#I wrote the better part of this in the bathtub and I did not have my glasses on | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

woncon · 4 days ago

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➳ a pretty fish

➶ poly!mulmyungz x gn!reader ｡˚ °

-ˏ` ✎﹏ “When you said you rescued an injured fish from the beach, this is not what I imagined.”

➴ genre: fluff and angst, merman!au, marine biologist!leehan, merman!jaehyun, courting, estabilished leehan x reader

: ̗̀➛ warnings: wounds, jaehyun is the cutest merman you ever saw (ㅅ´ ˘ `)♡

⌨ :: 3.2k words ♡ ︵ . .

⁀➷ I wrote this fic in one sitting, from 10:30 pm until 2:00 am. Afterwards, I fell contentedly into bed and had a fantastic lucid dream. 10/10, would do it again.

⁀➷ Also, thanks for @wonsheep for betaing! 💓 To give you a fic where one of your biases is present: it's always a pleasure for me. 🙂‍↕️

➳ mlist

A finned boy lays in the bathtub.

You blink.

You blink again. And again. If there was a blinking contest nearby, you could enter, and you could easily win too. What else could you do instead of blinking? The fantasy may end if you do it enough.

But no. The boy—the merman is still there. He fills your entire horizon, and the whole bathtub. The membraned end of his thick fin is hanging out and over the porcelain edges, water dripping from it onto the towels on the ground. His elbows are perched on the edge of the tub. You see the membrane between his fingers, the pulsating gill on his neck, and, of course, his eyes with which he watches you intently. He doesn’t blink at you desperately like you did, he is simply curious.

Another three drops of water fall from his fin before you’re able to speak.

“When you said you rescued an injured fish from the beach, this is not what I imagined.”

“A pretty injured fish,” adds Donghyun, who is smiling as if he's won the lottery. Which isn't far from the truth. A living mermaid in your apartment: that's a marine biologist's jackpot.

“All fish are beautiful to you,” you remind him. You have a vivid memory of him telling you that devilfish are misunderstood because they're actually very lovable creatures. Among other things, you love him for his undeterred passion towards the marine world.

“But he is special,” you admit. “Can he talk? Or does he understand us?”

There are so many rumours and false reports about mermaids these days that it's hard to know what is true and what isn't. On one side, it is claimed that mermaids communicate with ultrasound, like dolphins. On the other, this is refuted and human vocal cords are mentioned. There are those who say that the existence of mermaids is pure fiction, spread by the government to divert attention from their immensely important secret research. This latter theory is splashing and sinking before your eyes.

“I don't know. His throat is bruised. If he is able to talk, he needs time.”

“Bruised?” You step closer to the tub. “What happened to him?”

“He got caught in some plastic, then the storm came and he probably hit a rock. Then the waves washed him ashore. That's where I found him.”

A few steps from the tub, you can see his wounds, both on his sensitive-looking, scaly skin and his blue fins. Several of his scales were torn off. When he lifts his head from his hands to get a better look for himself, you can see the nasty purple patch on his throat.

“Can you help him?” you turn to Donghyun in hope.

“Even if I can't, I want to try.”

You nod. You'd like that too. You're glad this merman is here in the bath and not lying unconscious on the beach. This time you keep eye contact with him, and you want to somehow convey your feelings to him: that he shouldn't worry because he's in good hands. His eyes suddenly widen, his thick lips part, but no sound comes out of his throat.

He closes his mouth and lies back on his hands, almost disappointed.

Donghyun rubs his hands, and at the same time you massage the back of your head.

“Any breakthroughs?” he asks.

You've spent the last hour searching thoroughly. You've been going through every article you can find on the internet, trying to get the essentials down. Mermaid literature is rich, scientific literature less so. You're not even sure if anyone other than you has actually been able to study live mermaids. For example, there is someone with a PhD who has written about this mysterious species, using scientific jargon, and you believed his words until he mentioned that mermaids have long claws and snake eyes.

“It's all like an extended Wikipedia article,” you report and close the nonsense article you've just read.

“I know.” Donghyun adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his nose and looks thoughtfully at the ceiling. “I'm beginning to think the internet is not the right place to get information from.”

You nod your head in agreement and pull closer to him, hoping that his embrace will make it easier to find another option to help you in this matter. Donghyun pats your knee.

Splash. There's a lot of water splashing on the tiles in the bathroom. Then a thud. Something heavy falls out of the tub.

You run into the bathroom with Donghyun. The merman is lying on the floor, on his stomach. Part of his fin is leaning against the tub, the end hanging over his head, water dripping from it onto his hair and face. He tries to crawl forward on the wet tiles—he clearly wants something, and you have to find a channel of communication to make it work.

Donghyun bends down to help him get ahead somehow, but the merman won't let him. He turns with some difficulty onto his back, but immediately grimaces, showing his clenched teeth. Now that his belly is out of the water, you can see the nasty cut on it. It'll have to be treated, though for now the merman doesn’t let Donghyun touch it, covering the wound with his own hand.

“Does it hurt?” asks Donghyun.

The merman gulps, but no sound comes out of his mouth. He frowns and he pats his belly, then pokes his mouth with his index finger.

Oh.

“He's hungry.”

It's great that he was able to communicate that, but what exactly a merman eats is a different, more complicated question. If it's some rare plant that exists only in the depths of the sea, you're in big trouble.

“I have an idea,” Donghyun stands up.

The bottom of his jeans are soaked through, but he doesn't care a bit. He rushes out of the room, then returns with a tiny bag. At first you think it's knitted or crocheted cotton, then he comes closer and you realise it's made of seaweed. “This is what he had when I found it,” he explains, then hands it to the merman.

The boy takes it with sparkling eyes. Something rattles in the package. The next moment he pulls out a shell. He crushes it on the tile, licks his mouth, then slides the wet animal into his mouth.

“He likes mussels,” Donghyun sighs, smiling in relief.

“And he can make himself understood,” you reply, returning his smile.

The situation is not so hopeless. You can make it work.

Once the merman is well settled, he tries to climb back into the bath on his own. You help him gently and he lets you touch him on his tail and shoulders, but when you try to touch his belly he slaps your hand away, wincing and glares at you in mistrust. He even pouts at you.

“I see. I'm sorry. I won't do it again,” you hold up your hand to indicate you're not a threat. But the wound is definitely a bigger threat than you if it's left untreated and gets infected.

“He won't let us bandage it.”

If you can't touch it, you have to do something about it. You don't know how mermaids regenerate, but if they're related to humans in any way, a wound like this is dangerous.

You're reminded of the article by the doctor who imagined claws on mermaids. “What if we... use osmosis? I read that salt water helps mermaids' wounds heal.”

“Sounds logical,” Donghyun nods. “We should try it.”

While he goes out to the sea with a bucket to fetch salt water, you sit on the stool next to the tub. The merman has calmed down, and is no longer giving you suspicious looks and shielding the wound from your touch. He begins to unload the shells on the edge of the tub. You watch him, fascinated, not even bothered by the fact that while you were helping him back in, your shirt, pants and socks got soaked.

“We can't call you a boy or a merman forever.”

The merman narrows his eyes, concentrates on what you're saying, wants to understand. Your heart beats in surprise as you try to communicate with another, gorgeous creature.

“What’s your name?”

He continues to stare, then tilts his head to the side as if giving up.

You lay your hand on your chest and slowly say your name. Then you point to him. He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. Only the fact that he understood you is incredible.

He shakes his head and dives under the water. Generates a big wave that splashes on your clothes and tiles, then trickles onto the soaking wet towels. Mopping up or changing into dry clothes seems less and less a sensible action. The boy's whole head disappears into the tub, then bubbles burst to the surface. Bubbles of air only, but their bubbling has a rhythm. They almost feel like speech as you listen to them.

Jjjhhuunn. Jjjehyyun.

He appears on the surface, blinking hopefully at you.

“Jaehyun?” you ask him.

He grins, happy and proud. Pretty, you think. Jaehyun is so pretty.

“I think it’s working,” Donghyun mutters, squinting into the water. It's the third day that Jaehyun is soaking in salt water in the hope that it will help his wound heal. “What is certain is that it isn’t infected, and—oh!”

Jaehyun steals Donghyun's glasses with a sudden movement and puts them on his nose. He immediately regrets it, his mouth forms a surprised 'o' and he quickly parts with the device, shaking his whole body as if he's experienced something terrible.

“I'm sure his eyes are fine,” you chuckle as Donghyun retrieves his glasses. He smiles and hums, wiping the lenses on his shirt, because these days it's impossible not to have water droplets everywhere in this room.

Jaehyun visibly relaxes. He waves his fins and slips away in the water, splashing a wave at you. It's beginning to feel like you two are living in the bathtub, too. He “swims” to you and holds out his palm, you put in the next seaweed, and Jaehyun attaches it to the bag he's making with practiced movements. So you and Donghyun assume he's working on a bag, like the one hanging on his chest. It could be a sort of thank-you gift.

In any case, whatever it is, it's good to see Jaehyun isn't bored. Because when he is bored, he has great ways of letting you know: he'll splash you on purpose or throw himself left and right in displeasure. You'll have to be creative to make him enjoy this little place. Turns out he loves small, colourful balls and music, and although he eats seaweed, he also uses it as a raw material for crafts.

As happily as he twirls seaweed around in his hands, it occurs to you too often that he's like a seal in a zoo here. He does tricks for food and is locked up.

Donghyun says that once you are sure his fins, belly and throat are healed, you can put him back in the water.

“I'm glad I could meet him and help him,” he sighs half asleep one night as you lie snuggled together, waiting for sleep, “but his place was never in our bathtub.”

“I'll miss him,” you confess.

“Me too,” your boyfriend acknowledges.

“He's the prettiest fish I've ever seen, even though you've taken me on dates to a lot of aquariums.”

Donghyun smiles fondly. “Maybe he really is the prettiest.”

Jaehyun is a fast learner. He quickly gets the hang of the language and nods or shakes his head in response. Donghyun learns a lot from him and is excited. He visualizes a book in front of him, the first valid fact-based mermaid literature he will author. You rejoice with him, and his excitement spreads to you.

Jaehyun is also curious, interested in everything. The first time you venture into the bathroom to brush your teeth, as Donghyun is washing up in the kitchen, Jaehyun leaps up from the water and when you refuse to pay attention to him, splashes your pajamas.

“Hey!” you look at him with a foaming mouth.

He bats his eyelashes innocently in response, but can barely hide his sly smile. Then he points at you and holds out his palm.

“This is my toothbrush. I use it to keep my teeth clean,” you explain.

He pokes at himself and tilts his head to the side.

“You can have one too, yes.”

The next day he gets a toothbrush and is really dedicated to keeping his teeth clean.

When the trash can is full of shell fragments and you can't remember how many times you've used the garden shower for a shower, Jaehyun finishes the seaweed gift. He has made two bags, as you thought.

“You really made them for us?”

Jaehyun nods. He tentatively holds out his work to you, his hands shaking. There is no reason to fear that you won't accept it. It's a special gift, a beautiful gesture. You both take it, and Jaehyun literally sighs. Then he flashes you his broadest smile and, of course, splashes out a lot of water.

“Thank you,” Donghyun says softly.

To express your gratitude, you immediately slip the strap around your neck, and stand up and turn around with your new bag.

Jaehyun grips the edge of the tub, eyes gleaming. You're scared he's about to throw himself out of the tub in happiness, but that's not the case. Something else is happening: he's twisting his ear membrane. You can't explain it any better than that. It turns out that the spiral-shaped part behind his ear has been a twisted membrane all along. Now the ear looks as if it has grown exotic flowers on both sides, held in place by tiny cartilages and glowing different shades of blue.

“Very pretty,” Donghyun murmurs in disbelief, and reaches for it.

Halfway through, he surely remembers that Jaehyun only lets you touch him when he can't position himself, and even then you can mainly touch his tail, not his other body parts. The ear, moreover, the part of it that has been hidden so far, may be a similar area to the skin of his belly, if not more private and sensitive. However, Donghyun cannot fully withdraw his hand because Jaehyun is almost plunging his face into it.

He closes his eyes and lets Donghyun gently pat his ear and stroke his cheek. Donghyung's soft palm, full of Jaehyun's soft cheek: that's new.

In the upcoming days, he isn't just letting you touch him, he expects it. It's like he's been completely replaced since he gave you his gift.

He needs to be touched.

He plays with your hands, probing the lack of membrane between your fingers. He presses your fingertips together. If you stroke his hair or let him lay his head on your palms, he opens his ear membrane. Donghyun's theory is that he does this because he feels safe. In this case, he can only theorise, because when he asks Jaehyun about it, he doesn't answer, only playfully splashing him.

Every time he strokes your cheek or touches your mouth, you feel weird. He's so engrossed in exploring your face that his lips part in the process, as if you're something so wonderful he can't get enough. And he maps Donghyun with a similar devotion.

Just as you admire Jaehyun's mermanity, he admires your humanity.

You say it means nothing. Jaehyun can't live in a bathtub. He gave you gifts and is curious, but that's all. Though Donghyun mutters about courtship and companionship in his sleep, he doesn't share his thoughts on the subject with you when awake. And even if he did, you wouldn't change your mind: you can't make excuses for why Jaehyun should stay when it's clear he doesn't belong here.

“Doesn't it hurt?”

Jaehyun shakes his head. The wound on his stomach has completely healed. So have his scales.

“And your throat?” Donghyun touches his own to show what he means. Jaehyun copies the gesture, then grimaces. “So it still hurts?”

Jaehyun nods.

“I'm sorry. But it's healing nicely. You can go home soon.”

As usual, the merman gets gloomy.

He doesn't talk about home, no matter what you ask. Perhaps he had wandered so close to the shore because he had nowhere else to go. But even if that's the case, the sea is much safer and more homely than the small bathtub in your house. The poor thing can only fit with his fins folded in half, and since he's been here he hasn't been able to swim properly or stretch out enough to do it in the tub, only on the ground for a few minutes and then be lifted back up.

Even if he wants to stay, it isn’t possible. He cannot live in captivity.

“Pretty,” Donghyun murmurs, still fascinated by the ear membranes. “So pretty…”

He strokes Jaehyun's cheek and you collect the shell fragments when Jaehyun uses his vocal cords for the first time.

“What... pretty?” he asks quietly, hoarsely. His eyes go wide with surprise at the sound of his own voice, then he arranges his features and waits for an answer.

“Which, when we see it, makes us happy.”

Jaehyun's lips form a tiny 'o'. He nods, indicating he understands.

“Pretty,” he says, looking Donghyun straight in the eye. Your boyfriend immediately blushes, and you smile at how cute he is. However, your turn also comes to embarrassment when Jaehyun next turns to you and says the same one word to you.

Suddenly everything goes wrong. The tub is covered with blue scales. They fall like leaves from a tree in autumn.

“What’s going on?”

“What's wrong?”

You're both kneeling by the tub, trying to figure out what to do. Is it a disease? Is it serious? You don't get an answer. Jaehyun isn't talking.

“We want to help you. Can we help you?”

Jaehyun looks at you uncertainly. He is being secretive.

“Please, Jaehyun. Trust us.”

“Will... Legs... For me,” he explains in a whisper, disjointed. He looks at you expectantly.

“How?”

“Legs,” he repeats.

“But why?”

“Home,” Jaehyun touches the bathtub. Then he takes your hand. “Home,” he says again. Finally, he touches Donghyun's hand too. “Home.”

You can't misunderstand that. Jaehyun won't go back to the sea because you are his home. And you don't need to enlarge your bathtub or buy a pool. He's adapting to his home environment because he wants to stay anyway.

“Home?” he asks, tears welling up in his eyes.

You've told him so many times to go home, to the sea, that he might think he isn’t welcome. But that's not it, you just didn't believe that he really wanted to stay, that it wasn't just you who wanted to keep him here for your own selfish reasons.

“You're home now.” Donghyun kisses Jaehyun's hand. “This is your home.”

“Our home,” you add.

Jaehyun is relieved. He sniffles and cries, but also smiles with joy. You hug him on both sides, hold his back, and you're so used to the water that you don't mind getting soaked, and of course you don't mind Jaehyun pressing his face tightly against your skin.

your likes, reblogs and comments are warmly welcomed! 💓thank you for being here!

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chimcess · 1 year ago

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Waterlog || pjm (1)

Pairing: Jimin x Reader Other tags: Olympic Swimmer!Jimin, Ex Olympic Swimmer! Reader, Swim Coach!Reader Genre: Strangers to Friends to Lovers!AU, Coach!AU, Swimming!AU, Age Gap!AU, HEAVY Angst, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, fluff, eventual smut, I'm so soft for these two it's crazy. Word Count: 17.4k+ Synopsis: After a car accident ends her athletic career, Y/N has slowly started rebuilding her life again as a high school swim coach. That’s until she gets a request from an old friend and finds herself back in the spotlight as the new coach of Olympic swimmer, Park Jimin. Warnings: discussions of significant death (does not happen in story), talks of a bad car accident, talks of drunk driving (please drinking responsibly), more than likely wrong swimming terms and poor understanding of how the Olympics actually works (I did so much research, pls be nice to me lol), strong language, lots of mental health discussions, reader has mommy and daddy issues, Older reader, Jimin is a complete sweetie, the tamest chapter of them all A/N: Well, well, well, look who came back. I first wrote Waterlog back in 2021, and while I enjoy the premise, I hate the finished product. I wanted to go back and edit/fix what I originally had, but when I tried it became so different, I was better off rewriting the entire thing. I hope you guys like this mini-series. If you would like to read the original go to my blog archive. Thank you for reading!

masterlist || next || playlist

Staring at the pool, I managed to calm myself with relative ease. Jin had been right, physical therapy had made things easier. The water glistened prettily in the lights, and I waited with bated breath for my trainer to come in.

Emery was a sweet guy, pretty with a lip ring and tattoos, but with a surprising amount of shyness it was laughable. His softness was offset by his powerful muscles, and I enjoyed his never-ending sense of humor. Unlike Dr.Maddox, Emery treated me like I was a normal person. Not an Olympian who almost lost her leg in an accident, or the woman whose fiancé died. I was just Y/N, and it was a relief to be around him.

Running my fingers along the scars on my leg, I mindlessly drew patterns around them in the silence. It was not normal for Emery to take this long, but his assistant had said he was running behind due to another patient, so I was unbothered. I had planned my entire day around this, so I was in no rush.

Finally, the door swung open revealing a disheveled Emery. Breathing heavier than usual, he rolled his eyes at me in frustration before saying his pleasantries. Whoever it had been had gotten him worked up.

“Rough morning?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

With an annoyed sigh, he nodded.

“I shouldn’t say this, but I hope that woman never comes back here.”

I laughed, “We all have that someone. Don’t feel too bad.”

Shaking his head, I could tell it took restraint on his part not to rant and rave about the woman who had left. Emery and I were more friendly than most. I had been seeing him for over two years now, but we still kept a semblance of a professional relationship. Especially Emery.

“How’s the kids?” He asked, making small talk as we started getting ready for a swim.

I was the coach of a high school swim team in town, something I talked about quite a bit, and Emery always liked hearing about. He was a great water polo player but chose to go into physical therapy while he was in college. After seeing one of his friends get injured and how much physical therapy had helped him, Emery decided to change his major. Four years later, he says he could never see himself doing anything else.

“They’re doing well,” I said honestly. “We got a couple of freshmen on the team, but they’re doing a lot better than I thought they would.”

Emery hummed, offering me assistance getting into the pool. While walking had been mostly figured out, the obvious limp aside, I still had some trouble with getting in-and-out of things. Even my bathtub had to be switched out since I was unable to step over it. I still used the medical chair while in there, too.

The water was cool against my skin, and I felt instantly relieved. The dull aches and pains left as soon as I got into the water. Swimming to my usual spot, I waited patiently for Emery to join me.

“That’s great to hear,” He smiled.

Going to the edge of the pool, Emery grabbed a set of barbells and handed them to me. Taking them, the two of us went over the workout plan for the day. Pulling himself up on the pool’s edge, Emery picked up his stopwatch and told me to begin.

Getting on the interstate, I sang along to the radio as I made my way to Hoseok’s. The two of us had been friends since high school, our mutual love for swimming making it impossible to keep apart, and only growing with time. He was one of my biggest support systems after the accident. Both of us had retired years ago now, but I remembered our days as Olympians fondly. Those were the best years of my life.

A small group of our friends were getting together at his house to watch the summer Olympics this afternoon. The women’s swimming finals were happening today, and I knew two of the girls competing. Turning on my blinker, I quickly got off the interstate.

Pressing around my car’s radio screen, I went to my contacts and pressed Andy’s number. She was off today and in charge of getting everything together. Hoseok had tried to do it himself, but always seemed to forget who should do what and ended up buying everything himself. She picked up after the fourth ring.

“What’s up, sugar?” Andy greeted, her voice soft and light. Her Memphis accent was thick and brought a smile to my face. Everyone had made jokes about her being southern when we first met. “Don’t tell me you’re missing Nationals.”

I shook my head even though she could not see me.

“I’m on my way,” I replied. “What should I pick up? I completely forgot.”

Andy sighed, “You’re just as bad as Jin.”

Seokjin was Andy’s husband. The two of them had been together whenever they moved to Colorado, married before I ever met them, and became quick friends with Hoseok when they moved to the Springs. That was how I had met them. Whenever their daughter Dani was born, Andy had asked me to be her Godmother and I sobbed in her lap. They were my closest friends next to Hoseok. Jin was indeed very forgetful, though, and the jibe made me chuckle.

“Cut me some slack,” I argued. “I’ve been working out for two hours straight.”

I could hear the smile in her voice, “Just get some pizza or something. We’re picking up some wings and Hobi’s in charge of the drinks. Minho and Tilly are bringing… something. I don’t even know anymore.”

Fully laughing now, I saw a Little Ceasars up ahead and got into the correct lane. Minho and Matilda were loose cannons when it came to our parties. While sweet, and fiercely loyal, I found myself wondering why I hung out with them at times. We were night and day personality wise, but I loved them dearly. Minho would probably bring some Korean side dishes from home, and Matilda would pick up a few packs of ramen from the store. Andy was stressing over nothing again. I hoped she was getting proper rest on her days off.

“I’m at Little Caesars,” I told her, parking my car. “I’m going to get the basics. How many things of Crazy Bread should I get?”

She thought for a second before replying.

“Five?” She was definitely unsure about her answer.

It was hard to gauge just how hungry everyone would be, and Jin was a bottomless pit.

“Sounds good,” I said instead, already thinking about getting more.

“Drive safe. See you in a bit.”

“See you, Andy,” I unplugged my phone from the charger.

Pressing it to my ear, I pressed my start button and turned it off. I climbed out of my car and started walking to the store.

“Love you,” She sing-songed playfully.

“Love you, too,” I replied. Opening the door, a worker greeted me with a smile. “I’m about to order.”

Shoving my phone in my back pocket, I gave the worker an awkward smile before telling him my order. I ended up getting seven bags instead of five. Just in case. Dani really liked the stuff and Jin could smash an entire bag by himself. While I waited for the cheese pizza to come out of the oven, my phone started ringing.

“Hello?” I answered, unable to check the caller ID while the cashier shoved the crazy bread into my arms.

“I heard from a little bird that you’re thinking about competing again.”

I grinned and thanked the cashier as she handed me my other pizza.

“Hello to you, too, Frank,” I replied. “And your little birdie wouldn’t happen to be Hoseok, would it?”

Frank and Sarah Boone had become a part of my life after the accident. They ran a local support group to help those affected by drunk drivers to get connected with resources and therapy. The two had lost their son when he decided to drive home drunk from a party and used the group as their own coping mechanism. They were wonderful people and owned their own joint coffee shop and bookstore in Denver.

“Won’t say names,” He chuckled, “But it might have come from a certain part-timer. So, is it true?”

I placed the boxes in the passenger seat and rounded my car. This was not a conversation I was expecting to happen today. I had brought up the idea to Hoseok since the Olympics were coming up next year, but I was not committed to it. I was enjoying my new job coaching and did not think I was in any condition for competition. When he brought up the Paralympics I laughed. Those competitors were in better shape than I was, and I doubted I would qualify. I was disabled but my disability did not (as far as I knew) carry over into the pool.

“I was just talking shit, Frank,” Backing out of the parking space, I put in Hoseok’s address and started to drive. Switching over to my car’s phone, I put my phone down and looked at the road. “You know I’m happy with my life right now.”

He made a grunting noise that told me he did not really believe me. No one did. All of them were sure I was miserable about my career ending far before its time, and while that may be true, I felt more loss about the life I was supposed to have than winning medals. I missed Namjoon more than any medal. Frank and Sarah understood that.

“I know that,” He cleared his throat, and I could hear the congestion. Frank had come down with a nasty case of walking pneumonia two weeks ago and was still recovering. “Just got a little excited is all. It would be nice to see you putting yourself back out there.”

It would be nice to see myself back in the pool, I could admit that. I had dreams of it at times. Being a competitor was a part of who I was. From the first time my dad took me to my swim classes when I was six all the way until I claimed my eighth Olympic medal, everyone had said there was nothing I hated more than losing. I was fiery, free-spirited, and kept my eyes on the prize. It was the thing Namjoon loved about me the most. That made me frown.

“I left a champ,” I forced a laugh. “Need to save some gold for the rest of them.”

Hiding behind humor was a pastime.

Frank laughed, oblivious to the hollowness in my tone. “Heard they have a new guy taking your place.”

That made me snort, “He’s not taking my spot. Totally different competitions, my friend.”

“Winning gold like you, that’s for damn sure.”

It must be Jimin Park. The kid turned up on the scene a year after my accident. He was a very, very talented swimmer. Fast as a bullet with the best butterflies I had ever seen, Park was a force to be reckoned with in the men’s league. It was a joy to watch him swim and this year would be his first Olympics. Hoseok and I were very excited to watch him.

