#Vibrating with love for them and rushing to reread pages

[fumifooms]

Hey fumi do you have any fics in the work?

Hi! I always have a ton of wips and prompts on the back burner, but as for whether I have any fics right now that I’m actively working on… Yes! Although I don’t know from what fandom you are from anon (I’m guessing Dungeon Meshi) so I’m just gonna talk about my general fic plans regardless of what they’re for.

Tldr: Currently I’m working on two fics for Harahara Sensei, but after that I want to try and continue some wips I started and left unfinished, besides all the other wips I want to try and get done asap alongside that for a bunch of fandoms.

Currently:

I’m working on two oneshots simultaneously for Harahara Sensei/Timebomb Teacher! I’ve been alternating between which of the two I’m focusing on which uhh certainly is a choice. One is gonna be pretty short like uhh 2k words while the other I’m anticipating to be around ~5k words maybe? Harahara Sensei’s a manga that’s not even been translated into english and my last fic for it got no attention so I’m def not expecting anyone else to rejoice about it but I’m having a great time. I’ve been considering machine translating them and put them on Pixiv though, there are a couple of fics for it on there so if it’s readable to others that’d be fun. Harahara Sensei has been having a grip on my brain again lately I tell you… I listen to my spotify playlist for it and I weep

— Unlike my last Harahara Sensei fic though these are feel good and not ungodly angst! The shorter one is gonna be centered around ice creams/popsicles, themes of empathy and being ice cold with others and mayybe stolen childhood considering canon, with a motif of winning and losing popsicles— You know that thing in japan where if there’s winner written on the popsicle stick you get another popsicle for free at a store. This might sound like a far fetched concept but canon just had a field trip with this I could talk SO MUCH about popsicles in Harahara Sensei and how Yoroizuka loves them omg. The way he tossed a winning stick in a fire- The way it almost mimics the look of a smoke- The way he eats them because he never had the chance to as a kid- So much I could say and so much I could spoil and so much I could theorize and rant about it makes me rabid!!!! Is this a good time to mention Harahara Sensei is about yakuzas — The longer one is about them going out to eat at a restaurant together after vol 2, pretty chill, learning to know each other beyond their usual um, "professional" setting. Unlike the ice cream one it’s less vibey and more straightforward, shooting for dialogue and neat moments. Its name is gonna be Death Tolls and Dinner Rolls which I have such a shit eating grin about, it’s so perfect and hilarious to me it feels like my brain is huge. Here below the summary tidbits for the fics + a canon extra page about Yoroizuka so y’all have a visual idk. Oh I don’t go into it in the pic but there’ll def be a death toll-adjacent convo in the fic and not only dinner rolls, I don’t lie on the label

You know, I noticed lately how the theme of food is pretty prevalent in my fics in general. Like, even before reading Dungeon Meshi! Both of my Harahara Sensei wips here were started before reading it, funny how that works. My first posted fic ever is about baking a cake hah. With Dunmeshi it’s only getting worse here on out I’m afraid. My thing with Harahara Sensei fics so far has been to do a lot of animals metaphors and comparisons because dehumanization is a big and cool theme in it and OUGHH that’s so fun. Rat races… Brb sobbing. Also I’d be making faster progress on my fics if I didn’t overthink everything and insisted on researching how rare benches are in Kabukicho tbh. Please god let them sit down……

Dunmeshi:

Listen if you’re a oomfie you knowwww I have so many marchil wips… But I also have a ton of other dunmeshi wips as well. So real talk for the moment I feel like fic wise I’ve done a explored marchil a good amount, I’d like to work on smth else as a palate cleanser after a month of working on the same fic oughh. But yes I’ve done angsty unrequited during canon marchil, I’ve done bittersweet-ish fluffy post-canon slow burn-ish marchil, if I were to focus on a marchil fic soon I think it’d either be 1) a quick gen/platonic fic set during canon where Chilchuck lends her an ear and comforts her after the dungeon rabbits incident when she gets nightmares, 2) Marcille and Chilchuck on a date post-canon, ice skating and dancing and shenanigans, or 3) either Marcille invites him to a fancy social event at the castle as her plus-one (aka emotional support) maybe already dating maybe on the verge of confessing OR they’re already dating and then Marcille’s mom visits them and it’s very sweet and then maybe a marriage proposal happens too~, in both cases Chilchuck is going through so much stress. I’ve done many flavors so far but what I reallyyy want to do rn is just Chilchuck’s heart on the edge of giving out, going through the five stages of grief over the banquet not having his favorite kind of alcohol and Marcille not letting him be an ornamental plant in the corner of the room and doing the bare minimum. If it doesn’t show I’m most excited for 3)…

BUT. Before I fell down the marchil rabbithole I was working on a couple of laimar ideas, including one where Marcille makes Laios read The Daltian Clan because she’s soo desperate for someone to talk about it with even if Falin didn’t end up getting into it. The plot twist is that Laios DOES get invested, but in all the different ways. Laios is less into the drama and romance and politics (haha have fun being king my guy) that Marcille is into but is more invested in the action/war and he roots for the monster hordes enemies and whatnot. They have diametrically opposed favorite characters and allegiances. He hyperfixates on a minor side character. Shenanigans happen in short and they heatedly discuss the latest chapters that Laios read and stuff. Marcille always end up some mix of enraged at his opinions but overjoyed to have a fellow fan around. It’s supposed to be 3 chaps long, have one chap set during canon pre-relationship, one chap set just after canon with some canon divergence & feelings blooming and then one chap set post canon & canon compliant with established relationship. I don’t have a name I’m satisfied about for it hnng, have some fun wip bits though, this summarizes the vibes well

An effect of writing up most my laimar ideas before Dungeon Meshi ended is that in many of them Marcille goes to prison oop, I do think that’d be a fun possibility to explore though, so at some point I’d like to at least include it in a fic. I even wrote down a laimar idea where it’s them pining with the other being oblivious to it BUT it’s narrated from Chilchuck sensing the romance in the air and seething (no jealousy at ALL just Chilchuck being a hater, being like ugh!! Young people in love. Ugh!!). Here are some other laimar-marchil ideas I find presentable, esp the second one I’m really endeared by it I wanna do a short soft nighttime fic about cherishing your loved one…… I want it to be marchil but dragons are more topical for laimar ugh 😔 I love Marcille being a canonical big spoon

But tbh I want to write gen/no ships fics for dunmeshi a lot. I have plans for Mithrun-centric fics, and I want to write at least one about Cithis as well. Here are a bunch, I thought of the Laios & Falin one lately while rereading that page where Laios tells about when he went to see Falin at the academy and I love it sm rn, I want to weite about Falin jumping into his arms and breaking his back, imagine your brother who you haven’t seen in years unexpectedly shows up at your window while filthy and disheveled. I need to write that, also yay Falin pov :)

Oh it’s gonna sound crazy but I also had a phase of wanting to write about Shuro, and particularly Shuro & Izutsumi as siblings who deal with their home situation in diametrically opposed ways and influence each other positively to be less at the extremes of propriety and allowing your shackles to a family vs rebelling against it. Lotsa lil snippets and maybe even a multi chap fic. Oh also a farcille one where Marcille helps bathe and brush Falin because she sheds feathers a lot post canon, just some domestic fluff. And even this is far from all my dunmeshi prompts so hopefully you see what I mean when I say I have soo many wips at all times. Which brings us to…

After that:

As with most end of the year periods, I’m feeling like I want to finish all the loose ends I actually started. I have a list with my priorities but besides Wild Side which I have the first chapter up for (Camp Camp fic) and there’s also an asaden Chainsaw Man I reallyyy planned on finishing last december for Christmas so… Second time’s the charm? It’s called Hachiko & Hot Chicken and it’s just about them going on a Christmas date in Shibuya. Ahh yes there are also two kimbliza Fullmetal Alchemist ones I started, besides the soapmaking Invader Zim zagr one from years ago that I left mid-writing the last chapter. Other fun ones are an Animal Crossing one centering around the player character & Redd going bug hunting, and a Long Way North one about sleeping on a rocking ship and bunking in together in the dead of night, both from years ago too. Man, my recurring themes truly do be sleeping and eating.

----

Okok time to end this post dayum. I warn that I’m a pretty slow writer, both in general averaging at like 15 words per minute if I’m generous, and in the broader life schedule. I am unreliable af and I have no clue when my next fic is coming out at any given moment. Many of my readers have spent months or years waiting for the next chapter… Which is why I tend to stick to oneshots heh. If I focus well enough on writing, maybe my Harahara Sensei oneshots will only take me one week each hmm. Too many ideas too little time Honestly though I’d also like to focus on tumblr posts some soon, I got some asks and big posts I’d like to finish up~ Oh but I have to admit lately I’ve been focusing more on fanart and just original art as well. Sorry for the novel but ty for the ask~

[wondereads]

Weekly Reading Update (04/15/24)

Reviews and thoughts under the cut

The Buried and the Bound by Rochelle Hassan (8/10)

This was a quick reread since I'm going to be reading The Summer Queen, the sequel, and I actually liked this one more the second time around! It has a sort of casual interaction with the fantastical that I love, and Aziza, Leo, and Tristan are all great characters with unique ties to each other. There are some points where I think things are just a little too convenient or rushed, but those mostly happen early on and the plot is cohesive and strong for the rest of the book.

House of Crimson Hearts by Ruby Roe (3/10, DNF @ 50%, 18+)

As I've mentioned, I was excited for this one since sapphic fantasy romances are few and far between. Unfortunately, this book was just a mess. The main characters have wildly inconsistent characterization, and it's so obvious the author wrote in certain worldbuilding elements to make them have sex without working out their issues and hatred for each other. The worldbuilding is atrocious; despite the typical vaguely historical fantasy setting descriptions and the lack of anything like lightbulbs, phones, or really any technological advancement, the final straw for me was the remote control vibrator that made its appearance halfway through. There's absolutely no effort to build a sensible setting for the story, which is barely there in the first place. The actual plot was just beginning when I DNF'd--halfway through the book! An unfortunate letdown.

To Gaze Upon Wicked Gods by Molly X. Chang (CR, 53%)

This was another highly anticipated read of mine and, unfortunately, it's not living up to my hopes. I think a lot of flaws lay in the writing, which is clunky and over-descriptive, taking time away from character and plot developments. The worldbuilding is interesting, but it's inserted in very awkward infodumps, and a lot of the elements that caught my attention aren't being given a lot of page time.

Wolf Gone Wild by Juliette Cross (CR, 33%)

On one hand, this is shaping up to be a brainless, fun fantasy romance, just like I thought it'd be. On the other hand, there is a place for your fandom rants, and your published novel is not it. If I wanted to read about this author's undying love for Reylo or Wolverine, I'd check out their social media. I should not have to slog through a whole chapter of the main character perusing a comic book shop so the love interest can say she's so 'quirky' and 'passionate.' It's unfortunate because the rest of the book is meeting my expectations so far.

Island of Graves by Lisa McMann (CR, 18%)

This is another book with a major pro and con. Pro: Alex instantly gave up searching for Aaron, finally letting Aaron reap the consequences of his actions. Con: Alex instantly gave up searching for Aaron, ruining the cliffhanger of the last book. If you're going to introduce a huge future plot point at the end of a book to get readers to continue your series, you can't immediately backtrack on it. This is a symptom of this series' issues as a whole, desperately trying to maintain the status quo for seven whole books, and stunting the plot and character growth in the process.

Interview with the Vampire by Anne Rice (CR, 6%)

I've barely started this one, but for now it's just sort of decent. I'm vaguely intrigued by the vampire's story, but it's also tough to get attached when a lot of the details, such as people's actual names, are missing.

[ahundredtimesover]

Hold Me Close | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader (ft. brother Jimin)

Genre/Tags: brother’s best friends au; (dash of) angst, fluff (sort of), smut

Warnings: foul language, feelings of insecurity, minor accident caused by inebriation, getting drunk, explicit sexual content (making out, oral m & f receiving, unprotected sex but be safe please!), JK has a hip tattoo and at some point has gray hair (18+)

Word count: 22.6k

Part 2: Hold Me Closer

Summary:  When Jimin hits a crisis, he enlists the help of his older sister - you - and his best friend, Jungkook, to put the pieces back again. That proves to be difficult when 1) Jimin’s a brat and a certified pain in the ass, and 2) Jungkook has grown and suddenly, you can’t keep your eyes off him.

A/N 1: I wanted to write something fun for a change and saw @ladyartemesia‘s brother’s best friend list and thought it would be a nice trope to explore because if there would be an ideal bratty younger brother, it would be Jimin. This was sooo much fun to write but also reminded me again of why I love my baby sister more than anyone in this world. Hope you all enjoy! 

A/N 2: I did a reread and fell in love again with this JK so I wrote a part 2 and did a 2024 version of this one. 💕

Three - the number of missed calls you probably now have just in the last five minutes, the vibrations piercing through your pocket and on your thigh. It might be important, but so is keeping your attention on the department Director to your right, who is complimenting the man to your left, over a proposal that you spent weeks working on. 

You force a smile because in front of your entire department isn’t really the time and place to refute and complain. It doesn’t help that Chul accepts the credit because anything to get ahead, right? 

Just another reason why you dislike this job. Perhaps your boss telling you that you’re too emotional or too soft to be in this industry has gotten to you, but then again, there’s not a bone in you that’s ambitious and competition-craved, unlike your parents. But you try, at least. It’s the least you can do for something that’s expected of their eldest child.

The Director flips a page and turns to you. “Glad you could contribute to this, Ms. Park.” 

He did assign it to you but you suppose your name just flew off his head, but you remind him anyway. 

“Thank you for the opportunity to work on it, Mr. Yoon. I’m truly learning a lot,” you fake a smile and wish for this to end.

Soon enough it does and you bow towards the managers present, one of them giving you the compliment you needed to hear, and excuse yourself before another call comes in. 

Best brother ever, the screen announces, and you curse yourself for still not changing his contact name and for having an easy-enough password to guess. 

“I swear to god, Jimin, this better be an emergency,” you cuss to the person on the other end, already boiling at the thought of him possibly calling to ask how to fix a broken toilet or what kind of oil he’s supposed to buy for frying because he’d done both too many times for you to count.

“___!” The sound of a relieved huff is what greets you, the voice familiar.

“Jungkook?”

“Yeah, hi,” he says. “Uh, we’re at the hospital.”

Your eyes widen and you scold yourself for missing the calls, but then again, you wouldn’t have known because Jimin’s wolf cries precede this moment of an actual emergency. 

“What? Why! Is my brother okay?” You cry out, hands already working on collecting your files and feet rushing towards your desk to pack up.

“Yeah,” Jungkook affirms. “He’s fine. He just—”

“I AM NOT FINE!” You hear your brother shriek in the background, sound a little soft due to distance but you don’t miss the farcical tone of his statement.

“Dude, it’s just a sprained ankle. You’ll live,” Jungkook tells him calmly, away from the phone.

You sigh in relief because Jungkook is definitely the person to believe in times like this.

“From 1 to Jimin, how dramatic is he?” You ask.

“Jimin. Times two.”

“Damn, okay. That actually seems worse than the injury itself huh?” 

Jungkook laughs in agreement. 

“I’m just packing. I’ll go to you guys right after,” you tell him.

“Alright. General Hospital, emergency room. Just follow the tone of the weeping man-child.”

“I feel so empty. What am I gonna do with my life now!” You hear in the background.

You laugh at your brother’s antics because you’ve heard that exact line not long ago after his building owner told him again that he can’t have a pet in the apartment. But who knows with Jimin this time around?

“Got it. See you in a bit,” you say, then head out to hail a cab.

You arrive in the emergency room and follow the sound of the weeping man-child and true enough, you see your baby brother lying on the bed with his right leg nestled on pillows, ice taped on the swollen ankle. You rush to his side and assess if there’s any other part that’s being treated. 

“What the hell happened to you?” You worriedly ask. “Is this because of work? God, Jimin. I told you that company overworks you! You don’t even get enough rest.”

Behind you, you could hear muffled laughter, and paired with your brother’s sheepish smile, you could already tell he got it over something silly. He’s avoiding your gaze, causing your worry to turn to frustration. 

You cross your arms and you give him a stern look. “Park Jimin, look at me and tell me what happened.”

He plays with the hem of the blanket draped over him and with a sickly sweet smile, the one he uses on you to get himself out of trouble, he says, “I may have drank and perhaps had my foot stuck in a gutter and I may also have moved about when Jungkook told me to stay still and well…” Arms laid out before him as if in presentation, “here I am!” 

He’s beaming, as if it’s something to be proud of. You know it’s his tactic but still, your brother’s ability to go from one reaction to another astounds you.

You turn to Jungkook for confirmation and he nods at the accuracy and absurdity of the situation, causing a worried feeling in the pit of your stomach because how the hell are you going to explain this to your parents? 

“You forgot the part about you screaming that you hate men and you don’t want to love anymore,” Jungkook adds. It’s classic Jimin that it actually makes you laugh. 

You, as his older sister and Jungkook, as his best friend of 15 years, should be used to this already, but your brother is plucked from a classic romcom as the hot mess character and that carries with it amusement and unpredictability.

You're about to ask for an elaboration to put more context in the scene that’s playing in your head of a crying Jimin flailing his arms and a bemused but laughing Jungkook trying to shut him up, when the doctor comes in. 

She checks the clipboard then turns to Jimin. 

“Thankfully, there’s nothing broken,” she says, jotting down on a pad. 

She starts instructing how to properly wrap the ankle, prompting Jungkook to stand next to you and Jimin to nip at his fingernails because the brat won’t even pay attention to how to care for his own injured foot. 

After handing you the prescription, the doctor tells Jimin, “We’ll just wrap you up with a cast and give you the crutches then you can head home.”

“So I’m not staying?” He asks.

“No need,” the doctor clarifies. “It’s just sprained but it will take several weeks to properly heal and it will be sore for a while,” she states, then calls a nurse and instructs him to prepare the supplies. 

“You said you’re a dance instructor? The injury was aggravated by previous mild sprains so I require complete rest. You absolutely cannot move. Just stay in bed and follow the instructions I’ve written down.”

You and Jungkook release a sigh of relief, thankful that it’s nothing serious. The concern over what prompted his outburst temporarily sits at the back of your mind. Until Jimin speaks up.

“But, something else feels broken.”

“What is it?” The doctor asks, suddenly worried and checks the board for anything she might’ve missed.

“My heart.”

“Yah!” You smack Jimin’s arm in embarrassment, which he returns with a smack on yours, a common sight for you both and Jungkook who’s bared witness to the violence you and your brother inflicted upon each other growing up.

The doctor rolls her eyes. “She’ll come back,” she says, then heads towards the door.

Jimin scrunches his nose in annoyance. “She’s a he, by the way!” He shouts, causing the others present to turn to him, as if such a situation is scandalous. 

“Do… you have a boyfriend I don’t know about?” You nervously ask. 

While your three-year gap sibling relationship is rooted in violence that’s caused bruises, buckets of tears, timeouts, and your parents almost giving up on making you two get along at many points of your lives, you and Jimin have somehow grown up and have found the right balance of telling each other important things while also staying out of each other’s business. 

The “growing up” only happened midway through his college life, when he realized that even with his best friend next to him, you were still his lifeline in the big city of Seoul and the only other reminder of home. 

Because even with him knowing what it takes to make it in the competitive entertainment industry as a choreographer, in his heart, he’s still the younger child who’s used to being taken care of. That meant regularly demanding your presence in his dorm when he was still studying and then crashing your place when he started working. For food, mostly. The ranting about things just came naturally after.

“It’s Tae,” he shyly reveals, meeting your eyes for the first time and suddenly, he’s your little brother again, the one whose snacks you used to prepare or whose wounds you used to treat when your parents weren’t home or were too tired from work.

“Your roommate?”

“Yeah. He left today because he got this photography gig where he gets to travel the world.”

“I didn’t know you had a thing,” you say.

“We didn’t,” he huffs out in frustration. “I didn’t know I liked him until he said he booked a one-way ticket and didn’t know when he'd be coming back. And he was so excited and I was really happy for him but also felt like it was too late. Like, should I have said anything? What if he felt the same way? Would he have stayed?” He sighs, looking sullen this time.

“He may have, or he would still be taking the trip. Regardless, no one should be giving up on dreams for anybody, Chim. That’s not how it’s supposed to work,” you say, not meaning to sound as if you’re reprimanding him, but the look he gives is enough to tell you that he understands. He’s heard variations of that same sentiment before, anyway. 

Jungkook feels the tension in the air and breaks it by stating that he’ll be driving everybody home.

“I’ll be staying with my sister,” Jimin announces, his annoying smile now back, and he knows you can’t say no; by obligation or by choice, you won’t tell.

“There goes my weekend,” you gripe. 

“I won’t be a nuisance, I promise,” he says then crosses his heart, like it actually means anything.

“You’re a nuisance even when you’re not injured, what more now?” You roll your eyes.

“I’m not that bad,” he defends.

“Oh, but you are.” You turn to Jungkook. “You know, I actually tried to push him back in our mom’s vagina because I could already tell he was going to be a problem, but even her uterus didn’t want him anymore.”

“Ouch okay, I will pretend I didn’t hear that,” Jimin scowls, and you all laugh as he’s transferred to the wheel chair and pushed by the nurse, signaling Jungkook to go ahead and retrieve his car.

You arrive at your apartment with a Jimin-clad Jungkook in tow, the worry of not having cleaned up quickly dissipating because this is your brother, and he shouldn’t complain. 

Jungkook assists Jimin in the bathroom while you set up your bed by piling up pillows for his foot. 

“I don’t have clean sheets for the sofa bed in the other room,” you say, “and it’s not that organized, as I didn’t expect to house an injured child this weekend. Just sleep on my bed first.”

Jungkook guides Jimin to your bed and helps him settle in, with your brother looking all smug with the treatment he’s getting because he knows you don’t give up your bed that easily.

“What about you?” Jungkook asks, seemingly more worried about your inconvenience than the actual cause of it.

“I’m fine with the couch. Wouldn’t wanna sleep here with him and accidentally hit his foot. He might murder me or something.”

“Thanks, Sis. I’m very comfortable here. I think I’ll be sleeping well tonight,” Jimin states, then yawns, drowsiness kicking in from the medication.

You roll your eyes and close the door. You lead Jungkook to your kitchen and offer him a drink.  

“I’m sorry for him, Kook. Did he drag you out of work?” You ask. 

“Just had to call the tattoo parlor and reschedule my Friday appointments,” he says, downing the glass of water. “He was pretty emotional over the phone and wanted to drink at 4PM and well, you know the rest.”

“Ugh, such a pain in the ass,” you mutter, massaging your temples. “But is he serious about the whole Tae thing?”

“Seems like it. I think it just took an abrupt change for him to realize what he felt,” he explains. “But you know him - falls fast, moves on faster. He’ll be okay. You’re here,” he continues, flashing you his bunny smile, the one that used to cause you to pinch his puffy cheeks out of cuteness. 

But that’s when he was a lanky 10-year old with his awkward front bangs. The man in front of you now sports a parted hairstyle, a sharp jawline, tattooed arms, and probably a built figure, if the way he carried your brother as if he’s a feather is any indication of his strength. His bambi eyes, usually scrunched large nose, and child-like smile are the only things that remain from that memory you have of him. 

“You know I can’t stand my brother for long periods of time, Kook,” you pout, earning you an amused laugh.

“He actually already invited me over the weekend and told me to bring my PS5 so we could play.”

“That bitch has to rest, what is he talking about?” You groan.

“Same thing I told him. I’ll just make up some reason that my player caught fire or that I dropped it while running or something.”

You give him a straight face. “The hell would he buy that? You can just not bring it.”

“I’m just gonna match his drama,” Jungkook shrugs, earning him your laugh, which for him is all tones of sweet and soothing. 

