#I think he only has them in the first scene?

[notsorryiml8]

Thoughts that pop into my mind before bed. And a possible hot take. 🤷🏽‍♀️

So, a lot of people say that Kakashi was this brainwashed little lap dog of Konoha because of his unrelenting loyalty. And that’s why they don’t like him. Fair enough - you don’t have to like him.

But was he a lap dog, tho? I’m sure someone has mentioned it before, and I’m not the first, but his passive aggressive white-haired behind protested the establishment from the day Obito died.

I know it’s like, huh?!

From a cultural perspective, Kishimoto is from Japan. A country which is known for its structure and adherence to norms, especially punctuality. He created Kakashi, who from the day Obito met The Rock, said I’m going to be late for EVERYTHING! Not just minutes late, but HOURS late. He intentionally created him to be outside the norm.

Meh, I know, ok, ok, so Konoha isn’t necessarily Japan and they may do things differently. Let’s let that slide. People are born with pink, white, and blue hair there and they’re currently fighting aliens and cyborgs. So really can’t compare. Cool. But even in this fictional world his lateness was an outlier and considered rude.

Okay, but hello, Kakashi is also in the military. Ain’t no military in the world, fictional or real, gonna put up with blatant disrespect for time. I’m from a military family and there’s an old military saying that goes, “early is on time, on time is late, and late is unacceptable.” You just don’t.

Kakashi really doesn’t care. Hello? He was late to the Third, who happened to be his commanding officer, elder, and village leader’s, funeral. The ultimate disrespect. Why was he late? Because he was paying homage to his friends and father who were all dead in the name of the village who couldn’t care less about them. Kakashi blatantly disrespects and disregards everything the village stands for ALL THE TIME and that scene was the epitome. And he does it not so subtly. From being late to everything to reading erotica in public (*faints and clutches pearls*) to failing all previous kids in the academy that were sent to him, which is him saying he plays by his own rules not Konoha’s.

I think people forget how high ranking Kakashi is (literally only the jonin commander, the elders, and Hokage outrank him). In the war, he’d be the equivalent of a general. Put his actions into the perspective of his rank and you really will see how he spat in their faces.

They could have demoted him, stripped him of his rank. Kicked him out of the forces. Reprimanded him in other ways. Etc…but the reality was they couldn’t. He was their cash cow. With the Sannin gone, he was bringing in the most money for the village, so they had no choice but to let him do as he pleased and he knew that. So for as many people who say he was Konoha’s lap dog, Konoha was his.

But, wait, he could have left. Right?? Nope. Why’d the little punk stay and be loyal to a village that destroyed his life? Why? Because. He was anchored to that forsaken village by guilt. If he can’t leave those graves to show up on time for a funeral or to train his squad or go on a mission, then lawd knows he’s not leaving those graves permanently to go rogue. Even if they’re dead, his family and friends are there. As are his living ones. Even at his lowest, he wouldn’t/couldn’t leave them behind. Something…something… blah blah blah about being scum. So, he internally, as in within the confines of the village, and subtly went rogue on a daily with passive aggression, resistance, and defiance.

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

Curse Your Name

𖤐❝Apricity❞𖤐

❥Vampire Ateez x fem reader

❝What is destined cannot be avoided.❞

Masterlist + Visualizers, Index

✫彡wordcount: 12k

(✯◡✯)genre: yandere, fantasy, smut, angst

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: see general warnings in the masterlist: slightly dubcon blood drinking (reader is drunk but chill with it), non-sexual semi nudity, deep emotions from blood drinking, smidge of hongjoong's backstory and its :(((, reader fighting with herself (soul vs mind). smut warnings: corruption kink so bad like soooo bad, clit and nipple stimulation, dirty talk, kissing, hickeys, biting + blood sucking, heavyyy praise, light dacryphilia, first orgasm

➯a/n: MATZ DRINKING SCENE I TOLD YOU I WOULNT LEAVE YALL IN THE DARK ALSO BUCKLE TF UP YOOOO

✫bleeding hearts✫@spenceatiny18 @gigglensnort @londonbridges01 @soobieboobiebaby @klllerwaifu @stayatinykatsy @onyxmango @purple-bell @peachyscenes @emilysecresy @ninjakitty15 @imeverycliche @princelingperfect @tunafishyfishylike

❝Drink from me and live... forever.❞

MDNI.

𖤐❝Be gentle with our girl.❞𖤐

    "You smell so good," Seonghwa pants quietly as he yanks at the ribbon on the back of your dress.

He can hardly hold himself back from sinking his teeth into you. He has to remind himself to be gentle with you. "Like the sweetest fucking dessert. Oh, thank you. Sweet heavens, thank you."

    "C-careful, My King," you stumble, placing your hands against the wall for stability.

     The candles that Hongjoong light are the only source of illumination in your chambers. The sun is long gone. 

     "Come," Seonghwa pulls you to the center of the room, gathering up your skirt in his hands, "off with this already." He leaves a kiss to your jaw before he pulls the garment up and over your head; leaving you in your plain shift.

    Before you have the chance to even feel embarrassed, Hongjoong's hands are on your waist. "You've made the King so eager," he chuckles as he eyes the way he's breathing heavily, scanning your body like he can see through the fabric.

Seonghwa's eyes are glowing red in the dim light. "You are more beautiful than I have ever dreamt of. The Goddess has outdone herself in your creation." He hums as he leans and presses his nose to your jugular. Your heart is beating so violently that he swears he can feel it.

Apparently, praise isn't affective in making you swoon only if it comes from the Lieutenant.

Your hands find his shoulders with a mind of their own, your breaths short as Hongjoong leads you both to the bed.

Your shift slides up your thighs as you land on the Kings lap, one leg on either side of him. "Be gentle with our girl," Hongjoong coos as he slips the thin sleeve off of your shoulder, exposing your flesh for him as he watches with ruby eyes.

"Grentizia," Seonghwa prays as he tilts his head back, his chest heaving.

    "Drink from her neck," he tilts your head to the side gently, "it's her favorite. Isn't it, little one?"

    You hum affirmatively, leaning into the way he grips your hair carefully. You don't know what's come over you. A few days ago, you were hesitant to even let the trio that you first met drink from you — now you find yourself thinking that if any of the royals asked you nicely, you'd expose your veins without a single trace of hesitation.

You think it must be the wine — but in reality, being so close to them is already affecting your soul.

Your souls are mingling even if your mind is lagging behind.

And your soul is desperate to please.

   You gasp sharply as his teeth sink into your neck without warning. You grab onto his pink strands, grounding yourself as he feasts.

Hongjoong watches with something... fond, as Seonghwa runs through all of the emotions that he also felt the first time he tasted you; holding your head to the side and kissing your temple softly as you chase your breath.

Praise The Goddess, Seonghwa thinks. And then, another thought to follow. One that does not go away —

Praise you, his delicate soulmate. The last missing piece of his life's puzzle that he has waited centuries for. Praise you.

Seonghwa growls into your neck as he sucks more and more, his hands finding your waist and holding onto you like you'll slip away if his grip falters for even a split second.

This is more than just feeding to him. This feels akin to making love. The warmth of your blood settles in his stomach and blooms out to his entire body. His skin is so warm and tingling. It's taking much more willpower than he would like to admit to hold himself from bucking his hips into you.

    It just feels so ethereal.

He can't help but slurp up every bit of crimson liquid you offer to him, even as you waiver on top of him dizzily and brace yourself with his hair. He can't be bothered to feel the sting.

Your heated body slumps against him, your blood sweltering against his tongue; taking root in his body like an ancient tree. You make him feel like... when he was human.

When he was not used to always being cold — when he would stand under the sun in the dead of winter and bask in it.

He closes his eyes, slowly withdrawing his teeth in a way that makes you shiver; makes you press closer to him. He wraps his arms around your torso tightly, cradling you as he lets you wash over him. Like the sunshine in the bitter cold.

He places his forehead against your chest, his fingers wrapping around Hongjoong's as the man holds his hand.

The King would never admit it out loud to anyone other than his soulmates — even then, he was hesitant. But he is a sentimental man. In life, and in afterlife.

After so many years of being the leader of an entire realm, it's beaten into him not to show weakness. Not to show affection.

Yet as he looks up at you, his eyes are filled with nothing but softness and warmth in the dimming red color of his irises. "Di enar, Elarin." {Thank you, the sun.}

You blink dazedly, you've never heard that language before; but the way he speaks so purposefully as he holds you makes your lips twitch with a smile.

Unbeknownst to you, Hongjoong is behind you with the biggest grin ever on his face. He's about to start bouncing off the walls at Seonghwa's sweet words.

He had called you something akin to 'Sunshine', and he threw it in with the deepest level of thanks that one could speak in the dead language.

"Do you feel okay?" Seonghwa traces his hand up your back, "did I hurt you?" He's afraid he might have — he was so lost in his own emotions. He's never had to hold himself back when it comes to his soulmates.

You shake your head slowly, "no, My King-"

"Seonghwa." He speaks softly, fixing up the strap of your shift, "call me Seonghwa. I would prefer it that way." He looks to Hongjoong as he slips your other sleeve down, exposing your untainted skin.

He's on you in a millisecond, kissing and licking all over your shoulder and making you gasp. "May I?"

With a shuddering 'yes', you tilt your head on your own; giving him a prime location to sink his teeth in.

He kisses your cheek before doing just that.

Seonghwa chuckles as the younger man pushes you both flat to the bed, climbing behind you and all but purring as he drinks your life force.

Good Goddess, he thinks, you're still as sweet as the first time. You have his entire body feeling like it's floating.

Seonghwa watches, just as Hongjoong did, as the other Vampire goes through the motions. He's looks so blissful. Like he doesn't have a care in the realm.

"You are so divine," the King whispers as his eyes find their way back to watch your expression; the way your eyebrows twitch and your lips stay parted in attempt to catch your breath.

When you let out the smallest moan from your trembling lips — Hongjoong can no longer pride himself in his self discipline.

    He promised himself just a sip, just a small bite. You were already dizzy and panting from the amount of blood your other soulmate had helped himself to.

     But he can't help himself when you make such cute sounds.

    His mind is wandering further from the pure euphoria that he feels and into his darker desires. Finding himself wondering what kind of noises you might make if he put his mouth to use elsewhere. What you might sound like as —

    Hongjoong forces himself to stop, growling quietly from behind you as he closes his eyes, trying to shake the image from his head. 

     "Thank you for allowing us," Seonghwa whispers just over Hongjoong's heavy breaths, "you truly have no idea how... satisfying it is. You are like nothing else I've ever encountered in all of my years."

You lean into the way he strokes your head, dizzy and sweaty between them as your heart tries to crack out from behind your ribs. "Th...thank you, Seonghwa."

He closes his eyes quickly, in the same way Hongjoong does — taking deep, steadying breaths.

The way you speak his name feels like he's being cursed with the most beautiful hex. His heart jumps into his throat, thud-thud-thudding while trying to match yours as it slows to a calmer rhythm.

He tightens one of his arms around you, holding you to his chest while the other searches for the younger vampire. He yanks him down, effortlessly sandwiching you between them.

"Please..." You rasp, closing your eyes slowly, "stay with me until the morning comes."

"You would have to force us to do otherwise," Hongjoong smiles as he rests his head on your back, listening to your heartbeat and committing it to his memory.

A pleased hum trails off into nothing as you fall asleep between them, spent with blood loss but still pleasantly warm between the two cold-blooded men.

𖤐❝Answer me something honestly?❞𖤐

You had moved, or rather — you had been moved, during the night to lay on your side.

Still between the royals, still deep asleep.

Neither of them had slept a wink. They sat in the comfortable silence until the beginnings of sunlight shone through the window.

"Hongjoong." The elder whispers, his eyes still closed as he holds your head to his chest. "Answer me something honestly?"

"Of course," he hums from behind you, his chest pressed to your back under the cover they had pulled up to keep you warm.

"How did you feel when you drink from her? Not- not how does she taste," he peeks his eyes open slowly, blinking in the face of the rising sun. "How does it make you feel?"

The younger thinks for a long moment, recalling every time that he's fed from you. He feels... so much. It's hard to put a single description to it. But there is one reoccurring thing — "I feel... like I am back in the moment I won my freedom in a dual." He gulps, pressing closer to your sleeping form. He hadn't said it out loud yet. He hadn't even fully realized it.

Seonghwa reaches over and rubs his shoulder comfortingly. It's a sensitive subject for the man. "Then, why do you enjoy it so much?"

"It's not the dual. It's not what led to it," he shakes his head. "It is when I ran for the first time without being hunted. When I had no owner, no shackles for the first time in my life. She... she is the comfort of the wind around me as I ran away, the comfort of knowing I could do whatever I wanted."

He can tell the brunet is tearing up, and it makes his throat tighten unpleasantly. He hates seeing people cry, but especially his soulmates. "Don't cry, Joong," he whispers, rubbing his head softly, "please..."

He sniffs, burying his head deeper into your back. "Why do you ask? What did you feel?"

    Seonghwa hesitates. It's a similar situation to Hongjoong's, a bittersweet comfort. "I-"

    "Good morrow, My Lady, h-" Ymanya pauses in the doorway with her hand still on the wooden handle. She takes in the scene for a brief moment before she suddenly folds herself over at the waist, bending more than ninety degrees. "Forgive me, M-"

    "Ymanya, let me ask you something."

    "...Yes, My King?"

    Seonghwa sits up slowly, still in his day clothes — and she doesn't know why that gives her a bit of relief. "Has there been anything that the Lady has asked for?"

    "Asked for?" She hums for a second as she thinks. "Oh, she did want to learn about Halazia traditions," she recalls from the other night. "Might that be what you mean?"

    He looks to you with a bit of a smile. "That's all?"

    "So far, King," she nods, still hovering in the doorway, unsure of what to do.

    "Gather her some books," he says as he stands, leaning and kissing Hongjoong's head from where he hides his emotional face in your back. "Perhaps some of Mingi's writings. Whatever you think she will be curious about. Your morning duties are dismissed. Do that instead, please."

    "Right away, My King. Shall I send Gele to ready h-"

   "No," Hongjoong groans mumbled, pulling you closer as you shift in your sleep, "leave us, Ymanya. We will help Our Lady dress when she awakens. She needs to rest."

    "Of course, My Lord." She bows again, hiding her smile as she closes the door behind her. She's glad that the royals are caring for you, even going as far to ask her what you might want. She can't say she's surprised. They have waited over 300 years.

    Of course they'd be fussing over you so much.

  She can't help but be happy. You have been here a mere three days and already she sees changes happening. For one, the royals have been smiling almost every time she's seen them.

    She was right. It will be nice to have someone like you in the castle.

𖤐❝You'll let me learn?❞𖤐

     "Drink up," Wooyoung smiles as he slides you a cup.

    You're all at the table again, bathed in the early morning sunlight rather than the candles of last night.

   "What's this, Lord Jung?" You ask as you sniff the steaming liquid. You're sat between Yeosang and Jongho, and there was clearly a small fight over who got the title of being next to you —

    As you were walking in with the two eldest, they all were pushing and shoving to get to the chairs next to the one what was 'yours' in the middle of the long table. All Seonghwa had to do was sigh drastically and they all fell into their respective positions.

    "Moondew berry and bloodvine tea," he reaches over the table and pats your head before sitting.

   "Ah..." You nod as you look down at the drink.

    "You have no idea what those are, do you?" San asks with a grin as he sees your thoughtful pout.

  "Absolutely not, My Lord." You sigh, cracking a small smile at the sound of their laughter, "what are they?"

    "Moondew berries help with headaches, and bloodvine is the stem of a flower which helps with heart health. It will help you get your blood back faster," Wooyoung explains for you, gesturing to the cup, "at least have half. If you don't enjoy it I can find something else to aid you."

   You take the cup carefully and give it another inspection. After you take a sip, you nod to him; taking another.

   "Good?" He beams, over the moon at the fact that he managed to make the herbal remedy taste good enough for you.

   "Yes, thank you, My L-" Your voice is muffled as he jumps up and leans over the table again, cupping your cheeks and giving you a kiss.

    He pulls back with a cheshire grin, absolutely buzzing with delight.

   You freeze for a moment, dazed, still not even close to being used to their affection when it's pointed at you.

  The conversation carries on without you as you come back to your senses, sipping the drink as you listen in.

    "-thinking about sending Amfrid in my place. I don't want to leave so soon." Jongho leans his chin on his hand, looking at you in the corner of his eye.

    "Understandable," Seonghwa definitely wouldn't want to leave so soon after you've joined them either, "brief him today and send him on his way- Hongjoong," he snaps as he thinks, "who is that new recruit? With the blonde hair?"

    "Torin. He's got potential." Hongjoong answers quickly, sliding his fruit off his plate and onto yours. 

    "Tell him take Talin," the King nods, distracted as he sees Ymanya approaching with an armful of books.

    "Torin," Yeosang's little grumble of correction earns him a chuckle from you as you push the food around on your plate.

    "What have you got, Ymanya?" He stands, taking the heavy weight from her hold quickly and allowing her arms to sag to her side.

    "Origins of Halazia traditions starting within your reign, My King." Her words get you interested in the conversation, leaning to look past Jongho. He leans back as he notices you, letting you look.

    The stack of books is almost as big as your head. That's just the history of the traditions? How big is the stack of regular history? 

    He flips through the pages of one of the books, nodding approvingly. "Thank you, Ymanya, these will do nicely."

    She gives you a bow and a smile as she leaves, "enjoy, My Lady."

    Your eyebrows raise, and you look to Seonghwa as he continues to scan the books. Please be for you. Please let the books be for you.

    "What are those for," Mingi speaks as he sees your patience wavering.

    "Ymanya said Our Lady is curious about our traditions," Hongjoong grabs one of the books, reading the label. 'Human sacrif-' He tosses it quickly, "not that one."

    "You'll let me learn?" You finally speak up with wide, hopeful eyes.

     "Of course," Seonghwa hums as he closes the book, "you live here now. You should have some education on our way of th-"

    How you managed to sneak up on the Vampire is a mystery. It's impossible to catch him off guard. But here you are, with your arms wrapped around his waist and his body completely frozen with shock. "Oh, thank you!"

 

   You jump as you let go just as quickly as you embraced him, immediately turning to the books as the others laugh at the man's surprised expression.

    You were a painfully curious person by nature. It probably didn't help that your father had neglected to teach you about anything other than religion.

You wanted to learn everything you could, and you did. The books in Caethnor were limited to the ones in the small library in the church, but you read every single one a thousand times over. Not only did you love to read, it would do you good to know more about the place that you now reside. You wanted to know everything about the world around you. About the people. About the flora and fauna.

The bell outside tolls shortly, signaling the end of the hour. Begrudgingly, Hongjoong sets down the book in his hand back into the pile. "We must get busy," he slides his hand across your waist as he joins your side, "might I have a kiss before I leave?"

You look up from the books with the biggest smile he's yet to see on your face, "thank you, Lord Kim." You say before you quickly peck his cheek.

"You're welcome, little one." He'll take it, he won't push you for a kiss on the lips. He's already held you for the entire night. He gives a final squeeze to your hip as he passes behind you, "come on, Yeosang."

The man stands up and pauses, "(Y/n)?"

"Yes, My Lord?"

"Be sure to eat," he points to your nearly full plate as he gathers his coat from the back of his chair.

"Oh, of course," you bow to him, and he has a deep itching urge to also ask for a kiss. He wants to feel your skin on his in any manner at all, really. He wants to feel the sparks. But you still seem very reserved with him. So he settles on —

"See you at supper."

You give him a soft smile, squeaking when San appears at your side and bends over to hug you tightly. "Have a good day," he hums with his cheek against yours.

"Y-you too, My Lord?" You stutter out, startled by his sudden actions.

"What is on your schedule today, Yunho?" Seonghwa asks as he tears his eyes from the sight which makes his heart tender and warm.

"I have a test planned for the apprentice mages later in the day, other than that," he shrugs, reaching for a glass of water. He knows it won't quench his thirst, but he must try. He has to have restraint when it comes to you, especially now that you're also bleeding for the others. The last thing he wants to do is hurt you.

    Perhaps he should just keep his distance for a few days —

    "You should help (Y/n) with her reading," Seonghwa says it like a suggestion, but he knows it's more of a command. "You know a lot about regional traditions." He takes San's place next to you and cups your jaw as he kisses your cheek. He can't help the grin that he has when he pulls back, your heart is pumping so fast and your skin is so warm. "Be a good student, yeah?"

𖤐❝I can't wait to teach you all kinds of things.❞𖤐

You are a good student. Yunho had never seen anyone so eager to learn about where traditions and ceremonies came from. The next day, San had never seen someone so determined to learn how to sew. After that, Mingi couldn't wait to spend the day teaching you about his visions and hearing all about your villages small variations from the realms religion.

Today marked six days of being in the castle. You went outside for the first time, much to Seonghwa's dismay. Yeosang eased his worries about their defenses not being strong enough by reminding him that you wouldn't be leaving his side, and Gele would also be accompanying you.

You didn't have to ask why they needed defenses, you aren't clueless. Some people hate the fact that the undead are ruling. Some people hate the undead, period.

You used to be one of them.

But over the days, you've come to see a whole new side of Vampiric life. They were still human, deep down. Sometimes you forgot they were hundreds of years old and equipped with supernatural abilities.

"You must have to be strong to use a bow with such precision," you say from the sidelines, seated on the grass atop of Gele's apron after she insisted a Lady should not touch the ground. You were still hesitant, but she reassured you that it was okay. You still felt bad, though. Perhaps you could get San to help you make her one as a thanks. "Is the string very difficult to pull back?"

     Yeosang pouts in thought as he readies another arrow. It doesn't matter that he's been an archer for 346 years, he still practices every day. That's why he's the best. "I suppose so, I think I am used to it." He barely has to aim before he lets the arrow whiz through the air and hit the hay bale dead center.

     The expansive field is just off of the back of the hill that the castle is situated upon. The brick stairs made the journey up and down less steep, and it was clear the path was cared for just as well as the inside of the estate. Bushes and flowers were all carefully arranged and trimmed and taken care of as they were strewn about strategically.

You're learning the layout fairly quickly, with an admittedly large amount of help.

The King's office window overlooks the entire area from the top floor. The chapel where Mingi works and prays is on the bottom floor, the first door you find after you enter through the double doors that lead out. San's workshop is next to it.

     Closest to the castle was the greenhouse, which acted as Wooyoung's office, and was quite literally green except for the large windows around the entire building. You wonder if he did that on purpose or if he might be the origin of the word. He had poked his head out when he saw you coming down the stairs and called you over for a kiss, pouting over how you hadn't spent time with him even though you just sat next to him at breakfast.

     A little further back was the stables, where you ran into Jongho as he readied his own horse; getting ready to head into the city. You gave him a kiss to the cheek and told him to return safely — which earned you a bit of light natured teasing from Gele as you walked to the open part of the field. 

It was large enough to accommodate all the different divisions of the guard as they trained. You could hear Hongjoong directing the fighters if you strained your ears. You looked over a bit ago and saw him fighting, and it was quite the frightening sight to see him throw punch after punch while dodging and not even breaking a sweat. You looked back to the archers pretty quickly.

"It has to be sturdy enough so that it will not break when you pull it back. It can be difficult for a beginner," Yeosang goes to notch another arrow before he stops and looks at you.

     The sun must be hitting him directly, because he feels warm all of the sudden as you smile at him.

     "It's impressive! You haven't missed a single shot," you tilt your head, "I do suppose you've had a great deal of practice, My Lord?"

    "Enough practice for multiple lifetimes," he laughs softly, looking down at his longbow. San crafted it nearly fifty years ago. He's had to replace the string countless times from his nonstop use of the weapon. He never let anyone touch it, not even the weapons master. San to make repairs, or the one or two times he's tossed it to Wooyoung on the battle field. But that is the extent of who handles his precious bow. "Would you like to try?"

    "I doubt I will be any good."

    "I, too, was once a beginner," he approaches with a grin and holds his hand out to you. "I did say I would teach you, didn't I? What better time to start than now?"

    You look over your shoulder to Gele, who's leaning against another hay bale. "Don't look to me, Lady (Y/n)," she giggles, "I have never shot a bow. I preferred a sword in my day."

      "I want to see that." You point at her before turning back to Yeosang. "Don't judge me too harshly, Lord Kang." You take his hand and almost jump at the sparks that bloom on your skin. You must have forgotten briefly. Your brain still hasn't caught up to the fact that you, indeed, have not just one — but multiple soulmates.

     "I will never," he hides his giddy smile by looking down at the vibrant grass. It's the first time you've touched one another, and he couldn't be more happy to have finally grazed each part of his soul that wanders outside of his body.

"Watch me closely." He grips the bottom of the bow and looks over to you, pleased to see that you're watching him intently. He runs through all of the steps right up to pulling the string back and then he stops. "Again?"

"I think I have got it." Based on what they're learning about you; he doesn't doubt that, actually. You're a very quick learner. He likes that about you. He likes a lot about you, when he thinks about it.

You're a very driven person. You only learned how to sew from San the day before last and he saw you working on a quilt with scrap fabrics to practice this morning before breakfast.

He hands his bow to you without a second thought, watching you closely as you follow his steps. Right up to notching the arrow and pinching the end of it. "You seem a natural."

"Our Lady will be catching up to you in no time, Lord Kang," Gele jokes as she takes a seat on the apron, watching you repeat the preparation of the bow.

"We will have to see about that," he gives her a small chuckle before he steps next to you. "Try to pull it back, see how far you can bring it."

"Are you sure? My arms are pretty weak..." You hesitate, re-settling the arrow one more time.

"Just to see," he shrugs, "you needn't be perfect. I don't expect you to be."

Joining his family after so long makes you perfect enough in his eyes.

"Do not laugh at me," you take a breath before pulling it back in the way you had watched him do. It only moves a fraction of an inch. "Good Goddess, I have more respect for archers now." You sigh as you lower the bow, jumping a bit when he lifts it back up — suddenly standing behind you.

"I will help you," he can't help but smirk as he hears your heart skip a beat. "I will help you hold it steady and pull back, you do the aiming."

"A-alright." You force yourself to ignore the tingles on your hand as he places one over yours, the other above yours on the wood of the bow.

"When you pull the string back, take a breath in," he says as he helps you, doing most of the heavy lifting. But he can tell you're still giving it all of your strength by the way your arm trembles, you don't let him do all of the work.

You do so, filling your lungs with the fresh fall air.

"Focus only on where you want the arrow to hit. Forget everything else as you aim."

As long as you hit the hay bale, you'll be satisfied with yourself. Just hit the hay. It's a fairly big target. You don't have to hit it smack dab in the middle where all of his arrows lie. Anywhere in the circle, and you will be pleased.

He lets you move the bow to aim, still holding it with you.

"When you are ready to fire, let go of your breath and the arrow at the same time."

Your arms are beginning to shake just a little more, and you grimace in frustration for being so weak.

Forget everything else.

Just the hay. You can do that.

He lets go with you when he hears you let out your breath, smiling widely as the arrow flies through the air and hits the outer corner of the circle.

"Woah!" Gele claps from your previous spot, "you kick ass, My Lady!"

    "Oh, Goddess!" You jump excitedly, turning to face him, "I hit it!"

"I saw," he chuckles as he takes the bow carefully. "You have good aim for a beginner. Perhaps you are a natural."

"Thank you," you bow a bit, smiling as you turn to look at the arrow now lodged into the hay. "If you say so."

"I do," he nods, looking down at you, "you're a quick learner. I can't wait to teach you all kinds of things."

𖤐❝Kiss me like you mean it.❞𖤐

The next day, you and Yunho finished an entire book together in only two hours, even with all of your questions and your admittedly low knowledge of how to read the language.

"Yunho mi," you call from your seat among the books. He commented about how you need a bookcase as he saw them all on the cushioned bench at the end of the bed.

"You have another question?" He hums from his place leaned back on the pillows, looking down to you.

"Yes, actually, but..."

He tilts his head curiously, "what is it?" He sits up, lowering the book he holds into his lap.

"I was wondering... what the ceremony is called when a human loses their virginity to a Vampire so that I can read about it and know what to expect." You ramble out quickly, keeping your back turned to him as he processes your words.

"Oh," he nods, "of course, (Y/n) mi!" He jumps up quickly, kneeling in front of you and the pile of books in a millisecond. "I can't believe nobody has told you about this yet. Ah, it should be in here."

He offers you one of the hardbacks titled 'Human and Vampiric Relations', smiling softly as you take it. "It is called The Soul Embrace. Do you want me to go over it with you?"

"It would be much appreciated," you say with a slight tremor in your voice.

He turns to the chapter you're looking for, taking a seat next to you.

The veil between a Vampire's soul and the mortal world is thinner than that of a human's. The soul of a virgin is more potent. Because of these facts, the soul of a Vampire will briefly enter the soul of a human if they are to take their virginity. When a virgin is penetrated by a Vampire, or when a virgin penetrates a Vampire — their souls will intermingle.

This is a very intimate affair, and as such it should be treated with the utmost care and respect. Like many of our other ceremonies, it is to be blessed by The Goddess. To receive her blessing, the human and Vampire must kneel and bow with their foreheads on the Earth. This is the beginning of the ceremony —

Yunho can hear your heart beating violently in your chest, and he watches as you scan past the small list of preparations; your throat bobbing as you gulp.

— lay the virgin down with a kiss before penetr—

You shove the book into his lap, breathing deeply. "That is so intimate! I had never even kissed anyone before I met you all." You bite your lip, looking down.

That gives Yunho pause. "You hadn't?"

"No... I fear I am much too inexperienced to ever be ready for," you point to the book with a grimace, "that."

"I was your first kiss?" He raises his eyebrows, heart thrumming to life in his cold chest. "If- if I had known, I wouldn't have-"

"It's okay. I'm glad it was you... your lips felt nice." You whisper, tracing the embroidery on your skirt. "Can I ask you another question?"

"Of course," he nods, looking at you intently, "I will answer it to the best of my abilities." He has to ignore the way you said his lips felt nice lest he kiss you breathless.

"What is... hand stuff?" You sigh embarrassedly, recalling the others words. "I assume it is when people touch each other without... penetration? But how does that work? Is not the whole point of it to... touch each other lower?"

His ears are red fucking hot.

They knew you were a virgin. Yes. They knew you were sheltered. Sure. But they didn't know the extent.

"Uhm..." He swallows thickly, looking down to the book, "it's like masturbation, but with another person. Sex can be a lot of things."

Your next words make his hands itch with the deep urge to grab at you and ruin all of your innocence. "What is masturbation?"

He tilts his head back to face the ceiling, praying silently for strength. "It's," he takes a moment, "it's when you touch yourself to reach an orgasm." Please don't ask. Please don't ask.

"An orgasm?"

"Sweet Grentizia," he groans, cupping his face in his hands. Seonghwa wasn't kidding when he said it was a challenge to hold back. They all had their own... pleasures. But one thing they all had in common was that they loved to absolutely ruin each other. And you are pure. Perfect. Made to break and place back together with gentle kisses and then repeat. Made to take —

    "Will you teach me?"

    He grips the book again tightly, staring at the words to ground himself. "...What?"

     "I want you to teach me." You whisper as you look up to him. His eyes are still on the pages, but he isn't registering a single word — and you know it. "Please, My Lord. You said that you would teach me anything I wanted to know."

   His nails are digging into the hard cover of the book, leaving crescent indentations. "And that-" He gulps, "that is something you want to learn?"

   "Yes." You lean forward, tilting your head, "I trust you to teach me well."

Oh, you probably shouldn't. He's only one bat of your eyelashes away from ripping your dress off and saying 'fuck the ceremony.'

"Please, Yunho mi? I want to start experiencing... sexual things- ah!" The second the word 'sex' passed your lips, he was ready to devour you whole. He yanks you up by your dresses collar and bends you over the edge of the bed, making you kneel on the bench all in one swift movement.

     "I will teach you," his voice is near a growl as he undoes the bow on your back, quickly tugging the ribbon. "I will have your first kiss and your first orgasm."

Good Goddess, what have you gotten yourself into?

You couldn't help yourself. After reading about the ceremony, how intense and intimate it will be, you realized you wanted to at least have something under your belt in the sexual experience category.

You knew that none of them would disrespect Seonghwa and take you before he did, even if you preferred them to over him. You were learning quickly that age meant respect in the Vampiric world, and he was the oldest of your soulmates. They would wait decades until you were ready to lose your virginity to Seonghwa — if that's what it took.

But virginity doesn't mean you had to be a complete stranger to such things. You had never even touched yourself. It just wasn't something you thought about... or knew how to do.

You trust Yunho to teach you. You trust him to make you feel good. You want to make him feel good.

If it were anyone else, you'd probably be chickening out. Wooyoung might lose control; despite all of his good natured teasing over the past few days — he was still as eager as all of them and he has zero control when it comes to you. You caught him staring at your behind quite often, and he didn't even pretend to be embarrassed. Hongjoong was still a bit intimidating, especially after you had seen him fighting yesterday. Mingi, you might have trusted as well; arguably, you knew him best. But you still weren't used to his voice being attached to his body, you were used to him being a 'ghost'. The others, you were only just now getting close enough to to be comfortable giving them kisses to the cheek.

But Yunho? His forehead kisses make you smile and he's so... attentive.

    You will admit that The Goddess made all of your soulmates undeniably gorgeous. And something about the way Yunho looks at you has been making you hot for a few days.

    Because he's looking at you like he looks at the rest of your soulmates. His gaze is all consuming and dominating over whoever he sets it on.