“If you’re talking about Park,” I chuckled. “He’s far from new. He’s been competing for a few years now. First Olympics, though.”

“He’s young, ain’t he?”

I nodded, “23, I think.”

Truthfully, I did not know how old he was. I remember the buzz around how young he was when he first broke out on the scene. He was eighteen when he took home gold all season before a family emergency took him out of the Olympics last minute. No one knew what really happened, but his team had said his brother was in an accident, tragically losing his life, and Jimin was prioritizing his family. He’s competed every year since and with the Olympics next year, I was certain Park would be there. He deserved it.

I was parked in front of the house now and from the cars outside, I was the last person to arrive. Frank and I talked for a few moments. It was cute how much he had learned about swimming so we could be buddies. Sarah was the only person who recognized my face when I first started going to the meetings and her husband was determined to get me to open after weeks of sitting in bitter silence in the back.

We hung up after I promised I would make it to the meeting next Thursday. Frank was not happy about me skipping the past two weeks, but understood I was taking some time to myself. My boys were going to compete this year, I had fought tooth and nail for that funding, and the extra hours at school were exhausting. Jeremy and Evan showed promise, but they knew how to drive me up the wall with all of their simple mistakes.

As I suspected, the party was in full swing. Matilda and Minho were laughing loudly on the sofa, Hoseok sporting a beer in the recliner next to them, and Dani practicing her gymnastics in the middle of it all. I could hear the commentators talking animatedly about the girls, who they believed would come out on top and highlights from the night before, but I never really paid them any mind.

“Pizza’s here!” Minho boomed, practically running to greet me.

I laughed, handing over the boxes, “Need help carrying the rest in.”

Matilda offered, happily taking my car keys and leaving the house. Minho had disappeared into the kitchen. Dani spared me enough attention for a smile and wave before launching into excited pleas for me to watch her new moves.

“Super cool, babe,” I smiled sweetly after her handstand. Dani was not particularly good at gymnastics. She started later than the other girls, rarely did anything she was actively afraid of, and hated her coach. Andy was already looking for a better gym, but I just thought she should start pointing her in another direction. Dani loved dancing and she would be a wonderful ballerina or figure skater if given the proper training. The Kim’s, however, seemed fine watching her deal with gymnastics and cheerleading. “You’re getting better.”

Dani beamed, “Daddy said the same thing.”

Flipping the right way around, her hair coming out of its messily tied bun and falling down past her shoulders. Brown, loose waves made her look so much younger than her eight years, her small stature only selling the illusion even more. Her skin was smooth, and she always looked as though she had been playing outside in the sun, a constant tinge of pink beneath her sandy skin. Her features favored her father, large eyes, long face, and plush, pillow-like lips, but after meeting Andy’s parents, I could see her grandmother hidden within the mischievous glint in her eyes and too small ears.

“Your dad’s a smart guy,” I joked.

She continued to babble away as I made myself more comfortable, kicking off my shoes and tossing my hat onto the small buffet table that sat above the shoe rack. Matilda came back inside, her arms filled with bags of bread, and I took two from the pile. With a thankful, thin-lipped grin, she also complimented Dani’s moves before disappearing around the corner in the direction of the kitchen.

“Dani,” Hoseok seemed to have finally grown tired of hearing the girl talk. I would imagine this was all he had been hearing since he arrived. “Do you want to color with me?”

The little girl clapped happily, her eyes bright and shining, before abandoning her mat to gather a few coloring books and her massive hoard of crayons. Hoseok looked at me then, a sly smile on his face before winking. I chuckled and shook my head. He always did that to make her shut up.

I left the living room before Dani came back. I loved her dearly, but I could admit she talked too much. It was a good thing for a kid her age to be so social but that did not mean I wanted to hear her every waking thought. Andrea and Seokjin were the only parents in our little group, and I imagined it would stay that way for a while. Even if my dreams of children were still alive, I did not have anybody I wanted to take on that responsibility with.

Minho was eating the pizza, as expected, while Matilda had already claimed her own bag of Crazy Bread. Andy and Jin were snuggled up at their dining table, his arms securing her to his chest, and she curled into him. I loved watching them together. I had grown up in a house with two people who hated one another, barely kept up a facade of civility before my mother skipped down to be with her new boyfriend in Florida leaving my dad and I behind in Pennsylvania. We made it work but things were never the same after that. It made me happy to know little Dani would feel the love radiating in her home as she grew up. I had never seen two people so enamored with one another in my life- not even Namjoon and I.

“How was therapy?” Minho asked after we exchanged pleasantries. “Hoseok said you were talking about competing next season.”

I laughed in disbelief. That man did not know how to keep his mouth shut. I said the same thing I told Frank over the phone, and he scoffed. Minho never truly laughed, if I was honest. It was always a snicker, scoff, or chuckle. He was a man of little words and even fewer outbursts of joy, and I found his versions of those things just as reserved as the rest of him. He was the most expressive when he smiled, but those were just as rare as a genuine laugh. Dani managed to squeeze more out of him than anybody else.

“Stop meddling!” Andy scolded the other man from her spot in Seokjin’s lap.

“Never,” My friend replied, amusement clear in his voice.

“Never!” Dani echoed, voice louder than Hoseok’s. She was giggling happily alongside him, and I rolled my eyes. He was her favorite. “Never!” She repeated again, pleased when Hoseok laughed. “Never!”

“That’s enough,” Jin’s voice was even and smooth.

Dani did not shout again but we could all hear her and Hoseok attempting to cover up their laughter. Andy smiled fondly. Their little friendship had warmed her heart. After Dani, Andrea had been diagnosed with cervical cancer. It had come back six times before her doctor said she needed to get a hysterectomy. She grieved the children they would never have, the large family she dreamed of stolen from her, but once Dani was old enough to walk, she had been glued to Hoseok’s hip.

Hoseok for all he spoke about never wanting children, he adored Dani. His family was small, he and his sister the only children, but they were extremely close. She lived in New York City as a fashion designer and got married last year, and I always had the feeling Hoseok felt lonely without her. Dani was a welcome break from routine and made him feel special. It was sweet but I hoped my friend would find someone to share his life with someday.

“It’s starting,” Hoseok announced.

It was a great day for the U.S. Opal Simmons was one to look out for. She was the oldest woman on the team, a shocking 24, but she could out swim a vast majority of them. Her freestyles were amazing, earning her a gold with Japan just a few points behind. I was hopeful she would be able to come out on top in her distance swim. While not the fastest in the pool, the girl knew how to pace herself. The cameras cut to the shot of one of her coaches smiling triumphantly at the performance.

He was a good friend of mine, Oswald Bunch. He had been heavily involved with the Olympics for years now, promoted to one of the lead coaches back in 2020, but I remembered when he was still competing. A few years older than me, Ozzie was known for his backstrokes and long-distance swimming, and we bonded whenever we got the chance to meet in London back in 2012.

That was my first Olympics. I was a fresh-faced 20-year-old on a mission. My team at the time was stoked to have me around and I was excited to be there. I had built up a solid reputation over the course of two years, winning seven medals my first adult-competitive season, and the high was incredible. Back then, I was always the one to beat at the breaststroke and therefore, the medleys were in my favor as well. I walked away with 4 golds that year, and again in 2016. The accident happened a year later, but I left the competitive world with 8 gold Olympic medals and 19 world champion gold medals. Katie Ledecky held the record now, but for a time, I was the most decorated female swimmer in history. I was excited when I was finally passed up, happy for the younger woman.

Ozzie was the man, but sadly never got out of Michael Phelp’s shadow. It was not his fault. That man was insane in the water and would become the most decorated Olympian ever. Bunch was a great swimmer, but I did not know a single person who could compare to Phelps. Hoseok, maybe, but he only had 12 gold medals. Phelps had 23.

“Simmons looks great out there,” Hoseok praised, a large smile on his face.

“Her butterflies could use a little work,” I murmured back, already seeing how I could fix it with some extra exercises. “It’s slowing down her freestyle. What else is she scheduled for?”

“I think she’s doing the 200-meter freestyles and the medley relay,” He replied, taking a sip of his beer. “Bunch is banking on her pacing.”

“She won’t win those,” I was positive. “She’s just going to get tired. Breaststrokes are obviously not her thing.”

He laughed, “You’re the breaststroke queen, Y/N. No one's as good as yours.”

I shrugged, “Ledecky is a great swimmer.”

“Never said she wasn’t,” He sipped. “Her freestyles are killer. Girls could never beat you in breaststroke or a medley. You’re untouchable there.”

It made me smile despite myself. Hoseok was right, those were my competitions. Even if Katie had surpassed my record for most gold medals ever, I still had more Olympic medals than she did, and they were in completely different events. I could have kept my title had the accident never happened. I would have. Even if we were friendly, Ledecky would have been my competition, and I would have fought hard to keep the record.

“What’s Jimin doing this year?” Matilda asked as the women’s scores were posted. Opal would be a strong contender. “Anyone know?”

I nodded, “I haven’t watched every competition, but he’s sticking to what he does best. Didn’t he swim the 200 yesterday?”

“Yeah,” Hoseok replied. “He’s skipping out today and doing his individual tomorrow. Swimming back-to-back after that. Kid’s a fucking animal in the water.”

I couldn't agree more. As I stared at Opal’s smiling face, her pale blonde hair and bright blue eyes, I wished I had been able to watch Jimin instead. She was cold and impassive even with a large, perfectly white grin that took up most of her face. In fact, I found her quite boring outside of the water. No flair or features that set her apart. Just a tall, well-built blonde with a nice smile. Ozzie would have to work hard to make her memorable.

“Simmons did well,” I yawned. “It’s getting late, though, and I have work in the morning.”

The goodbyes were quick, and Dani made me promise to take her roller skating soon. There was a girl at school making fun of her and she wanted her “super cool” and “famous” aunt to tell them off. We all laughed, and I told her we could go this weekend after gymnastics practice.

My drive home was uneventful. It was already dark out, something that bothered me more than I would ever admit out loud, and I never turned on the radio. I preferred to drive in absolute silence, eyes and ears glued to the road. I had only started talking on the phone recently.

I was much worse after the accident. I refused to get inside of a car for weeks and if I did, I was a mess. No one was allowed to be a distracted driver either. No radio, no phone, no conversations. Nothing. Jin had been the default chauffeur during that time and put up with my anxiety better than the others.

It was close to a year before I tried to sit in the front seat again. Another five before I got behind the wheel. For hours I would sit in the garage with my hands on the steering wheel staring off into the distance. I was still in a wheelchair for most of my daily activities and a very obvious limp made me too self-conscious to be seen. Isolating was easy. Keeping the others away was more difficult.

My drives started with me just backing out of the driveway. I went around the block a few weeks later, hands shaking and Andy trying her best to soothe me in the passenger seat. I did not drive past the Whole Foods two minutes away from my house until after the second year. Things were easier after I ditched the wheelchair and got more open to the idea of therapy.

Moving out of Denver was the best decision I ever made, the Springs were easier to drive in and the traffic was not as awful. Andrea and Jin bought in Black Forest once I was settled in Briargate, so loneliness was never an option.

Matilda almost moved in after the housewarming party Andy threw for me. She said it was far too big for one person and the neighborhood was to die for. I laughed her off at the time not really wanting to admit how nice it sounded.

Nestled in Fairfax, my house was a beautiful piece of architecture. The striking brick and wood front exterior provided a warm welcome, with teal trimmings bringing a fresh feeling to the otherwise plain color scheme. With five bedrooms and four bathrooms, I dreamed of the day I was able to fill them all. A dream that I hoped would come before I hit 35.

Pulling up to the house, I waved to Chika next door. The old woman raised her hand, still nursing a large mug of what I assumed to be tea and smiled. They were lovely people and we often helped one another out whenever we could. Chika liked to bring over food if she cooked and I paid my landscapers to keep with their lawn.

“Late night?” Chika called out from her front porch.

“Went to a friend’s house,” I replied.

“Good,” She meant it. “Glad to see you getting out of the house.”

I smiled but was not sure how well she could see my face in the dark.

“Yeah. Night, Chika.”

“Night, Y/N.”

I showered quickly and sipped on a cup of chamomile tea before heading off to bed. After taking my night medications, one to force myself to sleep while the other blocked the never-ending nightmares, I climbed into bed. I was able to play a single game of solitaire before they both kicked in. I fell asleep with the sound of gentle rain humming in the background.

“Let’s go, guys!” I yelled, blowing my whistle.

The twelve boys waited, their small talk coming to an abrupt end. We had just finished warming up and I allowed all of them a short water break. I was a huge advocate for rest periods. No one needed to pull a muscle or fatigue early due to over working. I had a 2800-yard routine prepared, 800 of those done during our warm-ups, and the rest divided between our main set and cooldowns.

Jordan, our captain, was smiling happily. He was such an excited kid, and his positivity was contagious. While some of the boys were disappointed when I first chose him to replace our old captain after his graduation, I was sure his spirit would do everyone some good. It did not take long for the others to come around and he was beloved.

“Alright, so we have a 1600 main set. In between each of our reps, we will be doing a switch out of easy breast and backstrokes. Clear?”

“Crystal!” They all replied in unison.

“Alright. That's what I like to hear,” Flipping through my clipboard was more for show than anything. I used to rely on it heavily when I first started teaching since brain damage messed with my short-term memory, but I had been doing this long enough to know what was happening. Now it was just a way for me to write notes about their performances. “We’re starting with a 4x100 with 15-second rest; the first 25 butterfly. 3x100 with 10-second rest; again, first 25 butterfly. Following?”

No questions were asked, and a few guys voiced they were good for me to keep going.

“Good. Then we have a 2x100 with 5-second rest. First 25?”

“Butterfly,” Jordan replied.

“Thank you, Abbot. Okay, and we’re finishing up with 8x50 freestyle. Fast and easy.”

All twelve of them began to prepare to take their mark. One by one they stood on their blocks and waited for me to make the call. I admired them all for a moment. You could see the difference in each one of them. Those who were confident stood tall, their shoulders squared, and head held high. Newcomers were still figuring out their place on the team but were eager to prove themselves. Two of them would be leaving us this year, Gabriel and Marcus, and neither one of them were continuing to swim after graduation. It was a sad thought, but I was happy with how they carried themselves. They had both come a long way.

“Take your mark,” My voice echoed. Each boy got into their starting position as I watched them like a hawk. One of the freshmen, Phineas, needed major work on his form. I would talk to Jordan about it. Grabbing hold of my stopwatch, I took a deep breath. “Go!”

Marcus was the first in, like always, and I ignored him. I knew he was fully capable of taking care of himself. Phineas was the weakest link in my chain right now. He was struggling, his arms growing tired and his speed nonexistent. The other freshmen, Tobias, or as the guys called him, Twig, was not much better. He had more strength, but I chopped that up to his size. I would need to really start working some more beginner drills to get them in shape. Jordan and Gabriel would be more than happy to give up a Saturday or two to help out.

Marcus was the first one finished and I marked his time. Still a tenth of a second faster than Jordan. After Jordan came Gabriel and then Joseph and Anthony. I was disappointed in Jett’s time, but I would invite him to the weekend practices with the others. He needed some foot and hip exercises. Twig came in before Phineas, but every other boy was already out of the water by the time they made it back. Phineas was visibly upset, and I made a note to pull him to the side after practice to cheer him up.

Practices typically lasted two hours and the boys swam hard. Phineas did, in fact, perk up after I told him I was noticing tons of improvements in his performance. Twig just seemed happy he was not the worst guy in the water. After talking it out with Jordan, we decided on a good weekend time for extra practices, and I stayed behind to print off a poster and signup sheets for the rest of the boys. I had a feeling almost everyone except Marcus would show. He had a part-time job now and his weekends were full.

Sitting in my office, I poured over my observations and timecards. With a team this large I should have an extra set of hands to help with timing. I sent an email to the principal asking about helpers and got back to the nitty gritty.

All of them could work on something. Phineas might have needed the most work, Twig not far behind him, but my most seasoned swimmers had room for improvement. Jett was still struggling with maximizing propulsion, Anthony and Milo needed to get better water balance, and Gabriel’s pull could be better. Even my best swimmers, Jordan and Marcus, could use a bit of refinement in technique. It was nitpicking but they were too talented to give up on their potential.

It was close to nine when my phone began to ring. I knew it could not be any of my usual calls. Andy was working nights this week and Jin was fast asleep at home with Dani. Minho was in bed by eight, Matilda would never bother me this late, and Hoseok hated phone calls. Checking the caller ID, I was shocked to see Ozzie’s name.

“Hello?” I answered tentatively, afraid he might have called me by accident.

“Otter,” Ozzie greeted me happily. He seemed so delighted that I answered, I smiled even though I hated the nickname. “How’s life going?”

I chuckled, “Rockin’ and rollin’. Saw your girl last night. Looks great, Oz.”

“Appreciate it,” He was so dismissive of it I became interested. This was not a catch-up phone call or else he might have hooked onto the bait. My stomach twisted in anticipation. If it was not for pleasantries, then it was for work and that was something to be excited about. “Still teaching high school?”

“Mhm,” I fiddled with my pencil, papers forgotten. “My boys team is strong. I only have three girls that signed up so we’re just training during P.E. and hoping some more join.”

We chatted a bit more about the team. The longer it went on the more knots I had. Oswald was fishing for something, and I wanted to figure out what. After telling him about Phineas, I asked what the random call was about.

“Always cutting to the chase,” He joked.

I did not laugh.

“Alright, you caught me,” Ozzie sighed. “Look, the Olympic team is looking for another assistant coach and your name came up a few times.”

My mouth went dry. I had heard about Tiara Marsh leaving to focus on her family. She had a baby and stepped down a few months after coming back from maternity leave. I respected the decision and messaged her my congratulations. Ozzie had taken the lead coach position three years ago with Todd Packer as his partner. The other assistant, Drew Jones, was a sweet girl from what I heard and working with her would be a dream.

Still, it was an impossible task. Trying to imagine myself on the sidelines, coaching the next big names in sporting history with a massive squad behind me made my stomach queasy. I doubt any of them respected me. My leg was ruined, my career burned out just as quickly as it started, and I never had the chance to reach my peak. Now I am a 30-year-old washed up recluse. Just thinking about the media frenzy made my breathing get a little heavier.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Oz,” I murmured.

“I told them you wouldn’t go for it,” He replied, unsurprised. “They’re going to approach Storm Kline instead.”

“Oh,” Now I was confused. “Why’d you bring it up then?”

“Because I got to thinking,” I braced myself. Ozzie was known for his big, bright, dumb, impulsive ideas. “I knew the Olympics would be asking too much of you. Cameras and interviews are the last thing you want after the fucking circus you went through last time.”

That was an understatement. Circus did not even begin to describe the absolute hell the media put me through after the accident. So many speculations and insensitive remarks managed to ruin any peace I could have gotten during that time.

While I was in a coma, no one knowing if I would ever wake up again, the news thought it wise to harass my friends and family. My old coach, Victor Stanley, was assaulted whenever he left the hospital. When news got out that Namjoon was pulled off life support, his mother and father were so sick and tired of people parked outside their house they packed up and moved away before I even woke up. I wanted nothing to do with the media after that.

“It’s a little different but I think you’d be a great fit for the job,” Ozzie continued. “One of my boys, Jimin Park, is in need of a personal coach. His mom is sick and he’s wanting to stay in Michigan for as long as he can before coming out to the Springs to start training for Paris.

“I almost called Jung, but I don’t think the two of them would get along well enough for this to work. You’re the only person I know I can trust with him, and from what I’m hearing, you’re one hell of a coach already.”

This was somehow even more nerve wracking than the assistant position. I had never trained one-on-one before, at least, not long term. I was sure I could do it, but a high schooler was very different from an Olympic athlete relying on me to keep him in shape for the season.

“What happened to Hamilton?” I asked, still unable to wrap my head around the situation. “I thought he was Park’s personal trainer.”

“He was but the two fell out when Jimin decided to stay in Michigan. You know how Matt is.”

That I did. Matthew Hamilton was a massive asshole, and that was putting it lightly. He was one of the best trainers around and got results which was why he still had a job despite his rotten attitude. I had the misfortune of running into him quite a few times over the years and my distaste only grew with each passing. I could imagine that conversation not going over particularly well.

“But what about my team?” I asked, staring at my desk. All of my plans and strategies were mapped out and I was ready to put them to use. My boys were counting on me and leaving them felt wrong. “I don’t want to leave them high and dry, Oz.”

“Ask Hoseok to cover for you,” I rolled my eyes at his blase attitude.

“This is my team.”

“And this is Jimin Park.”

I hated that I understood where he was coming from. Most of my boys would never go off to swim professionally and their skill set was not on par with anyone out right now. They were not committed to the strict regime that would take and I did not get paid well enough to justify the extra hours. Jimin, however, would pay me extremely well and I would get that experience under my belt. I might even learn a few new things to add to my own drills.

“Give me a few days to think about it,” I finally conceded. “And set up a phone call, or meeting, or something with the kid. Need to make sure we’re on the same page before we waste one another’s time.”

Ozzie laughed, “I think you’ll get along just fine, but sure. I think he’d appreciate the gesture.”

Nothing of much importance was said after that. We hung up with promises of talking soon and then I was alone once more. My office was still just as messy and swamped with paperwork as it had been before, but it all looked different. It felt like I was already gone, and a deep homesickness settled in my chest. I stared at the papers in front of me and sighed before shooting a text to Hoseok.

As I expected, everyone had told me to jump at the opportunity. Hoseok even said if I didn’t, I would be the biggest idiot he had ever met. Matilda asked if she could come (I told her no), and Dani just seemed bummed that we could not hang out anymore. Andy and Jin were the most supportive of the situation while Minho the most cautious. He was worried about the media catching wind of something and causing a frenzy. After Matila pointed out how old news I was, I felt a little less afraid of that possibility even if it was a hit to my ego.

Ozzie seemed pumped when I told him I was open to the idea if Jimin and I seemed to mesh well. I was firm in my decision to talk to him before making any concrete plans, and from what Ozzie told me, my future student was extremely receptive to the idea. I also learned that Opal was jealous of her fellow Olympian, but I tried not to let that puff up my chest.

That was why I was sitting in my home office, hair nicely styled and a light layer of makeup on waiting for Jimin to join our Zoom call. I wore blue since Ozzie said it was his favorite color, but the material was slowly driving me insane. While the color was nice, deep blue and sparkled whenever the light hit it, it was scratchy and irritated the skin around my chest and shoulders. I almost got up to change but a small icon with the letters ‘JP’ in the center popped up before I could.

“Hello?” A soft voice called out.

“Hey,” I replied with an awkward wave. “Can you see me?”

“Yeah, can you see me?”

I shook my head, “Just your icon.”

Cursing under his breath, Jimin apologized for the tech issues. I adored how nice he was to listen to. It was unique, gentle and raspy, but also feminine in its softness. There was no bass or hardness, every sound and syllable light and airy with self-depreciating laughter after every insult he threw at himself. Apparently, Jimin was not great with technology and always had a difficult time with cyber meetings.

“This is fine with me,” I tried to reassure him. “I don’t need to see your face to talk.”

“No,” He agreed, “But it’s a little awkward for you to have your camera on and mine’s off.”

I could hear him clicking around. “I’ll turn mine off, too, if that helps.”

He shut that down immediately and continued clicking and typing. After a few more minutes, he found his problem. Then the icon was gone and there he was.

His face was round, his cheeks plump, and chin soft. The first thing I noticed about him was his lips. They were rounded and plump like a baby duck with a soft, heart shaped cupid’s bow that led up a small, button nose. Everything about his face was soft except his eyes which were almond shaped and flicked outwards like a cat’s. His hair was pitch black and parted down the middle, framing his face and making his pale skin look like snow. When he caught a glimpse of himself in the camera a large smile took over his face and I felt the wind get knocked out of me.

“Can you see me?” He asked.

I nodded, “Yeah, I think we’re in the clear.”

Neither one of us knew what to say for a moment. He swirled around in his chair in search of his water bottle. He stood up, excusing himself for a moment. He was also wearing a blue shirt, a pair of black pants, and seemed just as nervous as I did. He left the room while I sat and thought about him.

There was one word to describe Jimin: pretty. His soft lines and tiny waist made him look so much smaller than I had imagined him. All of the years seeing him on the tv did nothing to compare to watching him walk around a little room in his home. Without a cap and goggles, Jimin was angelic, and I felt uneasy. How was I supposed to work with someone I found this attractive?

“Sorry,” He was back now, a large Yeti cup in hand. “I should’ve made sure I had this already.”

“No worries. I’m not in any rush.”

He sat back down, and I finally noticed the large oval necklace he was wearing. I did not know what it could mean to him, but I had seen him with it a few times at events. It was simple and silver, no gem in the center of the pendant, and sat directly over his heart. He took a sip from his cup, snapping me back to action.

“How’s your mother doing?” I asked. “Ozzie told me she wasn’t well.”

His expression saddened me, and I hated that I brought it up. I knew how much I did not enjoy talking about Namjoon’s death, and while his mother was still alive, she was not well. Unfortunately, I could not take the question back.

“I’m not sure how much you know,” He started, leaning back in the leather computer chair. “She has melanoma and isn’t doing chemotherapy anymore. I’m staying in Michigan so I can spend as much time with her as possible.”

My heart ached for him and his family. Cancer had a reputation for ripping families apart and I could only imagine how this was affecting the young swimmer. My own grief was long and drawn out, guilt and shame hanging over my head for years before I was finally able to let it go, but the death itself was swift. Joon was dead and buried before I woke up from the coma, but I could recall every detail of that hospital room when Victor told me what happened. I hated to think about watching the life slip from him, knowing he would die, and knowing there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

“I understand. I’m really sorry to hear that.”