A smile forms on his face at the thought of making you laugh like this, something he secretly enjoys. This particular sound would most likely be etched in his mind, among the several others that he caused. 

There was that time when you caught him doing chubby bunny as a consequence and seeing him stuffed with marshmallows made you secretly giggle because 15-year old you didn’t want to indulge in their silly antics. Jungkook heard it, though. 

Then there was Jimin’s 14th birthday at an arcade. Jungkook went over the basketball game’s railing to get the highest score and you alternated between scolding him and laughing your butt off. He snuck the tickets he won in your pile so you would have enough to get the Tinkerbell tea set because he knew of your obsession with fairies.

When you visited home for their high school graduation, you all cooked dinner and he overdid the glazed sweet potatoes, causing them to get stuck on the plate. You tried to hold your laugh but gave up once he started dancing. He was so embarrassed but that’s when he knew he’d willingly make a fool of himself to hear you laugh like that. 

And three years ago, your large group of friends that included him and Jimin went on a ski trip. He was attempting to run up the slope but kept sliding, and even from a distance, he could pick out which laughter was yours. It was probably the only remedy to an otherwise heartbreaking weekend, considering that you were there with your then-boyfriend, Namjoon. 

Reminiscing those causes his heart to feel like floating, like always. Then the words “nobody dates my sister” pulls that heart down to crash into reality, like always, too - the reality being that you’re his best friend’s older sibling. 

You’ve been off-limits since Jimin threatened Jungkook and their other friends about cutting off their dicks if anybody tried to date you when they were 16, but you were probably off-limits even before that. Jungkook mentally shakes his head. 

He doesn’t like being told what to do but then again, Jimin is his best friend, the tiny feisty 10-year old who fought off the bullies who tried to take Jungkook’s snacks. It had been them against the world since then, and so far, the only person he thinks who’d ever come between them is you.

Jungkook is pulled out of his thoughts at your call of his name, prompting him to ask you to repeat what you just said.

“I said, thanks again for being there for my brother like, ever since. If it was just me I would’ve disowned him a long time ago.”

Jungkook chuckles, already used to the drama that is your sibling relationship. He’s witnessed too many wrestling matches, scream fests, and pulled pranks in the last 15 years. While you and Jimin have gone past those, your complaints about each other is something you haven’t really outgrown yet. 

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t disown him,” Jungkook says, the words ‘he’s the only link I have to you’ quickly dissipating in his mind. “You know he just craves your attention and riling you up is the way he does it, younger sibling and all. I would’ve done that if my brother wasn’t 7 years older. Jimin tends to be immature around you but he’s the best person I know. I wouldn’t have survived anything if it weren’t for him.”

This brings a smile to your face, their origin story warming your heart more than you care to admit. Your brother is fierce and a fighter, you’d give him that.

“Well, he’s just as lucky to have you, Kook.”

It’s the tenderness in your voice that makes him feel like he’d just won a prize, and he wishes you wouldn't notice the flush of his cheeks. If you do, you don’t mention it, because not long after, you say that you’ll wash up, signaling him that it’s time to go. 

Jungkook drives home that night feeling like his adolescent self, the giddy feeling of when you first pinched his cheeks the same one he feels right now. It’s when he first developed his crush on you - you’d been arguing with Jimin and said you wished he was as behaved and as adorable as Jungkook, prompting your brother to point out Jungkook’s large nose, which you responded to by saying it adds to his charm. 

Petty fights, like always, but it’s when you told him not to listen to what other people say if they’re out to put him down did Jungkook realize that you and Jimin were cut from the same cloth. 

Soon after, every little moment with you, every glimpse of your life outside of being his best friend’s sister became more and more enthralling to him. The fact that you were getting prettier each year just served to solidify his affection for you. And also made it difficult to hide his hard-on every time you’d show up for breakfast in your cloth shorts when he’d sleep over at your parents’ house, or when he’d see you in your pretty outfits in the bars you all frequented once he was in Seoul for college. 

He’d let himself think of you during the times he wasn’t in a relationship, and he’d slowly let go of the bit of hope he’d have every time you were in one, partly because your relationships were usually long-term, compared to his, and also because your ex-boyfriends were nothing like him, which is safe to say that he wasn’t your type. 

Maybe it was the age or the level of maturity. Maybe it was the sense of security. Or maybe he’s just not the kind of guy who could give you what you want, although honestly, he doesn’t know exactly what that is. 

But if Namjoon - your intelligent, upstanding, consultant ex-boyfriend who was also really handsome and kind - and your subsequent heartbreak are anything to go by, then Jungkook is clearly reaching for the stars with you. Not that you’re out of his league, but he’s more like in the outskirts, just lying in the edges, the border between what’s possible and what isn’t, but definitely far from the center of action. Even tonight, the most time you’d spent together in years that wasn’t in a party was because Jimin had been hurt. 

If anything, though, his long standing admiration for you hadn’t really gone away. And he doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

The weekend with Jimin staying with you wasn’t that unbearable, primarily because he was rendered immobile on your bed and was usually sleepy. You were thankful that Jungkook dropped by to keep your brother company while you caught up on errands and chores. 

With another work week coming filled with meetings and events, you had Jimin stay with Jungkook first. He insisted it wasn’t a bother; his work as a freelance artist and a part-time tattooist gives him control of his time.

It’s the weekend after the incident when you hear a knock on the door, not expecting to see Jimin with his casted ankle and crunches; behind him are three large luggages and a few boxes. 

You’re just about to process the sight before you when he says, “I got sacked from the company when I said I couldn’t get back to work next week. And I can’t afford to pay rent anymore even if I get a roommate and I…” he turns to you, almost shameful, “I have nowhere else to go.”

You sigh because really, your relationship with your brother is hinged on fights you don’t really mean, pettiness that drives you crazy, and an unconditional love that you both deny but undeniably share. So you open the door wider and laugh at his “you’re the best sister in the world” claim and your usual response of “you only have one.”

Jungkook arrives with the last box and you help bring in all the stuff that seems never-ending, making you wonder how these fit in his car and how he managed to bring everything, including your brother.

“Park Jimin, you have so much stuff! You might as well have hired a mover,” you cry out.

“Oh I did,” Jimin answers, pointing to Jungkook.

You cock an eyebrow because obviously, movers get paid. 

“I told him you said you’re gonna make us dinner.”

“Except I didn’t,” you scrunch your eyebrows and turn to Jungkook, amused at his sudden change of expression, bambi eyes widening at his innocence. 

“I swear, he was so convincing,” Jungkook claims, hands held up as if in surrender. He bites his lips and looks at the ground. “I can just go, really. I’ll just force him to treat me to lunch when he’s healed and I can wrestle him if he doesn’t.”

“Don’t be silly, Kook. Stay for dinner,” you crack a smile. You walk to your kitchen and take out the pork belly to thaw. “I won’t make you steak though. That’s reserved for my wine nights when I want to bask in my singleness,” you call out. 

“Also,” you turn to Jimin, “you don’t deserve my steak.”

Your brother laughs, knowing that it’s your way to mask the kindness you’re showing. 

Later that night, with dinner out of the way and your spare bedroom set up for Jimin to stay, you guide him to the sofa bed and make sure his foot is elevated, bell just within his reach that you instructed him to ring when he needs you. 

“Thanks, ___. You—”

“Are the best sister in the world, I know,” you cut him off.

“I was gonna say you should get some rest and to not worry about me. I’ll be fine,” he smiles.

You nod and head out the room, the worried look on your face not going unnoticed by Jungkook, who’d just finished wiping the dishes.

“Everything okay, ___?” 

You heave out a sigh.

“What the fuck am I gonna do with him, Kook?” You ask, the reality of your injured and now unemployed brother dawning on you. “What am I gonna tell my parents?” 

Oddly enough, it’s when you and Jimin were finally adults did your parents think to check up on you both. Perhaps living under the same roof didn’t warrant that, but with both children now living independently hundreds of miles away from them, they’ve ensured to call every week. Your conversations mostly revolve around Jimin, though, the words “take care of your brother” not having an expiration date, apparently. 

You know the weight of the words - it’s not just because you’re older but because by your parents’ standards, you’re also the more stable and financially secure one by nature of your 9-5 corporate job in a fancy building that requires you to wear corporate attires, in contrast to Jimin’s late-nights in a dance studio busting moves in sweats. 

Your parents are biased towards your kind of work, given that they’ve spent more than half their lives in the same field and always wished you’d both do the same, even if you promised yourself you wouldn’t give in to the world that took so much of your parents’ time from you. 

Much as you want to believe you’re just doing your job as the older child by entering the industry, you were too much of a people-pleaser who just wanted to make her parents proud. 

Jimin, on the other hand, was smart enough to only apply to the performing arts programs of prestigious universities in Seoul and was good enough to actually land a scholarship in the same school as you; your parents were backed in a corner and couldn’t do anything. 

You’d never tell Jimin but you always admired him for that; it takes a lot to stand up to your parents without actually standing up to them. You’re just glad that between the both of you, someone was brave enough to go for what they genuinely wanted.

“Tell them the truth?” Jungkook shrugs. “I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“You act like you don’t know what my parents are like.”

True, Jungkook thinks, but he also knows things have improved on their end. “Well, if anything, they’re more receptive now. They would congratulate Jimin on the choreographies they’d see those idol groups dance. They ask him about work, too.”

You smile at the thought, something your brother never mentioned, but you can imagine how happy that might’ve made him. Jimin, as you’ve found out, is a sweetheart to his friends - affectionate in all ways and very expressive - something he isn’t to you and your parents. The same can be said about you, and you soften at the thought that you and Jimin really aren’t that much different from each other. 

Jungkook picks up on the thoughts going through your head. “He probably didn’t tell you because you know him, he’d go all soft if he does, and Jimin has this persona when it comes to you. And it isn’t the soft one.”

“Goes both ways, I guess.”

“It’s not the end of the world, and he doesn’t seem to think so. He’s going to be fine.”

Jimin, in all senses of the word, is not fine. It took a few days until he cracked. He went from being an obedient patient who followed the doctor’s order of staying in bed, to one who constantly walked around and complained that he had nothing to do. 

Going on dating apps makes him sad, looking at job openings makes him sad, not being able to move and dance makes him sad. And your heart breaks for him, knowing what it’s like to lose your sense of direction and motivation at the loss of something or someone important. You allow him to let out his frustrations, though, listen to him when he rants, feed him his favorite food, and call Jungkook over with his PS5 that isn’t actually broken.

In fact, calling Jungkook has been your go-to, especially when you’re running out of things to say to comfort Jimin. Most times it’s really just so they could play video games together, prompting Jungkook to leave his PS5 at your place so Jimin could stay preoccupied and not feel too down when the job lists come up empty. He tires easily though, and it’s after he’s been tucked in bed that you usually settle for a cup of tea in the kitchen, Jungkook now the one listening to you talk.

It usually starts with the topic of your brother, followed by some memory from your childhood that you and Jungkook become hysterical over, followed by something about your work, and then something about his. His stories are more interesting though. He shows you the digital pieces he makes for clients, and tells you amusing bits about his tattooing gig like memorable patterns and customers. 

Hearing all this sends warmth through you because of how much he’s grown. While you’re only three years older, you met Jungkook when he was a shy 10 year-old, a complete opposite to you and Jimin’s naturally sociable selves. He went from smiling sheepishly to joking around and giving you high-fives in the five years before you went to Seoul to study.

Of course he’s grown when he followed your brother to the same university, having seen him with different girls, going to the same parties because your friends had taken a liking to him, and attending his art exhibitions. He went from greeting you under his breath to calling out to you at a bar while he’s surrounded by his peers. 

This was the kid who used to follow your brother around - even joined the dance club in high school - and would dunk his head in water if you asked him to, but now he’s forged his own path, doing what he loves, and enjoying every bit of his time that he controls. 

Personally, you’re also just happy that he can be available for your brother and for you, too, seeing that the nights you used to spend forcing yourself to sleep are now spent in good conversation with him. 

He’s also gotten way more attractive in the past few years, something you’ve only noticed now. Perhaps it has much to do with the physical closeness when you talk - your kitchen bar isn’t that large, anyway - where you’re able to pay more attention to his defined jawline, his dark doe-eyes that anybody could get lost in, the curve of his nose, and the perfectly-placed beauty marks on his face. 

Come to think of it, maybe Jungkook has always been handsome, but you stop your thoughts before they go anywhere restricted.

It’s one Saturday night when you arrive home, after having drinks with your friends, to a very drunk Jimin and a tipsy Jungkook, gorging on fried chicken. Just thinking of cleaning up is already giving you a headache, which is aggravated by your brother’s drunk singing of classic yet cringey sad love songs. 

“Yah! Look at the mess you’ve made,” you smack Jimin’s arm, pointing at the chicken crumbs on the floor. “And alcohol, seriously? You can barely walk properly and now you’re drinking?”

“I’m injured, unemployed, homeless, and heartbroken. Leave me alone,” is all he says, then proceeds to belt out an insanely high note that pierces your ears and which causes Jungkook to laugh, used to this already and may have been enduring this for some time. 

“He’s been like this for the past 4 hours,” Jungkook says. 

“And you let him?”

At the final high note, Jimin passes out on the couch, body limp over the empty space to his left.

“He wanted to drink his frustrations away, thought it might help,” Jungkook responds.

You sigh in annoyance but think he’s right, too. Jimin was out drinking his frustrations the night he got injured but at least now he’s doing it in the safety of your home. 

“I guess,” you shrug. “Can you take him to his room before he hurts his neck?”

Jungkook laughs but follows. He carries Jimin over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and you pretend to not look hot and bothered at how easily he could carry your dead-weight brother. 

You follow to the room shortly and place an aspirin and orange juice on the side table, knowing it’s Jimin’s hangover drink. You remove the strands of hair that have stuck to his forehead and tuck him under the covers. 

Jungkook looks at you fondly. For someone who always claims you should’ve disowned her brother, you sure have a very affectionate way of showing it.

You step out of the room and take in Jungkook’s tipsy state, red cheeks and glassy eyes giving him away. 

“You should stay,” you tell him. “You drank and I doubt you’d sober up anytime soon, but try anyway.”

He nervously accepts but not for the reasons you think. He’s nervous because aside from those sleepovers at your house when you were younger, this is the first time he’s sleeping under the same roof as you, and that makes him giddy but anxious at the same time. He hopes you don’t catch him mid-dream saying your name; that would be too awkward to explain.

He goes back to the living room post-shower, a blanket and large pillow on the couch and you, tucked in the corner with a glass of juice. 

“Did you want to sleep already? I can go to my room if you are,” you look up at him.

“No, it’s okay. I’m not that sleepy yet, you can stay.” 

He refuses your offer of a drink. Unsure of the appropriate distance from you now that there’s space to go around, he settles on the other end of the couch. You smile at him as he sinks on the corner and he smiles back as you take baby sips from the glass. You both settle in comfortable silence, appreciating the quiet as a reprieve from the mind-numbing noise from earlier. 

You take a big gulp and he couldn’t hold the chuckle at your wide eyes hidden behind the glass. 

“So I’m guessing your hangover drink is apple juice?” He asks, not missing the similarity with your brother.

“Yeah. Jimin hates it so I’m sure he’ll never take it. He used to finish all the orange juice at home and I was mad because I wanted orange juice, too,” you say with a pout. 

Jungkook’s heart skips a beat at how adorable you look and goes for an ah, that’s why face because he remembers you fighting Jimin over it before.

“So you just switched to apple juice?”

“Yeah, pretty much. It’s really good. I thought he’d switch too just to annoy me but he said he really doesn’t like it.”

“Look at you two, being all civilized for once,” Jungkook teases. 

You throw a pillow at him and laugh at his comment, but you don’t disagree.

“Yah! We’ve always been civilized, okay?” 

“Now that is a lie,” he shakes his head. “May I remind you of the time you two wrestled in front of me over a piece of pop tart. You tackled him to the ground and he pulled your hair and the innocent treat was crushed in the process.”

“Hey, I was 15 and I called dibs on the strawberry!”

“Or that time you both wanted to watch different movies and had me choose and I felt like I was signing a death sentence either way? But it didn’t matter because you still got into a pillow fight?”

“His choices were always so boring!” You whine.

“Or that time when—”  

You throw him another pillow. 

“Yeah, yeah. I get it. We weren’t always civilized,” you give up, laughing hard with him at the memories. “You witnessed the worst parts of us, huh?”

“I didn’t really have a choice, did I?” Jungkook cocks an eyebrow. 

“Well, you were the only one who stayed. The rest of your friends would run out once Jimin and I started going at it.” 

Jungkook laughs at this because if only you knew why he always stayed. He actually liked that you’d let him referee you two. It was those times when he felt wanted. 

“Hmm, it takes a lot to handle the Park siblings, I don’t blame them,” he says.

“Wow, Jeon Jungkook. Calling out your elder. Where is this bravery coming from?” You tease.

“I drank, remember?”

“Not much, though.”

He shrugs. He doesn’t know either, but he likes seeing you look flustered. “Enough liquid courage, I guess.”

You deem his answer satisfactory but it does make you recall all those petty fights growing up. 

“Sorry you had to witness all that,” you say, giving him a shy smile. “Our personalities were always just clashing and it was harder not to fight each other.”

“I think you two are just so similar, that’s why.” 

You look at Jungkook, eyes wide at the statement you’d only ever thought to yourself. 

“He thinks the world of you, you know?” He continues, sensing your now serious demeanor. “He used to tell the mean older kids that you’re his sister and you’ll fight them if they hurt him because he just knows you’d protect him no matter what.” 

You laugh and roll your eyes but Jungkook knows you agree.

“For schoolwork, he would always write about you as his role model or the person he looks up to.” Jungkook narrates, not missing how your eyes soften at this. “He never found out that I knew but I’ve read parts, how he wanted to be strong and kind like you, to be independent and smart and hardworking the way you are.”

Maybe it’s the remnants of alcohol, or this apple juice is just fucking delicious but you’re getting emotional.

“And honestly, I don’t think that’s changed. He’ll always look up to you, whether he says it or not,” he adds.

And there goes the water works, as you burst into a sob and cover your face with your hands. This causes panic in Jungkook, and he immediately goes to you, initially unsure of what to do. Noticing your non-movement, he uses the edges of his hoodie to wipe the tears that are flowing from your eyes. He stills for a moment but seeing how you haven’t pushed him away, he continues. 

You look up at him with watery eyes and quivering lips. Somehow you should be embarrassed but something about Jungkook having seen the worst of you and being nothing but a huge help these past few weeks, makes you feel safe. No judgment whatsoever, just an air of understanding and care.

“Why are you telling me this?” You ask.

Jungkook feels weak at how you look. He didn’t mean to make you sad but all he wants to do now is hug you until you feel better.

“Because you’ve been so worried and so hard on yourself, as if it’s only your burden to carry.”

You try to object but he cuts you. “Jimin’s an adult. He’s crying and drinking and sulking but that’s normal. He’ll be fine and get himself together. I know that. Even he knows that. You know why? Because it’s what he’s seen you do.” 

Jungkook wipes another stray tear on your cheek.

“Whether it’s a breakup or a work thing, he’s seen you take hits but never back down, never let anybody walk all over you, never let them take away the best parts of you. He’s struggled before, too, but he always got back up.”

“He’s good and strong that way,” you reply softly.

“Like I said, he has a good role model,” he smiles, nudging your shoulder. 

It’s meant to be playful but it’s comforting for you, and you’re leaning on his shoulder before you know it, ignoring the way he briefly stills at your action. 

“You’re a good person, Kook. We’re lucky to have you.”

You’re so close to him and he can feel the heat radiate from you. It’s too quiet that he’s afraid you’d hear the thrumming of his heart, from your words and the affection behind your still head on his shoulder. The situation calls for it, he thinks, so he shifts, lays his hand on your back, then rubs circles on it.

He’ll chalk it up to liquid courage again if you ask, but you don’t. Instead you snuggle closer, chasing his warmth. He swears he could pass out with just this, but he tortures himself more by holding you even closer and he swears, even with his thick hoodie, he could feel your smile.

Over a month since the gutter incident - as you like to call it - you, Jimin, and Jungkook have found a routine of cohabitation, and yes, that includes Jungkook, who’s now become a staple in your household and your life. 

At some point, Jimin had sulked less and would spend his time watching dance videos to remind himself of the feeling, even if it was just virtual. He’d even expanded his choice of employment by checking job openings as a fitness instructor and a ballet teacher for children. 

He’d also done his regular foot exercise once the pain became bearable. Still unemployed and heartbroken though, he’s been shameless in making your place his own home, with most of his belongings now removed from their boxes, and inviting Jungkook over any time, any day. Not that you minded though, since he’s been nothing but a literal angel.

Living in a studio on his own, Jungkook usually has ramen or street food as dinner, which is why Jimin used to invite him over to his shared apartment with Taehyung so that Jungkook could at least have home cooked meals every once in a while. 

It’s why he’s often over your place on weeknights he doesn’t have a shift at the tattoo parlor. That and because Jimin still wants him over to play video games. Jungkook brings food over or pays for delivery though, and you welcome the initiative. 

On weekends, you’re all busy doing your own thing in the living room together, which carries over to movie nights. The young ones pass up on their friends’ invites to a party while you, well, your friends would rather spend their weeknights with their partners instead. So your night of basking in your singleness now means doing so with your brat of a brother and his dependable best friend.

It’s a Saturday afternoon when you get home from doing errands and you find both men in your living room, with Jimin reading a book on some dancer’s biography and Jungkook busy on his laptop. Your brother’s face pops on the screen and you decide it’s not a personal matter so you plop next to Jungkook on the floor and softly rest your head on his shoulder, something you’ve maybe done once or twice before.

“What you up to?” You ask, an impressed look on your face at the snippets of Jimin dancing, some of which you’ve never seen before. 

“I’m working on his application video,” he says, pointing to your brother. “Since he’s not able to dance when he tries for jobs, he thinks sending them a video to show his skills will help.”

“Oh, like a visual resume of some sort?”

“Yes!” Jimin states. “I want them to know what they’re missing out on, and that’s a lot.”

You roll your eyes but mentally agree; your brother is the most talented person you know. 

“Kookie’s been kind enough to work on it for me although he’s been on it for hours,” he continues, a playful smile on his face.

“Give him a break, Chim. He’s done so much for you already,” you say, getting your own laptop and setting it up on the table.

“Nah, it’s the least I can do. He’s helped me so much, ___,” Jungkook points out.

“He fought off your bullies 15 years ago…” You counter.

Jungkook chuckles. “Yes. And more. Helped me with school work, my confidence, my social skills…”

“Gave him tips to woo girls because he was too shy to ask them on dates,” Jimin adds.

“Hmm,” you mumble. “What you gotta be shy about? Just flash them your smile or show them your toned arms, they’ll probably jump on you right there,” you say nonchalantly, unaware of the way Jungkook’s heart freezes at your comment.

“He doesn’t want them to jump on him, ___. He wants them to actually like him, or love, whatever. He’s a romantic, you know,” Jimin declares. “He’d travel to the ends of the earth or fight to the death for the woman he loves, whoever she is,” he says matter-of-factly, unaware of the way Jungkook’s breath hitches because if Jimin only knew.

“Aww, Kook. That’s cute,” is all you say, smile genuine though, he wishes he could see it everyday. But cute, really? That’s it?

He chooses not to dwell on it and instead asks you what you’re up to, to which you respond that it’s a presentation you have to work on. You’re frustrated at your lack of design eye and it looks so bare; you want it to look professional but still eye-catching.

“Maybe I can help,” Jungkook offers.

But of course, you think. You’ve been accommodating an actual graphic designer in your home, surely it’s fair that he helps you out, right?

“Yes please, Kook. I need to blow these people away with my smarts and my non-existent creativity,” you laugh. 