"Come here," he pulls you up, keeping you kneeled on the bench as he bundles up your skirts in his hands. He pauses, leaning closer to your ear, "are you sure?"

"Yes," you have no hesitation. You want Yunho to be the first one to show you how pleasurable the heat between your legs can be.

Your dress is gone in a flash, and you're being pushed to the bed on your back, looking down at him dizzily as he pulls off your shoes as well. "Will you," you pant as he crawls over you, "show me how to kiss like you do?"

He cups your cheeks, straddling your waist as he leans down. The tip of his nose against yours fills your skin with sparks. "Move slowly," he tilts his head to show you, his lips hovering just over your own. "Take your time," he whispers, "we have so much of it to spend together, don't rush. Close your eyes and feel me against you. Kiss me like you mean it."

Your hands mirror his, cupping his heated cheeks as you pull him the final inch to meet your lips.

You follow his instructions, moving slowly and purposefully against his lips. Your eyes closed as you try to memorize the feeling of him against you.

You kiss him like you mean it.

Because you do.

And it drives him wild, holding himself back from taking charge so that you can learn with him acting as a puppet for your knowledge. He cradles your face softly and limits himself to small movements to meet your own.

He has a dopey smile as you lean back, your eyes still closed. "Very good," he hums while tracing his fingertips down your neck, "you're a quick learner."

"I have a good teacher," you smirk lightly, peeking your eyes open.

    His eyes have gone red with want, but his gaze is soft as he looks down at you. He pushes the straps of your underdress down your shoulders; matching your smirk ten-fold as your heartbeat kicks up.

    "Can-" You lick your lips, "can you take your clothes off, too?" He sits up wordlessly and unbuttons his shirt in a hurry, making you giggle as you slide yourself up to lean on your elbows. The sight of your shift sliding down your chest a bit makes him move faster. Who is he to deny you?

     "I promise," he leans and pecks your lips as he tosses off his shirt, "I will make you see stars."

     "I look forward to it-" You yelp as he pulls you up to your feet. You'll never get used to moving so fast.

     "Let me see you," he leans his head against yours, fingers yanking at his belt impatiently.

     You take a deep breath, watching him step out of his pants. When he rid himself of his shoes, who knows but — now you're on the same level as he stands in front of you with nothing but his undergarments on.

     The tent in the fabric catches your eyes as you scan him. "Will you teach me how to please you, as well?"

    His breath catches in his throat. He wants to agree with breakneck speed, but he also doesn't want to spook you. "If you want me to."

     For a virgin, you sure are a huge tease. You let your shift fall to the ground. "I do. I want you to show me."

    He takes a long moment to admire you, his eyes shimmering. He has to swallow all of the saliva that's accumulating so he doesn't literally drool at the mere sight of your naked body.

    "I want to make you feel good, too-"

    Everything is a blur as he wraps his arms around you and moves you both onto the bed.

    You grab onto his arms tightly as he holds you from behind, sucking in a shaking breath as you take in your new position.

    He's got you sitting on the middle of the bed, holding your legs apart with his own as he all but crushes your back to his chest. "Don't say things like that, or I will not stop until you're begging for me to just fuck you already."

     You're heating up just the same as when they drink from you, creeping up your neck and pooling in your stomach. "Would you?" You gasp as his hands cup your chest.

    "When the time comes, I will have you until the only word you know is my name. Believe this, My Lady, I will ruin you."

    "Oh," you moan out quietly as you feel your core dripping, "oh, Yunho..."

    "Are we there already~?" He smirks against your shoulder as he fondles you, sucking at your skin and buzzing with excitement as you let out another shy sound.

     He's kissing and licking all over your neck and shoulders now, paying extra attention to the areas that make your heart flutter.

     You grab onto his thighs as he rolls your nipples in his fingertips, your jaw dropping. You didnt know that their sensitivity could feel so... enthralling. "I l-like that," you whine quietly, digging your fingers into him.

     "Mmm?" He releases your skin from his mouth with a pop. He does it again, his fingers just a bit tighter together, "this?"

    "Yes," you nod quickly, "more. More, pleaseeee," you groan as you arch into his touch. He's already got you feeling hotter than you ever have.

    "Since you asked so nicely, gorgeous."

   His words and the way he pinches your nipples just enough for it to toe the line between pleasure and pain makes you yell out, "good Goddess!"

    You slap your hand over your mouth, panting heavily as he continues to tease the now sore pebbled flesh between his nimble fingers.

   "Move your hand," he commands you, halting his movements until you slowly do so. "I want to hear every noise you make. I want to know how good it feels."

    You whine as he slides his hands down slowly, "don't stop..."

     "Who said anything about stopping?" He chuckles, "I said I would make you see stars, and I am not stopping until I fulfill my promise."

   

     You lean your head against his chest, watching with wide eyes as he rubs your hips; venturing ever closer to your epicenter. He rests his chin atop your head, eyes never once blinking as he takes in every twitch and fidget you give him.

    He's teasing you on purpose. He can't help himself. He wants you to beg. It's his guilty pleasure— well, it's one of his guilty pleasures.

    "Touch me," your whisper just above the sound of your heartbeat reaches his ears, "please. I want you to touch me already."

    "Isn't that what I've been doing?" He has a grin like a jackal as he hears you whine impatiently. You're melting in his hands, falling right where he wants you.

"Touch me e-elsewhere," you say in a breath, spreading your legs further despite the way it makes your face and neck burn with bashfulness.

"Have you ever touched your cunt?" His raspy question makes you groan, a pout forming as you feel your heartbeat... down there. "Or am I the very first?"

"You- you are the first," your hips jolt, yearning for his soft touch to land where you most want it. "I can't take anymore teasing, please, Yunho-" Your pleads trail off into a long sigh, your eyes fluttering shut as he cups your heat in his large hand, the other holding your hip.

He leans his head against your shoulder, breathing deep and slow to calm himself. "Fucking hell," he sighs quietly, "you're so warm... So wet, already..."

The simple fact that he's holding you like this is enough to make his member twitch. Enough to flood his brain with dopamine. Your soft, panting breaths when he's barely touched you are driving him mad.

He starts moving his hand slowly, almost like he's worshipping your heat or trying to map it out so he'll never forget. He massages up and down a few times before two of his fingers slide between your lips and start exploring your wet slit.

"Ah, that feel-feels nice," you draw out softly. Your fingers slowly releasing their death grip on his thighs as you relax into his touch.

"Yeah?" He hums, running his free hand up your waist, "then this will feel amazing~" You barely have time to register his words before one of his fingertips is on your clit, circling it slowly and bringing it to life — bringing you to tears.

You can't form any words. All you can do is take the new, heavenly sensation at the delicate pace he gives it to you. The only noise you can manage is a strangled and broken moan.

"Feels good, gorgeous?" He chuckles as he leans and gets a peek at your expression; you're already tearing up and your eyebrows are pinched together, your jaw slack as you meet his eyes and nod quickly.

"Fuck, you're so cute," he growls as he uses his free hand to grab your neck and pull you into a kiss, another finger added to his gentle assault on your clit.

With your mouth open, he slips his tongue right in. This kiss couldn't be more different than the one you shared just minutes ago.

He's taken control, and he's gotten rough. The contrast between how he handles your cunt and how he handles your mouth makes you dizzy; so you're thankful he keeps his dominating kiss relatively short.

    You tilt your head back, panting for air as he picks up his fingers speed. "Drink from me," you stutter out before you can second guess yourself. You want him to.

     He doesn't have to be told twice. He sinks his teeth into your shoulder and moans loudly, his fingers pressing against you just a bit harder to show his gratitude.

    It takes every ounce of his self restraint not to bury his cock inside of you when you let out your first real moan.

    It's of his name, you sound it out somewhere between a praise and a curse word; "oh, Yunho!"

   He's going to lose his mind. He truly is, he thinks. He was your first kiss. He's the first one to touch your heat. He's drinking from you as he drives you ever closer to your first orgasm.

    He's getting just as much satisfaction as you are, really. Not only is he over the moon to be able to please you, he's doing so while sucking up the blood that you offered to him. The blood that makes him all sorts of warm.

    "Don't- don't stop! Please!" You plead even though he shows no signs of doing so.

    He hums with his teeth still buried into your skin, making you shiver as the sound vibrates through your entire being. His arm snakes its way across your torso, pulling you closer to his chest roughly as you begin to tremble.

     You definitely like hand stuff, is the conclusion you come to as the pool of heat in your stomach begins boiling.

     "Fuck, lirae!" You grab his arm tightly, holding it to you. You're starting to get lightheaded from the combination of his feasting and calculated touches. {Fuck, yes!}

     It's the first time he's ever heard you curse. It makes him twitch. You sound so needy. You sound so filthy. And it'll all for him.

   He withdraws his teeth, moaning and licking his lips as the pinpricks in your skin start to drip; your heavy heartbeat pushing your blood to rush. "Ah, lirae? You like it when I touch you like this?" He smirks, licking up the blood slowly.

    "Uh-huh!" You yelp as his free hand suddenly tilts your head to face him as he hovers over your shoulder.

     "Your heartbeat is so loud, it's like a fucking drum. Music to my ears," he grins, holding your burning hot cheek as he presses his forehead to yours. "You must be close, you're shaking, poor thing~"

    You bite your lip, swallowing thickly as the tension in your body pulses. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat, in your cunt, in your stomach. You feel like you're on fire in the most beautiful and delicious way possible. A tear finally slips past your waterline.

     "Oh, don't cry," he says softly; but he has a wicked smile. This is just as satisfying as sex for him. Making his pretty little soulmate shake and cry for a release that she doesn't know how to get. He can tell it's just within reach. He can see it in your begging eyes. You don't know what's about to hit you. All you know is something huge is building up inside of you. And you need him to guide you.

    "Yunho mi, wh-at do I do?"

   "You're about to cum," he says with a nod, "you're going to have an orgasm for me." His crimson eyes are trained like a predator to watch every single twitch of your brow, every tremble of your lips. "You don't have to do anything but enjoy it, let me take care of you."

     "Ah, swai losa," you groan, squeezing your eyes closed. The pleasure is swimming through your entire body but you need more. You need something to happen, somewhere for it to go. {Ah, it's so hot}

     "Relax ba," he hums before landing a peck to your lips, "just let it wash over you. Let it all go, gorgeous." He starts swirling his fingers in the opposite direction, making your back arch briefly before he wraps his arm back around you and holds you to his chest. You're moaning with every breath. Your clit is throbbing under his blissful torture. You have nowhere to run as he holds you in place and bombards you with pleasure. "Let go."

      Let go of everything and let him make you see stars.

     "You can do that for me, can't you, mali'a sev?" Your eyes fly open, one hand finding its way to his hair and the other to his thigh. When the fuck did he learn that? {You can do that for me, can't you, my heart?}

    You meet his gaze and —

    The burning pleasure finally slams into its peak, washing over you like a tidal wave and dunking you into a pulsing ocean of euphoria. Spreading through your veins in a split second like an aphrodisiac infused lava.

    You wail with pleasure loud enough that anyone in your vicinity has undoubtedly heard it. Your thighs snap together, making you jolt as you accidentally press his still circling fingers into your buzzing clit harder. "Oh~!" You yelp, cursing like a sailor in your native tongue so fast and jumbled that he wouldn't even be able to keep up if he were fluent.

    He catches a few words he's picked up as he watches you convulse with a dark, satisfied smile. Namely he hears: good, heaven, Yunho, and yes — but he knows there's a good set of curse words in the mix. 

     "There you go," he coos while he slows his fingers to a slow and steady stroking up and down your messy slit. "There you go, I got you." He chuckles as you jolt with each of his movements, your head titled back against his shoulder and your eyes coming back from where they'd rolled back. You look dazed and throughly fucked out — and it makes him throb that he's managed to wreck you without even showing you what it feels like to be fingered internally. Goddess help you when he decides to teach you what a g-spot is.

     "My... fucking fuck," you hiccup breathlessly, your death grip on his hair slowly letting go so your arm can join the other in being slumped, your fingers twitching atop his thighs.

    "You see those stars I was talking about?" He rubs your side, listening to your heavy breaths with a smirk.

    "Mmmhm," you can only moan, complete lax against him and feeling like your body is light — like he is the only thing grounding you to Earth. "Bou lamara sev."

He tilts his head, leaning against yours gently, "hm?"

"N-nothing," you twist in his arm. He loosens his grip just enough for you to shakily turn, and he lays back as you place yourself on top of him.

He hears the skip in your heartbeat that tells him you're lying, not wanting him to know.

Your pupils are still dilated way out of proportion, your gaze soft and unfocused.

He'll figure it out later, but for now —

"Can you show me how to please you now?"

𖤐❝Your soul looks different...❞𖤐

"Good evening, My Lords," you greet them confidently with an uncharacteristically bright smile as you join the table that night.

"Someone's in a good mood," Jongho smiles as you sit next to Yeosang, throwing a glance to Yunho as he enters just while you take your seat. "You're extra smiley today, too. Good study session?"

Your face heats up. "Indeed," Yunho takes the other seat next to you before the others can start filing in and fight over it. "Our best one yet, don't you think?" He's looking at you like that again; his gaze all enveloping and his smile bordering on a smug smirk.

"Oh, yes," you clear your throat, a smile finding its way to your lips which you hide by taking a sip from your cup.

A few of them are missing. Seonghwa, Wooyoung, and Mingi aren't in their seats, so the rest of wait.

"Hmmm," Hongjoong hums suspiciously, leaning his head onto his hand as he looks between you. "You two are hiding something, I can feel it."

"Feel it? Hongjoong, you're just tired and paranoid like always," Yunho rolls his eyes, throwing the Lieutenant a playful smile.

"Mh," he narrows his eyes for a second. "Probably!" He giggles, reaching over to serve you as he sees you reach for the food.

That's one thing that the servants don't do. You had asked Mingi about it, and apparently it was a tradition between the soulmates that had originated when Seonghwa and Yunho had found Wooyoung. The newest addition was similarly from a common background and he didn't like other people touching his food, so they served one another.

And it carried on even after Wooyoung got more accustom to royal life, even when Hongjoong joined them. And then, still, when the Choi brothers and Yeosang did as well. By the time Mingi came around, they didn't even think about it even more; it's something that just is.

"Thank you, Lord Kim," you peek at him as you take the plate. He looks nothing like he does when he's fighting. Maybe you shouldn't linger on that image of him.

"How is your quilt going, (Y/n)?" San asks curiously, his eyes shining as he looks at you.

"Slow but steady," you reply with a shrug, "I have started on the second row! Thank you, again, for all of the fabric."

"Evening!" Woooyung yells as he enters with Mingi, immediately heading straight to you and tilting your head to get a kiss like he's done for the past few days after you initiated a cheek kiss. "You smell extra sweet today," he observes before connecting your lips.

He's shocked when you start kissing him back — weaving your lips together softly.

You're feeling... braver after you and Yunho's afternoon together.

Mingi is still in the doorway, his eyebrows pushing together as he looks at you like he's trying to figure something out.

"Did you have a good day, Lord Jung?" You ask as you pull back. He's still leaning, in disbelief of how well you just kissed him.

"Uhhhh," he blanks as he stands up. As he sits, he tilts his head, "did you just kiss me? Like a real kiss?"

"I do believe what it's called. Yes, My Lord."

Yeosang chuckles from beside you at your barely contained sarcasm. He's glad you're cracking out of your shell and showing a more playful side.

"Mingi, why are you just standing there?" Seonghwa's voice calls all of your eyes to the only soulmates who aren't at the table.

Mingi is biting his cuticle, still staring at you in puzzlement. "Your soul looks different..." He whispers, making heads back turn to you.

"Huh?" You raise a brow, "how s- oh!" You yell as your seat is pulled away from the table, holding onto the armrests tightly.

The seer has yanked you back enough to stand in front of you and bend forward, face to face with you.

"It's brighter?" He states, but it sounds like a question because of his confusion.

"You're scaring me a bit," you pout as you meet his eyes. He's staring right past you and into your soul. You can feel him picking through it, trying to find the source. "S-stop that!"

Seonghwa is there in a split second as you voice your displeasure, pulling you back even further from the table to put himself between you and Mingi. "Were you soul-searching her?"

"Hwa, it's different!" He defends himself, looking over the Kings shoulder and locking eyes with you again. "It wasn't this bright even when she was a child."

The others are watching on anxiously, Yunho most of all. He thinks he might know why your soul is suddenly brighter. And as your eyes widen, he knows you're placing the same pieces together.

Your eyes flick to him for a half of a millisecond, but Mingi catches it.

Now he's in front of him, looking down intently. "You too... you're both glowing." That faint glow of Yunho's soul looks very familiar to Mingi.

Glowing like it does after a fulfilling night.

Mingi looks between you and Yunho repeatedly, and the others follow suit; trying to catch up to what he's putting together because they can't see what he can. "You-" He stutters, "no..."

"What? What is it, Mingi?" Hongjoong is getting impatient. If something is different, then different could mean wrong. Something could be wrong. With his precious soulmates. He's freaking out —

"Afterglow." Mingi chuckles in disbelief, and Yunho gulps. He knows that there is an unbelievable amount of teasing and questioning about to bombard the two of you. You, on the other hand, are unaware.

"Afterglow?" You ask quietly, looking to each and every one of their frozen faces.

"We did not have sex, toooo be clear!" Yunho yells before they can freak out, "she is still a virgin."

"Yunho!" You groan as you reach and slap his arm.

Everyone is stood up and crowding the two of you, a million words per second flying out of their mouths.

Even after so many years of pleasing each other, they still get giddy when talking about it — and you are certainly no exception. They've waited for you the longest, and they want to know everything about you. They want to do everything with you, sexual or platonic; it doesn't matter.

But since you're usually so reserved when talking about sex, and they are anything but; they get over eager when the topic comes up. Even Yeosang and Jongho, who arguably give you the most space.

Seonghwa is the only silent one, standing beside you with a smile trying to fight its way to his lips. If you're experimenting with things like that, it means you're at least a bit comfortable. "Enough," he voices, "let them have some space. Everyone sit down, this is ridiculous."

He's the last to leave, standing by your side until they've all taken their seats. His presence is welcomed, as he keeps them all from firing questions you can't even keep up with. "Thank you, Seonghwa..." Your whisper is like a ray of sunshine as it reaches him. He thinks he'll never get used to the way you say his name.

Yunho reaches and holds your hand softly, "I'm sorry, (Y/n). I forgot Mingi could see that... it's truly my mistake. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

    "Don't be uncomfortable!" San shakes his head quickly, "you don't have any reason to be shy with us, we're your soulmates!"

     "Yeah," Wooyoung joins in, "we're just curious is all. I know your village was more conservative about this stuff but, we aren't. We talk about it openly!"

     "We're sorry," Yeosang speaks from his seat beside you, talking for them as a unit. "We just have so many questions, you could see that. Our sex life together is very... abundant. So, we're just- uhm, eager to hear."

     You look up from your lap, glancing around the room. While their eyes are certainly still filled with curiosity, they've toned it down significantly for the sake of not making you feel more embarrassed. "That's...  okay. I'm just not used to talking about anything like this. I w-" you bite your tongue.

    "You can speak freely, Elarin," Seonghwa reaches and fixes the lace on your collar, catching a glimpse of the hickeys on your shoulder that are just barely hidden. Yunho does like to mark his partners.

    "I would just appreciate if you didn't all ask your questions all at once, My Lords..."

     Yunho is about to start jumping off the walls. He's cracked the first layer of your walls down and made a path for the rest of them to follow.

    "But," Hongjoong leans forward eagerly, "we can ask questions?"

     You take a moment. After learning, after experiencing just a little bit; you're less scared of the topic at hand. "One at a time."

𖤐❝Come lie with me?❞𖤐

      You couldn't sleep. Well, you couldn't stay asleep, that is.

     It turns out the Vampires weren't lying when they said they were curious and eager. It seemed like each of them had a hundred questions. You did your best to answer them, to let your guard down a little bit; because they were beyond delighted to get any information. And something about that made you feel gratified, that you could make them excited.

     The Lords all kept true to asking one question at a time, partly because the King sent a glare their way when they started talking over one another. He wanted to hear as much as they did, and he wanted to make sure you didn't feel overwhelmed again.

     The questions had a wide range, and you were still thinking about a lot of them. That's one reason you found yourself tossing and turning.

     Ones that lingered were like, 'what else are you curious about?' and 'what kind of fantasies do you have?'

     You didn't dare to tell them that you had imagined Wooyoung and Yunho kissing, and you certainly didn't speak of how you had a dream twice now — of Wooyoung holding you down while he has his way with you.

     They could all hear your heart thudding, and Wooyoung noted how you refused to look at him for a few minutes. Oh, he's definitely going to start teasing you more. He put the pieces together in a second flat. You've been fantasizing about him.

     After you had the dream for a third time, you decided that it was useless trying to sleep and got up.

The halls are much different at night.

Usually they are bustling with activity, people to and from and here and there; the sunlight lighting them through the vast windows.

In the middle of the night, you could really focus on the grand beautiful of it all — no Lords or staffs or business that comes with being the capital of the entire realm.

It really is marvelous. You hadn't gotten the time to take it in. You were too busy trying to adapt and process all of the information you'd gotten over the past days.

You didn't mind the fact that you had so many soulmates. It wasn't exceedingly rare. It wasn't rare for a Vampire and a human to be fated, either — after all, Vampires were once humans.

You had asked Ymanya about her soulmate, a few days ago. And she had a sad look in her eyes before she just shook her head. You dropped the subject pretty quickly.

Gele said she was still on the search for her soulmate, and she talked about it with a passion that you wish you had when talking about yours.

You should be overjoyed to finally have found the missing pieces of yourself. You are happy, to an extent. You feel... satisfied. That hole inside of you is finally acknowledged and filled.

But you can't find it in yourself to be excited. To be elated, like your soulmates.

Your brain is simply too used to what it knows, what you've been told your whole life. 'You have no soulmate.'

You're wandering aimlessly now, your boots against the tile echoing in the empty halls.

After your afternoon with Yunho, you could deny it no longer.

This is where you belong. These men are your fate.

Because he didn't just satisfy you physically. The way he held you and praised you and looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered in that moment —

It made you say 'bou lamara sev.'

A whole other level of 'I love you.'

And you don't really know how to feel about that.

There is no guidebook or help center for 'I have been told my entire human life that I have no soulmate but turns out I have eight and they are Vampires.' You are completely and utterly stranded. In the middle of the ocean with only a raft that's barely keeping you afloat. No paddle, no charge of your own destiny.

    You always had been. 

    You wish you had gotten a little more time with your father before they dragged you away from the only home you've ever known. You have so many questions. Namely; 'why did you do this to me? Why did you lie?'

The whole point of soulmates is that you are meant to be. Was what Tihilda saw truly so terrible that she would break her oath to The Goddess? It couldn't have been.

They were all gentle with you. They were all caring, perhaps even overbearing at times.

"(Y/n)?"

You freeze in your spot.

"What are you doing? It's the middle of the night," Seonghwa's voice is groggy and slow, like he's just woken up.

You turn slowly on your heel and face him. He's leaning on a doorway, eyes trained on you despite the obvious tiredness in them. Dressed nothing like he usually is, all prim and proper. He looks almost human, almost like a commoner with his large sweater and loose cotton bottoms. "I was just... I couldn't sleep."

     "I can see that," he chuckles softly, tilting his head, "did I frighten you?" Your heart has a steady, brutal pulse that reaches his ears easily in the quiet of the night.

"Oh, I was away in my thoughts," you offer a ghost of a smile, but he doesn't buy it.

"Thoughts of what?"

"Just... stuff. Things."

"You are troubled." He pouts. Honest to Goddess pouts. You're taken aback, you didn't think you'd ever see the High King pout. "Pray tell, what's on your mind?"

You wrap your arms around yourself, your shift no longer keeping you warm under his gaze. "I would prefer not to speak of it."

"And I would prefer my soulmates well rested." He hums, turning into the room he's in front of with a simple, "come."

"Mh?" You hesitate, feet refusing to move. From the small look you can get into the room, it seems to be a chamber similar to your own.

"Come here."

And you're moving quickly at the slight edge in his voice, finding yourself in the room in a second flat. It is a bedroom, only slightly larger than your own. Blacks and blues color the room, shapes hard to distinguish in the light of the singular candle lit.

It's immediately clear that this is his chambers.

"Close the door." You turn away from his gaze at once and do so, slowly closing the wooden door as quietly as you can manage. "Tell me what's on your mind, Elarin."

"Might I ask... why do you call me that?"

"Here," you jump as he comes beside you, a sweater similar to his own in his hands, "I know it gets cold, apologies."

"I shouldn't-"

"I insist." He leaves no room for argument as he all but shoves the clothing into your hands. "You must keep warm."

"Thank you, Seonghwa." You whisper as you take it, quickly pulling it over your head. You were, as he had noted, getting rather cold. You were keeping warm while walking around, but as the night grew later; the temperature got lower. You were about to head back to your own chambers when he appeared.

"It has no direct translation," he shrugs before he looks you up and down — "Come lie with me?"

He can't stop the words as they practically claw their way out of his throat. You look so warm and comfortable. He wants to hold you through the night, and this time he wants to slumber with you.

"Uhm... okay." Your voice acts without your permission. Something deep within you wants to sleep in the same bed as him. Perhaps it was the blood loss, or the copious amount of wine, but you found that the night you slept between Hongjoong and Seonghwa was some of the best sleep you had ever gotten. 

     His arms immediately find their way around you after you rid yourself of your boots and climb under the thick blanket. Although you have no complaints, his cold arms oddly comforting to your racing mind; he asks, "is this okay?"

"Mhm." You slowly inch your way closer until your chest presses against his, your head resting in the crook of his shoulder. "If there is no direct translation, how can you describe it?"

"It is," he trails off while he melts into the feeling of your body warmth, "something like sunshine. Well- it's something like the feeling of sunshine warming you."

"That's strangely romantic," you feel your face warming, you didn't know what you had expected but it wasn't something like that. "Could I... ask why?"

He holds you a bit tighter all of the sudden, pressing his nose to your hair. "Because that is what you feel like. The sun shining down in the winter. The ultimate comfort."

𖤐❝APRICITY❞𖤐

𖤐❝NEXT TIME❞𖤐

    "What's the matter with you, Ymanya?" He hums, tilting his head. "You didn't lose Our Lady, did you?" He jokes. But she does not move. She stares at the man with wide eyes. "You lost Our Lady!" He yells, quickly standing up, "how!? How, how, how?"

His chair clatters to the floor in his haste, his footsteps heavy as he passes her.

    "I'm sorry, My Lord! She was not in her bed, I made sure she was during the night but now-"

     He grabs the nearest guard who's passing by as he runs down the halls, Ymanya hot on his tail as she tries to explain herself. "Have you seen the Lady of the castle?"

"No, Lord Jung, is every-"

He's already running again, calling back briefly before bolting full speed, "lock the doors!"

𖤐❝CURSE YOUR NAME❞𖤐

[azaharinflames]

I'm curious how Buck and Tommy might reconcile. Since Tommy was the only one who witnessed Buck breaking down in the tunnel, maybe he'll be the one to make the first move and reach out to Buck, trying to support him. Buck is trying to support everyone now, following Bobby’s last words, and I hope Tommy would be there to support Buck in return. The flashback also reminded me of how connected Tommy is to the 118. I knew he had that connection, but seeing it being used in the story really surprised me. I feel like even Tim would be amazed that he created such a character.

I'm very curious as well, Nonnie. Because there are certain things I've seen/the series has shown us, that do paint a picture. We just don't fully see it yet. But, to put them somewhere:

As you mentioned, Tommy was the only one who witnessed Buck breaking down. And Buck is doing exactly what I thought he'd do, which is pushing down his grief in order to support everyone. My personal theory is that Buck will break once everyone is doing better and he finds himself with 'nothing' to do. At the very least, not being as useful as he must've been these weeks.

And, yes, I do expect the show to, to some degree, acknowledge that Tommy did see him break. Furthermore, Tommy has been the one character who, consistently, has clocked Buck's feelings and when he's hidden them. He's the one who's asked how he was doing when the 118 wouldn't ask him (I know during Maddie's kidnapping they had to focus on Chim, and I do not disagree. But I also think it's wild no one checked on her brother), and I don't know if that was deliberate, or a crazy coincidence. But it is there.

Speaking of Tommy, the flashback is very interesting, because they truly didn't need to include him in one, whatsoever. Now, I do find it funny when he say he wasn't needed, because as much as that is true, the opposite also rings true. Those scenes are needed because, ultimately, they are serving a purpose. And in this case:

It establishes Tommy as one of the OG members of the 118, and it's a subtle reminder to the audience that he served under Bobby, and that he was a member of the firehouse before Buck was.

It is potentially a segway for the show to have Tommy talk about Bobby, and how he influenced his life. The audience is reminded that Bobby was in Tommy's life pre-harbour, and so, when Tommy talks about him in the future, they will not find it out of place.

My personal favorite... it kinda adds to the red string theory a bit. Because Tommy saves Bobby. Tommy, inadvertently, gives Bobby eight more years. Just like in Season 7 he helps give Bathena one more year together. If Tommy hadn't been there, if he had not saved Bobby... the 118 as we know it would not exist. It was one thing to just put him in the flashback, but to have him saving Bobby? That's a whole other thing

Now, something that I thought could be small foreshadowing, but could totally be not:

In the conversation between Maddie and Buck, we hear the typical tell each other you love them before it's too late. Now, I am aware this is something commonly said in this type of storylines, but... the focus to Buck and the fact that we're still dealing with Bucktommy not communicating well, and being in a kind of limbo... I think could be some small foreshadowing of what could come.

There is no one, factually, that Buck needs to tell he loves them, except Tommy. No one he doesn't know where he stands with anyone other than Tommy. It might result in nothing, but that line seemed a bit pointed. And the small focus on Buck seemed very pointed, actually.

Also, if I were Tim, I would be patting myself on the back and treating myself to a nice dinner, because holy. It's almost unbelievable how he's managed (unintentionally at that) to weave Tommy into the narrative. He's haunting it since the beginning of the goddamn show (though this was added later). Like. I find it hard to believe still.