I knew it was inadequate, but I did not know this man well enough to say my thoughts out loud. Maybe later, after a few weeks of training together, I could get the courage to let him know I would be there if he needed someone to talk to. I knew all about navigating grief and I would happily help him stay motivated through this horrible, tragic time. Jimin stayed quiet so I took it upon myself to get the ball rolling again.

“I know you’re going through a difficult time right now, and I just want you to know that I get it and I see you. If we work together, I will make sure your mental health comes first. Whatever you need, whatever your family needs, will always come before getting in the pool.

“You were working with Hamilton before this, and whatever happened between you two- I don’t know, that’s none of my business, but I can promise you I will try my best to make sure our professional relationship doesn’t reach that point. Just tell me what’s up and I’ll make it work.”

Jimin smiled a small, sad smile that paled in comparison to that blinding show of teeth earlier. My eyes could not help their roaming and I felt guilty. There was a chance we would be working together, and I could not feel this way about him if that time came. I could only hope that if we did decide to move forward with this arrangement, any affections I could have for him would get buried. I would have to talk to Hoseok about this.

“I have to take her to appointments once a week,” He replied, voice small and eyes staring at something off camera. “She’s not getting her chemo anymore but still goes to see her doctor often to manage symptoms as best she can. She also has a dance class every Sunday morning and I will be going with her.”

I nodded, “I can live with that. As long as you’re still putting in work you can take your mom anywhere.”

He took a deep breath and finally looked at the camera again. The vulnerability I found there took me off guard. Jimin must be someone who wears their emotions on their sleeve, and I would have to learn to nurture that. Namjoon always told me I needed to work on being more sensitive to others, a skill I had yet to master.

“Matt didn’t like how much time I spent out of the pool. I understand where he’s coming from but I’m hoping we can come up with a training schedule that works well for the both of us. I feel bad enough pulling you away from your life, and I don’t want my personal shit to bleed into what you’re going through.”

It was a kind gesture, one I appreciated, but he needed to get over it. I told him in so many words that I was happy to help him.

“Trust me,” I said. “If I didn’t want to do this then we wouldn’t be talking.”

Jimin seemed to like my bluntness and I was fond of his over-analytical anxiety. The way he fidgeted reminded me of Namjoon, his forward and direct confrontation of his emotions and needs so strikingly similar it made it nearly impossible for me to dislike him. I don’t think a person alive could dislike this man.

“I can be in Ann Arbor next week,” Jimin had gone on another rant about inconveniencing me and I shut it down. “Everything here is already squared away. We can discuss it more later, how does that sound?”

He smiled wearily, his nerves causing him to squirm in his seat.

“I’m really looking forward to working with you, Y/N.”

I hoped my expression looked as sincere as I felt, “I’ll take care of you, kiddo.”

Pulling a face, Jimin laughed heartily. Triumphant, I smiled brazenly, his laughter contagious. I made a note to pull out a few age jokes now and then if it meant making him smile like that.

“I’m an adult man, I’ll have you know,” He was still laughing.

“Could’ve fooled me,” I teased.

“We’re going to get along just fine,” He seemed more confident than ever, and it warmed my heart. “Let me know when you’re expected to get here. Do you have my number?”

We exchanged our contact details. After days of talking over email, I finally found a smiley face emoji in my notifications, a Michigan area code attached. Saving his number, I replied with the old woman emoji earning myself another laugh.

“Talk to you later, Park.”

“See you, coach.”

I left the meeting, my chest much lighter after talking to him. He was a sweet man and not half bad to look at. I was a few years older but not disgustingly so, and he was more than available from the sound of things. Realizing the direction my thoughts were going in, I stood up from the chair to start writing out some drills and scheduling prototypes. Before I could get out of the door, however, my phone vibrated in my hand.

Jimin: 👶

I did not respond until I had my flight booked.

Me: I’m flying in on Tuesday. Know a good place to stay?

He replied a few minutes later.

Jimin: Do you need a lot of space?

Me: Not really

Jimin: One of my neighbors has their mother-in-law suite for rent. I could probably cut you a good deal with them.

I smiled. He really was a sweetheart.

Me: Thank you. And no deals. I can pay for myself.

Jimin: My mother would be very upset if I didn’t at least try.

Jimin: I was raised to respect the elderly.

I laughed out loud, thoroughly amused. I had a feeling he was testing the waters after I poked fun at him earlier. Jimin was probably used to the stick stuck up Hamilton’s ass. He was in for a treat. At the pool I was cool and collected but I could cut up with the best of them.

Me: Sorry, couldn’t hear you over the sound of my hip breaking

I was practically giddy with excitement waiting for his response. It had been such a long time since someone joked around with me like this. Hoseok tried but he was awful at taking a joke, so I stopped poking the bear. It was refreshing and all too familiar.

Jimin: I’ll get you one of those life alerts just in case.

Was he flirting with me? Did I care? Shrugging, I went along with it. I would remain strictly professional while we worked together, but if things developed after that I would let them. Happily. I barely knew this guy, but I remember this feeling. It was the first time since Joon’s death that it showed itself to me and I wanted to hold onto it.

First work then play, I told myself.

Who knows? This little bit of infatuation could fade just as quickly as it came, and I would leave Ann Arbor with a new friend instead. Might even be able to score a steady job with the kid if things worked out. My life in Colorado would remain untouched, my friends happily accepting a new kid in the group when he came to visit, and my house just as bare and empty as it always had been. The years continuing to pass me by.

I tried not to think about why that thought made me want to cry.

“I told you I’m fine,” I sighed into the phone, waiting at the baggage claim for my things. “You’re in rare form today.”

Andrea laughed, the sound slightly hysterical and I winced. That was the wrong thing to say, but she was driving me insane. I had traveled around the world multiple times, and she was acting like Michigan was going to kill me.

“Well excuse me for worrying,” Andy bit back, her tone clipped and harsh.

“I’m sorry,” I heaved one of my bags off the conveyor belt. “I know you’re just looking out for me, but I promise you I’m fine Andrea. You’ll be my first phone call if that changes.”

The other bag finally popped up and I quickly snatched it. Slinging the large duffle bag over my shoulder, I adjusted it until it rested comfortably on my shoulders. Lifting the handlebar off my large suitcase, I drug it behind me while I followed the signs for the exit. Jimin said he arranged for someone to pick me up but did not specify who. He was busy with a few interviews this morning and could not get me himself. He had been very disappointed about it.

“I know I’m nagging,” Andy groaned. “Scratch that. I’m acting like a total helicopter parent.”

I laughed, “Your husband had been even worse. The man tried to book me a charter flight because he was worried about my leg in an airport. What the fuck does that even mean?”

Everyone had been super happy for me, especially my team. Those boys almost cried when I told them who I was helping out and Jordan begged me to bring him back something autographed. None of them seemed as familiar with my own background but I was fine with that. All of them took to Hoseok rather well, except for Marcus who made me swear to come back before school let out. I did not tell them I was planning to make monthly trips to give Jimin some space with his mom. I was sure that surprise would go over very, very well.

Despite his indifference when I was first talking about the job, Seokjin became an overprotective dad as soon as I made him aware my flights were booked. He was quick to cancel them and put in a few calls of his own. Jin was an operations manager for Delta airlines and knew plenty of pilots. He was able to get me a plane to land in Willow Run out in Ypsilanti, but I quickly intervened and told him a normal flight was perfect. I rebooked my tickets and flew into Detroit Metro at 10 am.

Andy snorted, “He means well.”

It was snowing in Michigan, and I was finally hit with the realization that I would be seeing far more of it here than I ever did back in Colorado. It was only mid-September, so it was still light and melted away quickly. I would have to ask Jimin if it stayed this calm into December, but I had a feeling things would pick up by late November.

It was a very cold morning in Detroit, and I was excited to get into a heated car. Getting off the phone with Andy, I quickly sent Jimin a quick text message letting him know I was outside and looking for my ride. A loud honk made my jump, almost dropping my phone in the process.

Pulled up at the curb was a navy-blue Volkswagen Beetle. I could tell from its body that it was an older model, and it was a convertible. Sitting behind the wheel was a little old lady, a pair of gardening gloves on her hands and a pair of large, hexagon sunglasses taking up most of her face. Her face was familiar, and it hit me. Sitting behind that wheel was Jimin’s mother.

She smiled at me and waved, beckoning me closer to the little car. I forced myself to smile back. My nerves made it feel damn near impossible, but I managed. Opening the door, I did not know where to put my things. The backseat was so small.

“There’s a lever on that side that’ll push it up. You should be able to get everything to fit if you try hard enough.”

Fumbling around, I finally found the little handle and pulled up. The seat lurched forward, folding in on itself, and I clumsily shoved my suitcase into the backseat. It smelled like stale cigarettes and fake pine, but when you had a car this old it usually had history. I was excited to pick up my new car from the dealership. My Porsche already had a difficult time driving around Colorado and I did not think it would survive the heavy winters in Michigan, so I decided to leave it home and get an Altima. I had the money and could easily get rid of it. Tilly had been talking about needing an upgrade.

Finally managing to get both bags into the backseat, I put the seat back and got into the car. Closing the door, I sighed in content. The heaters were at full blast and pointed directly at my cold face. Buckling my seatbelt, I leaned back and tried to relax after the long day of flying. Jimin’s mother pulled off the curb.

“It’s cold out there,” She laughed, her voice just as sickeningly sweet as her son’s. “Glad you were able to make it okay.”

I nodded, “I’m surprised to see it snowing so early. We don’t usually get anything until closer to Thanksgiving.”

“Colorado, right?” I could hear a faint accent and I remembered that Jimin was first-generation Korean American. Both of his parents moved to the states before he and his brother were born. Media outlets loved talking about it, but I was not sure how much he enjoyed discussing his personal life. While he came off as a sweet and mild-mannered man, he kept his personal life private. “I’ve heard it’s very pretty.”

“It is. Too expensive, but very, very pretty.”

Then she was fiddling around with the radio, and I finally cracked a genuine smile. I was not sure how much work had been done on her car, but I was positive the sound system had been completely redone. A brand-new radio, complete with a touch screen and Bluetooth, lit up at the touch of her fingers. A man’s voice serenaded us through the updated speakers, and I was in awe at how beautiful it sounded. I assumed he was speaking Korean and Jimin’s mother sang along fluently.

“What’s your name again?” She asked once the song was over. Another, more upbeat song started, and she increased the volume. “Jimin told me but I’m horrible with that sort of thing. I’m Na-Yeon, but Audrey works if it’s easier for you.”

I pulled a face, “Audrey?”

“It’s my American name. It’s easier for people to pronounce and more convenient. All of us have one. Jimin’s is Christian.”

It was odd to think about. A name that was mine but not mine. Christian did not suit Jimin, but I could imagine growing up with a name that other people made fun of would be difficult. Maybe even impossible. Still, I did not feel comfortable calling the woman Audrey. She did not seem to particularly care for the name and I did not want to alienate myself from their circle for convenience's sake.

Namjoon’s mother had been similar to Na-Yeon, always afraid her culture and customs would make me uncomfortable or burdened, but I managed to calm her fears and reassure her after years of showing up to Chuseok with a smile on my face and food in my hands.

“I like Na-Yeon,” I finally replied, voice small. “It’s nice. I’m Y/N.”

“I like Y/N,” She echoed back to me, making me grin. “It’s nice.”

It was a long drive filled with K-pop, ballads, and sporadic conversation. Na-Yeon was very funny. She sang along to every song, dancing as she went, and calling on me to sing alone. Of course, I could not speak Korean very well and hummed the melodies instead, but it appeased her. When she did speak to me it was to ask me questions about myself.

“You’re that swimmer, aren’t you?” She asked, sparing me a look once we stopped at a redlight. “The one everyone’s trying to beat.”

I shook my head, “At one time, sure, but not anymore. I’m retired.”

Squinting her eyes at me, Na-Yeon pursed her lips.

“We used to watch you. Haru called you a mermaid.”

That was not too much of a shock. Jimin was swimming at that time. While I am a few years older than him, he would have been in middle school when I went to my first Olympics. He had told me he joined the swim team the year before. He said that watching Michael Phelps win 6 gold medals changed his life forever, and I could not help but agree with him. I had a huge amount of respect for my fellow Olympian and wished him well in his retirement. What shocked me the most was the mention of Jimin’s little brother. The dead brother.

“That’s sweet,” I did not know what to say. “I felt like a mermaid back then. I’m not that good anymore but I still like to swim sometimes.”

“You were in an accident,” It was not a question. “We saw it all over the news. Couldn’t believe all of those people harassing your family like that. So sorry for your loss.”

It was strange to talk about it again. I appreciated her keeping it vague. I had gone through a tremendous amount of change and growth since then, but it was nice to hear someone else validate how crazy the media frenzy was. I would not wish it upon anyone, and I was happy her family was allowed to grieve in peace. Neither Namjoon’s nor my own were allowed that luxury.

“Thank you,” I replied. “I’m sorry about Haru. I can’t imagine what your family went through.”

She smiled sadly, “I think you can.”

We did not talk much after that. The music still played, Na-Yeon still sang, and I still hummed, but we did not ask any more questions. Neither one of us wanted to bring up those hurt feelings. It was not until we turned down a long, empty road that I realized I had yet to ask her about her cancer.

“Are you feeling okay?” I asked.

“As good as I can,” She breathed. “My boys are both worriers so don’t take anything they say to heart. Bunch of hypochondriacs.”

And even though I laughed along with her, I knew that she was lying. They were not overreacting. She was sick, refusing treatments, and letting herself die. Anyone would be worried about her. Na-Yeon must dislike being taken care of. Well, I thought she would need to get used to it. I loved spoiling others.

“Eloise and the kids must be here,” She muttered to herself, pulling to a short driveway.

I did not know who Eloise was, but I would soon find that out. There were two cars parked out front. One was a simple, black Tahoe with a brightly colored steering wheel cover. The other was another vintage model. Painted a pretty light, muted green the truck was in pristine condition. It was an old Ford, the branding written across the tailgate, and a spare tire was bolted to the side. I asked Na-Yeon about it and she smiled happily.

“It’s Jimin’s,” I felt my heart rate increase. “He must’ve gotten back. Pretty thing, huh?”

I nodded, not really paying attention to the truck anymore. I was about to meet Jimin for the first time and my nerves were taking over. I knew how much his looks affected me over video chat and I was afraid I would not be able to control my facial expressions in person. I was resolute not to act on whatever attraction I may have felt toward him. My professionalism would not allow it. It did not mean, however, that I wanted to discuss it with Jimin at any point. It would make him uncomfortable and affect our working environment.

“Keep your bags in the car,” Na-Yeon told me. “Jimin’s going to take you over to meet the Andersons this afternoon.”

Walking up to the house, I was first struck by two things. The main one being the impressive teal it was painted and the other the loud talking and laughter coming from inside. It was odd. Thinking about my own parents I knew we had never been so happy. Mom had left when I was so young that I could hardly remember her, but I could recall the screaming and shouting. Dad was quiet after she left, spent most of his time locked away in the garage watching sports channels and leaving me to my own devices.

When I started swimming it helped for a time, but when I was old enough to leave, we spoke two or three times a year. After he met Danielle, his new wife, he stopped reaching out altogether. The accident had spooked him enough to warrant holiday and birthday calls for a time, but when he had another baby those slowly faded away. My half-sister and I had never met, Danielle did not like acknowledging that my dad had a child with another woman, and it seemed as though my dad was fine with how things turned out. I dealt with it.

The laughing echoed through the house, and I could hear loud foot-steps pitter pattering on the tile floors. The house smelled heavily of kimchi and lemons making my heart ache. Joon and I used to keep the windows open for days after his mother came over to make kimchi with him. We would squat on the floor for hours, laughing and talking. I missed those days more than I realized and I smiled involuntarily. For the first time in years, it felt like coming home.

“Sorry about the smell,” Na-Yeon whispered to me.

I shook my head and took my shoes off. “I love kimchi.”

She smiled brightly, her shoulders immediately relaxing. I was glad I had spent so much time with Namjoon and his family. Na-Yeon was someone who wanted to make others feel more comfortable even if it put her own peace at risk, but I would never ask her to change her routine for me. I loved learning about other people and her little house brought me more happiness than I thought possible.

“Sounds like we have company!”

A short, stocky man came into the living room. He was wearing a white polo shirt and khaki shorts; his hair was very short with silver streaks starting to take over the once very black strands. Catching sight of me he smiled.

“You must be Y/N,” The man said. “I’m James.”

His accent was much thicker than Na-Yeon’s and he introduced himself in his English name. He seemed much happier about it than his wife did, and I decided to go along with it. If he wanted me to call him James, then I would.

“Nice to meet you,” I replied, giving him a small bow.

His smile got even bigger somehow, and he returned the gesture. Na-Yeon chuckled beside me and started to speak to her husband in Korean. I picked up a few words and deduced that he was supposed to make sure I was going to get a nice lunch, and she wanted to know if he had taken care of it. He nodded and told her he had.

“Hungry?” James asked, Na-Yeon already disappearing into the house.

“Yes,” I quickly followed behind him.

“I made jjigae,” He frowned. “I can’t say it in English. Sorry.”

The house was small and warmly lit. Cream tile flooring, exposed wood beams, and white walls. Whatever loud conversation they had been having before I got here had died down, but the footsteps did not. I could hear children giggling somewhere in the little home and my curiosity peaked. I did not think they were Na-Yeon and James’s.

“I want to say it’s soup,” I kept my voice down not wanting to make him feel awkward. “Or stew, but I don’t think it matters that much.”

“What’s the difference?” James asked, just as amused as his wife at my vague knowledge of Korean words. “Soup and stew the same, no?”

I shrugged, “I have no clue. I’m a miserable cook.”

That made James laugh. We passed all of the rooms in the house, the kitchen, living room, and dining room all in the back of the house. As we passed the second room to the left, James said it had been Haru’s photography studio before he passed away, but they ended up converting it once Eloise gave birth. He did not say it out loud, but I had gathered the kids running around had been their youngest son’s. I did not know how old Haru had been when he died, but it was far too young to be having children. I was 31 and still felt ill equipped for the job.

It was a small kitchen with very simple and plain colors. The countertops were obviously laminate, but someone had taken the time to stick on a marble patterning to make it look nicer. Black appliances clashed with the chestnut cabinets. The tiles were no longer cream but hideous black and white checker printed that clashed heavily against the olive-green backsplash. While the rest of the house seemed to go through renovations at some point, I had a feeling the kitchen remained largely untouched.

Sitting at a small table on the other side of the room were Na-Yeon, Jimin, and a young woman. She was a cute girl, long brown hair and blue eyes, a large number of freckles across her cheeks. Her outfit was very modest, a pair of flowy cream pants and an equally flowy olive shirt. Her hair was tied back with a ribbon that matched her pants, and taking a closer look at her, she wore no makeup. A classic girl next door.

“Come sit,” Na-Yeon waved me over, her voice showing no room for argument. “Hyun-Soo is in charge of lunch.”

I was only briefly confused, the name completely unfamiliar, but by the time I sat down I was sure she was talking about James. It made sense for her to call him by his Korean name, and since I had shown no qualms about using their proper names, she saw no need to bring them up herself.

“Nice to finally meet you,” Jimin’s sweet voice reached me, and I smiled at the sound. “I hope getting here wasn’t too bad.”

He reached out to me, and I happily took his hand in my own. The skin was soft, perfectly smooth, and warm. It was over far too quickly but my displeasure was easily hidden. Andrea always complained about my poker face and how difficult it was to get past it. She said it was too good and thus refused to ever play poker with me again.

“It was nice,” I meant it. Na-Yeon was wonderful company.

“Hope the concert was nice.”

That made me and Eloise laugh. Na-Yeon smacked Jimin’s arm playfully, unable to keep the smile off her face, and the two began to bicker. Having them in the same room highlighted the differences I hadn't noticed before. Jimin’s nose was closer to his father’s, his eyes, too, and both of them had a slight lisp. Na-Yeon’s teeth were perfectly white and straight while one of Jimin’s front teeth was slightly chipped. Jimin had a dimple; his mother had none. Their English soon turned to digs in Korean and I could no longer follow. A few words here and there but nothing substantial. James joined them.

“Hi,” Eloise shyly greeted me, obviously used to being left out of conversations.

“Hey,” I replied lamely. “Eloise?”

She nodded, “Cam and Harper are playing but you’ll meet them in a bit.”

I nodded along and cemented the names into memory. It would look bad if I forgot them and kids had an ability to remember the worst things about a person. I did not want them to dislike me this quickly. Their giggles and feet were still going, and I suspected they had their own rooms on top of the little playroom in the hall.

“What do you do for work?” I asked Eloise, hoping my attempts at small talk were going over well. The other three were still chatting and I stopped paying attention long enough to be completely lost. Their dialect was different from Namjoon’s family, and I gave up entirely once they switched in and out of it with ease.

“I’m taking over Audrey’s restaurant,” Eloise, it seemed, preferred to use their American names. I wondered if she called Jimin ‘Christian.’ I really did not like the name for him. Not at all. “We used to be co-owners but she’s preparing for…” Eloise’s eyebrows scrunched together as she struggled to come up with a way to voice her thoughts, “her next steps. You know what I mean?”

I nodded. It was so easy to forget why I was really here when Na-Yeon was so full of life. She laughed and joked easily, sang off-key in the car without a care in the world, and called the shots at home. I had hardly noticed any sickness, but I knew better. I already figured out she hated being cared for and our trip in the car could have taken a lot of her. More than I realized.

Wanting to change the subject, I asked about the kids. Eloise was more than happy to talk about her little ones. Cameron and Harper were twins, names that she had originally been very against but when she lost Tony (Haru preferred his American name, Anthony, and all of his closest friends called him Tony), her opinions changed. Harper was the bigger, older baby, while her brother needed to stay in the NICU for a few days after birth due to his weight. They were joined at the hip and rarely seen without the other, something Eloise was happy about given she was usually too busy to spend as much time with them as she would have liked.

“How old are they?” I asked.

“Almost 4.”

Jimin was 19 then. I shuddered to think about how old Haru was, or Eloise for that matter when they became parents. When I was their age, I had been at the top of my game, though not what I would call my prime. If I had gotten pregnant my career would not have been over, but meeting Joon never would have happened. That was a travesty regardless of how things turned out. Trying to picture a life without him touching it made me physically ill and so I pushed any of those thoughts away.

Cam and Harper came out of their room when dinner was ready. They were both very cute, loud, and dressed identically. Harper’s hair was braided down her back while Cam’s was in a bowl cut, and I laughed every time the little girl made a big show about her sparkly red shoes.

James made a very spicy fish stew. It was delicious, so salty and hot, but I needed multiple glasses of water as I ate. He used red snapper adding a sweet, nutty flavor to the otherwise savory dish and I loved the zucchini. Like many Korean meals there was an array of side dishes surrounding the large pot of stew. Tonight was braised potatoes, steamed eggplant, a radish salad, and, of course, kimchi. A small bowl of rice was given to all of us to eat the stew with and the rice cooker was filled if any of us wanted more.

The Parks were a lovely family. Jimin was quiet and did not talk to me much but his mother more than made up for his silence. After getting all of the details about my coaching job she moved on to my life back in Colorado. We talked about my friends and what they were like, my house, and even my neighbors. Na-Yeon seemed particularly interested in Hoseok since Jimin had been such a fan of his growing up.

“You need to get her over to Calvin and Violet’s,” James told his son, scraping up the last bit of the soup out of his bowl. “They’re expecting her soon.”

Jimin looked at me, eyebrow raised, “Are you ready?”

I nodded, “We can leave whenever you’re done.”

He smiled and went back to eating his meal. Eloise left before I did, Cam was tired and Harper was bored without her playmate, so she decided it was time they went home. Cam liked an afternoon nap still, but his sister could run all day if you let her. Harper gave me a big bear hug before she left, something Na-Yeon said she did to everyone, and held her brother’s hand on their way out.

Na-Yeon eventually got up from the table, James followed after her, leaving Jimin and I alone. I did not know what to say, if he wanted me to say anything at all. He had hardly spoken to me since I arrived, and it left me feeling out of place. I was here for him, and he wanted nothing to do with me. He kept eating, the spice unfazed him, and getting bowl after bowl of rice.

Watching him walk around I was struck by how short he was. Most male swimmers were huge, well over 6 feet, and broadly built. Not Jimin. He could not be any taller than 5’9” with a thin, tiny waist. I could see defined muscles hidden underneath his white t-shirt, but nothing spectacular. Even his body was soft and elegant, moving gracefully and quietly, and absolutely none of it would give away that he was a world-class athlete. As if he could feel my eyes following him, Jimin’s eyes snapped to meet my own.

“Sorry,” He pulled his spoon from his mouth. “I’m sure you’d like to leave and here I am gorging myself.”

I stopped him before he could stand, “No, no. I’m fine. I was just thinking about your workout routine.”

The lie felt heavy on my tongue, but I could hear how natural it sounded. He sat back down and took another bite of his food. His workout regime was standard for most swimmers. Pull-ups, bench, squat, lunge, power cleans, power cleans to overhead press. After that he was in the pool for a few hours before going about his day. He usually added in another swim at the end of the day, but he had recently given it up to have dinner with his family.

“What are you doing for your core?” I asked.

“I stick to pull ups, crunches, thrusts, and back extensions.”

I nodded, frowning, gears in my head turning. I have always believed the core was the most important part of swimming. Arms as well, but I have seen many overwork those muscles and lose from weak turns. Hoseok used to joke about my performance and how I only won because of my turns. I would make sure he would be able to see a little bit of me in Jimin’s swimming. There was a reason I won gold.

“You don’t look very impressed.”

I chuckled, “Just thinking. You need more variety than that.”

“Gym snob, are we?” His mouth stretched into a playful smirk, and I could not help but smile back. “You must be an animal in there.”

“I don’t work out like I used to,” I admitted, averting my eyes. “Most of my exercises are yoga and running now. I swim twice a week.”

