, as though he’s trying to pour years worth of love, loss, and longing into this one moment. Every press of his lips feels like an apology, a plea for forgiveness, and a declaration all at once.

Your chest heaves as you match his fervor, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. You can feel the desperation in the way he holds you, as if letting go would shatter the fragile thread binding you both together again.

When he abruptly pulls away, his breath comes in ragged gasps, his forehead resting against yours. "If we… if we keep going, I won’t be able to stop." he confesses, his voice low and trembling with restraint. "I’ve missed you too much, Y/n... I've missed you way too much."

Your heart pounds against your ribcage, his words igniting a fire within you. You lick your lips, tasting him there, and your gaze locks with his. "Let’s go to my place." you whisper, your voice soft but certain.

For a moment, he looks at you, as though trying to convince himself this is real. Then, with a shaky exhale, he nods, his hand slipping from your face to intertwine with yours. He presses a final, lingering kiss to your knuckles before starting the car.

//

You yelp in surprise as Jungkook tumbles onto the mattress with you, his weight pressing you into the softness of the sheets while his lips remain locked with yours. The world spins for a moment, the intensity of the kiss leaving you breathless and disoriented.

He nips at your lower lip, a soft, teasing bite that sends a jolt of electricity through your veins. You can’t help the way your hips instinctively buck upwards, the friction sparking a low groan from deep within his chest.

Your top rides up in the movement, exposing a sliver of your skin to the cool air. His fingertips find their way there, cold against the warmth of your skin, and the contrast makes you shiver.

He helps you take your shirt off and his fingers return to feel your skin, his touch is purposeful yet hesitant. "God, Y/n." he breathes against your lips, his voice hoarse and filled with longing.

His forehead rests against yours for a brief moment, his heavy breaths mingling with your own. "You have no idea how much I’ve missed this... missed you."

His words make your heart clench, and you reach up to tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him back down into another searing kiss. This time, it’s slower, deeper, filled with all the emotion neither of you could put into words.

His hands trail along your sides, reverent in their touch, while his lips leave yours to press a path of soft kisses along your jawline, your neck, and the sensitive spot just below your ear.

Your fingers grip his shoulders, and you can’t help but whisper his name... a plea, a confession, a surrender. And as he murmurs yours in return, his voice thick with emotion, you realize that this isn’t just a reunion, it’s a rebirth. A rebirth of everything this once was.

Jungkook pulls back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes glistening with unspoken words. His thumb brushes tenderly against your cheek as he cups your face, his touch so delicate it feels like he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go.

“This...” he whispers, his voice trembling slightly. “This feels like the first time I’m breathing again, Y/n. Like I’ve been holding my breath this whole time without you.” His words hit you with the weight of everything you’ve both endured.

Tears blur your vision, but you blink them away, wanting to see every inch of his face, to commit this moment to memory. “I don’t ever want to lose this again.” you reply softly, your voice cracking as you reach up to trace the line of his jaw. “I don’t ever want to lose you again, Jungkook.”

His lips curl into the faintest, most heartfelt smile, and he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “You won’t.” he vows, his voice steady now. “I won’t let go. I’ll hold onto you with everything I have, for as long as you’ll let me. I’ll prove it to you every single day.”

His words are a promise, one that you feel in the way his hands tremble slightly as they caress your skin, in the way his lips press against yours with a mixture of passion and reverence.

“I’ll let you.” you whisper back, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him closer. “I’ll let you, as long as you let me hold onto you too.”

He kisses you slow again, as if he’s relishing every second of this rebirth. It’s not just a kiss... it’s an agreement, a merging of two hearts that have finally found their way back to each other.

Jungkook pulls back, his breathing heavy as he rises to his full height. His hands grip the hem of his shirt, and in one fluid motion, he tugs it over his head, tossing it aside without care. The sight makes your breath catch.

You prop yourself on your elbows, your eyes roaming over the expanse of his body, drinking him in like he’s a masterpiece come to life.

The faint sheen of sweat on his skin makes him glimmer faintly, accentuating every dip and curve, the sharp cut of his collarbones, the hard planes of his abs, and the faint v-line that disappears teasingly beneath the waistband of his boxers.

Your eyes linger on the way his jeans hang low on his hips, revealing just a sliver of the waistband of his boxers, and your throat tightens. You missed seeing him like this.

Jungkook catches the way your gaze darkens, and his lips quirk up in a faint smirk, though his own composure wavers when he sees the way you’re looking at him... like he’s the only thing that matters.

His dark eyes flicker down to you, taking their time as they trace the delicate curve of your collarbones, the way your bra frames your breasts, pushing them up just enough to make his mouth water. His gaze drops to your stomach, the smooth expanse of your skin, and the way your muscles tense under his scrutiny.

He exhales sharply, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as his gaze trails back up to your lips, then your eyes, his resolve crumbling. Your beauty just cannot be comprehended and his jeans suddenly feel unbearably tight, the outline of his hardened length pressing against the fabric painfully.

“Fuck...” he mutters under his breath, his voice low and strained, and you see the way his jaw tightens, the way his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. "If you keep looking at me like that..." he pauses, his eyes fixed on yours. "I'm going to lose it."

You gulp at his words and watch the way he steps back slightly, his hands moving to the button of his jeans. You watch as he undoes them with practiced ease, sliding the denim down his legs.

The thin fabric of his boxers does little to hide the extremely prominent bulge beneath, and your breath hitches as your eyes lock onto the way his hardened length strains against the material.

With one swift motion, he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and slides them down, letting them pool at his feet. His length springs free, thick and hard, and your mouth goes dry at the sight of him... veined and heavy, the tip glistening faintly in the dim light.

Jungkook’s chest heaves as he takes a step closer, his hands moving to your legs. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your skirt, tugging it down along with your underwear in one smooth motion.

“Fuck, Y/n... look at you.” he breathes, his voice almost reverent. His gaze locks onto your glistening core, the way it clenches around nothing, slick with arousal that almost drips onto the sheets. He drags his bottom lip between his teeth, his pupils blown wide as he takes in the sight before him.

His hands tremble slightly as they settle on your thighs, his thumbs brushing over your skin. “You’re... perfect,” he whispers as he leans in, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh as he takes a deep, shaky breath, the scent of your arousal making his head spin.

You whimper at the way he delicately touches you as you close your eyes, pressing your head against the mattress and your hands grasping for purchase on the sheets. "Fuck, Y/n…" he mumbles, his breath ghosting over your core and making you shiver. "Please... let me... let me taste you."

And before you can even form a coherent thought, he pulls your thighs apart and jerks you close until he’s right there, between your legs, his hot breath fluttering over your soaking wet core. “My gorgeous girl.” he murmurs, his eyes flickering up to yours as he drags a thumb through your folds.

He watches the way you bite onto your lower lip, your sweaty chest heaving, as he moves his hands up and down your slit. He notices the way you flinch at every movement, every touch. “So wet... So wet for me.” he groans, his thumb pressing against your clit.

Your jaw hangs open at the sensation and Jungkook wastes no time, diving in and pressing his open mouth to your slick center. You feel his tongue darting out, the wet glide of it sending sparks up your spine as he licks a slow circle around your clit.

“Fuck....” you cry out, your hips jerking as his tongue teases your bundle of nerves, the rough drag of it on your oversensitive flesh making you see stars. Your hands fly to his hair, tugging at the strands as you try to hold yourself up, your head spinning with the sensations flooding through you.

Jungkook moans into you, his tongue flickering out again, this time dragging slowly along your slit. He nuzzles into you, inhaling sharply at your scent, and you feel his nose press into your folds, his breath hot against your core.

“Oh fuck.” you pant, your legs shaking as he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your pussy, his tongue sneaking out to flick at your clit, the tip of it fluttering against the sensitive bundle of nerves with a feather-light touch.

Your thighs begin to quake as Jungkook laves you open-mouthed, his mouth hovering over your slit, his tongue lapping at your entrance. "Kook… please... Kook..." you plead, your voice cracking with need.

He looks up at you then as his mouth remains fixed on your core, and the sight takes your breath away. His eyes are heavy-lidded as he watches you. Your lips part, your breaths coming in short pants as he opens his mouth wider, devouring your opening.

His tongue darts out, the wet tip of it flicking over your entrance, and then he’s pushing inside, his mouth closing around you as he eats you out like he’s a starving man and you’re the only sustenance that will satisfy him.

"Fuck, Kook !!" you cry out, your hands scrabbling at the sheets as your head falls back and your eyes roll into the back of your head. You moan, your thighs trembling around his head as he fucks into you with his tongue, his mouth pressed open-mouthed against your core.

Jungkook groans into you, the vibrations making you cry out again as he licks into you, his hands holding you open as he feasts on you. His tongue flickers inside you, curling as it brushes against your inner walls, the sensation of it making your vision blur.

He eats you out for what feels like an eternity, his tongue sliding in and out of you in slow, sensual strokes. You’re close, so close to the edge, your pussy clenching and aching for more.

The way his name falls from your lips, over and over, like a mantra, sends a shiver down Jungkook’s spine. His tongue moves against you with practiced precision, each stroke and flick timed perfectly to the rhythm of your desperate cries.

When your legs begin to tremble uncontrollably, your hips bucking against his mouth, he knows you’re close, teetering on the edge of release.

And then it happens. Your orgasm crashes into you with the force of a tidal wave, leaving you gasping for air, your thighs trembling around his head as you arch off the bed. Jungkook groans against you, the vibrations only intensifying your pleasure as his tongue delves deeper, tasting every bit of you.

The tight flutter of your walls around his tongue drives him to the brink of madness. He’s painfully hard now, the strain unbearable as he grips himself, stroking his dick in time with your cries.

His breaths come out in ragged groans, muffled by the way your legs tighten around his head, your hands tangling in his hair and tugging just hard enough to make him growl.

“You’re perfect.” he murmurs against you, his voice husky and reverent, though he doesn’t stop. His tongue moves in long, slow laps, consuming you, drawing out every second of your release as your body quivers beneath him.

When you finally begin to come down, your body going limp and pliant, he doesn’t immediately pull away. He kisses you there, soft and tender, his lips pressing against your sensitive core as if to soothe the aftershocks coursing through you.

Jungkook rests his forehead against your thigh, his breathing heavy and labored as he looks up at you with hooded eyes. His lips are glistening, his cheeks flushed, and the sight of him... disheveled and utterly wrecked from pleasuring you, makes you want him even more.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, the sheen of your pleasure still glistening on his lips. His eyes meet yours, dark and smoldering with an unrelenting hunger that sends shivers coursing through your body.

Slowly, he leans forward, his lips brushing against your trembling thighs as though in reverence. His hands roam your hips, fingers pressing into the soft curves with a gentle possessiveness that leaves no doubt of his intentions.

“You’re so beautiful like this.” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire, tinged with awe, as if the sight of you unraveled beneath him is almost too much to bear.

He shifts his weight, moving away from your core, and you feel the absence of his heat like a loss. But then he’s hovering over you, his face so close you can feel his breath ghosting over your skin.

He captures your lips in a kiss that’s tender yet consuming, a prelude to everything he’s holding back. When he pulls away, it’s only to let his lips travel, a slow, meandering path along your jawline, each kiss lingering and full of love.

“I want to make love to you, Y/n.” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, yet the weight of his words presses into you as though they carry the force of a promise. “Let me make it up to you… for everything. Let me show you how much I love you.”

He doesn’t rush as he works to undo your bra, his hands steady. When the fabric falls away, his gaze locks onto your bare chest, and the intensity in his eyes makes your skin prickle with heat. His hands come up to cradle your breast, his thumbs brushing over the delicate curve of your skin and your nipple as though testing the reality of your softness beneath his touch.

“You’re perfect.” he breathes, the words spilling out like a confession before he lowers his head. His lips press against the swell of your breast, trailing kisses that are soft at first but grow more urgent as his need deepens.

His mouth finds your nipple, and he takes it between his lips, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak in a rhythm that makes your breath hitch. His teeth graze ever so slightly, just enough to send a spark of pleasure rippling through you, and you gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair to hold him closer.

“Oh, God.” you moan, your voice trembling as he sucks on your nipple, his mouth working in perfect harmony with the hand that kneads and squeezes your other breast. His palm is warm, his touch firm but gentle, matching the worshipful pace of his lips.

Jungkook groans softly against your skin, the sound vibrating through you and adding another layer to the heady mix of sensations. He switches sides, lavishing the same attention on your other breast, and the deliberate care he takes makes your chest heave beneath him.

“Every inch of you...” he murmurs between kisses, his voice ragged and filled with adoration. “Every inch of you is mine to love.”

His words, his touch, the heat of his mouth... it’s all-consuming, drowning you in a storm of sensations that leave no room for thought, only the overwhelming awareness of him.

Your fingers clutch onto his shoulders as you arch against him, your breath coming in uneven gasps. Jungkook’s worshipful attention feels like a drug, intoxicating and overwhelming, and the heat pooling in your core is undeniable.

“Kook…” Your voice is shaky, a whispered plea, laced with desire and desperation. “Please… Please make love to me. I need you.”

The words ignite something primal in him. He pulls away from your chest, his lips glistening, a thin string of saliva trailing down his chin. His dark eyes fixate on you as you let your hands trail over your own body, fingers grazing the sensitive peaks of your breasts. You spread the remnants of his kisses over your skin, the gesture both sensual and wanton.

Jungkook gulps audibly as he watches you and his restraint shatters, his body thrumming with the need to claim you, to pour all his love and longing into this moment.

He shifts, stretching down the edge of the bed, his hands fumbling for his pants that remains scattered on the floor. His wallet slips out, and as he opens it, relief washes over him when he finds the condom he had tucked away weeks ago, back when you were still in his life.

He doesn’t question the serendipity, silently thanking the universe for this moment, for you.

With swift precision, he tears the wrapper, his fingers steady despite the fire coursing through his veins. He rolls the condom over his length and glides his hand up and down his hardness. Stroking it to full readiness, he lets out a shuddering breath, his eyes lifting to meet yours.

The way you’re watching him... your lips parted, your chest heaving, your legs spread in invitation, leaves him utterly undone. “Y/n…” he murmurs, crawling back towards you, his hands finding purchase on your hips. “I’m going to show you just how much I love you.”

"Show me, Kook..." you moan, your voice trembling with anticipation as his tip teases your slick folds. The sensation sends a shiver up your spine, and instinctively, you spread your legs wider, welcoming him, inviting him. He adjusts himself, his arms bracketing your head, his elbows pressed into the mattress to hold himself steady.

"I'm all... I'm all yours," you whisper, your voice breaking slightly, the vulnerability of your words hanging in the charged air between you. Your hands find his face, pulling him closer as you crane your neck, desperate to feel his lips on yours.

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that’s both tender and consuming. His hand leaves the mattress, strong fingers gripping your hip as he adjusts your position slightly, angling you just right.

The intimacy of the touch makes your heart race, and you can feel the heat radiating off his body, the tension in his muscles as he restrains himself to not just slam into you. “You’re so perfect,” he murmurs against your lips.

His hand squeezes your hip gently as if grounding himself in the reality of you beneath him, of this moment. When he finally begins to push into you, the world seems to narrow down to just the two of you... the stretch, the way he fills you, the way he watches your face, searching for any sign of discomfort.

You gasp softly, your body tensing for a moment before relaxing into the pleasure of being connected to him in the most intimate way. Jungkook groans, his forehead dropping to rest against yours.