Jungkook sets aside his laptop, adoringly quick to prioritize helping you, and works on your presentation. He knows just the right color and font combination. He even helps out on which details to include, what visuals to add, and how to make it exactly how you want. 

You’re amused at how easily he works on it. He's meticulous, working on the size of the texts and the angles of the patterns. Jimin chides him for his perfectionism but unbeknownst to both of you, Jungkook’s laser focus is a means of distraction with how physically close you’ve been to him the past hour, eyes flicking from him to the screen.

He wants this to last but he also can’t wait for it to be over because of how nervous he is, especially with your constant praises for something really basic, but which he finds so charming all the same. 

Pretty soon he finishes and returns your laptop to you and retrieves his. He’s quick to get back to work and focus on something else. This still proves futile once you remove your sweater to reveal a camisole underneath, and tie your hair on a high bun, exposing more of your shoulders and neck. 

He shakes off the butterflies in his stomach and pretends to be completely unbothered by his attraction towards you that seems to intensify day-by-day. He looks forward to seeing you, and when he doesn’t, he yearns to. He’s been used to admiring you from afar but these past weeks showed that he has all the reasons to admire you even up close. 

You’re just as brilliant, feisty, and funny; sassy too like Jimin but in a captivating way, yet so kind-hearted just the same. 

The three of you settle in a comfortable silence, each busy with your own task at hand. With your knees touching Jungkook’s, your questions on any additions you make on the presentation, and him asking for your approval on the video - which he seeks, oddly enough from you and not from Jimin - your eventual quick agreement on dinner and your teamwork in preparing it, it all feels so familiar. This comfort and simplicity - it makes you feel like it’s home.

The next evening, you find yourself sandwiched between Jungkook to your right and Jimin to your left, who moved from his center seat to lie down, with half of his tiny body settled comfortably on top of you and Jungkook. Your brother insisted on watching “How to Be Single” tonight, like a slap to all your faces.

It’s during one of the scenes with the protagonist’s ex when Jimin randomly asks, “___, do you regret breaking up with Namjoon?”

It may seem like a question out of left field, but with everything that’s happened, Jimin has been quite reflective lately, particularly about love. He’s had his fair share of partners but unlike you, is more a feeler than a thinker - he gets out of relationships as fast as he gets into them and takes it one day at a time, whereas you always have to consider the future. 

You don’t need to ponder on the question; you’ve gone through this multiple times with your best friends but never really with your brother. 

“Sometimes. But there was too much on the line and it was unfair to both of us if we carried on.” You sigh, recalling the moment you both decided it wouldn’t work. “It was something we had to do but doesn’t mean it hurt any less.”

Jimin hums, thinking back to the days he’d barge in your apartment and ask for leftovers when really, he just wanted to be near you so you had someone to cry to, just in case. That was over two years ago and it took you a year to finally say that you were over the relationship. He used to note your choice of words - “I’m over us,” never “I’m over him.” 

Next to you, Jungkook is picking on his nails, unsure if he should be part of the conversation. He’d heard about the break up since you have common friends. It was quite the shock, knowing how you and Namjoon were. 

You pick up this nervous habit, aware that he might not know what really happened. It wasn’t a secret but there was more to the story. 

“We just wanted different things,” you say then turning to both of them, “so you two better make sure you’re on the same page with the person you date, talk about what lies ahead, what you want, what you’re willing to compromise and what you aren’t.”

“That’s good advice, yeah Kookie?” Jimin says. 

“Why you focusing on me?” Jungkook frowns. 

“You’re the one focused on dating, not settling. You avoid those conversations,” his best friend points out.

“You don’t want to settle?” You ask, now curious. 

You’ve seen Jungkook with girlfriends but thinking back now, his relationships never really lasted.

“It’s not that,” he glares at Jimin. “I’m more of a live-in-the-moment kind of guy. Thinking about the future is great, I mean, any mature individual does that, it’s just…” 

He heaves out a sigh, hoping he’s not shooting himself in the foot with his statement. “What good is the future if you don’t take care of what you have right now? Isn’t the present more important because it’s what’s assured? The future is literally dependent on that, so the now is what I want to focus on.” 

He rests his head on the couch, nervous of your reaction. He knows you’re a planner, someone who needs to see things far ahead to know what to do. 

There’s no one way to go about life, he acknowledges that. He just doesn’t want you to think he’s not a serious guy. With his developing feelings for you, not seeing him as a potential partner is literally the worst thing that could happen.

Jimin continues with the movie he paused but in your mind, all you could think about was what Jungkook said. If you and Namjoon hadn’t obsessed about the future, would things have been different? Would you still be together? 

The sinking feeling comes at the realization that maybe they still wouldn’t. What if your ‘present’ with him then wasn’t good enough in the first place? That the ‘could be’ was more exciting than the ‘what is'? Suddenly there’s clarity, you just don’t know if it’s the good kind. 

Still, it doesn’t keep you from sinking further down the couch until you’re leaning on Jungkook’s shoulder. And like the few times that you have, there’s a comforting feeling in the act. 

“You must’ve made your ex-girlfriends really happy, huh Kook?” You ask, head shuffling near his upper arm. “Focusing on the present and the moments and all that.” 

You wish it was something you did, but Namjoon was just like you. 

“I guess you could say that,” he answers shyly. 

“But that was just it though, right Kook?” Jimin says. “You made them happy but not enough for you to fall in love.”

This prompts you to look at him, wide eyes full of questions. “How come?”

He turns to you and if he tried enough, Jimin right behind you would blur and there’s just you, overhead light illuminating the best parts of your face which is, well, everything. You’re absolutely breathtaking. 

And at your question - how come he never fell in love - comes his own realization. For all of his talk of living in the moment, tucked in the corner of his mind is the thought of the future he’s only ever dreamed about, the one that he’s always wanted, well, with you. 

“I - I actually don’t know.”

Adopting your brother, and by extension Jungkook, isn’t as bad as you expected. Sure, Jimin is still a diva and annoys you just because he wants to, but he makes you laugh more, compliments your cooking more, and encourages you to go out and have fun. Most times you do, but if you’re being honest, you’ve been enjoying time spent with him and Jungkook more.

Your movie and PS5 nights are chaotic and only egos are harmed. You and Jungkook help Jimin with job hunting, monitor his dancing practice, and watch dance videos with him. Two months since the gutter incident, you’ve gone to the park, the beach, and the river, perfected making choco-walnut cookies, and built fairy houses. 

Your days are more tiring yet satisfying, as if your apartment actually feels like a sanctuary, save for Jimin’s provocation leading to your bickering, but even that has become a welcome addition in your daily life as well.

Jungkook though is altogether a different story. You two have gone grocery shopping together more than once, had spent some mornings on a run, and some weeknights he even picks you up from work then you both grab some of Jimin’s favorite food for dinner. 

Those are on top of the many nights you’ve spent drinking whatever in the living room, bidding him goodnight either out the door or on your couch. You’re not exactly sure what to make of the giddiness but you shut down whatever unusual feeling there is before they start to mean anything more.

It started with a missed deadline, then an oversight of a risk, then your workmate Chul getting the last laugh. Sometimes, no matter how good you think things are going, all it takes is an extremely bad week, made up of extremely bad moments, to make you doubt yourself. You think some more, then you end up doubting everything else.

Am I good enough for this job? Can I really make a career here? Is this what I really want? Is this going to make me happy? Why the fuck am I still single? 

It’s the sudden feeling of uncertainty that overwhelms you, that makes you second-guess, and suddenly you’re not as stable and secure as you thought you were. 

It’s this feeling that you carry over the day after at your friend Jin and his wife’s baby shower. Between their growing family, Yoongi’s hit-making record label, Hoseok’s renewed contract as a travel show host, So-Hee’s PhD, and Na-eun’s engagement to her college boyfriend, you feel so… lost. Like you’re just getting by, just letting time pass until there’s something big and meaningful to look forward to again, whatever that is. 

Of course your friends would never make you feel any less. That’s really on you, which is probably worse.

The party is in full swing. Gifts have been given and time has come for full-on socializing where you all get to talk about how great your individual lives are. Except for you. And maybe Eun-ha on the corner, who doesn’t seem to be happy being here, but that’s not your problem. 

Somewhere near the bar is Jungkook, beer in hand and clearly enjoying himself. He’s a staple in events like this and he fits right in with everyone else - self-assured, content, in control, and maybe on his way to a date, seeing as how that pretty girl hasn’t left his side all afternoon. Not that you were monitoring, though. 

For once, you’re actually hoping Jimin was here so you can whine together, but the group he used to choreograph for invited him to their concert, so there’s that. 

You’re on your third glass of champagne when you head inside Jin’s enormous house, away from the laughter and obvious put-together lives of your friends, when you see him, the man who was once your embodiment of stability, of a “good and secure life,” as your parents had said. 

He sees you, flashes his dimple-bearing smile, and walks towards you, looking extremely good in a white polo and denim jacket, brown hair slicked back. 

“___!” He greets, his arms immediately engulfing you in a tight hug, providing you the physical warmth that you haven’t felt in a while. You sigh into him, your head on his firm chest, his now sturdier frame but a reminder of the time that's passed.

You linger, prompting him to gently stroke your back like he used to after a long day at work. 

“You needed this, huh?” He observes, voice low and comforting. 

You release yourself from his hold and look up at him, his sweet smile a contrast to his commanding presence. 

“Unfortunately,” you sigh.

“Boss still not giving you due credit? Colleagues still not making it any easier? Stress still at an all-time high?” He asks, and it’s either he still reads you so well or your problems, or you haven’t changed one bit. 

“You’re just not your usual energetic self,” he continues. “I mean, I haven’t seen your genuine smile since you arrived.”

He’s been watching you? Somehow that sends heat to your cheeks and quickens your heartbeat. 

“Just tired, is all. Plus, Jimin’s been living at home after a little accident,” you finally respond.

His face makes this charming worried expression. “House already a makeshift wrestling ring?” He laughs.

“You’d be surprised at how little damage there is in my apartment. Safe to say we’ve grown up,” you say, a wide smile finally adorning your face, which he returns. You haven’t felt this light the whole week. 

“It’s nice to see you again, Joonie.”

You and Namjoon find a spot in the large living room. With the two-seater couch being the only one available, the physical closeness makes it difficult not to be mesmerized by his gorgeous face. His laugh is still the same, the feel of his hand under yours is still the same; the attention he gives, his thoughtful and wise words, and ability to make you feel cared for haven’t changed. 

You’re smiling more, eyes sparkling for sure, and you can’t help the way your body reacts the way it does - knees chasing his, hand tucking your hair behind your ear, voice going a key higher.

He’s still the same confident and self-assured man that you fell in love with, that you once saw a life with. It’s almost intoxicating, the way he speaks, the way he sees the world and himself. You could easily fall into this again, into the ideal, the safe and secure, the expected, the could be. You think of the reasons why it didn’t work out, of what you chose when you decided to call it quits. 

His phone rings. He excuses himself but you still hear him. And you’re reminded why.

“I’m sure the gown looks beautiful, love. I’ll leave the party soon and meet you and our parents at the wedding planners’ office. See you in a bit.”

Your heart should be breaking but it’s just your pride that does. 

“I’m sorry, it was my uh—” he says, unsure.

“Your fiancé,” you smile, as if reminding him.

“Yeah it’s… it’s pretty recent and we uh… we’re planning to have it in three months,” he explains, eyes turning sullen, lips curling into an apologetic smile.

“Congratulations, Namjoon. I’m so glad you’re happy,” you say, hoping he picks up the sincerity in your voice. 

He sits across from you again, hand on top of yours, his smile hopeful, and for the first time, you see him struggle with what to say. So you don’t give him a chance to.

“What are you still doing here?” You playfully nudge him. “You have somewhere else to be.”

“You’ll be okay?” 

“Of course. Don’t worry about me.”

He lingers this time. Maybe in another life you would’ve worked out, you would’ve loved each other better, you would’ve fought for each other. But not in this. 

He leans forward and places a soft kiss on your forehead and you shut your eyes, absorbing all the words he wishes he could say. I’m sorry. I will always care about you. I hope you find your happiness, too. 

Your eyes follow him as he walks out the door, out to the woman who could definitely give him what you couldn’t. 

From across the room, a pair of eyes follows your movement, too, the way it has since you entered the party four hours ago. 

Whatever worry you initially had about getting drunk at your friend’s baby shower is out the window. You don’t mind anymore, not with your fifth glass of champagne and your three shots of vodka because of course, it’s Jin - he'll never run out of alcohol regardless of the occasion. You laugh along with your friends, although you’re too dazed to process what they’re saying. 

Your jaw is sore from laughing over things you don’t understand so you decide to head inside. You can maybe call it a night and take the drinking back to your place; at least you’d be in your pjs and not in a tight dress and heels.

You’re pulling open a door that just won’t budge and you exert what little energy you have, causing you to trip on yourself only to be held steady by strong hands on your waist.

“That’s a sliding door, ___,” the familiar voice says, tone low but still teasing. 

You turn around and meet chocolate doe-eyes looking down at you and you stare back even in your embarrassment.

“I… I think I’m drunk,” you stutter. 

You’re met with laughter. “No shit, ___. Think I didn’t notice that?”

“I…” You say, looking down at the hands still holding onto you. 

He quickly removes them, worry painting his face and you wave him off before he could apologize.

“Let’s go to a bar, Jungkook.”

You reasoned your decreased alcohol tolerance to your friends, which they didn’t buy but waved you off without much fanfare. They probably sensed you were out of it for a while. Or probably saw the exchange with Namjoon, who knows. 

But you’re now at a bar eating chicken wings and fries like you’re about to run out of food, and the guy next to you is chuckling and reminding you to breathe every once in a while. 

You finish your meal quickly and pout when you realize he’s barely touched his food. 

“You’re not eating,” you state the obvious.

“Sorry, too entertained,” he laughs, the child-like sound now so familiar, you’d recognize it anywhere.

He’s just smiling at you and you feel so small under his gaze. He saw you talking with Namjoon, taking shots, and almost tripping earlier. He’s probably wondering who this person is. Definitely not the one who’s been semi-housing him the past few months.

You bury your face in your hands. “I’m so embarrassed,” you cry out.

“Hey now,” he says, hands gently removing yours from your face. He stops the one tear before it falls off.

“God, how many times have I cried in front of you, Kook? This is humiliating.”

“No one’s counting though,” he states. “It’s your shots I’m counting and I’m thinking maybe you’ve had enough.”

You nod and he orders a can of soda and a glass of water. With light chatter and glasses clinking in the background, you two fall in comfortable silence. He’s quietly picking on his food, eyes roaming the bar while yours flit from him to the space between you, somehow wishing it isn’t as wide as it is right now. 

“I had a bad week,” you finally say. 

He nods in acknowledgment.

“My friends are all accomplishing so many things, achieving their dreams, and I’ve been stuck in the same company for five years where my efforts aren’t being recognized.”

He nods again.

“I’m a 28 year-old who got drunk at a baby shower and flirted with her ex only to find out he’s engaged.” 

Jungkook pretends not to be affected at the confirmation that you were indeed flirting with Namjoon but he nods just the same.

“And?” He asks.

“And? I’m in a bar with you, and I cried, and I’m acting like a baby because I had a terrible week and ended up doubting everything and now think I can’t get my life together. I mean, between my brother I can’t properly help, a job I can’t seem to stand out in no matter how hard I try…” You release a deep breath. “And a relationship I couldn’t keep because I wasn’t enough… I’m so inadequate and—”

“Hey, don’t say that,” he interjects, his tone both reprimanding and worried. “You’re none of those things.”

“I wasn’t sure if I wanted to have kids. And Namjoon always wanted to be a father,” you blurt, the words not stinging the way they used to.

This stuns Jungkook. Jimin had always mentioned it was a mutual breakup but never said anything more. Jungkook didn’t think it was because of this. 

“I thought I wanted a family, too. It was so easy to fall into the idea of that kind of life with him because he was the perfect person to have it with. But then one day I just started doubting it,” you sigh, recalling how hard you used to be on yourself for suddenly wanting something different.

“Sometimes I think, what if I gave myself more time, what if eventually I’d be sure?” You take a long breath. “But the uncertainty was too much and it wasn’t fair to him,” you huff. 

There was no blame game; you both knew it wasn’t anyone’s fault.

“Quite the dealbreaker, huh?” Jungkook wonders.

“Yeah but looking back, the other issues were just bubbling under the surface. The future was so enticing and we talked about it all the time, it seemed much more important than, well, us,” you explain. “It was Jimin who made me realize that I hung onto Namjoon for the relationship, the potential, and what that meant. He was the epitome of stability and I was the same for him but at some point, even that wasn’t enough.”

“So, earlier. Why did you, uhm,” he starts, hoping it doesn’t come out wrong.

“Flirt with him?”

Jungkook nods.

“Being with him used to make me feel like I knew what to do, you know? Like I had it figured out because he did and it was silly but I don’t know, maybe I wanted to trick myself into thinking that by being close to him in any way, I had it together.”

“You don’t need to have it together all the time. You just need to have it together enough,” Jungkook says, his whole body turning towards you.

“You had one bad week. That happens to all of us. But it’s over now, isn’t it?” He continues. “Your friends doing well in their careers? So are you. You know what not to compromise on, what to stand up for, and which battles to fight. I’ve heard enough of your stories to know that there are people at work who respect you and look up to you the way your friends, your brother, and I look up to you.”

Your lips are quivering, as you force yourself not to cry again tonight. He just always knows what to say. 

“That’s really sweet, Jungkook.”

“Thanks, but I wasn’t trying to be sweet. I was just being honest,” he says. “You’re a lot of good things to people, ___. Isn’t that what matters? Being a little off at work and drinking then flirting with an ex don’t make you any less of a person. Okay? You’re allowed to slip up every once in a while.”

You let this sink in and think of all the times that people turned to you, asking what to do and to be taken care of. And he’s right. You had one bad week and you can allow yourself to cry and feel bad and maybe be a bit irresponsible. 

“Look at you, Jeon Jungkook. When did you get this wise? It’s like I just blinked then you’re all of a sudden so grown up,” you tease in an effort to keep yourself from breaking down.

“Like I told you, much of what I know, I got from Jimin. And what he knows, he got from you. Maybe try listening to yourself, yeah?” He smirks.

You nod, a smile creeping on your face the same way all the heat is rushing to your cheeks. You feel comfortable like this, being vulnerable and sad and doubtful. But Jungkook is holding you close without touching you; he’s making you feel safe with just his presence. In the now noisy bar, your bodies are angling towards each other, and with his tender smile, you feel a type of intimacy you’ve never felt before. It’s reassuring yet enticing at the same time. 

You hate to admit how much this scares you, but you shrug it off, not wanting to deal with the thought, given your not-so-sober state.

You both stay for another hour until you decide it’s time to head home. Jungkook took a cab, too, in anticipation of drinking so you both decide to walk back to your apartment, knowing the couple of blocks would be enough to sober you up.

The streets are still alive with the nightlife just starting but the noise starts to tone down once you reach your neighborhood. The long walk is soothing, as Jungkook leaves you to your thoughts, except during the times he has to steady you because, well, your vodka shots are still in your system and a walk isn’t enough to flush them down. Still, you’re calm, a feeling of acceptance overtaking you.

“Thanks for tonight, Jungkook. I hope I didn’t ruin any potential date or anything just because I couldn’t get the door open,” you laugh. 

He raises an eyebrow.

“That, uh, girl seemed really into you,” you stammer. 

He chuckles, hands in his pockets and cheeks flushed at the implication of your observation. 

“That wasn't much, we were just chatting.” He turns to you. “I could see your scrunched eyebrows from where I was and thought you needed help,” he shrugs.

You sigh. He was always helpful, ever since he was a kid. 

“You know, you were always the good guy,” you smile. “Jimin’s other friends were so rowdy and immature. Won-sik was always sprawled on the couch with his feet up like he owned the place; Sung-woon was always finishing our ice cream, and Jong-in was such a flirt.” 

Jungkook laughs, recalling the times you were scolding all of them for messing up the house and being so annoyingly noisy and eating your snacks.

“You were always the well-behaved and mature one. Like, you barely engaged in their pranks and stupid boy talk. You’d rather watch it all unfold until it was too much then you’d help me clean up their mess. You’d even help me in the kitchen. I remember your glazed potatoes. God, that was so hilarious.”

“That was embarrassing,” he shakes his head.

“It was funny! And adorable. You were always so kind.”

“Thanks but uh, I wasn’t trying to be kind. Well, sort of. I wanted to impress you. And I—” 

He doesn’t know where this is coming from but it’s like word vomit, especially now that you’ve started to walk more slowly, with your eyes curiously looking at him. 

“It was an opportunity to be near you,” he manages to say. “Kinda wanted a lot of that back then. Even now, actually.”

You gulp and look away, unsure of what to feel or how to react. You thought you were imagining his lingering looks, or how his eyes shone a tad brighter and his smile was a bit wider when you were around. But he’s not saying what he’s saying, right?

“I, uh. Well, maybe you look up to me like an older—”

“Do not say sister because I never saw you as one,” he interrupts you, frustration laced in his voice as if the word is venom. “Not when I was a teenager, not in the years after, and especially not now.”

You hesitantly turn to him, his nervous face a contrast to the offended tone of his voice just seconds ago. He nibbles on his lips, a mannerism you noticed when he was a teenager who always seemed shy around you and would only relax after you talked to him. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. I didn’t mean to sound angry. I just—”

“That was your angry tone?” You tease, your laugh affirming him that you’re not upset one bit, just… unsure. 

You’re flattered, definitely; he is a very attractive man. Still your brother’s best friend, though.

This eases him, but it prompts him to test the waters.

“I’m a gentle boy, what can I say? Most times, at least,” he says, and you don’t miss the playful tone of this voice, his eyes peering down at you, making your breath hitch and your hands clammy.

You wrap yourself with your arms - really to wipe the sweat off because you’re feeling nervous - but Jungkook takes this differently, as anyone would, and immediately unzips his oversized denim top and puts it on you.

You slow on your tracks and you feel even warmer. He follows your pace but urges you to speed up once he feels a droplet on his cheek. You’re glad you opted to wear low heels today, tiring your calves only a little but allowing you to walk fast enough until you’re on the steps of your apartment in time to miss the sudden downpour.

Well, Jungkook doesn’t because as he enters, a portion of his torso is wet, his black shirt sticking on his skin to tease you of his toned abs that you definitely will be thinking about tonight. Between that, his damp hair, and soaked veiny arm, you curse your mind for the images they’re currently making up. 

All he did was indirectly tell you he has a crush on you, right? Or did he? He doesn’t seem as bothered as you expected him to be if that was the case so maybe you misinterpreted? 

You can’t stand this wet version of him so you say you’ll get him a towel. But your mind is still hazy and you’re also now quite flustered, so you hit the wall as you turn towards the bathroom, eliciting a loud “ow!” 

“You okay?” He asks worriedly.

“Yeah, still drunk I guess,” you lie. 

He smirks and probably knows you’re lying. 

“I’ll take care of myself, don’t worry,” he says, as he quickly enters the bathroom and grabs a towel to dry himself. “Go wash up and get ready for bed.” 

“Are you ordering me around?” You ask, trying your best to reestablish yourself as the one in authority because you can’t take how this man is making you feel nervous and unsettled and not in control. 

“Do you want me to?” He counters, flustering you even more. 

What is with him? 

You roll your eyes and trudge towards the bathroom to clean up. You’re technically sober but with Jungkook’s looks, the sudden flirty tone of his voice, and his innuendos, you might as well be drunk again. 

You open your door and seconds later, he’s by your bedroom, a glass of water in one hand and apple juice in the other. The bottle of aspirin is tucked under his arm by his rib and he asks you to get it. You think he's evil for testing you but you take it and act unbothered. He follows you to your room and you don’t stop him. 