(not complaining though)

[soliloquent-stark]

i just watched thunderbolts and here are some rambly thoughts (don't read if you expect incredibly nuanced takes. also, obviously, spoilers coming up):

i am saddened that for the first time in a while, i left the cinema feeling pretty negative after watching a mcu movie. i was so hyped to see this; people made it seem like it'll be so amazing, the promo was so over the top, the trailers were great, some people even said it was their favourite mcu movie in a long time (or ever) and that it rivaled catws (spoiler: it doesn't). and it's wild to me that captain america brave new world had way worse ratings, less hype, less promo (doesn't surprise me...) when to me it was a way more enjoyable movie. i am kinda baffled and confused.

yes, thunderbolts has good moments. yelena was quite wonderful, as expected, and there was a few funny moments, some emotional beats, a pretty decent attempt at exploring loneliness and mental health issues (not perfectly so, but what can we expect). the visual effects were cool, and i really liked the eeriness of the void (both the black shadows, and the void itself, the way going from room to room was depicted and going back into their memories, and especially seeing more of the red room. that was nice). that's... about it, i think?

i am a big bucky fan, that's true. so maybe i am biased in feeling disappointed with how he was written, but i am. i am not saying he should've been the main character, but i expected way more. really hot take here: his role could've been played by another character and the results would've been pretty much the same. ava brought specific skills to the table, so did yelena (and she brought her dad along), even john with his stupid military knowledge and the shield etc saved their ass in a way maybe someone else wouldn't have. at the very least, scenes were written with that in mind, to highlight their skills. it felt like they really had to work together to get out of that bunker, and they were pretty well defined. but after that? unless i am mistaken and don't remember, bucky hasn't done anything that only his specific set of skills or knowledge could've done. i am not saying that to shade him, i am saying it because they had bucky, sebastian stan at their disposal, and he was kinda bland and completely overshadowed by everyone else. i mean yeah the motorcycle scene was cool... but?? i am glad they at least didn't include him in the whole speech about people who need to redeem themselves, they probably anticipated the backlash on that, but otherwise it felt like they really disrespected his character and journey once more. and goofy bits aside (for example, them all, one by one, saving people, then together holding a rock up... like okay, sweet idea i guess, and clearly showing why the marketing was effective afterwards, but like... c'mon now. the same way they kept having val say her plans to her assistant as a way for us to understand what's going on. such lazy writing omg) all that aside, the plot was kinda flat and predictable, one hour in and all the events had already been showed in the trailer, and at no point did we really feel any mystery or had to wonder what the bad guy is up to or where the movie is headed. it's just wild to me that this movie has better ratings than brave new world like whattt (and i will get to sam in a second). also another bit of lazy writing was how quickly mel turned on val (just to then, of course, unturn when it was convenient for the plot) and just called bucky up to spill everything like c'monnn ok yeah he's charming but?? yet another moment where there wasn't any cool old school spying or hacking happening, they were just... fed information and they just showed up. this movie could've been an email ngl, with the way they fucked the pacing and spent so long on some bits and then completely rushed the ending. but yeah you have ava and bucky there and you give us nothingggg about their lives, just one dimensional all around; we found out more about what's happening in walker's life and his emotional state than bucky's — but of course they were gonna glaze over the woman of colour but also somehow the fan favourite popular character who's been in the franchise for over a decade and somehow keeps getting disrespected every project. ugh. and sebastian was kinda acting like he didn't wanna be there, maybe that's what happens when you're not acting alongside anthony, but he seemed bored and flat and i know he's an amazing actor and a great bucky but i don't know, it truly felt off. maybe it's the divorce, maybe in the half a year or whatever how long it's been since cabnw there's been an actual breakup between them because what the hell was with that energy...

i am sure there's more i am forgetting but now regarding the ending: what the fuck. okay yeah i expected them to form a team under a different name because of the stupid asterisk, but more in the direction of like, dark avengers or something. 'new avengers' is just a slap in the face to sam and the avengers' legacy (especially after bucky made a whole deal about how that shield is steve's legacy and how sam threw it away and all that stuff i don't wanna rehash but sam was in the right and now look who's not worried about messing up the legacy?) and THEY WENT WITH IT? WHY DID THEY GO WITH IT? why would a team of badass people who hate taking orders just... go with it. to have leverage over her? ok cool you're professional assassins you could make her disappear in a second. you could put her in jail in no time. how was she legally able to stand there and tell everyone she brought a way to protect america and suddenly it's all okay? they could've easily told everyone the danger was due to bob which was hear creation and that she really needs to be locked up?? yes i understand they're protecting him but like what the fuck how is she not at the very least impeached. or maybe she was but then WHY are they still a team fourteen months later? AND GOING AGAINST SAM. that is the biggest disrespect i could've imagined and i was shocked by that last scene. i love bucky so much. i love sam so much. i love sambucky so much. so my brain melted at the idea that they're still doing it without sam, calling themselves the new avengers, and then actually saying his name out loud and disrespecting him so badly. the ONLY TIME they acknowledge that there is a captain america, a non enhanced captain america who just protected everyone from the red hulk, in a movie full of supersoldiers, is when they complain about him. and bucky lets it happen?? and moreover, they make it seem like they fought (which i understand, i would also fight with him over this if i were sam??) and it just makes no sense. why would you do that? after tfatws, after framed photo in the office, after i love you buddy, we get no mention of him in the movie, no respect showed to him, and then bucky not defending him?? this is HELL this is the bad timeline and i know i should expect this from marvel but with the other movie being only from a few months ago i thought we established they're on good terms so i am just confused and betrayed and SAM DESERVES BETTER. (and surely deserves better than having people now call him names and completely dragging him for taking legal action against this bs. not to mention his legal action was merely a trademark... get tf out of here) bucky deserves better too in the way that what the fuck is he doing why is not retired or fighting by sam's side WHY IS HE IN CONGRESS that was still not fully discussed like?? what, to bring val down because she was experimenting on humans and he is against that? well um now you work for her like what?? also who voted him in how did any of that make sense and also the way pretty much none of his plot had anything to do with him being in congress. he could've been watching the hearing on tv. he could've snuck into the gala and talked to the assistant as a civilian. what was the purpose of him being in congress? or you're telling me he will continue to be, after all this mess, and there will be a point later on?? why is he putting up with any of it. besides the fact his hair looked amazing in that last scene and he looked like prince charming i have zero good things to say about that and i wish it never happened. god the more i think about it the more angry i get. also where are all the other avengers guysssss stand UP. sam pick up the phone network around and you'll have them rounded up within the week how are y'all letting this happen !!! ok rant over

edit to add: civil war and all THAT didn't happen just for the 'avengers' to led by a member of the government. not even the UN, or an ethical body of sorts, no, just ONE corrupted and awful CIA director. how the FUCK would bucky stand for that and how is that not a slap in the face to steve, sam, nat, and everyone else affected by the accords (and this is coming from a tony stan)

[steviebbboi]

For your celebration, I would like to make a request 💙

Steve Rogers. Soulmate AU. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

Go wild, hon!!! And congrats!! 🎉🎉

The Heart and the Head (Captain America/Steve Rogers x F!Vigilante!Reader)

Pairing: Steve Rogers/Captain America x F!RogueVigilante!Reader

W/C: 5.2k~

Prompt(s): Soulmate AU, "Are you fucking kidding me?"

Summary: Finding your soulmate was always a dream for other people. But certainly not for you and Steve. It’s too bad that fate had other plans.

A/N: Well, lads, and my special lad @justagirlinafandomworld - this is a long time comin'. This ask was sent by the lovely Yvette back in September for my 200-follower writing challenge. It only took the new year and 100 followers later - im so sorry. The writing muse really left my soul after publishing my challenge and it was just terrible timing. Hoping the cosmos will bless me with more energy to write as I love interacting with you all on here, feel so grateful to have a community on here, and also because I still love to write for our bb Steviee Rogers. Hope this won't disappoint too much! Yvette, thanks for sending in this ask and hoping all has been well with you, lovie~

*Soulmate AU where people who have soulmates develop their soulmate’s heart rate on the inside of their wrists. It’s a light gray color that just slightly glows and when you touch it, it can fade but eventually comes back. When they meet for the first time/find each other, the heart rate burns slightly and becomes a permanent tattoo on their wrist. Doesn’t fade but turns into a faded black tattoo. 

Warnings: 18+ due to explicit language, angsty, Reader has powers that are mildly descriptive, sorta cliff hangar-y-(ish) but can be considered complete. Mild violent fight scenes and descriptions of theft/policework/etc.

Steve hasn’t ever given too much stock on finding his soulmate. To be honest, he never had the time to truly think about it. 

He knew that it would be aimless to try and find ‘them’, wherever ‘they’ may be out there. 

Even before the serum’s transformation, Steve was committed to enlisting– to contribute to keeping his country safe. It wasn’t fair for him to put his soulmate in a position to wait for him, only to find that he likely would never return from a war that was dead set on taking away lives to give more lives a chance.

Even when he fell for Peggy, even though they both knew that they weren’t rightfully each other's' ‘other half,’ he thought that maybe his fears surrounding love would end with her. But ultimately, his fears still came true. She was kept waiting for 90 years only for him to return to her, not dead, but heartbreakingly unchanged– forced to level with an incompatibility that went beyond not sharing the same heartbeat. 

Even with this knowledge, Steve celebrated the privilege of having his soulmate’s heart rate glow on his wrist. Not many people would develop the mark – he was surprised to see it still beating strong too when he woke from the ice. The knowledge that he was meant to be in this modern era oddly satisfied his deep seeded curiosity about his soulmate, not enough to go and find ‘them’, but enough where he was admittedly comforted by the jagged lines still running past his humming veins.

Despite not seeking ‘them’ out, seeing that mark was the only thing that he felt that he had to grasp onto sometimes. It felt familiar and felt like home.

One brush across his wrist was enough for him to start his day but ‘they’ never preoccupied his thoughts for too long lest he wanted to bring himself a shot of angst in the beginning of his day. 

But he couldn’t help the stray thoughts that would come sometimes when the day would be too idle. What did ‘they’ look like? They say that your soulmate smells like the scents that attract you the most. Would ‘they’ smell like fresh ambrosia? The potency of a fresh summer day? These questions stalked Steve when the days ran long and the nights became darker by each hour. Suppressing them became harder the more that he carried his mantle as Captain America. 

Witnessing his team, feeling the camaraderie, even seeing Tony and Pepper just reminded him of what he was truly living for– he wanted to serve and protect. He just never gave thought about himself, or to consider building his own life personally until after the blip. As everyone frantically looked for others and found them again, he realized the importance of being someone other than Captain America���of being important to someone. His soulmate.

But how could he place his soulmate into a position to cope with the fact that he’s not just Steve Rogers.

“Captain Rogers, an alert has just been registered within the parameters that you’ve previously requested.” The dulcet tones of FRIDAY’s Irish brogue interrupted Steve’s daydreaming.

Steve’s heart thundered in his chest in anticipation, “Thank you, FRIDAY.” More alert than ever, he pressed a few keys on his desktop to pull up a live feed of one other thing that seemed to preoccupy his mind lately. 

One thing that did come out of the Accords was that they’ve learned to finally listen. More than ever, Steve understood how important the Avengers needed to be mindful of reparations after their dangerous missions. Civil liberties should include repairing what was ruptured, and so, more efforts have gone into not only world-saving missions but also local crimes. 

There was a new vigilante on scene– every time that he’s sent an agent to apprehend said Enhanced, they seem to always slip right through their fingers. 

Until today.

Steve watched the masked vigilante calmly center themselves in the middle of the armed room – and with a gallant wave, the contents of the room that once sparkled expensive jewels and gems vanished leaving stark, blank empty display shelves. 

The robber’s face flashing a grainy smirk through the lens of the video, with one last wave of their hand, they disappear from view as if they were never even there. 

Watching the feed one more time, Steve couldn’t help but release his own smaller smirk at witnessing the thief in the act once more. FRIDAY promptly pulled up news headlines next to the feed to reveal in huge bold font:

“Brooklyn’s ‘Heart’ Makes Its Mark: Stolen Gems Become Jewels for the Local Community”

The Heart of Brooklyn. Steve had to hand it ‘em – it's not a bad name for the local hero. Certainly wouldn’t have minded one of those kinds of folks back in his day, could have saved him from getting beaten on so often.

Steve didn’t admonish ‘vigilantes’ as much as long as they carried on to do the right thing. However, the UN doesn’t seem to share that opinion – especially given the Accords. A stipulation that Steve still hadn’t had the time to fully process how he felt about it – this ‘Heart’ person committed crimes to benefit the people around them. The ‘Heart’ protected the people while he protected the world. How could he suddenly and justly prosecute when he was just like them once upon a time? 

If he were being honest, Steve held admiration for the vigilante. It didn’t seem like much would be getting in the way of their agenda to bring about their own sense of justice. 

Steve sighed as he looked at the official order of arrest for the ‘Heart’ signed and decreed by the state, along with the federal official government seal. A resolve settled in his chest as he did his best to put his unsettled feelings to the side to make space for Captain America. The ‘First Avenger’ who is sent to ultimately carry out and enforce these set of agendas that never seemed to benefit anyone else but the world. 

Though, as he geared up later that afternoon to investigate a solid lead, the admiration for this local hero didn’t seem to wane. 

Beads of sweat seemed porous as the anxiety-ridden man paced a few feet behind you before coming in close. His destabilizing emotions felt palpable despite the internal processing. The older man did a poor job of concealing his nerves, automatically putting you a bit on edge.

“Seriously, we need to move! It’s been too long– the police are on their way!” 

“Oookay, relax, hotshot. I’ve got some scatters in place to lead them in a tizzy for awhile, alright? Just keep an eye on the door fo’me.” You said with a forcibly placating tone that obviously had no effect on the semi-masked man behind you. 

You tried to work jobs on your own – it was better that way. Unfortunately, the prospects of this current lead led you to hire the most green man in NYC (as green as a thief could be) – but the score was too good to pass up. Thinking of what, who, and where this money could go was too high of a risk to lose.

Schematics of the building forced you to need a team to watch your six as you tried your hand at cracking the safe. But the poor guy’s nervous rambling and anxious pacing made it so hard for you to focus - you were spending more time calming the man more than getting the job done. 

“I’m telling ya, Heart - I think they’re onto us! We need to leave this place before we get caught.” The heat of the man’s breath hit the back of your ear from where you were kneeling. His rattling nerves are practically audible and steaming off of his looming figure, frustration fueled through you with an annoyed eye-roll.

“Listen, Mattie. Mike told me that you were good and that you were the one who wanted to come on this one. You need to calm down, buck up, and do what I need you to do- which is stand over there, keep watch and shut your mouth. Can ya do that?” Pure irritation was the only thing being emoted now in your command.

Mattie released a reluctant sigh as he petulantly stomped back towards his original position to face the windows, finally quiet for once since the entire time that they had reached the location.

“Thank you.” A reverent breath couldn’t help but escape your mouth at the newfound relief in the sudden, yet much needed, quiet. 

You were only a few more notches until you would be inside. When you felt the weight of the door give, your lips curved upwards in victory. Tilting the handle, you opened the steel opening…to reveal nothing inside of the safe. 

“What the fuck?!” Your thoughts were intrusive and scrambled as your mind tried to process the emptiness in front of you. You were so confused, the intel that you had seemed so solid! Unless…

Your whole body tensed as you stiffly glanced behind you to see Matt, who hadn’t noticed the newfound tension– too preoccupied with his own. He resumed his pacing and was anxiously looking out the window with angsty glances here and there. 

Turning back to the empty safe, you mutedly closed the heavy door as quietly as you could before calmly standing up from your posed position. 

“Remind me, ‘Mattie’ – what’s the color of the day?” Stoicism and a cold fury radiated off of you in waves, making the man across from you sweat profusely. His face turned pale as he responded dumbly, “Pur–uhm, huh?”

The pallid man’s answer infuriated you even more as your theory just became confirmed. You knew that the cops usually gave each other a code to indicate their undercover status - this guy must be so (ironically) green that he basically gave it away with his anxious pacing and his near-answer. 

A fierce growl left your snarled lips, “This is a fucking set-up!” Gathering your duffle in a rushed frenzy, you turned to the revealed, fumbling cop to state, “Tell ‘Mike’ or whoever you actually report to that we’re through, Officer.” 

The undercover mess was speed talking his excuses at you as you continued packing your duffle to get out of there when all of a sudden, tear gas canisters splintered through the glass windows. The shards sprinkled everywhere around you as you attempted to flinch away from the shattered pieces. 

Quickly crouching down behind a large cabinet, you could distantly see a blur of black tactical uniforms surrounding the darkened warehouse. Trying to control your breathing, you muffled a surprised shriek from hearing the distinctive multiple shouts, “POLICE! FREEZE NOW!” 

Your mind was in a frenzy but your body was in a frozen state, until it forcibly stumbled away from you as another canister landed in front of your feet. Releasing a loud curse, you panicked and ran into view. Ignoring the spearing voices shouting different commands, you gave a sharp wave of your hand, coughing up a lung from all the smoke invading your system but achieved your goal by vanishing from their naked view.

Although you had ensured your invisibility, you didn’t account for all of the smoke that was being inhaled, causing your coughing fit to exponentially expand. You also didn’t account for the glass that was suddenly in your face, successfully blinding you as you protected your face from the sudden crash. The brashed cuts of glass caused by the crash landing of something, or rather, someone that you would never have expected to see in the flesh: Captain America.

Attempting to muffle your coughs once more, the visual clarity of the renowned Avenger was hard to miss. His dark blue stealth suit on display and the States stripes in all of its glory had you gobsmacked with your mind running rampant once more.

You didn’t realize that your recent…behaviors would’ve ever caught the attention of someone so high up. The Accords were criminalizing all and any Enhanced beings, but you weren’t hurting anyone! The communities deserve more than what they’re receiving from state and federal governments. There wasn’t enough money, food – people needed help. 

For some reason, as you looked at Captain America, the hero that stood for the hearts and wellbeing of others, who stood there scanning the room for his enemy, for you– the hero hunting down those who he swore to protect– a sudden rush of hot indignation filled your entire body. 

How dare he stand there? How dare he use his gifts to triumph over the needs of others? How dare he?

A harsh snarl left your lips as your body reacted first, any sense or voice of reason leaving your mind. Your feet were suddenly rushing over to the super soldier, who heard your exclamation as soon as it left your mouth. Steve’s preparedness in your capture heightened his other senses as he listened for your rushing footsteps towards him. 

His shield at the ready, and with the smoke in the air aiding his instincts, he looked out for the sudden brush of fog and lept to action in blocking a sudden thunderous blow to his face. In the midst of throwing a vicious punch, ignoring the blinding pain to your fist from the hard metal’s impact, shock settled on your face on how easy it was for him to dodge your advances- but it didn’t stop you. Blind anger fueled in your veins and energy surged through you once more.

You and Steve proceeded to engage in a dangerous dance, with your relentless energy and forceful strikes attempting to land on his physical body. Steve was doing a careful job of listening to the brush of air as you attempted another punch, being attentive to the electric charge that only seems to be apparent when in close proximity with another human being, the swoosh of moving white fog, heavy landing steps of your physical presence. 

It became clear that despite you being invisible, your current environment was destined to fail you. Your muscles ached in pain as your breathing became heavier, exhausted panting leaving you even more breathless. After one more lousy and tired punch, Steve’s mindful gaze attested a faint outline of a physical body heightened by the fading smoke in the room. With a determined lock of his jaw, Steve quickly crouched down to land a quick swipe at your legs. 

Not expecting the swift move, you yelped in pain as his strong boots connected with your ankles. It was as if you were in slow motion with the way that you landed on your back. Muscles screaming in pain with a sharp ache on the back of your head pulsing in agony. Strength was distancing itself slowly but surely as your vision started fading. 

Laying flat on the floor, all you could make out was Steve’s bouldering figure standing over you, and all that left your mouth was a tormented whisper, “Traitor.”

As you passed out, whether from the pain or fatigue from your fighting blows, Steve only furrowed his brows in confusion from hearing your last words. All he knew was that his curiosity for you grew larger as he finally met the Heart of Brooklyn.

Both of you also neglected to pay attention to a telling zap that ran throughout both of your forms the moment that Steve’s body collided with yours. It’s easy to chalk it up to the familiar aches and pains of a fight.

Spoiler alert: it wasn’t. 

You came to in the quinjet, the flying saucer already up in the air with the way that you fumbled slightly on the metal bench. Blearily, you looked down to take in the feelings of your arms across your chest and your fists being swaddled in strong, metallic cuffs. The silver wristlets looked like they were made for something stronger than you, that’s for sure. But – they did the trick. With these cuffs on, you weren’t able to access your powers. With another flick of your wrist, you could’ve been invisible from peering eyes and out of these cuffs in a flash.

“Just remain calm, Heart, and there shouldn’t be any issues.” A deep-baritone voice cut through the frenzy of observations running through your mind. 

Blinking fiercely through the blurriness of fatigue, your eyes centered on the domineering force that was Captain Steve Rogers. The fury of the past day started to thunder the looming clouds that were your thoughts – feeling stupid is all you could center your anger into. 

You felt stupid that you allowed greenies to intervene in today’s mission. You felt stupid that you even trusted the people who decided to come along under the guise of ‘’the cause’’. And, you felt stupid that you even thought that you could take on Captain fucking America in his tight spandex outfit. His limb features and muscular figure were cut like no other. It became clear to you that images of the First Avenger could not compare nor embody the pure visceral power that this dude emotes in person. 

Sitting tall and straight, his helmet emphasized his determined blue eyes as they peered over your rigid position only to flit over the jet in wariness. It was like he was waiting for something else to happen with you on the plane, always monitoring.

You couldn’t help the derisive scoff that flew from your mouth, “The forever stiff and vigilant soldier for Big Brother, huh? Psh, pathetic.”

Your comment seemed to break his hard exterior as a tiny glint of– what seemed to be guilt, shined over his cerulean blue eyes. The glint disappeared though as soon as it came in, “Those are some abilities you got there. What else can you do?” The question seemed non-objective, though the curious tilt in his voice made the hint of warning glaze over his voice all the same.

Meeting his warning with your own blaze, you leaned in to whisper tauntingly, “I guess you’ll just have to find out.”

After hours of interrogation from countless federal agents, you were able to exasperate the last one with a long exalted sigh of frustration and the metal door slammed after their departure from the cold, steeled room. 

Your hands were still bound together uncomfortably so that your fingers interlocked together, creating the inability for you to snap out of your cuffs. Their analytics team detailed that a wave of your hand is one of the triggers to your abilities…giving you information that they don’t seem to be aware of all of your abilities. And you’d like to keep it that way. 

Short of whistling and popping noises with your lips out of boredom, the agency seemed to have given up and have finally sent in the big guns.

Ardently groaning your frustration, “UGH - finally! Captain Rogers, we meet once more. I guess your agents have finally had enough of my poor rendition of Uptown Girl till they put me back onto your plate, huh?”

Just wearing his suit, shield and helmet out of sight, the super soldier still embraced intimidation within itself by just baring his broad shoulders out a bit more as he stood before you. A beige manila folder in his grip as he clasped the belt around his waist. 

Trying not to look at the area south of his belt, you distractedly pointed it out, “That looks ominous.” 

A slight smirk fell on his pink lips, “It’s meant to be. You got some heart, kid.” 

You couldn’t help the weathered chuckle that erupted from your throat, “Wow, you really are as old as they say, huh ‘Cap’?” 

Blatantly ignoring your jab, Steve released a resounding sigh as he took the empty metal seat across from you. Setting the folder down with a sharp slap, he proceeded to read out your file. 

“What we know so far is your alias being measured by the media as, “the Heart”. Real name- unknown. From what our intelligence could gather, you’re an Enhanced with tactile and perception control—“ 

“Argh— blah, blah, blah, blah,” you interrupted with an exasperated roll of your eyes, “Just give it to me straight, Captain, what am I looking at?” 

If Steve seemed perturbed by your bluntness, he didn’t show it. Only gave you a knowing and understanding look with his eyes, “You may not be looking at anything if you’d just be honest with me. Drop the snark for once and tell me what you want. The Accords are here to protect not just others, but as well as you. I can’t help you do that if you’re hiding underneath all of the smoke and dagger.” 

A lump formed in your throat from how compassionate he sounded. If he was being sincere, it was convincing enough to bring a small glisten of tears in your eyes (not that you’d ever let them fall). 

With a clenched jaw and a speculative squint, you gazed back at Steve and met his compassion with curiosity. “Why would you want to help me?” 

Steve gave you another tired and soft smile, “Why wouldn’t I help you?” 

The barriers inside that were locked and solid lowered just a bit at the genuine tone to his voice. You couldn’t help but notice the softening around his eyes, or the long eye lashes that enhanced his stern looking features. But his smile, it felt so open. Suffice to say, it wasn’t what you were expecting from the super soldier that you criticized as a defector. 

Feeling your own features soften, your tense posture relaxed unconsciously as you leaned back into the discomfort of the metal chair. The cold parts of your cuff seemed to seep into your skin as you accepted this moment for what it is: a truce. 

Steve seemed to catch the moment your guard went down and mirrored your physical ease by leaning back into his own chair. Soft smile and gentle eyes still intact as he cut into the retired silence, “So, all cards on the table. What can I help you with?” 

Looking back into his soft gaze, you suddenly felt the air stifle around you and could barely keep eye contact with the man. Your voice was quiet as you spoke, “I only want to help people. While the Avengers are saving the world, there’s barely anyone around to help the world also save itself. Neighborhoods, communities— people are suffering.” Anger fueled through you as your words haunted the steel room, “People are going hungry and no one is doing anything about it. I got sick of waiting around for someone to do something— so I did instead.” 

A reverence caught in your gaze as you felt your heckles arise, “I’ve only done what was right. If I could do something with what I have, then maybe, I can restore some good into the world.” 

All the while, Steve hadn’t moved a muscle. Just silently listening and taking in your intentions and reasons for your “considered crimes”. There was something about the anger and rage that disguised something that Steve was all too familiar with— powerlessness. 

He understood what it felt like to be without resources. Memories flooded his mind of moments before the war, gaining food scraps from Bucky’s family as he could barely make dinner for the day. He remembered how it felt for his stomach to make unnatural noises of hunger and to feel a desperation for change. 

Powerlessness leads to motivation. To change. He knew it was possible— but he hasn’t seen it for some time, he realized. 

Until you. 

A stark realization embodied him as he took in your ambitious gaze and clenched jaw. A fierce embodiment of someone who understood their own capabilities and the willingness to do something good with it. In the most non-egocentric way, Steve saw himself in you. Not the broader back soldier, but the scrawny kid from Brooklyn who enjoyed stencils and baseball. He saw the version of himself that he had just now found again, through you. 

Cutting through the thick silence, each of your brains processing the sudden change in air, something seemed to resonate and click with Steve the minute that his eyes met yours once more. 

With a determined nod, he stood up and took out a small metallic pencil-shaped device and leaned forward to uncuff you. You looked at him in confusion and weariness as you felt the cuffs pressure release and you grip your wrists with a protective hiss. Rubbing the insides for comfort, you failed to notice the zap feeling once again as you touched your mark- chalking it up to the cuff release (again— spoiler alert: it definitely wasn’t that either). 

“Are you sure you won’t regret doing that?” You asked deliberatively. Steve only looked down at you with heavy silence. Meeting his gaze hesitantly, you were met with an instantaneous warmth that felt so jarring that your own eyes widened in surprise. His eyes were darkened with a certain cloud of suspicion and unknowing in the last few hours – but right now, it was colored with a vibrant hue of faith, as if he could see right through you. 

Before you could mask it, you felt your cheeks redden as you flushed under his familiar sight. You couldn’t deny that the super soldier was gorgeous…and tall..and had long eyelashes –

“Get up.” Steve interrupted your intrusive thoughts with a firm command. 

“And go where?” Getting up slowly, you felt weirdly nervous about leaving the metal-boxed room. The room that was your prison had felt strangely comforting. Under this new territory with Steve, you suddenly felt that the outside world was something new, and that you had to be ready to explore. 

As if sensing your newfound fear, Steve sent an easy going smile your way that you could only describe as a boyish grin.

“To go do some good.”

You couldn’t describe it but your entire body just felt off. You figure it must have been those cuffs that they put on you - maybe some weird Stark tech. Walking down the sleek hallways to the large gymnasium, you did your best to put your odd body aches to the side and reflected upon the past week. 

Lo and behold, the moment that you left the room, you were met with the rest of the Avengers and a welcome package to the team. You initially rejected it (not that they really let you - it was either join or go swimming with the sharks at the Raft) but Steve insisted that you had potential to grow - to continue your work, to help others and help the local communities that needed it. He mentioned how you were right – the Avengers couldn’t be everywhere. They needed people on hand, on the ground to help fight the good fight where they couldn’t.

The prospects of being an Avenger certainly incentivized you. You never thought you’d be able to live up to its name, but realized that if Steve was able to see something in you that you couldn’t, it may be worth a shot. As much as you despised him when you were off the radar, there was something that cleared in your vision and you quickly were able to learn that the team certainly didn’t unanimously agree with the dynamics of the Accords. You also learned that Steve did his best to keep everyone together, and that he also genuinely just wanted to help. 

Reluctantly, you realized - you admired him.

There was something about Steve that you found honorable. Was he handsome? Sure. Muscle-y? Sure. Light blue eyes that you could drown in? Perhaps. But it wasn’t just his looks that drew you in. The energy felt like something deeper and more ingrained…you respected him. And his capacity to understand that underneath it all, people were just people, and that we need each other. 

You’d like to think you could be like him some day. Or be on top of him, or under him…– 

‘’Stop that!’’ The parts of you that felt attracted to Steve certainly became louder as you spent more time with Steve. There was just something about him that you couldn’t seem to just put away. 

You’ve been training with the team, mostly Natasha, to become more equipped in hand to hand combat. Today, you were pleasantly surprised by the screens that greeted you at the gym. Natasha waved over to you and gestured you over with a curious smirk. 

“Hey!” Flushed from being lost in your thoughts, you stood next to Natasha reverently while staring at the computer screens in front of you. “What’s all this?”

“Penny for your thoughts, Ghost?” Natasha’s grin was unfaltering as she cued in your new nickname. Ghostface - slipped right out of Stark’s smug mouth after watching the footage of some of your enhanced abilities. Ever since then, the team has taken a liking to the codename. 

Rolling your eyes good-naturedly, you replied dryly, “Oh - the infamous Black Widow is asking me a question - your interrogation skills are quite unmatched. But I think I’ll keep my thoughts to myself.” 

Letting out a small chuckle, she turned back towards the screen and nodded for your attention, “I wanted you to take another look at the footage from the warehouse–,”

“Ughhh, do I have to? Why are you rubbing it in my face? I get it - Steve is way better at hand to hand combat but to fair – “ you interrupted childishly only for her to swat her hand in your face to disturb your complaints. “Relax, that’s not why. I want you to analyze your footwork in comparison to some of the skills that we’re learning right now. I want you to point out anything different about your moves.”

Sighing petulantly, you crossed your arms and proceeded to watch the grainy camera footage from Steve’s suit. After a few minutes of watching Steve kick your ass, you pointed out a few steps that you felt that you can do differently now. Natasha seemed to agree and continued to encourage you to point something out, but this time in your upper body movement. After a few more minutes of silence, you looked closer at your arms and noticed something peculiar right as Steve basically tripped you.

Brows furrowed in confusion, you gestured to the video once more and asked Natasha to go back a few seconds. It was hard to see, but you could see the sliver of your wrist exposed in the video. The quality wasn’t the best, despite the Stark tech, as Steve was moving pretty fast. 

Your heart stuttered as your brain attempted to process what you were seeing on the screen. Something that clarifies the ‘’off’’ feeling from the past few days, something that made sense of the dysregulation in your body– without thinking, you shoved Natasha’s bent form from the controllers and proceeded to go back and forth between seconds in the footage.

Natasha only frowned in confusion from the move and allowed her eyes to match your suddenly focused gaze. What she saw made her eyes widen in slight surprise. 

The height of both of your fixations was the slight glow of your soulmate mark on your wrist suddenly fading as Steve’s legs intercepted yours. Although faint, the mark’s glow disappearing from your wrist was too clear to dismiss as simply the trick of the light. 

Almost in fascination, you felt your body disconnect from yours as you found yourself unable to deny what you were seeing. How did you not notice it before? 

Steve Rogers was your soulmate. 

The following words escaped before you could even process them: “Are you fucking kidding me?” 

A/N: DON'T HATE ME! lol, I thought that I'd do a different spin on the Soulmates!AU where Reader is kinda left with this surprise. Wonder how Steve noticed his mark also fading away 👀 figured this would leave enough room to continue this universe if we did enjoy it. Ngl, not the biggest fan of this work -- I'm sure it needs some editing but tbh, I didn't wanna leave y'all hanging anymore! It's been too long since its been asked and I wanted to be able to publish it so it can finally be read! Regardless, hope you enjoyed it a bit and please leave your thoughts, lads <3 ta, for now.

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[exhaustedpirate]

kiss prompt: bucktommy 9 + 41 (combined)

you sneaky genius hehe #9 - in public #41 - bc the world is saved (hmm, some 8x17/8x18 spec? wishful thinking?)

The last ambulance's door closes. It feels like all the first responders still left at the scene finally take a breath.

The building is in ruins, there is dust still covering the air, the smell of blood, the echo of screams and cries for help still in their ears. But they breathe, they take a second.

Tommy looks around him.

His side twinges, his shoulder stretches painfully. He'd fallen down to the basement of one of the building's while trying to help a teenager out of there. Chimney got him out, Hen patched his side up and tossed him an ice pack for his shoulder. There wasn't much time, really.

Tommy sees him.

He had been ignoring that crippling fear in the back of his head of seeing Evan get hurt, get lost...die. He had been ignoring it so he could do his job, the job the people needed them to do.

Seeing him walking towards him brings all those fears crashing back.

Evan could have gotten hurt, Evan could have gotten lost.

Evan could have died.

They hadn't talked yet. Not after the lab, not before the funeral, not after it, not in the couple of weeks that had passed until this methane water disaster hit LA.

They hadn't talked yet.

They could have never gotten to talk again.

He needs to be brave. Needs to talk.

Tommy tries to get his wits about him as Evan reaches him. He needs his wits if he's gonna ask Evan to get back together, to confess how much he loves him, how much he missed him. To try again.

He tries. "Evan-"

He tries. Evan has other plans.

With a hand on the back of Tommy's head, Evan pulls him into a fierce kiss, reminiscent of the kiss they shared in the hospital lobby on the day of Chimney and Maddie's wedding.

Reminiscent but not the same.

There is desperation now where there was awe. There is relief now where there was surprise. There is 6 months of being together where there was a couple of weeks.

He feels his heart stitching back together.

They pull away to breathe, their foreheads pressed together. They take a breath, two. Evan's hand on his side avoids his injury and he wonders faintly how he knows. His hands grasp onto Evan's arms, wanting to keep him there. Another breath.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry."

They speak at once and let out a humoured exhale, noses brushing one another. His heart is put back together with a finishing stitch.

"It's about damn time!"

They pull completely away at Hen's loud teasing comment, looking back to see the rest of their teams watching them. Tommy feels his cheeks warm up but smiles at the way Evan's forehead lays on his collarbone, hiding.

"Yeah, yeah, get back to work." Tommy waves them away.

"We're not the one being unprofessional." Lucy teases back.

"Alright, alright," Evan calls out laughingly, raising his head. "Go away!"

The others' taunts are ignored with the way Evan's eyes find his, so shiny and happy and god, he l-

"I love you."

It's a whisper, sudden and surprising from the way Evan's eyes widen and he bites his lip. Tommy's heart pounds in his chest, leave it up to Evan to take the steps that Tommy is terrified of.

But the fear doesn't come. Not anymore.

"I love you too." And Evan's eyes are shinier, happier and god- "I love you too, so much."

It's barely a kiss from the way they are smiling, mostly teeth but he isn't complaining. No. Never. Even when the others' taunts get louder, almost harder to ignore. Almost.

"We'll talk later?" Evan's teeth find his bottom lip again. Despite the confession, there is still fear.

"We'll talk later." He confirms with a nod.

"Good," And his smile is bright. He missed his smiles. "We do have to be professional now."

It's a smacking kiss now, only so he can hear the way Evan laughs. He succeeds.

It's very easy to ignore the others with Evan's laughter in his ears.

[sweetvoidstuff]

Just a Normal Night

Jungkook x Reader I Modern AU I Chance Encounter I Fluff I Romance

Summary: What begins as a chance encounter turns memorable when you help Jeon fucking Jungkook during an unexpected and chaotic night. Jungkook finds himself lingering in you world—sharing drinks, laughter, and lighthearted moments with your friends that feel more real than anything he’s known lately.

Word Count: 25K

Masterlist

A/N: Just a quick note on formatting: Bold text is used for dialogue spoken in Korean. Italic text represents internal thoughts or feelings. Normal text is used for dialogue spoken in English.