"Oh baby... I missed you... fuck..." he moans, his voice strained with effort, his breaths shallow as he inches deeper, giving you time to adjust to him. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, urging him on.

Finally, he begins to move, each thrust slow and steady, as if he’s memorizing the way your body feels wrapped around him. His full length slides into you with precision, the stretch overwhelming yet addictive.

Your noses brush against each other with every movement, breaths mingling as he maintains his rhythmic pace, taking in every push, every thrust, every deep plunge that leaves you gasping for more.

Each time, he pulls out almost entirely, leaving you aching with the emptiness, only to push back in, filling you completely, sending waves of pleasure rippling through your body. It’s intoxicating, the way he moves, the care and passion in every motion.

As he continues, his gaze flickers over your face, watching the way your lips part with each gasp, the way your eyes flutter closed when the pleasure crests higher. He swallows hard, his resolve faltering for a moment before he adjusts his position. Carefully, he lifts one of your legs from his waist, guiding it to rest on his shoulder.

The new angle sends him deeper, hitting a spot within you that makes you cry out, your back arching off the bed as your fingers dig into his biceps. “Oh, Kook...” you whimper, your voice trembling as he leans into you, his body pressing you further into the mattress.

"That's it..." he murmurs, his voice rough with restraint as he watches your every reaction while supporting your leg on his shoulder. “You take me so well, baby....so... so fucking perfect.”

His other hand trails down to your hip, gripping it firmly as he begins to thrust a little harder, a little deeper, the pleasure building with every motion. The intensity grows, but he still takes his time, as if he’s savoring every second, every sound you make, every shiver that runs through your body.

The way he fills you, the stretch of your leg over his shoulder, the tender yet passionate way he moves... it’s overwhelming in the best way. Your hands slide down his arms, clutching at him desperately as he drives you closer to the edge, his pace unrelenting yet perfectly controlled.

“Jungkook...” you moan, your voice breaking as the tension in your core coils tighter and tighter. His name falls from your lips like a prayer, and he tilts his head, pressing a kiss to your ankle. “Faster… please… faster,” you cry out, your plea trembling in the air.

That’s all it takes for him to lose the last shred of restraint. With a growl low in his throat, he pulls you closer, his hands gripping your hips possessively as his pace shifts. His hips snap into you, each thrust harder and deeper.

Seconds blur into a haze of overwhelming sensation as he rams into you repeatedly, his tip brushing against a spot deep inside you... a spot you didn’t even know existed. The pleasure is all-consuming, stealing the breath from your lungs as your body arches into him, desperate for more.

Your vision blurs as you’re overtaken by the intensity, stars dancing behind your closed lids. “I love you… fuck, I love you so much.” he rasps, his voice raw with emotion and unfiltered passion. His hips move with an almost animalistic urgency now, his need for you reflected in every powerful thrust, in the way he fills you completely, over and over again.

The coil in your stomach tightens to the point of pain, an unbearable pressure building with every movement. Your hands claw at his shoulders, your head tossing back against the pillows as incoherent sounds pour from your lips, your body trembling beneath him.

“Jungkook… I’m… oh god…” you whimper, your nails digging into his skin as the pleasure pushes you to the brink, teetering on the edge of release that feels as though it might shatter you entirely.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, holding onto him as if he’s the only thing keeping you together. He groans at the sting of your touch, his hips slamming into you harder, deeper, as if he’s chasing the very essence of you.

“You’re... you're close, aren’t you?” he pants, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. His hand slips between your bodies, his thumb finding your swollen, sensitive clit. He presses down with just the right amount of pressure, moving in firm circles that make your entire body jolt.

The combination of his thrusts and the attention on your clit sends you spiraling. Your legs tremble around him, and your walls flutter and clench tightly around his length. You cry out, your voice echoing in the room, your hands pulling him closer as if you want to fuse yourself to him.

“That’s it, baby... that's it... cum for me... let go.” he urges, his voice strained as he fights to keep himself together, his own release hanging by a thread. His thrusts grow erratic, each one deeper, harder, more consuming than the last, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

And then it happens. The coil in your stomach snaps, your orgasm crashing into you with a force that steals your breath. Your vision goes white, your entire body arching into him as waves of ecstasy ripple through you, leaving you trembling and crying out his name like a prayer.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” Jungkook groans as your walls tighten around him, gripping him like a vice. The sensation sends him over the edge. He buries himself as deep as he can go, his hips stilling as his own release takes over, his groans blending with your cries.

The two of you ride out the aftershocks together, his forehead pressed to yours as your breathing mingles, heavy and uneven. The world feels still, the only sound in the room your shared pants and the faint thrum of your hearts, beating in perfect sync.

//

The soft glow of the bedside lamp casts a golden hue over your room, as your head rests on his bicep. Your fingers absentmindedly play with his as your eyes trace the intricate lines of his tattoos, the delicate patterns swirling along his forearm.

After the intimacy of a warm shower and the tender care Jungkook showed you, the two of you are back on the freshly made bed. The clean, cool sheets are a stark contrast to the heat that still lingers between you, your bare skin pressed to his.

His leg lazily drapes over yours beneath the blanket, an unconscious gesture that speaks of his need to be as close to you as possible.

Jungkook leans in, the weight of his gaze melting away any lingering tension. He presses a kiss to your temple, soft and lingering, before letting his lips brush against the scar on your head... a mark of something from the past, but no longer painful. “I love you.” he whispers, his voice low and full of sincerity.

You tilt your head back to meet his eyes, your own gaze softening. Slowly, you let go of his hand, shifting your body to face him fully. The blanket shifts with you as you wrap an arm around his torso, pulling yourself closer to him.

“I love you too.” you murmur, your voice steady, carrying the weight of your feelings. You move your head closer to his chest, listening to the rhythmic beating of his heart. His arms encircle you, tugging you closer and holding you as though he never wants to let go.

And in that moment, as the soft embrace of sleep slowly begins to claim both of you, there is a quiet realization that settles in the spaces between your breaths. It’s as though the universe, in its infinite wisdom, has woven the intricate threads of time, bringing you here.

From the days when you were nothing more than neighboring shop owners, each a stranger in the other’s world, to the sharp edges of misunderstandings, to the heated arguments that filled the air with tension. You both once couldn’t stand the mere sight of each other... two souls so different, so distant.

But somehow, through all of that, life found a way to stitch your paths together. From those moments of rivalry at the town fair meetings, when every second seemed to breed another reason for dispute, to this quiet, intimate space where the mere thought of separation feels impossible.

Now, neither of you can seem to imagine a world where the other doesn’t exist. It’s as though your lives were always meant to be interwoven, intricately and beautifully, like the finest of tapestries.

Life has a strange way of bringing two opposing forces together, testing them in ways they never expected, only to reveal the most beautiful of connections.

It pushes and pulls, and in doing so, helps them untangle the complexities of their relationship. It compels them to find the purpose behind their presence in each other’s life... why it was always meant to be, why the stars aligned, even when they didn’t know what they were meant to see.

And through the rough roads, where his rusty bike and prickly tires rattled against the cobblestones, and through the vibrant scent of flowers that lingered in the air, the softness of leaves brushing against your fingers, you both have found something more profound and beautiful than you could ever imagine.

Something that only exists when two souls, through time and struggle, find each other and discover the home they never knew they were looking for.

Post Credits Scene

Yoongi stands in the dimly lit alley, the old baseball racket twirling lazily in his hand. Mingyu, Kihyun, and Jaemin are slumped against the cold brick wall, their faces battered, their hair disheveled, fear radiating from their wide eyes.

The faint hum of a flickering streetlight overhead makes the silence between them even heavier. Yoongi crouches down, his sharp gaze locking onto theirs, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “What did I say?” he asks, his voice calm but dripping with menace.

The men exchange nervous glances, their bruised faces pale under the weak light. Mingyu opens his mouth to respond, but a sharp pang from his injured ankle makes him wince and falter. Yoongi tilts his head, his smirk widening as he taps the racket lightly against the ground. “I’m waiting.” he says, his tone almost teasing.

“Never...” Mingyu manages, his voice hoarse, but the pain makes it hard to continue. “Go on...” Yoongi urges, his voice dropping an octave, the smirk now a warning.

“We’ll never bother Jungkook and Y/n again !!” Kihyun blurts out, his hands rubbing together in a desperate gesture, like he’s begging for mercy. Yoongi rises slowly, letting out a soft chuckle as he swings the racket onto his shoulder, causing all three men to flinch. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

The men dare to breathe, thinking the ordeal might finally be over. But Yoongi’s sharp eyes narrow as he steps closer, towering over them. The smirk vanishes, replaced by a cold, calculating look that makes the air feel oppressive.

“Now...” he says, his voice trailing off. “Do I have to beat you guys up all over again, or will you give me Jungkook’s keys?”

<- part 15

series masterlist

—fin. ♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

my masterlist <3

taglist: @kimyishin @ghijkd @dolligguk @mimi1097 @jksusawife @yooforeaa @abbie1847 @myjungkookthighs @thesarcasmqueen-22 @fairypjminie @lovelytaes-blog @jjeonjjk7 @daddyjeonnn @vantelover1306 @jeeykey @shellyyy177 @daskewl @blackswan18 @korian97 @minimoninini @ericawantstoescape @rpwprpwprpwprw @tokkiggukie @jaytheatiny

[utilitycaster]

thank you so much for your analysis on BH, Ive been thinking for ages that they seemed like the wrong fit for this particular campaign and it's nice to see that I'm not alone. It kinda baffled me that even knowing the crux of the campaign was going to be about the fate of the gods, Matt didn't like... just tell the cast that their characters opinion on divinity would be important?

I really feel like this plot needed more religious characters, even if they weren't outright clerics or paladins. The only one filling that role is Sam and while I love him and FCG his approach to religion seems kinda... cynical? shallow? Possibly just more focused on the goofs of it all. Which is a fine choice in a vacuum but god, what I wouldn't do for this party to have a Caduceus or even a Vax figure so it didn't feel like a bunch of agnostics were deciding the fate of religion.

So here's my opinion, and I've said this before: I agree that making characters who had a coherent, developed opinion on divinity before the campaign that was discussed as part of the character build is important...but I actually don't think it matters if there's no clerics or paladins or even religious characters. I also said this before: my ultimate problem, in the end, is not just the indecision but the fact that they're not even exploring indecision; they just are drifting through a narrative from which they feel disconnected. I as a person viewing the show think killing the gods is a dumb idea, but a campaign in which the characters confidently embraced an anti-god position and took actions in the service of that goal would be infinitely more enjoyable. I do not need characters to live out my personal values, because I do that in my real life, in the same way that I can enjoy characters who are vastly different than I in personality.

I think Keyleth is a fantastic example of both indecision as an actual conscious character trait (during Campaign 1) and a character who is not religious or even particularly respects the gods but who seems to have actually thought through the implications and made an assessment. Keyleth's analysis paralysis and fear of making a harmful decision or being hurt is the point of the character, and Marisha explores it directly during Campaign 1; it is ultimately what is holding Keyleth back from becoming the leader she needs to be, and working through it is the arc of her character. Avoidance or indecision is a fantastic character flaw to explore (Bellara in Veilguard is a recent example that's been on my mind) but it is a character flaw to be explored, and for the character to do something interesting with, and Bells Hells just...as I've said, drift. They keep going through open doors because they are there and never say "do I even want to go through this door? Why or why not?" and the entire purpose of a character in fiction, in my opinion, is to ask that question.

I actually pretty strongly disagree about FCG. I think they took a bit longer than I'd like to click but I actually found FCG's exploration of religion to be one of the deeper ones in the series. I think the party often disparaged it, and the fandom certainly did ("Fearne should make that stupid robot eat his own coin" will remain burned in my brain forever; I cannot take someone who said that as anything but a shriveled husk of a person unless they admit it was horribly mean-spirited and they regret it) but FCG is the rare member of Bells Hells who actually explored the concept of having autonomy and agency - that was his entire arc, actually - and to have this be told through embracing the god of chance and freedom, whom he learned about by chance, was a highlight of the campaign. I would strongly advise you reconsider seeing this as nothing but a bit; just because Sam tends to make a lot of dumb jokes doesn't mean he's not often telling a pretty profound story underneath, and this is a lesson it took me until this campaign to learn, to be honest. But I will say I don't think FCG being here now would fix things any more than Braius does, in part because the rest of the party looked down on faith but also didn't really condemn it. They just made vaguely unkind comments and continued doing fuck all. As my ask earlier today said, they didn't actually challenge each other; they just sort of passive-aggressively bitch. The point that many people made very early on, that Bells Hells has a veneer of cooperation and civility but lack the actual true bonds that only arise through working through conflict, remains true.

Getting back to it, I think the fact that NPCs who are not affiliated with the Prime deities nor Betrayer Gods and even struggle against them (Percy, Keyleth; the entire Kryn Dynasty; a massive number of entirely secular governments including the Clovis Concord, the remnants of the Cerberus Assembly, as far as I know the Marquesian governments, the Silken Squall) are unambiguously against Ludinus and the release of Predathos means that it's not the lack of clerics or paladins or everyday religious people. I don't care if agnostics decide the fate of the world, but DAMN those agnostics better have a fucking vision for what the world should be. I could talk at length about why I think killing the gods is a deranged and unrealistic solution to the problems the characters claim to think it will fix, but ultimately I don't even feel like the characters care about those problems. The titans are still going to be fucking dead, conquest and colonialism already exist within Exandria without the aid of any gods. Hell, Ashton's whole situation could be replicated precisely again in a world with no gods; and as the Ruidusborn were created by Predathos as keys to release it, I don't think there's a reason to have any more but I don't think that's really what Imogen was going for. It's the same kind of thing we call rapture culture among terminally online types: the idea that with one big act of violence you will usher in a new, better age. The idea that violent change is inherently for the better is infantile and utterly self-centered, as is the idea that putting off a choice until it becomes inevitable is anything other than selfish and stupid. I would rather the choice of the fate of the gods come from atheists who weren't infantile and self-centered and selfish and stupid than clerics and paladins who were. That's it.

[lilolilyr]

~ Lilo's 2024 Star Wars recs ~ (another Ao3 year in review)

This is specifically the star wars edition of my reader year in review, the rest & more info can be found here!

Descriptions/summaries by me, click the links for the ones from the authors.

The Good Sith by sonnyrain - Obi-Wan Kenobi and all of the Vod'e time travel and end up on a Sith planet. Obi-Wan, now 'Aranar', turns to the dark side, swearing to protect his men no matter the cost. Over a million words, lots of plot and character developments, fix-everything, still ongoing as of mid last year but you can read the first part(s) on their own.

I love this fic a ridiculous amount, I read several parts at least twice, and I'm thinking about it constantly. Like, when I think up my plotless little fluff piece fix everything bedtime stories I think up to fall asleep (and sometimes when something's good have to forego sleep to write down immediately because I know I won't remember fuckall come morning), I think of the versions of the characters from that 'verse just as often as I think of canon star wars characters or ones from any other fics. It fits into my headcanon 'verse really well because I always work with multiverse settings, and I love the kid characters especially little Sithling Aurek and his twin Soul.