Glasses now on your bedside, you tuck yourself in. “Thank you, Jungkook.”

“For what?”

“For staying with me? Listening to me?” You test the waters, too. “For caring for me?” 

At this, his smugness disappears. Before you is a man, all strong and tough yet his smile is the tiniest, softest you’ve ever seen on him, and even from where you are, you could see the tips of his ears turn red. 

“I really appreciate everything,” you conclude, and you mean it.

He gathers himself before he looks you in the eyes. 

“Don’t worry about it. Anything you need, just tell me,” he says, his voice low and raspy but you know he also means it.

All you’re able to do is nod. 

He turns to you before he closes the door.

“Sleep well, ___.”

You don’t sleep well. In fact, even with the rain pouring outside, you feel so hot, you end up shedding your shorts. 

The closeness with Jungkook has been gradual and if anything, it’s been comfortable. You convince yourself what he has is probably just a little crush; convincing your heart to still is a different story. 

Jungkook, on the other hand, can’t stop smiling. He was testing the waters tonight, gauging how you would react to his flirtation and teasing. It was partly the alcohol but then you’d gone all shy and flustered; he thought it was worth a shot.

He was half expecting you to scold him like you used to do with Jong-in, or berate him like those guys at work but you did neither. You don’t seem to hate him, even with his indirect confession to you, and that’s really better than what he’d hoped. 

You wake up dissatisfied with your sleep and take your hangover necessities; dealing with Jungkook last night did add to your inebriation. 

You head out to the kitchen to prepare some beef bone soup to help with the headache, hands trying to remove the sleep from your eyes. You move like you’re on autopilot like most post-night out mornings and then you hear someone gasp.

“Shit, woman!” Jimin shrieks. “Learn your manners and put some clothes on!”

It wouldn’t have been bothersome had Jungkook not been here but of course, he is. Next to your brother, eyes wide and definitely trying not to look at your bare legs. It dawns on you that you indeed removed your shorts because of that very man and your face contorts in shock and embarrassment.

“Fuck. Jimin! Grab me my shorts on my bed, please!!!” You cry out and stand behind the counter.

Your brother is too scandalized to complain so he rushes to your room and you feel so hot all over. You avoid Jungkook’s face at all costs, which apparently is what he’s also doing.

Jimin throws your shorts on your face. “Get yourself together, jeez,” he scowls.

“You’re the one invading my space, okay, both of you,” you bite back. 

Jimin’s making faces like he always does when you scold him and Jungkook sits next to him, chuckling. 

“I shouldn’t have welcomed you, you brats. I’m used to walking around my apartment in my underwear so this is a lifestyle change.”

“Oh god, shut it. Nobody wants to imagine you without clothes on,” your brother cringes.

For some reason, your eyes find Jungkook, who visibly gulps. You glare at both men, and Jimin responds with an evil smile.

You return to what you were meant to do and start getting ingredients. Jungkook starts to feel bad and mumbles to Jimin that he’ll just help. 

Jungkook stands next to you. “Did you mean that?”

You sigh. “I didn’t. Of course you two are welcome here.”

“I was referring to the other one,” he says with a low voice.

Your eyes widen and you smack his arm. “What is wrong with you? Stop teasing,” you loud-whisper, but he doesn’t miss the way you try to hide your laugh.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” he smirks, and you get flustered even more. 

You’re a 28-year old grown woman getting scandalized over playful comments by this ridiculously good-looking younger man and you feel so pathetic because you can’t deny that it’s exciting you. It’s been a while since you’ve had someone flirt with you and pay attention to you like this, make you all giddy and entranced as if you’re an adolescent getting her first love letter or being told by her crush that she’s pretty.

There’s playfulness there but affection, too. You see it in the way he stops the teasing and smiles to himself, then proceeds to help you cook, looks at you with fondness while you eat, then forces Jimin to clean up with him. 

This continues for the next few weeks. Jungkook’s lingering looks on you are more flirty now and he smirks when you look away and try to hide your flushed face. His tone of voice when Jimin is nearby is lower, as if he’s telling you a secret. 

He no longer stiffens when Jimin moves to the corner of the couch and kicks you closer to Jungkook so that your brother can make space for himself. In fact, it’s the opposite now, with Jungkook finding ways to be near you - when the three of you are on a grocery run, when you’re all on the couch for movie night, and especially when Jimin opts to sit on the floor - shuffling closer, knees grazing each other’s.

You keep your head to yourself, fighting the urge to rest it on Jungkook’s shoulder and he definitely notices this, so he’s started to edge you, in a way. The once lingering finger touches when he hands you something are no more, so are the “accidental” elbow brushes. 

He stands close to you just enough for you to feel the heat off him but not enough to feel him. His arm over your chair leaves his hand thisclose to your shoulder and you swear you can feel the sensation even then. 

You promised to stop smacking him after the time he flexed his bicep and you started to imagine how good those arms must look.

You, however, found out exactly how good those arms look shortly after. He and Jimin convinced you to join them in the gym because Jungkook had a voucher to a free yoga class since a client of his is a teacher. It was safe to say she wasn’t happy when he popped in the studio to say you were taking his slot. Jungkook and Jimin did a workout though, with your brother already in a better condition.

After the session, they made you wait as they finished and Jungkook really had to remove his red hoodie to reveal his stupidly gorgeous toned and tattooed arms in a black fit sleeveless top. He caught you ogling and the devil crossed his arms to fucking flex and smirk when the conversation he was having with one of the trainers didn’t even seem that amusing. 

Of course, his outfit just sent your mind into another dimension with the images of what could be underneath that black top and again, you find out one morning exactly how glorious it is. 

It’s one of those post-bar night mornings - you’ve allowed Jimin to enjoy the nightlife again as long as he had chaperones, which essentially were you and Jungkook. 

You wake up and groggily get out of bed. You stop by the hallway at the sound of someone gasping and you look up from where you are, slack jawed as you watch Jungkook pull his shirt off from the back of his neck with one hand, coffee-stained clothing lying on the counter.

His black sweatpants are hanging low on his hips, with the band of his Calvin Klein boxers peeking out. His tiny waist spreads out to his muscular back, and when he turns, his sculpted chest almost blinds you; pecs just the right perk and torso so taut but not intimidating at all. 

It’s... beautiful. It looks so smooth and captivating; your eyes can’t help but trail down south and— is that black ink that’s peeking underneath the waistband? You gulp at the thought of Jungkook having a hip tattoo because what the fuck? Is he trying to kill you? And his—

“Do you have a shirt I can borrow?” He asks, and you jerk from where you’re standing. 

Your eyes turn to the appropriate body part they should be focused on and he’s smiling like he’s an angel, as if he literally didn’t just try to murder you with his exquisite bare body. 

His smile is so sweet and you know he’s playing you because he totally caught you drooling at the sight of him. Your throat is dry and suddenly you can’t speak, which really isn’t surprising by now because he’s also taken away your ability to form coherent sentences. 

“I, uhm. I’ll get one of Jimin’s.” 

“I don’t fit in his clothes. Don’t you have large ones?”

He knows you do, and you nod, unclench the thighs you didn’t even realize had betrayed you, and retrieve one of your oversized university shirts and approach him. You stay at a safe distance - any closer and you might fall into temptation - and you throw it to him. 

He chuckles and turns to his side to slowly put it on because of course there’s a fucking dent down there that he wants to show off.

You turn and trip on your foot because god knows how dizzy you feel from the show he just put on.

“Careful,” he calls out and even with your back turned, you just know he’s smirking.

He beats you to the bathroom shortly after and he takes his time. You don’t want to imagine what else he could possibly be doing in there.

You decide to wait with your brother who’s been so ecstatic over an audition he landed for a fairly new and small entertainment company as a choreographer for a hip-hop group. 

They told him his contemporary dance background and versatility are just what they need and you soften at his joyful face; he says he feels like a new person again. You listen to him excitedly and give encouragement.

You perk at the sound of the bathroom door opening because you really need to clean the wetness down there. You trudge out of the guest room so you could finally shower, slightly upset at Jungkook’s clothed form. 

You groan. “Ugh, that was so long,” you mindlessly say, only meaning to complain about the time it took him to get himself clean.

“Oh it is.” 

His smirk is back and you are pissed. You bang the door and pull your hair out of frustration. 

He doesn’t even need to touch you for you to be a whimpering mess. He knows it. And you’re in trouble.

Jungkook will be busy for the next two weeks, as he shares that he has a couple of on-site art installations outside of the city and a tattoo piece that will need more than one 5-hour shift. You try not to seem affected when Jimin teases him since it’s going to be on a woman’s breast this time. 

“This the same one who had her vagina tattooed? The one who asked you out after?” Jimin asks.

Your eyes burn your phone screen because you absolutely cannot be affected, so you feign interest and go through Instagram and pretend that other people’s lives are more interesting than the conversation you’re currently privy to.

“Yeah,” Jungkook laughs. “That was fun.”

Jin calling you is your saving grace, and you spend the next hour in your room, talking to him over nursery room ideas because Hoseok couldn’t make up his mind over a bright green or a fuschia pink wall and Yoongi wants dark gray because “babies can’t even identify colors,” which you know is true. And so Jin needed you as the one with a more palatable taste, as is often the case in your friend group, so you convince him to go with beige walls and outer space artworks. 

You’re immersed in your conversation, but you do hear Jungkook knock to say goodbye, which is more than his usual yelling. Still preoccupied, and perhaps still too bothered, you ignore him, and you notice him linger before you hear his steps walk away from your door. 

It’s day five since you’ve last seen Jungkook when you realize why you’ve been so grumpy. And you hate the moment that it dawns on you - you miss him. You’ve gotten so used to seeing him every few days - picking you up from work, playing rock-paper-scissors to determine who’ll choose dinner, laughing at his high-pitched child-like laughter, and talking to him about work and other things. You admit to yourself that you even miss his flirting and teasing. 

He’s been such a staple in your life these past months, and not just to referee between you and Jimin. Jungkook, with his listening ear, his heartwarming passion for his work, and ability to soothe and comfort you in the silence, just feels so stable. And not in the way you used to think. He’s so laid-back and just there, always dependable, like you’re sure that whatever it is you’re feeling, he’ll just know what to do or say. 

Jimin used to say that Jungkook was always the person he needed for anything and now you understand why. He emits a certain calmness, joy, and consistency, like whether you’re flying or drowning, he’s the pillar grounding you or keeping you afloat. 

You’re always tempted to send him a message but you two don’t text and it would be weird to just start now, although it doesn’t help that he doesn’t text you either. You shrug it off and convince yourself that what he feels for you really might just be a silly crush, one he acts on when he’s around you but one he probably forgets when he isn’t. Or maybe he went out with that girl, who knows?

On the day that he arrives, he's set to drive Jimin to the audition and watch him, too, while you’re just happy to be able to do errands and clean the house on your own. 

The doorbell rings and Jimin, whom you’ve reminded to shower so he won’t be late, answers the door. You try not to look intrigued when you hear him rambling about how good Jungkook apparently looks because how else can he look better?

With ash-gray hair, that’s how. You can’t help it. You take a peak and turn your head before he could turn to look at you.

You’re currently by the kitchen counter, tiptoeing to try to get the cereal box on the top shelf to check if you need to buy another or if it would suffice. Or if it’s even still edible. You’ll be off for a quick grocery run once you get this stupid box out.

You’re heaving, as you try to get this over with, until a large hand touches your lower back and the fresh scent of detergent fills your nose. You stiffen as an arm is raised to easily grab the cereal box you’ve spent the past five minutes trying to get and— fuck do you miss his touch. You miss his scent that you realize is just as comforting as his soft sweatshirts. You miss the way you feel a jolt of electricity even at the slightest brush of his body on yours.

He places the box on the counter. “You should’ve asked,” Jungkook says, his voice low.

“I can do it,” you respond, finding the courage to look at him and your lips betray you at how they part because he looks so good with his new hair. 

“I know. I just like it when you ask.” 

He tries to keep his eyes on you but they keep falling to your lips, the one he’s been imagining the feel and taste of. But your eyes lock on his, letting yourself be hypnotized. 

You feel his touch drift away from you and you stop him, as your hand finds his and keeps it on your waist, and it signals him to grip tighter and pull you closer. And you let him. You angle yourself so you’re standing chest to chest, you could almost feel his heart beat just as fast as yours.

“What else do you like?” You ask.

You want to indulge yourself because you just wanna know. You've missed him and you can’t reconcile the flirting with his recent silence.

Jungkook bites his lip, knowing it’s his signal to tell you how he feels.

“I like it when you say my name, when you listen to me talk and take me seriously,” he answers. “I like it when you don’t make me feel bad about the things I do and the things I choose for myself.”

His free hand glides through your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. It settles on your cheek and you bet he could feel just how hot it is.

“I like it when you pout and when you smile with your eyes,” he continues. “And I like it when you need me because then I know I’m not the only one, because fuck do I need you,” he moans, both hands pulling you closer to him until his breath grazes your mouth. 

“Want you so much,” he mumbles, before he eliminates the distance and you feel his soft lips on yours, moving tenderly, carefully, as if the purpose is to seek validation that you feel the same way, to ask your acceptance of the overwhelming affection he has for you. 

Your lips move gently like his, languid yet electrifying and euphoric and you hold onto him for support, just so you won’t lose yourself even more than you already are.

This now feels surreal. You’re not thinking about anything else - not the before or the after - just the feel of him at this very moment and how it’s making you feel alive, carefree, unbound. And you wonder if all your other kisses had felt this good before. Or maybe just different. 

You and Jungkook keep your steady pace, focusing on the soothing feel of each other’s lips, of the sensation of something sensuous and tender.

The aggressive pull of the bathroom door jolts you awake from a dream it seems, and you duck down in panic and crouch on the floor behind the counter before your brother notices anything amiss. Jungkook’s surprised but holds his laugh at how scared you look, the first time he’s seen you be afraid of your brother.

“Kook, has my sister left for the supermarket?” He calls out from his open room, probably dressing as he speaks.

Jungkook looks up to check on Jimin. “Yeah, she just left,” he answers after deciphering your hand gestures from underneath him.

“Ugh, I forgot to tell her to buy my cereal. I think the one on the top shelf isn’t edible anymore.”

Jungkook smirks, thanking the heavens that Jimin didn’t tell you, otherwise Jungkook wouldn’t have had the best kiss of his life. 

He felt you. You moved with him. You felt him. And he can’t be happier.

He has a chance with you. He really has a chance with you, and even at the risk of being caught, he’d do this with you over and over again.

“Let’s go,” Jimin calls out. “I’ll just text her.”

“I’m sure she knows,” Jungkook smirks then heads out, leaving you with a dazed feeling and a heart that won’t slow its beating. 

Your time alone with your thoughts only served to confuse you even more. It felt nice. He felt nice. You never really considered Jungkook as anything more than, well, your brother’s best friend, even if he’s the one you preferred out of all of Jimin’s friends ever since. 

His well-behaved nature and boyish charms were always endearing to you and even when he grew up, his confidence and compassion just amazed you. But it was always from afar. You think it’s the same with him; his affection may just be a little infatuation born out of his idea of you growing up. You’ve learned enough that the idea of a person, of a relationship, of a could be isn’t always enough.

Another thing you think about is that Jimin is very protective of his friendships. You know that more than anyone, when you dated Taemin in high school. 

You were both seniors and had gotten close because he was Jimin’s dance captain and mentor, someone whom your brother looked up to and admired. Your relationship ended during your first year of college, with both of you saying things you eventually regretted. Safe to say it was your first heartbreak, one that resulted in Jimin's as well, as his friendship with your ex-boyfriend was also affected.

You and Jimin barely talked about it, seeing his own disappointment because of the resulting strained relationship with Taemin. You thought that the elder would at least maintain a friendship, but he didn’t. 

The most Jimin said about it was when he told you, eyes downcast but tone quite angry, to “keep off my friends and don’t date any of them, please.” You were home for a break and he stormed out of your room before you could apologize. You realized later on that his heartbreak was worse than yours; you told yourself you don’t want to be the cause of that pained look on his face ever again.

His friends are off-limits, he made it pretty clear. Taemin was a mentor but one Jimin eventually did without. But Jungkook is his best friend, his brother. They’ve looked out for each other for more than half of their lives; you can’t even imagine what would happen if you and Jungkook get together and then fight, or break up. 

You wouldn’t want Jimin to have to give up a friendship that means more to him than anything. Or more accurately, you wouldn’t want to lose Jimin over something that might not mean as much anyway. 

You stick to the latter thought, especially when both men arrive home and Jimin is beaming, his smile something you’ll never admit actually makes your heart feel all sorts of fuzziness and pride. He’s so excited and you feel it, too, moreso because he informs you that he got the job.

“They really liked me! They said I can really mentor the group and their team is so creative and passionate…” 

Jimin goes on, narrating every single thing that happened right as he entered the studio. You’ve never seen him this elated, not even with his previous company that was at the top of their game. 

“And they said I don’t have to work right away! They’ll wait for my doctor’s clearance but I can go to work to observe and get to know the group more.”

Your eyes moisten because not long ago, you saw the joy in your brother wither away, his passion deteriorate, and his plans go on a standstill. But now, it’s like he didn’t go through a slump or moments of weakness, like he didn’t go through a depressive mode when he thought he’d lost everything. He’s really a fighter, and you truly look up to him. 

“I wouldn’t have made it if it wasn’t for you two,” Jimin continues, pulling both of you in a three-way hug because of course your brother wouldn’t hug just you.

This prompts Jungkook to wrap his arm around you, hand gripping your waist while yours settles for mere pats on his lower back. 

He tries not to dwell on this minimal contact, or on the way you purposely avoid his gaze. He tries not to think too much when you actively lean towards your brother more during your dinner out, or how you jerk away when any of Jungkook’s body parts comes in close contact with yours.

He’s thinking maybe you’re not in the mood for his playful antics or maybe, he really pushed too far with the kiss earlier. It sends him in an internal panic mode because just as his hope of starting something more with you was blooming, it quickly gets shot down just like that. 

It’s when you pass up on games and drinks in your living room when you get back so you could just stay in your room does Jungkook think that he may really have blown his chance. And he doesn’t know what to do about it.

You try to be subtle in your avoidance of Jungkook but it’s harder than expected, especially since Jimin still invites him over. With the excitement of the new job now steadying, Jimin announces his checklist for getting through a crisis - healed foot, check; new job, check. That’s pretty much it, really. 

“But I still need you two,” he proclaims.

Jungkook comes over and you notice how he tries. He attempts to catch your gaze, goes near you, engages you in conversation, makes jokes, lingers before leaving… only to be met with eyes that don’t seek him, short answers, forced laughter, and cold goodbyes. And you absolutely hate it. 

He’s around yet you miss him even more than when he was away, but you can’t fall into the things that made you feel something for him in the first place. 

Living with Jimin made you appreciate him so much more, and you’re glad you get to be this close with him for the first time, and you don’t want to jeopardize that. 

Jungkook has much to do with the newfound attachment with your brother, yet it’s exactly why you’re hesitant to give Jungkook a chance. Their relationship is sacred, similar to how yours with Jimin is. What you and Jungkook have is a by-product of those, and it’s not the priority. Somehow you think all three can’t coexist; you can’t have it all, really.

Whenever Jungkook makes an effort, Jimin’s plea to keep off his friends rings in your head. You know, too, that Jimin gave his friends an ultimatum - date my sister or keep your dicks, something like that. It was funny when you heard of it, but it’s definitely not a laughing matter now. 

Those words were said years ago yet they still hang above your head. You wish Jungkook would just make it easier for you, but why is it that when he stops trying does your heart break, as if you’re losing something you never had in the first place?

It’s easy to reason you feel sick and tired; you’ve been spending later hours at work so spending more time in your room and asking the boys to make dinner instead seem reasonable. But tonight, Jimin isn’t having it.

“We’re celebrating, stay here,” he says, pulling you to the couch next to him. 

Jungkook is on his right, his once tendency to stiffen around you back again, and you’re saddened at the thought because he looks so uncomfortable.

“Celebrating what?” You ask, grabbing the beer being handed to you. 

“I’ve been working for two  weeks and I haven’t reinjured my foot,” he says, his smile blinding you.

Normally you’d roll your eyes at his shallowness but you just agree and mindlessly sip the beer, eyes veering off in the distance.

“Is it a guy?” Jimin says out of nowhere and you try not to choke. “You only ever get this sulky when it’s about a guy. Is it someone from work?” Jimin asks with furrowed eyebrows. “Oh! Is it one of your co-managers who’s been trying to ask you out but he’s the ex of one of your friends?” 

You try to remember when you told him about that but it was definitely a months-ago issue. 

“Or did you have an epiphany and realized you actually like Yoongi? Or Hoseok? Or maybe Jin but he’s married?”

“What the hell, Jimin!” You say, smacking his arm. 

Your eyes flit to Jungkook who’s focused on the TV.

“The first one,” you lie to satisfy your brother. 

“It’s kind of a code, you know? He’s So-Hee’s ex and she really loved him and I don’t want to ruin my friendship over something I’m not sure is worth it anyway.”

And with your answer, you see Jungkook’s jaw clench. He knows about So-Hee and the manager; they were merely a fling, so he knows you’re lying.

“How do you know it’s not worth it if you haven’t even tried?” Jimin asks, incredulous.

“I don’t know, it’s just… So-Hee’s my friend and I don’t wanna mess up a friendship.”

“Seems like you don’t trust your friendship with her enough, then,” Jimin states like it’s a fact. 

This hits you more than it should. Do you really not trust in your relationship with your own brother? Surely you have a basis to be hesitant, but if it only it were that simple.

Jimin picks up on your silence and asks again. “How are you and the guy like? Do you have moments with him?”

“Lots of them,” you say, your eyes finding Jungkook just on the other side of the couch, and he’s never felt farther away. “And for the first time it’s like I get to savor them. Whether it’s something sweet that he does, or if we’re just together in silence, or when he’s being flirty.” 

You don’t see it but Jungkook catches you smiling at the thought and god does he wish you’re lying about this one unless it’s about him. He wishes it is.

“Sounds like a keeper if he gets you to enjoy moments, don’t you think? For someone like you?” Jimin says, cocking an eyebrow.

“Like me?”

“You think too much, you know? You plan, you analyze, you manage risks… I mean, yeah sure they help I guess, but this isn’t a job, ___. There’s no profit to be earned here, no losses,” he points out. “The only loss is you, missing out on something good because you’re too focused on what could happen, and not what’s actually happening, right now.” 

He's told you a variation of this before, but somehow this hits differently, and more than it should.

“Did you teach that to Jungkook, too?” You ask, a smile creeping up and you digress because you need anything to stop you from walking to Jungkook and holding him close to you.

“No, he taught me that,” Jimin states. “I know it seems like I teach him a lot - well, all I really told him was to never let anybody dictate what he wants and deserves in life, and I stand by that, but to be clear,” Jimin turns to you, “I learn just as much from him. He’s his own self; nobody tells him what to do.”

It’s all meant to be assuring, comforting even, if only Jimin knew. And if only it were that simple. The tension is suffocating but your brother breathes easy. You love him more than you can ever say and his happiness has meant more to you than you ever imagined. You just wish your own didn’t come at a cost.

A few days later, Jungkook is back at your place. You had quite the reflective week and opted to stay in your room, and you can hear them talking and laughing outside.

Some days you just want to bask in your own thoughts; absorbing yourself in your own emotions helps in figuring out what to do, you’ve realized. You’re still a thinker and a planner - that’s probably never gonna change - but you’re starting to at least let yourself feel and enjoy the now, or something like it. You just wish the person you want to spend your now with hasn’t changed his mind.

It’s almost midnight when you decide to head out, your early dinner long digested and you feel hunger creeping in.