I hope this helps make things easier to follow while reading. Thanks so much for giving my story a chance!

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Jungkook had only wanted one thing tonight: a normal dinner. No hushed whispers trailing after him, no fans sneaking photos behind raised menus, no tight, tense feeling that he had to be ready to bolt at any second. Just one simple meal — that was all he was asking for.

Sometimes, he got lucky. Tonight, it seemed, luck wasn’t on his side.

He had chosen the place carefully: a traditional Korean restaurant tucked on a quieter street, not far from his hotel. It looked promising — cozy, with soft lighting and a small, not on any main roads. He figured he could at least have the comfort of ordering in his own language without fumbling through English. He'd even gone the extra mile to cover his hand tattoos, knowing how easily they gave him away. While he loved them, they were like a neon sign flashing BTS to anyone who glanced too closely.

At first, everything seemed fine. He ordered quickly and quietly, keeping his head down, then slipped off to the bathroom before his food could arrived. That was when things took a turn. On his way back to his table, two young women — early twenties, maybe — caught sight of him. He heard it before he fully understood it: a rush of excited chatter, the words tumbling out too fast. Still, a few things were unmistakable — his name. BTS. His stomach dropped.

Damn it.

He could already see it in their eyes — the disbelief, the beginning of hysteria, the desperate reach for phones. If he didn’t move fast, he’d have a scene on his hands. An entire evening ruined. Jungkook tensed, scanning for the fastest way out without making things worse. He adjusted the cap pulled low over his eyes, preparing to dodge past them—when suddenly, a hand landed firmly on his shoulder.

"Yah, Eun-woo," a voice said, warm and a little impatient. "You really left us sitting there alone forever?"

He froze. Eun-woo? Before he could react, a figure slipped smoothly between him and the two girls — you, stepping up like you belonged by his side. You didn’t even look at the strangers. Instead, you gave Jungkook an exasperated, playful glance, your hand still steady on his shoulder. "Come on, sit down. You’re not getting out of paying for the appetizer again."

The girls faltered. Confusion flickered across their faces. Jungkook, wide-eyed, caught the brief flash of uncertainty in their eyes — was he really Jungkook? Was this just some random guy who really looked like him?

Across the room, just minutes earlier, you had been minding your own business — more or less.

"Oh my god. Guys, don’t look — but I think my screensaver just walked in," you hissed across the table, eyes wide. Pascal barely looked up from his beer, snorting. "Ha! You say that about every hot Asian guy."

"No, listen," you insisted, trying not to move your head as you watched Jeon Jungkook slide into a booth like it was the most casual thing in the world. "I'm serious. I’m pretty sure that's the real one."

Pascal, skeptical but willing to humor you, turned slowly to peek. "The one with the cap?" You nodded, a little too quickly. Pascal grinned. "You wanna go over there? Get an autograph, a picture, maybe his firstborn child while you’re at it?"

"Shut the fuck up!" you hissed, smacking his arm lightly. "I'm not walking over there. He's human. He deserves to eat in peace — just like we do."

You stabbed at the grill, throwing a little more bulgogi onto the sizzling surface, but your eyes kept sneaking glances at Jeon fucking Jungkook sitting a few tables away, as casual as if he weasn’t the biggest star in the world. Pascal and Flora, your two best friends, were used to your dramatics — Flora being the towering but gentle giant of the group, and Pascal the sassy, slightly taller than you, but never impolite energy bomb.

"You’re really not gonna go over?" Flora asked, his deep voice low and amused.

"I want to," you admitted through gritted teeth, "but it’d just be...awkward."

"Why? You’ve been learning Korean with Eumi for months," Pascal chimed in. "You two can actually have conversations now. She said you were good. He'd understand you."

"Not the point!" you groaned, burying your face in your hands.

You peeked again just in time to see Jungkook stand up, making his way toward the back where the bathrooms were. Not long after, you heard the unmistakable chatter of two girls at a nearby table — rapid-fire excitement, the words BTS and Jungkook tumbling out clearly. You tensed.

Shit

You straightened up just as Jungkook reappeared, walking back from the bathroom — tense, shoulders slightly hunched, eyes flicking nervously as the two girls went to him chattering animatedly and making hearth eyes at him. He immediately looked tense and ready to bolt. You didn’t waste another second. You shot a quick look at Pascal and Flora.

"I’m gonna need you to fake it," you muttered under your breath, leaning in. "Pretend Jungkook’s part of our group."

Both of them froze for a second, then nodded sharply, understanding immediately — the chatter from the other table had tipped them off too. You grabbed Dong, your favorite waiter, as he passed by with a tray.

"Hey, can you bring whatever that guy ordered to our table if he sits with us?" you asked in a low voice, flashing your most pleading smile. Dong, ever the professional but also a secret gossip lover, glanced at Jungkook and then back at you. Without missing a beat, he nodded. "Got it."

Relieved, you made yourself ready to intervene, moving casually into his path like it was the most natural thing in the world. As you closed the distance and saw his shoulders with how close the girls approached, you acted on pure impulse — stepping up beside him, placing your hand firmly on his shoulder, and saying, loud enough for the girls to hear:

"Yah, Eun-woo, you really left us sitting there alone forever?" You gave him a playful, exasperated glance, ignoring the stunned look in his eyes. "You’re not getting out of paying for the appetizers again," you said, tugging lightly at his jacket like you'd done it a hundred times before.

The girls looked stunned for a second before one blurted out, "Wait—what are you doing with Jungkook?!" You let out a soft, easy laugh, glancing between them and Jungkook — well, Eun-woo for now.

"Jungkook?" you repeated, shaking your head fondly. "Ahh, you must be mistaken. Happens all the time. He does look a lot like him, right?" You gave a little laugh, warm and natural, and Jungkook — though still looking like a deer in headlights — caught the drift.

You quickly switched to Korean, low and hurried: "You looked uncomfortable. I help."

Your Korean wasn't perfect, but it was enough. Jungkook’s eyes widened, surprised, then softened with instant understanding. He nodded once — subtle, grateful. Unfortunately, the girls weren’t ready to let it go.

"Oh my god, you speak Korean?!" one squealed, inching closer. "Please tell him we’re his biggest fans!"

You turned back to them, switching back to English with the kind of casual patience that comes from telling a lie you’ve told a hundred times. "Sorry, but he really isn’t Jungkook," you said kindly. "You’re actually like the third group of people during his student exchange who think that."

You grinned in a way that invited them to laugh about it too — to feel a little silly, but not judged. For a moment, they wavered. But then one of them pointed sharply, "Yeah, sure. Look at his lip ring and his eyebrow piercing! It’s totally him!"

You could feel Jungkook tense up beside you, his body rigid, caught like an animal about to bolt. The girls were getting too close, practically in his personal space now. You stepped firmly between them and him, hands up in a calming, almost scolding gesture.

"Guys, guys," you said in a low, mock-conspiratorial voice. "I get it. It’s spooky, right? Crazy look-alike level. Even I freaked the first time."

You leaned in slightly, dropping your voice even more like you were sharing a juicy secret. "But trust me. If he were really Jungkook, he would have..." You grabbed his left hand gently, flipping it palm-up to show them his knuckles. Well it was his hand without tattoos. You hoped the girls didn’t know that.

"See? No tattoos," you said smoothly, smiling wide. "Eun-woo just likes to dress edgy sometimes. Doesn’t make him a K-pop idol.", trying to bluff your way through it. You didn’t really have any other way to try and convince them otherwise.

But the girls weren't buying it. "Yeah, right!" one of them snapped, jabbing a finger toward his hand. "On his left he wouldn’t have tattoos!"

Jungkook, still tense and quiet beside you, picked up enough of the fast English chatter to realize the situation was slipping. He glanced down at his own hand — the one you were still holding loosely — and seemed to understand instantly what was happening. Before you could stammer out some wild excuse —Jungkook moved.

He raised his other hand casually, briefly turning it up, then back down again, as if dismissing the whole thing. A quick, confident gesture — Look. Nothing there. You're imagining it. And because it was so natural, so matter-of-fact, the girls hesitated. Having showed them both his hands were tattoo free, for them to see, but not long enough to see one was covered in make-up.

You jumped right back in, "Trust me, we’ve been through this before. Poor guy can’t even go to a grocery store without someone asking for a selfie." You laughed like it was the most ridiculous thing in the world. Like it was all just a funny misunderstanding.

And finally — finally — the girls started to lose steam. They muttered something to each other, still suspicious, but not brave enough to cause a bigger scene.

"I mean, think about it," you added, tilting your head playfully. "If the Jungkook really came here, don’t you think there’d be like...bodyguards? Cameras?"

The girls exchanged a glance, suddenly unsure, their momentum stalling. You caught Jungkook’s eye and tilted your head slightly toward your table, (where Pascal was calling from, what took you so long) — Move now.

Jungkook blinked, then — catching on fast — nodded. You casually gripped his jacket and steered him away. Jungkook leaned in just slightly, his voice low and warm near your ear: "Thank you," he murmured in Korean.

You straightened, heart hammering hard. You hadn’t realized until now just how close you’d gotten to him. How much his presence seemed to settle over you like a heavy, comforting blanket. Only once you made it safely back to your friends, your heart pounding in your chest, did you let go of his jacket, sliding into your seat like nothing had happened.

You leaned in a little, keeping your voice low and soft so it wouldn't carry. "I’m sorry if I overstepped," you said in careful Korean, your nerves making you speak slower than usual. "You just looked... really uncomfortable. I thought maybe I could help."

Jungkook blinked at you — slow, processing — like he wasn't quite sure how he'd ended up here, surrounded by strangers who weren't trying to mob him. You rushed to add, "If you want to leave, you totally can. But..." You hesitated, glancing toward the girls. They were still peeking over, whispering behind their hands, but they didn’t seem nearly as sure of themselves anymore.

Jungkook followed your glance — having to lean slightly to the side around Flora’s massive frame to even see them. You had, very intentionally, placed him right beside Flora — your towering, gentle-giant of a friend — blocking most of the view and shielding Jungkook from wandering eyes. Meanwhile, Pascal, unfazed as always, continued grilling meat like nothing dramatic had just happened. With casual flair, he plopped a few sizzling slices onto Jungkook’s plate too, playing the part of a friend just sharing food — selling the image that Jungkook was simply part of your group.

Across the table, Pascal gave you a meaningful look, then asked slowly, deliberately, so Jungkook could follow the English easily, "So, what now?"

Jungkook’s gaze flickered between the three of you — you, Flora, and Pascal — something warm and amused beginning to spark behind his eyes. He turned toward you again, answering in low Korean, "Thank you... for helping. Really. But I don’t want to bother you."

You shook your head quickly, heart thudding. "No bother! Honestly..." You smiled, feeling a bit like a kettle about to boil over. "It’s kind of amazing to meet you here."

Jungkook’s brow quirked slightly — not out of arrogance, but like he was bracing for the onslaught of questions, of personal space invasions, of fans pretending to be casual. For a situation just like before. But nothing came. You didn’t start babbling questions hysterically about his music, his tour, his tattoos. You didn’t even ask for a selfie.

You just smiled across the table at him — and yeah, maybe your hands twitched a little like you were physically restraining yourself from peppering him with excitement — but you held it together.

And Jungkook noticed.

The way you were practically vibrating with curiosity, but still giving him space. The way your friends didn’t treat him like a trophy, but just another person at their table. He let out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh through his nose. Then he gave a small nod, looking down at his plate — at the freshly grilled meat Pascal had thrown there without a second thought — and then back up at you.

"If... okay, then," he said lightly. "I’ll stay. If that’s alright?"

You grinned, feeling the warmth spread all the way to your fingertips. "Of course it’s alright. We have plenty of food. You can even steal Flora’s if you’re fast enough."

Flora, catching on without missing a beat, rumbled, "Not if I eat him first," flashing Jungkook a wide, toothy grin that was so over-the-top it made the idol chuckle out loud. And just like that Jungkook relaxed into his seat, picking up his chopsticks like this was the most natural thing in the world. Like for one evening, at least, he could just be a guy on holiday.

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You did what you always did when you came here: You overate. By a lot.

The two girls who had hovered and whispered about Jungkook had left ages ago — giving up when it became obvious that Jungkook wasn’t going to break away from your group. Now, the atmosphere was relaxed, warm, and a little sleepy, the grill cooling down after the last round of bulgogi. You groaned dramatically, leaning back against the booth.

"I’m dying. I can’t eat anymore," you announced, one hand cradling your stomach.

"Good," Flora rumbled immediately, grinning as he reached toward your plate. "Then I’ll just have your bulgogi, right?"

You shot forward like he’d just threatened your firstborn, jabbing your chopsticks at him defensively. "Don't you dare!" you cried, and before he could even try again, you grabbed the last sizzling piece of bulgogi and stuffed it into your mouth with a defiant groan of satisfaction.

Flora only laughed, and next to him, Jungkook chuckled too — a soft, genuine sound that made your heart squeeze a little.

It had been shockingly easy to eat with your group. No pressure, no weird tension — just easy laughter, messy chopsticks, and half-argued conversations. Pascal and Flora had made a real effort to slow their speech down, checking themselves so Jungkook could follow without feeling lost. You, meanwhile, translated where you could, your Korean a little clumsy but more than enough to get by. And when even that wasn’t enough, both you and Jungkook had your phones open with Google Translate, passing them across the table like some bizarre relay race.

It was fun — in a way that made Jungkook forget he was supposed to keep his head down.

In a way that felt... normal.

And the more Jungkook learned about your little trio, the more he found himself relaxing. Neither Flora nor Pascal had any real idea who he was. They didn’t listen to K-pop — hell, they barely listened to pop music at all, according to Flora, who proudly proclaimed over a plate of kimchi that "good music died with cassette tapes."

It was only you who had recognized him. You — who had quietly, almost shyly, admitted you were an ARMY, but not in an overwhelming way. You didn’t list off his accomplishments like a resume. You didn’t bombard him with facts you’d memorized from interviews. You didn’t even try to worm your way closer with desperate compliments or too-personal questions.

In fact, you hardly brought it up at all.

It had been Jungkook who pried the truth out — curious after you translated a complicated joke for him mid-conversation without missing a beat. When he’d asked if you were a fan, you had paused, ducking your head slightly, offering only small pieces in response. Guarded. Careful. Like you were trying not to make him uncomfortable, like you didn’t want to remind him of the distance between you.

You even whispered to Pascal and Flora at one point, firm but light-hearted, "No asking him to sing. No asking for autographs. Pretend he’s Flora, just smaller."

Pascal had snorted so hard he nearly dropped a piece of meat onto his lap. It made Jungkook laugh — real and open — because it was funny, yes, but also because it made him feel like he was with his Hyung’s again. It reminded him of the way the Hyung’s used to bicker and tease over late-night meals, eating until you were ready to burst.

He missed that.

He missed them.

And sitting here now, watching you argue half-heartedly with Pascal about how many scoops of matcha ice cream you deserved after dramatically declaring yourself "too full to move," something in Jungkook's chest slowly, quietly loosened.

Dinner was officially winding down. The plates were mostly empty now, only a few stubborn scraps of meat and side dishes clinging to the platters. The air was heavy with the warm smell of grilled beef and soy sauce, mixed with the lazy hum of a Friday night crowd. You’d been chatting casually with the server — Dong — a young man who clearly liked your table a little too much, lingering at every opportunity, refilling your water glasses three times when once would have sufficed.

Jungkook noticed it immediately. He noticed everything about you now.

It was strange.

Even after all this time at the table — after the way you had helped him out earlier, helped him laugh, helped him breathe without a weight on his shoulders — he still felt like he barely knew anything about you. Or your friends.

You were polite to the point of being overbearingly considerate. Every question you asked him was gentle, cautious — if you asked anything at all, that unsettled Jungkook more than if you had been the typical overeager fan.  He had braced for the usual flood of attention, the eagerness, the invasive questions. He almost wanted you to break and start peppering him with everything you were dying to know.

It would have been easier. Predictable.

But you didn’t.

You just smiled, careful and kind, carrying every conversation with a deliberate gentleness that made his chest ache a little. It made him want to know everything about you— needing — to know more. What made you laugh until you cried. What you thought about when you stared off into space. What songs you sang when you thought no one was listening.

And yet, Jungkook could feel you holding yourself back, watching him with bright, hesitant eyes whenever a new topic surfaced, like you were trying to calculate what was safe to say, what might be too much.

You wanted to ask him things. He could feel it — the questions trembling on the tip of your tongue. But you were afraid to step over some invisible line. Afraid to be another name on a long list of people who had only wanted pieces of him, not the whole person.

He couldn’t blame you. It wasn’t your fault. But somehow, that made him want to bridge the gap even more. It wasn’t just you protecting him tonight. Without realizing it, he wanted to protect this fragile thing between you, too — this warm, quiet, normal moment.

And maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to make you trust that it was okay to ask him things. That he wanted you to. And as luck would have it, Flora threw him the perfect opportunity.

"So, where are we going first?" Flora asked, stretching his arms wide like he was preparing for battle. You groaned faintly, looking about ready to surrender to your impending food coma. Still, you dutifully pulled out your phone, swiping through what looked like a list of names and places, rattling them off faster than Jungkook could even hope to follow.

He blinked at you, completely lost.

Pascal, noticing his confusion, leaned over and offered a translation — half in English, half through Google Translate — "It's art night in town," he said, flashing a thumbs up like it explained everything. "All the museums and galleries stay open until three a.m.! It’s awesome. You should totally come!"

You looked up at Jungkook instinctively — and the realization hit you both at the same time.

They were inviting him.

Your panic was immediate. Surely he didn’t really want to come? He was Jungkook — he had better things to do than stumble through art galleries with three random weirdos. He could be doing... literally anything else. But Jungkook just tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes pinning you with playful intent. "Can I?" he asked softly in Korean, his voice rich and teasing, like he already knew you wouldn’t dare say no.

And god, it was unfair — the way the restaurant lights caught the faint gleam of his lip ring as he dragged it thoughtfully between his teeth, the way a tiny, almost-shy smile flickered at the edges of his mouth as he watched you.

You huffed — a tiny, strangled sound — and nodded quickly, trying so hard not to burst into flames. Jungkook’s smile widened just a little, victorious, and you knew you had lost whatever silent battle was happening between you.

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When the check came, the server, Dong — who by now was basically auditioning for honorary fourth member of your little group — dropped it neatly at the center of the table with a cheery, "No rush!"

And then all hell broke loose.

Jungkook moved fast, reaching for it without hesitation. You, Pascal, and Flora all protested at once, insisting he was a guest and shouldn’t pay.

"No, no, you’re our guest!" Flora protested immediately, reaching for his bag.

"Absolutely not, man, you’re not paying," Pascal added, doing a frankly embarrassing full-body lunge across the table.

You had your wallet out too, fumbling with your card and a nervous glance at Jungkook.

But Jungkook just shook his head, his stubbornness absolute. He didn't even bother arguing properly — just stood and handed his card to Dong with a polite bow, cutting off all resistance. Pascal leaned over while Jungkook was distracted signing the receipt, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial stage whisper. He spoke just loud enough for you to hear: "Damn... he's kinda hot when he gets bossy. No wonder you listen to K-pop."

You choked on your own spit, slapping a hand over your face as heat bloomed fiercely across your cheeks. Flora snorted his drink up his nose.

"PASCAL," you hissed under your breath, half mortified, half strangling on a laugh.

Unfortunately for you, Jungkook had impeccable timing. He turned back toward the table just in time to catch you covering your face and trying desperately to disappear into the floor. His brow quirked up, a devilish little gleam sparking to life in his eyes. "What - What did he say?" he asked in a mix of English and Korean, voice low and far too pleased, a grin already threatening the corners of his mouth.

You shook your head frantically, mouthing "nothing, it’s fine, please don’t" — but Pascal, grinning like the absolute traitor he was, had already shoved his phone into Jungkook’s hands, Google Translate glowing bright like a sword of betrayal.

Jungkook read the screen, blinked once, then grinned — a slow, lazy smirk that made your stomach do something wildly unfortunate. He chuckled — a low, warm sound that skated down your spine — and cocked his head at you, lip ring catching the light. "You like me bossy, huh?" he teased in Korean, clearly savoring every second of your visible suffering.

You made a strangled, dying noise into your hands as Flora and Pascal cackled at your expense. Even Dong, hanging around a suspiciously long time under the pretense of clearing plates, laughed quietly into his sleeve.

"I— That’s not—" you tried, but you were too flustered to form a coherent sentence. Jungkook just beamed at you, looking devastatingly pleased with himself, before tossing a playful wink your way that nearly finished you off completely.

You were going to perish right here, in the middle of this barbecue restaurant, at the hands of Jungkook’s teasing smile. And honestly, it would be a beautiful way to go.

Jungkook watched you quietly, his heart beating a little faster. You were... lovely like this — bright and real and flustered, your kindness and humor wrapping around him like a warm blanket.

And the best part?

He hadn't even really started yet.

Jungkook tucked his card back into his wallet with a satisfied air and turned to the table, clapping his hands once like a boss. "Let’s go," he said brightly. "Art night is waiting."

"You’re a tyrant," Pascal groaned with a smile, shoving his arms into his jacket sleeves. "You’re a saint," Flora said, with a deep chuckel.

You could only laugh, your heart buzzing in your chest, as you followed Jungkook out into the cool night air. He fell into step beside you almost naturally, his shoulder brushing yours just lightly enough to make you wonder if it was on purpose. When you dared glance up at him, he was already looking at you — smiling — like maybe he didn’t mind spending a little more time in your world after all.

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The city was alive tonight.

The streets buzzed with people, lit in gold and neon, the sidewalks thick with couples, families, groups of students laughing too loudly under the old streetlamps. It was the perfect kind of crowd — big enough, distracted enough, that Jungkook could move almost invisibly through it.

Especially with Flora at his side.

Flora, towering and broad-shouldered, was a natural shield — not even trying, really, but his sheer size meant Jungkook easily tucked into the space behind him whenever the street grew too crowded. It was funny, actually. Jungkook had spent years surrounded by professional bodyguards. But walking behind Flora, who cheerfully blocked people’s lines of sight without even noticing, felt easier somehow. More casual. More... normal.

You and Pascal, though, were another matter entirely.

You caught attention just by existing — a bright spark in the corner of Jungkook’s vision, laughing too easily, moving with that infectious kind of energy that made people glance over without even realizing they were doing it. And Pascal, tall and cocky in his easy, flippant way, was just as bad, tossing sly comments and grins over his shoulder that had strangers double-taking in amusement.

Together, you two were impossible to miss and draw even more attention away from Jungkook. And somehow, impossibly, Jungkook didn’t mind. It was... fun. Real. Messy and alive in a way he hadn’t realized he missed.

Your first stop was a tiny underground art exhibition tucked between two noodle shops. Only ten pieces total, displayed in a narrow, dimly lit space that smelled faintly of fresh paint and old stone.

The theme was "Nature Reclaimed."

Everything was green and rough around the edges — photographs of abandoned buildings overtaken by ivy, sculptures made of twisted roots and river glass. It was quiet inside, hushed in that reverent way art spaces sometimes were, the noise of the city outside muffled like a dream. As you made your way down the shallow stairs to the entrance, a man in a faded hoodie approached, murmuring something quickly.

Without missing a beat, you pulled out your phone, flashed a QR code from a ticket app, and then — smiling apologetically — pointed at Jungkook, indicating him as part of your group. The man nodded, satisfied, and waved you all in without further fuss.

Jungkook, lingering just half a step behind you, blinked in surprise. "What was that about?" he asked in Korean, his voice low enough not to carry.

"He just wanted to see our tickets," you said, switching languages. Your voice was soft, almost careful, but there was a lightness in your eyes that made him feel strangely at ease. Jungkook frowned slightly, processing — and then his eyes widened as the realization hit him. "But… I don’t have a ticket," he said, baffled.

You turned to him fully then, your smile gentle, almost teasing as you answered, "It’s fine. I got you one."

Jungkook stared at you. Like you had just sprouted wings or declared yourself king of Seoul. There was a strange little jolt in his chest — something between touched and ruffled — because he was the one who usually took care of things. He bought the tickets. He paid the bills. He made sure the people around him were comfortable.

He wasn’t used to... this. Someone quietly smoothing the way for him without making a big deal out of it.

"You didn’t have to..." he started, almost defensive without meaning to.

But you just shrugged easily, already drifting a few steps ahead toward the first sculpture — as if it really wasn’t a big deal at all. As if he wasn’t someone you needed anything from. As if he was just... your friend.

"It’s just a ticket." you said over your shoulder, voice warm and a little teasing. "Don’t be dramatic."

Behind him, Pascal snorted. "Oh no. He's learning your secret," he stage-whispered to Flora. "She pretends to be all nice and harmless, and then BAM — she pays for something and makes you feel like a useless piece of trash that’s forever in her debit."

"Happened to me last month at brunch," Flora added solemnly, adjusting his bag strap like he was remembering a war story. "Still not over it."

You turned back around, walking backward now, grinning wickedly. "Shut up, both of you," you said, voice bright with laughter. "I’m a delight."

Jungkook couldn’t help it — he laughed too. Something warm and full that he hadn’t heard from himself in longer than he liked to admit. He jogged a few steps to catch up to you, bumping his shoulder lightly against yours — playful.

"Next time," he murmured in Korean, just for you, "I’m buying your ticket."

You glanced up at him, surprised — and something flickered between you. Something bright and a little reckless.

"Next time?" you said softly.

Jungkook smiled — a real one, crooked and boyish and impossibly endearing — and followed you deeper into the exhibition, the city’s noise forgotten behind thick stone walls. One of the last exhibits at this place was a sculpture — simple at first glance — just a mass of twisted iron and polished driftwood. It looked almost like a bird caught mid-flight, wings half-formed, trapped in metal and wood.

You tilted your head, studying it thoughtfully. Jungkook drifted closer, hands shoved casually in the pockets of his jacket, watching your expression out of the corner of his eye more than he watched the art itself. There was a small part of him — quiet but insistent — that wanted to know what you thought of it. What you saw when you looked. What kinds of things stirred you.

Meanwhile, Pascal, in typical fashion, had already wandered closer to the next piece — a massive tangle of tree roots shaped vaguely like a crouching figure.

"Oh, hell yes," Pascal muttered mischievously, glancing back over his shoulder at you. "Come on, you have to!"

You turned, caught sight of what he was eyeing, and burst out laughing. Without hesitation, you moved over, and the two of you — grinning like fools — immediately contorted yourselves into a ridiculous reenactment of the sculpture: Pascal crouching dramatically, you draping yourself halfway over his back like a sagging vine.

"Hold still!" Flora said, laughing, pulling out his phone with a little huff of effort. He knelt slightly to get the right angle, his giant frame making the tiny gallery feel even smaller. Behind Flora, Jungkook chuckled low in his throat, bemused. He crossed his arms loosely and leaned in toward Flora.

"What are they doing?" he asked, amused but genuinely curious.

Flora shifted a little awkwardly, clearly searching for a way to explain it. "Uh... how to say..." He grimaced slightly, embarrassed, but soldiered on anyway. "Since I know them... there is no sculpture they don't — ehm — copy." He smiled sheepishly. "It's kind of their thing."

Jungkook blinked, then laughed out loud, nodding in understanding. "Tradition?" he teased.

Flora brightened. "Yes! Tradition."

Jungkook turned his gaze back to you and Pascal, who were dissolving into giggles as Pascal dramatically flopped to the floor, still committed to the ridiculous pose. You sat beside him, poking his shoulder, scolding him half-heartedly for "ruining the artistic integrity" of the piece.

They looked close, Jungkook thought. Comfortable. Easy in a way that spoke of long friendship, of thousands of shared jokes and late nights. He hadn’t gotten the vibe that you and Pascal were together — no overt flirting, no lingering glances — but still. Seeing you like this, smiling so freely, leaning on Pascal like it was the most natural thing in the world...

A tiny, unwelcome sting flickered through him.

Beside him, Flora shifted again, glancing down at Jungkook with a knowing twinkle in his eye. He leaned down, voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper: "I have a pretty boyfriend, right?"

Jungkook startled slightly, his brows furrowing as he looked back and forth — from Pascal, still lying dramatically on the ground, to Flora, standing there with an easy, fond smile. It took him a beat. Two beats. And then it clicked.

"OH."

Understanding bloomed like a firework behind Jungkook's ribs — bright, stupidly bright — and he turned to Flora with a sudden, warm grin, nodding. Of course. Pascal and Flora were together. They were the couple. Not you and Pascal.

A soft, almost giddy sense of relief — of possibility — unfolded in his chest like a secret he didn’t even know he was hoping for. Without thinking too hard about it, Jungkook pulled out his phone and handed it to Flora.

"Take one more," he said, his voice low but sure. "Of me and her, yeah?"

Flora’s eyebrows jumped, but he grinned wide and took the phone eagerly. You, brushing dust off your knees, glanced up — saw Jungkook approaching — and blinked, startled.

"He wants to—?"

But Jungkook just smiled at you, easy and boyish and a little challenging, and dropped into a crouch beside you, mimicking the awkward, sprawled pose you and Pascal had struck earlier. He looked at you expectantly. "You’re not gonna leave me hanging, are you?"

Your heart did a weird, flipping thing inside your chest. Something fluttery and wild and wonderful. Because this was Jungkook choosing to be part of your chaos. This was him wanting to share a stupid, silly moment with you. Smiling so wide your cheeks hurt, you scooted closer, slinging an arm loosely around his shoulders, mimicking the sculpture’s pose with exaggerated drama. Flora laughed, snapping a few quick pictures while Pascal cheered you both on in the background.

"Artistic integrity!" Pascal declared. "Restored!"

Jungkook’s shoulder bumped yours lightly as you both tried (and failed) to hold the ridiculous position without laughing.

"You’re surprisingly good at this," he teased under his breath, his voice warm against your ear.

"I told you," you whispered back, smiling. "I'm a delight."

And as the flash clicked and Flora captured the moment — something unspoken settled between you and Jungkook, bright and sparking and full of possibility. You straightened up from the silly pose, cheeks warm from laughter. Flora grinned down at his phone, satisfied with the shot he had just taken of you, Pascal — and now, Jungkook — tangled together mid-laughter, perfectly recreating the odd sculpture’s awkward, balancing pose. Jungkook flashed you a quick, slightly breathless grin, and for a second, you let yourself just look at him — really look.

You peeked at Jungkooks’s screen. There it was — You and Jungkook, shoulder to shoulder, laughing like old friends, looking so natural. Like it was something you did all the time. Your heart gave a tiny, helpless flutter. You would have loved to have that photo. Loved to have that memory of you and Jungkook together, caught mid-laugh, tangled in a ridiculous re-creation of art. To have a little piece of this impossible evening, something to hold onto later when it felt like a dream.

But...

You hesitated. The thought of asking — of possibly making him uncomfortable, of seeming like some crazy fan who only wanted a trophy photo for social media — made your stomach twist up tight. No.

Better to let the moment pass quietly. Better to keep the memory for yourself.

You swallowed the wish and tucked it away. Unbeknownst to you, Jungkook watched it happen. Watched the way you bit your lip slightly, looked at the photo, then deliberately looked away.

He waited — giving you space — waited, thinking you might still ask.

But after a few seconds, when you said nothing and just smiled and adjusted your bag on your shoulder, he smiled softly to himself. Of course. He was already starting to understand you a little: you didn’t take — you never expected. You just quietly appreciated.

And somehow, that made him want to give you even more. He didn’t press. But he did make a little note in the back of his mind: to get that picture to you later.

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Pascal clapped his hands, dusting them dramatically as if he’d just completed a grand performance. "Alright, children. That’s enough culture inside walls. Let’s go outside and be sophisticated." he declared with a grandiose wave toward the exit. "There’s an installation out in the courtyard, and you must be seen with a glass of wine. It’s, like, mandatory. Très chic." He threw a dramatic arm toward the courtyard where twinkling lights were already coming on and food and wine stalls lined the edges. ”Let’s go be fancy art snobs outside."

You laughed, slipping easily back into the banter, and translated quickly for Jungkook, whose eyebrows lifted in amused confusion at Pascal's theatrical tone.

"Pascal says it’s mandatory to hold wine and look… pretentious," you added, grinning, having just checked the word for pretentious in Korean.

"Can’t argue with that," Jungkook said, lightly bumping his shoulder against yours, adjusting his cap. The subtle disguise doing surprisingly well so far. You didn’t even try to hide your smile.

Pascal was already striding ahead toward a charming little stand selling local wines and small plates, dragging Flora along with him. You and Jungkook followed at a more leisurely pace. Outside, the evening air had cooled just a little, and the courtyard looked like something from a storybook — soft golden light, the rich smells of roasting nuts, spices, and baked goods drifting on the breeze.

As you reached the stand, Pascal was already leaning against the counter, animatedly discussing the wine options with the poor vendor asking which wine would make him look the most "cultured."

You chose a light, fruity glass for yourself — something casual — and reached automatically for your wallet. Before you could even properly find your card, Jungkook was there, stepping in front of you, gently pushing you aside with a soft nudge of his arm.

"I got it," he said firmly.

"No, really, it’s fine," you protested quickly, heat rushing into your cheeks. "You don’t have to —"

But Jungkook just shook his head, looking down at you with that stubborn little smile you were already starting to recognize.

"I want to," he said simply, already tapping his card against the reader before you could argue more. You turned to the older man running the stand, hoping maybe he would help your case — but the man just chuckled, a twinkle in his eye, and said warmly, "Ah, let the gentleman pay, sweetheart. He is insisting."