Knives and Spices by argentee, mikaiyawa and others: A whole group of humans from earth is kidnapped into the Star Wars world, and separate fics follow separate characters. One becomes Mandalorian, one a pop star, yet another befriends some pirates and travels to lands we've never seen in canon. 280k, ratings and warnings vary, series still ongoing, parts can be read separately

I love and adore all kinds of self insert stories but this one is just extra levels of amazing - it's basically humans are space orcs meets Star Wars, and humans are all a bit force sensitive - the ending of the series summary describes it perfectly: "how much trouble can a few humans cause? All of it. All the trouble." and I love it all to bits!

Like a Tree by the River by @bairnsidhe - at Galidraan, Komari has a vision of the canon future and decides that she'd rather leave the Jedi behind than be a part of that massacre. Somehow, this ends with her and Dooku being adopted by mandalorians, and her in turn kind of adopting teenaged Obi-Wan at Melida/Daan? 20k T

Idk, this isn't even such a long one and I mean all of BairnSidhe's works I've read are great but somehow specifically this one with Dooku being the 'a bit old' ad and Komari therefore the bu'ad of a random coruscanti Mandalorian just stuck with me and I sometimes randomly think of Dooku being all confused and have to smile xD the plot&writing is also really good!

How a Romance Novel Saved the Galaxy by @arianaderalte: The mandos get their hands on a novel that describes a romance between mandalorians and jedi, and just how perfect jedi really are as partners for mandalorians... This changes things when both groups interact irl. 200k, rated T, Violence

This series has Everything. Jedi, Mandalorians, action, relationships, all kinds of queerness, and excerpts from a romance novel about the ancient Sith wars. Honestly, this fic just couldn't be better! I binge-read through it in one go even though I should have done a million other things at the time and I didn't regret it one bit xD

All the Amavikka stories: the slaves on Tatooine have a separate secret culture with language, myths and names, and Anakin, coming from this culture, reacts to Palpatine being his newest slave master

I think this idea of Tatooine slave culture and of Anakin's characterization is so interesting and I love reading it, from long Double Agent Vader by @fialleril, which I think is the original fic creating the Ekkreth lore, over the ongoing series Biting His Own Tale by @adragonsfriend, to the short story I can't find anymore about depur erecting a tower, a song-fic to Babylon by Dirt Poor Robin and the reason for my obsession with that band - please, if anyone has a link, send it my way! - and all other fics, I love this trope so much!

I think Ekkreth Skywalker was one of the first trope rabbit holes I stumbled into when I got really into Star Wars longfics in the middle of 2024, and I'm always excited to see references to it in fics mainly about other characters as well, like Breaking Chains by @jehanneargentee, and I went back to (re)reading fics about the trope on purpose several times as well :)

The last fic leads neatly into the next trope I really loved this year, Time Travel stories, more specifically Obi-Wan Kenobi time travelling and meeting mandalorians :D

I don't really have more specific stories for this one, I read so so so many of them that they just blur together in my mind. I marked a couple with the Ao3 rec function so I assume I liked those especially much, but going through them now I still don't really remember much, but I do recognize a couple fic author names as authors I read many good fics from, Ariel_Sojourner AppoApples @batshieroglyphics @roosjem LeeTheHobbit @triscribe cjwritesfanficnow @laurabwrites y'all's are awesome! Everyone, go check out all their fics!

I do also read and enjoy stories where people other than Obi-Wan travel through time, one that really stuck with me is In Good Time by morwen_of_gondor, about the Mandalorian trainers Kal Skirata and Walon Vau time travelling back to their time on Kamino.

All the fluffy h/c, fix-it, everyone lives, no order 66 Clone Wars fics! Pro-jedi, pro-clones, anti-sith (which sometimes includes Anakin, sometimes not), usually focusing on the 212th.

I never watched the series and it's been ages since I watched Attack of the Clones, but somehow, probably on the time travel -> Obi-Wan fics -> General Kenobi pipeline, I ended up reading a loooot of clone wars (fix it) fic, specifically lots and lots of Codywan!

You know that lovely feeling of getting into a new fandom without having any preconceived notions or otps or anything, so you can read All The Fic without any ships or bashing squicking you out? Yeah, that was me in Star Wars several months ago, cursed be the Codywan that got to me xD I can barely read time travel fics anymore without mourning the existence of the Vod'e because changing the past usually means they won't be created (unless they're the ones time travelling of course. Love those fics) and where I used to read just about anyone x Obi-Wan (and also anyone x anybody else lmao), I'm not pretty exclusively into Codywan... That being said, there's a reason for that, and that's the amount of amazing fics for that ship that I came across!

Again, I don't have specific fics that I remember because I just read so many one after the other... I guess I'll have to re-read them all. Which is great actually because me not remembering them much means I can reread them basically for the first time! I did mark some as rec but looking through them now I think they're not mainly recced for the codywan... My shippy bookmark tag might give a better overview.

Another ship I got into was clone troopers Waxer x Boil, I like the thought of the Vod'e being a society of to outsiders identical looking but to each other separate people who only see their immediate batchmates as siblings (which would also psychologically make a lot more sense), and these two are just super cute.

One of the first Waxer/Boil fics I read is also Codywan and it's one of these clones&Obi-Wan time travel fics I like so much :D The 212th Attack Battalion's Guide to Saving the Galaxy by Accident by @antigrav-vector and @quarra, it also has some Dooku/Sifo-Dyas which is another ship I really like.

Another one I still want to continue reading is RCAU: Open Skies mainly by @cacodaemonia, what I've seen of it so far is great and the story is So Long (almost 900k, a honestly daunting wordcount and probably what made me procrastinate continuing it, but also Awesome because So Much Fic), it's cute and shippy and no order 66 but also has plot and interesting characters and ocs and I just love it <3

Also similar but less ship centric, I absolutely love all the fics where Fox gets to kill Palpatine. Just, best trope ever. The Corrie Guard deserves a little Sith Murder. As a treat.

Jaster Mereel and his haat'ade (True Mandalorians), there are a bunch of really good ones where they rescue Obi-Wan and the Young from Melidaan, but also in general all the Jaster fics are great!

While I'm very anti guns irl I just love the fictional Mandalorian culture xD with their cool armor and their codex and the language (per my last count I know 90 words of Mando'a just from fic reading osmosis, send me an ask if you want a list lmao), the vibrant culture created by it being a creed, not one species... and Jaster is just my favorite Mando'ad ever, maybe because he doesn't have much canon attached so fanon just went wild? xD there are also a bunch of jedi shippy fics with him and Dooku sometimes in ot3 with Sifo-Dyas, or him and Jon Antilles like the wonderful 100k wip trade your heart for bones to know by @blackkatmagic, and I think there was one with time travelling adult Obi-Wan as well - edit: yes several, by @roosjem @cjwritesfanficnow @batshieroglyphics <3

Skywalker Family Values by Ariel_Sojourner: Sith-son Luke and senator daughter Leia end up in the same summer camp, it ends in a destruction of the speciist camp, a rebellious theatre performance and the reintroduction of their parents... Aka the parent trap/ Doppelte Lottchen AU that is still somehow perfectly in tune with the Star Wars world! 55k, T for violence.

Can't forget the fic that actually got me into Star Wars! At least I'm pretty sure this is the one? I think there was a tumblr post talking about crackfic ideas for a parent trap AU, and I went looking and found this one, which is actually 100% serious and such a good read. I actually made my mom read it as well xD Das Doppelte Lottchen (German original parent trap book from 1949) was one of our favs for her to read to me when I was a kid, and my mom is always looking for new reading material and as I'm mainly reading fanfic, I'm always happy to find fic she'll also like.

And, because I turn everything into a tag meme, maybe some of you also want to show your appreciation for the writers who got us through the last year - everyone who sees this, feel free to make your own post (if it's just Star wars fic I guess you can reblog-add to this one, but otherwise seriously make your own post)! and remember to leave your authors some comments especially if they can't be @-ed on tumblr :) tagging all the authors already tagged above and everyone else who sees this!

here's my 2024 rec list for other fandoms

more of my fic recs • my writing • my Star Wars • Star Wars fic recs

[bernadette-laurent]

Twisted Wonderland OC

"Don't worry, I'll do what I can…although it probably won't be much." Grade: First year, Class 1-A (special student) Age: ??? Height: 1.50cm Hobbies: sewing Dislikes: loud noises Favorite food: roasted vegetables Least favorite food: cookies. Special Ability: Tactical Intuition (React before the enemy attacks) -sing -create dresses, bags and plushies. Club: Gargoyle Appreciation Club

Small description:

They describe her as a ghost just out of the basement, but she has no bad intentions, she just wants to be happy.

Don't miss her, she comes from a different world so it's normal that she doesn't know anything at all, just guide her and you'll see a sad but sincere smile. She is open to doing all kinds of things (never you dare overdo it) anything is fine, she just wants to be a better person than she used to be before.

She seems to be very lazy, rude or even angry but she is actually a very good person (get to know her and you will see a kinder and more peaceful side) she loves art and nature and will care more about you than herself.

Although he has an exaggerated side, he will alter any situation to get his way.

Background Story:

Bernadette was born from a relationship between young people, they fought daily and the breakup only made things worse.

Her father wanted to be a famous actor and her mother simply wanted to live without complications, when she found out about the pregnancy they immediately separated.

Her father abandoned them and her mother daily got angry or did everything possible to get rid of Bernadette in her womb, although without any success she had her and never took care of her, Bernadette had no limits in her childhood so she was very naughty, until one day her mother looked for her father and decided to abandon her with him.

He had no idea how to take care of her, so he tried to leave her on the streets but he regretted it and took her to his older brother.

The uncle was not far behind, many in the city feared him, no one knew what he did, he and Bernadette lived in an old and rusty camper near the forest, and many abuses towards Laurent began that continued for many years, finally she stopped being the girl without limits and her gaze faded.

When she arrived to her new world she was afraid of everyone at school, she did not trust anyone and was so pessimistic that no matter how much she suffered she never complained because everyone could have a worse time than her… until everyone silenced her and told her that they worried every day about the way she expressed herself and that she should never be afraid of anything.

Extra information: -She failed many subjects in high school at the cost of little work and unjustified absences. -She does not usually shout due to multiple scoldings from her uncle, so when she does so her throat hurts a lot. -Her previous school was divided into men and women. When there were special days everyone got together.

[starrysan]

holyland

masterlist

pairing: yunho x fem!reader

warnings (prerequisites?): angst, exes to lovers, swearing, not proofread 😓

a/n: I incorporated some of the lyrics from holyland where I thought they fit. @spicxbnny I hope I did your request justice, enjoy!! ^^

3rd person pov

"𝗆𝖺𝗒𝖻𝖾 𝖨'𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗀𝗋𝗂𝖾𝖿. 𝖼𝖺𝗇'𝗍 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇 𝗆𝗒 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍, 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝗒 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎"

“so that’s it? you’re leaving?” y/n asked, not even sad anymore just angry.

the two were currently standing infront of their apartment. yunho had called a cab and was holding his bags waiting for it.

“i’m doing this for us-” yunho tries to reason.

“for.. for US?! no yunho this is not for us this is for you you went behind my back accepting a job even though you knew id tell you to go for if you just told me about it but no.” she stops herself from saying something she’d regret before continuing.

“you went and took it and now you’re breaking up with me for it. this is not for us yunho and you know it.”

“i-”

“don’t interrupt me.”

you were the one who said communication is key and we should tell each other anything we had going on. in what world would i not tell you to go for a job i know you’ve been talking about for years?” y/n says restraining everything in her not to drag yunho back into the house. as angry as she was she wasn’t going to not let him take this job up.

as y/n finishes talking yunho’s cab pulls up. “goodbye yunho.” she says not even watching him get in the cab and going back to her apartment.

yunho stood there stunned not knowing what to do or say as he puts his stuff in the trunk and hopping into the car.

some time passes a few years or so to be exact and yunho finds someone else. was he content? sure. happy? maybe not the right word. him and his girlfriend were on the plane heading back to Korea. was he aware he may see y/n? of course. was he scared? of course he was.

they get into a cab heading to the apartment he had rented where did he move to exactly? the apartment right across from y/n of course. did he do this on purpose, not necessarily.. it just happened to be the only apartment left in the building.

the two move in y/n not even realizing new neighbors had come in till almost a week later when she was leaving her apartment and saw yunho's girlfriend leave not realizing who she was.

"oh hi are you new to the building? my name is y/n" she introduces. the girl introduces herself telling y/n she moved in with her boyfriend about a week ago.

"hope you're settling in well. if you need anything at all just come knock" y/n smiles before heading into her own apartment.

yunho's girlfriend comes back inside telling yunho about a nice girl she met on the way back. yunho not realizing who she was told her to invite the girl over for dinner, which she did.

the night of dinner came and y/n knocks on the door. the girlfriend answers the door greeting her as she comes in. "where's your boyfriend?" y/n asked assuming he'd be here as well.

"ah in the other room ill go get him" she says leaving the room to go find him. she returns moment later and yunho's eyes widen, y/n's doing the same as the two realized what was going on.

"y/n.." yunho says. "yunho.." y/n answers much to his girlfriend's confusion. "whatre you doing here?" he asks. "here to have dinner but not anymore I guess." she says as she heads for the door.

"y/n wait please" yunho pleads. "you have 2 minutes no. 1 minute to explain what the fuck you're doing back here."

"I- the job opportunity was only for a few years" yunho starts. "and I missed home so I came back."

"and her?" y/n asked, not judgingly as she gives his girlfriend a knowing glance and she seemed to understand. "we met while I was there"

y/n takes a second to calm herself down. "im going to go home before I say something im going to regret. goodbye it was very nice to meet you" y/n gives yunho's girlfriend a goodbye as she leaves the apartment and runs back into her own.

as yunho went to sleep at night all he could think about was y/n everything that happened those years ago all flew back to him at once.

"𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗆𝗒 𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗅? 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎?"

weeks go by and all yunho could think about was her. his girlfriend noticed this as well not being able to take it anymore and breaking up with him.

y/n hears about their breakup through the grapevine, or rather, she sees his girlfriend barge out of his apartment with her bags before she leaves the building. yunho watches her leave seeing y/n outside her door when she heard all the commotion but not daring to say anything.

he goes to her door almost everyday, wanting to knock but not having the courage to.

after the fifth day y/n had enough obviously seeing him standing outside, a bit pathetically she might add as she opens the door to his surprise. "y/n-!"

"save it. what're you doing outside my door?" she asks looking at him. "can we talk? please" yunho practically begs.

y/n thinks for a bit before sighing and giving him space to come in the door. "come in" she says reluctantly.

the two sit at her dining table, no one saying anything. "yunho if you're just going to sit there in silence please leave."

"no I- just needed to gather my thoughts." he says finally. "you had three whole years to do that" she scoffs.

"y/n, I have no excuse for what I did. it was selfish I know. I should've just talked to you about it instead of deciding things on my own and assuming you wouldn't be supportive I know that's not the type of person you are. can you please forgive me and could we start over?" yunho finishes.

y/n takes in everything yunho says, not saying anything at first. "say something please" yunho says looking up at her after he had been looking down at his hands.

"yunho you left me. there's no sugarcoating it- you left me." y/n starts. "but.. I never stopped loving you and im sure you knew that. which was why it hurt me even more when I saw you with someone else, let alone the person being an absolute sweetheart. she had every right to break up with you after you put her in that situation."

"we can't just go back to how we are.. it's going to take me time but if you truly changed.. we can start slow." y/n says.