You exit your room and stop in your tracks at the sight of Jungkook in your kitchen, all alone. You definitely weren’t ready for this.

“Oh, I didn’t know you were still here,” you say, regretting it immediately because you didn’t intend on sounding disappointed.

He looks up, alarmed at your presence because he wasn’t expecting this, too.

“Jimin fell asleep on me but don’t worry, I was just about to leave,” he responds, eyes not meeting yours. 

“He’s also gonna be coming over to my place from now on since he’s able. Don’t want you to feel like a prisoner in your own home,” he says, motioning to your room where you’ve been hiding recently. “Since you’re avoiding me and all,” he continues, and you don’t miss the hurt look on his face. 

You mentally give yourself a pep talk because you definitely want him to still come around and you’re definitely being stupid. 

“I… I wasn’t avoiding you,” you say, blocking his way by the couch as he’s about to reach for his jacket.

He stops in front of you, ensuring some distance. 

“Yeah, I guess you weren’t. I mean, you were just not minding me and making sure you stayed as far away from me as possible.”

He’s trying to sound bitter but you’re his weakness and he will always go soft on you because his tender eyes are definitely not a match to his bitter words.

“I just didn’t know what to do. You didn’t exactly say what you felt and—”

“I kissed you, ___,” he interjects, his tone suppressing frustration. “I told you I need you, that I want you. And you kissed me back. The way you looked at me that day, the way you held me… it meant more, I could feel it. So I don’t know how you could just act like none of that happened, like it didn’t matter,” he continues.

“Jungkook… you’re my brother’s bestest friend. And he’s very protective of his friends, of you.” 

And it’s ironic, Jungkook thinks, how Jimin is the reason why you two had met and gotten close; how Jimin’s what got you together but is also who’s keeping you apart.

“He’s also the one who constantly reminds me to go for what I want, to never let anybody tell me what to do,” Jungkook counters.

“Yeah but this is different. I don’t want anything to come in between you two, the same way I don’t want anything to come in between him and me.”

“So it’s okay for him to come in between us? You really think he’d be okay with that? That he’d keep the two people he loves the most from being together? From being happy?”

And you hate that he’s right.

“What Jimin is to us is out of our control,” he states. “But that shouldn’t be why we can’t try, right? Because god I’ve wanted you since I was 15 and and I’ve waited too long for this and I’d either fight for us or keep us a secret, I don’t care. Just don’t lie to me, please.”

By now he’s standing in front of you, eyes focused on yours. He could pin you against the armrest if he wanted to but he’s keeping his hands to himself, fists clenched at the control he’s trying to maintain because of his intense feelings for you. He’d make you feel it all too, if you just let him.

You can move away if you want; there’s definitely space for it. But you don’t. Jungkook bared everything to you, braving through just to be with you; the least you could do is be honest. So with your own strength, you look up at him. 

“You made me fall for the moments, Jungkook. You made me fall for you, and there were so many things to consider and I—”

Your rear hits the armrest, as you’d reflexively walked back as he started to move towards you, slowly eliminating the distance. His arms, caging you, are propped on the couch to support his spread out frame, his face now leveled with yours. You’re burning with how he’s looking at you with so much hope and yearning.

“Go on,” he says, voice low, his eyes wandering all over your face and you feel your heat dampen with just his gaze. 

“I didn’t know what to do with what I’ve started to feel for you because you were off-limits but that didn’t keep me from wanting you and—”

His lips graze the side of your neck and with your breath hitching, he proceeds. Open-mouth kisses trail your skin, with just enough wetness and just enough heat to leave you wanting more. You angle your neck for more access, prompting him to smirk at how you’re slowly giving in. 

“And what?” He urges you, mouth focusing on the other side of your neck now, head nudging yours to adjust. 

“And I avoided you because—”

You grip the couch for support, as you unravel with his hot breath on your skin.

“That seemed easier than to keep at what we were doing, knowing that—”

He licks a sensitive part by your ear and your strangled moan spurs him on. 

“I couldn’t have you the way I wanted to.” 

At this, he stops. 

He focuses his gaze on you again. Jungkook holds onto the tiniest shred of self-control he has left just so he can savor you like this, with your emotions unraveling and your body falling apart before him. 

“How exactly do you want me?”

You steady your breath and as much as you want to give in to your carnal desire and attack his lips, you want him to know how much this means to you. You’re still scared but being with Jungkook steadies you; he makes it all feel worth it.

You’re crossing this line now, and you’ll stick with him whether you’ll both come clean or keep it a secret. He wants you enough right now; you’ll figure out what to do eventually. 

Your hand finds his face and your fingers trace the scar on his cheek. You let yourself drown in his beautiful eyes, knowing on clear nights you could see galaxies as beautiful as this. 

“I want you close, Jungkook. I want you to hold me - when I’m sad, happy, angry, confused. I want to hold you that way, too. I want to savor every moment and let you know how much I want more of those with you, everyday.”

Your featherlight touches on his jaw send shivers all over his body and he hums at the sensation. You caress his lips before he could bite them again, palming him with your thumb and feeling its softness.

“I want you to fall apart under my touch, want to make you feel good, kiss you like it’s always the last time.”

Jungkook thinks he deserves a prize for how well he’s keeping himself together and not yet taking you on this couch like his dick is telling him to. But he needed to hear all that, needed to look in your eyes while you said them.

Then you smile at him, eyes filled with desire, and that’s all it takes for him to lose his resolve and plunge into you, your plush lips against his soft ones, melding together again like a literal dream. He straightens his stance so his hands can cup your face and he feels you smile in the kiss, relishing in the care and attention he’s giving.

It starts tenderly then quickly turns heated, his eager hands trailing down your arms and waist, and your own entangling his hair, pulling the strands as he nips your lips, prompting them to open. 

Your tongues explore each other’s mouths, his lingering taste of root beer somehow making him more addictive. You swallow each other’s sounds, both of you still having half a mind to tone down, knowing that only a wall separates your wanton moans and your sleeping brother.

His grip around you tightens and you pull him closer, your hands now around his neck, fingers thumbing his cheeks and you’re losing yourself to him, as the past few months of undeniable attraction and sexual tension climaxing at this moment where you finally give in to what you’ve been trying to suppress.

Jungkook, on the other hand, feels a sense of calm even with his hard dick and his thumping heart because he’s dreamed of this, dreamed of you, and you’re here wanting him, too. All the memories of watching you from afar, blushing at how beautiful you are, missing you when you were away, heart breaking at how happy you were with someone else, fly by him like a movie because he’s got his ending - you. 

He’s lived for moments most of his life and always knew to savor them, to bask in them because he doesn’t know when he’ll get to have those again. But nothing comes close to right now with you and he decides to make sure he’ll have you like this everyday. 

Both your actions continue, hands stationary but mouths eagerly moving against each other, stopping momentarily for air but smiling, laughing in the kiss.

You give in first, fingers slowly trailing down to graze at his chest and he shivers, curses mid-kiss and you giggle. He’s on cloud 9 again, realizing he can hear the beautiful sound that is your laughter everyday. 

Suddenly it’s all thoughts of what’s ahead for both of you, imagining what that would be like - feeling, holding, touching each other. You’re so lost in your little world, your mind traveling from now to tomorrow and it’s exciting, so incredibly alluring to be savoring this moment but also thinking about the next. 

You’re light-headed now because kissing him is like a drug, soothing yet exhilarating at the same time and you’re aching to feel him. 

“Jungkook…” You whine. 

And then.

“HOLY SHIT,” you hear a gasp.

Your eyes burst open and you feel Jungkook stiffen before you try to push him away. You both still, looking at each other, some distance now between you, and you can hear a pin drop with how quiet it is, the tension so thick that you’re afraid to move. 

You knew at one point you’re gonna have to tell Jimin but it definitely wasn’t going be right now and definitely not in the middle of a fucking make-out session.

“Is this a hookup or are you both finally out of your asses and would actually like to properly date because god knows it’s about time?”

You and Jungkook slowly turn to the side, eyes wide at your brother who’s leaning by the wall, checking his nails as if he didn’t just give you a heart attack.

“WHAT?” You ask.

“Jungkook’s been into you since forever but he never had the fucking guts to do anything.” Jimin sighs and rolls his eyes at the man. “You’re not exactly subtle with your staring.”

Jungkook can’t seem to wrap his head around what's happening because his mouth keeps moving but no sound comes out.

“Neither are you,” Jimin eyes you this time. “You forget I’m good with reading people. And also, I’m literally friends with So-Hee. She doesn’t even remember that guy,” he laughs because of course Jimin would know. 

You feel so stupid; you should’ve known your sassy brother was trying to catch you in a lie when he asked if your sulking was “because of a guy.”

“So you’ve always known?” Jungkook finally finds his voice.

“About you, duh. She’s recent,” Jimin points to you. “It’s like, one moment you’re friendly then you’re flirty then it’s like you can’t stand each other. Get your shit together, people. I’m literally right here.”

God, you and Jungkook were definitely not subtle. You both underestimated your brother, too.

“So you’re not mad?” You confirm.

“No.”

“But… you said you were gonna cut my dick off,” Jungkook stammers.

“And you told me to keep off your friends because of Taemin,” you add. “You stopped being friends because of me,” you remind him, voice almost a whisper.

Jimin takes a deep breath because now he has to come clean.

“We stopped being friends because of him. He hurt you, ___, and you didn’t deserve that,” he admits, avoiding your questioning gaze. “I heard you crying to Jin about what happened and I got angry and wanted you to stay away from my friends because they were all assholes.” He continues, jaw clenched at the memory. “Well, except for him,” he cocks his head towards Jungkook. 

“He was the only good guy. I never really minded if he went for you because... Iknowhe’lltreatyouwellandyoudeservethat,” Jimin says.

And you’re not gonna lie, you feel like crying. Jimin’s been trying to protect you all this time. 

Jungkook, on the other hand, isn’t taking this all too well.

“You said you were gonna cut my dick off…” He says again, tone low and unbelieving.

“That didn’t stop you, did it?” Jimin counters, earning him a sigh of defeat because he has a point. 

“I just wanted it to happen naturally,” he explains. “I mean, I didn’t plan on getting heartbroken, injured, unemployed, then homeless all at once but it happened and you both helped me and that unintentionally brought you together and I…” 

He turns to you both. “I realized how good you are together. Not just in taking care of me but in taking care of each other, too.”

By this time, Jungkook has found his feet and is now standing next to you, his fingers intertwining with yours. You let out a laugh because this whole time, Jimin wasn’t in the dark. But then again, he’s a smart ass, too, and he would’ve figured it out at some point.

And would also push it. “I actually got over Taehyung months ago so like, I’ve been okay for a while,” he shrugs.

And just like that, he gets on your nerves again because that’s how he’s been getting his way, by reminding you of his “broken heart that’s still hurting.” 

“You little bitch! Do you also have a new apartment now and you’re not telling me?!” You shriek, and Jungkook next to you is finally laughing. 

“Oh no,” Jimin responds. “I’m really still homeless.”

And he smiles his sickly sweet smile and you can’t help but mirror it. Your brother is really something, and you don’t know what you’d do without him.

Some seconds pass and you’re just all basking in this moment because for the first time in months, it really feels like things are looking out for all of you.

“So in that case,” Jungkook turns to you, “would you like to go on a date with me?” 

With hopeful eyes staring at you, he feels the weight lifted off his shoulder now that he doesn’t need to hide anything from his best friend. He can just focus on falling in love with you and making you do the same. 

“Yes,” you excitedly reply, hand trailing up his chest again. “And in that case, would you like to continue this in my bedroom?”

Jungkook feels his dick twitch. “Fuck, yes.”

“Guess I’m gonna have to sleep on the couch now,” Jimin groans, but you don’t miss his playful tone. “You’re both welcome, idiots.”

You’re pushed to the wall right as the door closes and Jungkook’s lips meet yours immediately. It tastes much sweeter knowing there’s no need to hide nor to be careful. It’s liberating and it’s making you feel more.

He kisses you harshly as his hands make quick work of your shirt. He pulls them off then slowly kneels down in tandem with his mouth sucking, licking, and kissing down your breasts, then your torso, causing your chest to heave at the pleasure from just his mouth.

His hands aggressively pull down your bottoms and his tongue finds your clit before you can even process his action. He’s nibbling your bud and laving at your lips and pumping his fingers in you all at once, you don’t know where to focus. 

You feel the desperation and intensity with every move, the sensation overwhelming and eliciting lewd sounds from you. He alternates between moaning and cursing on your cunt and that just adds to the pleasure.

“Eager, aren’t we?” You ask with a smirk.

“You have no idea,” he responds, head buried between your thighs, one of which is currently resting on his shoulder. “Some of my wet dreams may have been because of you.”

“What the fuck Jungkook!”

“I was a growing boy with raging teen hormones!” He says in between breaths. 

But he doesn’t relent. Fingers curling in your hole, tongue swirling on your clit, and hand squeezing your ass, he’s determined to make you cum now, and with a hard suck, you do. 

You jerk away at the oversensitivity with his mouth still on you and you pull him up to give him a kiss, tasting yourself on him.

At the sight of you bare, eyes half-lidded and steadying breath, he stills.

“Is everything okay?” You ask.

“Yeah I just…” He starts, stepping back a bit, and his eyes roam your body, a soft smile forming on his face. “I never thought I’d get to have you like this. I always admired you from afar and you always felt so out of reach and I…”

“Jungkook,” you stop him. “I’m here with you right now, barely any distance. I’m not your best friend’s sister, okay?” Your hand reaches out to him and he takes it, letting you pull him closer. “I’m the girl you like, the one you’ll take out on a date after you fuck her senseless. Got it?”

“Y-yeah,” he stammers, a shy laugh escaping him. 

You kiss him softly. “No need to admire me from a distance anymore. You have me, right here.”

“Okay.”

And before he can attack you again, you lead him towards your bed. Your fingers pull the waistband of his sweats as you sit on the edge and look up at him, wide eyes eager for something.

“Shirt off,” you say, and he follows.

Your eyes meet your hands that are slowly ridding him of his remaining clothing and you swear you could come again at the sight of the tiger lily tattoo resting on his hip. It curves with his defined v-line, the stem trailing downward, like some pathway to his throbbing dick.

You take him in your hands and he bucks at the feel of your soft skin around his length that’s aching to be inside you. Your eyes stay on the tattoo; something about it is so hot and you kiss it, your lips then exploring the expanse of his hip and up to the part of his torso that you can reach, feeling the ridges of his definitely smooth abs that are now tensing at the sensation. 

All the while, your hand is stroking his thick member, up and down as you continue kissing and licking his pelvis and just like this, he already tastes so good. He grunts with your movements, his head falling back at the intense pleasure. His hands fall to your hair as you take him in, your tongue traversing his dick, causing your heat to clench at the salty taste of cum and the feel of his veins as his shaft twitches in your mouth.

At the vibration caused by your moan, he stops you, removes himself from you and then lays half your body down on the edge of the bed. 

“My turn,” he says smugly.

You’re about to protest but he swirls his tongue all over your cunt again, the pad of his thumb flicking your nub and you moan his name instead. You haven’t fully recovered from your first orgasm yet but he seems determined to give you another one. He’s eating you like a man starved, as if he plans to slurp you dry.

“More, Jungkook,” you breathe out.

Before you know it, he’s removing himself for you, pumps his dick, then after seeking consent, he thrusts into you, raw. The stretch overwhelms you but it’s so, so good. 

He quickly adjusts and spreads your legs open for his easy access and the view. He growls at the supple flesh that's taking him so well. It’s so erotic, watching himself go in and out of you like this, then hearing your deliciously hypnotic moans get louder as his hands start kneading your breasts like it’s some dough he’s molding to his liking, with his fingers flicking the hardened nipples.

“You feel so fucking heavenly, ___,” he pants. “Fuck, fuck. Can’t believe you’re mine.”

“All yours, Kook,” you respond, delirious now because his movements are sending you to another dimension. “Fuck me harder,” you beg, and he follows. 

He adjusts again, flushing your legs against your chest and the angle in which his dick hits your sweet spot causes your eyes to roll to the back of your head. 

You’re screaming expletives and it’s just urging him to go harder, deeper, faster, his sweat trickling down his temples and forming on his chest.

“Come for me, baby. I need to feel you,” he huffs. 

He’s in a frenzied state and he’s losing himself in you, his mouth now parted as he joins your filthy wails that are in tune with the sound of skin slapping on skin. 

You feel your body spasm and you call out his name before you give in, your heart stopping for a moment. 

He feels the stream of your cum coat his dick that’s he’s just savoring a bit more. But you clench and it’s all it takes, his own seed spurting inside you. Your back arches as he comes down from his high, and he languidly kisses your breasts, one hand around your lifted waist and the other, intertwining your hand. 

“Fuck, you feel so good. So much better than I imagined,” he utters, sounding so winded at the intensity of his orgasm.

He’s too tired to even move, his body now resting on top of you, chest heaving and bated breaths escaping him. You massage his head and he moans even at that and you laugh but soften at the intimacy of it all.

He finally gets himself off you and you chuckle as he sneakily opens the door and tiptoes to the bathroom, careful not to be caught naked by your brother. He returns with a wet towel, wipes you, then lays next to you, his arm secured around your waist.

He’s smiling so fondly, lips now peppering kisses all over your face. “You’re stuck with me,” he states.

“Nowhere I'd rather be,” you reply, your own soft kiss now turning greedy again, and you think it’s gonna be a long night.

You wake up tired but you’re not complaining. It was quite the evening, after all, and you’re reminded by the fluff of gray hair adorning your chest. Jungkook likes to cuddle, you’ve learned, and he couldn’t sleep without a part of his body touching you. 

You release from his hold and head to the kitchen after washing up, not expecting your brother to already be eating his cereal.

“Oh my god, can you wear shorts?” He huffs. 

“Bitch, you’re in my apartment,” you bite back, laughing at the face he makes. 

Your front is to the counter when Jungkook approaches and unlike before, he heads to you, wraps his arms around your waist from behind, then places a kiss on your cheek. 

“Good morning,” he greets.

His voice is hoarse and you hold back a moan. It just brings you back to last night when, after you came the second time, he fucked you softly for your third, then fucked you hard for your fourth, then softly again this morning for your extended fifth. God, this man will be the death of you. 

He nuzzles your neck and you giggle.

“Manners, you two. You’re like teenagers,” Jimin scowls.

“Well, I am living my teenage dream,” Jungkook announces. 

Jimin grimaces but softens at the look of his two favorite people looking so happy. “Okay, this is gonna take some getting used to.”

You and Jungkook playfully nod in agreement.

“Also,” he turns to Jungkook, who’s now managed to tear himself away from you. “Are you gonna be here again tonight because you know, I kinda wanna sleep on a bed and all. Couch is great but like, not again.”

“You better find your own place soon if you don’t want to keep sleeping there every night,” you reply smugly.

“Okay, now gross!” Jimin, dramatic as always, pretend-gags at the implication. “I’m gonna look for places. Jungkook, you’re still my best friend. We’re going apartment hunting tomorrow.”

“But…” You start.

“No. Nuh-uh. You had him last night and you’re going out on a date today. You need to share my best friend.”

And you all laugh at him throwing a tantrum. He and Jungkook start to bicker and you walk towards your room to grab shorts because it really is awkward without it when your brother is there. 

The doorbell rings as you’re about to walk back and you open the door, the sight before you causing a surprised look on your face to form.

“Hi, is Jimin there?” The person asks.

You head back to the kitchen, your guest in tow and you call out to your brother.

“Chim, someone’s looking for you.”

Jimin looks up and almost falls off the chair.

“Taehyung?” He says, trying to mask the nervous tone of his voice. “I…”

“I have something to confess,” Taehyung cuts him off, his eyes nervous but hopeful. “Can we, uhm, maybe talk somewhere else?” 

Jimin nods and quickly follows him out.

You walk back to Jungkook and he tugs you close, hands back to your waist. “What’s that about?” 

You bite back an excited squeal as you think back to what Taehyung told you at the door. 

“Let’s just say, you might not need to help Jimin look for an apartment anymore,” you respond. 

Jungkook smiles and pulls you in for a hug, reveling in this absolutely perfect moment. 

“You Park siblings drive me crazy, you know that? And you two make me so damn happy.”

masterlist

[dreams-of-yunho]

my aurora

idol! yunho x reader

rating: m

genre: fluffy and smutty

w.c.: 2k

warnings: unprotected sex!!!, oral (fem r)

summary: Interrupting your reading, Yunho proposes a game: Eat you out while you sing his group's new song, Aurora.

__________________________________________________________

The dim glow of your book light shone brightly against the pale moon’s gleam. Laying curled utop the fluffy mattress and pillows, the smell of fresh detergent and new book hung in the air. Yunho told you he would be late tonight, that they were finally going to finish recording, that you shouldn’t wait, but you weren’t still awake for him. These were the final hundred pages of the last book of an eight book series-- a lot of hours lead to this moment. It was bitter sweet, these last pages. You were speeding through them to finally finish the plot but, after this, it would be over. But you had to know how it would end.

From outside the bedroom, you could hear the opening and closing of the front door followed by heavy footsteps. “Baby,” a deep voice called.

“Yeah,” you half heartedly replied, still engrossed in your novel.

“What are you doing up?” he asked, coming through the bedroom door. “I could see your reading light; it’s almost 2.” You could see him in your peripheral vision: he stood tall, hands on his hips, loose clothing hanging off his build frame.

“I’m finishing this book,” you said, trying to remain focused on the words on the page.

He chuckled lightly, his voice a little raspy from the recording session he had just finished. “Aren’t you tired?” He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.

“No,” you replied.

“Hmm,” he hummed and you could hear him walk towards the closet, the dull sound of clothing falling to the floor behind him.

He emerged from the closet as you turned a page. “Hey,” he stood in front of you: shirtless and divine.

“What?” you rolled onto your back to read more comfortably.

“What do I have to do,” you felt the bed cave as he climbed on. “To get you to look away from that book?”

You didn’t respond as things in your story were finally coming together.

He sighed heavily against the skin of your lower leg.

“Yunho,” you giggled as he began to kiss up your legs. “I know you’re excited about the song, but I really want to finish this book first.”

“Come on,” he crawled up your body, leaving kisses on your collar bones as you held the book above his head. “It’ll be fun,” he said with a cloy tone.

“It’s always fun,” you said, rereading the same paragraph for the third time. “It’ll be fun in thirty minutes.”

“No,” he came face-to-face with you. “I mean fun fun. I have a game.”

Your eyes froze on the page behind him. Yunho was a fun loving guy both in and out of the bedroom. Sex with him was always carefree and full of love but-- a game? That was new.

“A game?” You asked, keeping your eyes on the page though not reading the words.

“I knew that would get you,” he breathed against your neck. “Yes, a game.”

“What kind of game?”

“Ahh,” he tapped a finger against your jaw. “You’ll have to put the book down to find out.”

Damn your curiosity; you dropped the book without even saving your page.

“Hey, sexy” he winked.

“Gross,” you pushed his face away. “Now tell me the game.”

“You’re gross,” he muttered but sat up next to you. “So, here's what I’m thinking: I'm going to eat you out while you sing a specific song. If you sing the whole song, I’ll make you come.”

Blood definitely rushed into your cheeks. He said it so nonchalantly, like he was ordering a coffee. And what was that if part?”

“If?” you asked. He had never held an orgasm from you. He was selfless during sex, always about pleasing you.

“If,” the syllable rolled off his lips. “You can’t finish the song, I won’t let you come.”

“What do you get out of this?” You asked, confused by his motives.

“Nothing but your taste and voice.” The look he gave you was almost sickeningly sweet.  And he always looked at you like this before he went down on you: such anticipation and excitement, like you were his favorite flavour of ice cream on a blistering summer day. “So… yes?” His eyes softened into his killer puppy dog beg. Oh, those eyes, you always wanted to kiss him when he looked at you with those eyes.