I was hoping to get back in the pool more often, but I was not sure I was ready for the disappointment that would follow. My sessions with Emery were simple, exercise-focused, and had little to no expectations behind them. They were there to help me gain strength and confidence in myself. Saturdays were spent with Hoseok doing laps around the pool and shooting the shit. It was just enough to get your heart pumping but never went past that.

Failing was daunting. I could not remember a time before swimming consumed my life. My dad always said I was afraid of the water; it was the biggest reason he placed me in lessons. He did not have the time (nor patience) to teach me himself, and after I saw younger children getting into the pool I was determined to act like a “big girl.” I was only three at the time, so the memory was lost to time, but I went every week after that. It gave my dad a break and I had friends for the first time. I learned later that mom had left for a few months and dad was drinking again, but at the time all I knew was that I liked swimming, and I was good at it.

It was frightening to believe that all of the time, energy, and hard work went to waste. 30 seconds. That was all it took to destroy my life. 30 seconds and all of my joy, love, and happiness was gone. My career, my health, and my Joon. I hated the man who hit us. Hated the way his family cried for me. For him. For Joon. Squeeze my hands into fists, I was glad they were hidden underneath the table. Getting in the water and realizing it was truly over would only make that hatred worsen, and my therapist told me I needed to let go of my anger.

“Violet and Calvin are excited to meet you,” I did not know if Jimin could see something in his face, perhaps my eyes, but he changed the subject. The look on his face made me feel exposed. “We should get going.”

No one was around when I left so I did not get to say goodbye, but Jimin yelled that we were leaving. We did not get a response and I wondered if his mother had actually gone to do laundry or take a nap. She looked tired when she left the table. Jimin told me to get into the truck and laughed when I said I could grab my own bags.

“Your hip might give out, granny.”

Off guard, a strange, loud noise came out of my mouth. He had yet to start up our playful banter and my heart soared. Jimin was a very cheeky man, his tongue sharp, and with a quick snapback time, he was difficult to take down. Our text exchanges were always brief and about work, but he managed to squeeze in at least one teasing comment about my age. He said calling him ‘kiddo’ is what started the whole thing.

“Just get in the truck,” He sighed melodramatically, rolling his eyes.

Huffing, I went across the lawn and got into the unlocked truck on the curb. The interior was just as refurbished as the exterior. The bench was covered in a dark green vinyl, and I could tell the rubber carpet mats were new. It smelled much better in Jimin’s truck. Less like cigarettes and more like the cologne he wore. It was floral, powdery, but with a subtle spice that made it bitter-sweet. It had a nice scent. It suited a man like Jimin whose own spice was buried underneath his pretty visage.

Watching him jog across the yard, I suppressed a sigh. It was easier to ignore how pretty he was when we were around other people. Now it felt impossible. His clothes stuck to him like a second skin, the black leather pants (which I had only just noticed were leather) making his thighs bulge and accentuating his backside. He was gorgeous and I felt sorry that I would have to keep it to myself. Jimin deserved to be told things like that, but it was not my place to do so. Not as a coach, trainer, or otherwise.

He tossed my things into the cab of the truck as if they weighed nothing. Arms lifted; his shirt rose revealing a delicious patch of skin. Watching him in the rearview mirror, I swallowed audibly. A thin, almost nonexistent patch of hair touched his belly button. Forcing myself to look away, I took a few deep breaths.

This trip was going to be long. Very, very long.

The drive down the road was quiet. Jimin’s radio was out, and he needed to replace it, so music was not an option, and he did not seem to want to fill the space between us. Neither did I. My growing bashfulness around him was distracting and strange. I had always been surrounded by attractive men, all of my friends back home were very good looking, but none affected me in the same way Jimin had. Perhaps it was due to my relationship with Namjoon that made all of the other men pale in comparison, but I could never know for sure. Either way, it was incredibly frustrating.

We drove for less than ten minutes. Calvin and Violet were the elderly couple renting out the small house in their backyard. Jimin had spoken to them for me, and they were all too willing to help me out. Violet nearly cried when I told her I was going to pay all of my rent up front, and actually did when I told her that I would help her fix up some things around the house while I was in town. The Andersons seemed like lovely people, and I was happy to know them.

Pulling up to the house I smiled. It was exactly how I imagined it would be. The Anderson house was a simple, All-American home with a front porch. The window trimming was black, house white, and a beautiful garden wrapped around the front at either side. The roof and front door were the same color green as Jimin’s truck, and it helped the otherwise unnoteworthy home feel more inviting. Sitting on the porch swing was Violet, her silver hair braided down her shoulder.

“Before we get out,” Jimin mumbled, waving at Violet through my window. The old woman waved back, a large smile on her face making her look twenty years younger. “The Andersons are great people, but Calvin’s starting to forget stuff. Violet won’t admit it but it’s getting hard on her to deal with him. He can become very angry so keep an ear out. Last time he had an episode, Violet called my dad crying. She’s not handling it well.”

I frowned, my heart hurting, “Sure thing. I’ll let you know if anything happens.”

“Thanks.”

He was out of the car a few seconds later, voice so sweet and bubbly you would have never guessed what we had been talking about. Staring after him, my eyes squinted. I would have to keep my eye on him. Jimin was a great actor.

Getting out of the truck, I took out my bags and slung my duffle on my back. Jimin was quick to take my suitcase away once he caught me in the corner of his eye. Violet seemed positively giddy about it and made a few inappropriate comments about Jimin needing to settle down.

“I’m just saying,” She laughed when Jimin scoffed, face flushing the prettiest shade of pink. “You’re going to make a young woman very happy. Might as well get started.”

It was strange to think about my trainee seeing someone. He had made it very clear in his interviews over the years that his dating life was on hold until he was finished swimming. He did not want the added distraction and his family life was far too chaotic for him to focus on someone. This did not seem to deter Violet and her comments about his love life, or lack thereof, continued until we got inside of the house.

“Well,” Violet acknowledged me for the first time since I arrived, “This is the main house. It’s not much but it’ll work. Christian, take her stuff out back.”

I cringed. It really did not suit Jimin at all, but he seemed completely unfazed. Violet used his names interchangeably, sometimes calling him Jimin and other times Christian, but his English name rolled off her tongue more often than not. I wondered why she even bothered calling him Jimin at all. He did not seem to care either way.

Looking around the little house, I was pleasantly surprised by how clean it all was. The floors were carpeted and the walls a bright white, family photos hung up alongside landscape paintings. During my two-hour phone call with Violet, the woman talked my ear off, she bragged about Calvin’s art. I had to admit they were all very beautiful and I wanted to know where he had found all of the slices of heaven he captured. I hoped the places themselves were more colorful than he depicted. The muted washes of color made them blend in with the rest of the boring house even with how nice they were.

The furniture was just as boring as the house itself. All of it was cream or beige, nothing of importance really stuck out to me, and I was disappointed. All I could figure out about the couple was one was an artist and they had children and grandchildren they loved displaying. Even the smell of the house lacked character. No air freshener, no food, and no perfumes. Nothing to give away that people actually lived here. The Anderson home was a foil to the Park’s in every way.

“Come on out back,” Violet was already across the house, standing in front of a door beside the kitchen. “This is the utility room. You can do your laundry here.”

Following behind her, I felt even more depressed looking at her kitchen. It was nice, new appliances and a pretty coffee station on the corner closest to the utility room door, but it was bland. All white cabinets, white marble countertops, and stainless steel everything. Even the curtains hanging around the windows above the sink were dreadfully plain.

The utility room, like everything else, was plain. The washer and dryer were white, the floor concrete, and the shelving barebones. The detergent was the most colorful thing I saw since arriving. Somehow even this room smelled like absolutely nothing. Directly across from the door we entered was the backdoor and Violet told me where they would hide a key for me to be able to get inside.

“Ready to see it?” She asked, smiling politely.

I nodded, “Thanks again for renting it out to me.”

She chuckled, “No thanks needed. You were paying, that was enough for me to say yes.”

The back porch was tiny, just barely big enough for the both of us to stand on. There was a small vegetable garden along the side of the house, but it was empty. Noticing my wandering eyes, Violet told me all about the turnips and gourds she had been planting this season. She had watermelon and tomatoes in the summer, but they were long gone. The rest of the yard was taken up by my home for the next few months.

It was small, but that was to be expected. What disappointed me, though I should have not been very surprised, was how white it was. The windows were a dark gray, a small porch was set up with enough room for one of those hanging egg chairs, and two built-in planters. They were empty and Violet told me I was welcome to give gardening a chance if I was interested. She was planning on growing some flowers eventually, but she was not sure what she wanted.

The front door was open, Jimin already inside, and Violet and I went in. There was a small entryway, two doors leading to rooms I would explore later, and a small shoe rack. I took mine off and put them up. Violet watched me and took hers off as well.

“Audrey told me I should put one in here,” I was learning that Violet enjoyed meaningless small talk. “Glad I did. Don’t think Christian took his shoes off, though.”

I shrugged, “No biggie. I was going to clean up around here anyway.”

The house opened up to my right and I was happy with the space. I had a fully functional kitchen and enough space for my coffee cabinet along the wall. The living room would be able to fit a small loveseat, television, and coffee table. It was white and plain, but I was very happy with the floors. Whoever picked out the dark vinyl flooring must have had me in mind. I would go crazy if this place was as sterile as the Andersons’.

“I put your stuff in your room.”

Turning I grinned at Jimin. It was sweet of him to help me out. I was going to pick up my car tomorrow morning and he had volunteered to drive me. We would be starting our training next week so I could have some time to settle in. All of my furniture was arriving either tomorrow or the day after and my hands would be full. I was counting on Jimin and his friends to help me unpack. His manager was going to make himself known as well, but would not be staying for long. Apparently, according to Jimin, Sejin was not one to get his hands dirty.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll let you get settled in,” Violet was already scratching to leave, and I wondered why. She had been very hospitable over the phone. “You’re welcome to join us for dinner. Calvin is going to bring the air mattress out here tonight, so you have someplace to sleep.”

With a kiss on Jimin’s cheek, Violet slipped on her flats and left. Alone with Jimin again, I found it hard to speak. We were much better over text. Looking just as lost as I was, Jimin scratched the back of his neck and looked down.

“My, uh, my mom offered you her couch if you want it,” He stuttered, his face turning red. “Or, uh, um, you can take the spare room at my place,” He let out a huge gust of wind. “It’s a bit of a drive but I do have the space.”

Flustered, I quickly declined, “Thanks but I’ll be fine here.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jimin shook his head, the redness spreading down his neck. “For sure. Totally.”

The air was awkward now and I could not figure out how to fix it. Jimin was the one always breaking the ice between us, and now that he was acting like this I was stranded at sea. Even when he warned me he was more reserved in person I had not expected this. He was so quiet and skittish. How was I supposed to work with him if I could not get the courage to speak?

“Thanks for the offer,” I cleared my throat. “Are you staying for dinner?”

He shook his head, “I promised Jungkook we’d go out tonight. Any other time I’d say yes.”

I asked my disappointment. The thought of spending time with Violet and Calvin alone made me deeply uncomfortable. Their house felt like a hospital room and her weird behavior was unsettling. I could only hope Calvin was nicer but from what Jimin said he was a ticking time bomb. It would be nice to have someone act as a buffer.

“Why was she acting so strangely?” I asked, hoping Jimin had picked up on it as well. “It was like a totally different person.”

He frowned, “I think she’s just on edge since Calvin went to the doctor’s today. Their daughter took him, and she hasn’t heard anything. She’s a sweet woman, don’t worry.”

Now I felt like an asshole.

“That’s understandable,” I murmured. “Do you think she’ll be upset if I order food for all of us? If she’s stressed out, I don’t want her feeling like she has to cook for me.”

Jimin smiled, “She would appreciate it. I’ll go talk to her, how does that sound?”

I nodded, grateful. “That would be nice. The house gives me the creeps.”

That made him laugh, “What? Why?”

I shrugged, giggling with him.

“Feels like a funeral home or something. I hate the minimalist aesthetic.”

Jimin bit his lip, “You’d probably hate my place, too, then.”

I chuckled. It was easy to imagine Jimin inside of a huge modern house, dark wood and barely anything in it. He was a single man, busy, and spent so much time at his parent’s house it did not matter what he had inside of his own place. Not wanting to make him self conscious, I bit my tongue.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

He cocked his head to the side, and I laughed.

“Fine,” I conceded. “I would probably dislike it, but I don’t think it looks like a white padded cell.”

I may have been exaggerating a bit, but it was not that far off from how the Anderson home looked to me. I hoped by asking me to help fix up a few things, Violet meant giving the house a much-needed makeover. If I was lucky, I might be able to convince her to get a few throw pillows to break up the monotony.

“Jeez,” Jimin laughed. “Harsh critic.”

“Well, is it?” I joked, glad to have found our footing again.

“No,” He shook his head in thought. “It’s mostly gray and black, but still just as empty. Probably emptier, honestly. I don’t have as many pictures as Violet does.”

Smirking, he snapped his fingers, “My trophy room is pretty colorful. I have a lot of pictures and shit in there.”

That made me smile. I was not bringing any of my memorabilia here, but it was nice to hear him sound so proud of himself. I kept most of my competition stuff in my basement, a large China cabinet displaying all of my awards. My favorite had to be the small, cheaply made trophy sat at the very top. It was beside my Olympic medals, worn and dull beside the beautiful necklaces, but I loved it all the same.

It was the first trophy I ever won. I was seven and my dad convinced me to sign up for a swimming competition my swim class was hosting. He promised to come. I practiced a lot preparing for it and made use of the new above ground pool my dad had bought. I won the race. My own joy and happiness made me forget that he never showed up until it was time to go home. I had to wait with my coach for two hours, and by the end of it she felt so bad for me she took me out for ice cream. Dad never apologized, I don’t even think he acknowledged that I won at all, and I never tried to bring it up again. Still, I loved that stupid thing. It was the reason I wanted to compete. That little pocket of happiness between winning and realizing that no one cared was precious to me and I held onto it.

“I need to get going,” Jimin sighed, reaching into his back pocket and snapping me out of my thoughts. “Jungkook’s blowing up my phone. Just got broken up with and needs a drinking buddy.”

I sucked in air through my teeth, “Well, your services are needed. Don’t let me hold you up.”

Jimin smiled at me, “See you tomorrow, yeah?”

I nodded, “See you.”

He lingered in the entryway for a moment more before shaking out of whatever trance he had been in. Slipping his converse back on, Jimin waved at me before walking outside. His face was buried in his phone, so he never saw me wave back. He shut the door, the sound echoing in the empty house, and I was once again left alone.

Violet came out a few minutes later to discuss take out until we finally landed on pizza. She never said thank you, but her offer to give the tip since I was paying was more than enough. Then later when a few of my boxes came in early she happily carried them to me. She even helped me put everything away. When Calvin came home, she led me back inside and said with so much affection it made my heart melt.

"Calvin, this is Y/N. Sweetest woman I ever did meet. Bought us dinner."

Calvin reminded me of Namjoon in a way. His soft eyes and gentle voice. He took my hand when I introduced myself, his hands cold and soft. Wrinkles and sunspots went up the length of his arms.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," He said.

"Likewise," I replied.

We ate in silence, the three of us watching Jeopardy on the sofa. Even though I had been nervous about eating inside, Calvin's presence warmed the place up. Once a prison now felt like a poorly decorated home. A home filled with love.

As I watched them together, Calvin reaching out for Violet's hand and her giving it to him without question, I felt myself getting choked up. There had been a time I had that. Joon would be on the floor, book in his lap, while my hands were in his hair as I studied my training tapes.

I left early that night. I blew up the mattress, the house quiet, before sending out a few texts to my friends to let them know I was getting on alright. After that, I put on nature sounds to help me drift off to sleep. I had not felt this lonely in a very long time.

Taglist: @ownthesunshine @screamertannie @lovelytaes-blog @pernesianparapio

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seeker-ophelia · 6 months ago

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Ophelia’s Review, Part Two: Thedas, The Dragon Age System

Some things I need to get off my chest.

One. This does not feel like a Dragon Age game.

Two. That doesn’t mean I didn’t like it.

Three. I have a lot of feelings right now but I’ll come back when my brain has re-hydrated itself.

(I finished Veilguard at 10PM on Monday, and wrote this the morning after. And its still true, 5 days later.)

TLDR at the bottom

[Read Part 1 Here]

I do miss the heady blend of power, intrigue, danger, and sex that permeates these events games.

[Photo Cred: Dumped, Drunk & Dalish]

Because Veilguard is missing all of that.

Listen, it’s good. Great even. I loved it. Cried. Laughed. Dropped my controller and paced around the room for 5 minutes in anger and angst. Drank a bottle of wine in the bathtub after Solavellan’s happy ending (and my Rooks sad one). But this is not a Dragon Age game.

It is Dragon Age ADJACENT. Similar of course. The backbone is there. The direction, the vector, is there. But the execution…

Dragon Age (Origins through Inquisition) for me, was A Song of Ice and Fire. I love that series.

It was deep. It was harsh. It was MEAN. If offered me hope and then snatched it away. The world-building, the lore crafting, was intense and deep and required attention and critical thought. The characters were nuanced and troubled and real.

Veilguard, for me, is Eragon.

I also loved that series. It is pure and good and takes me on a journey through a fantastical land of dragons and heroes, of good versus evil, of mysteries and magic. But, it is juvenile. Its simple. It doesn’t try to be anything other than it is. Veilguard, is shallow.

The essence is there, beneath the surface Veil, pressing and bursting at the seams to escape, but is being held back by a gentrification of Thedas, the Tranquility of the Dragon Age world, if you would.

The Lore

I don’t want to go into to much about it (its going to be its own post, I think), but I love the lore of Dragon Age. I love learning about it. I love the questions, the pervasive theme that history is only as true as the historians who write it; things get lost, muddled, confused through and over time. And Veilguard, kind of feels like I’m being spoonfed? Like I’m a baby.

I think EA did BioWare a disservice by making this game for new players, instead of assuming that RPG players have the intelligence and wherewithal to comprehend at least a little bit of lore and history, or at the very least, introduce a cannon world state. You can have your cake and eat it to, but, as Veilguard shows, it diminishes the quality of the cake as a whole.

This game is an Action RPG. This is a game about combat. For the record, the first, second, third, 17th time I saw my Rook in their Takedown Animation, I said, out loud, ‘Dragon Age, G.O.T.Y.’ I swore at my inability to time dodges properly, I planned and schemed with primers and detonators and damage types. This is very reminiscent of The Witcher and Assassins Creed, for me (I have not played a ton of games, im sure there are others more like it). It was fun, it was challenging. But. This is not Dragon Age. Its Something Else™.

Dragon Age: Dark Origins

When people say Dragon Age is a dark game, they’re not talking about the gameplay, or the graphics, or the art direction.

Dragon Age deals with dark subject matter. Slavery. Racism. Religion. Politics. Power dynamics. Mages versus Templars. Addiction. Death. War. An unstoppable contagion that deals death indiscriminately. THAT’S what makes Dragon Age Dark.

These stories are deep. They’re hard. And yeah, they weren’t always handled properly (lookin’ at you, Gaider), but doing something wrong… looks like it might actually be better than pretending it doesn’t exist.

As a Sollavellan, I’m unspeakably glad they didn’t yassify Solas. He is still an unlikable character who has committed unspeakable war crimes. And we got a redemption arc that did not end in death. That’s a win for me.

But they kept his darkness at the expense of lightening literally EVERYTHING ELSE in Thedas.

What the fuck happened to Zevran’s Crows? I got the Puss-in-Boots-Found-Family Assassin Agency.

Where are the slaves in Minrathous? Where’s the trip to the upper city, gilded and clean, so we can compare it to the slums of Dock Town (which was not bad at all). Where is the “Rescue the Rabbits” Quest? Tevene Politics boils down to Dorian or Mave, “bad” or “good,” change from within, or power to the people.

The whole Qunari are just Bad™ now? The Antaam warriors turned into… what the fuck is even that? You know the advertising theory where women’s bodies are shown but not their heads or faces? This feels like that. Giant Grey Muscular Powerful Bodies with NoFace. THAT’S the Antaam? The Tamassrins really eliminate every embodiment of individuality from them? They’re just Storm Troopers?

And ‘Thal’enaste, what a lost plot thread to not have Lace and Solas meet in the deep roads, or Kal-Sharok, or fucking anywhere. Instead, you give her one little blurb of “companion banter.” Weak.

Where’s the racism towards the Elves? What happened to that? What happened to Dark Thedas? Oh, its actually all in the South, and thats destroyed now (lets put a pin in that for a minute).

The Companions

I have written and re-written this section 3 times. Its too long. I don’t need to mention them all. How to summarize them.

If you read my part 1, you’ll remember how I fell in love with Dragon Age 2, years after its release (after playing Inquisition, in fact), and how I fucking hard I fell for those very real, very troubled, very nuanced characters.

Anders and his quest for freedom, Fenris and his quest for vengeance. Merrill and her quest for knowledge, Isabella and her quest for… other cultures relics, I guess?

I hated the graphics in 2. It was the characters that carried that game. I don’t know how BioWare wrote them, but they failed to do that in VG.

My favourite character in Inquisition? Surprisingly, its not Solas. Its not even Cole, or the Iron Bull, or Dorian.

Its Cassandra.

I love her. Her story is SO complex. Her devotion to the Seekers, to the Andrastian Faith, is so pure, yet it does not impede her friendship with a Dalish elf who believes in gods that she does not. It does not stop her form forming close bonds with other people from different backgrounds, and although she is fearless in calling out the darkness in her own faith, its sins and its rot, she admits to her Herald that she is envious of the Heralds conviction.

Which character in Veilguard has that nuance?

The necromancer afraid of death? The Elvhen Engineer with ADHD? The literal Demon of Vyantium Puss-In-Boots? The smirking detective? The questioning Qunari? Or the gruff monster daddy?

Listen. I read trash. Smut, romantasy... I read objectively bad literature, for fun, all the time. And, I have a fantastic imagination. It is my own personal fleshing out of theses characters that saved me in this game.

But I should not have had to do that.

The Keep

I cannot explain to you, in words, how important those one-off codices and cameos are.

(Don’tThinkAboutIsabela Don’tThinkAboutIsabela Don’tThinkAboutIsabela).

*Grimaces* Okay.

I can speak no more about this. I am already writing a “Keep” DLC for Veilguard.

I would have rather lived in your world state than this abomination. Which leads me to…

‘The Soft Reboot’

So. The South is Gone. That’s the answer. The Hero of Ferelden. Hawke and their siblings. Everything is wiped clean, just as EA asked. All of the South, turned to the Hissings Wastes and the Anderfels, because of the Blight and the hubris of the Gods. What a tragedy. DA5 looks likes its overseas. Cool.

You know what would have been a better reboot?

Spite, taking over Lucanis’ body, walking through the Ossuary, or the catacombs of Minrathous, explaining to Rook how the heavy emotions of People manifest in the fade. The birth of a spirit. Or a demon.

Taash, meeting a spirit face to face in Arlathan, recoiling in disgust, until they help the spirit on its journey, and Taash begins to question their whole worldview surrounding demons. I- I mean spirits.

Emmerich, taking Rook on a lecture-walk through the fade, meeting spirits, solving puzzles, ‘you know, its not so bad in here, what’s the big deal?’

Bellara, instead of discovering Cyrian only to lose him, meets the demon formed of his death, and how to help him back into a spirit.

Neve, following a trail of wisps in the fade, learning things, memories, feelings, songs. Neve, reveling in the pure beauty of the wisps, until they lead her to Vir Dirthara, and her eyes grow wide, what is this place?

Davrin and Assan, after hard training in the High Anderfels, take a break, and while Rook and Davrin flirt, or joke, Assan finds a long string, and begins to play, the string growing and lengthening and thickening until a soft, feminine whisper fills the air, I Am So Sorry… And Rook and Davrin meet a strange spirit, a perfect combination of protection and regret, and they help her find her way home.

Harding, palms flat on the stone, pushing, working, threading her magic into a titan, tilting her face up to Rook, eyes shining blue, speaking in a thousand voices at once, let me show you what was lost, and for a millisecond, we FEEL Isatunoll.

The Dwarvhen was tranquil’d from their Memories, but the Elvhen were tranquil’d from the Fade.

And when Solas turns from Rook in Minrathous, I am sorry for this final betrayal, he is puzzled at the lack of retaliation, and turns to see the Veilguard, standing behind Rook, eyes locked on the giant eye-shaped rift in the sky.

Why are you not stopping me? He asks the group of misfits.

And Rook answers, I can admit when I was wrong. Tear it the fuck down.

And Solas, battered, bruised, and bloody, smiles, brandishes his ritual dagger with a flashy flip, banishes the blight, and tears down the Veil.

When I learned there were only going to be 3 choices carried over from the rest of the series into Veilguard, I tagged my complaint posts with something.

#You Cannot Dangle A Carrot In Front Of Me For 10 Years And Then Not Be Surprised At My Anger In Discovering It Was A Painted Dowel

Let me reiterate. I enjoyed this game. It was fun for me. I’m in the middle of my second playthrough and am planning a third, and a fourth. But this is NOT a Dragon Age game.

This is an EA game. And its good. But it could have been everything.

Bellanaris.

TLDR;

How torn I feel; lobotomized, rendered tranquil, separated from the memories, lore, and spirits, of the old Dragon Age, while still, like the Veilguard, wanting this world to endure.

Var lath vir suledin, BioWare.

For now.