"thank you y/n" yunho says going up to hug her but she stops him. "too soon?" "too soon." she replies a slight giggle when she does and all yunho could do was smile. he missed her laugh, he missed everything.

slowly but surely they got comfortable with each other, nothing crazy but it was progress. they'd sit on the couch together, not too close but the same couch at least.

yunho's lease was coming up and y/n tells him to just move back in, telling him he'd have to sleep on the couch though and he was more than content with that.

a few more months go by and y/n saw how uncomfortable yunho was on the couch the couch being far too small for him but he settled with it.

"𝗈𝗁, 𝗁𝗈𝗅𝗒𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖽, 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗓𝖾 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗆𝖾, 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗐𝖾 𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾. 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝖿𝗅𝗈𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗌 𝗌𝗈 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾"

"yunho?" y/n calls from her room and yunho pops his head up. "yeah?" he answers. "come to bed." she says. opening the door for him. "really?" he says making sure she was 100% sure. "yes really, its getting miserable seeing you suffer on the couch come to bed."

yunho practically jumps off the couch bolting to the bed. they just slept side by side yunho not daring to go too close to her but after a while, she lets him.

"yunho?"

"hm?"

"I love you"

he has to make sure he heard her right. "..what?"

"I said, I love you"

"𝗂'𝗆 𝗅𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗌. 𝖺 𝖽𝖺𝗒𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝗇, 𝗂'𝗆 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗉𝖾𝖺𝖼𝖾 (𝗌𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗆𝖾)"

tysm for reading! if you have any requests pls send them my way!!

if you enjoy my writing and would like to be tagged for future things please fill out this taglist form!

permanent written fics taglist: @yvnhoos @linearities @kattarrynnka

@dalsuwaha @coffeewwithdrawlheadaches

[syndrossi]

Just had another idea set in Rescue au - scene where Viserys is told that his brother and nephews were kidnapped

This is technically set slightly later in the mad scramble after the kidnapping, but still near enough for emotions to be fraught.

x~x~x

He should have had a dozen household knights with him.

His frustration was as much for himself as Daemon. Viserys knew his brother’s pride; of course he would assume that he alone could guard his children, or even that none would dare touch a Targaryen with his dragon so near.

This is the very fool who brought my daughter, heir to the Iron Throne, into Flea Bottom, unescorted.

But his brother had told him of his excursions into the city, seeking trinkets to delight his sons, and his plans to take them himself to enjoy the sights. It was the side of Daemon that he most enjoyed: the furnace of his brother’s love, directed at those he most cherished. It was their father and mother both, who had loved with the entirety of their being.

Viserys had known that those ventures were unescorted, and still he had not insisted on bestowing a shield upon him, or that at least one knight accompany them.

“Still no word?”

The last he had been told was that his brother and nephews had been seen on the Street of Kings, where they had stopped at a tavern and a goldsmith’s, before Rhaegar had apparently chosen to join a street singer in song.

Ser Gustan gave a bow of his ash-grey head, breath escaping with a heaviness that suggested he had made great haste to the chamber. “One of my gold cloaks reported seeing them in River Row, near the fire in the market.” The Lord Commander hesitated. “A woman was found with her throat slit, a tinkerer in a nearby stall. The prince and his sons had been speaking to her.”

“When?” Viserys demanded.

“Around the time of the fire, Your Grace, just past midday.” The knight then added what seemed plain now. “Likely it was meant as a distraction.”

Eight hours ago, and no sign of them since. The harbor had been locked down, all ships ordered to remain in port, but several hours had passed between the likely kidnapping and a servant raising the alarm that Daemon had not returned with his sons. More than enough time for a ship to sail, or a wagon to slip out of one of the many city gates.

Rhaenyra and Laenor were already sweeping the bay on dragonback, and Viserys had dispatched men along the kingsroad.

Caraxes, the Dragonkeepers had reported, had been visibly agitated for a brief time, then fallen into lethargy. Lethargy, not mourning. When their uncle had fallen on Tarth, his mount had set the hills aflame and then fled to the mountains south of the kingswood. Once he had exacted his vengeance, their father had taken Daemon on Vhagar in search of the dragon, and his brother had returned to King’s Landing a dragonrider.

No, if his brother were dead, then surely his body would have been found, and there had been no trace of the boys either. Kidnapped, but by whom, and why? Triarchy, seeking vengeance for Daemon’s victories at the Stepstones? Outlaws seizing an opportunity?

There was no telling unless their searching yielded clues, or an offer for ransom came.

For the first time in many years, Viserys regretted not having a dragon of his own. Father would have gone in search himself, had our uncle disappeared. And their grandfather would have threatened fiery ruin upon the city those responsible called home.

“I want a raven sent to Driftmark,” he said, turning to Mellos. “My cousin and her daughter have dragons to aid in the search.” With the Velaryon fleet still tied up in the Stepstones, their options for monitoring the seas would be limited. “And I want every lord within the Crownlands and Stormlands to send men out in search.”

He dismissed Ser Gustan to resume his coordination of the efforts within and in the surrounds of the city. One by one, the small council chamber emptied, until Viserys was alone with his Kingsguard. He found himself sorely missing his Hand’s guidance, but in his fury over Otto’s suggestion that Daemon might have slipped away with his sons by choice, he had banished the man from his sight.

Supper was brought to him at last, but his appetite, rarely great, was utterly absent. After their long estrangement, he had finally regained his brother’s company, along with two unexpected nephews who had quickly stolen his heart. Daemon had seemed settled, his prodigious energy channeled into his sons rather than childish rebellion. Viserys had found himself drawn to more family suppers, or lured from his chamber by Daemon’s temptations of fresh air.

We were to go flying.

Viserys had not been on dragonback in nearly a decade. The last time, Daemon had talked him into a trip to the Giant’s Toe, declaring it a name day gift.

Viserys had sent him away again and again, always with the knowledge that he could recall him, should he desire. Those long years felt wasted now, squandered to soothe his own hurts.

He stared into his cup, and could almost feel his father’s eyes upon him, heavy with the sorrow of his last years. Where is your brother, Viserys?

[insomniac-dot-ink]

2025 Anticipated Book Releases

My reading goal for this year is the same for last year in that I want to read 70 books! And hopefully a few more nonfiction, as always. BUT my main 2025 New Years Resolution for reading is to read less broadly. I read very broadly last year which was good, but it kind of made me sad in the sense I wasn't reading as many books that are "for me." So! More fantasy this year.

January

Water Moon by Samantha Sotto Yambao (Jan 14th): Set in a pawnshop where people can sell their regrets and past choices. I am always a sucker for a slower magical realism story when done well.

Breath of the Dragon by Fonda Lee and Shannon Lee (Jan 7th): I usually strictly avoid YA at this point but adore Fonda Lee so I'll be reading everything she writes. This is an Asian-inspired fantasy work with dragons.

The Good Mother Myth: Unlearning Our Bad Ideas About How to Be a Good Mom by Nancy Reddy (Jan 25): I am always drawn to gender dynamics that are a little more invisible and have thought there is some absurdity to the idea it's "always the mother's fault." A nonfiction on socially constructed motherhood.

February

A Drop of Corruption by Robert Jackson Bennett (Feb 6th): !!! Probably my most anticipated read. The Tainted Cup was such a breath of fresh air in fantasy last year and the combination of epic fantasy and fun characters was perfect for me personally. This should me another murder mystery and I can't wait.

Emily Wilde's Compendium of Lost Tales (Emily Wilde 3) by Heather Fawcett (Feb 11th): I have already read this since I got an ARC but I did adore the ending! This installment started quiet slowly but ended on a much more high fantasy note than I expected in a good way.

March

Everything is Tuberculosis by John Green (March 18): I was surprised by how much I enjoyed John Green's nonfiction essay collection since I found his fiction a little rote. But his essay collection had a bittersweet thoughtfulness I really appreciated. As such, I am very interested in his next nonfiction work.

April

Great Big Beautiful Life by Emily Henry (April 25th): I am among the masses that have followed Emily Henry ever since I read "Book Lovers" and discovered her dialogue. Her work can get a little repetitive after a point, but this had such an interesting premise of two writers competing to write the biography of a reclusive famous author. I'm seated.

Authority by Andrea Long Chu (April 8th): An essay collection on the nature of authority in a world where "everyone thinks they know everything." I am fascinated by this topic.

May

My Friends by Fredrik Backman

Fredrik Backman is one of my authors. I read A Man Called Ove at such a challenging time in my life that it hit like a freight train and I've been following Backman's work ever since. I love when things hurt nicely--and a book about friendship from Backman? I am ready to hurt nicely.

OTHERS

Hemlock and Silver by T Kingfisher, a Snow White retelling (!!! another one of my authors, I adore Kingfisher)

Bury Our Bones in the Midnight Soil by Victoria E. Schwab (I've always been lukewarm on Schwab, but toxic lesbian vampires has my damn ears perked)

You Didn't Hear This From Me: (Mostly) True Notes on Gossip by Kelsey McKinney (I LOVE the Normal Gossip podcast and will be here for this)

------------

If there are any books you think I'll like, lmk! I'm always on the look out for stuff like Jade City or Naomi Novik's work.

[spinchip]

Find Your Way Home au. Kai and Nya have a conversation after he finds out she's Samurai Phoenix. angst and pain yaaay

(kai and nya stans is this in character or am i just making stuff up thanks)

She finds him out here, on the deck of the bounty with the starts surrounding him. It's a dark, cold night and he seems to sense her the moment she comes up behind him.

“These past few years, I've had this feeling in my chest.” He says softly as he leans against the railing on the Destiny's Bounty, looking out towards Ignacia. Or at least, she thinks he is. She’s not sure where home is or where the bounty is, but Kai… Kai’s always known, “it was this… need, i guess, to protect. To keep someone safe and whole. It made sense, y'know? I’ve been taking care of you since I was young. Too young. I guess I always thought that it was for you- this desire to shield and secure. I built a home for us in Ignacia to the best of my ability. Hell, I didn't want to leave. We were safe there, and I could hide you away from all the dangers in the world.”

She swallows past the lump in her throat, “Kai, I’m not a little kid anymore.”

“No,” He agrees instantly, “You’re not. You’re a grown woman now, Nya. All this time, I've been trying to protect you and you've never needed or wanted it… That dedication is for someone else now.”

She knows instantly he means Lloyd. Who else but their little brother? Who else but the child with the curse of destiny's favor?

“I guess I should have realized that sooner, then maybe it wouldn’t all have gotten so messy.” he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. He doesn’t need a lighter. A terrible power for someone who was trying to quit- she would have scolded him a day ago, but now she watches him light it silently, “I’m sorry I made you think you couldn’t tell me stuff. That’s not what I want for us.”

“No, Kai, it-” Nya finally joins him at the railing, “It wasn’t… you know I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, all you’ve had to give up. It’s just… with you and the others it’s always a boy's club. You never let me try to help, so I found my own way to be a hero.”

“By sneaking around.” He says, exhaling smoke. He doesn’t sound angry, just tired. Like he’s gone through all the fear for her he would have experienced this past year all at once.

“It maybe wasn’t the best path i could have taken,” the wood of the railing is worn and flaked in some spots. She busies herself picking at it, “But what choice did I have?”

He turns to her with a pained expression, “Why didn’t you just talk to me? To jay? Hell, Zane or Cole!”

“To what end? I would have gotten the same speech four times over!” She argues back instantly before she takes a deliberate breath to calm her nerves. It’s been a stressful week, “Kai, I did what I did because I couldn’t just stand back and watch you all risk your lives from the deck of the bounty.”

“Because of your ‘destiny’?” He shoots back, eyebrows lowered. It’s the type of sting only a sibling could cause and Nya grits her teeth at it.

“Because you are my brother, and the rest of the guys are my friends.” She says firmly. “I helped you out of tight spots. I proved myself, didn’t I?”

“You didn’t need to prove yourself Nya! I already knew you were awesome.”

“Then what are you upset about?”

He flicks the cigarette butt off the railing and she knows he’ll regret doing that later. Hopefully it doesn’t land on anyone on the way down, “You went out there all alone! Nya, when I fight with the others, I know I have people there to support me when things get sticky. You didn’t.”

“You just said that I don’t need your protection.”

“This is different.” Kai stresses every syllable of the word, “What if something happened and no one was there to help? And no one knew?”

“Nothing happened.” She reminds him sharply, “I’m fine.”

“Are you telling the truth?”

“Yes!”

The night goes silent around them. Nya has so much she wants to say and not a single word in her mouth to spit out. Kai stares at her for a long moment before he tears his head away, looking down at the clouds beneath them.

“You lied to me. You kept things from me.” there’s this hollow pain in his voice that makes Nyas chest ache, “You’re everything to me. I was so secure in our relationship before this. I trusted you and now I’m not sure if you’re telling the truth anymore.” His voice is heartbroken, “It’s my fault, isn’t it? I pushed you away, made you feel small. I used to know you.”

“I’m still the same person I always have been.” She says, voice thick with emotion. Her eyes feel tight and wet.

“No, you’re not. Neither am I.” He says, looking up at her with tears in his eyes, “I guess we did a lot of growing this past year, huh? Just not in the same direction.”

“Kai…”

“I love you, Nya. I always will. Nothing will ever change that.” He straightens up and moves towards her, his arms jumping up to embrace her before he stops short. There’s a flicker of uncertainty on his face, like the hug may not be welcome. His arms drop back to his sides, “But I'm hurt, and I’m scared, and… I just want to go to bed now, alright?”

“Alright.” She says sickly. She wants to hug him, but her arms feel glued to her sides.

He walks past her and through the door, back inside.

[le-fruit-de-la-passion]

I ran here after your response to that musical!reader headcanon and the mention of Jekyll and Hyde has me SWOONING.

I saw a local production where the woman playing Lucy went out into the audience during "Bring On The Men" and flirted with people, she even sat down on her friend's lap!

What if musical!reader did that to Viktor 🤭

OH MY G O D THATS SO COOL???

Viktor would DIE. Like actually just pass way. Stop breathing and ascend to the next plane of existence. Glorious Evolution TM.

Viktor is usually very appreciative of music. It's similar to mathematics, in many ways, equations of numbers and notes put together for a new and unique sounding result. He does enjoy theater as well from time to time: it requires a lot of practice, experience, trial and error... by that logic, musical theater should be an art form just as objectively interesting in his eyes.

If what you're doing on stage right now is musical theater, though, he's having a VERY hard time staying objective about it.

It's nothing short of dirty. From the corset that hugs your waist and reveals way too much of your generous chest, to the way you're spreading your legs invitingly for the entire audience to see, everything about you screams sex. He's absolutely transfixed, incapable of looking away from the way your hands touch your own body to the beat of the invisible orchestra.

He's only pulled away from the moment when some students a few seats away start loudly whistling and whooping for your attention, like this is a strip club and not a college play.

THAT'S when he starts to get mad.

He's suddenly very aware of the fact that there's about a hundred other people in the room, students and faculty members, watching the same performance he is. How many of them will imagine you in their bed tonight? How many of them are imagining you in their lap right now?

The smile on your lips speak louder than a thousand words: you're enjoying this, the thrill of the stage, the eyes undressing you while you sing your pretty little song about getting fucked by nameless strangers. Even worse, he's certain you're taking pleasure in knowing he's got front row seats for it, that you've effectively got him powerless and chained down while you're giving a show he should be the only one witnessing.