He leaned into you as he noticed your gaze on his lips.

“What song?” You whispered as the gap closed.

“Aurora,” he spoke against your lips.

“Hmm,” you hummed, having a feeling of foreboding from this song choice. He seemed too cocky as he smiled into the kiss. But this kiss was so intoxicating and the feeling of his hands on your hips so perfect. “Okay,” you broke away.

“Okay,” he said with immense satisfaction, trying to conceal the grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth.

His hands gripped your hips tighter as he pulled you down the bed, resting you now flat on your back. He sat on top of you, his weight pressing down on your thighs. Delicately, he placed his lips on yours as his hands hungrily groped at the skin beneath your sleep shirt. Warm hands tugged at the fabric and pulled it over your head. His wet tongue fell to the valley between your tits as his hands reached for the waistband of your shorts. With one sharp tug, your shorts and panties were on the floor.

As he came up from your breast to kiss you, you reached for the bulge in his pants but he quickly pulled away. “Uh uh uh,” he spoke disapprovingly. “That’s not part of the game.”

“Can we make it part of the game?” You tried to mimic Yunho’s puppy eyes.

“Nope,” he responded before you even finished your sentence. It never worked on him. “Start singing.”

You opened your mouth but your breath hitched as you saw Yunho lowering his face to your pussy. “I won’t do it if you don’t sing.” He looked up at you with a smirk.

“You go first.”

“Okay,” he chuckled and you could feel his breath against your clit making your walls clench. “Fine.”

His lips were warm but chapped. They moved gently as he kissed pepperd butterfly kisses on the lips of your pussy.

Shakily you took a deep breath and began to sing. You weren’t a particularly good singer but, Yuhno always loved to hear your pitchy voice-- especially if it was his group’s song you sang off key.

You were half way through the first verse when he added a finger, causing you to moan loudly.

“Keep going, baby, or you’ll have to start over,” he spoke against your clit, leaving you squirming from the vibration of his voice.

“I-i,” you struggled to remember the lyrics as pleasure muddled your thoughts. “I don’t remember where I was.”

“You’re going to have to start over then.”

You would have wriggled away from him if his forearm wasn’t pinning you to the mattress, his breath made you see stars.

His tongue swiped over your clit as you choked out the first lines again. His pace quickened with each line leaving you tongue tied. You barely made it to the chorus-- 나를 감싸줘 My Aurora, leaving your lips as nothing but a whisper.

“y/n,” he raised his chin and you watched with shaky eyes as he licked his lips. “I can’t hear your beautiful voice. Are you going to sing louder?”

You nodded your head eagerly, continuing where you had left off with the chorus.

A second finger entered you as you began the second verse, forming a knot in your stomach. The words couldn’t come to mind and the only thing that escaped your lips was a low, continuous moan that came from deep in your chest.

He removed his lips and raised his dark eyes to meet yours, dull nails lightly grazing the outside of your upper thigh. “Start over, baby,”

“Yunho,” you desperately ran your hands through your tangled hair, terribly frustrated by this little game. “I can’t think straight. I don’t even know the lyrics without your mouth-”

“앞에 펼쳐진,” he cut you off, dropping his head back down between your trembling legs.

The original confidence you had when he walked through that bedroom door and proposed this little game completely melted into the sheets you fisted in your now white hands. These first couple lines you could handle, they were Yunho’s lines-- he sang them all the time: in the shower, doing the dishes, folding laundry. And now, he sang them against your vagina. Yet, the lyrics melted your brain, you couldn’t even register the sound of your own voice. Though, you imagined you weren’t saying much of anything.

“Yunho,” you gripped his hair, pulling his head up. “Please, just fuck me. I can’t take this anymore. I’ll never remember all the lyrics and you’ll eat so much of me you’ll never want to eat me out again.”

“But, y/n,” he pouted. “I would never be sick of you.”

“Please,” you flashed the puppy dog eyes again and, this time, it worked.

“Okay, baby,” he said, climbing up your body.

As fluffy as ever, he smiled as he kissed you. “I love you, y/n,” he placed his forehead against yours.

“I love you too, silly boy,” you fiddled with the hair at the base of his neck. “Now, please fuck me so I can finish my book.”

He laughed, leaning back on his heels as he pulled down his pants.

He eased into you slowly, your walls already clenching from the extreme arousal. “I don’t think I’m going to last long,” he said with a moan. “You feel too good.”

“me neither,” you whined, not even able to relax enough for Yunho to bottom out. His dick throbbed too deliciously against your walls.

“I’m going to move,” his hips shuttered as his head fell to your chest.

“Please, move,” you moaned, now digging your nails into his neck.

His pace started out slow, a light gunt leaving his lips with each thrust. Your hands entangled in his hair, tugging lightly, desperate for his lips.

You pulled at his hair but his lips remained fixed on your collar bone. “Yunho,” you whined.

Lustfully, he licked up the side of your neck, his lips coming to rest on your jaw. His hips became erratic as he sucked on your jaw.

“Yunho,” you grabbed at his face. “Please kiss me.”

He mumbled something against your skin as a hand reached for your leg, pulling it up his back, shifting the angle of his thrusts.

“W-what,” you choked.

Tears began to well in the corners of your eyes, the pleasure almost unbearable. Your climax was fast approaching as the knot grew so tight, it could snap at any moment.

“Come,” he said, crashing his lips onto yours.

Your walls were painted white, his hips continuing to fuck the warm cum into you as he kissed you. Fluttering fingers met your clit and your orgasm tore through you like a lightning bolt, leaving your mouth hung in a silent screen. A shiver ran through your whole body when he pulled out.

Yunho dropped to his side, face still buried in your neck, hot breaths against your skin as he caught his breath. “Are your legs okay?” He rubbed your lower stomach lovingly.

“Mhm,” you hummed. “But,” you pulled your legs up, the pain making you wince. “Could you carry me to the bathroom, please?”

“Yeah, baby,” he shifted and stood, reaching his arms under your sore body and pulling you close to his chest. You could feel the cum leak out of you and down his forearm.

He helped you clean up and left you sitting on the bathroom counter to brush your teeth as he changed the sheets.

It was a warm night and Yunho slept shirtless and you could hear the echo of his heart beating like a drum against his ribs. “You’re not going to finish your book?” He asked, stroking your hair as your head laid on his chest.

“I can’t keep my eyes open.”

“Me neither,” he sighed.

As you drifted to sleep, the gentle sound of the fan and the soothing melody of Yunho’s voice cooled your body and stilled your mind.

[alice-angel12x]

Vil x Reader x Neige pt.2

The VDC festival is coming soon and Vil was hard at work to perfect his perfect team. As Y/n sat in the judge's seat and drew in their sketchbook, Ace commented on how Y/n wasn't even paying attention.

"Ace, your form was horrible, and you were a few seconds behind everyone else," Y/n said as they looked up from their book.

"Y/n is right rooky #1," Vil said as he tried to fix Ace's stance," Y/n could you be a dear and get us some water?"

"Alright," Y/n smiled as they got up from their seat and left the ballroom.

"Guys check this out, that bird brain is a really good artist," Grimm said as he flipped through Y/n's book.

"H-hey Grimm doesn't do that," Yuu panicked as he pulled the book away.

"Wow, Grimm was right. That birdbrain really is an artist," Ace said as he grabbed the book.

"Wow, they really have an eye for detail," Kalim awed.

"Yes, our monsieur le Roi du Ciel is extremely talented. They are well on their way to being a master artist. Such a rare beauty," Rook smiled.

"This book is almost filled with drawings of Vil," Deuce commented.

"That's because Monsieur le Roi du Ciel's muse is the beautiful Vil himself. And I believe Vil enjoys that," Rook whispered to the group.

"Rook, Stop spilling such rubbish," Vil sighed as continued to admire Y/n's work.

As the group flipped through the pages filled with drawings of Vil, they soon came to an almost finished drawing of Y/n and Neige. A photo reference was clipped at the corner. Vil gasped silently as his body tensed in jealousy, he glared at the filtered photo of his Y/n being all close and friendly with his rival.

'Neige, why must you always be the one to take everything from me?!' Vil growled to himself. _________

As Y/n grabbed a bottled water from the vending machine, they felt their Phone vibrate in their pocket. Pulled out their phone, they quickly recognized that it was Neige.

"Hello Neige," Y/n smiled as they held the phone between their ear and shoulder.

"Hi, Y/n. Sorry if I'm calling at the worst time, but I just really wanted to talk to you again," Neige said from the other side.

"Neige, we hung out a week ago, and VDC is coming soon, And your Career keeps you busy," Y/n smiled.

"I just really miss You. Do you think it's possible to hang out again?" Neige asked.

"I don't know. Hey, why don't we hang out at VDC, and check out the stalls before the performances start?" Y/n asked.

"Yeah I would like that, but there is a practice I have to attend to first. Meet there at the Purple stage?" Neige asked.

"Yeah, I'll see you then," Y/n smiled as they hung up.

___________

Neige sighed as he laid on his bed after the call, he could feel his heart flutter at the sound Of Y/n's voice so close to his ear. Neige smiled as he looked through Y/n's magical account to see if they posted any new works and videos. As he looked through at all of Y/n's beautiful work, something caught his attention. It was a photo that was posted a couple of days ago. In it was Y/n, sitting on a chair, holding a finished portrait painting of Vil. Behind Y/n was Vil himself, as he was resting his forearms on Y/n's shoulders.

Neige's eyes soon landed on the description.

I was lucky enough that the beautiful Vil Schoenheit was willing to lend me some of his time to make this lovely painting of him. I'm glad I was able to work with the fairest.

Something about that made Neige's heart sink a little as he reread the words over. He held the photo of him and Y/n close to his chest as he felt his heartache.

"I'm sure they're my prince charming," he mumbled to himself.

___________

"Vil and Neige had been acting strange, well maybe a bit off as of late. Vil for one has been a bit cold to me as of late. He didn't even want me drawing. He didn't even really want to look at me, while Neige has ghosted me completely. And I don't even know why," Y/n sighed as they ate their salad," And after the final practice, Neige didn't even want to hang out as we planned.

"Maybe, cause the VDC stress is getting to them. So they are mostly focusing on their performances," Yuu suggested.

"That may be the case," Y/n sighed.

Y/n was ordered to create the VDC trophy for the event, they would even be the ones to hand the winners the trophy as well. The two quickly ran to the purple stage for the last practice before the real deal, Team vil became a well-oiled machine and their song was amazing.

"You all Did amazing you guys," Y/n smiled as they handed them a bottle of Epel's apple juice.

They all happily thanked them, while Vil Merely passed Y/n, and ignoring them. Y/n sighed sadly as he made room for Neige and his friends to pass, Y/n smiled as Neige smiled back, but quickly turned to leave unusually quickly.

"Are you alright Y/n?" Yuu asked.

"I-I think I'm gonna go and add final touches to the trophy I made for the VDC," Y/n said sadly," I know when I'm not wanted."

__________

As Y/n made final touches to the VDC trophy, they suddenly heard a shatter outside their waiting room.  Y/n opened the door only for a dark green and purple mist to seep into the room. The moment they breathed in the mist, his lungs burned with every breath as they coughed violently. They held their breath and ran through the mist to see Yuu, Grimm, Kalim, and Rook caught in the same poisonous mist.

"You guy's what Happened?!" Y/n called out through his sleeves.

"Roi du Ciel! Don't come this way!" Rook warned.

Y/n froze in place in place as he took in Rook's warning. Yet as they stood there in the mist, they get a chilling presence staring down at them. They slowly turned to see an overblot Vil Schoenheit floating above him. Chill's ran down his spine as his instincts kicked in, as he jumped away, but vil quickly grabbed their wing and slammed them to the wall.

Y/n groaned in pain from the attack on his body and lunges as the Overblot creature lifted Y/n by their collar.

"V-Vil?! W-what happened to you," Y/n coughed.

"Why would you betray me like that, my artist," Vil growled.

"Wha-What are you talking about?" Y/n chocked.

"Was I not enough!? So much so that your eyes wandered to my enemy, Neige," Vil seethed with anger.

"What does he have to do with-"

"You were mine first! What does he have that I don't, why must he take everything from me!" Vil interrupted as he growled at the frightened siren.

Black spots start to consume their vision, as they grew weak and dangled from Vil's grip. Y/n's breathing started to become more and more shallow as he stared up at the still beautiful vil, as they weakly lifted their hand and softly caressed Vil's cheek.

"So...Beautiful," Y/n chocked out before passing out.

"Don't YOU DARE DECEIVE ME!" Vil shouted, as his hand trembled.

Vil trembled as all sorts of emotions flowed through him. Anger, jealousy, sorrow, and joy flowed through his veins as the poison mist grew more and more toxic, from all his intense conflicting emotions. So much so that the very mist ate away at Y/n's beautiful feathers, leaving all but the alula and marginal covert feathers.

______________

Neige had a massive headache when he came to, one moment he was chatting with Vil, and the next thing he knew he was standing in front of a crowd of his fans. So with much assistance, he was eventually escorted back to the purple stage, only to see a horrible sight in front of him. Paramedics and nurses were rushing about a patient who was being lifted onto a gurney. Neige's heart dropped as he recognized the victim, Y/n.

"Y/N!!" Neige called out as he ran to their side.

He gasped in horror at the sight of them; they were so pale and their wings were burned away. Tears welled up in his eyes as he was them lay unconscious in the gurney with a ventilator mask over his mouth.

"Excuse me sir, but we need to get this student to a hospital right away," Said a nurse as they filled Y/n into the ambulance.

---------

Part 1 here

Alternate endings

Neige ending

or

Vil ending.

[assumingminds19]

anastasia's mate

“Anyone can play, right?”

Kara felt like she was going to bounce out of her own skin, finally daring to do this, sitting on her chair and whispering to the white-bearded man next to her. Eagerness vibrated against her ribs alongside her heart. She’d asked the same man she’d seen the dark-haired woman playing the most, watching from far away. But her eyes were on the woman herself, standing back as the row of old men set their boards.

“Of course, moy dorogoy,” he answered through a thick Russian accent, his hands shaking over his pawns. “But be warned, poteryannaya printsessa is playing all quickly today.”

“What-“

Before she could finish, the woman was suddenly in front of her, Kara’s breath and question caught in her throat at finally being so close. But she didn’t even look at Kara, only at her bright, shiny and unused board for a second, before making her move and rotating back down to the end of the line.

Even though she was playing seven of them at once, Kara could barely keep up, losing first, embarrassment twisting in her gut. The rest fell in quick succession, and before she knew it, the men were packing up. The woman had vanished, leaving Kara wondering what’d just happened.

“That’s it?” She asked. “But I-“

“Don’t be upset,” the Russian replied. “She always wins.”

Kara blinked, looking back to her board and the pattern of her loss.

“Does she ever speak?”

“Da,” he laughed. “Sometimes.”

xxx

The next time they played, it was just the two of them. Kara hadn’t been expecting to play her at all. For the past month, the woman had switched only between the Russian and another man with a thick scarf. But today, before Kara had even finished setting up her board, the woman landed in the chair in front of her, waiting silently. Kara’s mouth gaped, her eyes darted towards her new Russian friend, panicked. The man’s lips twitched, and he nodded in encouragement before returning to his own game.

Kara hesitated, waiting for some cue from the other woman, but she was still just watching Kara quietly. Kara rushed to set up the pieces, feeling obligated to give the woman white as thanks for choosing her.

It was the longest game Kara had ever played, all of fifteen minutes. The woman’s moves slow and deliberate enough for her to clue in that she was giving Kara a game without pressure. An unachievable goal, Kara barely able to focus on the pieces, distracted by the lavender smell her nose caught on the wind, wondering if it was the woman’s perfume.

Still, once she’d lost, Kara frowned at the board, trying to understand.

“You shouldn’t have castled.”

It was a lovely voice, smooth, husky and crisp all at once. Wrapped around the consonants and tilting them up in a distinctly un-American way. Kara had trouble believing it was directed at her.

“I’m sorry?”

She winced at the way her voice squeaked, but the woman didn’t seem to notice, just kept watching her with vibrant green eyes.

“In your game.”

Kara’s foggy brain tried to catch up. She looked back at the board, trying to see what the woman was telling her.

“I needed to get the rook out.”

The woman didn’t wait, fingers reaching and darting over the pieces, resetting the play.

“You lost your advantage,” she answered, moving the carved wood. “I played pawn takes pawn, you couldn’t take back. Your problem was your queen knight.”

Kara blinked, still not seeing it. At her non-answer, the other woman let out a soft sigh and stood.

“Think it out.”

She breezed away with the chill wind before Kara could reply, leaving her frustrated and mournful watching her go.

A deep laugh sounded. Kara looked to the old Russian, finished now and shaking the hand of his opponent.

“You are like sobaka chasing its tail.”

Kara scowled, annoyed and began to pack up her own pieces.

“What is with her?” She grumbled.

“Fascinated?” He teased standing, board under his arm. “You’re not the first, even though you are the first she’s shown how they lost.”

Kara scowled, feeling the butt of a joke she had no part of.

“She’s good, so what?”

The man’s bushy eyebrows reached his hairline.

“She’s three times international champion before she was sixteen, devushka,” he answered, making her feel thick for not knowing. “She beat Petrovick in Paris before she was a grandmaster. You’ve been playing with Bog shakhmat, my dear. The Lost Princess, God of Chess. Don’t wonder how you lose, just be glad she picked you.”

xxxxx

Lena Luthor was her real name. From there, Kara spent half a day googling everything she could about her. Chess champion, a child prodigy, winning more competitive games before she was fourteen then most played in their career. Article after article calling her the greatest chess player to ever live. All until her final match at sixteen, the first loss of her career, when she seemed to vanish from the chess scene and the earth. Except she hadn’t. She was here, in National City, playing in the park with old men and Kara.

Kara’s cursor hovered over the video of an old interview, Lena’s young face so sombre and severe for a child of twelve.

“It was the board I noticed first. It’s an entire world of just sixty-four squares. I feel safe in it. I can control it. I can dominate it. And it’s predictable, so if I get hurt, I only have myself to blame.”

“And what do you do for fun?”

“I stay awake as long as I can, reading my books, learning the Sicilian Defence. There are fifty-seven pages about it in the book I’m reading, with one hundred and seventy lines stemming from P to QB4. I’ll memorise them and play through them in my mind.”

“There’s more to life than chess, you know.”

“Is there?”

Kara absorbed the words, her curiosity ferocious before she closed her laptop screen and picked up the second-hand, dog eared book on chess openings she had bought, settling back on her couch to reread it again.

xxxxx

The third time they played, Kara was the one to choose Lena, marching right up and sitting across from her before Lena had the chance to choose anyone else. It sent a mutter through the crowd of old men, but Lena took it in her stride, a ghost of a smile on her lips and didn’t say a word as Kara set up the board, this time choosing white.

Kara made her first move deliberately, watching Lena’s face as she did, daring her with it. Lena’s eyes raked the board, then Kara’s face in turn, sparkling before she made her answering move.

It was long and complicated, and Kara spent more time hung up on moves that should have been simple when Lena countered with something that sent her in a whole new direction. By the time the game had stretched into an hour, none of the men were playing anymore. Instead, they gathered in a small crowd around them, watching quietly as their match ebbed and flowed.  

Once, Kara was convinced she was going to lose, seeing Lena’s path to victory in three more moves when suddenly, Lena did something completely unexpected. Sacrificing her queen and leaving her king exposed. At first, Kara thought she had missed something herself, wondering if she had tripped into a mistake. But the more she looked, the worse it all became for Lena. It caught Kara off-guard. It would be a brutal play. It would be the kind of thing Lena did to other people, and for a minute Kara wondered if she should do it at all. But something was pushing her in the back of her mind—an urge for this to be more than a pastime. More then a compulsion or an addiction, and Kara wondered when this had become less about knowing Lena and more about knowing herself. It was a demand, an obsession—a thirst for something more.

Kara made the play, her fingers unable to let go of her piece as she watched, recalculated and watched again before she let it go. Kara saw it in Lena’s eyes then, a softness. An acceptance. And then, Lena was holding out her hand for Kara to take, her king in her palm.

“It’s your game,” she whispered. “Take it.”

Kara did, her skin tingling where their hands touched, a part of her was too dumbfounded to realise that the roaring in her ears was the sound of applause from the crowd around them. Lena dropped their joined hands with a smile and melted back through the group. Kara tried to follow as the men held her back, offering their congratulations. In an undoubtedly rude move, she ignored and pushed past them, head twisting around, scanning the people in the park, finally spotting Lena’s back as she walked away.

Kara ran after her, calling out.

“Hey, wait!”

Lena stopped, turned around, an eyebrow arched when Kara slid to a stop in front of her. Without the barrier of chess between them, Kara found herself at a loss for words, caught in Lena’s green eyes.

“I… uhhh… hello.”

It was all she could dumbly manage.

“Hello.”

There was a long pause, too long beyond comfortable, before the only thought Kara could think spilled from her lips.

“Did you let me win?”

“No.”

Kara hesitated, the insecurity mixed with the flush of victory banished at Lena’s quick answer. Somehow knowing without knowing that Lena wasn’t a person who’d lie.

“But you did before,” Kara continued instead, pressing, searching for something to hold onto. “Your game… when you were sixteen.”

Lena looked out and away from her for a beat.



“Yes,” she answered quietly, looking back.

Kara’s mouth worked silently, tasting the answer on her tongue.

“Why?”

Lena took another pause before she replied.

“When winning takes everything, what are you left with?”

Kara shouldn’t know what she meant. How could she possibly? But part of her felt it in her bones anyway.

“Chess isn’t always competitive though,” Kara whispered. “It can also be-“  

“Beautiful.”

The bare branches of the park dusted light through their snow-covered boughs. They haloed them perfectly, Kara thought, capturing this moment, frozen eternal.

“Why did I win?” She needed to know, not fully understanding herself. “You’ve been playing all your life, I’ve only been playing for three months.”

Lena didn’t seem to think her question stupid, or ridiculous, or any of the things Kara feared it was. She just stepped forward, an inch, but enough to make a point, her eyes darkening to a deeper green.

“Because I was only playing chess, darling,” the final word rippled down Kara’s spine. “You spent three months learning to play chess with me. You’re very good. Raw, unpredictable… when you’re not overthinking. You made a marvellous recovery today.”

Kara knew. She’d almost opened herself up to check in five moves. But the fact that Lena knew that Kara knew and fixed it made her preen, a blush filling her cheeks.

“Thank you. I… I’ve been watching you, for a while on my lunch break,” she admitted. “You were always here, the only colour in a sea of silver.”

“You were fascinated by it.”

“Not it,” Kara quickened. “You.”

Lena’s head tilted, and not for the first time, Kara hungered to know what exactly was going on under that pale and beautiful mask.

“What’s your name?” Lena asked, voice soft, welcoming and unexpected.

“Kara. Kara Danvers.”

“Would you like to go out to dinner?”

“Like a date?” Kara blinked, wondering if she’d misheard.

“Yes,” Lena smiled.

“Ye.. yeah!” Kara stumbled, unable to reign in her enthusiasm. “Umm, tonight?”

“I have a standing engagement.” Before Kara could feel disappointed, Lena countered. “Tomorrow?”

Kara nodded, head bobbing like she was on the dashboard of a car.

“Ok.”

One second. Then two.

“Your number?”

“Oh, yeah…” Kara blushed again. “Here, I’ll um… put it into your… yep.”

She typed it dutifully into Lena’s outstretched phone, sending herself a text to make sure, before handing it back.

“Tomorrow then,” Lena answered, phone safely back in her pocket. “Kara Danvers.”

She leaned forward, brushing her warm lips against Kara’s cheek, her hand giving Kara’s arm a small squeeze through the fabric of her winter coat. Then she was floating away once more, Kara staring after her.