#dragon age #Dragon Age Critical #BioWare Critical #But You Cant Dangle A Carrot In Front Of Me For 10 Years And Then Not Be Surprised When Im Mad At Discovering It Was A Painted Dowel #The Tranquility of The Dragon Age System #Thedas Gentrified #Dragon Age Reviews #Ophelia Reviews #Veilguard Reviews #Veilguard Spoilers #DATV Spoilers #dragon age the veilguard #dragon age veilguard #da4 #datv #Long Post #Certified Long Post

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fjordline · 6 months ago

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i cannot believe i wrote an essay for a comment on my post asking for my opinion.. only to get blocked before i could reply 💔

disclaimer: this is about something as unimportant as a character in a transformer comic and why i don't like him

i dont want to make anyone who's a tailgate superfan feel bad or anything this is just my personal opinion as someone who has read all of idw1. despite of how it may seem.. i do not identify as a hater! anyway, he's not an overtly bad character at the start, the contrived asspulls begin around the tyrest arc, tg supposedly has one day left to live because of lethal cybercrosis. he goes on to save everyone by jumping tyrest and then later rewriting the code of the legislators. and after a drawn out sad monologue on his death bed, cyclonus stabs him with his greatsword which…. for some reason cures his deadly illness. and it only gets worse once megatron arrives, the whole narrative bends over backwards to asskiss megatron and make you think of tailgate as some kind of cute mascot character to set up for the getaway 'villain' arc. tailgate is written as a stupid baby who earnestly believes he's injecting megatron with an 'anti-villain-virus' to get rid of his evil thoughts, his holoform is also. a baby. jro tries to make getaway look bad by making him cartoonishly evil, when, what getaway did cannot begin to be compared to everything megatron was doing right up to his trial. yet getaway gets all his limbs and jaw amputated and megatron gets to carry on with his ''''''''''''''''reformed autobot''''''''''''''' shit and all the good guys stick up for him.

yet somehow even worse than the megatron bootlicking is the 'energy spasm' incident. when cyclonus is shot while protecting tailgate and this causes him to be sooooo heartbroken that he .. has a panic attack that causes some kind of rainbow wave to go off for no reason. this wave somehow, not only wakes thunderclash up from his coma, but gives tailgate inexplicable super strength invincibility powers. It boggles my mind what made tg deserve any of that, because he cared about cyclonus and was sad he seemingly died? does that mean chromedome wasn't sad enough when rewind died or he also would have energy spasmed? this is around where i stopped on my last re-read so i don't remember the specific events of lost light quite as well, i do remember it not getting much better though.

and i personally cannot stand smol uwu bean type characters, when he says some shit like 'i deserve a heckin bomp for this' i start wanting to drown in a bathtub. cyclonus deserves so much better. they have no chemistry. they're just the 'grumpy x sunshine OTP XD' trite trope. whirl and cyc have a 200000 times more interesting dynamic. rodimus and his hatred of hats is a more interesting dynamic.

i feel like cyc gets bogged down so hard by the romance plot hes forced to take part in, when he's away from tg he is so much more entertaining and interesting. at a certain point it's like he starts doing fuck all except hang around tailgate and wax poetic about their love. cdrw manages to never be annoying when they're loveydovey with each other, but cygate drives me up the wall

mtmte is simultanously so good… yet so mald inducing that it compels me to write shit like this. i wouldnt care so much about this one fucking robot if (most of) the rest of the comic wasn't so excellent

this is all subjective obviously and i havent seen anyone else dislike tg other than me and some friends. he literally seems to be universally loved so maybe im just sick and twisted.

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whoa1sme · 4 months ago

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Welcome to my catharsis😶

Whoa is me, for real-real.

Damn, I am like a baby learning how to walk here on Tumblr and I'm not quite sure how I feel about myself writing this. Anyone who truly knows me real life would be astonished that I'm posting anything, especially this.

Admittedly, I was a more casual fan of Bton pre-Polin S3. I was always excited with all things England Regency era, Jane Austen books and all show/movie adaptations, all period dramas really, shout out to Downton Abbey, The Gilded Age and "The Duchess" was amazing (Keira Knightley is the GOAT). The Painted Veil is an understated fave of mine too. You all get it, I love period dramas.

Previously, I was adamantly anti social media, like at all. No FB, Insta, Tiktok, Tumblr. Nothing. Seriously. I did peruse Reddit for tidbits about things that I enjoy, guess that counts against my sm blackout. Just thought it wasn't for me, have enough problems with my own thoughts. Like how were other people's thoughts going to make my brain better, especially if I fervently disagreed?

Then a seismic shift occurred after S3 part 2 dropped, eek!Cue my embarrassment; after an embarrassingly way too many rewatches of P1, my fam and friends were astonished that I suddenly made an Instagram acct😬. Little did my nearest and dearest know it wasn't to see their most recent hike or to watch a nephew sledding for the first time. I GOT SM ACCOUNTS BECAUSE OF BRIDGERTON S3. OMG, WHO THE FUCK AM I??? Shame, shame, she knows my name.

Am I surprised that I am looking at posts gossiping about Netflix characters? Do I feel conflicted about looking at posts trashing people I don't know? Am I this invested in the scandalous/benign actions of two 24 year old adjacent people for real life people? Am I this person?

All in, with honesty, I guess it's 4 yesses and I'm struggling to come to an understanding of the morality of the yesses.

I wrote this post after seeing some deleted SOHO house bathtub screenshots that I hadn't seen and was enthralled, whilst also watching Colin tell off Portia on my tv in my bedroom.

Send help, not sure if this is problematic or healthy. I'm sure I'm not the only person who feels like this. I've never ever been a "shipper" or this weirdly fascinated like this about a freaking tv show.

Thanks for reading, this was weird.

#lukola #polin #luke newton #nicola coughlan

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violettduchess · 1 year ago

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A/N: I was a wee bit annoyed yesterday at the anon that seemed to be lamenting writers "suddenly" having OCs. So I wrote a short fic with mine because a) IT'S FUN and b) I felt like it. OCs are awesome and we should celebrate the creativity they represent!

My OC Leyla Quinn x Silvio, established relationship

One shot: Silvio and his fiancée on a rainy night in Rhodolite

WC: 1k

The ornate door to one of the royal suites inside the elegant Rhodolite palace swings open, bringing with it the scent of orange blossoms that always precedes Silvio’s fiancée. Leyla herself follows a moment later, shaking the rainwater out of her hair and kicking the door shut behind her. She had already removed her muddy boots before setting foot back inside the grand palace, walking barefoot through the palace and back to the suite, much to the servants' astonishment. Most people would not have been that thoughtful.

“God damn, who knew you’d get rain like this so far away from the sea?” Water drops fall from her like tiny pearls, littering the rich carpet with little dark spots.

The newspaper Silvio has been attempting to read is thrown aside as he shoots to his feet, annoyance written in every line of his face.

“Where the hell have you been?” His tone is sharp with displeasure, loud with irritation. It would have sent many others a step backwards in surprise, flinching with unease.

Leyla doesn’t even look away from wringing out her long, dark hair.

“Down, boy. Watch who you’re barking at.” She straightens up, but doesn’t stop moving, unbuttoning the front of her damp navy blue overcoat with quick, practiced fingers.

“Woman, you said you would be back before dark and that was an hour ago.” He’s watching her with narrowed eyes as she peels off her coat, then turns, walking into the bathroom, but not before revealing a quick glimpse of a white blouse now covered in tantalizing, transparent patches.

He breathes out, collecting his thoughts. Don't get distracted, Silvio. She had him fucking worried. He's pissed. She's gotta know that he was sitting here, watching the storm through the windows, wondering if she was ok. So yeah, stay focused. Focused.

When she returns, she’s hung all of her wet clothing over the rim of the large porcelain bathtub and is now wrapped in a fluffy white oversized bathrobe with a charming red Rhodolitian rose embroidered above her heart. Her hair is still damp with rainwater, a curtain of dark waves that smells like springtime and daydreams, spilling over her shoulders and down her back.

His breath catches in his chest. She's so damn beautiful.

“I lost track of the hour as I was visiting Oliver in his lab and he was telling me about his latest-”

Fuck staying focused.

“Don’t care.”

Silvio crosses the room in just two long strides, wrapping an arm around Leyla’s waist and pulls her to him, overcome with the desperate need to feel her against him. He ducks his head, closing his eyes as he breathes in deeply, orange blossoms and rainwater, desire and love.

Feeling the way his strong hands hold her close brings a smile to her face. With Silvio, it never feels like he’s trapped her. It’s possessiveness, yes, but never a cage. It’s protection and want. It’s security and comfort. It’s a promise to never let go.

His mouth eagerly travels the line of her neck, brushing aside her hair for better access. Hunger spreads like wildfire through her veins but his kisses also carry something else, something more delicate, something vulnerable and silken within their heated depths.

Leyla grins slowly. “Missed me that much, did you?”

His “Shuddup” is muffled as he kisses his way up towards her mouth and she starts to laugh. Even now, after all they have been through together, he still gets flustered, reluctant to reveal that tender part of him that she knows is there, the one that belongs to her and only her.

“Aw, pup, were you pining for me? Counting down the minutes until I returned, each one an eternity as you ached with–Ahh!”

Her teasing is cut off as he swiftly hoists her up and over his shoulder, turning and stalking towards the canopied bed with its red and gold bed covers and gold satin pillows.

“That’s enough out of you, wench,” he grunts as he tosses her down, the sound of her delighted laugh filling the room and warming him more than any fire ever could.

He wraps his long fingers around her wrists, pinning them up by her head. She looks up at him, sky-blue eyes flashing with something just as bright and brilliant as the lightning outside, the echo of her laughter lingering as a smile.

“Hey Silvio?”

He doesn’t know where to settle his gaze. Her hair is a pool of ebony waves around her, her luxurious robe has slipped off of one shoulder to reveal an enticing amount of skin, and there’s still that smile on those lips….

“Yeah?” The word is a rasp from the back of his throat.

“Guess who loves you.”

His cheeks flush and he looks away, his chest rising and falling with every quick breath he takes.

“Goddamnit, sea witch, why–”

“No really, can you guess anyone? Cause I certainly can’t. For a prince, you’re rather annoying and loud and–”

She’s cut off as he lowers his mouth to hers with a growl, stopping her teasing words. More laughter bubbles within her chest as she hooks one leg around his and kisses him back with all her might. She can get away with teasing him like this because they both know the truth: they were two souls adrift in an endless sea of doubt who, despite the odds, have found safe harbor in each other’s arms. The journey may have been long, but now that they have conquered the darkness and the hidden perils of a dark ocean of uncertainty, she knows their hearts are so entwined, there is no untangling them.

He releases her wrists, intending to make quick work of her robe when she catches his face in her hands, holding him still. Her thumbs lighty stroke over his cheekbone as she searches his gaze.

“Hey.” One little word, soft and sincere, perhaps odd to any outsider but to them, it carries a weight far beyond its three letters. It’s the softest part of her heart reaching out to him, saying hello love of my life. Hello.

And he’s lost in the light of her eyes, the dulcet sound of her voice, the velvet of her touch.

“Hey,” he murmurs quietly in return. I hear you, the word answers. And I love you too.

She smiles and closes her eyes as he leans down, pressing his lips to hers. An unspoken promise renewed on this rainy, Rhodolite night.

Tagging: @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage

@redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @olivermorningstar @writingwhimsey

@mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight

@ikesimpleton @ikemenlibrary @namine-somebodies-nobody @cellophanediamond @whatever-fanfics

@justpeachyteastea @chirp-a-chirp @got7igot7family @kookie-my-little-sunshine @mastering-procrastinating

@portrait-ninja @starlitmanor-network @sh0jun @queen-dahlia @themysticalbeing

@nightghoul381 @whitelittlebunny @chi-the-idiot @bubblexly @ozalysss

@keithsandwich @ikeprinces-stuff @bestbryn

#ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri silvio #silvio ricci #ikemen silvio #ikepri oc #ikemen prince oc #ikepri leyla #leyla quinn #leyla x silvio #ikemen fanfiction #ikemen fanfic #otome fanfic #violettwrites

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skycas1noregular · 6 months ago

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New chapter (7) of A new Angel of the Decay just dropped. Let's talk about it

I don't know how many of you read it/came from my AO3, but I want to talk about that fic of mine and this new chapter, so I will (because I have free will, as Nikolai would say)

For those who have no idea about what I'm taking about but want to know: check out the fic. In short, it's about Fyosiglai being parents. But it's angsty because I love being hurt and hurting others with my writing :)

Now for analysis of the new chapter.

Overall, I enjoyed writing this chapter and fixing it when my co-author got more ideas or better ones. On grammarly I got a score over 90 (out of 100) so I'm satisfied hahah. But on emotional level, I feel like it's not as angsty (it still hurt me to write some scenes, though). Now for individual parts of the chapter.

About flowers

It's so damn sad that Sigma isn't even aware that Fyodor is the one responsible for bringing him flowers when he's asleep. And so damn angsty that Nikolai isn't willing to let him know. Just the fact that he confirmed (obviously lied) he's the one who does it makes it obvious he doesn't want Fyodor in their life, at all. Especially in Sigma's life and/or Sigma's head.

About Nikolai and Sigma comforting each other

When I first wrote the scene of Sigma comforting Nikolai, my co-writter let me know that Sigma seemed a bit too alright. That's true. At first I did focus on Nikolai since he's the one that is rarely hurt and rarely needs comfort. Later on, I did rewrite the scene as both of them not being even close to alright, both comforting each other the best way they know. That is physical touch. A simple hug.

I love them so fucking much and it pains me that they're in pain (even though I literally wrote this and decided this fic would be angsty as hell from the beginning, but that's besides the point).

About baths

I wrote Nikolai's thoughts on them, but I don't think I ever really said what exactly is going on in that bathtub. The true answer is: nothing. No sex, just intimacy of Fyodor running his fingers through Sigma's hair while he's leaning back on him. They don't even talk, just enjoy each other's company. Sigma gave up on trying to talk once he did and was basically left alone. Now, he doesn't talk or confront Fyodor in any way; just enjoys rare intimacy.

About kindergarten documents

That was one hell of a ride. Of course that at first Fyodor didn't want to sign them, not only because of his statement ("Theo shouldn't learn through games") but because he knew Nikolai messed around with documents and decided to hide them under tons of which Fyodor had to sign for work. He knew Sigma would never do such a thing since Sigma understands how important it is for documents to be organized (and he knew Sigma wouldn't be tricking him into anything).

Later on, he found the same documents on his desk, right in the middle, with a sticky note that said 'please' with a heart to the side. What I didn't write, since this chapter was from Nikolai's perspective, is that Fyodor added another heart, which makes me want to cry. It proves that Fyodor isn't as defensive when it comes to Sigma since Sigma isn't as agressive with these things like Nikolai tends to be. And honestly, I don't blame him. Perhaps that gentle approach is all he needs to comply.

About Sigma's dream

When my co-writer/friend came up with this scene, I was on the bring of tears. Just thinking about how much it hurt Sigma to wake up in that room, to realize that it was all a dream and that he will never have the happy family like he wanted from the start makes me want to go to sleep and never wake up, to dream about my own life like it's perfect, without any worries. Unfortunately, life doesn't work like that. Not in reality and not in fiction (since I myself don't want to make them happy, but that's besides the point...)

Also the fact that Fyodor heard that is... heartbreaking, honestly. Perhaps that was what got him to actually sign the documents, to make Sigma at least a bit more happier.

About their intimacy

Now, this isn't meant to be a smut fic (obviously), but it does contain those themes. They're important. Sex is important to Nikolai, yet he wouldn't do a thing if Sigma didn't initiate it. We love respectful and mature Nikolai! No, really, he asked if Sigma was alright with it multiple times, and I think that's beautiful. Even if he himself is so pent up, he cares enough to ask and make sure Sigma would be comfortable.

I added this scene for plot reasons: first because it breaks the angst a bit and gives an illusion that everything is fine, and second because I need it for the later chapter lmao.

About Theo / Unwritten scenario because I didn't want to have to explain how the hell they get to the Sky Casino (because I, honestly, am not even sure myself)

But anyway. When Nikolai parked the car, Theo woke up but kept eyes closed for Nikolai to carry him. Nikolai let him know he knows he's awake, but Theo simply answered with 'I'm not' and got Nikolai to carry him regardless. A win is a win, kiddo. Good job.

If you stayed and read this analysis, do tell what you think about this chapter and feel free to ask questions about this fic since I love it so, so much and can talk about it for days straight. But yeah, that's all. Thank you for reading :3

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aquarianshift · 10 months ago

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For the Fanfiction Writing Asks: 63. What was the hardest part of writing On The Avenue?

61. In The Bass Lesson, what’s your favorite scene that you wrote?

65. If you wrote a sequel to The Bass Lesson, what would happen in it? Thank you!

tysm for including the questions so i don't have to flip back and forth...! should be standard practice

63. the hardest part of ota was getting george up and going again in ch 2 after he started falling asleep. i felt like i was watching a box turtle in a terrarium. like, move. finally had to get bob to jump-start the scene. my beta reader @surrealisticduvet was instrumental in this.

61. paul and stu sniping at each other! the prompt said "the bitchiest student/teacher combo ever" and that was my pledge <3

65. ooh i actually had this idea where stu comes back a few days later and is like, here's the deal. youd better fuck me again or ill tell john what you did and how much you liked it and he'll kick you out of the band for being a pansy fairy nancy boy arse-bandit. preferably this confrontation happens in astrid's bathtub.

#thanks for asking!

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whumpfish · 2 years ago

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I tell you what, it may surprise some of y'all to hear, but I grew up away from horror content. I had a vivid, visual imagination as a kid. I was at a sleepover when I was like 8 or some shit in the 90s and their mom had decided that Look Who's Talking was a great sleepover movie, and I had nightmares about childbirth for a week. At that point my mom decided no actually scary things for me. And one look at the Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark illustrations told me she was probably right.

And boy did I miss out on a lot. All the classics of the 80s and 90s, Goosebumps, Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark, Darren Shan's Demonata, Wes Craven's entire career... but I wasn't ready. So I stayed out of that space.

So I grew up a bit, and got really into Hitchcock - Strangers On A Train, North By Northwest - and having a feel for what I could handle at that point, kept going. We saved Psycho and The Birds for last. Again, good insight on my mom's part, I was not ready for those at the North By Northwest phase. Around this time, I'm also getting into The X-Files, which is kind of a baby's first horror thing. The episode Stephen King guest wrote still fucked me up the first time, though, so I hung back from what I judged to be the hard stuff at that point. I wasn't ready yet. So I stayed out of that space.

I suffered a minor setback when I had the bright idea to watch the network remake of The Shining with a fever of 105. I have never sleepwalked before or since, but I legit got up mid nightmare, still fully asleep, and ran away from the bathtub zombie (hilariously where I hid in my sleepwalking genius was... my bathroom). But by and by, I recovered from Bathtub Zombie Delirium, and started getting into more serious thrillers. And then I steeled myself and watched Se7en, and a new era began. I finally had confidence in my capacity to handle horror. I finally had an appetite for it.

I'm in college at this point, streaming is in its infancy, and FearNet is still a thing. I make a point to go through their whole monthly selection just to see if I can. I'm introduced to Dario Argento and fall in love, suffer through a minor Fulci and learn my lesson, discover indie works of genius like Hard Candy, hear soprano Sarah Brightman as never before in Repo!: The Genetic Opera, finally see Saw. And I say to myself, you know what, I love this shit, I want to keep going. I think I'm ready.

I go international. Junji Ito enters my life and my heart. I watch Ju-On and realize that weird clicky noise I would make when I was a kid just for the hell of it if I was alone and bored is actually kind of terrifying under the right circumstances. I see Eyes Without A Face. I dive into the world of giallo and B-grade Italian horror. Force myself to watch The Beyond and am the donest of dones with Lucio Fulci--then watch Don't Torture A Duckling and spend the rest of the week mad because it's so good and he just. Idk forgot how to movie when he started doing horror?

Giallo leads me down a rabbit hole to extreme cinema, of which I am now an avid devotee. Martyrs was a fucking religious experience. I still marvel at how Female Prisoner 701: Scorpion managed to package most of The Handmaid's Tale as a quartet of exploitation movies, and do a better and more visceral job (imho) than the latter. I could write essays on how Matsushiro transcends the woman's revenge trope. I could write a fucking thesis. Pieces of Found are still seared into my brain in a traumatic way--and pieces of Found are seared into my brain in a positive, visual and conceptual way. I'm still not entirely sure I was ready for Found, but I done did it anyway, and I think I'm the better for it. But had I discovered I wasn't ready, I would not have made it anybody else's problem.

There are things I know I'll never be ready for, like Men Behind the Sun. I couldn't take Schindler's List; no thank you, Unit 731. There are things I could probably take but have no interest in, Joe D'Amato on the lame end and Ruggero Deodato on the competent but way too questionable end. And you know what? I do and will continue to stay out of those spaces.

Everyone moves at their own pace, and that's fine. That's what makes us unique individuals. I was part of the R.L. Stine generation. Our parents were professional pearl-clutchers, from scary books and movies to the *gasp* violence of Mortal Kombat. I was the one kid who wasn't out there trying to see what my gross-out threshold was and then yeet myself over that line. And that's okay.

It was still there when I caught up. Even if I only decided today that I was ready, it would be there just as it was the day it entered the world.

If you’re not ready for something, that's fine. It's fine if you come to it late, or never get there at all... as long as you stay out of those spaces until you are ready, and quietly turn around if you make a miscalculation and see something you're not actually prepared for. You have to take responsibility for your own content consumption. People come together to share something they like because it touches a piece of them, because they find understanding in it just the way it is. It's not right or fair to bulldoze other people's spaces in the name of expanding your own.

It may sound harsh, but it's a fact. If you're out here writing a ton of aftermath sadporn but you can't write the Before half and need basic elements of what is supposed to have caused your perpetually pathetic "whumpee" to become a sad pile of jello tw tagged, especially something as foundational as #blood, you're not ready for whump. Stay in angst spaces a little longer. It's not a race. It's not a competition. And you're not actually entitled to every space in the known universe.

#your safe-spacery is bad and you should feel bad #you know what my safe space was?#whump #whump was my safe space #i am a responsible consumer of media and so can you

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sab3rto0thed · 1 year ago

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last week, i met a little girl. she was exactly like me. it was like putting both legs in a swimming pool and then being pulled all of the way in, hitting your head on the bottom and drowning.

i guess little isn't a fair thing to call her. she is fifteen. when i was fifteen, i did not feel very little. looking back at that now, i ache.

she was exactly like me. she had a sort of bouncing, childish joy that lit up her little corner. she looked younger than she really was, maybe twelve or thirteen. her front teeth were crooked. she maybe had freckles, but maybe not. maybe her ex boyfriend told her she did and she didn't, but now it's drilled into her as a facet of her personality. that shit happens with ex-boyfriends, you know.

her ex-boyfriend worked at the car wash right next to the gas station that i work at. we would hang out in between shift. i would drive him home and listen to him whine about anything and everything, including foreign chocolate and dead teenagers that actually deserved to die, apparently. it was like being in the car with my own ex-boyfriend, except i was finally the one driving, which meant i had the power.

i didn't know he was seeing her until she dumped him. he loitered around the counter at the gas station i work at, tears in his eyes, face stoic. he kept asking me for hugs. when i dumped my ex-boyfriend, he guilted me and wrote me a suicide note and then slit his wrists and landed himself in the hospital. i texted him four months after the break up asking if he meant to hurt me so bad. he asked me why the hell i was asking him that, when i had been the one to fuck him up. he was the one with gashes in his wrists and bad hair dye.

he was nineteen. i was sixteen. he wrecked my relationships for the better part of a year even though i never spoke to him again. i would see him while i was working―brown hair, a hat, the way someone walks. i would feel panic so sharply that my entire body would turn inside out. whenever older men ask me out, i have to hide in the coat rack until one of my coworkers find me. when they ask what the hell i am doing, i have to laugh it off. i cannot let them see this remnant of myself, this relic. i am strong and important and independent, untouchable, utterly vicious. i was never scared.

my friend―he is eighteen. the girl―she is fifteen. do you see the similarities?

he lied to me about everything. her age, her existence, her name. when i finally confronted him, he laughed in my face. i withered. my coworkers that had met him, the ones that were softer around the edges and believed in true love when random boys brought me gift bags, told me i should forgive him. three years is not a big deal, they said. he's a good kid―attractive, humble, kind. going places.

that's what everyone said about my ex-boyfriend too, until they saw my hands shaking.

i sent my friends, the ones still in high school, to do some renaissance work on the girl. they came back with this―he kissed her without asking, he tried to touch her in a movie theatre. she was fifteen. all i could think of was my own ex laughing about how he had fucked this girl in a movie theatre―it was all her fault, he had said, all her doing. she had been fourteen.

here is the thing―i stopped going to school. i slept for more time than i was awake. i became nocturnal and sat clothed in the bathtub as the water caught up to my chin. i still fumble razors and think about smashing glass. i still think about pressing a hot lighter into my skin, the way he showed me.

that experience has fundamentally changed the way i think about intimacy. whenever someone puts their hands underneath my shirt, i want to cry. when a boy hugs me, i tangle my fingers together so they don't see my hands shaking. my more recent ex found another girl to have sex with, even though i told him multiple times―my god, i was groomed when i was fifteen, alright? he doesn't want to hear the details. no one wants to hear the details.

back then, i had no one around to protect me. now i am always looking for protection in others, pursuing only those i know won't pursue me back. sometimes, i seriously doubt i will ever stop hiding in coat racks.

there is a girl. she is fifteen, the exact same age i was when it happened. she has two crooked front teeth. i shook her hand, and she laughed nervously―"i don't do handshakes," she said.

i laughed. "don't worry. me neither."

she relaxed a little.

i do handshakes, actually, but she doesn't need to know that. i lie a lot, about little things. i don't need to know her and also do handshakes at the same time. i am hiding in the coat rack for the sheer amusement of the experience. i am gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles as we drive down this street because i like having control of the car.

the other kids treat her the way i was treated. they are fond of her in a very detached way. they think she's a little annoying, a little immature. i think she just wants to be included. i think it is enough for her to be in a room with them. i pray to god they are protecting her the way no one protected me, because i can't watch her be like this in four years. the idea of that is like murder.

i don't really believe in god, so it's hard to pray about something with conviction. but there is this―i think about her every day, and i really hope someone is looking out for her. i really hope she is going to be alright. she made it out a lot faster than i did―and maybe that will be enough. i hope so badly that it is.

i can't save everyone. sometimes one person has got to be enough. even if that person is me―fifteen, crooked teeth, so tired. if i were to tell her anything, it would be this: when you are sixteen, someone will hug you. you will not flinch. and you will realize that night, alone in your bedroom, that people want you alive.