You've flipped over your roles as student and teacher, and now, he's the one who has to sit silently and drink every word from your lips. It's devilishly clever.

He would be genuinely impressed if he wasn't burying his nails into his cane with one hand and trying to cover the tent in his dress pants with the other.

The projector suddenly moves; it follows you as you're going down the few stairs from the stage to the floor, heels sharp against the concrete floor.

So lets bring on the men

And let the fun begin

Your eyes finally meet his. They're filled with bright sparkles from the stage lights, teasing and provoking. Tauntingly asking if he's ready for what's next, when you both know he doesn't have a say in the matter. The show must go on.

'Ah, shit' is the only thing that comes across his mind before you sit on his lap, the spotlight blinding him.

A little touch of sin

Why wait another minute?

Your movements are calculated and precise, applying just enough pressure on his clothed cock for you to feel how hard he is, without granting him any relief. The audience cheers; he thinks he's having an aneurism.

You bat your mascara heavy eyelashes at him, abandoning the play for a triumphant instant. 'See?' he can almost hear you say. 'I knew I'd get your attention eventually. What's your next move, professor?'

Oh, he is going to make you regret this.

[jinxsleftmiddlefinger]

timebomb highschool au

(part 5)

(pt1) (pt2) (pt3) (pt4) (read on ao3)

description: timebomb highschool au pretty much sums it up lol. there’s also canon storylines (vander death, vi conflict etc.) but translated into a modern context

note: I’m really sorry if there’s any mistakes im so tired rn 😭😭 also speed of chapter updates might slow down a bit now but I will try to keep it steady!!!

It was just too easy.

It’s like this whole school fell into her traps, let her do what she wanted. The universe was basically telling her to prank the poor souls of Zaun High.

Jinx went to vandalize the locker thinking that there was no way she’d get through with it. Someone had to walk down the hallway, someone had to catch her, and yet…

No one was anywhere near. She finished writing ‘Dickhead’ in big blue letters on locker 27 without a single eye catching sight of her. She even managed to add some extra decorating touches.

Jinx skipped back to math class, her spirits high. No one even noticed the paint now staining her fingers after coming back from the ‘bathroom’.

She glanced quickly at Ekko sitting beside her, absorbed in his notes. Her lips lifted up slightly when she thought if their text conversation the other day. 

Do I make you nervous, Ekko?

She was pretty good at this flirting thing. Not that she was flirting, of course. It was a joke. A hobby, a way to pass time, that’s all.

Ekko wouldn’t like her anyway. Maybe he’d like her face or her body or the pretty words she could make up, but he wouldn’t like the real her. That’s what sent them all running for the hills.

Jinx’s phone started buzzing in her back pocket, and she regretted not putting it back on Do Not Disturb. Even though it was on silent, it still buzzed against her chair, making a noticeable noise in the silent classroom.

The teacher turned around from the board.

“Does someone have their phone?”

The class stared blankly. Jinx didn’t show one bit of a reaction, and the teacher turned back to writing on the board, writing sounds and breathing the only noise in the room.

Jinx slowly removed her phone from her back pocket, looking around to make sure no one was staring. She shifted forward in her seat, putting it under the table, and made a conscious effort to make sure it didn’t look too much like she was staring at her crotch.

Vi: I’m really sorry. Please, can we give it another try? 

Vi: I won’t bring her this time. 

Jinx’s lips pressed together, staring at the messages. She almost had to wonder where her sister got the audacity from. Before her fingers could start typing out an offensive and colourful message, Vi sent another text.

Vi: do you want me to come to your house? 

Vi: I just want to talk.

Vi: I just want my sister back.

She fought off the urge to laugh. Vi’s sister was long gone, killed the night Vander died, the moment Vi yelled and hit her and left her. Powder was dead. That’s almost what she typed, what she told Vi, but her fingers were somehow compelled to say something different; like an ouija board.

Jinx: ok.

Jinx: this saturday.

Jinx: no girlfriend.

Jinx rested her phone on her thigh, momentarily tuning back into class. The teacher drawled on and on, things she already knew and everyone else should know too. Her eyes were already blurring the numbers and equations on the board, turning the teachers voice into a buzzing like an air conditioner in her ears, when she was woken up by her phone vibrating on her leg.

Vi: thank you for giving me another chance

Vi: I’ll be there (: 

Vi: (No girlfriend!)

Jinx almost smiled. The messages had so much of her sisters energy in them, she could practically hear Vi’s voice in her ear. Well, the Vi from before’s voice. She didn’t know if the Vi from the here and now was the same. Maybe she was more serious, mature. Maybe she acted older. Jinx hadn’t really figured that out from their brief interaction at the mall.

The thought of the mall made her look at Ekko again, just out of the corner of her eye. He looked kind of cute, all focused on the class and the paper in front of him.

Jinx quickly shifted her eyes back to her own desk and banished that thought from her mind. She did not have time for boys right now. Not even cute ones.

Class ended with just a few more minutes of zoning out. Lunch was next, and that was the easy part of the day. She never really went to the cafeteria, usually just wandering the halls or going outside if the weather was nice.

Today, her plans were interrupted in a very violent way. 

Jinx jumped, her reflexes not fast enough as her shoulders were grabbed and she was shoved against the locker behind her. A gasp escaped her chest, the impact winding her.

“Get off me!” Her body thrashed widely in an attempt to free herself from the grasp of whoever had attacked her.

“You bitch!” Her attacker roared, holding her upper body tighter, and that’s when she recognized him.

Messy light hair, dark brown eyes glowing with rage, teeth bared. Yes, this was the owner of the locker she had so lovingly decorated this morning.

Jinx laughed breathlessly. “What, you didn’t like my decorations? That’s a shame, your locker was so plain before. Really, you should be thanking me.”

He pulled her forward, only to slam her back against the locker again, even harder this time. She breathed heavily.

“Don’t fucking play with me.” His breath smelled like old cigarette smoke and gatorade. “You think that’s funny? You think you’re gonna get revenge for her?”

Jinx knew what her meant. His ex-girlfriend. Although she had of course heard the rumours of him cheating, of him just being a general asshole, she didn’t write ‘Dickhead’ on his locker for her. She just really couldn’t stand this guy’s attitude.

This guy whose name she couldn’t even remember. This guy who was holding her up against a locker.

“Fuck. You. You think you own this school? You think you’re so great, so clever, Jinx?” He huffed, clearly pissed.

Dickhead was seeming like a more and more fitting nickname by the second.

His hands dug into her harder, and she knew what was going to happen. He was going to slam her into the lockers again, or swing at her, or do something to hurt her. And she was so helpless without her tricks, her smoke or glitter bombs, her gadgets. She was too weak to even defend herself against this asshole.

Just as she braced to take a hit of some kind, the dickhead was suddenly off her just as fast as he’d been on her.

She pulled herself off the locker, dazed and blinking at the scene before her; Ekko, dragging the dickhead away from her and throwing a punch. Him, throwing a punch back. A fight. 

She wasn’t registering it fully, and then she was registering it completely.

“Hey! Stop it you two!” Jinx stepped closer to the two boys. “Cut it out!”

She would not let Ekko get hurt just because she couldn’t defend herself. That was stupid. She could already see his bleeding nose, though it wasn’t for nothing. Dickhead had a nasty black eye, another mark blooming on his cheek.

The whole ordeal stopped when Sevika appeared around the corner, stepping in between the brawlers and raising an eyebrow at a Jinx who was still breathing way too heavily.

Both boys stared up at the buff school receptionist, holding them back easily. 

“Okay, you three.” She said bluntly. “Time to go to the office.”

Jinx sighed.

As they followed Sevika silently down the hall, a walk of shame almost, Jinx looked up at Ekko wiping the blood from his face.

“The boy saviour,” She muttered to him, making him look at her quizzically. “My big, fat hero.”

[scripts4dreamers]

Leave a light on pt. 4

AN: Aaaaaand we have part four! The next two chapters are a little shorter, but only because I'm ramping up to the Fade Jail thing. Hope you enjoy!

Part One, Part Two, Part Three One of the things Solas hated most about mortal bodies was hangovers. It was his own damn fault, of course. He could not reasonably expect anything else after drinking into the early hours of the morning with Amala but still he couldn’t help but feel sorry for himself as he sipped his coffee and tried to focus on the book he was reading. It was nearly noon, by his reckoning. He had woken an hour or two earlier feeling more hopeful for the future of his relationship - if that is what he and the inquisitor had - than he had in years and had started the process of going about his day. He could hear movement from Amala’s room, so he knew she was awake as well and he found himself anxiously waiting to see how she would behave when they saw one another again.

The night before had been…intense. Some parts were clearer than others. Solas was still admonishing himself for the way he handled some things but, amongst the chaos there had also been moments of tenderness, brief flashes of intimacy that burned like a fire whose embers had never truly gone out. She had looked him in the eye! He had touched her, held her, told her he loved her. It did not fix everything. The ghost of Varric, of Lace Harding, of Corypheus, of a thousand little deceptions still lay between them, but it was something. He hoped that they could build on that. In fact, he had a plan to ensure that they did.

“Good morning,” Amala greeted, as she always did, her hair still wet from the bath.

He looked up and smiled at her, feeling the familiar stab of regret when she let out an almost imperceptible sigh of relief. Every morning the routine was the same. She didn’t think he noticed or, if she did, she didn’t think he understood its significance, but he knew what that sigh meant. It meant that, just for a moment when she was walking down the hallway, some part of His Heart had been convinced that he wouldn’t be there, that he’d snuck away in the night and left her. Again.

It was a valid fear. He would be lying if he said he had not considered leaving, that he had not considered slipping away into the fade and freeing her from the blood soaked anchor that was tying her to this place, but he could never bring himself to do it. Not again. What had once felt like a selfless act, protecting her from the misuse he had suffered, now felt like the ultimate act of cowardice.

“Good morning, Vhenan. How are you feeling?”

“Ugh,” she complained, taking the seat beside him and stealing a strawberry from his plate, “Like death warmed up, you?”

“Better than Elgar’nan is feeling right now, but not by much,” he countered, pushing his plate closer towards her. Another part of their routine. “Do you have plans for the day?” he asked.

Her eyebrows shot up midway through her biting into a strawberry, a perfect picture of surprise.

“Um, no, I suppose not.” she said, “Do-did you want to do something together?”

Gods, he should have kissed her last night. He should be kissing her right now. If he just leaned forward he could pull her chair close and-

“You needn’t sound so surprised,” he laughed, “I merely thought we could visit that island you were telling me about last night.”

She perked up and his heart wanted to melt at how excited she looked, “The one with the bottomless pool?”

He nodded, “The one that is, what did you say exactly? Quite beautiful once you get past the Mythal of it all?”

She flushed, “I never said quite.”

“We do not have to go. We could stay here if you-”

“No,” she interrupted, “no, that would-I would like that very much.”

“Good,” Solas said with an internal breath of relief, “I’ll put together some provisions for us and we’ll leave as soon as you are ready.”

She nodded, still smiling to herself and they lapsed into comfortable silence as she finished her breakfast. At that point he knew reading was pointless, but he kept up the pretense so that she would feel comfortable. As soon as the last berry had been consumed she bounded back up the stairs to her chambers, and Solas couldn’t help but chuckle.

The walk to the island Amala had described was fairly daunting. Perhaps not to a highly trained assassin with years of experience balancing on rafters but for Solas, a mage who’s ribs had only just stopped actively hurting, it took a great deal of his concentration to navigate the intricate series of wooden planks, ropes and strategic jumps she had set up without plummeting into the ether. She tried her best to help him out but there was only so much she could do. It was worth it though. Not only was the island beautiful, but Solas had a legitimate reason to stare unabashedly at his Inquisitor as she did the thing she was best at. At one point Solas slipped and Amala grabbed his hand to keep him from falling. Once he was stable and she’d finished laughing at him, she’d laced their fingers together and they’d continued on their way, their joined hands swinging between them.The planks of wood could have been 3cm wide and no one would have caught Solas complaining.

Once they had made it to the main body of the island, Amala excitedly showed him some of her favorite places and they settled on a patch of thick, soft grass on the edge of the pool. Solas did remember this place. He and Felassan had spent many long afternoons sparring here, cooling off in the water and discussing their plans for the future and the things they would build together. His heart twinged. Oh, Felassan. Amala had also been right, there were a lot of statues of Mythal scattered around the place. He remembered those too.

They spoke about nothing of note for a while, reminiscing about their travels through the Hinterlands, swapping stories from their time in the fade and commiserating about how wrecked they both were after their night of drinking. It was so normal. It was almost perfect, but Solas could still feel the tension simmering just below the surface. He let it be for a time, settling down in the grass with his sketchbook while Amala tried her hand at scaling the crumbling walls. He traced the familiar lines of her body in charcoal, using his fingers to soften the edges and show her movement. There was something almost meditative about the process of seeing something, envisioning it on paper and then executing that vision. When he couldn’t describe the way he felt about something in words alone, he had found that he could usually depict it through his art, or through some combination of both. It was rare for him to go anywhere without a sketchbook. He had many full ones that he kept stored away to return to when he felt particularly nostalgic. He had burned many more.

Some amount of time must have passed, Solas was far too enraptured in his sketches to keep track of exactly how much, because when he looked back up, His Heart was naked. Alright, not quite, but before he had had the chance to process anything beyond the bareness of her stomach and the smooth line of her thighs, he had pointedly looked away, feeling the familiar lick of warm desire shoot through his stomach like an arrow.

Amala, who had removed her clothes in favor of a simple breast band and undershorts, laughed at his discomfort, though it wasn’t a truly mocking sound.

“Oh come now,” she teased, “I feel as though we’ve covered this already. Nothing you-”

“-haven’t seen before.” They finished in unison.

“It has been ten years, Vhenan,” he pointed out, “and you always did have a way of making me shy.”

She sat down at the water’s edge and slowly slipped in, making a sound of pleasure when the coolness hit her sun warmed skin that was so erotic that it bordered on torturous. She submerged her head under the water for a moment before popping up again and swimming over to the rocks near where he was sitting.

“Come swim,” she encouraged, “the water’s wonderful.”

“So I heard,” he said with a pointed look.

His instinct was to pull away, to politely decline and continue his drawings, but what was the point? Who did that instinct serve? So, instead, he got up with a sigh and started to remove his clothes, not bothering to fold them as they slowly came off, one piece at a time until he was only in his underclothes. Solas could feel her eyes on his back, tracing his spine, taking note of the places that were still tender and healing, cataloguing his new scars. He felt a slight twinge of insecurity, wondering what he must look like to her, if he measured up to her memories of their time together. He briefly felt the ghost of her hand brushing his stomach and sliding over his hips, but he pushed the feeling away and focussed on not twinging his ribs as he moved.

He slipped into the pool beside Amala, doing his best to look nonchalant and sighed with relief. The water really was magnificent. The water was also clear. Very clear. He had to fight to keep from staring at the flashes of Amala’s skin just beneath the surface. Her thighs were especially tempting. His mind helpfully providing him with the memory of just how soft they were beneath his palms, how her skin broke out in goosebumps when he ran his thumbs-

“Come, let me show you something,” he suggested quickly, crossing the pool in long, steady strokes.

There was a place, right beside the small, babbling waterfall, where the rocks formed a natural bench of sorts. It was long enough for several people and allowed them to sit in the water without needing to expend energy treading.