You blushed harder, feeling the tips of your ears go hot, and Jungkook caught it instantly. He tilted his head slightly, absolutely delighted by your reaction.

"See?" he teased, voice low enough that only you could hear.

Behind you, Pascal — never one to miss a good opportunity for mischief — clutched his chest dramatically.

"She’s blushing! Flora! Flora!" Pascal stage-whispered loudly, grabbing Flora’s arm with faux urgency. "Call a medic! We’ve got a romantic casualty. Look at her blushing like a Victorian maiden! Flora, where’s my fainting couch?"

"Oh my god, Pascal, shut up," you hissed under your breath.

You buried your face in your hands for a second, groaning in embarrassment while Flora just laughed quietly and patted Pascal’s shoulder like he was an unruly child. Jungkook laughed too — not meanly, not mockingly — but warmly, like he was laughing with you, not at you. There was something soft and sincere in his eyes when you finally peeked up at him through your fingers. Pascal patted you patronizingly on the back, still dramatically gasping for breath like he might swoon at any moment.

"Cheers?" Jungkook offered, holding out your wine glass to you with a small, almost shy smile.

You took it carefully, your fingers brushing his just for a moment — enough to send a tiny, electric shiver racing up your spine.

"Cheers," you whispered back, your smile matching his.

You didn’t even notice Flora sneaking another candid photo of the moment — but Jungkook did. And he didn’t stop him.

The art installations out here were larger than life — strange metal trees twisting into the stars, mosaics glittering under fairy lights, even a giant abstract sculpture that looked suspiciously like a melted spoon.

"Clearly," Pascal said solemnly, swirling his wine glass like he was at a five-star auction, "this piece is about the futility of buying matching socks."

You burst out laughing, trying (and failing) to mimic his snooty voice while shaking your own glass dramatically. A tiny drop of wine sloshed out, and you gasped, wiping it quickly against your jacket.

"Careful," Jungkook chuckled, stepping closer, his eyes bright. "You're too fancy now. Gotta protect the image."

You grinned up at him, emboldened by the lightness of the evening. "Oh, absolutely," you said, twirling your glass again with a theatrical flourish. "I’m basically a... more than princess now."

You fumbled for a better word, realizing halfway through that your Korean wasn't good enough for this moment. Jungkook caught on instantly, his smile widening.

"You could say yeowang. Queen," he offered, voice warm.

"Ah, yeowang!" you repeated, beaming, and Jungkook gave an approving nod.

Pascal threw an arm around Flora’s waist and sighed dramatically.

"We are in the presence of royalty. Someone fetch me a fainting couch."

You snickered. "Pascal, what is it with you today and needing a fainting couch?"

"Art moves me," he declared, clutching at his chest. Jungkook shook his head in amusement and, swirling his own wine with a mock-serious air, leaned toward you. "In Korean, if you want to say someone’s showing off, you can say Pom jabn-da." He pronounced it slowly. You tried to repeat it — and immediately mangled the pronunciation. Jungkook burst out laughing, not unkindly. "Again, again," he encouraged, tapping the air like a metronome.

You tried again, slower. "Pom jabn-da...?"

"Much better!" he praised, his eyes crinkling. "Just casual. Like teasing a friend."

You practiced it under your breath a few more times, earning another bright thumbs-up from him. Your heart fluttered stupidly at how delighted he looked. A few installations later, you and Pascal spotted a new sculpture — a chaotic tangle of bronze limbs, like a group of dancers frozen mid-fall.

"This one's asking for it," Pascal declared.

Without even needing to speak, you both clambered into a half-recreation, Pascal sticking his leg straight up in the air and you pretending to trip over him, arms flailing. Flora chuckled and obediently pulled out his phone to take pictures. Jungkook laughed too — the sound bright and real — and watched you both with amused wonder. After a moment, he handed his phone to Flora.

"One more photo?" he asked you, offering his hand with an eager grin.

You took it without hesitation, your palm tingling in his. Together, you struck another ridiculous pose, trying to mimic the bronze chaos behind you. Jungkook leaned into it easily, copying your outstretched arm with exaggerated seriousness. Flora snapped the picture, snorting with laughter as you both tried to hold still.

When you finally broke apart, laughing, you brushed some dust off your coat, cheeks flushed from the cold and the silliness. Jungkook’s phone buzzed insistently in his hand, lighting up the space between you with a soft glow.

He glanced down, his mouth twitching into an automatic smile when he saw the stream of messages blowing up his group chat.

🐿️ (Hoseok): Where r u?? 🐨(Namjoon): You're still out? 😎 (Taehyung):  Send pics!!! 🐱 (Yoongi):  Did u get lost???

Jungkook huffed out a quiet laugh, fond and exasperated at the same time. His thumb moved quickly over the screen, tapping back a few replies. Then, almost shyly, he tilted the phone toward you, as if wanting you to be part of it too.

"They're checking on me," he said, amused. "I told them I’m out with some... cool new friends."

You smiled so brightly it almost hurt, something easing inside you — that tight, nervous coil you'd been carrying ever since you met him starting to finally loosen— and gathering your courage, you cleared your throat. Maybe it was the wine, or the night air, or just the way Jungkook looked at you— but for the first time, you didn’t overthink to much what you said next. You weren't triple-guessing if it would sound too much like a fan thing. You just... said it. Simple and honest.

"If it's not too weird... could you, um... tell them I said hi?"

Jungkook’s entire face lit up — not just with amusement, but with something warmer, softer. Like you'd handed him something precious without even realizing it. He nodded immediately, eyes bright. "Of course! They'll love that."

There was something a little new in the way he looked at you now — a quiet kind of delight. Like he was seeing you take a step closer toward him, and he liked it more than he probably should. He tapped out a quick message — [My friend says hi 👋🏻] — and sent it off without fuss, then tucked his phone back into his pocket without another glance. He wasn’t distracted. He wasn’t half-present. His attention was all on you.

You didn’t realize you were fidgeting slightly, smoothing the sleeve of your coat, until he chuckled lowly under his breath.

"Hey... random question. Who’s your favorite BT21 character?"

You blinked, caught off guard — and without thinking blurted, "Tata."

There was a beat of stunned silence. Jungkook recoiled dramatically, clutching his chest as if shot. "Not Cooky?! Betrayal!"

Pascal immediately gasped, clutching Flora for support. "Scandalous. How dare you!"

"I'm wounded," Jungkook said, lowering his head in mock despair.

"I didn’t realize there was a quiz," you teased, bumping his shoulder with yours. "And anyway, Tata’s a prince. I’m royalty, remember?"

"Excuses," Jungkook grumbled, though he couldn’t stop smiling.

"You can be my second favorite," you added magnanimously.

"Gee, thanks," he said with a dramatic sigh — but his eyes sparkled.

"And Pascal's favorite is Mang," you pointed out quickly, grinning. Pascal flipped you off over his wine glass, making you laugh harder. As you wandered toward the far side of the courtyard, Flora checked his watch.

"If we want good seats," he said, "we should head to the church soon."

Jungkook blinked. "Church?"

"There’s a little concert," you explained. "Local artists. It’s small, but cool. Flora found it."

He hesitated for just a breath — then smiled, resolute. "I'd love to."

The streets were quieter now as you made your way toward the old stone church, the evening mist curling around the narrow alleys like fingers. Jungkook walked close by your side, hands tucked deep into his jacket pockets, occasionally nudging a stray pebble along the cobblestones with his boot.

Warm yellow light spilled from the church's arched windows, casting long golden pools onto the street. From inside, you could already hear the soft hum of voices and the faint strum of a guitar being tuned.

"Wow," Jungkook murmured, tilting his head back to take it in. The church was small but beautiful, its ancient stones blackened by time, its steeple leaning just slightly, like an old man hunching over against the years.

You smiled. "Pascal said the acoustics here are insane. Like, even a whisper carries."

Jungkook grinned at that, bumping your shoulder playfully. "Guess we better not gossip too loudly, huh?"

You laughed, feeling light, warm. God, it was getting too easy to just be around him. Inside, the church smelled faintly of old wood, wax, and rain-soaked stone. The wooden pews were already filling up fast with people — a colorful, buzzing crowd of locals and a handful of tourists who had clearly stumbled upon the event by accident and decided to stay.

You hesitated, glancing around. You didn’t want to assume anything — maybe Jungkook would prefer some space? Maybe he didn't want you hovering— Before you could finish that worried thought, Pascal clapped a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder and gave him a not-so-gentle shove toward the pew where you were standing.

"Here! Plenty of room," Pascal declared with a grin, not noticing (or not caring) about the slight oomph noise Jungkook made as he was practically dumped beside you. Flora shot you a secret wink as he slid in next to Pascal.

Jungkook blinked once, surprised — then let out a soft, helpless laugh, shaking his head as he settled beside you. "Guess this is my spot," he said, throwing you a playful sideways glance.

You tucked a smile behind your hand, feeling giddy and weirdly shy all over again. The bells outside gave a soft, distant chime, and a low murmur of excitement buzzed through the church as more people filed in. The pews were old — carved from dark, heavy wood — and the space between each row was narrow. Cozy.

At first, you and Jungkook sat with a polite little buffer of air between you, your knees almost but not quite brushing. You kept your hands tucked carefully in your lap, too aware of how close he was. But then — fast — the church started filling. People squeezed into every row. An older man with a large coat tapped Pascal’s shoulder, gesturing to the crowd still trying to find seats.

Pascal looked around — then turned back to you with a big, sunny grin. "Hey — scoot up a little? Let's get cozy," he said cheerfully.

Before you could react, Pascal planted both his hands on Jungkook’s side and gave him a strong, enthusiastic shove. The force of it knocked Jungkook sideways — right against you. You gasped, instinctively catching yourself with a hand braced against the pew back. Jungkook let out a startled, embarrassed noise, his whole side pressing into yours for a heartbeat before he awkwardly tried to straighten himself — only to realize he couldn’t. There was no more room.

You were now squished between the cold stone wall and a very solid Jungkook. Your entire side was plastered against him — your coats and sleeves brushing, your knees bumping under the narrow pew rail. His warmth radiated through the layers of fabric, dizzying and so real.

Jungkook froze, obviously realizing the situation at the same moment you did. He turned his head toward you, cheeks visibly flushed even in the dim light, and managed a breathless, sheepish little laugh.

"Uh— sorry," he mumbled, voice low and rough. He tried to shift — to give you space — but there was none. Every inch of the pew was packed now, people squeezed shoulder-to-shoulder in every row. You shook your head quickly, fighting your own rising blush. "No, it's okay," you whispered back, and God, your voice sounded weirdly breathless to your own ears. Jungkook's gaze caught yours for a second — wide, surprised, a little shy — before he gave up, exhaling a soft, helpless little huff.

"I guess we're... stuck like this," he said under his breath, the corners of his mouth twitching like he couldn't quite decide whether to laugh or die of embarrassment. You nodded, biting your lip, pulse pounding. Neither of you moved again.

The rest of the pews were just as packed, a sea of strangers pressed elbow-to-elbow, the whole church buzzing with low chatter and the warm crackle of excitement. But all you could feel was Jungkook — warm, solid, steady — right there beside you, close enough that you could catch the faint, clean scent of his cologne every time you breathed.

It felt crazy. Exciting. A little dangerous, in a way that made your stomach flip. You stole a tiny glance at him — and caught him doing the same, his eyes darting away quickly, a guilty little smile tugging at his lips.

You weren’t imagining it. He felt it too.

The lights dimmed further as the musicians took their places, tuning their instruments with brief, fluttering notes that melted into a respectful silence. You felt the change instantly — the whole church seeming to hold its breath, waiting.

Then the music began. A soft, sweeping melody filled the stone chamber, rising up to the vaulted ceiling like smoke. It was beautiful — a delicate blend of classic orchestral pieces and haunting film scores that sent shivers down your spine. You exhaled slowly, letting your body relax for the first time in what felt like forever.

The concert would last about thirty minutes — not long, technically — but just long enough that sitting stiff and upright like a statue was impossible. Especially when you were packed so tightly in a crowded pew.

Next to you, Pascal was already adjusting — sliding down a little in his seat until his frame rested comfortably against Flora’s shoulder. Flora didn’t seem to mind in the slightest; he barely reacted beyond adjusting his posture slightly, offering a solid, comfortable place for Pascal to rest against. The two of them looked perfectly at ease, making a little more room for themselves without a second thought.

You shifted, too, almost without realizing it — leaning ever-so-slightly more into the narrow space you shared with Jungkook. It wasn’t much — just a subtle change — but it brought you even closer, until the line of your arm brushed his. And neither of you moved away.

Jungkook noticed immediately. He stiffened for half a second, some instinct in him flaring — but when he glanced sideways and saw your face, the tension melted almost instantly. You weren’t tense. You weren't looking around nervously or pulling away. You looked... content.

Happy, even.

Your eyes were half-lidded in peace, your body visibly trying to slump a little more comfortably — but there just wasn’t space to do it properly. Something inside Jungkook twisted sweetly at the sight. He wanted — badly — to just lift his arm and rest it along the back of the pew behind you, maybe even let it fall lightly around your shoulders. It would make it easier for both of you. Give you more space to lean, more room to relax. And... it would feel so natural, so right.

He could already imagine it: your head might lean into his side, both of you fitting together better, finding a little more space to breathe.

But he hesitated. If someone in the crowd recognized him — if a photo made it to the wrong hands — he could already imagine the tabloid headlines. "Jungkook Seen Cozy With Mystery Woman at Church Concert" "Romance Rumors Swirl After Late-Night Sighting"

It wouldn’t just be chaos for him — it would drag you into it too.

But you didn’t shift away. You didn’t stiffen or glance around anxiously. If anything, you looked even more comfortable as the music rose, the corners of your mouth softening in a small, private smile. So he stayed frozen, pulse racing, watching you out of the corner of his eye for any sign of unease. Anything at all. But you didn’t pull away.

If anything, you seemed to be relaxing more with every passing minute — your side melting unconsciously into his, your knee nudging lightly against his under the narrow pew rail. Jungkook’s throat worked as he swallowed hard. Very carefully, he allowed himself to relax — not dramatically, not enough to draw attention, but enough that his side pressed lightly against yours in a way that felt intentional. Enough that if you wanted to lean just a little bit more, you could.

The music swelled around you, rich and deep and almost cinematic in its beauty. Every pew was crammed full of people now, groups squeezing closer and closer to fit. In the row ahead, an older couple sat shoulder-to-shoulder, hands folded together. Farther down, teenagers bumped elbows and whispered with wide grins. Everyone was packed tight — no one would even blink at how closely you and Jungkook sat.

You lost yourself in it a little — the sweep of the strings, the low, steady pulse of the piano — but never entirely. Because you could still feel Jungkook, right there, pressed against your side. Every breath you took seemed somehow linked to him. You didn’t dare move too much, didn’t dare look at him, afraid you’d break whatever fragile, unspoken thing had started to stretch between you.

And Jungkook, for his part, was battling himself silently.

The longer he sat beside you, feeling the faint warmth of your body so close, the harder it became to stay still. The harder it became to pretend he didn’t want more.

Slowly — as casually as he could manage — he shifted. Not much. Just letting his hand fall, loose and heavy, onto his lap. An innocent movement to anyone watching. But he placed it carefully, precisely angled, so that when he next took a deep breath — deeper than necessary, maybe — the motion rocked his hand just enough that the back of it brushed lightly against yours.

It was feather-light. Accidental, surely.

You froze, heart thudding, half expecting him to immediately jerk away in embarrassment.

But he didn’t.

His hand stayed there, the faintest touch between you — just the back of his knuckles against the side of your hand. He didn’t grab you. He didn’t even really move. Only the tiniest twitch betrayed him, a small tremor that made his pinky bump gently against your skin.

Your breath hitched audibly — not loud enough to draw attention, but enough that you felt Jungkook go even more still, sensing it. You swallowed hard, pulse hammering in your ears, and allowed your own hand to twitch in response — a small, almost involuntary movement, nothing that could be called bold.

But it was enough.

Enough to tell Jungkook that you weren’t pulling away. He was tense beside you, vibrating like a tightly wound string about to snap. But emboldened by your tiny gesture, he shifted the smallest fraction, just enough to let his pinky curl — and hook lightly around yours.

It wasn’t hand-holding.

Not really.

But it also wasn’t nothing.

You felt it instantly — that almost imperceptible entwining of pinkies, the barest linking of skin. The smallest possible way to touch you more, without making a scene, without risking everything. And yet somehow, it felt monumental. It felt like the only thing in the world that mattered.

Your lungs burned slightly, your heart hammering harder than the crescendo of the music washing around you. You stared straight ahead, afraid that if you even glanced at him, the spell would shatter. Beside you, Jungkook shifted again — the tiniest adjustment — a breath that somehow pressed his side a little more firmly against yours. His pinky, still entwined with yours, twitched once, almost like a question.

You squeezed yours back — barely — the smallest answer you could give. But it was enough.

It was everything.

The music swelled higher, louder, grander — but you barely heard it anymore. Because Jungkook was there, his pinky tangled lightly with yours, his thigh warm against your leg, his presence swallowing up every breath you took. You had no idea how you would survive the next twenty minutes of this concert. And from the way Jungkook's breathing had subtly shifted — a little heavier, a little faster — he was wondering the exact same thing.

As the last note of the concert faded into the stone vaults of the old church, the first people began to rise from their tightly packed pews, voices low and murmuring as they shuffled toward the exits, eager for their next destination.

You and Jungkook didn’t move.

Neither of you wanted to.

And, realistically, you couldn’t, not yet — Flora and Pascal were still squeezed in on the other side, and the narrow rows left little room to maneuver without tripping over each other. But even without that excuse, you knew you wouldn’t have been ready to let go of him.

Not just yet.

Your pinkies were still lightly hooked together, the smallest bridge between you. You could feel Jungkook’s warmth through that tiny touch, a quiet heartbeat of connection neither of you seemed quite willing to break.

When you dared a glance at him, you found him already looking at you.

His eyes were soft — almost bashful — and a shy, almost sheepish smile curved his lips. You saw the faintest flush creep up his neck to his cheeks, the stage lighting doing nothing to hide it. And before you could say anything, before you could even breathe properly, he gave your pinky one last small squeeze. Your heart twisted almost painfully.

Slowly, regretfully, you both let your hands drift apart.

The group started to shift and rise, Flora stretching his long frame carefully to avoid knocking into the people in front of you. Pascal shuffled sideways, pulling the others with him, and finally you and Jungkook had enough space to stand without causing a scene.

Outside, the cool night air hit you like a balm, carrying away some of the dizzy warmth clinging to your skin. You regrouped under the streetlights, the tall, dark shape of the church behind you casting deep shadows. Jungkook stayed close. Closer than before. Close enough that his shoulder almost brushed yours whenever he moved, Jungkook stayed by your side as the group paused under the yellow pools of light spilling from the church’s old lanterns.

Pascal turned to the group, his voice casual but lively. "What now? We’ve got time for one or maybe two more stops before everything closes. What do you guys think?"

He was speaking fast again and you saw Jungkook's head tilt slightly, his expression attentive but a little hesitant. His English was good, but fast conversation could be tricky, especially when tired or excited. Instinctively, you stepped in, your voice a little softer, more private.

You translated with the help of google again at this point into Korean, glancing at him with a smile — hopefully not too goofily — and pulled out your phone to double-check the night's schedule. “Pascal is saying that there’s still some time, so we can go to one or maybe two more places. He’s asking where we’d like to go.”

Jungkook gave a small, grateful nod, his eyes flickering to you and lingering there for a heartbeat longer than strictly necessary. You could tell he was appreciating more than just the translation. You fumbled quickly with your phone, trying to act casual.

"Alright," you said, clearing your throat, partly for the group and partly for yourself. "We’ve got two options."

"First, bathroom break," you added firmly, shooting a quick grin around the group that made Pascal and Flora chuckle.

"After that, we have two options: There’s a movie museum exhibit — old horror films. Props from Nosferatu, Dracula, 28 Days Later..." You glanced up at Jungkook and saw his eyes light up a little at the mention and understanding. You tried not to let it distract you and continued.

"Or, there's a gallery nearby with a lot of acrylic-on-wood paintings. The theme is supposed to be 'Fever Dream'." You lifted your eyebrows at everyone, feeling their attention drift toward you, and shrugged.

"Vote?"

It wasn’t much of a contest. Flora immediately cast his vote for the horror exhibit — big guy, even bigger love for spooky stuff — Pascal nodded eagerly too, clearly into it. You watched Jungkook's eyes light up just a little at the idea of the horror props, and a small, almost mischievous smile touched his lips. He gave a little nod, confirming his choice without needing words.

You grinned, feeling a little giddy — but not just because of the decision.

“Movie museum it is," you announced, grinning.

You desperately needed that bathroom break. Because the way Jungkook was looking at you, now that you could see his face in the clear, open night — the way he hadn't really left your side even after all the people had spilled out around you — the memory of your pinkies tangled together, not just accidental, not just squished together — all of it made your heart thud against your ribs like it was trying to escape.

You were freaking out. —  Internally screaming while trying to look chill. — A classic.

You managed to give a casual little wave toward a nearby building. “Bathrooms that way,” you said, voice just a little too high-pitched to be completely natural. As the group started to wander in that direction, you pulled your phone closer to your chest, trying to hide your flushed cheeks behind it. You weren’t sure if you were overheating from the excitement of almost-hand-holding Jungkook, from the dizzy, half-panicked realization that he hadn’t pulled away — that he had wanted to stay close — or from the way he kept glancing at you now, like he was thinking about it too.

Either way, you were dangerously close to combusting.

And the night wasn’t even over yet.

You were the one who had begged for the bathroom break, but ironically, when you came out fresh-faced and trying to get your heart to beat normally again, it was Pascal who was still missing. The rest of you waited just outside the small public bathroom area, tucked against the side of the church. The cool night air wrapped around you, and without meaning to, you found yourself standing a little closer to Jungkook again.

He was quiet next to you, head slightly lowered, phone in hand. You glanced sideways, trying not to be obvious — but curiosity burned in you. Jungkook was texting, a small, shy smile playing on his lips as his thumbs flew across the screen. Every so often, he would type something, delete it, then retype it with more care.

If you could read Korean fast enough from that angle (which you couldn’t), you might have caught something like:

[🐰] : Hyungs… I’m so nervous I might die. Seriously.

[🐰] : I’ve spent the whole day with them and it’s so good it’s driving me crazy, haha.

[🐰] : It feels like butterflies are throwing a party in my stomach...

He quickly locked his phone when he noticed you looking in his direction, tucking it into his jacket pocket with a slightly embarrassed chuckle. You caught that chuckle and smiled to yourself, cheeks warming again. Finally, Pascal came jogging out, apologizing for the delay, and the four of you regrouped.

“Metro?” Pascal asked the group, glancing between you and Flora. It was just two stations — walkable, sure, but the metro would save time. You translated for Jungkook, and he nodded in agreement.

So the metro it was. The station wasn’t far, but the moment you descended underground, you realized the mistake: it was packed.

Way too many people. Way too little space.

You and Pascal cursed under your breath almost simultaneously — both of you being the smallest of the group and already hating cramped public transport situations. Flora, being tall and broad, carved a space around himself effortlessly, and Jungkook’s strong frame and solid build helped him stay upright even as people pushed and jostled around. But you?

You barely reached the overhead bars and had zero chance of grabbing onto anything. The sea of bodies swayed and pushed around you like a tide, and you knew immediately: this was going to be a nightmare.

When the metro car jolted with a hard start, you stumbled — and without even thinking, Jungkook caught you. His arm shot out, gripping the overhead pole running above the crowd. He positioned himself close to you, making sure if you were going to be squished against someone, it would be him. You leaned slightly on him, trying not to put your full weight against his side — but there wasn’t really a choice.

And then the metro braked hard at the first station.

You were sent flying — a small, helpless yelp leaving your lips — and instinctively you grabbed at Jungkook, fisting the front of his jacket. Even Jungkook had to plant his feet and shift his stance to keep steady, his muscles tensing under you. Without hesitation, he wrapped his free arm around your waist, firm and protective, pulling you flush against him.

He didn’t let go.

You were breathing fast, too aware of the way your hands clutched his hoodie and jacket, the way your cheek nearly brushed his chest, the faint scent of clean laundry and something distinctly Jungkook filling your nose.

You tried — once — to step back. To regain some polite distance.

But Jungkook bent slightly, lips brushing the shell of your ear, and whispered in Korean, voice low and rough: “Just hold onto me. I got you.”

His breath was hot against your ear, his words sending a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the cold night air.

Your knees wobbled. Your heart thudded so hard you wondered if he could hear it too.

You gave a small, helpless nod against his chest, too overwhelmed to meet his eyes, and instead, gripped the front of his jacket tighter — knuckles white, fingers trembling slightly.  Jungkook tightened his arm around you just a fraction more, anchoring you securely against him for the rest of the ride. He was your solid ground in that chaotic, moving sea of strangers. And somehow, it felt like the whole world had shrunk again.

Just you and him, heartbeat to heartbeat.

As your stop neared, everyone started pressing forward, trying to position themselves near the doors. It was a chaos of bodies, jostling and pushing. Jungkook stayed close. Too close for you to think properly — but it was necessary.

With this many people, if you lost each other now, finding each other again would be impossible. You could just call Flora or Pascal but you hadn’t exchanged phone numbers with Jungkook – you didn’t want to impose. Without a word, Jungkook slipped his hand gently to the small of your back, warm and steady, steering you through the crush of people like you were the most precious thing he needed to protect. His hand wasn’t pushy, wasn’t possessive — it was guiding, reassuring. Like he wanted you to know he had you. That he wasn’t letting go.

You clutched the strap of your bag with both hands to keep from reaching back for him, heart rattling inside your chest like a trapped bird. Finally, the heavy metro doors hissed open, and you both spilled out into the station — breathing again, laughing breathlessly as the cool air of the outside hit your faces.

If someone had asked Jungkook what you looked like right then, flushed cheeks, bright eyes, a soft smile playing on your lips — he would have said, without hesitation: beautiful.

Maybe the most beautiful thing he'd seen all day.

▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽

The museum was only a short walk away, and the fresh air helped you all shake off the claustrophobic energy of the metro. You entered the exhibition hall, and soon you were wandering through corridors of dim lighting, eerie soundtracks playing faintly in the background.

Glass cases displayed old movie props, some beautifully preserved, some delightfully grotesque. Fake vampire fangs, latex severed limbs, crumbling Nosferatu prosthetics — pieces of horror history carefully presented under spotlights. Flora, who until now had been relatively quiet, suddenly turned out to be a bizarre fountain of random movie trivia.

“That arm," Flora pointed at a disturbingly realistic severed hand in one of the cases, "was made with real animal bones inside to make it look more authentic when it moved."

You blinked. Jungkook blinked.

You caught the confused furrow of Jungkook’s brow and leaned close to murmur a translation into his ear in Korean, your breath brushing his skin:

 "They used real animal bones inside to make it look real."

Jungkook widened his eyes slightly, letting out a soft, surprised laugh, and whispered back:

 "That's crazy..."

You grinned at him, feeling ridiculously giddy that you could be the one translating this strange world for him.

As you moved on, you came to a corner that had been redesigned especially for tonight's event. It was marked with low flickering lights and a small, crooked wooden sign:

"Horror Walk — Enter If You Dare."

Inside, black curtains obscured the view, and occasional flashes of light and small shrieks from earlier participants hinted at what awaited. It wasn’t a full haunted house — more like a cramped hallway with actors hidden inside, ready to jump scare anyone brave (or foolish) enough to walk through.

You all stopped in front of it.

Pascal groaned dramatically, already shaking his head. "No, no, not for me..."

You laughed and turned to Jungkook.

"He hates jump scares."

Jungkook smiled, clearly amused, but his eyes flickered back to the dark curtains with a gleam that made your stomach twist deliciously.

“And you?” he asked softly, tilting his head toward you.

You hesitated, chewing your bottom lip — horror walk with Jungkook? Half of you wanted to die of nerves. The other half wanted nothing more.

Flora, oblivious, was already striding forward to sign the little waiver the museum required. Pascal grumbled but followed. And Jungkook… well, Jungkook just watched you, waiting patiently for your answer.

You hesitated for a second before pushing through the thick black curtain, the material brushing heavily against your shoulders, swallowing you up into the dark.

Immediately, the world changed.

The hallway inside was nearly pitch black, save for faint, flickering lights far ahead. The floor creaked ominously beneath your feet. Somewhere deeper inside, you could hear recorded whispers, quiet footfalls, and the occasional high-pitched shriek that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

You swallowed hard, feeling your heart hammer against your ribs.

And then — a warm hand slipped into yours.

Properly, fully — Jungkook’s hand.

Strong, a little calloused, fitting into yours like it belonged there. You felt him step close behind you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his chest to your back. For a moment, you were too stunned to move.

He was just... holding your hand. Not by accident. Not by mistake. Deliberately.

You squeezed back, barely able to believe it was happening, and you felt the slight, quiet tremble of his fingers in yours. He was nervous too. The realization sent a bloom of something so sweet, so fragile through your chest, you thought you might actually float off the ground. Jungkook leaned down, mouth close to your ear.

 "Go ahead... I'll be right behind you."

You nodded mutely, and you started forward. Each cautious step you took echoed too loudly in the otherwise dead silence. Jungkook didn’t just walk behind you — he was guiding you, his hand sometimes sliding from your hand up lightly to your shoulder, to your waist, steadying you with feather-light touches whenever you flinched or hesitated. It was so subtle, so careful, like he was afraid to startle you more than the haunted hallway already was.

And then — something moved.

A figure — pale, twitching, all black eyes and sharp teeth — suddenly burst from a hidden panel in the wall beside you.

You shrieked, whipping around instinctively to run — but Jungkook was there, and you plowed straight into his chest. He laughed — a real, full laugh, delighted and breathless — and without thinking, he wrapped his arms around you.

Not just a safe hug — no, Jungkook hugged you properly, one arm strong across your back, the other sneaking under your open jacket, pulling you against him like you were something he couldn't bear to let go.

Your cheek was pressed to the warm cotton of his shirt, his heartbeat thundering in your ear. You whimpered — you couldn’t help it — the sound slipping out, high-pitched and soft and far too vulnerable. You prayed, prayed, that Jungkook thought it was from fear.

(And not because the feel of his fingers brushing lightly over your back, beneath your jacket, was making your knees buckle.)

But Jungkook stiffened for a fraction of a second against you — his breath catching sharply in his chest.

Like he heard it differently.

Like he loved it.

His hand flattened against the small of your back, feeling you, grounding you to him. His nose brushed your hair, and you could have sworn you felt him inhale deeply, a tiny shudder running through his body. You stayed like that — pressed together, hearts hammering, the haunted hallway forgotten — for a few infinite seconds.

In the dimness, only you and Jungkook existed. Only the way his thumb was rubbing slow, barely-there circles at the base of your spine. Only the way you gripped handfuls of his jacket, hiding your burning face against him.

He tilted his head down, whispering into your hair in Korean, voice rough and breathless:

"It's okay... I'm here."

You could only nod — your words were locked somewhere deep in your chest, strangled by the overwhelming way he was holding you like you were precious, real, and somehow already his.

And if you weren't careful... You might never want to let him go.

You finished the haunted hallway clinging lightly to Jungkook’s jacket, every loud noise and sudden shadow making you tighten your grip for a second longer than necessary. You could feel Jungkook's hand still hovering at your lower back, ready to catch you again if needed — though you both moved slowly now, hearts not quite back to normal. When you finally stumbled out through the heavy exit curtain and back into the dim light of the movie exhibit, it was like breaking through to the surface after being underwater.

You gasped a little laugh, immediately stepping a half step away, remembering where you were. Remembering yourself. Jungkook hated it. Hated the tiny, polite distance you carefully placed between you and him again. Because he couldn’t just pull you back. Because even now, there were a few people here, and a badly taken photo would be a nightmare for both of you — and worst of all, you would be the one most hurt by it. He knew it.

But still. His hands twitched at his sides. His heart screamed.

He licked his lips slowly without even realizing it, staring after you — dazed, helpless, and ready to follow you anywhere. And he would have — he was about to — until Pascal suddenly spoke up.

“Pfff… Okay, I’m done. Horror walk has officially killed me,” Pascal groaned, scrubbing a hand through his messy hair. “I need sugar. Then I’m out.”

You and Flora laughed, both nodding — though you covered a giant yawn behind your hand. It was nearly 2 a.m., after all. Even you, energized and excited, were visibly winding down now.

Jungkook’s heart stuttered in panic.

No. No, no, no. He didn’t have your number. He didn’t know where you lived. If you left now, you would just… be gone.

He could already feel it — that yawning space opening between you, the chance slipping away like sand between his fingers. While you and Flora casually debated which sweets stand was the best nearby, Jungkook frantically opened his group chat with his friends. His thumbs flew across his phone.

🐰: what do i do 🐰: i dont have her number 🐰: i cant lose her what do i do i cant just ask in front of everyone 🐰: HELP.

It took all of three seconds before his friends erupted in teasing.

😎 (Taehyung): lololol YOU'RE SCREWED 🐱 (Yoongi): Just ask her idiot. 🐿️ (Hoseok): Confess your undying love immediately. Go big or go home. 🐨 (Namjoon): Maybe just say you wanna text about the museum or something??? Chill bro.

Jungkook groaned under his breath, cheeks burning, still pretending to casually check his phone while you and Flora were oblivious. But Pascal was not oblivious.