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theghostpinesmusic · 1 year ago

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youtube

Seeing as how I haven't done a music-related write-up for a bit and how it's currently 4:30pm and therefore too late in the day to start on another work-related project of actual substance...I'm going to tell you about this version of "Bathtub Gin" that I like!

As I said (threatened?) in my last Goose post, I'm consciously branching out a little between now and whenever the hell the next Goose show will be. In my own personal listening, "branching out" means I've been listening to a lot of stuff I've never heard before, both stuff that's totally new to me and stuff that's been sitting ignored on my "Try this!" list for a long time. In my blog writing, "branching out" apparently means "writing about the band I've listened to the most by an entire order of magnitude for the last twenty-five years."

Hey, if I can't be perfect I'm sure as hell going to stop trying.

I am not going to start this post with a primer on Phish because a) if you're reading this you either already know them or you don't know them and don't care, and b) there are literal books about this out there because these guys have been playing for forty years and every little thing they do is steeped in weird mythology and inside jokes and as much as I love all of it, I don't love it enough to write a hundred thousand words about it.

If you're somehow entirely new to the band and also feel an obsessive need to learn/dive in, my super idiosyncratic recommendation is to listen to their album A Live One a few times, and then buy and read through this very short book by Walter Holland, who in my humble opinion is sort of like the Hunter S. Thompson of writing about Phish jams.

I will henceforth only be writing in the micro- and macro-cosms about this particular version of Phish's "Bathtub Gin" and my reactions to it, despite not being the Hunter S. Thompson of writing about Phish jams.

Biologically speaking, I almost certainly, technically have THC in my bloodstream right now if that somehow makes you feel better.

So, Phish was one of the first places I turned at the beginning of this little Goose hiatus. For a lot of reasons, despite being the band that most immediately jumps to my mind when the phrase "favorite ever" is used in a variety of contexts, I haven't listened to Phish much over the last few years. I wrote a little bit about why in this previous post, and to keep my promise of staying focused and save myself some time typing, I won't say any more for the moment: suffice to say that I overdid it a little bit with The Phish and The Phish's Internet Fandom, which soured me on the band's music and left me sitting on the sidelines for years, wondering if it was the band that had come, over time, to suck ass, or whether it was just me.

Well, I'm relieved to report that it was, in fact, me who was doing the ass-sucking.

I learned this, in large part, by diving into the band's recent New Year's Eve (NYE) run at Madison Square Garden (MSG). I actually started my Goose Interregnum concert-viewing here only because the run had just ended and I'd seen online that the band had played all the way through its storied, elusive, and utterly dorky "Gamehendge" saga on 12/31, for the first time since 1994 (or maybe 1995, kill me in the comments Phish fans, I'm ready to die).

I wanted to see this, even if after the fact and from my couch, because back in my early Phish fan-Hood (see what I did there?) Gamehendge had been a big part of what drew me to the band, and I was excited by the prospect of being a grown-ass, middle-aged man bawling his eyes out on his basement couch because in a video another old man was on a stage singing a song about a bulldog and a cat fighting to the death while a comet crashed into Earth, bringing about the end times.

When you're a straight, white kid growing up in suburbia, you either become an absolute monster or your brain finds really fucking weird things to care a lot about. I like to think I fit into the second category.

Anyway, with a more-than-usual amount of spare time on my hands, I decided to try watching the entire MSG NYE run, starting with 12/28 instead of jumping straight to 12/31. I thought, maybe, I'd have a decently fun time and get a good sense of where Phish was at musically (an important thing to know when all the band members are sixty-ish years in age and you haven't heard or seen them play since 2021). Then I watched 12/28 and it destroyed me. Like, this band of aging dork-rockers literally lit the entire arena on fire with their instruments and it burned down around them while they just kept jamming. I'm not sure how anyone escaped MSG alive, let alone how there were concerts there for the next three nights.

12/29 was just as good, if not better, and 12/30 was an incredible show that only paled in comparison to the previous two. My reaction surprised me, and so that's why I cranked up the ol' typing machine, shoveled some fresh coal into the boiler, and sat down to write about...wait, what was I actually writing about, again?

Oh, yeah. "Bathtub Gin."

I'm not gonna give you a lengthy history of this song, for all the same reasons I cited above for not giving you a long history of Phish as a band. I will tell you it's a "classic" Phish song in that it was played live for the first time in 1989 and has been played three hundred and four more times in the one thousand, seven-hundred and fifty-one shows the band has played since. There also a studio recording of it on Lawn Boy, which I always forget because who the fuck listens to Lawn Boy?! The song is used frequently, but not always, as a jam vehicle, and I tend to enjoy hearing it live due to its quintessentially Phish-y sound: Phish writes and plays songs that sound a lot like many of their influences, but they also have songs that sound only like Phish, and this is one of them. Well, it sounds like Phish and Gerswhin, I suppose. "Bathtub Gin" is also my wife's favorite Phish song, but I'm not entirely sure if that's because she likes it or because she knows that liking "Waste" or "Shade" or "Farmhouse" more would put her firmly in the "Stereotypical Phish Wife" realm.

This 12/28 version of the tune is a great one for jamming, but as usual I'll (mostly) refrain from commenting until the point in the video where the composed portion of the song leaves off and the improvisation begins.

I do want to start by saying I love the retro feel of this year's "Live Phish" intro/logo sequence. Also, yes, Page's opening keyboard banging is supposed to sound like that. It's how he lets you know he's having fun! Gershwin tease at 2:26 if you're keeping track. Otherwise, this is a pretty straightforward reading of the composed part of the song. I absolutely love the sound mix here, as you can hear all four members' contributions to the song more or less equally. It blows the old days of tapes essentially mixed to make Trey's guitar 80% of the band's sound out of the water. It also leads to me basically just listening to Mike Gordon play bass for the entire show because if you can, why wouldn't you?!

It often sounds like the band might be singing actual, English lyrics during the outro portion of the song, but I don't think they ever are.

The jam starts at 4:50, and basically immediately Fishman is playing stuff on the drums that my simple brain can barely comprehend. This is perhaps one significant difference between Phish and the Goose jams I've been covering previously: the rhythm section of Phish is much more directly involved in the direction of the band's improvisation, whereas it often feels like the drums and bass of Goose are just laying a foundation for the melody players to improvise over. One is not inherently better than the other, but I do often feel like there's a lot more to listen to with Phish, despite them having fewer members.

Anyway, this first chunk of the jam feels a lot to me like being lost in a fuzzy, pleasant labyrinth: the tempo is slow and the playing is soft, but there's an undercurrent of tension there. By 5:30, things have started to straighten out a little, though the lights have gotten absolutely weird. Fishman starts playing a more straightforward beat, and the rest of the band falls into a rock-sounding jam that makes me think of what Goose might sound like if their fingers were thirty years older.

Trey starts to sit back a little bit at 6:45, and the jam mellows out in response. It feels a little bit like he can't figure out where he wants to go next here, but Mike and Page take some turns adding ideas to the mix in the meantime. Eventually, Trey joins back in the fun, but still in a restrained way. For awhile here, everyone's just sort of playing together, with no particular standout or soloist, which is great.

Whatever keyboard tone Page switches to at 8:58 is fantastic. He follows it up pretty quickly with some weirder synthesizer stuff, and at 9:40 this pushes the jam in a more sinister direction. At 10:20, Trey switches over to a very Portal To Robot Hell guitar effect, and now we're in full-on latter-day Evil Phish jamming territory. Fishman is, of course, keeping a beat here, but it's odd and off-kilter (not a drummer, sorry to be imprecise) and makes the whole thing feel like it's just barely hanging together in the best way.

This kind of "almost-falling-apart" sound is, paradoxically, when Phish often hits their stride in jamming. I think it's what makes them sort of a love/hate proposition even among people who listen to a lot of improvisatory rock music. It's not particularly fun or comfortable, but I've never come across another group of musicians that can improvise with each other consistently in this way.

Trey's playing finally comes a bit to the fore starting at 13:00, but even here this doesn't feel like a rote jam "peak": instead, the backbeat that Fishman is playing keeps things feeling a little out of sorts and not entirely resolved. Trey and Page playing off of each other at 14:15 is nice. I'm not sure what's going on with the lights at 14:30, but I do know these guys consistently have my favorite light show in show business. There's some almost Allman Bros-sounding playing from Trey at 15:15 as we reaching peak craziness...

...then some initial teasing of the "Bathtub Gin" theme at 16:30 or so, teasing a return to the song proper to wrap things up!

The video fades out on a segue into what would turn out to be an excellent version of "Ghost," for those keeping score at home.

Anyway, thanks for reading my first (at least lately) Phish write-up. I'm going to try to do a few more of these from the run, including (I think) two new songs: "Oblivion" from 12/29 and "Life Saving Gun" from 12/30. Should have those up soon!

#phish #jams #jam bands #music #videos #writing #live music #Youtube

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bettystonewell · 2 months ago

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You know what’s coming - sort of lol - I’m going to give you some overprotective Dean (all because of the impending rut), slide in a few jokes because I can’t help myself, give you some sexy rut/heat sexy times, and then…. Yeah it’s coming! But so is something else and it’s not just Dean’s knot

Seriously! I can’t wait to share it with you. I’m hoping you’ll understand why as soon as you get to the end ✌️ I’m having a look to see if I can add a little bit more between two scenes because I feel it needs it, but we shall see, I might surprise you with an early posting ❤️

The whole scene of them in bed his internal thoughts, how they’re laying together gah! I love mushy shit! And i know technically there was no smut, but this got me 🥵

So I’d read quite a few omegaverse fics before I wrote this and I fell in love with this part of knotting haha. They’re locked together, the whole point of the knot is to keep it in there for better baby making - it’s bound to happen. It’s going to happen more in the next one. Oh, there’s a line or two you’re going to love (if you like the messy side of things 😉)

Ngl, that shower scene was giving me flashbacks to my last fic 😅 however this pair were a lot smarter 😉 But also it’s such a sweet, and building moment between the two. Him guiding her hands washing him and her explaining her the reasons she’s been upset.

Ahhh. I’ve only ever done one shower sex scene “on screen” (everything else is implied or in a bathtub) and that was in abducted part 2 (first chapter if you’re curious), but it was fingering only, because Dean stopped it from happening haha - I’ll stick to your story - it’s more realistic ❤️

Also, i’m only using my laptop from now on to reblog my notes on fics! Doing it on mobile is an actual nightmare!

Gah. Me too. Somewhat. I’ve started fixing my fic posts on a computer because it’s so much easier, and then the rest is on my phone, when I usually should be writing. I wanted to write all day yesterday, what did I do? Scrolled on my damn phone…

TO YOU I BELONG: CHAPTER 6

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Summary: Dean isn't looking for a mate, and the last place he expects to meet his soulmate is while on a case. Fate ain't real. He still has free will, and saving you is just another part of the job. Except, monsters aren't the only things you need saving from... 18+ only MDNI

Chapter Word Count: 4.5k words

Chapter Warnings: language, fluff, smut implied

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

The Men of Letters bunker was full of many wondrous and wacky things. From weapons to ancient texts, to objects that looked like they’d been pulled right out of a sci-fi movie.

Some were dangerous, plenty were extremely so, and others, Dean wouldn’t touch even if he was wearing a lead-lined radioactive safety suit. Screw ten-feet poles.

Sam would say the same about the vast collection of handwritten reports and records the place had, too, but he would be wrong. Dean did, in fact, read on occasion. And it wasn’t just in times of researching for cases or when he had the mark.

Sometimes he simply got bored.

It’s how he’d stumbled on one particular document regarding mated pairs from another world and learned that not all of Chuck’s creations had heats, ruts and knots like they assumed. Although he should’ve known that without reading it in a file. He always knew there was something funny about the doppelgangers in the Fiat besides the other Sammy’s man-bun.

Douchebuggery aside, somewhere in God’s vast universe, there were humans who weren’t categorised by secondary gender and thus alpha males who didn’t have bulbous muscles at the base of their dicks.

Yup. There was at least one Dean Winchester whose junk was the same width the whole way along, except for the tip. That perv Sinclair, who’d written on the subject the most, had actually drawn a picture of one. Not his, per se, but some random guy’s. Dean hoped.

There were also no marks or claims. No soulmate’s even. Just straight up male and female pairs, shacking up together, sometimes casual, but when serious, showing off their unions with rings and a piece of paper.

This world and its marriage thing sounded so much simpler in some ways. No marking meant no biting, and no knotting meant you could fuck off once you were done. That had to be convenient for one-night stands.

Who’d complain about that?

But this society had another thing Dean remembered, and it was something that seemed to fit what the past two weeks had been like for him and you.

The honey-days period.

At least, that sounded about right. He wasn’t about to reread the file again because the dick pick had scarred him for life.

Whatever the name was, after meeting four weeks prior, that was the stage he was at in his relationship with you, minus the swanky hotel and room service.

Every moment you had been together had been spent well, together. And Dean hadn’t had enough.

Was he whipped? Maybe. Obsessed? If that label satisfied Sammy, then sure. But as he looked down at you, lying satiated on top of him, he didn’t care, because the word that came to mind for him was happy. And the happiest he’d been in his life to date that he could recall.

He’d slept like a baby last night, and your wake-up call earlier had been awesome. Exactly what he needed after another long hunt away.

His arms wrapped tighter around you, basking in the afterglow of your latest romp in the sheets. Not that they were anywhere nearby. One half had ended up tangled in his ankles, while the other was on the floor.

He nuzzled his chin into your hair. The smell of cinnamon, a touch of apple and a nip of whisky from his lips, reminded him of his favourite dessert, and his mouth twitched. Those movies had gotten it right. If only his stomach wasn’t rumbling beneath you like a crazed animal, he might have gone in for a second helping.

He was starving. Wasting away to nothing and needing to do something about it real soon.

“What do you say I make us a big breakfast once we’ve cleaned up?” he asked. It wouldn’t be as fancy as room service, but he’d put in the extra effort for you. He knew how to whip up pancakes, bacon and eggs and would even add some fruit in it for you if it’s what you wanted.

But who was he kidding? What he had in mind wasn’t for your benefit at all.

Still, he hoped you’d agree to it. While not heavy, your hips were pressing into his bladder, and taking a leak was fast becoming the top thing to do on his imaginary list.

“I think you mean lunch,” you mumbled.

Dean strained his neck to look at the alarm clock on his bedside. Fuck. It was close to twelve. No wonder he was feeling pangs from both organs. Normally, he’d be up and about by now. “I haven’t slept this late in a long time,” he said.

“Last I recall, you weren’t sleeping.” You chuckled and raised your head up to meet his eyes. The cool morning air rushed straight to his nipples, nipping at them, and yours, sending signals to his still deflating knot.

Damn bunker was always cold.

There must’ve been a few drops left of his release because he definitely felt a pulse at the root of his shaft and you quirked your brow.

“I just spent three days without you, sweetheart.” He shrugged.

He’d missed you every second of them, too. Though, unlike the case in New Mexico, his insecurities had become more lax.

You now had an anti-possession tattoo, and you knew how to shoot a pistol and shotgun, sort of.

The revolver he kept under the war room table was a start. It was loaded, cocked and ready to use, which yes, he was well aware went against every piece of gun training his father and Bobby had ever taught him, but precaution was key. He needed to protect you, even when he wasn’t there to do so.

“You just got home,” you said, finding a sudden interest in his own ink. “And you’ve been working a lot. How about you let me make something for you?”

His fingers brushed through your hair, tucking the strands behind your ear that had fallen down. “Last I recall,” he said smugly, “you were working, too.”

“What? Reading text books. You and Sam had it all figured out.”

You pushed away from the mattress and crawled back to sit upright. But his hands found your hips, and he stopped you from moving any further. He didn’t like your tone or the way you frowned.

“We didn’t know we had to light it up,” he said, hoping praise was what you needed to hear.

It was the truth, and he and Sam had been grateful. They could’ve spent longer away from home if you hadn’t found the solution. The damn thing, that still had no name, had similarities with vamps, but it still wouldn’t stay put, even after a machete to the neck and the rounds of lead and silver they blasted into its torso.

But you scoffed. “How often do you guys burn things?”

Without hesitation, he opened his mouth to speak. Only you had him stumped. His brain had no words to counter with.

They burned shit all the time, vengeful spirit or not. If they were ever in need of disposing of a body real quick, it was digging a hole and lighting her up, or finding a wood chipper. And it wasn’t like he had one floating around in Baby’s trunk.

That answer wouldn’t help him or you, though, and there was more to this than you being upset about the method they’d used to get the job done.

He saw the pout, the subtle nod that you’d made your point, and the way your fingers continued to trace the lines of the pentagram on his chest. Any idiot could tell that something was wrong. He just needed to know what.

You were his mate after all, with or without his claim, and his current bodily function issues aside, it was his duty to look out for your welfare, both emotional and physical. Yet, he was hesitant to open up whatever rabbit hole he was about to.

Luckily, his inner Sammy was having a conniption. ‘Talk to her,’ it said. ‘Don’t jump to conclusions like you always do.’

And for once, rather than saying something stupid, he listened. “Is everything okay?”

“I just—” You bit your lip.

His stomach had decided it was the perfect time to gurgle in protest.

“You know what, nevermind.” You patted him gently. “We should clean up. You haven’t eaten yet.” And you swung your leg off of him and moved to the edge of the bed.

Fuck. Guilt crept in on him. Something was bothering you, but things were getting desperate for his stomach and his plumbing, and the last thing he wanted to do was wet the bed, so ultimately, his own predicament won out.

He sat up, wrapped his arms around you, and pulled you down onto your back, catching you by surprise. Your squeal of delight telling him distraction was key.

Dean captured your lips with his, placing all of his feelings into it to soothe whatever was troubling you. Promising himself that he would work on fixing things as soon as the horde rumbling in his insides had ebbed.

Sam had been busy himself that morning.

So far, he’d searched the web for anything resembling a case, and found nothing. He’d also gone for a run, taken a shower, and was finishing up in the bathroom when he received the text.

Where are you? It read.

He didn’t think much of the message. Why would he?

It wasn’t unusual for Dean to use his phone rather than look for him. The bunker was large, after all. Three levels, multiple halls and passageways, and those were just the areas they’d discovered. Who knew how expansive a place could be when it had a giant telescope and a shooting range amongst other rooms?

While he found some interest in that stuff, Sam still prioritised cataloguing the library. Something he hoped to get you on board with, because Dean never helped him, and you had some experience with your former job.

He sighed as he picked up his phone to type out his response - My room. At least he would be when his brother arrived at his bedroom door. It wasn’t far away and Dean liked to go slow on rest days. Especially now with you around.

Unfortunately for Sam, however, he had misunderstood Dean’s intentions, and dawdling by account was the last thing he should’ve done.

He took his time, putting his boots on, getting the socks into position so that the seams didn’t annoy his toes in the corners. He threw his dirty clothes in the hamper, making sure each piece was turned the right way out and separated. Finally, he returned his damp towel to the metal rung he kept it on, folding it just so that the edges lined up, and stepped out into the corridor with a wave of steam close behind him.

Swivelling on his feet, he strolled back towards his room, continuing with his leisurely pace.

He had not a care in the world.

That was until he rounded the curve and found himself in front of his brother, carrying you over his shoulder, and he did a double take.

“Sammy?”

“Dude! What the hell.”

Unlike Dean, you had some shame and scrambled to make sure the sheet you’d been wrapped in covered your body, though you had done a fair job of that before Sam had run into you both, and he appreciated it.

He liked you. You seemed kind and sweet. Too good for Dean if he was honest, but he respected the soulmate thing and knew that for whatever reason, even if it was unknown, you already had a profound bond.

With Dean, however, he’d rather not have shared as much as what he was seeing. It was bad enough he’d heard things the past two weeks since returning from New Mexico, but this? “Please tell me you’re wearing something.” He sighed.

“Why’d you think I sent that message for?” Dean grinned, and Sam shook his head.

“Because you were looking for me?”

“No.” His voice was higher than usual. “I wanted to know where you were. There’s a difference.”

Fucking hell. He may have been awake for a good six hours now, but it was still far too early for semantics, especially with Dean. “Well, here I am,” Sam said, his arms and chest jerking forward in frustration.

“This ain’t your room.”

Sam stared at his brother in disbelief. Why did he bother? It was days like these he wished he’d stayed at Stanford. Or left Dean alone to succumb to that djinn in Illinois. Either way, he would’ve saved himself some crap. “I was headed there!”

“Well, keep heading there. I gotta take a leak,” Dean said as he sped past. Your hands reached down, doing their best to cover the parts of him Sam didn’t want to see.

“Sorry,” you mouthed, and he shook his head in return.

He knew he liked you. He just wasn’t sure how he was going to handle his brother with you around. Especially if what he’d just witnessed was about to become a regular occurrence.

Dean jiggled, flushed and flipped the lid. He was a courteous guy. And just maybe, had learnt his lesson a long time ago while living at Lisa’s.

You were already in the shower waiting for him when he padded across the tiled floor to wash his hands.

You’d been quiet ever since he’d mentioned their recent case in Iowa. Quieter still when he’d made a joke about Sammy, having the personality of the Mountain despite being younger after he’d lied about where he was, and Dean was growing concerned. You normally laughed along with him about this stuff, and sure, it had been only four weeks of knowing you, but this was different to how you usually were around him.

Were you really upset that they’d ganked the last d-bag by lighting ‘em up in flames? Had you wanted to help more on the case? Did you want to, Chuck forbid, hunt with them?

Over his dead body.

There was no way you’d ever take up that life. The guns and tattoo were only there as a precaution, nothing more, so he hoped there was another explanation.

But what else?

Your heat was due soon.

Maybe this change in mood was a sign it was starting?

‘You ain’t asking that,' he chuckled silently to himself. He didn’t have a death wish. Though he was screwed if this was going to become daily life for him.

He pushed those thoughts to the side. He was being a douchebag just thinking of them, and that wasn’t him.

That belonged with man-bun Sammy and the version of him that wore dress shirts without a suit and tie. The guy was one good looking fella, he’d give him that, but Dean didn’t need a fancy-ass shirt to pull off the same amount of charm with you, or anyone else. He was like Swayze. Better with age.

He glanced over the reflection of his torso in the mirror, catching your silhouette behind the glass screen sitting just above his shoulder.

The room was quiet besides the shower and splashing noises made as you washed. There was no sound of tears or smell of them, and he took that as a good sign. Great, when you smiled warmly at him as he entered the cubicle with you.

“Better?” You squinted through the stream.

“I am now,” he said as he stepped closer to steal the warm water from you, earning himself a wet slap and you a cheeky grin.

His hardened chest pressed against your soft one, leaving barely any room for the spray to flow.

There was something sexy about slippery skin. There was something sexy about your skin. Who was he kidding?

Still feeling playful, Dean’s hand moved to perch on your hip. He leaned in as if he were about to plant a kiss on your lips, but swooped behind you last second, reaching for his body wash on the inbuilt shelf.

That earned him a firmer smack. One he revelled in. Violence was never the answer. He’d made that clear when he screwed with Dick. It told him his shenanigans were working, though.

That, and you hit like a girl.

He caught your arm and poured a generous amount of soap into your palm, proceeding to use your hand to wash himself.

“I need to teach you how to throw a punch,” he said as he draped your fingers around his neck first, then down over both shoulders and pectorals. All guided by him, and his even bigger grin.

“Why? I’m not a hunter.” You scoffed.

You weren’t interested in being one, either, by the sounds of it, thank fuck.

Your hand pulled against his movements. “You thought I wanted to be?”

How did you do that? “I was worried you might.”

“What made you think that?”

Now that he was being asked, he didn’t have the answer. “I, ah… I dunno. Something’s bothering you ‘bout the last hunt.”

You took a step back and hit the wall with a soft slap, looking at him as if he’d just told you werewolves weren’t real, even though you very much knew they were. He’d ganked one in between the witches and their most recent case.

“So you thought I wanted to join you? It…” You shook your head. “I thought you were hungry?”

You would be wrong. He had lost his stomach minutes ago and now had Famine banging around in there instead. But he didn’t tell you that. You’d think he was crazier than you already did if he started bringing up the apocalypse. That was a discussion for another time when he brought up their not so straightforward relationships with God and the King of Hell.

“I am.” He laced his fingers between yours and pulled you back to the centre of the shower, watching as the spray hit your shoulders. “But it can wait. There’s something you’re not telling me here, and I need you to tell me.”

Your head lowered, drawing him down, too.

Bad move. The water now ran over your breasts to your pert nipples, the curves creating tiny waterfalls that captivated his attention with the way droplets pooled at the edges. He had to swallow hard.

“I want to make you breakfast,” you said.

Uh… The statement would’ve made him revert back to eye level, but when you bounced on the heels of your feet, it didn’t help his resolve. The words, though. What? “You wanna cook?” You cooked all the time.

“No.” You shot back up. “Well, yeah. That came out wrong… I want to…help more…around the bunker. You know, earn my keep.”

Earn your keep.

Do more?

“You do plenty around here.” You’d been cooking for them almost every meal since you’d moved in. Organised the kitchen and kept on top of the use by dates in the fridge. He hadn’t drunk off-milk or been in the laundry room in over a month. Maybe even two for the latter. But he wasn’t about to admit that.