Amala gave him an impressed look, pulling herself onto the bench beside him and admiring the view it gave them “This is lovely. You must have come here often to remember it so well.”

“I did,” he admitted, “with Felassan. It had been so long since I had thought of it that I didn’t even remember until we arrived. It was part of a larger island that we used for training at the time.”

She hummed, shooting him a look out of the corner of her eye that told him she wanted to ask something. His chest tightened. His Inquisitor was a smart woman. She would have put it together by now that he and Felassan had been close. That Felassan had been an agent of Fen’Harel. That Felassan was not around anymore. He ought to just tell her. There was no sense in hiding from the truth, but still, Solas shrank away from the idea. Something of his discomfort must have shown on his face, because Amala let it go and changed tack.

“So, what prompted this little outing?” She asked, her tone forcibly light, “You haven’t asked to spend a day with me since we arrived here.”

“I was giving you space,” he replied, giving her a grateful look, “but after last night…well, I suppose the idea of space from you has simply lost its charm. Plus, I had things I wanted to say.”

She nudged his shoulder with her own, a small supportive gesture that had pulled him back from the edge more than once during their travels together. It said ‘I’m with you if you need me’. It said ‘you’re not alone here’.

“Then say them,” she suggested gently, “I’ll listen.”

They sat in silence for a while, just soaking in the sun and enjoying the simple joy of being together. Solas was painfully aware of her thigh pressed up against his, of the warmth of her body brushing against his bare arms. It was equal parts teasing and comfort in the way only Amala had ever been able to pull off, and the urge to wrap his arm around her side and pull her close was almost irresistible. He glanced up at the unseeing face of Mythal from where she perched eternal, watching over the pool. It would have felt poetic, he thought, to have a real, flesh and blood woman who loved him right under the eyes of a memory of one who did not. But that wasn’t why he had brought Amala here.

“Do you know why I pushed you away when we first met?” He eventually asked, “Why I fought so hard to deny what clearly existed between us?”

Amala shrugged, “Nonsense reasons, I suspect. Not wanting to lie to me and all that.”

He let out a huff of fond laughter and reached out hesitantly, a question in his eye. Amala nodded, letting him take her prosthetic hand in his and turn it over so that he could inspect the palm, “Amongst other reasons, it was because, at the time, you were channeling the power of a foci. My foci. Every time you closed a rift or brushed up against the fade, without knowing it, you were the foci of Fen’Harel. That could have given me power over you, undue power, undue influence. I feared that I would turn you into a tool in my crusade. Like I had done to so many others and like so many others had done to me. I would have had the best of intentions, of course, but it would have been cruelty all the same. I never wanted to use my power to shape you into something you did not wish to be.”

The prosthetic hand was a work of majesty. It was made of silverite and gold and seemed to be modeled off the old elven sentries that used to stand guard in Arlathan. As Solas ran his fingers along the intricate metalwork, he felt the familiar hum of Dorian’s magic. It made him smile. He should have known.

“I was never romantically involved with Mythal,” he continued, “I loved her. Deeply. I know she loved me the same, but it was…different then. The world was younger. The lines between things were not so severe, things defied definition more readily. At the time I felt like I belonged to her, belonged at her side. I did whatever she asked because she was my liege. She was the person I had chosen to follow, come what may, and we were never equals. I was her second-in-command, her guard dog. I excelled at the role.”

Amala nodded. She already knew all of this, but it was clear that he was building to something.

Solas continued, “I never wanted to become, for you, what Mythal became for me in the end. I wanted us to be equals.” he paused, feeling the familiar rush of shame and self-loathing flow through him, “I failed at that. I used you.”

She sighed, her metal hand giving his flesh and blood one a gentle squeeze as she looked up at the statue of Mythal, “People use people, Solas. It happens.”

He shook his head, staring at their interlocked hands “I-I will not attempt to explain away how I treated you. It was unjustifiable, but the point I was trying to make is…” he flushed, suddenly shy, “I am new to this. I have had very few romantic relationships considering how old I am, and the ones I did have happened in less than ideal circumstances so-” he forced himself to meet her eye and let out a breath, “I have no idea how to do this.”

“Do what?” Amla asked with a gentle, affectionate laugh.

Solas gestured vaguely, “This. Be in a normal, healthy relationship where no one is dying or planning a rebellion or deceiving the other person. When last we were together, I was always aware that one day I would have to leave you. Our relationship was always temporary-”

“Not that I knew that,” she pointed out.

He gave her a sheepish look and sighed, “I do not know how to build something with you with the intention of it lasting.” He admitted, “And I do want this to last. I want to do this properly.”

She was silent for a moment. He felt the ghosts that they had both been fighting to ignore rise between them again. Varric, Lace, Flissa, Corypheus, Haven, Redcliff, Adamant. A million moments of terror, of pain and confusion and sacrifice. Every lie by omission. Every betrayal. Ten long years of loneliness. There was so much to consider that Solas instinctively pushed it away, shoved his feelings down into a box in his heart that could be dealt with on some other day.

“Well, I’m not the world’s foremost expert or anything, but usually the people in the relationship know things about one another.” Amala eventually said with forced levity, clearly having made a similar choice to ignore the obvious.

He knew it was wrong. He knew this fragile, unspoken agreement to not have the fight wouldn’t last, that it would only fester and deepen the hurt on both sides but, in that moment, he was so grateful to her for it that it made him dizzy.

“We know things about one another.” he insisted.

“We know the big things,” she agreed, “we know we would die for each other, and the worst things that ever happened to us, and how much pain we can each take before we black out, but life was so chaotic when we met that we skipped over all the small things.”

The worst thing that had ever happened to Amala was a direct result of his actions, he reminded himself, feeling the familiar twisting pain of self-loathing in the pit of his stomach but, again, he pushed it away. He tried to focus on the day, on the sunlight and the cool water and the intoxicating brush of her skin against his. It partially worked.

He nodded, his brow furrowed with concentration as he redirected his attention back to the conversation, “Alright, I suppose I can see the truth in that. What sort of little things should we know?”

Amala shrugged with one shoulder, something playful in her eye, “Oh, I don’t know, anything really. Like, for example, earlier when you said it had been ten years…you meant since you’d seen me without my clothes on, right? Not since you’d seen anyone?”

The tension shattered. The ghosts faded.

Solas flushed, rolling his eyes with faux frustration, “I hardly think that’s relevant, Vhenan.”

Her mouth dropped open, “Solas. No, be serious now. It cannot have been a decade since you last…”

“I have had longer dry spells,” he admitted, “I spent a great deal of my life either at war with the Titans or leading a rebellion.”

“And here I thought battle was an aphrodisiac,” she replied.

“Back then everyone was immortal,” Solas reminded her, “everything felt less urgent. As for my recent…activities-”

“Or lack thereof.”

“Or lack thereof,” he agreed with a chuckle, “it held no appeal for me.”

She continued, sounding genuinely stunned, “I just-I can’t even-why?”

Solas felt his face warming under her scrutiny, but he wasn’t truly uncomfortable.

“What use did I have for desire?” he replied, “I was preoccupied with my plans, and besides,” he let his voice dip low, “it would be unfair of me to lay with someone when my heart and soul had been given to another.”

If he could bottle the look of fond exasperation and pride that that statement brought to Amala’s face and drink it like water, he would.

“I can think of some uses for desire,” she countered, letting her hand rest gently on his thigh beneath the water.

Her touch was light, teasing almost as she trailed her fingers slowly up. Solas felt like a teenage boy, his skin flushing as desire sank even deeper into the pit of his stomach. His mind, desperate for Amala in that way it always had been, eagerly provided him with the memory of what it felt like to flip her onto her back and pin her hands above her head. It reminded him of the way her voice would catch on his name when he slid his thigh between her legs and kissed down her neck, how her eyes would flutter shut even as she fought to keep them open when he-

He grabbed her hand with his own, slightly shaking one, “You’re playing a very dangerous game, Inquisitor.”

She held his gaze for a moment, her eyes flicking to take note of the tremor in his hand before she allowed the moment to pass. Solas let out a breath, grateful for the cold water.

“Alright, you were celibate for a decade” she said, simply, as though nothing had happened, “that is something I definitely did not know about you. Something to keep in mind.”

He snorted, “I assume you were not similarly restrained in your affections then.”

“Of course I wasn’t,” Amala replied, still chuckling, “I was alone! I had just saved the world and been dumped by a god, of course I wasn’t celibate.”

A completely fair and valid point, he reminded himself. A truth he had always assumed existed, and yet…he imagined his Inquisitor tangled up with some faceless person, her head thrown back in ecstasy as they kissed along the column of her throat, and felt jealous. It was surprising, in a way, and completely unsurprising in another way. He had always been a possessive man, prone to bouts of obsession and groomed for devotion. He did not like sharing the people he loved. At the same time, he had always assumed that Amala would eventually move on from what they had. In those first dark days after he had left the Inquisition, Solas would lie awake and imagine her slowly falling in love with someone new. He would imagine their first tentative kiss, the flowers they would buy her, the ring they would use to propose. He would imagine their house and their children, and the smile lines by His Heart’s eyes deepening throughout years of joyous, blissful matrimony and partnership. He would imagine himself fading from a wound, to a scar, to the ghost of an old memory and comfort himself with the idea that that was a sort of death, a sort of apology for a millennia of mistakes.

So, yes, in the greater scheme of things, his jealousy surprised him.

“Who was your first?” Amala asked curiously, “I had always assumed it was Mythal but…”

Solas scrunched his nose, banishing the thought of the faceless partner to the back of his mind, and replied, “Her name was Valina. She served Mythal, like I did. We were both new to having physical bodies and the desires and urges that came with them so it was…a learning experience, to put it mildly.”

She groaned sympathetically and nudged his shoulder with hers, “So not even the immortal can escape that core experience. Good to know.”

“And yours?”

“Leonid,” she answered, “we had just gotten our Vallaslin and we snuck away in the middle of the night. It was quick and fumbling and very sweet.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Solas replied gently, “you deserve sweetness.”

“So do you.” she countered, equally softly,

“Maybe someday,” he conceded, slightly uncomfortable with the idea as he stared out over the endless fade, “but right now my sins are too numerous for that.”

Amala sighed and, before Solas could do anything to soothe her disappointment in him, he felt her lips press softly to his cheek. His heart stuttered. Time slowed to a crawl.

Touch starved. That was the phrase he had heard bandied about by soldiers, too long away from their wives, families and friends. Like so much else in his life, it had never made sense until he met Amala.

The kiss should have been nothing. It was quick and chaste, the kind of thing she had once done instinctively if they were going separate ways on a mission, or if one of them was heading out without the other. Instead, after so many years of solitude, it felt like the very first time. Warmth spread from where her skin touched his, his every nerve ending felt alive and he recognized that this kiss felt meaningful. It was a promise, a dedication to treating one another softly no matter how scared or broken they both may be from years of constant battle. It was an offering of better times ahead.

But what use is a general in peacetime? How could he give her better days when all he had to offer was dread?

[knockyasocksoff2022]

Ideal No. 15

(7,119 words)

(A/N: Is this the longest chapter yet? LMAO, eat up! I had it mostly done before now, so IDK why it took me so long, if I didn't procrastinate, the total writing time was like three days, maybe. Plot bunnies are bitches, I guess. The moral of the story is: yell at me more in the comments! Only one or two more chapters to go!) 

Thanks once again to @fyodorsushankaaa for all the encouragement!

He looks like a scared puppy, readying to bolt. I have to act fast. 

It's impulsive, I know, but I'm not sure what else I can do, so I grab his bloodied hand. He flinches, hard, but I don't let go. I can't, too scared he'll slip away again.

"Dazai, you're hurt." Well, that much is obvious. I mentally scold myself. "What happened?"

He probably won't tell me if it's self-inflicted or not, but I need to know what sort of injury it is at least. The blood is spreading in a pattern that suggests a wound less controlled than razor lines. And Dazai doesn't cut himself, as far as I know. He kills himself with neglect.

He opens his mouth, then closes it, then again, then once more. Then he jolts up, trying to twist away. He makes a sound of pain so startling that surprise makes me let go when it should be my instinct to grip him tighter.

Without the support of my arms, he tumbles out of the booth. I rush to help him.

"I'm okay. I'm just a bit out of it because of the weather change, is all." His voice is raspy. He isn't even trying to fool me anymore. I won't complain. His admitting that something at all is wrong is a start.

I'll just do what I always do. Go along with it.

"If you were under the weather you should have let someone know."

"'M fine."

Suppressing a sigh, I try a different tactic. "It only causes everyone more trouble if you wait until you can't stand."

His wince makes me regret the words, but I have to say something to make him see sense.

"I-I'm sorry."

What does he have to be sorry for? I don't have time for that at the moment. He needs medical attention, but knowing him he won't let me bring him anywhere near a hospital. "I hardly care about that now. Come on, I'm going to take you back to the office. Yosano-sensei will treat you."

"No!"

He's hyperventilating, the first sign of a panic attack. Okay. I have to calm him down. What would calm him down?

Jokes!

"Dazai, your bandages are yellow. I will not allow you to let your writing hand rot off simply because you don't want to do paperwork. How am I to get you to do work, then?"

It doesn't work. Or, well, it does, but not the way I intended. He stops hyperventilating but then lapses into silence. "Sorry." He wilts.

We both sit awkwardly on the floor for a moment considering the situation. He has been eating more, lunch at least, but I can tell I'll still be able to lift him, easily. It scares me a bit, but I'm grateful for it now. It is easier to focus on his alarmingly skinny stature than the fact that he is, practically, in my lap.

His quiet voice comes from beside me, "T-the food . . ."

I don't want to ask him to speak up, but he's so quiet and his words are so slurred that I really am having trouble hearing him.

"I'm sorry?"

"The food, we shouldn't waste."

I want to shake him. That's what you care about? But I'm afraid he'll break.

"Of course, let me, uh, just."

He tries to leap away, I think, from my lap, but he just ends up rolling to the side a bit, his hand twisting further.

I hurry to the counter, give our order number, and inform her of the mess we made.

"Yes, it's almost done. Don't worry about the tea. It happens a lot. We'll be happy to pack your food in takeaway boxes for you, sir. But, may I ask why you're leaving so soon? Your order was marked as dine-in, was that incorrect? Was your experience not okay?"

The woman is so sweet, but what do I tell her? No, you're restaurant is lovely my colleague is just a bit suicidal. "Oh, it was fine, ma'am. . . . My partner is just feeling a bit under the weather."

She coos, glancing worriedly behind me, probably at Dazai, who must still be lying on the floor. "Oh my, I see. The noodles should help then. I hope he feels better soon. You two boys take care."

"Thank you, ma'am."

-

Dazai is indeed still on the floor. I look at him for a moment. There's no way he'll be able to stand long enough to get to the car. Given his state, what would be the most efficient and most dignified way (for both of us) to pick him up? 

After looking at his tender hand hanging limply, I go with the cradle carry.

(A/N: The cradle carry is more commonly known as the Bridal or Princess carry, lmao)

"I'm going to pick you up, is that alright?"

He blinks, taking a moment to comprehend the words. He must be more ill than I thought. But, to my relief, he nods.

He's warm in my arms. Not like the warmth of a lover, but feverish warmth. 

"Keep these steady, Dazai," I say just to break the silence.

He nods, not objecting to my using him as a shelf for the noodles. In fact, he crunches them as if they're far more important than tea-house takeaway.