🐰: i cant just SAY THAT. everyone is RIGHT HERE. 🐰: AND what if she says no 🐰: AND her friends will KNOW 🐰: AND then ill look like a desperate idiot

Taehyung was instantly bloodthirsty:

😎: you ARE a desperate idiot right now 😂

Hoseok added:

🐿️: Desperate and CUTE tho 🐿️: i believe in u soldier o7 🐿️: shoot your shot 🐿️: or steal her shoe and run so she HAS to find you later 🤡

Jungkook glared at his screen so hard he was sure the pixels would melt. Yoongi, the voice of (grumpy) reason, chimed in again:

🐱: just say you want to send her the museum address or something. 🐱: make it practical. not a confession, dumbass. 🐱: baby steps.

Jungkook thumbed back:

🐰: you make it sound easy hyung

Namjoon:

🐨: bc it IS easy 🐨: you’re just a lovesick mess rn

Jungkook ran a hand down his face, accidentally bumping shoulders with Flora, who glanced over in mild concern. He flinched and smiled a little too fast, tucking his phone behind his back as if he could read it.

Meanwhile, Taehyung was merciless:

😎: tell her you saw a ghost and the only way to be safe is to exchange numbers. spiritual protection reasons. 😎: very serious. 😎: for safety reasons

Jungkook huffed a tiny breathless laugh despite himself — and immediately bit it down when you turned slightly, giving him a small, questioning smile. He coughed into his fist and looked away.

He was losing it.

And then — Out of the corner of his eye, Jungkook caught Pascal watching him. Really watching him. Sharp, assessing — and then… almost kind. Pascal stepped close enough that Jungkook could see the screen of Pascal’s phone when he tilted it forward — a message typed out in clear, simple English with its translation into Korean next to it.

"Normally Flora and I bring her home if it’s this late. But if you want to take her home instead, we will leave you two alone?"

Jungkook froze. His mouth went dry. He blinked — once, twice — rereading it to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating from sleep deprivation or love-induced madness. When he finally looked up, wide-eyed, cheeks glowing bright red, Pascal just grinned at him — like a cat that had stolen the cream.

But Pascal’s smile turned serious in the next second.

He held Jungkook’s gaze firmly, and then, in slow, careful English that even he understood very clearly, he added:

"Just don’t hurt her."

The unspoken "or else" hung heavy between them.

Jungkook nodded immediately. Seriously. From the deepest part of himself. There wasn’t even a fraction of hesitation. He would rather cut off his own hand than hurt you.

Pascal seemed satisfied with that. He clapped Jungkook lightly on the shoulder, nodded once like a silent deal had been struck — and turned back toward Flora and you, who were laughing about how creepy some of the fake horror props had been.

Jungkook finally, finally allowed himself to breathe. He straightened, the panic in his chest easing just a little. He still didn’t know exactly how he was going to ask you — but now, at least, he had more time.

The four of you had gotten your sweet treats from Pascal’s favorite late-night stand — some homemade fudge and steaming paper cones of roasted almonds that perfumed the cool night air with caramel sugar.

You crunched your way through them peacefully, laughing with Flora about the terrible fake blood on one specific prop, while Pascal made dry commentary about how he’d seen scarier things at his tax office. Jungkook stayed close but quiet, occasionally smiling wide enough that the corners of his eyes crinkled, but he was still a little in his own head — winding down slowly from everything.

The walk to your designated tram stop was calm. Different from the chaotic crowd earlier — this station was just a little one, off the main roads. You stood together on the almost empty platform, idly chatting while waiting for your tram to rattle in. Jungkook couldn’t help but notice how the fluorescent lights made your skin look almost soft and glowing. He inched just a little closer, under the weak excuse of hearing you better, his hands stuffed deep into his jacket pockets to stop himself from touching you again.

When the tram finally rolled in, it sighed and squealed against the tracks, and you all climbed inside together, still half-laughing over Pascal's bad jokes. It was quiet inside. Jungkook had just gotten used to the idea that he'd be sitting next to you for the rest of the ride — half-savoring, half-panicking about it — when it happened.

At the last possible second, just before the doors banged shut, Pascal and Flora jumped out. You both turned — mouths open, stunned — too late to follow. The doors slid closed with a harsh thump, locking the two of you in.

Alone.

The station outside slipped away into the darkness. You stared after them, frozen, and then muttered under your breath, a little stunned, "Fuckers."

Jungkook’s brows shot up — he didn't need any translation for that one. Even without knowing the word exactly, your tone said everything. He flushed immediately, dropping his gaze, rocking awkwardly on his heels.

"I... uh..." he started, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Sorry... about... this situation," he said, clearly flustered, almost apologetic. His English was slow and careful, like he wanted to get it perfect for you. "I didn’t... mean to trap you?"

You blinked at him, heart twisting painfully at how sweet he was being about it — how he looked genuinely sorry, like he was afraid you’d be mad. Quickly, you smiled, trying to reassure him.

"I don’t mind," you said warmly, pulling out your phone. You tapped at the screen, pulling up the tram map, trying to figure out how he could get back to the Korean restaurant where you'd first met — it seemed like a million years ago already. You held it up to him, meaning to make it easy for him to jump ship if he needed. But Jungkook's face fell the second he understood.

He pointed at himself, then at you, his brows furrowing.

"You... don't want... me... to bring you?" he asked, his voice a little small, a little uncertain. His words were halting but sincere.

"If not... okay... I go. But—" He fumbled, gesturing at your phone and then back at you, urgent, "—I... pay taxi. So you get home safe."

You stared at him, completely blindsided.

"You..." You laughed, a little breathless, a little floored. "You want to take me home?"

Jungkook's ears burned visibly. He nodded so fast you were surprised his head didn’t snap off. "Yes," he said. "Yes... I want."

"But..." you faltered, still confused, feeling your heart race, "I don’t want to steal your time..."

He shook his head, frantic, taking half a step closer without realizing it.

"You don’t!" he insisted, voice low and urgent. "You don’t. I... I want... time with you."

He sucked in a shaky breath after that, eyes locked onto yours so fiercely you couldn't look away even if you wanted to.

"I choose." He had said it slower, firmer, so earnest it nearly knocked you off your feet. And you realized then — this was why Pascal and Flora had ditched you two at the last second. This was why Pascal had grinned like a madman. Jungkook had asked for it. He had flushed madly, panicked, but asked to be alone with you.

The tram clattered along the tracks under your feet, a quiet lullaby to the storm inside your chest. Your cheeks burned as you tucked your phone away again, pretending not to notice how Jungkook's hand hovered close to yours, not quite brave enough to touch yet.

He was still trying so hard — speaking English, clumsy but heartfelt, making it easier for you.

You smiled up at him shyly, and said, "We can keep talking in Korean."

Jungkook’s face lit up like a sunrise. He leaned in just slightly, like you had given him the best gift.

"I... want make easy for you, like you made it easy for me," he said, grinning wide, chest puffing up a little like he was proud of himself. "I want... you happy."

God. You felt like you were melting right there in the rattling subway car.

"I appreciate it," you said, voice soft but sure. The train rumbled to a stop a few moments later. You stepped out into the quiet coolness of the late night — your stop. The streets were empty, just the low hum of a far-off car or two, the golden glow of distant street lamps. You started walking, your footsteps echoing softly against the pavement.

Jungkook hovered close to your side, not touching, but close enough that you could feel his body heat seeping through the chilly night air. You risked a glance at him — the way his hands were tucked deep into his jacket pockets, the soft furrow between his brows like he was deep in thought.

Gathering your courage, you blurted out, "Can... can I ask you something personal, personal?"

You rushed to add, "You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

Jungkook’s mouth curled into a wide, amused grin. He gave a little huff of a laugh, absolutely delighted with you. It wasn’t lost on him how careful you were — how, even now, after all the laughing, the horror walk, the sweets and jokes, you still treated him with so much respect. You hadn’t prodded or demanded like some people did, hadn’t poked at him like a shiny object.

Even now, you offered him the dignity of choice. And without hesitation, he nodded.

"Ask," he said warmly.

You bit your lip for a second, cheeks heating.

"Why are you here?" you asked finally. "I mean... here in this town? It’s not exactly... special."

For a moment, you worried you might have offended him. You searched his face for any sign of irritation. But Jungkook just smiled, slow and a little secret, like you had stumbled into something true.

"Holiday," he said. "Smaller cities... make it easier to blend. Easier to be..." He paused, tapping his chest lightly, "me."

Your eyes widened in understanding. You nodded quickly. "That... that makes sense."

It did. In a small city like this, he could just be Jungkook — not the star, not the phenomenon — just a guy eating sweets at 2am, laughing at terrible horror props, getting fake blood splashed on his shoes. The conversation loosened after that. He invited you to ask more.

You asked him his favorite food (which, predictably, made him light up and ramble about samgyeopsal and ramen), and he asked you about your work. He teased you gently about your horror movie squeamishness, and you teased him back for how much he liked it when you clung to him.

The walk to your apartment passed faster than you thought possible — fifteen minutes that felt like seconds. As your building came into view under the sleepy halo of the streetlights, you slowed to a stop — but your feet didn’t quite want to stay still.

You didn’t want to say goodbye to Jungkook.

Not with how warm the night still felt despite the chill in the air. Not with how close he was — real and quiet and nervously alive beside you.

You turned toward him, heart stumbling in your chest — and that’s when you noticed. He was fidgeting nervously on the spot, shifting from foot to foot like he couldn't settle. His hands curled and uncurled at his sides. He bit at his lip ring — hard — like it had personally offended him.

And he was looking at you.

No — he was looking at your lips.

It hit you like a freight train, how charged the air had become — how close you still were, how much he was holding himself back. Your heart pounded so loud you were sure he could hear it. And suddenly, you were excited all over again — and anxious, and dizzy, and so full of heat you could barely breathe.

Your fingers fumbled with your keys, looking between him and your building and him again, like you couldn’t decide which thing was more terrifying. And Jungkook just stood there, wrecked with nerves, looking like he desperately wanted something but didn’t know if he was allowed to take it.

And then, shy and barely above a whisper, you found your voice.

“Do you… um…” You cleared your throat, cheeks blazing. “Would you like to come up? Just for a bit?”

You gestured toward the building with a tilt of your chin, forcing yourself to keep eye contact. “I mean, the next tram won’t come for a while. Not that you couldn’t just get a taxi or something, obviously, but—”

“Yes.”

His voice cut through your ramble — soft but breathless. Like he’d been waiting. Like he couldn’t let you talk yourself out of it.

“Yes,” he repeated, and stepped just a little closer.

You blushed so hard you almost dropped your keys. Jungkook’s eyes flicked down to them, amused, but didn’t say anything. He just smiled — the kind that made your insides unravel — and waited while you got the door open, heart threatening to beat straight out of your chest.

You stepped inside and let him follow, suddenly hyper-aware of everything: the creak of the floorboards, the faint smell of the candle you’d blown out earlier, the slight mess in the sink you hadn’t quite tackled yet. It wasn’t bad — you’d cleaned yesterday, thankfully — but still, you couldn’t help the little twinge of embarrassment that bloomed in your chest.

Jungkook stepped inside gently, quiet and careful, like he didn’t want to disturb the air. He looked around slowly, eyes drifting over your space — the small bookshelf, the couch, the dish rack, the jacket tossed over a chair. The framed prints on your wall. The mug with the chipped rim on the counter.

Then his eyes caught on something else.

The wall of photos near your kitchen door.

He wandered a little closer after leaving his cap his shoes an jacket at your front door, expression softening as he scanned over them — a chaotic, joyful collage. There were pictures of you with friends, some clearly older and sun-faded. Others more recent, printed in glossy bursts of color. One where you and Flora were mid-laugh in a garden, holding fake knives from a Halloween display. Another where Pascal had his head in your lap while you looked mock-annoyed, eyes rolling but clearly fond.

Several photos showed you and Pascal together, reenacting sculptures — in museums, parks, once even a fountain. Jungkook paused in front of one where a much younger you stood frozen with Pascal beside you, both of you mimicking a classical marble pose with serious faces and ridiculous commitment.

He laughed, soft and surprised. “This really is … your thing?”

You hovered awkwardly behind him, feeling both warm and embarrassed. “We started doing them when we were, like, fifteen? It just… stuck.”

Jungkook smiled. “I like it.”

Then, shifting just a bit, his gaze flicked to the shelf next to the pictures — the one with your music collection. His eyes caught on the row of albums tucked to one side. Some of them were his. Not all, but a few. One of his solo projects. A BTS album with the spine worn from too many plays. Another still wrapped in its original plastic. Even an AgustD album between them all.

He blinked once — and then grinned.

Wide. Mischievous. Almost smug.

You groaned immediately, dragging a hand down your face. Jungkook laughed — really laughed this time — head tilting back slightly, hair falling into his eyes as his shoulders shook.

“You have… good taste,” he teased and pretended to examine the shelf like a judge at an art gallery. “And very supportive heart.”

You peeked at him through your fingers. “You’re impossible.”

He looked at you over his shoulder, and smiled softer now — shy, like he couldn’t quite believe he was here either.

“Yeah,” he murmured, “but I’m glad you let me in.”

Your heart was doing ridiculous things in your chest and Jungkook's presence felt too big and too close in your tiny home, you managed to clear your throat and ask, “Do you want something to drink?”

Your voice was light — too light — and you didn’t wait for his answer before turning toward the fridge, using it as an excuse to collect yourself. Trying to be a good host. You needed something to do, anything to stop you from watching the way he leaned against the counter like he belonged there, sleeves shoved up to his forearms, lip ring catching the dim light whenever he bit at it.

Jungkook chuckled quietly behind you, following your movement. “Water’s fine,” he said.

You nodded, grabbing a glass and opening the fridge. The cool air hit your face, grounding, and you took an extra second longer than necessary, using the excuse to breathe. Just as you were closing the fridge door again, Jungkook’s voice broke the quiet.

“Can I ask you something personal?”

You turned around, confused — blinking at him over the rim of the glass. “You’ve kind of been doing that all evening.”

A crooked grin tugged at his mouth, but he looked a little sheepish, running a hand through his hair.

“No, I mean… something different.”

You hesitated for half a second before nodding. “Yeah. Go ahead.”

He looked at you for a moment — not scanning or judging, just looking, like trying to figure out how best to ask. Then: “Why are you like this?”

You blinked. Paused. Raised an eyebrow slowly.

“…Excuse me?”

The expression on your face made him huff at himself, rubbing the back of his neck, already regretting his wording.

“I didn’t mean it like— Not in a bad way,” he rushed, words tumbling now. “I mean… the way you’ve treated me all night. Like I’m not… you know—me.”

You stayed quiet, curious but cautious.

“You’ve barely mentioned anything about music,” he said, softer now. “You didn’t bring up BTS. You didn’t ask for a photo, or… anything like that. It’s like…” He shrugged helplessly. “You’re trying really hard not to.”

You exhaled, slowly. Set the glass down.

“Oh,” you said, a little caught off guard. “Well… yeah.”

He waited, head tilted, expression open.

You licked your lips, nervous. “I didn’t know if you’d want that. I mean… You’re a person. A really successful one, yeah, but… you seemed like you just wanted to have a normal dinner, a normal night. And I didn’t want to ruin that by acting weird or clingy or making you feel like I only saw you as this… brand.”

Jungkook didn’t say anything, so you kept going, fumbling your way through, but pacing yourself so he could understand you.

“I mean you are that brand but also aren’t. You’re a person first, right? I figured asking for pictures or autographs would be rude. Probably you’re not even allowed to talk about certain things? So I didn’t want to put you in a position where it got awkward or uncomfortable. I didn’t want to cross a line. Even if part of me…” You hesitated, smiled sheepishly. “Okay, yeah, part of me might curse myself later. When this ends and you go back to your world, to being that Jungkook again, is gonna hate myself later for not asking you for a picture or an autograph.”

That earned a small breath of laughter from him.

“But honestly? Just… being with you like this? Talking and laughing and walking around — it’s better than any signed album. Because you are way nicer than I ever imagined.”

You didn’t know what expression you expected from him. Maybe gratitude. Maybe amusement. But you didn’t expect him to look stunned. Utterly stunned — like you’d knocked the wind out of him. He stared for a second longer, lips parted, eyes soft and disbelieving.

And then — without warning — he stepped forward and huggedyou.

Just like that. No hesitation. No awkward shuffle. His arms wrapped around you like he’d been waiting all night to do it, like something fragile inside him had finally let go. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the way he breathed in like he needed to memorize the shape of this moment. Your hands found their way to his back instinctively, curling into the fabric of his hoodie. He smelled like something warm, something clean. His lip ring was cool against your temple where he pressed his face into your hair, exhaling like he hadn’t realized he needed to.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, voice muffled in your hair. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like you had to… to explain. I just— No one’s ever… not many treat me like that.”

You blinked, hands slowly rising to rest against his sides.

“I didn’t know I needed it.” he added, quieter.

Your heart ached in the best way. You tilted your head just slightly so your cheek could rest against his shoulder. Jungkook’s arms loosened gradually, his body lingering in the space between you. His hands slid down your sides with featherlight care, as though he wasn’t ready to let go — not really. When he leaned back just enough to look at you, his eyes were unreadable for a second. Then they dropped.

To your lips.

And stayed there.

The weight of his stare made it suddenly hard to breathe. You swallowed, heart stammering in your chest as you watched him try — and fail — to drag his gaze back up to your eyes. When he did, it was with effort, as if every fiber of him still wanted to be looking at your mouth instead. He licked his bottom lip slowly — not teasing, not calculated — just hungry, barely restrained. The silver of his lip ring caught on the light, glinting like a warning and a promise all at once.

Your breath hitched.

You couldn't look away. Not now. Especially not when he began leaning in, inch by cautious inch, until you were close enough to feel his breath ghost over your skin — warm and soft and tasting faintly of something sweet he’d eaten earlier.

And then his lips touched yours.

A soft, reverent press. Not hesitant exactly — more like he was savoring it. Like he’d imagined this and didn’t want to rush the real thing. The kiss was gentle at first — his lips pillowy and warm, fitting against yours so naturally it felt like falling into something you’d been meant to find. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, clinging to him without even realizing you’d moved, needing something to hold onto because your entire body felt too light, too giddy, too alive.

A flurry of butterflies erupted in your chest, trying to claw their way out of you.

His tongue flicked out — a slow, tentative kitten lick across your lower lip, as if asking, May I? And when your lips parted on a soft, involuntary sound — a whimper, a mewl, something needy and breathless — Jungkook’s breath caught against your skin.

That was all he needed.

The kiss deepened, hot and slow and aching. His tongue slid against yours, smooth and searching, tasting you like you were something precious. He kissed like he wanted to learn everything — the shape of your mouth, the way your breath stuttered, the soft sounds you made when his lips moved just so.

You trembled in his arms, overwhelmed.

One of his hands clenched gently at your hip, not hard but firm, anchoring you. The other drifted up to your neck, then into your hair near your hairline — fingers threading in softly and holding you still, keeping you close. He tilted your head just enough to fit better against him, to deepen the kiss just a little more, and everything about the way he touched you made you feel fragile and wanted all at once.

When he pulled back, he didn’t go far.

Just enough to let you breathe again. Your eyes fluttered open. You were trembling. Jungkook’s eyes were heavy-lidded, his lips slightly parted and kissed-red, a glint of wetness catching on the silver of his lip ring. His thumb brushed your jaw, and only then did you realize your whole body was buzzing. That you were flushed to the roots. That your knees felt like jelly.

That you might very well throw up your heart onto the floor.

He looked at you like you were art. And all you could do was stare back at him, still holding onto his hoodie like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.  Jungkook didn’t step away after the kiss ended. His breath mingled with yours, warm and shallow between you. His eyes searched your face like he needed to see everything — the tremble in your lips, the flush on your cheeks, the way your chest rose and fell in shaky rhythm with his.

“Was that… okay?” he asked.

His voice was deeper now, rough around the edges — like gravel softened by velvet. You could see the tension in his jaw, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed hard as he swallowed, his thumb brushing gently along your cheekbone. He was touching you like he couldn’t help it — like he didn’t even realize he was doing it, just mapping your skin under his fingers.

Your voice caught in your throat.

You nodded, eyes wide, chest tight with everything you couldn’t put into words. It was more than okay — it felt like your entire body had been lit from within, nerves firing in every direction. But Jungkook didn’t accept just a nod.

“Words,” he said, low and hoarse, the demand wrapping around you like silk laced with fire.

Your breath hitched. “Y–Yeah.” It came out as more air than voice. You tried again, voice trembling with sincerity. “Yes. It’s… it’s really okay.”

A slow, satisfied smile curled on his lips — soft and sinful at the same time — and before you could even begin to catch your breath again, he was kissing you. This time it wasn’t tentative. This was deeper, hungrier — his mouth opening over yours like he meant to leave a mark on your soul. His hands gripped your waist as your breath stuttered, and your fingers dug into the soft cotton of his hoodie again. The kiss was slow and consuming, drawing you under like a tide pulling you out to sea.

Your knees buckled, and he noticed — instantly.

Without breaking the kiss, Jungkook moved you. His strong arms wrapped around you like it was effortless, and in a few guided steps, your back bumped softly against the edge of the kitchen counter. Then, with practiced strength and surprising gentleness, he lifted you — one smooth motion — and set you down on the surface.

A startled yelp slipped from your lips, swallowed almost immediately by his mouth returning to yours. Your thighs instinctively parted for him as he stepped between your legs, his chest brushing yours, his warmth enveloping you. His hand returned to your neck, fingers curling softly into the hair at your nape, tilting your head just how he liked it. You sighed into his mouth, long and low, surrendering completely to the feel of him.

He smiled against your lips — you felt it — and it made your heart twist.

You threaded your hands through his hair, fingertips brushing the undercut at the base of his skull. The strands were soft and thick, and he made a low sound at the contact — almost a groan, half-muffled by your lips. One of your hands lingered at the back of his neck, the other trailed across his shoulders, grounding yourself against the solid heat of him.

You locked your legs around his hips without thinking, drawing him in closer. You could feel everything — the tension in his body, the thrum of his heart against yours, the slow burn of something heavy and overwhelming settling low in your belly.

Jungkook’s lips never strayed far, brushing soft kisses across your jaw, down your neck, like he was committing you to memory one breath at a time. His hands began to explore more boldly now, firm but reverent — one anchoring at your hip, the other sliding slowly up your side. The heat of his touch burned through your clothes, every inch of your skin responding as if drawn by static, nerves flickering to life under his fingers.

When his palm swept along your spine, warm and purposeful, you arched into him instinctively — a soft whimper escaping your lips. It wasn’t dramatic or intentional, just pure reaction. A quiet sound of need you couldn’t hold back. Jungkook chuckled low against your throat, lips ghosting your skin.

"So sensitive," he murmured, voice rich with affection and something deeper — hunger laced with wonder. The way he said it made you shiver.

His hands moved again, slower now, more exploratory — like he was discovering a secret. One hand slid around, fingertips grazing the underside of your breast through the thin fabric of your top. He hesitated for a breath, as if waiting for you to stop him, to pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, a small, pleased sound caught in your throat, your head falling slightly back, lips parted with your next shallow inhale.

Jungkook pulled back just enough to look at you, to really look — your lips kiss-swollen and pink, your cheeks flushed with heat, your chest rising and falling fast beneath your shirt.

"Still okay?" he asked, voice deeper now, strained at the edges.

You nodded. “Yeah.” You could barely speak. The word came out in a sigh, like it had to push through every beat of your racing heart. And Jungkook looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

His hand found the hem of your shirt, fingers slipping just beneath. His touch on your bare skin was devastating — warm and sure as he slowly skimmed up your sides. His eyes stayed on you the whole time, watching every reaction. When his hand spread over your ribs and moved inward, your breath hitched violently, your back arching again with a sharp, involuntary gasp.

He exhaled shakily. “Fuck…”

“Jungkook…” You said his name like it was a confession, like it was the only word your mouth could remember how to form.

His gaze flickered down.

His fingers had found the curve of your breast now, brushing just along the edge of your bra — testing boundaries, testing your reactions. His thumb slowly traced the line of skin exposed above the cup, and your whole body clenched in response. Your thighs tightened around him, and your hands clutched at his shoulders like you needed something to anchor you.

And still, he looked up at you. Not for permission anymore — for the sheer pleasure of watching the way you unraveled under his hands. You were dizzy. Melting. Your head swam with heat and need, everything in you drawn to the man between your legs.

Jungkook leaned in again, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear, his voice barely more than breath: “You feel so good under my hands.”

You whimpered, knees falling wider, his hips slotting in deeper between your legs as you clung to him. He was hard now — you could feel it clearly against your center, even through your clothes, and the realization sent a rush of heat crashing through you.

Jungkook’s hand cupped your breast with more intention now, squeezing gently — just enough to draw a soft, breathy moan from your lips. The sound made him groan low in his throat, hips instinctively pressing forward against you, desperate for friction. His other hand slid down, gripping your hip and guiding you closer to the edge of the counter. The shift in position brought you flush against him, and you could feel the hard press of him right where you were aching — it was dizzying, maddening.

Your head dropped to his shoulder as your breath caught in your throat, and you instinctively pressed a kiss to the warm skin of his neck. His scent was intoxicating — clean, musky, something uniquely him — and when your lips brushed over the strong line of his throat, you felt him shudder against you.

He kept touching you, his thumb sliding beneath the edge of your bra, then gently dragging his nail over your nipple in a teasing, deliberate motion that made your body jerk in his arms. You gasped into his neck, breath trembling as you held onto him tighter, your hands fisting the fabric of his hoodie. It was too much and not enough at once — your chest heaved, lips parting in silent pleading as he kept up the slow, torturous rhythm.

The heat between your thighs pulsed in time with the friction of his hips pressed snugly between yours. The thick ridge of him, even through layers of clothing, made your breath catch again. You were soaked. Desperate. A throbbing need built between your legs that had your toes curling, your legs tightening around his hips to keep him there, to keep him close.

You kissed his neck again, slower this time, your lips lingering as you let your hand roam upward, over the hard plane of his chest. Every muscle under your palm felt tense— his heart hammering in time with yours. You wanted to touch more. All of him. But your hand hovered at the space between you, not quite daring to move lower. The friction where your bodies met was too good, too electric to disrupt.

Jungkook’s breath came hard against your ear now, his lips ghosting over your temple as he whispered, almost helplessly, “You’re driving me crazy…” He was losing control slowly — and loving it.

Your answer was a soft whimper, your hips shifting unconsciously against his. He grunted, a ragged sound low in his chest, as his hand moved to cup the fullness of your breast more fully now, thumbing your nipple in slow, aching circles that had you arching into him.

Your skin felt too tight. Your nerves were on fire. And all you could think about was how good his hands felt, how good he felt — everywhere. Jungkook didn’t stop. His hands roamed your body like he was learning it by heart — your curves, your gasps, the places that made you arch and whimper. He was reverent but hungry, like he wanted to devour and worship you in the same breath.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly, every inch of you buzzing with anticipation and heat as his thumb grazed your nipple again, sending a ripple of pleasure straight through your core. Your hips rocked instinctively against him, and the friction made you dizzy.

Your hands clung to him, your mouth brushing his jaw as your voice came out barely louder than a whisper — raw and vulnerable and wrecked.

“Please… touch me.”

Jungkook froze for half a heartbeat. His pupils blew wide, his jaw clenched, and his throat worked as he swallowed hard. His voice came out deep, rough, already hoarse with need.

“Fuck… yeah. I—” he faltered, breath catching as he tried to anchor himself, “where?”

At first, you misunderstood. You reached down between you both, your hand shaking slightly — from nerves, from want, from the sheer surreal intimacy of the moment — and you guided his hand, bold and trembling, right between your legs. Over the heated fabric of your pants, pressing him there, where you ached for him most.

Jungkook let out a strangled groan, his head falling to your shoulder for a second like the sensation had physically knocked the breath from him. His fingers flexed instinctively, feeling the heat, even through the layers.

“Jesus,” he whispered, voice shredded with disbelief and need. He kissed you again, rougher this time, a little desperate, and then drew back just enough to stammer, “Bed?”

The word was simple. Hopeful. Because he could take you here — wanted to, ached to — but he didn’t want this to be a rushed, stolen thing. Not when it was your first time like this. Not when it was you. Your eyes went wide, and you suddenly looked flustered, realizing what he had meant.

“Oh… there,” you said softly, cheeks burning. You nodded toward the door to your room, utterly mortified at your mistake, your voice nearly swallowed by your own breathlessness. You shifted, meaning to slide off the counter and find your footing again, to lead him there — but Jungkook didn’t let you go.

He gripped your waist and pulled you in, grinding you against his hardness. Your thighs clenched around him, and the gasp you let out — broken and shameless — made him hiss through his teeth. You couldn’t even breathe, couldn’t think. He grinned against your throat, a cocky glint in his eyes that he didn’t even try to hide.

“God, you sound good,” he muttered, before lifting you into his arms like you weighed nothing.

Your arms locked around his neck as your nose buried against his skin, still dizzy with how fast this was spiraling. But it felt right. Real. Like something that had been waiting to happen for far too long. He carried you through the hallway, pushing your bedroom door open with his shoulder, never once letting you go. The world was muffled. It was just him. Just you.

He set you down onto the bed like you were precious, his, but he didn’t give you space — didn’t even move back an inch. His body hovered over yours, gaze burning down at you, and he let his hand settle low, palming you again through the fabric of your pants. Your hips lifted into his hand involuntarily, and the moan that slipped from your lips was downright filthy. He chuckled darkly, satisfied, eyes half-lidded and gleaming. “So,” he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth, your cheek, your jaw, “where do you want me to touch you again?”

You wanted to answer. You meant to answer.

But his hand rubbed slow, teasing circles, and your head fell back into the pillows. All you could do was feel.

He didn’t stay teasing long. After one more slow press of his palm, he pulled back just enough to hook his fingers into the waistband of your pants, silently asking for more. You nodded frantically, lips parted, chest rising and falling as if you’d just run miles.

“Okay?” he asked again, that final, precious line of respect in his voice — even with his body trembling above you. You reached for him, cupping his jaw as you whispered, “Yes. Please, Jungkook.”

He kissed you like he needed to taste those words again.

Then he peeled your pants down with aching care — reverent and focused — revealing more of you to him, inch by inch, as the last threads of restraint started to unravel. His hand moved lower with deliberate slowness, fingers tracing the outline of your panties like he was drawing a boundary he intended to cross — a line of reverence and tension. His touch was warm, electric, his fingertips ghosting along the thin fabric as if memorizing the way it clung to you.

He licked his lips instinctively, then caught the edge of his lip ring between his teeth — his eyes catching the wet sheen of you through the fabric.

“Fuck,” he murmured under his breath, chest rising, voice strained. “You're soaked…wet…”

The wonder in his voice made your stomach flip. Not cocky — awed. Like he couldn’t believe this was real. Then his thumb pressed down, slowly, directly over your clit through the damp cloth. The pressure made you jolt, breath catching hard in your throat.

His other hand slid beneath your shirt, and you arched into him instinctively. The fabric pushed up around your ribs and you made quick work of it — pulling it over your head and tossing it blindly aside, leaving your hair tousled and wild. You barely had time to take another breath before your bra joined it, hands shaking slightly with how overwhelmed you already felt.

But Jungkook… Jungkook had stopped moving. His eyes were locked on your body now — unmoving, dark, devouring. His lips were parted, his expression torn between reverence and hunger.

“God,” he said, almost like it hurt. “You're… fuck, you're so beautiful.”

You barely had time to react before he shifted lower, pushing you back onto the bed and settling between your legs. His mouth descended, warm and wet, and he kissed the swell of your breast before taking one of your nipples between his lips — gently at first, sucking just enough to make you moan, and then his teeth grazed lightly. You gasped, your back arching off the bed as the sensation sparked down your spine.

And at the same time — god, at the same time — his hand didn’t stop.

His thumb flicked again over your clit through your underwear, a slow, maddening stroke, before he hooked his fingers around the side and pulled the soaked fabric aside. The sudden exposure made you shiver. His fingers dipped lower — warm, thick — and then, without warning, he slid one finger inside you.

You cried out his name.

It tore from you without shame, your hips bucking against his hand. Your legs shook immediately, the sensation too good, too much. He groaned above you, mouth still warm on your breast, his breath stuttering.

“You’re—fuck,” he swore again, licking his lips as he looked down at the way your body welcomed him. “You’re so wet.”

He worked that finger gently, then added a second with ease. The stretch made your knees jerk, your thighs instinctively trying to close — but Jungkook was already there, pressing one of his hands firmly to your thigh to hold you open.

His head tilted up, eyes locked to yours.

“Don’t look away,” he growled. “Look at me.”

The command in his voice made your breath catch again — and god, the way he stared at you, the way he looked at you, like he could read every twitch of your body and wanted to worship it — it only made the heat coiling in your stomach burn hotter.

You looked at him, lips parted, breath shallow. You could feel it — god, you could feel it — the wetness between your legs only growing with every slow, deliberate push of Jungkook’s fingers. Every time he slid into you, you felt how soaked you were, how easily he moved inside you, how thoroughly your body gave in to him. He had to feel it too — the way your slick coated his fingers, warm and eager.

But then, your thoughts blurred completely.

His thumb dragged down again, pressing more firmly over your clit this time, shifting the soaked fabric aside with a slick sound that made your breath stutter. His fingers inside you twisted slightly, working you open with a rhythm that wasn’t fast, but devastatingly effective — controlled, calculated. His other hand gripped the inside of your thigh, firm and steady, holding you open like you might squirm away if he let up for even a second.

And his eyes — god, those dark, fixed eyes — didn’t leave you.