“Wow.”

That night Kara dreamt of rooks and castles and lost princesses, found again.

[dirt-cup-draco]

Edmund x Reader- Homecoming

Can I please request an edmund x reader when his wife’s waiting for him to come home from battle with their little daughter? Thanks!

Dearest,

I will be returning within the week, but the day is uncertain. It all depends on weather and the multitude of Peter’s whining. In the peaceful years he grew too used to regular bathing it seemed and he gets grumpy if he can’t drink a glass of wine and take a hot bath. 

You laughed at your husband’s letter, your heart jumping about in your chest pleasantly. It was his letters that helped the time pass by quickly. He had been absent for three months and to know you only had to wait a few more days had you full of energy. So much so that the hours seemed to go doubly slow. You had never known longer days.

“Read more! Does he say hello to me?” Your daughter, Anastasia, encouraged as she sat tucked against your side, eyes gleaming just like Edmund’s. Besides the shade of her hair and the slope of her nose, she was Edmund’s copy. His greatest joy. Holding the letter out in front of you once more, you skimmed over the page. There were some things that your six year old didn’t need to know in all of her boundless curiosity. You made a mental note to reread the letter alone and see what he was expressing without words, you were certain the unavoidable casualties of battle would be weighing on him heavily. 

I miss you more than words can express my queen, my love, my wife. I keep the pendant that was gifted to me for Christmas close to my heart and I look at it every day to bring me luck and soothe my aching bones. I wasn’t as young as I used to be and sleeping on the ground in those blasted tents have ruined my knees. 

“Get to the part where he talks about me!” Anastasia demanded and you couldn’t hold back your laughter at her eagerness. 

“Patience my dear,” You reminded, planting a kiss on the top of her head as she started to squirm, craning her neck to try and pick out the words that she had been learning. You were reminded for the millionth time that she was growing quickly. How you wished Edmund had been hope these past few months to see her excel in her studies.

Hmm... I think that is all that has to be said for today. I don’t think I’m forgetting anything. 

“Me, father, you’ve forgotten me!” Anastasia pouted, pouncing up and down in her seat on your bed, worried that Edmund was going to end his letter without addressing her. 

“Of course he hasn’t Ana, he’s only being an old fool,” You knew better and got her settled back down. 

Oh! That is right. Hello darling Ana, have you been good to your mother? I could never forget you sweetheart, I’m only being an old fool. Your mom thinks I’m funny. Aunt Suzy, Lucy and Uncle Petey say hello. 

You saw the hesitation marks in his writing when addressing his siblings. Anastasia had thought Peter too silly and Susan too stuffy. It seemed she had no qualms with Lucy but you were sure she just couldn’t find a way to shorten it. She’d even called her own father Eddie once. Oh, how he’d scowled. The memory warmed your cheeks with fondness. 

I miss you terribly and I can’t wait to see you this coming week. I’ve got you a gift for your birthday but I think it’d be better to keep it as a surprise. I hope you haven’t gotten any taller, otherwise you’ll pass up your mother and I in no time. I shall see you soon my princess, don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone. You know I hate to miss out.

Love you both and see you soon.

Anastasia took the letter into her hands, peering at the bottom of the paper like more writing might appear. Content that you hadn’t missed any message written for her she set it back in your hands and you folded it up neatly, placing it into the box where you kept all of Edmund’s letters from the time you two had starting courting to long after your marriage. 

Your fingers skimmed the tops of the yellowing pages and envelopes, some torn at the corner and some, like the one you’d just received, still in good condition. You had reread nearly everything in here four times over, some more and some less, but you had grown sentimental in your time apart from Edmund and every day had you missing him more. 

“Mother I’m hungry,” Your daughter chimed up, hovering at the doorway to your bedroom. 

With a shake of your head and a smile you took her hand in yours, leading her to the kitchens as dinner approached. You hoped you wouldnt have to eat too many more meals without Edmund by your side.

--

“Mommy! Up! Up!” Sang Anastasia as she leapt about on your bed, nightgown getting caught underneath her feet as she collapsed somewhere near your head. 

“Ana, darling girl, what time is it?” You groaned into your pillow, sunlight streaming in through your windows as you shut your eyes tight against the sudden sensations of being awake. You had been dreaming pleasantly of being held by your husband, your six year old still blissfully asleep. 

“Morning time!” She grinned a toothy grin, eyes squeezed tight as she tried to smile her brightest. “The trumpets are playing outside of town! Someone rang the bell!” 

You shot upright, a shot of adrenaline coursing in you to wake you up fully. Grabbing the girl’s shoulders you looked into her large eyes. “Are you certain?” 

“Yes, yes, yes!” She giggled, bouncing back up to her feet when you let go, jumping from your bed as you stared after her, the little girl leaving the room without so much as a look back.

“Be careful!” You scolded gently as you tossed your sheets to the side, rushing to your closet to throw on the nearest thing. You wanted to spend time and look nice for your husband but Ana was already on the run and if you wanted to catch her in time you would have to speed up your morning routine as you had been doing.  A simple blue dress sufficed, you remember Edmund liking it, and you tied your hair back. Pinching your cheeks and splashing your face with some water from the basin, you were ready-ish. It would have to do. 

“Ana!” You raced from your room, finding her tugging on one of the maid’s skirts with a bright gleam on her face. 

“Is it true madam, the kings and queens are nearly to the castle?” The maid asked and you couldn’t help the smile that graced your face and hurt your cheeks. 

“Yes Lilian, my daughter won’t let anyone hear the end of it it seems. Thank you for catching her,” 

“She caught me, madam,” Lilian laughed and you scooped Anastasia up, settling her on your hip with a grunt. You wouldn’t be able to do this by the time her next birthday came. 

“Its time to get you washed up,” 

Ignoring her whinings you brushed her hair back for her, leaving it down because she got horrible headaches when you put it up in anything other than a low ponytail. You let her pick her favorite dress and a butterfly necklace that Susan had made for her a few years prior. 

The playing of the trumpets grew closer, the kingdom celebrating the return of their beloved royals and family. You hadn’t realized that the troops had also been in tow as you looked out the window to see the crowds slowly growing smaller as the soldiers went home. Soon it would just be Edmund and his siblings and a handful of men on horseback, coming to the castle they called home. 

Anastasia hopped in her shoes and her hair had already grown knotted in the back but she looked delightful. “Should we go and meet him?” You suggested and she nodded, her grip on your hand growing as she dragged you along with her. As demanding as the man you’d married and just as adorable. 

The cobblestone beneath you echoed your every step and made you conscious of just how near you were to Edmund. You could practically feel the horses trotting, the vibrations traveling. Your ears perked up as you picked out the sounds of voices just a bit further and as you and Ana took two more paces, you could see your husband and in laws sitting proudly on their horses despite the exhaustion that hung from them. 

“Daddy!” Ana cheered, but stayed with her hand in yours. You had warned her to not run at the horses in case she spooked them. Edmund’s head snapped up from the daydream he had put himself in at the sound of his child’s voice and a smile that took away your breath appeared on his lips. 

He hopped off of Phillip and started at a sprint for the two of you. You released Anastasia’s hand and she held her arms before you, Edmund scooping her up with ease as she wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed by the looks of his eyes widening every so slightly. His large hand skated up and down her back and tears stayed trapped glazing over his eyes. 

Ten more paces and your husband was standing before you with rosy cheeks and misty eyes, Ana hanging from his neck with her legs wrapped around his waist. 

“Hello my love,” He spoke and the butterflies in your stomach erupted, fluttering about and making your knees weak. Edmund slowly set Anastasia down even as she protested. Instead, she clung to his leg while he opened his arms to embrace you. 

“Never leave again,” You demanded, choked up as you refused to let the tears fall. 

“Oh surely our little princess hasn’t caused that much trouble,” He teased fondly and you pinched his butt in retaliation. 

“Hush, you know how much I’ve missed you,” You scolded gently as he pulled away to place a lingering kiss against your cheek.

“I think I can take a guess. I’ve missed my girls” He let his eyes flutter shut, your thumb passing over the wrinkles at the side of his eyes. He looked tired but he looked content. “If all has gone to plan, I won’t be having to leave again,” 

Edmund drew you back into his arms and you sighed a deep sigh of relief. Finally, he was home again and so were you. 

Tag List: @angelinathebook @thehumanistsdiary @cleopatera

[wordsandshawn]

Hello! Can you maybe do one where she is doing her last paper, but she simply can’t take it anymore and she is super stressed and tries to hide it? Thank you!

This isn’t really a blurb... it turned into a whole imagine, but I hope you enjoy! Sorry it took so long to write, but I’m going to continue writing more blurbs now, hopefully some shorter ones so they don’t take so long. Feel free to send more requests! 

At least the exams are over. That’s what you keep telling yourself, but now you’re in that space where you’re so close to being finished but yet you feel so far away. It feels like you’ve already exhausted ounce of your brainpower, and there is nothing left for you to give. However, you’re still here, seated at the coffee shop at your university. You have until midnight tonight to turn in this paper, and you’ve been here for two hours staring at the words on the page that aren’t making sense anymore, unable to muster up the energy to write anything coherent. 

It doesn’t help that most others in the coffee shop are celebrating the semester being over and otherwise appear to have already finished the most stressful week of the semester. You had been in the library earlier, but it was so empty it felt eery and you couldn’t focus there either. Your roommates are in the process of moving out of your apartment, so trying to work there is also out of the question. 

Rereading the last sentence you wrote, you wrack your brain trying to figure out where this paper is supposed to be going. Your mid-thought when your phone vibrating on the table pulls you back to reality. Shawn’s name pops up on the screen and you consider ignoring the call, but decide a short break can’t do much harm since you weren’t being very productive anyway. 

“Hello?” 

“Hey y/n, are you heading over soon?” Shawn’s voice comes through the phone. And even with that simple question, you can tell he’s in a good mood because you practically hear him smiling by the way his voice sounds, and it makes you smile too. 

Of course, he’s in a good mood. He’s home for the first time in too long, and he’s having all of his friends over since they’ve all finished their exams too and everyone can’t wait to let loose. 

Despite all of this to look forward to, you can’t help the way your heart sinks at his question. It’s still only about four pm, and you had told Shawn you’d head over his way as soon as you could, hoping you’d be able to spend some time with him before everyone else started showing up. You know Shawn’s expecting you, and you want to be with him more than anything else, but this paper isn’t going to write itself. 

“Uh,” You hesitate, “I’m still working on a paper. I’m sorry babe.” You apologize, feeling bad because you know you’re letting him down. You both haven’t seen each other in at least three weeks, so you hate to keep prolonging it. 

“It’s okay,” He responds masking his disappointment. “When do you think you’ll be done.” 

You weigh out your possible responses. You don’t want to tell him that you’re not sure you’ll make it to the party because you really want to go, but you also don’t want to lie to him. This paper is worth a huge chunk of your grade, and it’s in a class you can’t afford to get less than an overall grade of 75%. There are certain classes in your major that you’re required to get certain grades in, and this is one of them. If you fail, you don’t even want to think about what might happen if you fail. 

All of these thoughts are rushing through your mind when Shawn speaks again, and suddenly you realize you never responded. “Baby are you okay?” He questions. 

“Yeah,” You lie. “I’m fine.” Your voice betrays you, and you’re worried Shawn will notice. 

“Are you at your apartment?” He questions. 

“No, I’m at a coffee shop.” 

“How about I pick you up and you can come work on your paper here?” He offers. 

Your first thought is to decline. The original plan was for you to drive out to Shawn’s. You know he has things he has to do to prepare for everyone coming over, and you were supposed to drive out there tonight, stay the night, and then return to finish packing up your apartment in the morning, and Shawn was supposed to go back home to Pickering to see Aaliyah’s hockey game before swinging by your apartment to help you move some stuff. You’ve both already talked about this weekend, planning it out perfectly. 

If Shawn comes to pick you up tonight, you won’t have your car and you’d have to leave his place really early for him to drop you off at school and make it to Aaliyah’s game. 

“No, I can drive myself. I just don’t know when I’ll be done with this.” You’re so stressed, you’re not even sure you’re really thinking straight, and now you know for sure that Shawn is picking up on it by the tone of your voice. 

“Baby,” He says very clearly and calmly, his attempt at getting you out of your head. “Don’t worry about the party. Don’t worry about tomorrow or all the plans we’ve already made.” He knows you well enough to know all of the thoughts you’re having even when you’re not able to articulate it. 

Despite what he just said and his attempt at calming you down, all of your thoughts come out at once. “I’m sorry, I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it because of this paper, and I’ve only just started it today because I was so busy with my other presentations and exams and now I don’t know if I’ll even be able to finish it and I’m so sorry because I know we’ve been planning this party for so long.” 

“Y/n, it’s okay baby. You don’t have to apologize. I know you’re stressed and I know you’re doing your best. It’s okay.” He soothes you, his voice remaining calm because he knows you need to hear it. “Just listen to me, okay? I’m in my car now. I’m going to come to get you, and that way you can work on your paper here.” 

“No, Shawn.” You interrupt. Has he forgotten his friends are coming over?

“Hold on, it’s okay.” He says remaining calm. “I’m going to come get you and drive you back here. You have all night to do your paper, so don’t worry.” 

“I’m fine here.” You respond, not wanting to ruin his night.

“Baby, I don’t want to argue with you, and I also don’t want to force you to do anything you don’t want to, but I know you’re not fine, and I also know that you don’t want to come because you’re afraid of ruining the night. So I want you to know that you’re not ruining the night, and I really really want to come get you because then at least I’ll know that you’re okay and not having a breakdown in a coffee shop by yourself.” 

You can’t argue with that logic, because the truth is you want to be with Shawn more than anything right now because he’s the one person who manages to bring you back down when you’re stressed like you are now. “Okay,” you respond, agreeing to his proposition. 

“I’m leaving now, do you think you can go back to your place and get anything you need. Maybe even take a quick shower, it’ll make you feel better, and I’ll pick you up from your apartment in about forty-five minutes?” 

“Okay, yeah. I’ll see you soon.” You respond, feeling a little better already knowing you’ll see Shawn soon. 

“Alright baby, I love you.” 

“Love you too,” You respond before hanging up, grabbing all of your stuff and heading back to your apartment. 

Forty-five minutes later, you’re showered and feeling significantly better despite the fact that you’ve made absolutely no progress on your paper and the time is still steadily ticking down toward the due date. You grab your backpack, making sure that your laptop and any books you’ll need are in there before walking outside to wait for Shawn. He pulls up a few minutes later and your rush to his car. 

He smiles at you and you lean in for a kiss. It’s been too long since you’ve seen him. “I missed you,” He says, while putting the car back into drive and taking your hand in his. You can’t help but scoot closer to him despite the center console prohibiting you from any other contact. “Do you want to work on your paper now?” He offers, and you know you should, but you just want five minutes to be with your boyfriend. 

He starts to let go of your hand, but you only grab onto his tighter and he gives in. “I will, in a little bit.” 

He glances across at you briefly before looking at the road again. He squeezes your hand gently, before saying, “Okay.” 

You spend most of the drive working furiously on your paper and actually manage to make quite a bit of progress by the time you arrive at Shawn’s place.  Shawn grabs your backpack and puts it on despite your insistence that you can carry it yourself. When you get into the elevator, he pulls you into his arms enveloping your entire body in the type of hug only Shawn can give. He mumbles, “See if you were wearing your backpack, I wouldn’t be able to hold you like this.” And you can’t argue with that. 

Despite both of you wanting, to just be near each other, Shawn lets you go when the elevator arrives on the top floor and he unlocks the apartment letting you in first. You plop your backpack down and pull your laptop and books back out at the kitchen island. You promptly dive right back into your work and Shawn disappears into his room. About five minutes later, Shawn comes out with a candle, putting it down and lighting it. “Thank you.” You tell him, and he just nods and smiles and disappears again. About a half-hour later, Shawn emerges again, his hair still damp signaling he showered. He pulls a seat close to you and sits down, opening his own laptop. He doesn’t say anything but starts working as well. Having him near is one of your favorite things, even if you’re not talking. You can tell he’s trying really hard not to distract you, which makes you smile. He deserves the biggest thank you for all of this, but you’ll save it for later. 

“When are your friends coming over?” You ask, taking a little break from your paper. 

“I told them to just go out instead, and that they could come over another night.” 

“Shawn, no!” You reply. 

“What?” He questions, as though he doesn’t see anything wrong.

“Babe, have them come over. I was just planning to go into your room and work.” 

“It’s fine. I’d rather spend the night with you.”

“Baby, I’m going to ignore you all night. If they don’t want to come over, you can go out with them. I’m good, I promise.” You respond, and this time it’s the truth. You’re feeling so much better than you were before. You’ve made a lot of progress on your paper, which helped to ease some of your stress, and being here in Shawn’s place has also helped as the change in environment has allowed you to be more productive. 

He pauses for a second, studying you, and you giggle, “It’s not a trap, Shawn. I want them to come over or for you to go out with them.” You tell him again to make sure he understands. You’ve never been a fan of passive-aggressiveness or not saying what you mean, and Shawn knows that. 

You genuinely wouldn’t want him to sit around at home all night just because you have a paper and can’t do anything fun. It’s your fault that you’re not done with your paper, and he’s already done more than you’d ask for by going to pick you up and bringing you back here, you want him to see his friends and have fun. 

“Really, Shawn. Tell them they can come over, at least to pregame over here and then you can go out if you want or else I’ll call Brian myself.”

“I made you come here because I wanted to make sure you were okay, I don’t want to leave you.”

“Shawn, I’m fine. And besides, you’re stuck with me tonight and tomorrow because you have to drive me back to my place now.” 

“Are you going to be able to finish your paper?” 

“Yes.” You tell him, and you actually believe it. “I’ll be fine.” 

He finally gives in, and you know he can tell you’re in a much better place than you were earlier, which eases some of his own worries. An hour later, his friends flood into the place, and you say hello to all of them before slipping off to his room, putting on your headphones, and working away at your paper. Shawn brings you dinner since he had ordered food, and you finish your paper earlier than you thought you would, which allows you to go out and have fun with Shawn and his friends. 

[gohyuck]

hiiii can u do a jeno college scenario, love triangle, with scenario #8? can be angsty w him cheating on u and stuff🥺 thank u!!!!!! i love ur writing 🤩

you’re so sweet omg I hope I did this justice

requests are closed! i’m just going through what i have right now.

listen to this song while reading

4) college

2) love triangle

8) “i was humming the melody to the song you used to like and then i wondered how you’re doing these days.”

from: xxx-xxx-xxxx

...hey

your phone vibrates against your night stand, and you pull yourself away from the book you’re reading to check your notifications. even as your eyes flit over the simply text shining up from your phone screen, you can feel your chest beginning to ache.

just because you’d deleted his number from your phone doesn’t mean you’d erased your memories of it. still, as much as your brain screams at you to simply delete the text and go on with your night, you find yourself typing, much to your own chagrin.

to: xxx-xxx-xxxx

what do you want

the response - god, how you wish you hadn’t gotten one - is swift, and you’ve barely put your phone down before you’re picking it up again, even as your mind screams for you to spare yourself the hurt. you have far better things to do than entertain him, but it seems like your body is in direct defiance of your brain.

from: maybe:jeno

i was humming the melody to the song you used to like and then i wondered how you’re doing these days.

it’s jeno btw. thought i should clarify.

you’d known, of course you’d known, but seeing his name for the first time in months steals the breath out from between your lips. anger flares up from deep within you - how dare he contact you after what he’d done? after all the sleepless, sob-filled nights you’d spent because of him? how dare he come back into your life just as you’ve built yourself back up in the aftermath of him?

and then, as if by a miracle, your anger is gone just as it had come.

he’d been the one to text you, not the other way around. you find that you’re prouder of that than you care to admit. it means you’ve made progress.

still, he’d texted you, and you’d chosen to respond.

you reread his text. the melody of the song you used to like. it doesn’t take a genius to know which song he’s talking about - hell, it had been playing from the speaker system in your apartment when you’d walked in on him with...

the memories rush back to you, as memories are wont to do. the girl jeno had specifically told you not to worry about, the one whose advances he’d laughed about to you, sitting squarely on his lap, sucking bruises along the collarbone you could still feel under your fingers if you tried hard enough. the way he’d shoved her off of him at the sight of you, his tongue already forming apologized he didn’t mean.

“you aren’t sorry at all,” you’d screamed at him as she left, scampering out so quickly she’d forgotten her sunglasses. “you’re just sorry you got caught!”

your skin had burned that day, your rage white hot. it was only after he’d left, head hanging low and tears staining his cheeks, that you let yourself collapse in on yourself on the couch, heaving painfully into your own knees. the only thing keeping you from wallowing in utter and complete silence was your speaker, playing she knows by slchld over and over and over again. it had been your absolute favorite song at the time.

you haven’t listened to it in six months.

to: maybe:jeno

why do you need to know

from: maybe:jeno

i’ve found myself thinking about you a lot, lately. it reminded me of you.

a lot of things remind me of you, (name).

for a moment, you almost consider being neutral to him. the possibility of making amends becomes very real very quickly, and you recognize that it’s a path you can take. before you can even act towards doing so, however, your past with jeno halts you.

his hands, running up and down the back of a girl who wasn’t you.

his lips, kiss-stained and plump from being tugged at by teeth that weren’t yours.

his hair, mussed up by hands that weren’t yours, fingers that weren’t yours threading through strands of it.

you close your eyes, processing everything for good one last time before opening them again. there’s only one thing you can do.

to: maybe: jeno

then forget me.

goodnight for good, jeno.

before he can respond, you finally block his number, deciding to skip deleting it this time. you switch to your music app, waiting for the screen to load your search. once it does, you turn your volume up before grabbing your book and turning back to the page you were on.

shine on me

dream of me

did you dream of me

baby you

i feel like you know

i know what i'm doing

i think she knows

she knows what she's doing

[blackwxtchmccree]

Me... Post more than once in a week? Unheard of, truly. This is actually a rewrite of something I posted to AO3 last year and upon rereading it, couldn’t stand, so I had to fix it. Damien is my warrior Inquisitor and gay son who I adore. 

Warnings: violence, amputation (not graphic), angsty gays -Valk

Can also be found on my AO3 >>> here

Four Times Dorian Thought the Inquisitor Wasn’t Okay, and the One Time He Thought He Was

1. In Your Heart Shall Burn

Dorian had looked over his shoulder one moment and the Herald had been there—the next, he was gone, having told them to run, but never promising that he would follow. Haven was on fire, the newly formed Inquisition was scattered, and the man who sought to be a god and his archdemon loomed, signaling their impending destruction. Whatever plan Damien had, Dorian hoped they hadn’t just lost the only person capable of clearing their path to victory.

Dorian had watched the subsequent avalanche from the mountain path just above Haven—they wouldn’t have made it that far without Trevelyan’s intervention, but watching Haven as it was swallowed by snow made Dorian’s heart jump into his throat. Damien, their Herald, the supposed champion of Andraste, was down there somewhere and Dorian realized he cared enough to be genuinely concerned for the man. The Tevinter mage hadn’t been with the Inquisition long, but Dorian had learned that Damien had more tenacity than all of Tevinter had wine—Dorian just hoped it would be enough to get him through this.

What Dorian didn’t expect was the amount of relief he felt when he saw Cullen and Cassandra practically dragging Damien into camp—his heart skipping  a beat when he heard the victorious uproar of everyone the Herald had inspired and given hope as they crowded around the ginger. Dorian had been afraid of losing their only way to repair tears in the Veil and reliably face-off with an ancient Tevinter magister, but Dorian came to realize he was genuinely fearful of losing Damien —not the Herald, not Andraste’s champion, not their soon-to-be Inquisitor—but Damien.