“No, I don’t.” You shook your head. “Not enough. I know hunting doesn’t exactly pay the bills, but you and Sam go out there and save people, and here I am, making the occasional meal for you guys when you get home.”

Your hand came up to his stomach and smoothed over the creases that highlighted where his muscles lay beneath. “I wanna help more,” you said. “Dick took all my—”

Dean smirked at your usage of your ex’s nickname. That was his ‘endearment,’ not yours.

“Don’t do that.” You swatted him.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking about it. I felt you smile.”

You did? Well, that was new. But he didn’t question you. He had no heart to. Your mind was on a one-way ticket to that spark he knew.

“…Ritchie took everything I have, and now I don’t have a job to help pay my way.” You reached for the soap and squeezed out another dollop onto your palm and started running it over his body once more. “I can’t even help you with your cases. I just…don’t want you to think I’m mooching off of you guys.”

So that’s what was wrong.

Dean had forgotten all about that dickbag bleeding you dry. Too happy and lost in the life he’d been building with you to realise that your baggage was still weighing you down.

“It ain’t mooching if there’s nothing to mooch, sweetheart,” he said, pulling you back against his chest and wrapping an arm around your waist while his hand came up to cradle your head.

“But I’m used to working. Contributing. And I’m going stir crazy not doing that.”

Dean sighed. There was that guilt again, only now he had cause for it. He and Sam always had each other, but they were leaving you here for days at a time, with no transport, no respite, no purpose, while only his phone calls kept you company.

It’s no wonder you were struggling.

This place must’ve felt like a prison to you, compared to the life you’d had, even with that abusive fucktard. It was still cold in the warmer months. Creepy, as you’d complained about when they were in New Mexico, and you had no nest here, or space to call your own so you could make one.

Dean could relate to all of that if he was honest, minus the nesting thing. There’d been times in his life when he felt frustrated because he couldn’t do jack. A broken leg. Heart problems because of some crazy-ass ghost. Sammy in hell. Okay, that was a little out of the present perspective… All in all, though, he didn’t know what to do to help you.

That was until you said, “How about you let me make you breakfast?” with a smile, and while he was perplexed once again by how the fuck you’d done that, he kissed you on your forehead, and smiled against your skin in return.

“We’ll do it together,” he whispered. And then grabbed your hand and moved it to wash his ass cheek.

Dean fumbled through the contents of the fridge. His fingers and ears were now at risk of frostbite on account of how long he’d been searching in there for. "Where’d you say it was?”

“Top shelf,” you said over the sizzling of bacon in the pan.

He’d looked there already and there was no fucking butter.

He raised his head and pushed past the milk, juice and whatever the hell vegetable Sam had blended into liquid this time. If smoothies weren’t meant to be green, they probably weren’t meant to be brown either.

Yes, it could’ve been melted chocolate…

But it wasn’t.

Cocoa, or anything else associated with its candy form, did not smell like the contents of his stomach after cheap whiskey. Nor did it have lumps. Or take on that specific colour.

Gross.

And no closer to finding the damn butter.

He shut the fridge with a sigh louder than the metal doors creaking and went to the pantry. Oil would have to do. Surely they had some of that lying round the bunker. The kind he used for Baby’s engine was a no go, obviously, but he wouldn’t say no to blessed pancakes if he got desperate enough to take the holy stuff from her trunk.

“What’re you doing?” you asked as he scoured the open shelving.

“Wasn’t any.” There was, however, canola or olive oil, and he picked them up and turned around to show them to you. “Which—”

Your hands were already on your hips.

You scrunched your nose and channelled your inner Samantha before spinning on your heels, searching for the ingredient yourself.

It was no surprise you found it straight away, but in his defence, Dean hadn’t expected it to be in the container Jody had ‘leant’ them a few months ago. The last time he’d seen the thing, there was gravy inside that was definitely gravy and not something he questioned as chocolate.

“Where’d you find that?”

“In the fridge. Top shelf.” You deadpanned.

“Smart ass.” He grinned, but pulled you close anyway when he stepped up next to you. “I didn’t know you’d put it in that.”

His chin dipped down to your shoulder and nuzzled his initials hidden beneath the fabric. The hiss you made between your teeth brought a smirk to his lips and a familiar pang to his own body.

“It keeps better. Though I had to clean it out first. I dunno what was in there, but it wasn’t edible.”

He moved to your mating gland and chuckled into your skin, peppering kisses over the sensitive flesh. “And you thought you weren’t helping ‘round here.”

“Cleaning out Tupperware with a living ecosystem growing inside of it does not make up for a nine to five,” you stated.

Though he heard you, his mind focused on the change in your pulse that had taken on a life of its own. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say it was pulling his into a similar rhythm.

Your skin was hot to touch, warming the surrounding air, and everything started to make sense. “How much longer till your heat, ‘mega?” (And here he swore he wouldn’t be a douchebag.)

Your “Hmm?” was distant, and he grazed his front teeth over your neck, drawing away to find lust filled eyes turning to meet him.

“Do I need to stop takin’ the suppressants?” His brows wagged, hopeful and just as driven as you had been lost in his attentions.

“It might be a good idea,” you said, patting his cheek. “Probably best to think about your poor brother too…shit.” Your focus returned to the bacon that was fast becoming a little too crispy even for him. When it spat back at you, you flinched. “Well, excuse me for not letting you burn,” you directed to the pan.

He rubbed a placating hand over your rear, then got to work whipping up a batch of pancakes. It was now past noon and while he may have been hungry before, he was close to eating the raw ingredients he churned the spoon through.

‘Sammy?’ his mind repeated. He’d rather not. But Dean recognised you had a point after this morning.

If things were reversed, there’s no way he’d be sticking around during your first heat. It was surprising Sam hadn’t lost his cool with him earlier, and he wondered if he should send his brother on a fake milk run. All he needed to do was find a suspicious enough murder a few states over. Maybe get Donna or Jody involved and…

Dean looked down at the butter in the container. Another wider grin spread across his face.

“What?” you asked. Not moving an inch.

“How many days do you think we got?”

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

Ahhhhh - any guesses what's happening next?

I started to gain a rather large interest in the concept of nesting as I worked through this story, and the first little signs of it are coming up next chapter (it's in the preview below). As someone who's made a career in retail, it was only natural that my sales brain came up with stores having nesting departments, and it will feature again if you catch my drift.

I won't give too much away, but I'm on the edge of my own seat waiting to give you guys the next chapter to the point I’m considering uploading it earlier! Are you guys ready for him to claim her?

Until then ❤️

Chapter 7: Honeydayimg 04/04

“Are you sure we need all this stuff?” he asked as you passed another couple with only half the things you had.

“This coming from the guy who had two slices of pie on top of his burger at lunch?”

Point taken, he supposed, but you’d eaten just as much. You’d had more than him, come to think of it. Lunch, breakfast, the night before. So when you patted his stomach, and he looked down at you grinning at him, he couldn’t help but return a knowing smile.

“You’ll thank me later,” you said.

He knew he would. In more ways than one.

Still on your way to the front, you passed the nesting department located opposite the cash registers. Of course, it was just another convenient ploy to gain some extra impulse buys from naïve omegas who hadn’t realised they needed that new blanket or another stuffy until they saw the giant pile of fluff.

To Dean’s distaste, you were also won over by the gimmick and he was pulled along for the ride.

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withered-rose-unbreakable-lotus · 2 years ago

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It appears Britney's memoir has many people going crazy about stuff but I've made up my mind about a few things cause at the end of the day I'm just a fan. Or rather was. I dunno how to call myself lately but anyway. I stopped being Justin's fan the moment I heard that part from that N'SYNC interview that he was showing off about taking Britney's "virginity" which I find very low to do, regardless of your age. People cut him some slack back then, saying he was too young and that boys can be like that-shut the fuck up. I could be a 15 year old teen and if my boyfriend went around saying he took my virginity I would break up with him and fuck his life up.

But yeah, that aside, I found an interview of the woman who co-wrote Everytime with Britney and she said they both wrote it based on their breakups and that they found a connection through the heartache. Nothing was said about abortions and stuff so if Britney added all that without the other lady knowing, I dunno, but it was a song about breakup as far as she is concerned, but with media blowing up and making their own stories, this is what you could get too. Also the baby in the vid is born after she supposedly dies which amplifies that this was indeed why it was written, but she also comes out of the bathtub at the end of the vid which shows that was all her imagination. There is a lot to unpack and people had better actually read the book before making up stories based on the 2 lines they were given before release.

Finally the new shit around Aguilera and Justin, I think Britney's views are Britney's views on this one cause, being a fan of all 3 of them back then I had followed the whole hype around that photoshoot and I was so excited Christina and Justin had a shoot together, but I also clearly remember Christina talking about it and how people would probably love to make sth out of it, but that she considers him a very dear friend and that's it. I don't believe anything happened between them cause she always had that flirty attitude about her, it was just a photoshoot and they seemed to have fun with it. She was in the spotlight for being a bitch and a whore at the time, so of course you'd believe what the media said (Britney included). Also back then many tried to come up with issues and rivalry between Britney and Christina, stuff which both denied as time passed. Sure Christina's pettiness at times like that TRL comment she had made (i believe it was in 2003 and the clip must be somewhere on youtube) spiked those claims but at the end of the day, she didn't go out of her way to harm her and Britney kept ignoring such comments. Christina can be a bitch sometimes and I say that as a lifelong fan, who's always had her as her no 1 favorite woman singer and still do, but one to steal your man and be like that? I can't see it I am sorry. She is free to prove me wrong too, but I can see how Britney could feel that way if, after her breakup with Justin that's one of the first shoots he did (which I believe isn't the case, cause they broke up in 2002 and the shoot happened in 2003, right?), or if his friendship with Christina got stronger after their breakup because Justin approached her more.

I dunno. All I hope is that Britney gets to live happily from now on, with a man who loves and respects her and that's it.

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sopebubbles · 3 years ago

Text

Chapter Fourteen

Summary: How many men will it take to save you? To be honest, you’ve gotten pretty used to saving yourself. Even though you’re far from a delicate thing, Los Angeles is a dangerous place you can’t seem to escape no matter how hard you try. The top 7 members of Bangtan should never have crossed your path, but they soon find they’d do just about anything to help you escape your past and make it safe for you to stay. But will you?

Genre: mafia au, poly ot7, angst, some smut, honestly a lot more fluff than i expected, POC reader/oc

Warnings: lots of angst here folks. internal slutshaming and body dysmorphia, references to past forced drug use...on a lighter note, Namjoon shows his nasty side at the very beginning here...there's comfort in this too!

A/n from beastie🐾: Please be nice to Val here! She's working very hard on trying to accept herself but her doubts keep bubbling up. I will say that this is the climax of her self doubt, so from here on out we'll see her start to accept herself more and have more positive relationships with the men. 💕💕💕💕💕 Also sopebubbles 🧼 wrote all the Yoongi parts so if you want to melt and cry and scream all at the same time, that was all her doing and I did the exact same thing UGH ITS SO GOOOOD.

Word count: 9.2K

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It was still early when Namjoon heard Jungkook finally go to his bedroom next door. That was curious. Normally if Jungkook fell asleep by the pool, he’d stay there all night. Then came a second set of footsteps and hushed whispers. He’d recognize your voice anywhere. So that’s what had happened. Namjoon ignored the paperwork on the ornate, oak desk in front of him and let his mind wonder. Would you guys shower together afterwards? Jungkook had his own bathroom after all. Or maybe Jungkook would opt for the bathtub instead so you could lean against his chest as his tattooed hand found your clit under the water? Would you let him kiss away the gasps escaping your mouth as he toyed with you?

Namjoon wanted to go in and check on you, but he knew it was better to let you both sleep. No matter what kind of work out the two of you had gotten up to this morning, you probably needed it.

Namjoon hissed at his own thoughts, realizing how hard he was under his satin pajama pants. Reaching into his pants, he wished he could watch Jungkook toy with you. He wondered absently which parts of your body were the most sensitive. Maybe there was a special part of your neck that made you wet and begged to be fucked. Namjoon wondered if Jungkook was able to find those places as he began to rub the precum over the tip of his penis with his thumb. He knew how thick Jungkook’s cock was, what it was like to be held down by him. However strong Jungkook looked, in reality he was stronger. He wondered if you got to experience what it was like to be caged in Jungkook’s arms and whining for more. Maybe one day you’d tell Namjoon all about how good Jungkook feels in your pussy between soft licks to the head of his cock. Maybe he’d get to feel you moan around his cock in your throat as Jungkook took you from behind.

Namjoon was moaning now as he stroked himself slowly. Or maybe you had been bossy? Jungkook has always been so eager to please. You could have instructed him to hold still as you used his cock for your own pleasure. Not letting him touch you as you took what you wanted and left scratch marks on his chest. Would Jungkook be the one helpless to how good your pussy feels? Would he cry trying not to come before you did? Would he tell you over and over how good you feel clenching around him? Maybe Namjoon could hold Jungkook while you fucked him. Namjoon knew how sensitive Jungkook’s nipples were. Did you find that out too? Maybe Namjoon could pinch and twist his nipples, nibbling Jungkook’s ears from behind as you had your way with him? Both you and Namjoon could tell Jungkook that he was a good boy. Namjoon knew that being called a good boy made Jungkook reach orgasm impossibly fast. What if he came too early? Getting you wet with his seed before you had even come? Would you let Namjoon finish the job? Would you call Namjoon Daddy as he pushed Jungkook’s seed back inside you with his fingers to keep you messy for him? Would you let Namjoon come inside too? Spasming around his cock and calling out for him as remnants of both him and Jungkook were kept inside you? Would you let Namjoon’s cock go soft inside you, letting you fall asleep on Daddy’s chest?

“Fuuuck,” Namjoon cursed as his orgasm hit him without warning. He slumped in his chair, feeling exhausted before realizing that he got cum all over his pajamas. “Shit.”

He changed his clothes quickly, feeling gross about his fantasies as he did so. Jungkook accepted Namjoon the way he was, but he wasn’t sure if you ever would. Somehow it seemed wrong to even think of you in such a way without your permission. And in hindsight, Namjoon didn’t even know if you and Jungkook had even slept together. Maybe you were training and needed something from his room. Namjoon couldn’t remember ever wanting someone so physically before. At least since he and Jungkook had gotten together.

He knew he wasn’t the only one in Bangtan that was falling for you. He had seen the way his most trusted men desired you. Especially Yoongi, who looked at you with a special kind of softness he had never seen from his hyung before.

He pulled away from his depraved thoughts and started to focus on the events of last night, worrying instead for his friend who had been shot. It was unusual for Hoseok to make mistakes during a mission like this. There had to have been something that made him act reckless. Or maybe the cops had been aware he was there? No. That was near impossible. Nobody Namjoon had ever met matched Hoseok’s level of stealth. There was no way they should have seen him coming.

“I want to hold him, Joon,” Seokjin blinked up at his leader, eyes glistening. “I want to hold him so bad, but he looks so small and fragile and…”

When Namjoon entered Yoongi’s clinic, Seokjin was already there, holding Hoseok’s hand softly and trying to keep from falling asleep. The steady beeping of monitors made the clinic seem like a real hospital room. Hoseok looked to be a shadow of himself as he lay on the bed, pale and unmoving. Seokjin startled when he heard Namjoon approach.

“How long have you been awake?” Namjoon asked, placing a comforting hand on his hyung’s shoulder.

“I don’t know,” Seokjin sighed. “Yoongi tried to get me to sleep in a guest room, but I kept imagining…” Seokjin didn’t finish the sentence. Namjoon didn’t have to see the older man’s face to know he was barely keeping himself together. Namjoon squeezed his shoulder in understanding.

“You better lay down and rest,” Seokjin admonished, pulling himself off of Namjoon and wiping his eyes.

Namjoon got to his knees, allowing Seokjin to drape over his shoulders as he pulled the older into a hug. Moments like this were rare with Seokjin, who despite his carefree demeanor was always calculated in how he presented himself. There were many times when Seokjin had been the only person that Namjoon had felt like he could open up to, so he was glad to return the favor as he held his hyung.

“You guys are acting like we’re called Bangtan for nothing,” Hoseok grumbled, hoarse and wincing as he tried to sit himself up in the bed. The monitors started beeping a little faster.

“The pain meds are wearing off,” Yoongi advised, going into his cabinet for more morphine. “You broke two ribs, you know.”

“I rest easier when you’re holding my hand,” Hoseok admitted, reaching out for Seokjin who happily obliged. Hoseok settled back down on the bed with a content hum, Seokjin placing a kiss on the top of his head.

“Is everything okay?” There was no hiding the grogginess of Yoongi’s voice as he stepped in. He also had trouble sleeping last night, thoughts a confusing swirl of desire and fear. He had just exhausted himself to the point of falling asleep when he heard the monitoring system in his room spike and he rushed to his clinic.

“I’m okay, hyung,” Hoseok’s voice was still hoarse, but he smiled nonetheless. “Breathing hurts more than I remember though.”

“Is that all?” Hoseok joked, making Seokjin laugh next to him.

“Actually,” Namjoon started. “Before you give that to him, Yoongi, I was wondering if Hoseok could tell us what happened yesterday.”

Hoseok squeezed Seokjin’s hand and closed his eyes, thinking back to the night before.

“I just lost my footing on the catwalk, hyung, that’s all. I was waiting for them to finish the job and then…” Hoseok made a whistling noise to indicate his falling.

“Is there something wrong with the catwalk? Do we need to have it fixed? I don’t want other people getting hurt.”

“I’m sure it’s fine, I was just clumsy.”

Yoongi cleared his throat behind them, “I do think it’s best that my patient isn’t in any discomfort right now.”

“It’s just that you’re normally not that clumsy and everyone has direct orders not to rush an attack unless one of us is threatened, so I just want to make sure…”

“Namjoon,” it was Seokjin who spoke, a harshness in his eyes that he leveled at his leader. “Let it go.”

Something wasn’t sitting right with Namjoon, but he took Seokjin’s advice. His priority was his men’s wellbeing and he definitely didn’t want Hoseok to be in any pain, “I’m sorry,” Namjoon sighed, shaking his head. “You’re right, it’s not important and I’m out of line. I hope you feel better, Hobi.”

Hoseok hummed a quiet appreciation, eyes still closed, his energy fading again as his body worked hard to heal him.

By midmorning, Namjoon decided he should go to Jungkook’s room. There was no sign of either of you in the house, and Namjoon knew that if he let the man sleep too late, he'd be grumpy. He wasn't entirely surprised to see that Jungkook was already awake. It was a little more shocking to see you dozing on Jungkook's chest. He had heard about your new-found cuddliness, but seeing it with his own eyes was something else. Jungkook raised a finger to his lips after he locked eyes with his lover, while his other hand rested gently against his shoulder.

As softly as possible, Namjoon padded to the end of Jungkook's bed and sat carefully. His hand rested only inches from where he could see the lump of your foot. You were so close but so far away and he ached to be able to lay a gentle and reassuring hand on your body, even over the covers. Even such a small amount of intimacy seemed impossible, though you'd shared more with so many of his men. Jin might be the only other man to not have touched you since he met you. But he could wait until you were ready and gave him your permission.

"How is she?" Namjoon asked, hardly more than mouthing the words. Jungkook merely gave him a soft, satisfied smile back. One Namjoon was very familiar with.

"Did you…?" Namjoon wondered, trying to tone down the lasciviousness of his question out of respect for you, but Jungkook knew it was there, under the surface, speaking from the desirous light in his eyes. Jungkook would know just how much his lover wanted you even if he hadn't ever said anything, and he had. Before he could make any kind of answer, you began to stir, nudging your nose against his chest as you muttered his name.

"Good morning again, beautiful," Jungkook grins at you, and you return a hazy smile.

"Did I drool on you?" You asked, remembering the last time you woke up on someone's chest, but still too sleepy to feel embarrassed, yet.

"I don't know, but Joon has a spit kink, so you should let him check."

None of Jungkook's words made sense to you. Why would he bring up Namjoon? You rubbed your eyes and yawned, and as you turned slightly away from Jungkook, stretching your legs out, your foot met a solid object. Your eyes flew open as you sat up in the huge bed. Your breath got caught in your throat when you saw the leader perched at the foot of the bed, watching you in perfect calm. You clutched the sheets to your chest, but you were anything but naked. You and Jungkook had both changed into clean shirts and sweatpants before you'd snuggled up together.

"What are you doing here?" You sputtered.

Namjoon instantly regretted startling you. He should have waited for you to be ready, or not been so close, or looked more disinterested. But it was too late.

"It's okay, Val. I'm sorry I surprised you. I just came to check on Jungkook and see how you two were doing."

You relaxed slightly, but your confusion grew. "Jungkook's okay, isn't he?" You looked him over. You hadn't noticed if he'd gotten any wounds yesterday that went unaddressed. You had seen his whole naked body just hours ago, and he was the very picture of health. "Is there something to be worried about?"

Jungkook smirked and brushed a bit of hair over your shoulder, allowing his fingers to give just a little bit of pressure, so you could feel him touch you and know he wanted to. "I'm perfectly fine, Val. Joonie just knows I don't usually sleep so late, so he came to make sure everything is alright. Didn't you?"

"Right." The man nodded.

"You guys sure do know a lot about each other's habits." You chuckled awkwardly.

The men shared a look. The elder opened and closed his mouth several times before he could decide what to say.

"Val, do you know Kookie and I are lovers?"

Your thoughts came to a screeching halt before picking up again in a rush. Were all the men in Bangtan in these types of relationships? With each other? What did it mean that first Taehyung and now Jungkook had slept with you. To be honest, your grasp of human sexuality was limited and your experience of relationships even moreso. But none of that really mattered to you at the moment except—Was Namjoon mad at you now?

You were moving off the bed before you could complete that thought, much less reason your way through it. If you had slept with Namjoon's lover and Namjoon was mad at you now, you could imagine what would come next, and it wasn't going to be cruel. You dashed toward the door of Jungkook’s room, swung it open and crossed into your own room, slamming the door behind you in a flash.

The boys looked at each other with concern, but reacted slowly, each thinking through their own ways of how to reach and reassure you.

Namjoon reached your door first, Jungkook a step or two behind him, but he hesitated. Going into Jungkook's room, where he had an open invitation was one thing. Knowing now how much the news of their relationship had scared you, he felt an overwhelming sense of guilt at seeing you so vulnerable and at peace, intimately holding his lover in the way he craved being held by both of you. Feeling like he had already crossed a boundary, he couldn’t justify going into your room without your permission. It conflicted with every principle he stood for.

Jungkook, however, couldn't bear watching Namjoon torture himself. He knew Namjoon cared a lot about privacy and personal space and boundaries. But Jungkook had an uncommon sense of which boundaries needed to be pushed and when. And right now he knew you were under some kind of misapprehension that could only be corrected if he could see you and talk to you. He knocked on the door and called out to you.

"Val, everything is okay. I'm going to come in so I can show you that everything is fine," he warned before he gripped the handle and found it was unlocked.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" You wept as you crouched into a corner between the bed frame and the night stand. "I didn't know!"

Jungkook gave a worried look to Namjoon, who looked completely gutted by your reaction. Seeing you making yourself small and covering your face as if to protect yourself broke his heart and crushed his hopes. Had he not done enough to show you he would never, ever hurt you?

Jungkook got low as he came toward you, his hands open and visible, but relaxed. He crouched in front of your trembling figure before he spoke. "Val, no one is going to hurt you. No one is upset." A beat passed, but you didn't relax. "Can we talk? We'll explain, and you'll see that everything is okay."

You looked anxiously at Jungkook and then up at Namjoon, but not to his face. You couldn't. You looked back at your knees and remained tense. The man closest to you frowned and turned back to the one still in the door. Jungkook motioned for him to get down. It was impossible for Namjoon not to look big, but looming over you wasn't going to help matters. He squatted and moved a few feet into the room before sitting on the ground, still quite a distance away from you and Jungkook.

"I didn't know he was yours," you muttered with a glance in his general direction.

Jungkook chuckles lightly. "That's not your fault. We're good at being discreet, even at home. And just because I'm his and he's mine, doesn't mean anyone is mad. You did nothing wrong. No one is going to punish you or hurt you."

"I won't allow it, even for myself. I'll never hurt you, Val. I swear it." Namjoon's voice was steady and earnest.

You released a small amount of your tension, so that you weren't holding yourself quite so tightly, and leaned back against the side of your bed. You studied your knees for a moment as you tried to breathe. It was clear they wanted to talk, which was not something you had ever been good at, so you tried to sort through your thoughts. Luckily, neither of the men rushed you through the uncomfortable silence, allowing your initial fear to subside. Finally, your gaze slid up to Jungkook's face.

"Why did you fuck me? I didn't force you!" You winced at your accusatory tone. You couldn't blame him, not when this was your mess. "Did I?" You questioned more doubtfully, quietly.

Jungkook's face fell and he had to restrain himself from reaching out to touch you, any part of you. "No, Val, you didn't. I did it because you wanted me to and I wanted to. And I'd do it again, any time you wanted to. It was fun and amazing and it felt like a privilege."

Tears blurred your vision and slipped down your cheeks when you turned your eyes to look at Namjoon. "I don't understand." It was nothing more than a whimper.

"Val, why don't you sit on the bed and get comfortable so we can answer your questions?" Namjoon's voice was gentle, which only served to confuse you further.

But your knees were beginning to ache, so you crawled up to sit in the very middle of the king size mattress that had always felt much too big and empty for you alone. You took one of the pillows and hugged it to your chest. You made sure to sit away from the headboard so you would have room to run if you needed it, but they were still between you and the door anyway. Once you were settled, curled around your pillow, the men shared a strained look and both rose to their feet. Namjoon could tell just by looking at you and the distant gaze in your eyes getting further away that he was going to have to strike a very fine balance between letting you sort through your thoughts and letting you get lost in them.

"Can we sit, Val?"

Your head jerked up at his question and you met Namjoon's eyes for the first time. "It's your house. Your bed. You can sit wherever you want."