He wasn’t just watching you fall apart — he was studying you, memorizing how you responded to every inch of pressure.

Then — there.

A rough, almost brutal thrust of his fingers hit something inside you that made your entire body jolt, a raw, uncontrolled moan tearing from your lips as your eyes rolled back. His grip on your thigh tightened instantly, fingers stalling deep inside you. “Eyes on me.”

You gasped, breath catching in your throat, and somehow managed to look back at him — only to find him already smiling. Not cocky. Not smug. But darkly satisfied. Like he’d just discovered your favorite sin.

“There it is,” he murmured, almost to himself. And then he pushed again. Same place. Same pace. Your legs trembled, your back arched. Your breath came in broken gasps, and your eyes fluttered shut—

His hand stopped again.

A soft, amused chuckle met your ears. “Look at me.”

It took everything you had, but you opened your eyes again. And the second you did, he rewarded you — with movement, with pressure, with maddening precision. It was too much. And not enough. And perfect.

You cried out his name, trembling underneath him, your hands scrambling for anything to ground yourself. One hand found your breast, gripping and pinching your nipple as the pleasure became too much to contain. The other clawed at the sheets beneath you.

Jungkook's gaze darkened even more — if that was possible. His eyes darted from your face to your hand on your chest, lips parted in pure, ruined hunger. The hand holding your thigh squeezed tighter, almost bruising — but the way it made you whimper only spurred him on.

He couldn’t help himself.

His fingers with a mind of their own move faster — still deliberate, but harder now, each thrust punching the air out of your lungs, and it hit again, that spot inside you, over and over, as he watched you touch yourself. You shattered with a sob, your body arching, legs trembling uncontrollably as you unraveled beneath him.

And then —as you came apart around his hand — Jungkook’s eyes snapped back up to yours.

He looked stunned. Like he’d surprised even himself.

You tried so hard to keep your gaze locked with his, obedient even through your climax, but it overwhelmed you. Still, the moment your vision cleared, you saw him watching — intensely, reverently — and he slowly pulled his fingers from your heat, making you flinch with the oversensitivity.

You let out a soft hiss, and he soothed it with a small kiss on your thigh.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at you like he couldn’t believe what he’d done to you — what you’d let him do. His fingers — the ones that had just been buried deep inside you — rose to his lips, and with maddening slowness, he licked them clean. Every last bit. Tongue curling over the pads of his fingers, tasting you with a groan he barely held back.

And somehow, impossibly, you felt yourself getting wet all over again.

Your chest still heaving, you barely noticed him shift lower until you felt the first brush of his hand against your hips again. The one that had held your thigh open now moved with purpose to your panties — still pushed to the side, soaked beyond reason. He tugged them gently down, over your hips, down your thighs, peeling them from your skin like a gift being unwrapped.

His eyes flicked up, meeting yours again, and his voice dropped to a hoarse whisper.

“You want more?”

Like he didn’t already know.

“Yes,” you breathed out, the word little more than a gasp, heavy and desperate. Your hands reached for him, clumsy but determined, trying to push him out of his goddamn clothes. Jungkook let out a low, shaky laugh, letting you tug at his hoodie, your lips barely parting from his as your fingers slipped beneath the hem. The kiss was messy, heated, a collision of mouths and breath as clothes were stripped away.

By the time his jeans hit the floor with a thud, Jungkook was already reaching into his wallet, pulling out some foil packets. His fingers worked quickly to tear one open, but you had other plans. Your hands slid over his hips, under the waistband of his Calvin Kleins, and before he could fully comprehend what was happening, your mouth was on him.

“Shit—” he gasped, his whole body jolting at the feel of your lips wrapping around him, heat and wetness and pressure all at once. His head fell back slightly, one hand tangling in your hair while the other still fumbled with the condom. “Fuck—wait—wait—” His voice cracked, hoarse with restraint. “I—I don’t wanna cum yet—I want to be inside you.”

You slowed, torturously slow, your mouth dragging off of him with one final, sinful swirl of your tongue that made his thighs twitch beneath you. He groaned, deep and guttural, watching you with wild eyes—completely wrecked without even being inside you yet. You smiled, smug and playful, licking your lips as you sat back on your heels.

Jungkook barely took a second before rolling the condom on, his chest rising and falling sharply, eyes fixed on you like you were the only thing that existed.

Then, suddenly, his hand came up, gripping the back of your neck as he pulled you into a bruising kiss. His weight shifted back, and you yelped in surprise as he fell onto the bed, taking you with him, his mouth never leaving yours. You laughed breathlessly against his lips, adjusting, moving to straddle him—knees braced on either side of his hips, your soaked core brushing against the hard line of him through the condom.

The heat between you was unbearable.

You rolled your hips once, slowly, letting him feel exactly how ready you were. His hands gripped your ass, grounding you against him with a low moan. He gave one cheek a firm slap, just enough to make you jump slightly, and you reached down between your bodies to line him up.

With a deep breath, you sank down.

The stretch was delicious, making your eyes flutter closed as he filled you inch by inch. “Fuck…” he breathed, watching where your bodies joined, one hand sliding from your hip to your waist to your chest. He needed something else to look at—anything—because the sight of you sinking down on him so slowly was too much.

Jungkook’s jaw clenched, his head falling back into the pillow, but his eyes never left you—not as you took him all the way, not as your walls fluttered around him, struggling to adjust to his size.

You stilled when he was fully seated inside you, needing a moment to breathe, to steady yourself. Jungkook’s hands roamed your body—palming your breasts, caressing your thighs—his eyes dark and hungry as he waited for you to move.

Then, slowly, you began to roll your hips.

The sensation made your breath stutter, the friction deep and consuming. Jungkook’s hands gripped your waist, guiding your movement, but letting you take control. Each time you moved, you ground down just a little harder, your pace building gradually, as the room filled with the sounds of slick skin and shared moans.

“You feel so fucking good,” Jungkook groaned, his fingers digging into your hips like he was trying to hold himself together. “So tight… so wet—fuck—just like that.”

You leaned forward, one hand on his chest, the other in his hair, and kissed him again—open-mouthed and breathless—as you began to move faster. The pleasure mounted sharply, your name falling from his lips like a prayer, his eyes glued to the way you moved above him.

Every roll of your hips, every bounce, pulled another broken sound from his throat. He met you thrust for thrust, his hips lifting just slightly off the bed, pushing deeper, harder, chasing the high that was starting to spiral through both of you.

And still—those eyes. Always locked on you.

You could feel the pressure building in your core, heat coiling impossibly tight, threatening to snap. And judging by the way Jungkook’s jaw was clenched, his fingers bruising into your skin, he wasn’t far behind.

“Come for me,” he rasped. “I want to feel you fall apart around me.”

God, you wanted to. You wanted to come so badly it almost hurt. But your body wasn’t quite there yet—your orgasm from earlier still left you shaky, and now riding him, giving him everything you had, your thighs were trembling, legs burning with effort.

But you didn’t want to stop. Didn’t want to deny Jungkook the same overwhelming pleasure he’d already given you. You tried to hold on, to keep going, hips rolling weakly as your mind fuzzed over. Your mouth opened, struggling to form the words—not yet, I want to, please—but you didn’t have to say it.

Jungkook saw it. He felt it.

He stilled you with one hard thrust that made you cry out, then suddenly gripped your waist and flipped you onto your back in one fluid movement. The world spun for a moment and you landed with a gasp, your hair fanned out beneath you and your body arching on instinct. Your lungs were already starved for air, but the moment he sank back into you, deep and fast, he stole what little breath you had left.

“Fuck—Jungkook—” You were a mess—sweat-slicked, flushed, clinging to the sheets and to him like a lifeline.

And Jungkook? He didn’t even look winded. Just gloriously wrecked in the most controlled way—his muscles flexing, his jaw set, his skin glowing with a sheen of sweat that only made him look more like a sin carved by hand.

You cursed him—his abs, his stamina, his goddamn focus.

He shifted slightly, lifting one of your legs and hooking it over his arm, pushing even deeper. You cried out, the new angle hitting something devastating. He growled low in his throat, watching where your bodies met, then reached between you—his fingers finding your clit and circling with maddening precision.

“Oh my god—” you gasped, back arching so hard your shoulder blades left the bed.

It was too much. He filled you completely, every thrust striking right against your most sensitive spots, and now—with the added stimulation of his fingers, you were unraveling embarrassingly fast.

Your hands scrambled at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you looked up at him, desperate. He was looking right back, dark eyes locked to yours, watching you come apart like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Jungkook—” his name ripped out of you like a plea, a prayer. “I’m—close—fuck, I—”

“I know,” he rasped, barely holding on himself. “I feel you—God, I feel you—don’t stop—just—”

He was losing it too, you could tell. His rhythm faltered for just a second, his thrusts growing messier, more frantic. Your walls fluttered around him, tightening, pulsing, and you saw it hit him—the way he froze, just slightly, jaw slack as he groaned deep from his chest.

And then—with a desperate, nearly bruising press of his thumb to your clit—he sent you over the edge. The orgasm crashed through you like a wave, ripping a cry from your throat as your body convulsed beneath him, thighs clenching, walls spasming around him. Your nails dug into him, anchoring yourself as your entire body shook.

That—that—was what undid him.

Jungkook let out a hoarse moan as he finally came, hips jerking once, twice, then burying himself as deep as he could go. You could feel it—the way his body tensed, every muscle locked tight as he spilled into the condom, forehead pressing against yours with a strained groan.

You both stayed like that, trembling, breathless. The room filled with the sound of ragged breathing, hearts pounding like drums in sync. Then, gently, he kissed you. Soft at first—barely a brush of lips. Then again, deeper, fuller, the kind of kiss that said stay here, I'm not done, I want this again.

You moaned into his mouth, your body still twitching in the aftermath, his cock still buried inside you and twitching with aftershocks. When he finally pulled out, you whimpered faintly at the loss. Jungkook moved quickly, slipping off the condom, tying it off and tossing it into the bin beside your bed before returning to you immediately.

He lay down next to you, pulled you close, wrapped an arm around your waist and pressed his lips to your temple. His skin was still warm, his breath evening out slowly against your cheek.

Ideally, he would’ve liked to pull you into the shower, maybe wash your hair while he kissed your shoulders, or coax a few more breathy laughs from you as you soaked together under the water. But he didn’t want to leave this—didn’t want to lose the way your body fit perfectly in his arms, how your fingers curled into his chest like you belonged there.

Instead, he stayed right there, legs tangled with yours, his nose brushing your hair, his thumb lazily tracing circles against your hip.

“You okay?” he murmured, voice low and a little hoarse.

You nodded against his chest, still a little dazed. “Yeah. You?”

He chuckled softly. “Better than okay.”

You weren’t sure how long you lay there—hearts slowing, bodies melting into one another—but it felt like time stopped existing entirely. The room was warm with the scent of sweat, skin, and something deeply personal that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with the way Jungkook held you afterward.

He ran his fingers lazily over your back, the motion soft and aimless, and every now and then he kissed you or your shoulder like he didn’t want to be anywhere else. You thought maybe that was it—but then you felt it. The slow stir of him, pressing against your thigh, barely more than a twitch, but enough to make your breath catch.

You shifted slightly, lifting your head to look at him. He was already watching you, eyes darker again, but softer this time. Not the same edge from before. Something different.

“Too much?” he asked gently, brushing a knuckle along your cheek.

You shook your head. “Not enough.”

That did something to him—made his jaw flex, his hand press firmer into your waist. He leaned in and kissed you again, this time slow, deep, with none of the urgency from earlier. And you let yourself fall into it.

You let yourself be kissed, be held, be touched like you were something delicate—not fragile, just precious. Jungkook rolled you onto your back again, but slower now, giving you time to breathe, to look at him, to feel every inch of him against you. He kissed down your neck, across your chest, his tongue circling your nipple in lazy swirls until your breath hitched and your back arched again, even more sensitive now.

You whimpered softly, already throbbing. He made his way lower, his mouth moving down your stomach, trailing warmth in his wake until he was between your thighs again—his hands gripping the backs of them gently, spreading you open, worshiping you with his mouth like he had all the time in the world.

You gasped when he moaned into you—like he was the one receiving pleasure from tasting you. It was slow, steady, maddening. He didn’t let up until your thighs were trembling around his head again, your hands buried in his hair, your voice whispering his name like it meant something more than just please.

Only then did he crawl back up your body, kissing as he went, slotting himself between your legs.

This time, there was no rush to put the condom on. He reached for the packet on your nightstand, but the way he looked down at you—your flushed chest, your parted lips, the softness in your eyes—was anything but casual.

He kissed you again as he entered you, slow and deliberate, pressing in inch by inch until you were full of him again, and he was gasping into your mouth like the sensation of you was just as overwhelming the second time.

“God, you feel so good,” he murmured against your lips.

This round wasn’t fast. It was longing and worship, of hands exploring and hips moving in lazy, deep strokes that hit all the right spots without the rush. He held your gaze as he moved, his thumb stroking your cheek, your neck, your breast, like he needed to memorize every reaction.

You clung to him, legs wrapped around his waist, nails digging gently into his back. It was slower, but somehow even more intense. You moaned softly into his shoulder as the pleasure started building again, stronger than you expected, a warm coil tightening low in your belly.

“Jungkook…”

“Mm?” he whispered, not stopping, his pace still slow, devastating.

“I’m—already—again,” you whimpered, cheeks heating from how fast he had you there.

He looked down at you like he couldn’t believe it either. “You’re perfect,” he whispered. “So perfect around me.”

You clung tighter as he picked up just enough speed to push you toward the edge, his hand sneaking between you again, fingers finding your clit with ease. He didn’t need to do much—just a few soft circles, the press of his hips deep inside—and you were unraveling again.

Your orgasm this time came in slow, delicious waves—no sharp peaks, just a deep, rolling release that made your entire body tremble and your breath hitch in your throat. Jungkook wasn’t far behind.

The feeling of you pulsing around him, the way you gasped his name, how you looked up at him like he was the only thing in the world—all of it drove him over the edge again. He groaned deep, nearly a growl, and buried himself one final time, head falling to your shoulder as he came with a shudder, muscles tightening, breath stuttering out of him.

You lay there afterward tangled in sweat and warmth and soft kisses, Jungkook’s fingers tracing gentle lines on your skin. This time, Jungkook needed to clean up. You barely had it in you to open your eyes when he finally—carefully—pulled out of you, the sensitivity making you shudder. He soothed you with a kiss to your cheek and made quick, practiced work of disposing of the condom again.

You lay sprawled across your bed, boneless and warm, blinking at the ceiling like your soul had momentarily floated somewhere above the room. Jungkook chuckled, low and fond, his hand gliding over your side as he nudged you gently.

You murmured, “What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he slipped an arm under your knees and another behind your back. You barely registered it before he lifted you, bridal-style, out of the sheets.

“Jungkook—!” you squeaked.

He looked down at you with a playful smirk and a gleam in his eyes that wasn’t entirely sinful—just soft. “Shower,” he said. “Unless you want to sleep in… that.”

You caught a whiff of the shared sweat, sex, and faded perfume and made a face. “Okay, fair.”

The bathroom light was soft when he carried you in. The water ran warm while you both washed the night from your skin. And as easily as breathing, afterward, Jungkook towel-dried your hair with gentle hands, threw on one of your oversized shirts like it was his, and tugged you back into bed with him—like there’d never been any other plan.

You’d half-expected him to leave.

But instead, he stayed.

Tucked into your sheets like he belonged there.

▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽

The next morning arrived slow and syrupy, early sunlight spilling in through the edges of your curtains. Your body ached in the best way, wrapped in a lingering warmth that wasn't just from the covers. You stirred only slightly until you felt a hand—warm, familiar, gentle—glide across your bare hip.

“Mmngh,” you groaned, voice thick with sleep, head buried into your pillow.

“Sorry,” Jungkook whispered, sounding almost… sheepish.

He kissed your shoulder, then your neck, the lazy kind of kisses that made you shiver rather than squirm. You turned your face slightly, meeting his lips with your own, soft and slow like the moment demanded. It was indulgent. A morning kind of kiss. And then, just as your brain was starting to register reality again, he spoke.

“Hey… uh…” He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Could I, uh—get your number?”

You opened one eye.

Then the other.

“…Seriously?”

His ears went a little pink, but his grin was crooked and confident. “What?”

“You’re asking now?” you said, laughing—actually laughing. “After everything we did last night? Now you want my number?”

He leaned in like he had nothing to be ashamed of. “How else am I supposed to reach you? You know, when I want to… assure you that whatever the tabloids say about me is completely false. That I’m actually a very faithful boyfriend.”

Your laughter caught in your throat. “Boyfriend?” you echoed.

He paused. Then looked away like the sunlight had suddenly gotten too bright. “Well—I mean—I’d like to see you again? Take you out?”

It wasn’t a direct answer. But it was definitely not a no.

You blinked once. Twice. Then your brain caught up and short-circuited. “You… want me to be your girlfriend, girlfriend?”

Jungkook looked suddenly very boyish. Shy. He scratched the back of his neck and gave a lopsided shrug. “I mean… eventually? If you… if you want?”

The blush that bloomed across your face could’ve melted the snow off a mountaintop.

“If you ask that nicely,” you said, still a little stunned, “I guess I’ll give you my number.”

He smiled—really smiled. Soft and sweet and bright like he hadn’t expected you to say yes but had hoped with everything in him. Then something flickered in his eyes. A shadow. His smile faltered just slightly.

“There’s, uh… one thing,” he said, voice a little awkward again. “You’d have to sign an NDA.”

You didn’t even flinch.

“An NDA? Sure,” you replied easily. “When?”

Jungkook blinked at you.

“…You’re just okay with that?”

You shrugged, still curled under the blanket beside him, hair a mess, heart full. “Yeah. I mean, I want to see you again. If signing something lets me do that and helps protect you… why wouldn’t I?”

Something shifted in his expression. Something warm. Something deep. And then, like a dam breaking, he moved—rolling over, hovering above you, his eyes dark and wide and soft all at once.

“You…” he whispered, short of breath. “You’re just…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. Just kissed you—hard. Like he couldn’t help himself. Like that answer made something in him snap in the best way. You gasped into the kiss, gripping his arms as he pressed you back into the mattress again. And honestly? You didn’t need words. Not right now.

Masterlist

Tags: @hecatesdescendant

A/N: Hi! Just wanted to mention that I use ChatGPT and DeepL to clean up grammar and spelling in my writing, after getting some rude anos. English is my second language, and this tools helps me share stories the way I imagine them, without spending hours double-checking every word. Writing is just a hobby I enjoy after a full workweek—I’m not trying to make money from it. If you’re curious or have thoughts on it, I’d love to have a friendly discussion!

[baphometsss]

I really think that the draw to Solas for me was in his loneliness and the eccentricity solitude fosters. He says himself that he has basically no friends who are not spirits. In Veilguard this is only reinforced when he says it took him centuries to build a rapport with members of the rebellion. Sometimes it just hits me how lonely he was.

I also think it's interesting that, if the Inquisitor romances Blackwall, Solas tells him that he's glad he's found some happiness despite everything. And when Blackwall asks him if he has found someone, Solas says 'no, I find my peace elsewhere'... he's really not all that romantically inclined. One of the reasons I hate most solavellan fic is that people tend to write him as this super experienced fuckboy when the text tells us over and over again that he doesn't form bonds with living people very easily. I get that some people find the idea of being with someone who has thousands of years of experience sexy, but the text tells us repeatedly that he isn't especially invested in relationships with non-spirits, who are non-sexual, so he probably isn't as experienced as people think. I won't get into it too much bc I've already spoken about it, but he never properly learned to bond as a person and not as a spirit. So prior to DAI, he simply doesn't, and we can infer--especially given that he's described as never having been in love before--that he hasn't pursued romance a great deal in his life.

This is probably fed by my own bullshit (it's definitely fed by my own bullshit), but I think I had a hard time figuring out how to romance him bc they would only allow you to romance him with a female elf due to time constraints. This is despite him saying repeatedly that he loves Lavellan's spirit. When you're trans or nonbinary, it's hard to explain how exciting that is; to have characters who say explicitly that they do not define others by their bodies. It's very cool on its own, but for nb players in particular it's especially important. If you struggle with how you're perceived physically, it's nice to be able to make a character who is loved for who they actually are and not for what they look like. To have someone who sees them for who they are and not for what others want them to be. It's something people like me crave and I think this is why I'm so pro-queer Solas, pro-Solas doesn't give a shit about how on fleek your Lavellan's eyebrows are, etc. The physical doesn't factor in to why he loves. He simply loves others for their character, and although he often lets his first impressions colour his views of entire people, he is still willing to listen and learn if you give him a chance to be Wisdom and not Pride. We literally see him begin to question his own convictions re: the Dalish during the balcony scene. Contrary to popular fandom belief, he actually admits to being wrong all the time.

Idk man I just really like having a Lavellan that is an outsider all their life and isn't understood even by their own Clan, only to find her kindred spirit in Fen'harel, the adversary of her people. I'm obsessed with the fact that Solas fell in love for the first time with a mortal, who exists because of his mistake, who he loves enough to throw away his plans and only doesn't follow through because of his guilt. I need to write more fic jsdkdfhkjsg

[erikatenno]

Here's a random thought I had while I was working on a fanfic...

This is something that really confused me:

Drifter enters the scene at New year's, Arthur stabs their hand.

The time loop is reset (back to the start of 1999)

Drifter gets to know the Hex and they try again at new year's eve, which means an entire year has passed... Right?

...so why is Drifter's hand not healed?

It's just... one of those things, you know.

But reading the wiki, I'm reminded of what actually went on in that quest:

When trying again, Drifter is in the Zariman and uses some void mumbo jumbo to intervene with fate, now knowing who they are and knowing how to save them... and having a love for them.

Time travel and eternalism. A year hasn't passed, it's the same day. Think of it like Drifter being in the middle of a year, then uses their power to go back and rewrite that day, then come back and the Hex now remembers both versions of that day.

It seems unclear if the Hex were aware of their bond with Drifter, but they didn't need to be. That first time, Drifter was all business, only there for Entranti. But then, they chose to save the Hex and the second attempt was FOR THEM.

...and back to that first point... Ain't it powerful to see Drifter literally use their own power over the Void to save them... out of love? Wally... IS Void, isn't he? So that's why Drifter was able to do that, because love is Wally's weakness and he didn't stop the Drifter... he couldn't.

And something familiar about all this. ...the emphasis Wally made on "wanting" the deal he made back in the Zariman. ...you have to WANT to save them. ...why was that so important to him?

...damn, this game.

[pomegranate]

was asked to copy & paste the text from the interview for people who can’t access the Vanity Fair article so I’ve put it below the read more!

It’s been 44 years since Alan Alda’s movie The Four Seasons was released, and it turns out that marriage and friendship are still complicated, fraught, and surprising—and an enticing topic for a comedy icon. Tina Fey’s Netflix series adaptation of the 1981 comedy, which starred Alda, Carol Burnett, and Rita Moreno, reimagines a year of couples getaways with Will Forte, Colman Domingo, and Steve Carell, along with a cameo from Alda himself. At 89, Alda still has the impeccable comic timing he did in M*A*S*H, along with a few more decades of perspective on human connection, his Parkinson’s diagnosis, and why he doesn’t want to be remembered.

Vanity Fair: In episode two of the new Four Seasons, you masterfully deliver a monologue involving the line, “Congratulations. Take off your pants; it’s a sex day!” What’s a memory that stands out to you about that day?

I was glad I could remember my lines. And I remember, as we were standing outside to go into the room to shoot the scene, I was warming up my voice with a Shakespeare sonnet, and Tina said, ‘Is that from a play or is that a sonnet?’ And I had this really nice feeling that we were two actors waiting to go on stage together, that little exchange before going out into the light.

You have a warm-up sonnet?

“When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes.”

When did you first hear Netflix and Tina Fey would be adapting your film into a series? Did your 30 Rock costar reach out directly to ask you to make an appearance?

I don’t know how old Tina is, but I think she was barely born when the movie came out, so it was very flattering to hear that she was interested in doing a series based on it. It was really interesting to me that she based it not only on the movie but on how times have changed, relationships are different, the lingo is different. I guess she thought it’d be fun to have me suddenly show up as a character that wasn’t even in the movie.

I found an old New York Times article written in 1981 from the set of The Four Seasons. It says this about you: “Although he is one of the least macho of leading men, he tends to use quite salty language in private—but not even this takes the gloss off his squeaky-clean image. Friends describe him with adjectives more commonly found on pedestals: concerned, considerate, generous. As for enemies, he doesn’t seem to have any.” What do you make of that?

I’ve killed them all.

Did you ever get sick of being known as the nice guy with no enemies?

It’s led to a couple of lawsuits because people thought they could steal from me, and I wouldn’t mind. They didn’t realize that I really enjoy a good lawsuit.

Alan Alda in The Four Seasons.COURTESY OF JON PACK/NETFLIX.

Netflix is hosting a one-night-only screening of your 1981 film at NYC’s Paris Theater. Will I see you there?

I’m face blind, so I won’t recognize you. When we were making The Four Seasons,my daughter was one of the actors in the movie. She didn’t look like the two people playing her parents because her hair was dark and their hair was light, so I sent out to have her hair color changed. She came back on the set with blond hair and big glasses, and I said to the assistant director, “Don’t let these strangers on set.” Isn’t that awful?

Let’s talk about M*A*S*H for a second. It’s still hard to wrap my mind around the fact that 120 million people watched the finale.

It was at least half the people in the country watching it at the same time. We had an inkling at the time because we were watching it on a big screen at the studio and then driving to dinner, realizing the streets were empty.

What’s a subtle thing about how you played Hawkeye Pierce that makes you proud?

I don’t get “proud” about things. I get “glad I’m able to do things.” I got better at everything I did on M*A*S*H. I got better as an actor, I got better as a director and writer. But I think the thing that I came away with that was the most valuable to me for the rest of my life was what we did between scenes—sitting around waiting an hour for them to light the next shot. We would kid one another and play. Sometimes we would rehearse a scene, but mostly we would just connect.

During COVID, a lot of home-bound people discovered another of your beloved series, The West Wing. Did you find yourself with a new generation of Arnold Vinick fans?

Yeah, I did. The thing that comes to mind about The West Wing is the live debate. It was like an improv because we had so little time to rehearse, so we had to get most of our lines off of monitors. I couldn’t see the monitor without glasses, but I had not established wearing glasses in the show. So I had to get contact lenses, but I had never worn contact lenses. I remember two minutes before going on the air live, I was still trying to stick my finger in my eye.

You helped raise this feminist with Free to Be… You and Me, and you championed the Equal Rights Amendment. Can you believe it still hasn’t passed?

The arguments against it were all things that changed just by natural process. There was the idea that if the ERA passed, there would be unisex bathrooms or that women would be serving in combat in the military. And these things did happen. But the thing that didn’t change is that it’s not unconstitutional to discriminate against women.

A decade ago, you were diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease. How are you feeling these days?

Well, when people ask me, “How are you?” I often say, “making progress.” I don’t mention which direction. [pause] This may sound Pollyanna-ish, but it really is so: The little things I used to be able to do, I have trouble doing now. Something as simple as buttoning or unbuttoning a shirt might take 10 tries until I get the right angle. Instead of being impatient about it, I find it’s like an exploration, like learning a new dance step. I finally find an angle to come in on, and I get it done, and there’s such a moment of pleasure, a shot of dopamine. It’s a little victory, and these little victories that fill my day, I wouldn’t have if I didn’t have Parkinson’s. Not that I welcome Parkinson’s, but I’m really glad I stumbled into this attitude.

You’re so fascinated with science. Do you find yourself researching new treatments?

Oh, yeah. You have to. There’s always the latest new thing coming up. Often, the latest new thing involves drilling a hole in your head, which I save as a last resort.

Your culture and science podcast, Clear and Vivid, always ends with seven quick questions for your guest, so I thought I’d hit you with seven more. What’s one role you wish that you had taken that you didn’t?

I was asked to do The Killing Fields, but my father was in the hospital dying, and I wanted to be there. There was no question that I wouldn’t do it, but it would have been nice if it had worked out because it was such a good movie. [The role ultimately went to Sam Waterston.]

What’s the strangest question anyone has ever asked you?

I was at a resort hotel, and a boy, about six years old, looked up at me for a long time and said, “How did you get out of the TV?”

What’s a book that changed your life?

The book that turned things around for me was when I was eight years old, and I read Top Horse at Crescent Ranch, and I decided I wanted to be a writer. So I wrote a book, and since I was always interested in the underdog, my story was called Not the Top Horse at Crescent Ranch.

What happens in your book?

He wasn’t the favorite horse, but he could do things that nobody else could.

In 100 years, what descriptive word do you want attached to your name?

“Who?”

You don’t want to be remembered?

Have you ever been to the graveyard in Paris called Père Lachaise? Yves Montand is buried there on a little slab that’s surrounded by acres of three-story monuments to mayors from tiny towns, people you never heard of. That, to me, is what thinking about the future is. When you’re gone, it’s over. How many people are worthy of thinking about from 100 years ago or 500 or a 1,000?

If there is a second season of The Four Seasons and Don returns, what do you want his storyline to be? I’m no TV writer, but I’d like to put in a formal request to incorporate your 1981 film costar Carol Burnett.

The story is: I meet this wonderful woman. I never thought I’d be interested in anybody else, and it turns out to be Carol Burnett. Everybody’s upset, not because I’ve replaced my wife, but because they noticed her stealing a piece of silverware.

FIRST THINGS FIRST: HE’S FINE!

need to highlight this quote from the interview though

this fucking guy

[secretgardensinmymindd13]

there’s just something about tommy and kim appearing in season 7 (the one that moved to abc - who could allow buddie canon - and the one that started with buck and eddie scenes paralleling their 2x01 first meeting) and being tied to buck’s and eddie’s pasts (abby and shannon), but also forcing them to move toward the future

tommy teaches buck about his bisexuality and makes him realize his true feelings for eddie

kim gives eddie some kind of closure with shannon so he can let go of the idea of her and finally move on toward something real. she also makes him lose chris to his parents, so he starts questioning his upbringing, his life choices and his identity

also:

- tommy being similar to eddie, but tommy is gay and eddie is straight (oh wait, tommy pretended he was straight most of his life)

- eddie’s catholic guilt being brought up through marisol being a nun

- eddie mentioning that he married shannon out of obligation, but “there was always a part of him that loved being married to her” (very similar to michael and athena talk about their relationship)

- tommy resembling eddie, and buck pointing it out himself and kim resembling buck, even though eddie is trying to see shannon in her

- buck and eddie wearing matching costumes and singing “what i like about you” by the romantics at the bachelor party

- that storyline with the dad “thinking that being a cheerleader makes his son weak,” and then mentioning that eddie was a ballroom dancer in the past but his parents made him dislike it

- eddie saying “and i lied to everyone else. my son. my… best friend. my girlfriend” - i just find it funny that he mentioned his best friend first, and his girlfriend - his romantic partner who he betrayed and lost - second. i think i’d be worried about the second part more, if i was in his place

- eddie talking about beards and disguises after saying that he’s straight (and father brian not really believing him)

- eddie shaving off the moustache (his disguise) while looking in the mirror (seeing his true self), dancing in the living room (an act of joy - the one his parents ruined for him), and opening the door to buck (his joy?) right after

- tommy breaking up with buck ‘cause “he’s not his last,” and buck going to eddie and sitting with him on his COUCH after the breakup

- showing that eddie has pictures of him together with buck and chris in his house (during the house visits in 8x09)

- buck and eddie being angsty about their departure and realizing that they don’t want to live without each other when eddie decides to move to el paso - while chris isn’t in the picture. ‘cause usually they could make their relationship all about him, but now they were confronted with the reality that their connection is not only about loving chris, it’s about loving each other… eddie needs chris and buck equally, ‘cause they’re both his family, and he wants all of them together (which he proves by constantly facetiming buck)

- buck moving into eddie’s house, literally paralleling his first love (“abby didn’t turn around, eddie did. buck lived at abby’s thinking she’d come back, and she didn’t. he’s living at eddie’s thinking he won’t come back, but he will”)

- tommy saying that eddie is his competition, and buck admitting that he is with all his words (he’s a renter. and he’s straight → i don’t have to want to sleep with everyone i have feelings for → in love with eddie? → hopelessly pining for my straight best friend → i understand him feeling threatened - this is just the classic denial of feelings romance trope)

i just really can’t see all these things as anything other than small steps that carefully lead to buddie canon

and if it doesn’t happen, then i simply give up on media literacy

or on my sanity, ‘cause maybe my delusions did get the best of me

[therebelcaptain]

While I enjoy seeing Cassian having a deep and intimate relationship with Bix as it shows his vulnerability in a way we've not seen before, it also feels at odds with the image of Cassian I’ve had since 2016—someone who had sacrificed everything for the rebellion. The impression I got from lines like “you’re not the only one who lost everything” is that he’d been virtually alone and isolated in this fight for years before we meet him in Rogue One, his only constant companion being K2. It felt like he’d been keeping himself in a prison of his own mind for the sake of the rebellion.

But in this season, Cassian seems more than willing to walk away for the sake of protecting Bix a mere two years before Rogue One. We're at the halfway point and Cassian is a lifetime away from the man we meet in Rogue One—he was honestly much closer at the end of season one. And maybe that's the point—that things like love can get in the way and hold people back from doing what they must in a revolution—but like others have already said here, making it the focal point of both Bix and Cassian's stories this season feels like a disservice to them as individual characters. Hell, it's not even something that hasn't already been explored in the show. Vel and Cinta's relationship in the first season already looked at how complicated it can be to fall in love while in the rebellion, so I'm not even sure of the necessity of doing the same thing with another couple, much less Bix and Cassian. It seems like the writers room decided an end point for the two of them—likely Cassian being forced to kill Bix, if his last conversation with Luthen is anything to go by—before working backwards to somehow make it feel earned instead of constructing a story that actually felt right for the characters.