The walk to the car feels long and short at the same time. Dazai isn't heavy, not at all, but I'm so worried I'll drop him.

As I lay him across the backseat, he grabs my arm. "No . . . Yosano."

"Dazai, you need a doctor."

He doesn't seem to get it.

"Please."

It's his eyes that get me. They're wide and round with innocence and fear, like a child's, like a stray cat's. He reminds me so much of Yozo that I can't possibly ignore his request. It would feel like abuse. 

"Okay. I'll take you to my house, but you're getting first aid either way. I'm not going to watch whatever injury you have fester. Understand?"

-

The drive takes a bit longer because I'm so careful not to go too fast or hit the brakes too hard. I even avoid steep downhills, given that he wears no safety belt.

He sits up as soon as I park, indicating that he was not asleep as I'd hoped. I shouldn't let my disappointment show. I don't need him apologising for I don't know what, again. So while I fix my face, I carry the noodles in. 

Of course, Yozoz makes her escape as I open the door. It made me a bit sad to see her go, but then I knew she'd have to leave eventually, and with the noodles in my hands I was in no position to stop her.

-

They fit nicely in my mostly empty fridge. I haven't had much time to shop due to my extended hours. This is not ideal at all.

I'm also lacking in bandages. I have plenty for Dazai's wound, but I have no doubt that the ones he wears like a bodysuit need changing and I don't have enough. I never thought he'd be here, at my residence. Oh . . . what am I doing? I'll need to order groceries.

Mourning Yozo's absence, but with new determination, I step outside.

To my surprise, the cat hasn't gone far. She paws at my car door, jumping up to the window. The relief I feel is more than should be warranted, considering she's a feral cat, but I feel it anyway.

"Move, Yozo. I need to open the door."

I don't expect her to, but she obeys. Trotting curiously to the left.

Dazai is even more out of it than before. He's like a child when they somehow make themselves heavier, only it's hardly his fault. Yozo watches me curiously as I carefully handle my colleague. She trails my steps, fascinated by the newcomer.

Once inside, I lay dazai on the counter and wash my hands at the sink. I have to swat soapy water at Yozo to prevent her from licking Dazai's wounded hand. She yowls in response. It's interesting how she acts with him as if he's a fellow cat in danger, not a human. Or maybe she thinks she's human too.

I want to start with the first aid right away, better while he's out of it, but his bandages are the one part of his body he keeps off-limits and I would never cross such a personal boundary.

I'll have to wake him, but I can wait a bit longer.

This is where preparedness comes in handy. I have an ear thermometer I bought but have never used. I take it out now, rubbing it with an alcohol swab and sticking it in Dazai's ear. He twitches but makes no move to stop me.

The device beeps, flashing a yellow 39 C. Not Ideal, but not life-threatening. 

Hmm, another dilemma. Medication will help his fever and pain, but he hasn't eaten yet. There's no way anything is making it to his stomach right now, so medication will have to wait.

"Dazai, wake up."

" . . . 'nikida?"

"Yes. How do you feel."

He just shakes his head.

"You're running a mid-grade fever, so that's probably why you feel so poorly. Now, I need to take your bandages off to get to your hand-" He shakes his head before I finish, I can feel him trembling. I'm not sure how much of it is chills and how much is fear at the prospect of revealing what's underneath that he keeps so carefully hidden. "Please, Dazai, your wound is infected. It needs treatment. I won't go above the elbow, I promise. I swear on my Ideals."

He stops trembling, stilling completely, as stiff as a board.

"It's okay?"

An almost imperceptible nod.

There's disposable plastic on the counter, my sleeves are rolled, my hands are washed and protected by latex gloves, and I have everything I could possibly need save for surgical tools, and yet, I don't feel ready. But when am I ready for Dazai Osamu? Since when does it matter if I am or not? I just have to do it.

The bandages are wrapped so tight his hand must be purple underneath. I take the miniature scissors from the kit and begin cutting. The bandages come loose, but I have to peel them away from each other. 

"Fuck me." I try not to swear, but the deeper I go, the tighter they're stuck with blood, plasma, and other bodily fluids that result from the inner layers of skin being exposed to the outside world. The bottom most bandages are closer to brown than white.

"M' trying."

"What?" What did he just say? He didn't mean- surely not . . .

"Said m' trying to fuck you, kun-i-ki-da~" His voice is strained with pain and slurred with fever.

Wh- Oh. He's delirious. Of course. As much as the returns of his clownery relive me, this is NOT what I had in mind.

"I'd do it so well, Kuni-kun."

Suddenly I feel as if I'm the one with the fever, the what creeping into my face, hands sweaty.

"Please, go to sleep, Dazai. You're not well."

"That's what the lady at the cafe said too."

"I'm sure."

I focus all my energy on tuning him out. Thankfully there's no smell, which means the infection isn't too bad. I sigh.

On the last layer, I hesitate. The bandages are still opaque enough that I can't see the skin underneath.

Dazai's other hand raises up in a sloppy thumbs up, then falls back down. He's exhausted, but I'm glad for his approval, and that he seems to be back to his silly persona.

I took a formal first aid course in High School, so the rest of the process will be easy, the most tedious part is cleaning until the water runs clear instead of red.

The skin is blistered, if he does have any self-harm scars, I can't see them. I'm not sure if that's a good thing. Some of the blisters have burst but the skin is still pink, not charred or brown. This looks to be a superficial 2nd-degree burn. Thankfully these can be treated at home.

Because this isn't exactly a fresh wound it isn't bleeding and I don't need to cool the burn, since it's at least a day old, which is good because it means I can treat it with less delay.

Given that the wound was covered, I suspect that the infection came mainly from not cooling the wound properly or allowing it to breathe, and the lack of antibiotic ointment, and choking his circulation did no favours. Scolding him would do nothing.

Once the wound is clean, I apply antibiotic cream and begin dressing it. Dazai doesn't flinch, he must be out. 

I lean down, examining my work. I almost wish I hadn't done it. A cool bath would've helped his fever and the sweating, but now I don't want to wet the dressing, and he'd never allow anyone to see what's underneath his bandages. (Even if I thought I could handle him naked. As unprofessional as that sounds, I know my limitations.) With all the weeping, perhaps I should change it anyway. I have doubt that he'll do it himself even if he's capable.

I bin my gloves and the plastic sheet and wash my hands perhaps a little harder than necessary. 

His fever isn't sustainable either, but I'll let him sleep for now, just to recover from the shock of it all.

Still, he can't sleep on my counter. I lift him as carefully as possible, he doesn't stir. I tell myself not to worry as I set him down on the sofa.

Yozoz climbs my leg, jumping onto Dazai's limp form.

"Off!" I whisper, but she doesn't move.

I have a spare bedroom, but I'm not putting him there until he's had a bath and some fresh clothes. I'll do that as soon as I can.

-

His face isn't relaxed as he sleeps, he frowns, his nose and eyebrows scrunched, still, I can't deny that he's handsome. And cute with Yozoz lying protectively on his chest, letting him use her to elevate his hand.

He twitches and shifts uncomfortably. He'll need pain medication soon, which means he'll need to eat. 

Instead of staring at him, I need to order groceries . . . And I need to call in.

How do I even explain this? Better yet, how do I explain this without betraying Dazai's trust and alerting Yosano-sensei to the fact that he's injured?

I mean, do I even need to? He cuts work all the time . . . or he used to. Yeah, I'd better call.

I swear for the second time today and dial the president directly.

"Fukuzawa-sensei, this is Kunikida."

"Yes, Kunikida, what do you need?"

"Nothing. I was just calling to inform you that Dazai and I are on a private case and we won't be back for a couple of days. You can cut the time from my pay if you like. But I just wanted you to know that nothing is wrong, no one needs to come looking for us."

"Ah, I see. Did you pick up this case during lunch? Will you be reachable in the case of an emergency?"

I look at Dazai. I can't leave him, not like this. "Yes . . . and no."

"Are you out of the city?"

"No."

"Alright. Seeing as your paperwork is complete. I will bother you no longer. But please do call again if you two plan to be on the case for more than a week."

"Of course, sir."

He hangs up. I rest in relief for a moment. Now that that's cleared up there's the matter of my almost empty refrigerator.

-

Dazai wakes at the sound of the groceries being delivered.

"Huh? Kunikida?"

"I ordered groceries." 

I don't think he understands me very well, but I'll only be going to the door, so I don't worry.

Yozoz hisses at the delivery man. I nudge her back, and she gives one final look of utter disapproval before retreating. I tip the man and take the bags inside.

When I come back Dazai has gotten into a halfway upright position, using his uninjured hand to pet Yozo.

"Be careful." The warning is a habit at this point.

"When did Kunikida-kun get a cat?"

I don't let his use of the third person worry me, it wasn't uncommon for him a few months ago."Recently. She was a stray."

"My, how charitable!"

I have to remind myself not to be relieved. He's only acting this way because of the fever.

"Helping the less fortunate when I can is in my Ideals. And right now, that includes you, Dazai."

He gasps theatrically, "Me?"

"Yes, you. You have a fever. You need to take medication. It'll help with the pain as well, but you need to eat first. Now come on."

"My, who knew the prime minister of meeting procedure land would make such a good doctor, and handsome too~"

I can't deal with this right now, him saying all these things. They say fevers make you honest, but he's clearly spouting, pardon me, utter bullshit. "Yes, first aid training is quite useful."

He frowns at my lack of reaction.

I set the groceries on the counter, and go to help him. 

"Ahh, I'm so weak Kunikida-kun! I couldn't possibly move! Carry me!"

Ugh. Now that he's more alert, carrying him feels less like a medical necessity and more awkward, without the adrenaline from seeing him so hurt, but I'd take this over him sobbing on the floor any day.

I must admit I've had daydreams about having him in my arms before, but never like this.

He won't be able to handle chopsticks, so it'll have to be broth. I can make a simple one in under thirty minutes. As soon as I finish stocking the refrigerator and cupboards, I turn to find Dazai sitting at the counter. His newly dressed hand is splayed out on the countertop. He lifts it, flexing his finger. He makes no sound, but I've known him long enough to see that he's in pain.

He abhors pain. It doesn't make sense. This must not have been part of a suicide attempt. He'd never do something as painful as burning or boiling alive, so how did it happen?

I don't look at him, not wanting to invade at the moment. Instead, I focus on readying the ingredients for the broth, falling into the rhythm of chopping vegetables.

"How are you feeling? Does it hurt?" I ask, still not looking. If it were anyone else I wouldn't count on a coherent answer, and I don't with Dazai, not really. He would never admit the extent of his pain, but I know he's aware, at least. This man is a cockroach. He's come to work with temperatures like this and higher before and none of us noticed until he passed out dramatically on the sofa.

"It's fine."

"It is" not "I am". A clear lie.

He's as stubborn as an ox, more stubborn than I myself can be at times. I have no choice but to go along. I place the vegetables in the pan with the stock and set the temperature. "Good. You have to eat before you take medication. The broth should be done soon."

He goes silent for a moment, then, "Mmm, Kunikida is so kind, getting all worked up over nothing." His words are soft, a gentle smile, almost . . . reassuring. His voice sends a wave of warmth down my spine.

Still, the sudden return of his demureness is a bit surprising.

"This is not nothing."

"Well you could have simply taken me to hospital, it wasn't necessary to bring me all the way to your home. I'm sure I've caused quite a hassle. I'm not sure how I can repay you for all of this."

"You mentioned before that you dislike hospitals, so I thought-"

"It hardly matters. There was no need for you to trouble yourself, I feel guilty now."

"Don't, you're my partner, it was no trouble at all." The words feel forbidden. It's immature, but my feelings make calling him my partner feel more meaningful than it should. He's so observant, can he see my guilt? Hear my heartbeat?

"That's impossible. I wish I hadn't troubled you at all." He looks down as he says it, picking the his new bandages. He sounds genuine, bitter and upset. Like many of today's events, it doesn't make sense. After all he's done to pester me so far, how can he feel so guilty for this? Or is it something else? Is this for all he's done in the past? That would be ridiculous, but somehow I believe it. Nothing he ever did was that horrible, it's all forgiven now. 

"Dazai . . ." I don't know what I should say, what I could say. He doesn't look up anyway.

"I won't trouble you anymore, Kunikida-san." It sounds so . . . final.

"Dazai, it wasn't-"

He's standing before I can stop him. I want to reach out to him, to stop him, but I know I shouldn't touch him much more, I doubt his aversion to contact has changed. Even with all his external polish and warmth, all those smiles, something frozen still resides within him, I know it. At times, I can feel its cold, like a gust of shivering wind, sudden, shocking . . . then gone.

And yet I find myself moving ever closer. Something deep in my gut knows I can't let him leave. I feel that if I do I may never see him again.

He sways, and sways and sways, and then . . . tips.

This time, though, I'm here to catch him. Again, he's too warm in my arms.

"Dazai, stop! You're in no condition to go anywhere. Please, sit, . . . stay. At least until you take medication. Then you can go as you please. But as your partner, it would be an abdication of my duties to allow anything to happen to you." There's that word again. Partner.

He whispers so softly, that I swear I mishear him, but it's quiet enough that I'm sure I don't. "Partner." Then he looks up. "Abdication, such a big word." The words are thoughtful, yet careless. He looks dazed. "Of course, you're just doing your job. Fine, but at least let me pay you."

Is he out of his damn mind? "P-pay me, what, you-?!" No. I can't lose my cool now. This isn't an office shenanigan. But then again . . . perhaps my scolding will be as grounding to him as his clownery is to me (am I the delirious one?)

"This is a favour, you will do no such thing. Now, stop talking nonsense!" I can't make myself call him an idiot, he still looks too fragile for that.

It seems to work, to my relief, he backs down. "Sorry." I don't like the bashful tone, but if it means he'll let me care for him without fighting, I'll take what I can get.

We sit, once again, in silence.

I'm relieved when the broth is done, busying myself with readying the bowl and placing it in front of him.

When I set it down, he looks at me for a long moment, then says a quiet "Thank you." and takes the spoon. 

His hand shakes a little. 

Right. I was so distracted by his attitude that I forgot a spoon might still be hard for him. What to do? For once, I don't know, there is nothing in my Ideals that tells me how to deal with an injured, delirious, Dazai Osamu in my kitchen.

"W-would you like some help?"

He looks up with wide eyes. Neither of us says anything. 

A moment passes, and I can't bear to wait, so I take the spoon from his shaky hand. 

He opens his mouth wordlessly and closes it the same.

We repeat the process, still silent, working like a machine, efficient. Both of us, I'm sure, are trying to distance ourselves from the reality of what we are doing. Before I know it the bowl is down to the dregs of vegetables.

Dazai nods once. "Your soup is very delicious, Kunikida-san."

"Thank you." The phrase is brief, almost curt, but I don't know how else to respond. My brain won't form words appropriate for this situation. I turn away, typing the last drops of broth into the plastic bowl the vet sent home for Yozo.

She laps eagerly, while I prepare the correct dosage of medication.

Dazai takes it without a hint of disgust, handing the cup back to me, then pushes himself up. It's too fast and he wobbles. I reach out but then retract my hands. He's not my charge, he's a grown man. He's fine. And he dislikes being touched.

I can't stand to see him go. Who knew I could be so selfish?

"Dazai, wait."

He halts but doesn't turn. His shoulders are tense. I shouldn't keep him longer.