"This room is yours. And wherever you are, your personal space is yours. I will always need your permission to enter it, even if we someday know each other well enough that I don't need to ask, you can always take that permission away and ask me to leave. Do you understand?"

You closed your eyes tight, forcing residual tears from the waterline, so you buried your face in the pillow, muttering to yourself, "tonta, idiota que no entienda nada." But you never felt the weight on the bed shift, so you grunted out loudly, "sit!"

Jungkook sat cross-legged like you, close enough for his knee to touch you, needing a tiny bit of contact that could seem accidental, even if Namjoon might chastise him for his carelessness. But you didn't react and neither did the leader. Namjoon placed himself closer to the edge of the bed, but far enough inside that his feet hung off it, floating in mid air. When he reclined himself, laying on his side and his head propped on his hand, he was below you. This way he was able to see your face even if you wouldn't raise your head.

"Can you tell us what's confusing you, so we can help?" Namjoon asked gently. For a moment you didn't move or speak, too overwhelmed by the sheer number of things you didn't understand. "It doesn't matter what it is. Ask us anything and we will give you an answer if we can. Whatever it is, you don't need to be ashamed."

Your stomach twisted at the word. You felt you had more than enough to be ashamed about, and verbalizing it to them seemed like too much. But you tried to sort through the hundreds of questions buzzing like bees inside your head.

"You never act like how you should," you finally uttered. That was the root of the problem with him, or at least one of them. You expected worse of him that he gave you, and it confused you every time.

"How should I act?"

You sighed. "Everything here is yours. Everything in this house belongs to you. Everyone here is under your control. But you ask permission. You never get mad. You don't…" there was a list of actions you knew he could take at any given moment, but they were so foreign from him that you couldn't even speak them. "You speak and act gently and I get confused."

Namjoon felt another painful twinge upon the fault line you had been tearing in his heart for weeks. "No one belongs to me, Val. Not Jungkook and certainly not you. I love Jungkook but he is free to do anything he likes, even you, or anyone else. If he wants to leave, it would break my heart, but he can and there isn't a person on earth who I would let stop him. You expect me to control everything here, just because I can, but that isn't the man I am or ever want to be. I know," Namjoon paused to take a deeper breath, choosing his words carefully. "I know what kind of men you're used to. That's the kind of man my father was. He needed to control the people around him. He wanted to be feared and obeyed. He thought it made him powerful. But I think real power only comes from controlling yourself, not others. So you can always be in control of yourself here."

Your head shook. He was confusing you again. "But you asked first. Can't you just do what you want?"

"Those aren't the same thing. My control ends where yours begins. I can hold myself back from doing anything I want for your sake. Because if I did whatever I wanted, we would be having this conversation with you in my lap."

At that you let out a strangled squeak. Jungkook laughed, a broad smile stretching his lips as he looked between you and Namjoon. "I think maybe she likes the sound of that, hyung."

Namjoon smiled back at him. "Me, too, but that's probably a bit much for today. You can hold onto Jungkook though, if you'd like."

You looked cautiously at Jungkook. He turned his palm up on his knee in case you would like to take his hand. But you didn't. You tugged the pillow tighter to your chest and looked at the bed spread in front of you. Jungkook tried not to feel hurt by the rejection.

"There's something else I'm confused about." Neither man said anything but waited patiently for you to continue. "You two have sex together, and Jimin and Tae have sex, but you and Tae both had sex with me. Is it…is it because I'm kind of…"

"Manly?" Jungkook's voice was thick with amusement and you whined. He barked a laugh and knocked his body into yours, his arm going around your waist. "No, Val! It's 'cause you're hot!"

"But you like men!"

"And women! And sex in general. I'm bisexual, if you wanna put a label on it, and so are Namjoon and Taehyung."

"So you don't like me because I look like a man?" You still couldn't look at him.

"You look very much like a woman to me. Where would you get an idea like that?"

Painful memories and words from Joaquin repeated in your head from your boxing days. Years of steroids made your shoulders square and your muscles defined. Your hair grew in unsightly places more easily than you imagined most women did. Your voice had never quite lost the roughness it gained while you were forced to take injections. Your breasts were small, your clit was large…there was so much about you that seemed out of place with being a woman. Now that you were more in control of your image, you worked hard at trying to maintain a soft, feminine figure but some days it felt like nothing you ever did was enough to hide what was once your reality. And these men who liked other men…did they only like you because they thought you looked like a man too?

Namjoon could see the distraction in your eyes even if he didn't know the direction of your thoughts. He wouldn't push you to tell him where you got that idea. Not today. But he wanted to bring you back and not let you get lost. He nudged Jungkook with his large foot and when the boy looked up at him with his soft doe eyes, he nodded in your direction.

Jungkook cleared his throat. "Well, whatever you think, I'm attracted to you. I have been since I first saw you, and Namjoon has always known it. He doesn't mind at all."

"Why not?" You interjected, looking at Namjoon.

"Because the way I love Kookie is by respecting his choices and his right to do as he pleases."

"But don't you feel jealous or possessive? Aren't you mad at all that we had sex?"

Namjoon shook his head. "Love doesn't mean that I own him. And it doesn't mean that he can only desire me or that I can satisfy his needs. And I –" he paused a moment to choose his words, to decide if it was right to say them. "If I'm jealous of anything, it's that he got to sleep with you. But I'm not upset."

"Why would you be jealous of that?"

Your ignorance was endearing, even if it bordered on the unbelievable. "Because he wants to fuck you, too, beautiful," Jungkook whispered to you while his eyes watched Namjoon close enough to see the shiver that ran through the man at the mention of you and him together.

Your head snapped to face him. "You do?"

Namjoon swallowed, recalling his fantasy from earlier. He couldn't seem to stop thinking of ways he wanted to fuck you. "I'd be lying if I said I haven't thought about it." His voice remained casual, as if it wasn't shocking news to you, as if he wasn't beginning to feel hot. "I'd like to have sex with both of you, together."

"Now?" You asked, louder than you meant.

Namjoon couldn't help an amused and endeared smile.

"No, honey, not now. But some time, if you feel like you want that, I would be very into that. I think I could make you feel good. I want to watch you and Jungkook make each other feel good. But only if you want it too."

Your head felt a little hazy at the thought of being with the two men already on your bed, wrapped up in sweaty, mindless passion. But they weren't the only ones in your thoughts. There was still Tae, and Yoongi, who you hadn't done more than kiss with but still your body ached for him. "But what about the…"

"The what, baby?" The pet name slipped thoughtlessly from his lips, Namjoon’s mind too filled with affection for you and determined for you to know it, so he wouldn't correct himself.

"The others," you finished quietly, and lowered your face in shame.

Formly speaking, Namjoon knew you had a point. It wasn’t an explicit discussion his men had gone over yet. They would certainly need to, just in case anyone was harboring possessive feelings. But truth be told, even if one of them felt entitled to you over the others, he wouldn’t allow it. He would only allow what you wanted, and if you wanted them all, then that’s what you should have. He thought of Taehyung and his reckless bravado when he first started dating you. Maybe he would feel jealous, but somewhere in Namjoon’s heart he could tell his adopted brother was changing.The way he no longer demanded to be part of your space was a sign of his changing attitude and if any residual entitlement lingered, Namjoon would make it clear to Taehyung that any relationship that happened with you had to be your choice. He certainly didn’t mind the idea of you being with Jungkook or Yoongi or Hoseok or any of the other men as long as you were happy. As long as they respected you and you felt safe. Namjoon felt sure that the men he trusted most in the world would also feel this way.

“We’ll talk to them,” the leader assured you. “But please understand that our feelings are authentic. It’s not my place to confess for other people, but when you hear how special you are to us, please don’t second guess our feelings. That hurts way more than thinking about you and Jungkook together ever could.” Namjoon wanted to scoot closer to you and lay his head on your lap. If only you could see how desperately he was at your mercy.

“I’ll…try,” you stammered, lifting your head off your pillow so you could face Namjoon. His eyes were kind and pleading and despite yourself you wanted to believe that everything he was telling you was true. It was just… “It’s hard,” you choked back a sob. “I don’t have anything to offer you.”

Namjoon sat up at this, scooting closer but still not touching you. “Caring for someone is not grounded in what you can offer them,” he explained.

Jungkook laughed tenderly, “Yeah, it’s not like we’re hoping to get your family’s plumpest pig in exchange for your hand in marriage.”

You knocked your shoulder into Jungkook’s, groaning at his comment, “You know what I mean.”

“Not really,” Jungkook mused. “We’re happy to have you here and that’s enough. What could you possibly offer us that’s better than that?”

“I’m happy here too,” you admitted. You were scared to death to say these words out loud, but there it was. A truth you couldn’t escape. You were happy living at the Bangtan house and it made everything you wanted after that feel greedy and vile. Their kindness alone bordered on too much, but you didn’t know how to explain this to the two men on your bed.

“Val,” Namjoon said, refocusing your attention. “There is no match you have to fight, or mission you have to complete or role you must take on to prove you’re worthy of being here. You are enough.”

Namjoon was so close and you desperately wanted to be held by him, no longer wanting to lose yourself in your thoughts or needing space. If his words were true, why wasn’t he holding you tight so you felt safe in his arms?

With a giggle you let yourself melt into the men who, even for just a moment, let you believe you could maybe be enough.

Jungkook sensed your thoughts, leaning over to whisper in your ear, “You have to ask.”

“Namjoon,” You pleaded. “Can you hold me please?”

“Of course, baby.” And just like that you were in his lap, his arms wrapped around you and chin resting gently on the top of your head. It thrilled the large man to feel how tiny you were in his arms, like he could protect you from anything. You sighed happily, feeling warmth spread through your body as Namjoon nuzzled into your hair. Jungkook smiled fondly at the sight, scooting closer to rest his head on Namjoon’s shoulder.

Your doubts began to fade away as you felt your breath sync up with Namjoon’s. A part of you knew they’d be back, but if your happiness was fleeting then you would have to soak up every moment for everything it offered. You heard Jungkook hum happily above you, and you glanced up to see Namjoon kissing him softly. You couldn’t help the whine that escaped you, making the men break apart and turn their attention to you. Their beauty was overwhelming, making your cheeks heat as you took them in upclose. Jungkook, already so good at reading what you wanted, leaned down to place a gentle kiss on your lips, so much more chaste than the ones you had shared earlier but it left you wanting more.

“Your turn, hyung,” Jungkook instructed, pulling away to leave room for Namjoon. Your heart was beating heavily in your chest as Namjoon lifted your chin to face him, reminding you again of how his size compared to yours. He did all but close the distance, breath ghosting over your lips for an extra moment before you could no longer take it and pressed your lips to his. You twisted in his lap, wanting to feel more of him, but he pulled away.

“Baby, I’m thrilled you want this, too,” Namjoon confessed. “But I want to take my time with you and right now, feeling you lay against me is enough.” As if they sensed you pouting, they snuggled into each side of your neck making you squeal and squirm. “Let us savor this,” Namjoon mouthed against your neck.

Even though Namjoon and Jungkook had been reassuring about your place in the household, you had asked to spend some time alone today to try to piece some of your thoughts together. It was easy to feel comforted when they were pressed against you and quieting your insecurities, but you also needed to figure out what all this meant for you too. For that reason, you told the men not to count you in for dinner that evening.

Jungkook took his seat at the dinner table uneasily as Jimin and Taehyung finished setting the table. Tae picked up one of the dining chairs and moved it against the wall, leaving a space at the table just as Jin brought Hobi to the table in a wheelchair.

"Did you tell Val that dinner is ready?" Yoongi asked as everyone else settled into their chairs, yet the seat between him and Hoseok remained vacant.

Jungkook cleared his throat nervously and glanced at Namjoon, who gave him a soft smile and an almost imperceptible nod of encouragement.

"Val isn't joining us tonight. I told her dinner was ready," he added as Yoongi looked like he was going to jump in. "But she asked for some time alone, and as you know, what Val wants, Val gets."

Jungkook glanced at the leader, whose authority backed him up. "As long as she doesn't hurt herself," Namjoon added with an understanding look at Yoongi.

The doctor's hands clenched into fists under the table, but he could only be angry and frustrated with himself. He should have gone to you already and tried to fix things from last night. To tell you that everything was okay, and he was sorry, and he wouldn't kiss you again if that's what you wanted. But he should also tell you that he would like to do it again, that he loves you. He should go and tell you everything that was in his heart. But you wanted to be alone and it was all his—

"I want to be upfront with you guys." Jungkook's voice was very close to trembling as he broke through Yoongi's spinning thoughts. The youngest man's eyes looked from Yoongi across the table and then to Taehyung at his side, then down to his plate. "Val and I had sex. This morning. It was spontaneous, but it was what she asked for and obviously what I wanted. Joon and I talked to her about how our relationship works, and how we feel about her. We think—we hope—she understood. She just needs a little time to…take it all in."

Namjoon squeezed his lover's hand under the table and gave Jungkook the courage to look up at his hyungs. Around the table, Jimin and Hoseok sat opposite each other with twin looks of exhilarated shock, their mouths hanging wide open as they looked at their maknae. Jin wore an amused smile, trying to keep in a chuckle.

When he looked to his right, Jungkook expected to see anger, or a look of betrayal, but Taehyung was calm. Not like an angry, calm before the storm, ready to explode calm, but a resigned one. Taehyung had understood weeks ago that all of them would care for you. Maybe he'd even feared that months ago and had kept you away. The way things stood now, he didn't feel any claim to you, at least not one he deserved. And if it was really what you wanted, like Jungkook said, what else could there be to the matter?

At once everyone's eyes shifted over to Yoongi. The silence was fraught and seemed to have lasted for minutes, even though it had only been seconds. Yoongi's expression was opaque. Although Yoongi was never considered an expressive man by any of them, there wasn't a single man at the table who doubted that he was entirely in love with you. They expected to see jealousy, but Yoongi only appeared thoughtful.

Hundreds of questions yelled inside Yoongi's brain at once, he could hear only a few of them. Had you truly wanted Jungkook? Did he treat you well? Did you enjoy yourself? Are you okay? Did you need anything? He even had a few questions for Jungkook. Did you take care of her? Is she as incredible as I imagine? What's it like to have her in your arms?

A question asked itself but he pushed it away. What does this mean for us?

He settled for, "did you use protection?"

Jungkook smiled in spite of himself and turned a light shade of pink as he looked at his plate. "Of course, Yoongi hyung."

"And she's okay?"

"Yeah, a little in her head, but she seemed good."

"Good. Food's getting cold." Yoongi stood to ladle soup into Namjoon's bowl. The others quickly began to remark on the dishes in front of them and handed their bowls to the man, anxious to make noise before the tension could return.

As night fell, your thoughts took a turn for the worst and there was no hope of sleeping. Again. How could you sleep at night when you'd behaved so badly in the previous 24 hours? Even after Namjoon's explanation of poly relationships, even though the boss himself had been pleased that you'd slept with his boyfriend, even if Jungkook treated you more affectionately than any other human ever had done, you were certain you must still be an intolerable slut. The kind of love and trust and openness that Namjoon had described to you sounded, frankly, lovely. And even putting your transgression the previous night with Yoongi aside—you knew, or at least you were pretty sure, that Yoongi would be forgiving about your behavior, because he was much too good a person to hold it against you. Even without that, you weren't a lovely enough person to participate in that kind of love. You were something different from these men. You had been incredibly wary of them initially—you would never admit to being frightened—assuming that they were the kind of men you had known in this life before. But each day you spent with Bangtan only proved they weren't your sort at all. They were something different entirely. And accepting as they might be, you did not belong. You sullied them with your presence. Every moment you remained brought more and more disgrace upon them. No matter what Namjoon or Jungkook would try to make you believe, the reality was you were not enough.

You were sliding out from between the expensive sheets of your borrowed bed before you even completed the thought. Your duffle bag sat at the bottom of the mostly empty closet between the bedroom and bathroom, and you quickly stuffed it full of everything you owned. The same way it had been when you entered this house. It only took you a few minutes to remove your clothes from the drawers and hangers. You shoved in the dirty clothes from the hamper, too. Jungkook, you noticed, did laundry frequently and had taken your items without asking on a few occasions—not that you minded. He hadn't had time to get to it today.

You had heard Jungkook's door close half an hour ago while you tossed and turned. You had wanted, briefly, to go back into his room and ask to sleep with him again, but you couldn't. Was that where your thoughts had begun to spiral down? The desire crept over your again as you stood with your bag hanging over your shoulder. You stared at the door knob. It seemed to be waiting for you to reach out and turn it. But you couldn't.

The house was quiet and you could hear Jin's snores at the other end of the hallway. Something within you ached for the fact that you wouldn't get to know that man any better. He was still a mystery to you and so he would remain. Perhaps he would simply be relieved that you were out of their way and out of their lives when you were gone. Perhaps Jimin would feel the same way, in spite of the friendship that has recently begun to blossom between you two. You'd even miss him, you thought as you stood between the door to the basement and the one to Yoongi's clinic.

You just wanted to check on Hoseok, you told yourself. You hadn't been to visit him all day because you were avoiding Yoongi, but you wanted to assure yourself he was alive and on the mend before you left the mansion. Hoseok laid in the hospital bed in the corner of the room just as still and peaceful looking as he had last night, when you kissed Yoongi. Something tempted you to touch him, and you couldn't resist the way your finger extended to trace the edge of his hand.

Yoongi's eyes opened the moment your foot stepped down the first stair. Since you'd moved into the house, he had become keenly attuned to your steps. They were so different from the others, lighter even when you weren't trying. Maybe that's why they were so easy to pick up, why he always knew when you were moving about the house and where you were going.

Perhaps it was just that he'd been wondering when you would make a run for it since the day you'd come and told them who you really were. Running was part of who you were, wasn't it? He didn't need to be attuned to you to anticipate such an action. The possibility had been on his mind since the moment you'd rushed out after he kissed you. Whatever Jungkook and Namjoon said, he'd been wondering since he heard the news if this would overwhelm you. He hated himself for pushing you so close to the edge before you were ready. The others would probably forgive him, but would he forgive himself?

No.

He was already getting out of bed when he heard the door to his clinic open. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe you were coming to see him. Maybe you needed him.

Maybe you were just coming to say goodbye.

"I'm sorry, Hoseok. You wouldn't have been hurt if not for me. I hope you won't be hurt again," Yoongi heard you whisper faintly as you ran your finger gently over the back of Hoseok's hand. "I'll miss you."

Yoongi hung back in the shadow of his open bedroom door—left ajar in case his patient needed him in the night—and watched you for a moment. He felt as though maybe he wasn't quite awake, as if a new dream came to him. He could see himself getting in a car with you and stealing away into the night. The tired trope of running off to Mexico wouldn't do. Your enemy had too many connections there, so Yoongi would drive you north to Canada. From there, the two of you could go anywhere. He would take you everywhere you had ever wanted to go and places you hadn't dreamed of, too. And he would keep you safe and healthy. He would kiss you like he had last night and not feel an ounce of guilt because both of you would be happy.

But before him, in his clinic, you were turning away, so Yoongi couldn't stay in the shadows.

"Will you miss me, too?" he found himself asking as he stepped into the room. Your hand was already on the doorknob but you turned back slowly to look at him.

"I might miss you most," you answered softly, and his heart clenched.

"You don't have to go." He walked forward to close the distance between you. "If you're leaving because of me, because I kissed you last night, you don't have to. I'll behave. I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable."

You let out a small pained sound. "Oppa, you didn't make me uncomfortable. I'm the one who was wrong. I have to leave because I'm wrong."

"You aren't. You couldn't be." There was almost a whine to his voice, but he couldn't be bothered to feel embarrassed.

"Yoongi." Your head bowed and your eyes fell to the floor as you said his name. Were they tears you were trying to hide from him? "You should be mad at me."

"Why should I be?" He asked, unthinkingly lifting your chin with his hand so he could see your watery eyes.

"I did something," you whispered, and you were barely holding back your tears.

Yoongi looked at you evenly, determined to be steady for both of you. "Do you mean having sex with Jungkook?"

Your eyes flickered to his as your breath hitched in your throat. "You know."

"We all know. You couldn't think Jungkook was going to keep that to himself." He forced his voice to stay light.

"I'm so sorry, Yoongi."

"For what? Did you want to have sex with Jungkook?" He wondered, tone free on any kind of inflection that might indicate judgement.

A small whine came from your throat before you could speak. "I did," you admitted, heart heavy with shame. "I really did. But I really wanted to kiss you, too. I want to do it again. And that's just wrong, isn't it? You at least must want me to go, right?"

Were you thinking of Taehyung as your eyes drifted away along with your thoughts of the others? He'd taken it surprisingly well, Yoongi thought. No anger or jealousy from the younger man, merely resignation, as if he expected everyone else to want you. Yoongi brought your thoughts back to him with a hand to your cheek.

"Is that what you think? Is that what Namjoon told you?"

You shook your head. Not in negation, but as if to clear it, recalling that Namjoon was yet another man you wanted in this house, further proof of how disgusting you were and how you couldn’t accept this. Then your eyes set hard, a look of determination Yoongi had come to recognize settling in your irises. "Namjoon says a lot of things. Maybe they're true for him. But that doesn't mean they are for me."

Yoongi nodded. "Namjoon's ways aren't right for everyone, it's true. But do you think it's because you can't love like that? Or because you don't deserve love like that?"

You scoffed, pulling yourself away from him. He almost had you, almost pulled you in. But when would you ever make it that easy? "Don't ask me about love! Do you think I know anything about love? What it is or how to deserve it? Because I don't! Could you love me like that?"

The question caught him off guard, but only because of the earnestness with which you asked it. Even if you didn't realize you were looking for an answer, you needed it. "Yes, I could," he replied honestly.

"How?"

"Because I would be honored if you let me show you any kind of love. Because I want to show you the best, most tender kind of love, the kind I've never wanted to give to anyone before. I could love you and let everyone else love you too because you do deserve it. I wouldn't ever need to be jealous because there would be no room for anything but happiness if I could see you let yourself be loved by anyone."

A moment passed while his words hung in the air between your heavy breaths.

"Don't go, Val. I know I have no right to ask. Your freedom is yours to take, and if you want I'll drive you out of LA and as far as you want to go tonight. But don't go because you feel guilty or ashamed or because you think you don't deserve every kind of love."

"What else can I do?" You asked in a watery whisper, and Yoongi reached out to take your hand, giving it a tight squeeze.

"Stay."

Your eyes searched his in the darkness of the room, and you thought maybe he looked a little scared and a little hopeful. "Stay?"

Yoongi nodded.

"Can I stay with you?"

A small smile curled at the corners of his lips, and he nodded again. A heavy weight lifted off his chest as you removed the strap of your bag from your shoulder and let it drop to the ground. He led you gently by the hand back to his room. He didn't need to ask if you wanted to wear one of his shirts to sleep in. He had noticed how much you liked wearing the one he'd lent you before and hadn't given back—which you had stuffed into your bag with everything else, consciously or unconsciously taking a piece of him with you. You weren’t sure why wearing Yoongi’s clothes made you feel safe, like you had a future to look forward to, while the idea of wearing the other men’s clothes felt like a bitter reminder of a controlling past. Maybe that was okay too. Maybe you didn’t have to feel the same way about all the men in the house to know how deeply you cared for all of them. They each took up a different space in your heart and Yoongi was at the center of it.

Yoongi let go of your hand to pull out a t-shirt and shorts from his drawers, handing them to you before making an excuse to go back into the clinic so you could change. You shook yourself out of the jeans and shirt you'd quickly dressed in. Where were you really going in the middle of the night and how were you going to get there? What were you thinking? It didn't matter. Thoughts left your head as the familiar scent of Yoongi filled in with his shirt, leaving room for nothing but a familiar sense of comfort. You opted to forgo the shorts, hoping he wouldn't mind or read anything into it that you didn't mean. As you slipped into his bed, you couldn't think of anything but sleep all the sudden.

Yoongi took a moment to check on Hoseok's vitals, trying to keep his mind busy yet quiet. For a second he thought he saw the flash of the patient's eyes, but it was too dark for Yoongi to be sure he hadn't imagined it. Turning away, he bent to scoop up your bag and pushed it under the bed so no one would trip if they came in to visit their friend. Or maybe so they wouldn't realize what had almost happened tonight. Or maybe so it would be harder for you to find. He was too tired to parse out all the reasons.

He came back as soon as he heard you settle in the bed, and he had to focus on calm, steady breaths as he got in beside you. He wouldn't initiate anything you didn't want this time, he told himself, even if having you in his bed like this electrified him in a way he had never known. He would simply lay there and let you come to him if you wanted, or to sleep on the other side of the bed if that was it. At least you were staying. At least for tonight. You stayed a foot away from him for a long moment and he hoped you couldn't hear the thundering of his heart. Then your hand reached out for his, and his breath stopped all together.

"Can I-" you started but quickly stopped.

Yoongi turned his head to face you through the darkness. "Whatever you want is what I want. You don't need to be afraid of anything with me," he assured you.

He almost laughed hearing you swallow in the quiet room, wondering if your nervousness was the same kind as his. You shifted closer to him across the bed and lifted his arm. He got the message and raised it so he could wrap it securely around you, but not too tight, and you settled into his side.

The feeling of relaxation that eased through your body was unexpected. You realized that for the first time in your life, you didn't actually want to run. You had felt like it was the right thing to do, still not sure you actually deserved to be there, but you desperately wanted to stay. You had finally found a place you wanted to be, and you could only hope it would last.

"Thank you for asking me to stay," you whispered, your breath fanning over his cheek as you angled your face up to him. He turned toward you again, so your lips were a hair's breadth apart.

"Thank you for not leaving," he replied, holding himself back those last millimeters with every ounce of will in his being. He didn't need it though. When you pressed your lips to his, you couldn't imagine wanting to be anywhere else.

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