While this is essentially what Andor is an exercise in, Cassian already has a specific end point that they need to work toward, but the majority of the main cast doesn't. The next batch of episodes picks up a year before the film, so Cassian's going to have to lose everything in one fell swoop in these next episodes otherwise I'm not confident that he will end up where he needs to be by the end. There are things mentioned in the Rogue One novelisation that could be explored in order show Cassian's further evolution into a fully fledged rebel who's willing to do anything for the movement. Jenoport is one such thing that comes to mind, but that probably won't happen given Cassian hasn't even met K-2 yet.

On the other hand, there is a lot more room to play with Bix as a character. Her end point isn't set in stone in the same way that Cassian's is. They could have explored a myriad of things with her character working through the trauma of being tortured and finding her own way to the rebellion as a result. While that is a factor in her story arc this season, it's frustrating to see her relevance to the story be tied so directly to her relationship with Cassian. At this point it's clear that she's only being kept around so her inevitable death can further galvanise his commitment to the rebellion. After everything she's been through as a character, Bix deserves so much more than being fridged for Cassian's story arc.

To those of you who think my opinion on this is because I'm a diehard Rebelcaptain girlie, it really isn't. Like I've said before, I actually like Bix and Cassian as a couple and would have enjoyed their scenes together more in a different context like maybe in a flashback to their youth. I'd always seen them as childhood sweethearts who still loved each other in their own ways, but had grown apart as they got older and their priorities in life changed. That made a lot of sense to me. What doesn't jive with me is that we're seeing this so close to Rogue One where Cassian is supposed to be living for the rebellion first and foremost and seemed to have been for many, many years. And at this point, the gap between these two men is the size of valley.

[writing-is-hard-af]

Apparently an unpopular opinion in the Fandom rn, but I actually think the lack of focus on characters besides Athena and Chim beyond the bits we get made sense. (Though, this opinion may shift if the next two episodes do not focus more on the other characters).

Because Athena and Chim were the ones most directly involved in Bobby's death, and I think they couldn't have logically focused on any other characters' grief above these two in this episode without it feeling disjointed. I understand the little focus we get on Eddie, Buck, and Hen's grief. Don't get me wrong, I'm not happy we haven't seen it yet, but I do strongly believe that the next two episodes will dive into theirs more closely. Because this episode had to be about Athena and Chimney.

Chimney’s survivor guilt had to be addressed first because it would be tormenting him no matter how little he wanted to accept any of it. There was no logical way around that for his character.

We needed to see Athena process it all first because no matter how important Bobby is to the rest of them, he truly is most important to her, and she lost him right as they were about to start fully living their lives together on their own terms, their own soil. It’s tragic and painful and a cruel fate for him, but with it nonetheless happening, they had to focus on her most. And she deserved the focus of this episode. I get that the case/procedural kind of plot wasn't received super well, but I really do feel like it made some amount of sense. Could it have been told differently? Yes, I think they could've done a different case, a different person's grief. But I do think seeing Athena burying her grief in another person's and doing everything she can to help someone else and avoid her own is the only way they could have written her grieving in character. The way Athena has always coped in this show is by throwing herself into work, into helping other people resolve their struggles before she even tries to face her own. And while I think the specific plot was a bit odd of a choice for this kind of plot when Athena herself was not in a state of denial but rather avoidance, it truly showed the way Athena grieves. And while much of the funeral was rushed, not given the screen time it deserved, for any of them, the scene in Minessota was just. So achingly painful but beautiful at the same time. This episode was genuinely good and gutwrenching and the cast all did a phenomenal job with it.

This episode did not need scenes of Buck and Eddie's reunion, or much of their interactions. Not because it isn't important, but because this episode was not about their grief, not quite. I truly believe that theirs will be the focus of the last two episodes. This first episode after Bobby's death was about Athena. It had to be. And Bobby's death broke apart the team, it sent cracks between them. None of them were together when it happened. And honestly, I think that's part of the point of showing them individually grieving, splitting apart the grief. Because even though they are a family with and without Bobby, his death splintered them in a way that they are going to have to heal from and healing is not going to be something any of these characters immediately seek out others for. All of them, despite loving each other fiercely, have always stubbornly held their fears and pain within themselves to deal with alone.

Buck is clearly pushing his emotions as far down as possible to be there for the rest of them, because that's what he thinks Bobby told him to do. The others need him, so his grief comes last. Eddie wasn't there, his grief is so wrapped up in his own guilt that the grief is buried. Not quite denial, I think, but close to it. Hen is processing it, but she so clearly is in a similar boat to Buck, of burying her own feelings about it deep to try to be the steady rock for the rest of them. The three of them will have their grief, but truly I think theirs needed to be after the funeral, after he was buried and they all need to figure out how to go on, now that, in a way, it's really final, official.

This episode was Athena’s and Chim’s. The rest will come. And through that, they'll come out on the other side together. Pushing all of their grief into one singular episode would have been a disservice to them. And while sidelining main characters is not necessarily something I enjoy on this show, I do think in this specific episode, it made sense for the majority of it.

You don't have to agree with me. It's okay to be upset and angry, and I truly get it because I am too. But I also think we need to look a bit more into this episode beyond the idea that they didn't focus on these characters, and they added a plot beyond the funeral, so it's bad. Because there is more to what is there than what wasn't there yet.

[lemotmo]

I do get this. It was an incredibly frustrating episode for sure but I can see this.

Q. I guess I don't know what I was expecting because I have no idea what I just watched. It didn't feel like an actual episode, if that makes sense. Everyone felt slightly off and I just don't know what the reason for doing it that way was.

A. No this makes sense, anon. I said to a couple of people last night that the episode felt like the coma dream episode in terms of the way the scenes were shot and staged. It did feel slightly not reality based, which I do think was intentional. Before I go further I am going to say that for the most part I think I get what they were trying to do. I just think, as usual with Tim, he's not the virtuoso genius filmmaker he fancies himself as being, and so the execution of his grand ideas get lost in translation. Which is insanely frustrating as a viewer. The other thing I will say is making Tim and Kristen the writers for this episode specifically was the wrong choice. They each do certain things well, and other things incredibly poorly. I hoped writing together would benefit the script because what each of them struggle with the other one usually does pretty well. That was not the case here. The show is trying to pull off a long con for lack of a better way to say it. Lab Rats was the setup to the con, Bobby's death. The Last Alarm was the hidden in plain sight reveal of what the con is, Bobby's casket being empty and him being held somewhere else without the family's knowledge. Using the arson case of the dead child was a clever way to reveal the con but the success of pulling something like that off requires nuance and structure within the writing, and unfortunately that is the writing struggle Tim and Kristen have in common. Neither one of them can write nuance or stick to a proper writing structure. They can slam you over the head with foreshadowing, and they very much did in this episode, but foreshadowing cannot be the only writing tool and in this case they used it for everything. That doesn't work with an episode like this. Spending more than half the episode on a case, that on face value ended up serving as only a distraction for Athena, was an insane decision. Yes they had to establish the con in a way that wasn't obvious but a stronger writer could have done that in half the screen time, and this show has those writers on staff, but Tim and Kristen are not those writers.

Moving on, I did not hate this episode, I can see and appreciate what he's trying to do even if the execution is beyond frustrating. First I will say this is the Athena I love. She was amazing in this episode. This is how she's supposed to be written as a character. The RoboCop vigilante bullshit they usually saddle her with is not the way to go for her. The Athena of this episode is the sweet spot and Angela was unsurprisingly spectacular. Kenny was equally brilliant. I absolutely understand Chimney being the 118 character focus for this episode given what we saw in Lab Rats. Kenny is a wildly underappreciated actor and when he's given the room to shine he absolutely kills it. He's so good to watch. Letting Athena and Chimney take center stage was understandable, just not for the episode that was supposedly Bobby's farewell, again though I think that was intentional.

I also really liked the brief bits of Hen and Karen and Hen and Athena that we got in this episode. Hen and Karen's relationship is always nice to see because they're beautiful together and Hen and Athena's friendship should have more focus than it gets because their friendship is really layered and lovely. I enjoyed those moments. The brief May and Harry moments were nice to see as well. Hopefully we get more of them next season.

Which brings me to Buck and Eddie. First of all I love that Buck, even in the context of this episode, was so excited to reveal Eddie's return to Ravi, and the audience, as a surprise kind of thing. I like that they let that moment exist even though it didn't really fit the episode, but it absolutely would be something Buck would feel like was a good ta da surprise kind of thing. I'm glad they let that moment be. And Eddie looked amazing, dear god I knew it was him from the stills but I still squealed when I saw him. I missed him tremendously. The show using Ravi as a kind of barrier to prevent the audience from seeing Buck and Eddie alone was a really interesting choice as well given what Ravi has always represented on this show. I know we all live Ravi but since his introduction Ravi has always been and used as the physical manifestation of Buck's trauma. He pops up in episodes where Buck is feeling abandoned or left behind so Ravi being present in that scene as well as being the hug the audience saw Eddie give someone was a really interesting choice. The Buck and Eddie of it all was small but there was a lot within that one scene. The colors they were wearing. Buck's one line of dialogue to Eddie being 'but you're here now', Eddie eating one of Buck baked goods even though had no idea what it actually was, but it was Buck's so he ate it. Buck's entire game right now is avoidance. He's trying to do the one thing his captain asked of him, be there for his family, so Buck is purposely pushing his own feelings about everything to the side for now. Those feelings include everything that has come up about what he might really feel for Eddie. Placing Ravi in the middle of the scene was a good way to show that neither Buck nor Eddie are ready for that conversation yet. But it is inevitably coming. And when you try to avoid something the universe has a way of screaming at you until you obey. A long standing theme for Buck and Eddie. I do think episode 17 will see Eddie and Hen focus and I expect to see something from Eddie in that episode because I do think the Buck and Eddie moment of reckoning is coming in the season finale.

I think the episode felt not real for a reason. I don't think Bobby is really dead but I think Tim is trying to push most of this to the season finale given the criticism of last season's finale. I think we will have the Bobby reveal, Maddie going into labor, and the Buddie moment in that one episode. Hence the episode title being Sesmic Shifts.

Thank you Nonny! I really needed this post in my inbox today. 🤗

I'm going to let this speak for itself. I already talked about these topics in my other posts and I've got nothing new to add here.

Just this:

I'm already looking forward to the next episode. I can't help it. 🤷‍♀️ I love this show too much. I just NEED some more Eddie, preferably in some more speaking scenes this time. 🙄😋

Heads up! For anyone who is giving me the shifty eyes for reposting Ali's updates instead of reblogging. Read this.

Remember, no hate in comments, reblogs or inboxes. Let's keep it civil and respectful. Thank you.

If you are interested in more of Ali’s posts, you can find all of her posts so far under the tag: anonymous blog I love.

[wangxianficfinder]

Fic Finder

May 2nd

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1. Hey! I’m looking for a fic in which WWX and LWJ are married, but WWX is in Yiling, and there’s a female character named Yu something kind of, interfering?? In the relationship. WWX was protector of Yiling w/o anyone knowing Yiling had a protector, and super powerful, stopping all Wen Rouhan’s attacks on Yiling. LWJ and WWX get married as some kind of pact during the war to hold WWX responsible/ensure he’s on their side I guess?? At some point Yu Something tells WWX he has to go through some kind of purification ritual performed by LWJ, involving Cleansing, when he comes to Gusu, and WWX worries about that because he’s pretty sure that would kill him. Frustrated cause I literally have screenshots of the fic but no clue what the title is.

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2. Hello! Thank you for all the work y'all do! I'm looking for a wangxian fic (I think it was a series of oneshots?). I don't remember much abt it but I think it mostly centered around kink and featured bdsm clubs (particularly the fact that lwj visited clubs targeted towards lifestylers). I just remember a scene where lwj demos smth involving impact with another guy with an english name, I think it was smth with a J (not wwx). Wwx sees it and strikes up a convo with him. I think it was set in London or one of them lived there are some point during the story.

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3. Hi ficfinder... Please help me looking for fic that I read before but forget the title. This fic is post sunshot campaign where wei wuxian decide to act as Jiang sect elder and have 2 bodyguard. He started wearing elder clothes and teach Jiang cultivator. During conference lan wanji lust towards wei wuxian... And decide to increase cultivation so that he can marry wei wuxian. Thanks for your time. 😘

FOUND? Elder, an Aesthetic by MarbleGlove (G, 8k, JC & WWX, Fix-It, Post-Sunshot Campaign)

FOUND? Like a Water-Worn Stone by meyari (T, 41k, wangxian, major character death, Hurt/Comfort, very little hurt, lots of comfort, Chronic Illness, Serious Injuries, Self-Medication, Disability, PTSD, Depression, Self-Worth Issues, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, aftermath of war, Aftermath of Violence, Prisoner of War, Identity Issues, Warning: Jīn Guāngshàn, enslavement (discussion of), abuse (discussion of), actually very fluffy despite the warnings, [Podfic] Elder, an Aesthetic by sisi_rambles, Cold Read of "Elder, An Aesthetic" by MarbleGlove by dangercupcake)

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4. Hi! Fic finder, please! It was a Cloud Recesses lecture au, I think WIP, which starts with the class returning from an outing and they realize WWX is missing. LQR thinks he has just run away to be playful, but then they find a trail of blood and it turns out WWX was caught by some kind of ghost (I almost think the ghost was WWX’s future self? or some kind of twisted version of himself?). There is a slightly gory scene as the students find WWX in the woods, very injured, and they might be missing their swords so they have no way to help him? Thank you for any leads you can share!

FOUND? For the Dust and the Dirt by Nyxelestia (M, 63k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time travel Fix-It, Cloud recesses study Arc, It gets worse before it gets better, WWX Whump, Hurt/comfort, Angst, Eventual Happy Ending)

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5. Hi! I'm looking for a wangxian time travel fic. I only read the first few chapters and I think post-canon wangxian time travel to cloud rescess study arc. Wwx was trans in his original body and he says to lwj that he'll be able to get wwx pregnant now. That's all I remember. @aristocraticteacup

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6. Hi! I would like to request a fic finder. I'm not sure if it was deleted or I just can't find it. From what I can remember, it was after the siege where Wei Ying is already dead. Lan Zhan is suffering from the whip wound but he refused any treatment. I'm not really sure if it was LZ himself that found the incense burner or if someone put it in his room but the fic heavily revolves around the incense burner. Because of it, LZ started to have a dream about WY. In the dream, he is living happily with WY and Ayuan. Even though LZ knows it's just a dream, he starts to sleep more and rarely stays awake so he could spend more time with WY. His body starts to be disoriented and there's nothing that the healer can do to help him. LXC and LQR tried to stop LZ but failed. At the end, LZ finally succumbed to his injury and died but he died happy because his soul is with WY in the dreamscape. I apologise if my explanation is out of place. I hope you can help me find this fic. Thank you in advance ^-^ @mayuchi96

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7. This one was a story on reincarnation. Lan Wangji takes birth three times.

In the first life, Wei Wuxian is a prince born to a servant or low ranking concubine. Lan Wangji is the son of a general, his whole family gets killed due to conspiracy.

Wei Wuxian turns into a ghost.

Second life, Wangji is the second young Master of Lan Clan.

Third life, he is a martial God. His mother conceived him outside of marriage, so he had an estranged relationship with his father, the emperor( I think?)

There was the amazing symbolism of red spider lily and their tragedy and grave and death.

If anybody remembers this one or manages to find it, please send the link or atleast the name of the fic.

Thank you. @sanaparry

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8. I'm also wondering if anyone knows or could find a fic I lost track of years ago. It was post cql canon with LWJ as chief cultivator. There was a scene where WWX is traveling and comes across LWJ doing some sort of ceremony at the autumn festival. WWX compared LWJ to Chang'e. There was also a kid on the balcony? He was watching from who WWX talked to about LWJ. Thanks for your help! @classygreydove

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9. Hello! Can I submit two fic finder requests please? Thank you for your help!

A) A canon era soulmate au where when you first meet your soulmate you are overcome with this urge to fight them. WangXian first meet on the wall when WWX tries to sneak in with the alcohol, but the drama came from LXC and JGY meeting in the midst of the start of class and so their soulmate match was very public and gossiped about. The Twin Jades had a scene where they discussed the different public reactions to their recent soulmate matches. 

B) Also a soulmate au, but this one was soulmates got stuck together where they first touched for 24 hours. It featured LWJ and WWX fighting and then they got glued together (I think at their wrists) and LWJ drags them together like that to face punishment for rule breaking. Cue LQR freaking out that LWJ’s soulmate was a troublemaker, while LWJ and WWX are kind of besotted with each other. 

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10. im lookign for a fic where lan yuan during a dinner confronts lan xichen and qiren about them participating in the killing of the wen remenants and he leaves with jingyi and wangxian @aqua-sapphire

FOUND? this blood in my mouth by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 3k, WangXian, LSZ & WWX, LSZ & LWJ, POV LXC, Post-Canon, LSZ has some complicated emotions, we’re being a little unfair to the lans here, but sometimes life isn’t fair, Yunmeng brothers, it’s not prominent enough to go into the main tag but it sure is there, Author Is a JC Apologist)

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11. A. I forgot to bookmark this one but I remember that Wei wuxian lived but his soul was shattered like he was a lived but he wasn't acting like himself before and eventually he starts committing suicide and lan wangji was protecting him and caring for him until he successfully kill himself, lan wangji takes care of him for 13 years(it's and happy ending.

B. The only thing I remember is that it was a modern setting and wei wuxian and lan wangji were in an arranged marriage (or convenience) assigned by the lan elders. I think it was an Omega verse and in the end lan wangji almost died into a car crush and wei ying was pregnant. I remember he also has a crush on nie huisang but well they didn't date but in good terms (JC/NH endgame) they also adopted lan yuan at first. @lanwuxian0725

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12. hello! for the next fic finder, it's an AU where the incense burner really happened but in a different reality. I remember lwj asking who hurt you to wei ying and in his mind wy answers "you" but says that it was no one. I remember it was multi chapter

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13. Hi! im currently trying to fic about wangxian where it starts with Jian Fengmian finding wei wuxian and then Yu Ziyuan accepting him as a son. Next was then Lan Wangji was on a journey to find his soulmate as his duty as a prince or emperor i think (i dont remember if this is abo) and finds wei wuxian not even 3 hours later in his journey (as stated by the author in notes) next is lwj offering wwx to come with him in his travels so that wwx can find information about his parents. The next thing i remember is wwx finding out that lwj is an emperor and gets scared and runs away for about a month and then lwj was able to find him and then he also finds out hes lord yiling that was the owner of some gold mines. I also remember Yu Ziyuan was there to help declare wwx as lord yiling. I also remember wwx had this necklace that had his name engraved on it.

I really hope u can find it eueueueueu ive been trying to find this fic for such a long time noe

FOUND? Bound Only by the Sea by levament (E, 271k, WIP, WangXian, JYL/JZX, JFM/YZY, LXC/JGY, LXC/NMJ, Royalty, Politics, A/B/O, Mpreg, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Light Angst, Cinderella Elements, Cinderella Fusion, No Powers, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse)

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14. Hi can you help me find a fanfic. Where wei ying parents made him a cultivation level system. He has a nine petaled lotus on his forehead, and is not in the Jiang sect. But maybe in the Lan sect and is a kid. Help please and maybe on Ao3 @rose-1685

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15. Hi! I read a mdzs fic on ao3 last year where wwx goes back in time. It's not a fix it more like just as tragic but in a diff manner it has a basis of jin sect will be rich but greedy nie sect will be strongest but die soon and so on. wwx is related to xue yang. It's private and completed with around 70 chapters.

Wwx gets half prossessed by the spirt in the tiger seal and they both have a mind war and that's an important detail that continues to be the plot the guy is enemies with Baoshan sanren and they have their showdown in the end.

In the ending there's a whole war ish situation with all wwx, lwg, lxc jc and all of jin lings uncles( and maybe the disciples) fight against jin guo and (xue yang?) in the end lan wangji dies temporarily while Baoshan sanren fights the tiger seal spirit man.

It's very angsty tragic and has plenty of tags I really hope you'll be able to find it! Thank you :)

reminds me of two different fics: FOUND? we’re starting at the end by Miss_Enthusiasimal (M, 92k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Time Travel, Canon Divergence, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Golden Core Reveal, Burial Mounds, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Starvation, emaciation, Cannibalism, Self-Harm, Amputation, Suicidal Thoughts, Sunshot Campaign, let JZX and WWX be friends club) has Wei Ying time traveling and getting possessed by resentful energy/the tiger seal but the other elements don't really match.

FOUND? inevitable everything by isabilightwood (E, 193k, WangXian, WQ/MM, JYL/JZX, BSSR/LY, Canon Divergence, YLLZ WWX, but WWX is BSSR’s disciple/adoptive grandson too, the cultivation sects think this is a, War Prize AU, it’s actually self-arranged marriage, Arranged Marriage, yin iron shenanigans, LWJ Has Friends, Mutual Pining, Pining while fucking, LWJ Has a YLLZ Kink, Switch WangXian, BDSM, Submissive LWJ, Dominant WWX, Angst with a Happy Ending, magical illness of a side character (who will get better), Rope Bondage, Impact Play, Rimming, Bottom LWJ, Temperature Play, Face-Fucking, Breathplay, (talisman-based breathplay to be specific), Cock Warming, Public Scene, no one gets naked in public this is the sense of WWX invents the, Remote Controlled Vibrator, Semi-Public Sex, Outdoor Sex, Blindfolds, one qingmian smut scene with oral and fingering, Minor Character Death, All Sex Scenes Are Skippable!) has Baoshan Sanren fighting the spirit of Xue Chonghai who's possessed Xue Yang's body. I'm hoping one of these might be the fic they're looking for.

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16. Hello! For fic finder, I have a very threadbare request. It was some kind of canon divergent story where Wei Wuxian befriends Nie Mingjue and at one point wields Baxia. I think WWX was asked to come help the Nie with their resentful energy problems, and they figured out that Mingjue would only survive if he stopped cultivating entirely, and the two further realized that WWX was uniquely suited to wield Baxia because he had no golden core left to corrupt. This is all a very big if, my brain barely remembers these details and is likely mixing up multiple fics: the biggest thing standing out to me is the Nie disciples in awe that WWX could wield Baxia. Thank you for any leads you can give!

FOUND? Lynchpin by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 103k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Time Travel, Fix-It, Lynchpin [PODFIC] by Opalsong, [PODFIC] Lynchpin by Gwogobo) which features Nie Mingjue giving Baxia to Wei Ying after Nie Mingjue's told he can no longer cultivate with it or he'll suffer a qi deviation but Wei Ying is able to safely use the sabre.

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17. Hello! Fic finder please. I am looking for a fic where Wei Wuxian is captured or maybe he gives himself to the clans in exchange for the protection of the Wens. Lan Xichen or Lan Qiren sews his mouth shut (can’t remember if physically or magically) and so WWX can’t speak or eat, and WWX is placed in a dingy cell. Eventually WWX nearly dies from malnutrition and that is how the big clan leaders learn he has no golden core (he couldn’t survive off inedia). I remember all the clan leaders gathering around his cell door in a fluster like “what has happened to him? Surely the big bad Yiling Laozu couldn't starve to death?” Thank you!

FOUND? 🔒❤️ whipstitch by curiositykilled (M, 131k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Dysfunctional Family, Torture, WWX Lives, but basically no one else, Case Fic, Cultivation Sect Politics, Past Abuse, WWX Whump, YLLZ WWX, JL Needs a Hug, JL Tries, Yunmeng Bro Reconciliation, Past Character Death, Body Horror, Non-Consensual Body Modification, POV Alternating, Flashbacks, Eventual Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Suicide Attempt, PTSD, Depression, Not A Fix-It, Mouth Sewn Shut)

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18. Hiya!!

I was hoping that you guys could help me find a fic that I read a few years back.

Lan Wangji is married of to the fearsome Yiling Laozu, who (if I remember correctly) lives at the Burial Mounds. Lan Wangji moves to the Burial Mounds and does not recognise Wei Wuxian due to him having had alterations to his face by Wen Qing (so he looks different). Wei Wuxian does eventually tell him about it and Lan Wangji is happy to be reunited with him.

I’m pretty sure that Lan Yuan was around too 🤔

Thanks a bunch (: @unlimitedsparks

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19. Hi! I was hoping you could help me find a fix! Wwx goes back in time to the water abyss in caiyi. Settles the abyss and nicknames in Abby. From Lwj's pov, he can hear him saying, "isn't it weird Abby? They all look so young". Wwx is pretty convinced he's dreaming. Thank you! @koilily

FOUND? Turn a little faster by apathyinreverie (T, 42k, WangXian, WIP, Time Travel, far too many people know, WWX assumes he's mostly hallucinating, those around him are taking his timetravel far more seriously, Humor, Pining LWJ, Oblivious WWX, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Yin Iron, POV LWJ, time travel outsider pov, WWX Leaves the Yunmeng Jiang Sect, LY is bamf and the only Lan with any sort of sense, Falling In Love, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, BAMF WWX, Crack Treated Seriously)

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20. Hello! I'm looking for a lost fic. I think wwx joined the cloud recesses lectures and pretended to be a jiang disciple for it. I think he was childhood friends with jc and jyl though and that his parents were alive in this one. lqr tries to rearrange a betrothal between wangxian and calls jfm over, but then jfm reveals that wwx isn't actually a disciple and wwx says that he never actually said he was either, they just assumed. I feel like there was something about wwx telling his parents that he was gonna be in lotus pier the whole time when he actually went to cloud recesses. Any ideas are much appreciated! Thank you! @cherishthespark

FOUND!🔒 A Mother’s Curse (A Mother’s Blessing) by Eudoxia (E, 33k, wangxian, A/B/O, Omega WWX, Alpha LWJ, Huli Jing LWJ, Huli Jing WWX, Everyone Lives, Curses, Case Fic, Animal Transformation, Arranged Marriage, Misunderstandings, No Sunshot Campaign, No Yīn Iron, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, LXC is a good brother!, He tries so hard!!, Mentions of Ace LXC, Mentions of Ace WN, Knotting, Rimming, Blow Jobs, Oral Sex, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mating Bites, Mating Bond, Size Kink, 69 (Sex Position), Mpreg, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, wangxian Have a Breeding Kink, Intersex Male Omegas, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Cunnilingus, Squirting, wangxian Have a Non-Con/Rape Kink, but no actual CNC/rape play occurs in this fic. It’s only discussed. there is also discussions of monster fucking but no actual monster fucking)

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[monocytogenes]

Illario Dellamorte and the role of First Talon

I've read a lot of speculation on the tags as to why Caterina favors Lucanis over Illario as her successor. While I know Veilguard offers its own implications, given that @nirikeehan and I have been writing a worldstate based solely off of pre-VG sources--such as The Wigmaker Job and Eight Little Talons--I got curious as to what those sources specifically tell us about Illario's talents and Caterina's likely perspective on the role.

Illario's Virtues

What qualities does Illario have going for him?

Illario is incredibly charismatic, in a striking and deliberate way. We learn from Lucanis’ perspective that Illario actively weaponizes his appearance and manner to great effect.

His “pretty-boy mask” seems to be more of a tool than a genuine facet of his personality, a costume he puts on to gain admiration from others and accomplish ends. He does seem to have a real interest in fashion (and, well, cleanliness, given the number of times he’s clearly put out by gore, and the scene where Lucanis expects to find him at the cleanest tavern at the docks), but he’s able to easily paint over the feelings of annoyance, frustration, and brotherly mischief he readily shows his cousin when he’s out to engineer a situation. Lucanis is grudgingly impressed by his skill.

I also love this little scene where Illario takes the lead on bluffing an approaching assassin, giving less socially adept Lucanis an effective opener and adding realistic sound effects. He has enough imagination to craft a convincing scenario on the spot and kick off some naturalistic banter.

We also learn that, though he can improvise, Illario is someone who values plans and active communication. He is clearly annoyed that Lucanis is playing things by ear after they discover Ambrose knows they’re coming, and working tactics out in his own head without informing him of what’s next.

A lot of Illario’s complaints, snarkiness towards Lucanis, and desire to find some joy in the job seems to be a response to this active exclusion (despite Lucanis viewing it as Illario’s unwillingness to work.)

Illario wants to actively discuss things—perhaps to swap ideas and collaborate better—and really prods at Lucanis when he’s unwilling to do that.

Frankly, I think the most interesting narrative dynamic in TWJ is how, given that we’re in Lucanis’ perspective, Illario at first does appear somewhat flippant and unserious, but as the story goes on and Lucanis starts taking extra risks and eventually goes fully off the rails (like, so off the rails that he’s effectively multi-track drifting), it becomes increasingly apparent that Illario is the more professional of the pair.

He gets annoyed that Lucanis is shirking an order, despite his own resentment for Caterina.

He gets upset at Lucanis’ willingness to identify himself to an enslaved person and leave her alive because it’s an operational security issue. He and Lucanis are foreign agents hired to kill a powerful, well-connected Tevinter nobleman. If she can provide a description of Lucanis, that puts Lucanis’ life at risk!

Later, Illario reaches Peak Pissed Off when Lucanis denies him a quick kill, makes the situation substantially more dangerous, and isn’t able to differentiate between his own vengeful thoughts and what Illario’s actually telling him. To Illario, the job is a job, a task to complete; emotions and greater political concerns are beside the point, and only threaten their own survival.

(There is no place for emotion in killing, as Caterina taught them—as Lucanis remembers and immediately ignores.)

Finally, I’ll note that though Lucanis’ physical talents surpass his, we see that apart from a master social engineer and a professional with an appreciation for plans, effective risk management and a sensibly limited scope of work, Illario’s a deadly combatant in his own right, too.

Caterina and the Role of First Talon

The question becomes: how do those assets match up to the job of First Talon?

Lucanis clearly believes Illario’s social skills fit the demands of the role:

In TWJ, we’re not given a solid reason, really, as to why Lucanis is the evident favorite. We are shown that Lucanis is an almost legendarily lethal assassin, kind of a Batman-esque terror hero (maybe more of just a 'protagonist' than a ‘hero’, if I'm honest.) Lucanis is larger than life in the eyes of his peers. In ELT mention of him makes Teia and Viago literally shudder:

And what’s interesting there is that the description of him as terrifying is presented alongside a description of First Talon Caterina as terrifying. She is not fair, she is ruthless. She previously subjected a House to such complete devastation that Teia, a younger colleague, has never heard of it.

Like Illario, Caterina is intentional about her appearance. She deliberately demonstrates her wealth and authority. She actively masks emotions that are at odds with what she’s trying to accomplish socially.

But she’s scary. She is fierce and unyielding and commands respect through not just through the resources of her House, or her capacity for planning, or her overall experience and intelligence, but fear.

In this way, Lucanis seems more like Caterina. If the role of First Talon, preeminent killer of killers, carries a heavy expectation of brutality for the sake of the Crows as an institution, then charming, fashionable, affable Illario may not look like an appropriate choice.

Illario is a capable, pragmatic assassin; his ability to endear himself to strangers is bar none; he appreciates the value of a thought-out plan and would likely take naturally to administrative work if he doesn’t have a hand in it already (perhaps there’s a reason why, per Lucanis, he doesn’t leave Treviso or have much in the way of foreign contacts.) But superficially: he’s pleasant. He’s pretty. He doesn’t like blood. He doesn’t fit the image.

He’s not even mentioned by Viago as someone of interest after Teia alludes to him indirectly (and amusingly implies that neither he nor Lucanis are sufficiently affectionate towards Caterina.) Illario's likely not perceived as a contender of importance.

It’s apparent, too, that Lucanis’ absolute freakout in TWJ is not Lucanis’ standard operating procedure, given how shocked and furious Illario is with him—normally Lucanis is committed to his contracts, if kind of flying by the seat of his pants. His potentially compromising expressions of empathy towards servants and lower-class folks are evidently not usual for him since they surprise Illario, who otherwise seems to know him well. And while Lucanis is avoidant of Caterina, he respects her, and seems to have previously only nudged at his boundaries while still getting his work done, rather than actively making a mess of things in a way that might invite her scorn.

Illario, for what it's worth, doesn’t seem to be obnoxious towards her either—he expresses some bitterness to Lucanis, but rather than bothering Caterina about the matter himself, he wants Lucanis to open the conversation on his behalf. He’s tense about the potential for conflict and acknowledges her fear-based influence over both of them.

In all, I don’t think, textually, that Caterina’s disfavor of Illario is due to him being unqualified for the job of First Talon in terms of his actual skills, or due to some sort of interpersonal conflict between them. Maybe she even has a decent sense of his ability and track record, given that she had a hand in training him and is actively overseeing her House's affairs. Rather, I suggest she’d prefer someone who would match her leadership style, someone who would rule more through fear than love, who could adopt the persona other Crows expect in service of their collective survival. And certainly even up to the time that she’s set to summon Lucanis, Lucanis seems like the more suitable choice.

Caterina doesn't know that Lucanis has been growing a conscience, that he’s behaving erratically, that he said “fuck the job” amid Illario’s protestations. War looms on the horizon, the Crow leadership is gutted, and it's logical enough for her to figure that her legacy will need to be one of cold-blooded shows of force, not the persuasions of a silver tongue.