"Just wait a bit. I will call you a taxi cab once the medication takes effect. Just for an hour, rest . . . please."

He turns so slowly I'm worried he's dizzy again, but he seems perfectly steady when he faces me. Then again, he seemed fine until he collapsed in the tea house.

"Alright. Where would you like me to sit?"

Anywhere.

"Wherever you feel most comfortable."

He nods, clearly uncomfortable again. Guilt makes my chest ache, I should let him go. He's made it this far. I'm sure he can handle himself.

"The sofa will be more than fine."

"Okay," I have to leave, I should. I have no business hovering like we're anything more than colleagues. "I'll be in the kitchen, cleaning, if you need anything at all."

"Don't worry. I won't."

-

I can't make myself stay away. 

So here I sit, mere inches away from Dazai. He fell asleep almost as soon as he sat down, despite his insurance on feeling fine.

His breathing is even, but I can see him shivering against the fever. I leave him for a moment, just to get him a blanket.

When I put it over him he still for a moment, then rolls over, still fully asleep and pulls it tight around himself. The trembling stops, and I breathe a sigh of relief. He'll be alright.

But I won't.

Watching him like this feels wrong, a guilty pleasure. This was never meant for me to see. I feel like a pervert, even though watching him like this brings no sexual pleasure, only a warmth in my chest.

I can only stare as his chest rises and falls. His hair fans out over my pillows making them look like they don't belong here, no, not that. They, and he look like they belong, but under his head, they look like something novel even when I've had them for years.

-

After many hours of fitful tossing and turning, he really stirs. And I've done nothing but watch him this whole time. How much working time have I lost? And why does it not seem to matter at all?

I don't think he meant to sleep so long. It's dark out now, and he'll surely need more medication if he even wishes to attempt a full night's sleep.

I jump up when he twitches, hurrying away, lest he think my intentions are anything other than platonic.

"Kunikida?" He calls out.

"Yes, Dazai," I answer, strolling in like I didn't just bolt from the room. How many times have I lied in the past day?

"Thank you very much for letting me stay, and for the food, both here and at the tea house. You can keep my noodles. I'll catch a cab now." 

He's up, standing on shaky legs before I can stop him.

"What?" The words fall out, clumsy and desperate. I hope he doesn't hear it.

He looks at me, appropriately confused. "Did I leave something, Kunikida-kun?"

My saving grace. The one thing I actually did besides watching him sleep."Your coat, it's in the dryer. There was some blood on the cuff, so I washed it." The perfectly reasonable explanation feels awkward.

"Oh, thank you again." He sounds so grateful it makes me uncomfortable.

"Please, don't thank me. You aren't troubling me. Your coat should be done in just a few minutes." I want him to stay longer, "Would you mind if I checked your bandages until then, I heard you tossing in your sleep." A small lie.

"I'm yours."

We both freeze. 

"I-I'm sorry?" I sound like I'm choking.

His cheeks reddened, embarrassed that I made something out of that, no doubt. Especially when I've probably said similar things in reference to our partnership.

"I simply meant that you are the expert and are free to do what you want, er, need to."

"Ah, yes." 

What do I do now?

Neither of us moves for a moment, like when you get stuck trying to pass someone in a door or corridor and do an awkward little dance. I don't want him to pass me. I don't want him to go.

Then he moves, walking to the counter, and placing his arm on it. I follow him, busying myself with readying the plastic sheeting.

He's in the same position when I come back, but lifts his arm and allows me to put the small section of sheeting under it.

I examine the bandages. I was right. As much as this is to keep him here, they do need changing. The wound is still weeping a lot. 

"I'll need to clean and change it again," I tell him, but I think he may have guessed based on the way he eyes his arm.

The experience is completely different now that he's coherent. But he doesn't fight me on the removal of the bandages, I watch his face, his beautiful face, and on cue, he gives his silent permission.

He doesn't flinch as I unwrap it, eyes scanning the wound analytically. 

He leans in, so close that I would barely have to lean down to kiss him. I'd never, of course, I could never. But the thought is very much there.

"I have seen far worse, usually I was the cause." He explains.

Right, the mafia. 

Here, in this house, I could forget. But, I realise suddenly, that it doesn't matter at all, not when it comes to him.

The process goes so much more quickly this time. I hate that I wish it didn't, but before I know it, my hands are on autopilot, and he's in fresh bandages . . . and ready to go.

Where's he going to go? Surely not the agency dormitories? He doesn't want anyone to know he's injured. Or will he just hole up inside? Or does he have somewhere else? A street corner? I shiver at the thought.

He needs another dosage of medications since it's been so long. He must be in pain, but if he's driving, he should wait to take it until he gets back. I still don't trust him with a whole bottle. But I can send him with enough to get him through the night until tomorrow morning when I see him again. I'd best pick him up and take him here in the morning. Someone might see me and know I lied if I stay too long, and his dormitory isn't exactly sterile. (Maybe he's cleaned it? I've only seen it in glimpses.)

"You should take another dose of medication in about an hour. I'll send you home with a pill, you can pick up another one tomorrow when I change your bandages. It helps with the pain as well. Actually, I should take your temperature before you go. If you're still feverish, I'll drive you."

He nods, then cocks his head. "Come here? I appreciate it, but won't we be at the agency?"

Right, he doesn't know.

I told the President that we'd be out for a couple of days, just because I'd be in charge of caring for the wound since Dazai refused to go to a hospital or Yosano, but maybe that's changed now that he's not feverish.

"I was under the impression that you wanted the injury hidden. You told me you didn't want to go to the hospital or to Yosano, so I told the President that we were out on a case. He won't expect us back." It feels shameful and stupid as I say it now, but I press on. He needs to know. "I was actually wondering where you were going. You can't exactly go to the dorms, and I'd prefer to change your bandages here where I have my supplies . . . Or, of course, I could tell him we finish early if you would rather!"

He's just standing there, frozen. I can't read him.

After a while he says quietly, "You lied to the president?" The words are shocking. Of course, they are, I'm the last person one would expect to do that, I know.

"You seemed highly uncomfortable at the thought of anyone knowing so I . . . I just did."

He looks down. Even without a fever, I can see he still feels that way. "No, no, I won't make you lie further. I'll find a place to stay. An old mafia safe house should do just fine."

"Oh, Dazai, I didn't mean to-"

"You've done so much. I am fine now. I don't need luxury, just a quiet place to sleep." He looks pale.

He's not fine. 

And I'm still not ready for him to leave, not ready to be alone with my thoughts.

He sits like a dutiful patient while I fetch his freshly dry coat. I'm not so deceitful as to wet it again.

He takes it, standing up once again. 

"Let's do this again sometime, eh, Kunikida-kun?" The statement carries just a trace of his previous humour. His eyes are far away, the deep brown irises glassy.

Just as he reaches the door, I remember. I didn't take his temperature! Or give him the pills! I grab his wrist. He whirls around, startled, looking again like a caught animal. I wish he wouldn't, but I have to admit, what I'm doing is quite creepy.

"Wait. I need to make sure your temperature is down before you go. I don't want someone kidnapping you, eh?" The joke, like most of mine, falls flat.

Something sparks in his eyes . . . and then they go cold. 

"Kunikida-san, I understand that you're just doing your job . . . but last I checked it's not your job to stop me from killing myself. Don't pretend to care so much, I am not your poor little charity case!"

Killing- who said anything about suicide? Is he planning to- Now? After he's done all this? Well, now there's no way I can let him go!

It looks like he's also realised his mistake. His eyes are stuck between wide open and narrowed to slits, it's odd. I take advantage of it. 

"Dazai, please. I just wish to help."

He says nothing, to my relief, no sour words about my ideals, or my having a saviour complex. (I don't. I'm just ever so foolishly in love.)

I'm afraid that if I step away to get the thermometer, he'll run, so instead, I step forward, placing my hand under his fringe. The contact sends a spark through me, and it occurs to me that I've never really touched him before, a brush of the hand, maybe, and of course carrying him, but never this. He's still warm. Of course, he is. In my haste, I overlooked something important. 

I learnt very quickly of Dazai Osamu's inhuman metabolism. It's how he processes all the junk food and alcohol so quickly. The medication must have worn off at least an hour ago. Has he been in pain all this time?

Oh, damn me!

"Dazai, I'm so sorry." 

He doesn't look like he's heard me. He sways again . . . and then he's in my arms.

He weighs almost nothing against me, but I can't worry about that now.

"You know, Kunikida-kun?" he mumbles into my chest, "I think I'm still a bit tired from the medication. Maybe I will stay."

"Why did you not tell me?" But the question is more for myself. I know why.

I'm a task-oriented person. I need goals or I'll fall apart, I know this. So I make a list.

Check his temperature. 

Make him eat something (somehow). 

Give medication.

Attempt a cool bath.

Fresh clothes.

Sleep.

He's completely out. I can feel his breathing, slow and shallow.

Taking his temperature is easy, getting him medicated won't be. I ought to try a cool bath first before he can protest. It will help the most before the medication kicks in. I hate to cross his boundaries like that . . . then again, he seemed to give me permission when he agreed to stay.

Fortunately, I don't have to decide. He wakes when I move him, his breathing shifting into quick gasps. I want to tell him he's okay, but what use would that have?

"I'm going to give you a cool bath. You can keep your undershirt and pants on, but I need to get your temperature down, alright?"

He nods.

Thankfully, this bathroom was designed with two people in mind, so there's plenty of room for him on the counter. He mutters something that includes my name and the words "undress me". I think he's trying to be cheeky, but it falls flatter than any of my jokes ever have.

Getting into the bathtub is easy. He weighs much less than he should. I prop him up, but with the way he flops to the side, like a fish, I can't possibly leave him. He'll drown. 

What to do, what to do? I can stay with him a bit, but I need to make more broth so he can take more pills. I'll think about it.

"Hey, you're just going to soak in here for a bit, so your body can cool down. May I wash your hair?" He's sweaty, so I may as well.

He nods, so I do.

The process is like nothing I've ever done. He "hmms" softly and I can feel him slipping into sleep under my touch. I thought that seeing him undressed (or in this case in just his pants) would be hard for me, but it isn't. All I can feel is concern, not pity, I don't see him as below me or anything, he remains my equal and as handsome as ever, but right now he just needs to be taken care of. He is not riddled with scars as I'd thought, but there is one, a large gash along his chest and other various small ones. It's hard to see them, though. In reality, the scars are perfectly visible, but when I look at him I don't see them, just those warm brown eyes. 

The bath is working, and he feels much less hot than before. He's more alert as well. If he just stays in a bit longer he might return to a normal temperature, at least temporarily which would help until I can get medication in him, but I still have to cook . . .

"Okay. Here's a towel, you have to get out now."

He shakes his head, confused as if just having woken up. Did he really go to sleep just like that? He used to complain of insomnia. How ill is he?

"Don't wanna." His tone isn't clownish, but tired, so very tired.

"Dazai, I can't- you're not in a complete state of mind, you could hurt yourself."

"What if you could make sure I didn't?"

What's he got up his sleeves now? I make my scepticism clear on my face. "Perhaps, what do you have in mind?"

"I could sing to you . . . like in that movie with the little girl who's really an adult."

"What?" I'm not even going to ask.

"Like this" He hums a note, then another. I don't recognise the melody, but it's pretty.

"Fine. But If you stop, I will come right back in here, so don't try anything."

"Got it, Kunikida-san."

True to his word, he keeps humming as I start in the kitchen. The song is very nice. I'll have to ask him what it is when he feels better.

-

The broth, a slightly different recipe, to keep things interesting, finishes quickly. All that's left is for it to cool to an edible temperature, and to get Dazai into some clothes.

I'm only 8 centimetres taller than Dazai, so my clothes should fit him well enough. I pull out a pyjama set from the back of my drawer, it was a gag gift from Katai when I went to university, with a little nightcap and all. I leave the cap and take the folded set into the bathroom.

-

He looks so soft in the matching top and bottom that I can do nothing but stare. He sneezes, snapping me out of the trace. Right, his hair is still a bit wet. The last thing he needs is a cold.

He manages to stand, albeit with most of his weight on me, and follows me to the kitchen.

-

"Why are you doing this?" He asks as I set down the spoon. I helped him again. He didn't ask me to, even as a joke, and I wasn't sure he would if I didn't just- so I just did it . . . It would appear that, in some way, somehow I'm in this even deeper than I thought.

What can I say? Oh, I could say so much. What can I say that would be professionally acceptable?

"It's my job." AH, if there was an award for shit answers.

He sighs, "AH, right, duty-bound Kunikida-kun. Poor thing." The words are teasing, but I know him better than that.

-

He makes himself at home in the spare bedroom, out practically as soon as his head hits the pillow. When was the last time he slept in a real bed?

What do I do now? It's not that late, so I can't go to bed, but I can't go back to work, and there's now ay I'd let myself leave. I can't think of anything, so, as always, I stay.

He looks so peaceful, his breathing even, face relaxed. I gave him twice the normal dosage of medication.

Despite his apparent calm I can't help thinking that he should be in my bed. I want to hold him, to keep him warm and safe. I want him to know someone needs him, someone wants him. At first, I wasn't sure this new him even needed that anymore, but his behaviour today . . . I want to wake up and see his smile, a real one. I want to be the reason for it. I want to give him so, so many reasons to smile. And when he can't smile, I want to be there for him.

Looking at him like this, a sudden courage fills me. The courage to put pen to paper. I pull out my notebook and start writing, looking up every so often at Dazai's sleeping face, just to amke sure I phrase this thing I'm feeling right (if there's any way to physically capture it. I'd try even if I knew for sure there wasn't).

When I'm finally pleased, I close the book. It's dark out now. I must have been writing for much longer than I thought. Well, I guess I should get to sleep.

IDEALS [kunikidazai]

(A/N: I've been palying around with ship names for these two and came up with Ideal Human because together these two make one perfectly functioning person. Kind of like how Tachizaki is Midwinter Snow because if their abilities)

SUMMARY:

Dazai Osamu is the farthest possible thing from the ideal woman Kunikida Doppo has written so much about in his notebook.

And yet . . . Kunikida is hoplessly in love with him anyway. Kunikida doesn't belive he has a chance with his coworker, I mean, have you seen the way he flirts with women? Straight as the rulers Kunikida used to use in his maths class.

Dazai meanwhile is also inlove with uptight but still charming coworker. But how can Dazai ever come close to the woman Kunikida has in mind?

Will these two damn idiots figure their shit out or not? God, I hope they do, for all our sanity!

(Summary sponsered by Edogawa Ranpo)

Categories: angst, fluff, getting together

Warnings: N/A

Thank you to @wildroseroguefor inspiring me to write Kunikidazai for the first time. Rose has lots of Kunikida content on her blog, check it out.

[londonfoginacup]

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[deiaiko]

#23 - Kiss

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[myreia]

— v. raison d'être

It was never going to last. They knew it from the beginning, all of them. Their time in the First was temporary, fleeting. For some, that would have been enough to give pause, to keep distance. For them, it made these moments all the more precious—even when it was difficult, even when it was unfair. Ryne knows they are both proud of her. That will never change, even when they live in separate worlds. It is a bittersweet thing to say goodbye, to close one chapter and begin the next. But change is necessary, a fundamental aspect of life. There is no sense in clinging to the past when the future—with all its countless possibilities—lies ahead. There is no looking back. Only forwards.