Dorian had grown used to being greeted by friendly emerald eyes genuinely interested in his ramblings and even looked forward to any books Damien thought to hand his way. It was a simple, what Dorian had read as friendly gesture at first—a leatherbound book passed between rough battle-worn hands. It made Dorian feel like a teenager again when his heart fluttered if their fingers brushed. The pages made the miserable cold of the Frostback Mountains easier to ignore and he had only one person to thank for that. That person, though nearly frozen and subject to hypothermia with snow and ice frozen to his eyelashes and boots, was alive and breathing and that’s the best outcome Dorian could have asked for.

2. Champion

Damien had told him that he wanted to be untouchable—unkillable even, if possible. Dorian chalked it up to the redhead’s recklessness. The warrior was known for charging into battle headfirst, deflecting incoming arrows and blocking heavy blows from a hammer or another greatsword so that he and Varric could flank their assailants. He had already tried taking Corypheus head-on—and had done so without so much as flinching.

The Inquisitor was a skilled swordsman without a shadow of a doubt, the greatsword in his hand moving just as naturally as the staff in Dorian’s hand. He kept the blade sharp and Dorian could see the satisfaction on Damien’s freckled face whenever the metal bit through enemy armor, the protective layer crumpling easily and the blade drawing fresh blood that had come to represent their impending victory. Back to back with Cassandra, they were a force to be reckoned with and they seemed to hold a mutual respect for each other, regardless of the decisions Damien made that Cassandra was sure to voice her displeasure about later.

Dorian would discover; however, that Damien’s self-described motivations were a façade. A drunken night shared between the two of them on the balcony after arriving at Skyhold had revealed his intentions and while Dorian had expressed his surprise at the time, the mage had always suspected there was a more complex underlying reason. He had seen the Reaver methods book sitting on Damien’s desk—and had noticed when it had disappeared and had been replaced. The mage meant to ask about it then, but distracting lips had been pressed against the back of his neck and the thought was lost.

The sadness Dorian saw subtly reflected in Damien’s emerald eyes would soon become a familiar sight, but in that moment on the balcony that night, Dorian felt a pang in his heart. The newly named Inquisitor was staring off into the distance, wine bottle in his hand, half-lidded eyes misty with what Dorian realized was more regret than melancholy and in his alcohol-addled state of mind the mage couldn’t not ask why. Damien had smiled in response, passing him the wine bottle, saying he had lost two people close to him because of his recklessness—saying he couldn’t let it happen again. He would defend them to his last dying breath if it meant the people he loved survived.

Dorian had nodded silently, almost regretting having asked, but the fluttering of his heart when Damien playfully bumped his hip with Dorian’s eclipsed the feeling. Dorian would soon find that the specialization seemed almost made for the red-head. The mage couldn’t see him as anything other than a walking fortress in the end, so it seemed Damien’s choice was a fitting one after all.

3. Vinsomer

They had an entire boat ride to decide to turn back, but it seemed that no one could get the idea of fighting a high dragon out of Damien’s head. They had seen her fly over the Storm Coast, circling before disappearing into the fog beyond the shore, what little light that filtered through the clouds glinting off of her steel-gray scales.

Dorian and Varric has been intimidated—rightfully so; Cassandra came from a line of dragon hunters and seemed indifferent, but Damien looked almost excited. It was hard to miss the mischievous glint in his green eyes as he looked off the side of the boat into the distance, his body seemingly vibrating with anticipation.

Once they were on the battlefield in front of her, Dorian expected that look to change to something akin to fear, like he saw for a moment in Cassandra’s eyes—though she’d never admit it, but the mage watched as Damien confidently taunted Vinsomer, drawing her attention away as he pulled his greatsword off of his back. Steel met scales and the champion was quick to dash out of the way as electricity crackled through the air, the rain beginning to fall more heavily now than before.

The downpour eventually blinded Dorian to where he could make out little more than patches of color that he could only assume were his companions. Vinsomer’s roar echoed across the island and he was sure you could hear it from the shore of the coast, but he didn’t give it much thought once the yelling that followed caught his attention.

Varric was dragging Cassandra away as Damien took another heavy blow, causing Dorian’s heart to skip a beat as the high dragon’s claws sliced through the air, connecting haphazardly with the warrior’s sword again, throwing him backwards, but he landed on his feet, deflecting the next blow and beckoning for the giant winged lizard to follow him as he moved away from where his companions were gathering.

Dorian was quick to cast a barrier around their Inquisitor before rushing to Cassandra’s side, grimacing at the deep gash she had acquired on her left thigh. He was never skilled with healing magic, but he did his best. He looked up again just in time to see the Inquisitor— his Inquisitor, as of recent—become engulfed in pure electricity. The mage felt the power rush through the air and it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up and his heart leap into his throat.

It couldn’t end like this—not here and not now.

Cassandra cried out for the Herald, trying to push herself up, but Varric pushed her back down, squinting as he tried to see through the rain. It took Dorian a moment, but he felt it, too—an overwhelming sense of finality. He didn’t know who had just experienced their final moments, but he would soon find out. The next few seconds felt like an eternity as they waited.

The next few seconds was all it took for Damien to fell the high dragon of the Storm Coast.

Dorian watched with quiet satisfaction as their Inquisitor emerged nearly unscathed from the blast, rain running off of his red-tinted armor in rivulets that from afar looked almost like blood. His green eyes seemed to glow in the dim light and Dorian realized he had never seen Damien look more alive than in that moment—greatsword buried in Vinsomer’s chest, pulling it out and giving a final, deft and precise slash to her throat.

The ground shook when her body finally collapsed. Damien stood over her and Dorian saw his mouth moving, sure the Inquisitor was apologizing to the air for bringing down such a noble beast, but once he had finished his apology and their eyes met across the battlefield, Dorian saw him smirk.

4. Corypheus

When Corypheus tore the Breach back open over the ruins of all that they had lost, Damien had announced it was the end. Whether he meant the end of their journey, the end of the road, the end of their time, or perhaps just the end—Dorian wasn’t sure. This would be the last chapter in a long book detailing victories and losses he had experienced first-hand—the mage could feel it. Now, they had to face the would-be god who they thought had started it all.

They gathered around their Inquisitor, reassured by his smile and the warm green glow of the Anchor, but Dorian could see the war Damien was fighting in his head. When Damien’s soft green eyes met Dorian’s warm brown ones across the war table, Dorian realized his amatus was silently apologizing to him. For what, Dorian had yet to find out, but once everyone had left with their orders save Cassandra, Varric, and himself, Dorian found out.

“I can’t- I can’t in good conscious ask any of you to come up there with me,” Damien started, leaning back against the map-covered table and crossing his arms across his broad chest. “We could die and I love all of you too much to ask that of you.”

“We’re with you—wherever you go,” Cassandra promised, smiling a rare smile that made Dorian realize just how deeply she believed in their cause and in Damien, not just as the Inquisitor, but as her friend. “We couldn’t have asked for a better Inquisitor.”

“Come on, kid—we knew how this was going to end,” Varric replied with a smirk and a shrug, voicing Cassandra’s silent convictions. “We stayed because we believe in this—believe in you … and you’ve been changing the narrative since the day we met. This ending likely won’t be any different.”

Dorian found that for once in his life, he was at a loss for words. Damien extended a hand his way and the Tevinter mage was quick to take it, leaning forward to press his forehead gently against Damien’s, resting a hand at the nape of the ginger’s neck. Their eyes fell closed almost instinctively. Dorian hoped Damien knew his answer without him needing to say it.

5. Trespasser

Once their real enemy had made himself known, Dorian wasn’t sure how they hadn’t seen it. Solas’ departure had been shrouded in mystery—the result of which was why they were chasing him through eluvians and fighting off angry Qunari. The quarrel with the Qunari and the resulting conflict between the nations at the Exalted Council were his fault, anyway. The mage had a thing or two he’d like to say to the elf.

But Damien had disappeared through the last eluvian by himself, asking them to stand guard while he chased after the agent of Fen-Harel—Dorian wouldn’t believe Damien later when the ginger told him Solas was Fen-Harel, but that was beside the point. Their fight with the saarebas had been a long and difficult one and the pain on Damien’s face when the Anchor flared again and the tears stinging at the edges of the Inquisitor’s eyes made Dorian’s heart hurt. The mage just hoped that Solas could at least keep the Anchor from killing him.

After all of this, he couldn’t lose the love of his life—they had survived high dragons and would-be gods and titans and this couldn’t be the end. He felt like it was almost their responsibility to take care of Solas, too—if only they hadn’t been so blind. He felt guilty that he was going back to Tevinter after all of this—he hadn’t meant to break Damien’s heart and he likely wouldn’t forget the look on his lover’s face when he said he was going back for good, this time.

The mage had meant the sending crystal as a peace offering, hoping it was enough, but standing here now he realized it made for poor company and even poorer consolation. Damien had joked about stealing an eluvian or two and while Dorian had brushed it off at the time, he was starting to think maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. Damien had promised him a night in a wyvern-down bed at the Winter Palace, after all, and this time the Game and the royal’s squabbles wouldn’t get in the way.

Yelling drew him out of his thoughts—a common occurrence when Damien made his appearance that Dorian had gotten used to over the three years that had passed. Relief flowed through him as he turned, glad that Solas hadn’t decided to turn his Inquisitor into a pile of dust, but that relief was quickly replaced with pure terror and dread. Damien came limping out of the eluvian he had originally disappeared through, tears streaming down his face and his entire left arm flaring green, his opposite hand pulling at a cloth he had tied around his upper arm—a tourniquet, Dorian realized seconds later. Cassandra and Varric had rushed forward, catching the Inquisitor as he all, but fell forward to his knees, holding his arm out.

“Cassandra please before it kills me,” the Inquisitor cried, his voice breaking as he pleaded with the new Divine, fresh tears staining his freckled cheeks when the green light from his palm flashed again, his watery green eyes squeezing shut and his jaw clenching as pain radiated through his body. Dorian could feel the strong pushing and pulling of the Fade around him, realizing just how much pain Damien had to be in. Cassandra moved to hesitantly draw her sword, opening her mouth to argue.

“Inquisi-” but Damien interrupted her, grabbing Varric’s hand as he extended it in preparation.

“CASSANDRA!”

Dorian rushed forward as Cassandra raised her sword, falling to his knees in front of the Inquisitor and grabbing Damien’s face, turning it away as the mage pulled it against his chest so the warrior wouldn’t see. Cassandra’s sword cut deftly through the air and for Damien’s sake, Dorian hoped the blade was still sharp. The Inquisitor cried out as metal met skin and bone, digging his face into Dorian’s robes, his grip on Varric’s hand tightening. Dorian forced himself to look, grimacing before cauterizing the wound with flames produced from his hand, sealing it over with ice to hopefully numb the pain.

Damien let out a choked sob, collapsing against Dorian and Varric, his green eyes half-lidded as if he were in a daze, but Dorian could detect a sort of relief in his posture. Dorian pulled him closer, wishing he could do more to ease the pain, whispering calming encouragements in Damien’s ear.

But, even to his own ears, the words “Everything will be okay” sounded almost fake.

[fuwafuwagem]

MC surprise the rfa + V + Saeran with her pregnancy? (Ex whisper challenge or a card)

Ooooh thanks Nonny ^^ This is the first time I’vewritten scenarios this way, so hopefully I don’t screw it up too bad~

MC surprises the RFA +V + Saeran with her pregnancy

Yoosung

Yoosung was just finishing up after a long day atwork, his wife waiting patiently for him so they could go home together.

“Almost done MC.”

“What are you looking at?” she asked, a small smilefluttering briefly across her lips.

“My latest patient,” Yoosung answered, smiling fondlyat the scans he held. “She’s a small dog, but she has so many puppies insideher! She’s going to need assistance when the time comes to deliver th- Oh! What’sthis?” He adjusted his glasses, his eyes squinting as he held up a scan thatwas significantly different from the rest. “It looks like… a human foetus.”

MC couldn’t stifle a chuckle. She covered her mouth asshe watched her husband’s eyes widen.

“MC! This has your name on it!” he cried out. Hestared at her, dropping the scans onto his desk. “MC? Is this…?”

MC couldn’t hold back and longer. “We’re having a babyYoosung! We’re going to be parents!!

Yoosung scooped her up into his arms, covering herface with kisses, the two of them a picture of bliss.

Zen

Zen and MC laid in bed, their bodies pressed flushtogether. Her head rested on his chest as she let out a long sigh.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his fingers brushing throughher hair.

“Yeah,” she said as she nuzzled into him gently. “Iwas just thinking about the future.” She tilted her head to look up at hisface. “What do you think the future holds for us, Zenny?”

He smiled as a picture began to form in his head. “Ithink we’ll grow old together,” he whispered. “We’ll be happy and in love forthe rest of our lives.”

“What about a family?” MC asked.

“I definitely want that,” he grinned. “A family withyou would make me the happiest man in the world.” His brow furrowed. “But we’dhave to get married first. Let’s do things in order.”

MC chuckled. “If you want to get married before wehave a family, you’d better hurry up and propose. You have a limit of seven anda half months.”

Zen continued to smile. “Yeah,” he replied. Thenslowly, the realization of what MC had just said washed over him like coldwater. “Wait a minute! MC, are you?…”

She bit her lip nervously as he stared at her, hiseyes wide with disbelief. Then suddenly, she was on her back, Zen straddlingher hips. “Ah! Zen!”

“MC,” he said softly, his fingers tracing circles onher bare stomach. “Is there a baby in here?”

She nodded. “Our baby.”

Zen let out a shuddering breath, his mouth splittinginto an enormous grin. “I can’t believe it.” He leaned forward, his lipscrashing against hers as he kissed her deeply. MC’s fingers raked through hisloose hair, pulling him even closer. He chuckled as he pulled away slightly,his lips brushing against hers as he said, “Looks like we have a wedding toplan.”

Jaehee

“MC!” Jaehee called out. “Are you almost finished withthat cake?”

MC hurried out of the kitchen with a cake tin in herhands. “I’m done,” she said, smiling softly at her girlfriend. She put the tin onthe counter, but didn’t remove the lid. Adjusting her apron, she looked around.The café had only just opened and already there were customers. With acontented smile, she busied herself with helping Jaehee serve those that werelined up at the till.

Eventually the rush died down and Jaehee sighed,smiling lovingly at MC. “It should stay calm until lunch time now. I wanted totalk to you about making another appointment at the IVF clinic. I think we canafford one more round before our savings are gone.”

MC frowned, taking Jaehee’s hand delicately in her own.“Honey, I… I think we should stop.”

Jaehee’s brown eyes were immediately glossy with tearsas she stifled a sob with her hand. “I knew it was too much. I know it’sstressful. I just really want a family with the person I love.”

MC pulled Jaehee into her arms, squeezing her gently. “Jaehee,let’s have some cake. It might cheer you up a bit.”

“I don’t see how,” Jaehee sighed, “but okay.” Shelifted the lid from the tin and looked down at the cake. She gasped, her headwhipping round to stare at a grinning MC.

“I’m sorry,” MC said. “I wanted to surprise you.”

Jaehee eyes began to stream with tears as she threwher arms around MC’s neck, and they held each other close as they stood besidethe cake which MC had iced with the words ‘I’m pregnant!’

Jumin

“Time for bed, my love,” Jumin purred into MC’s ear asshe leaned her head on his shoulder, her eyelids heavy.

“Are you coming too?” she asked sleepily.

Jumin sighed deeply. “I won’t be long. Just a few moresignatures on a few more papers, then I’ll be back by your side where I belong.”

She groaned as he helped her to her feet and led herto their bedroom. She climbed under the blankets and let him tuck her in.

“Read to me,” she said as she snuggled down into thewarmth of their bed.

“Oh?” said Jumin, a hint of humour in his voice. “Youneed a bedtime story? Well if it will help you sleep. Do you have a preference?”

MC hid her smile beneath the sheets. “Yes. The one youread to me the first night I ever stayed here.”

“Ah yes, I know the one,” Jumin said as he picked thebook up from the self, running his fingers over the cover. He sat down at theedge of the bed and found the page where he had left off the last time he readto her.

MC’s eyes drooped as she listened to his deep voice,lulling her to sleep. Her breathing slowed and soon became gentle snores. Shehad just drifted off when Jumin turned the page and stopped his narration. Heswallowed, his eyes fixed on the note that had been placed between the pages.

‘Weare having a baby!’

He read and reread the note, written in MC’shandwriting. The book was cast aside as he leaned over his wife, his lipsfinding hers, kissing her awake. Her response was to kiss him back as tears ofjoy sprang from her eyes.

“Thank you MC,” he sighed against her lips. “I loveyou.”

Saeyoung

“Ah! MC!! My jeans have shrunk!”

MC quirked her brow as her new husband hurried intothe room looking devastated. “Aww, they look like they were made for a baby,”she chuckled.

Saeyoung pouted, standing in the room wearing only hisbright red underpants. “It’s not funny. I hate buying new clothes. What did youdo to our washing, MC?” he asked dramatically as he sloped back into thelaundry room.

MC laughed quietly until she heard him shriek again.

“My shirt! My red shirt! Noooooooooo!”

MC snorted, but managed to compose herself a little asSaeyoung practically sprinted into the room.

“My shirt is tiny MC!” he cried. “My clothes! How didthis happen?” He waved the tiny pair of jeans and the small red shirt around infront of her.”

“Oh, you had best check on your hoodie too then,” shesaid, biting her lip.

The colour drained from Saeyoung’s face. “Please God,not my hoodie.”

MC watched him as he rushed out of the room, thenreached around the back of the couch, pulling out the clothes she had hiddenand putting them on her lap. One pair of jeans, one red shirt, and one blackhoodie, complete with yellow trim. All Saeyoung sized.

Her husband walked back into the room, his face buriedin a very small version of his black hoodie. “I’m sure this is grounds for adivorce,” he mumbled. He glanced up at MC. “I didn’t mean that, but pleasenever wash my clothes again.”

“You mean these clothes?” she asked, patting theclothes that were folded neatly on her lap.

Saeyoung’s brow creased. “Wait, are those mine?

MC nodded, a sweetly innocent smile on her lips.

“Then what are these?” Saeyoung asked, holding out thesmall version of his outfit.

“I told you,” MC said, unable to hold back her grinany more. “Made for a baby.”

“Whose baby?” he asked, practically vibrating with theexcitement he was forcing himself to hold back.

MC patted her stomach. “This one.”

Saeyoung threw himself at his wife, his mouth on hersbefore she even knew what was happening.

“We’re having a baby,” he sang out, his hands warmover her stomach. “I’m going to be the best dad ever!”

“Yes you are,” MC agreed, pulling him back to herlips.

Jihyun

Jihyun drew in his sketchbook as MC finished herpainting. He hadn’t been allowed to look at it in the three days since she hadstarted it, and he was eager to praise her for her work. He admired herstrength, never doubting herself through each stroke of her brush. He even sawher smile several times and he knew she was pleased with her piece.

“I… I think I’m done,” she said finally, putting herbrush down.

“May I take a look?” Jihyun asked.

MC nodded, and he took a seat beside her. His eyestraced every inch of the paper. A blue sky. A sandy beach. Three figureswalking hand in hand; a man, a woman and a child.

“This is beautiful MC,” he said, turning to her andseeing the way the blush rose in her cheeks. He looked closer at the people shehad painted. “Is this me?” he asked, pointing to the man, and she nodded. Hehad recognised his stand-out hair colour immediately. He smiled. “Then this isyou?” She nodded again. His eyes drifted to the small child standing betweenthem, their hair painted slightly darker than Jihyun’s, but the similarity wasstriking. “Then this,” he said, pointing at the child, a smile playing on hislips, “is our future?”

“How old would you say the child I’ve painted is?” MCasked, her hand falling into her boyfriends, their fingers becoming entwined.

“Hmm.” Jihyun took a moment to think. “About four?”

MC nodded. “Then,” her eyes fell back on her creation,“this is our future in about four years and eight months.”

Jihyun’s eyes widened. “MC, are you saying…”

“That I’m pregnant? Yes.”

Jihyun’s smile became the widest she had ever seen it,and he took her gently in his arms, holding her like he would never let her go.“I can’t wait for the future. Our future, with the three of us.”

Saeran

Ilove you more than the stars in the sky

Morethan the vastness of the ocean

Prettybig numbers

Right?

Eventhe highest mountain is tiny in comparison

Guesswhat!

Noone can compare to you

Andno one ever will

Neverdoubt my feelings for you

Theyare forever

 Saeran read the note MC had left on the table beforeshe went to the store. There was something a bit off about it, but he couldn’tmake it out.

“It’s not an anniversary,” he mumbled, but then startedto panic, wondering if he had forgotten some important date. He unlocked hisphone and opened the calendar app, but there were no reminders. It was just anormal day. He pressed his lips together, reading the note again. “What are youtrying to tell me, MC?” He sat on the couch, closing his eyes and pressing thenote to his heart.

He thought about how they had met, the time they hadspent together, the love that had blossomed between them. MC was the woman heloved more than anyone else in the world. If he couldn’t read between the linesof the note she had written him, what sort of boyfriend was he? He looked overit again. “Why does ‘right?’ have a line to itself? Strange.” He read it again,then again. Then his eyes widened, his jaw dropped. The first letter of each sentencespelled out-

“Saeran! I’m home!”

Saeran ran into the hallway and grabbed MC, pullingher tightly to his chest where she could feel the pounding of his heart.

“Is it true?” he asked.

She nodded, lifting her head to gaze lovingly into hisbright green eyes. He kissed he softly, his hand resting on her silken hair.

“I love you,” he murmured. “I promise I’ll doeverything to make sure our baby has the happiest childhood.”

[adorkablephil]

Fic: The Roles We Play (9/11)

Title: The Roles We Play Summary: Dan Howell and Phil Lester work together as voice actors for BBC radio dramas in the late 1930s, but slowly begin to develop “inappropriate” feelings for each other Rating: G Word Count: 5,266 (this chapter) Tags: Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Historical AU, 1930s, BBC, Radio, Actors AU, Slow Burn, Love Letters, Past Character Death, Grief, Angst Author’s Note: This fic was inspired by the @phanfichallenge 20k History Challenge. A bazillion thanks, as always, to my amazing beta, India! Those of you who were pleased to finally see a letter from Dan in the last chapter, you should enjoy this.

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[ All Chapters Masterlist ]

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Chapter 9: Dan

15 July 1939

Dan felt as if he might vibrate out of his skin, his nervousness was so great when he went to the BBC for their broadcast the next afternoon. This would be the first time he had seen Phil since receiving his letter. He had posted his own reply a mere hour ago, and so Phil would, of course, not have received it yet and surely must be in a state of extreme anxiety regarding how his words had been received. He had taken such a chance in writing to Dan, more of a chance than Dan thought he would have been able to take himself, and Dan could not help but feel grateful for Phil’s courage in the face of this difficult situation.

When he entered the room at the BBC, Phil was not yet there, so Dan took a seat and waited with a mounting mixture of excitement and nervousness. When, at last, Phil entered the room, his eyes immediately sought out Dan’s, and their gazes met like crashing waves, like cymbals ringing against each other, and it seemed absurd that no one else in the room was aware of that momentous second in time.

Phil’s eyes widened, as he no doubt knew from Dan’s expression that his letter had been received. He bit his lip and looked down at the floor, seeking his seat in what looked like a paroxysm of anxiety.

He did not meet Dan’s eyes again until the tones that indicated the start of the broadcast, and then he hesitantly looked up through his lashes and their gazes held. Phil looked so hopeful and vulnerable. Dan gave him a small smile, and it seemed to reassure him, as Dan saw Phil heave a sigh as his shoulders dropped from where they’d been hovering around his ears.

Throughout the entire broadcast, Phil glanced repeatedly to meet Dan’s eyes again and again, his own confidence seeming to grow with each encouraging smile.

When the broadcast was over, Dan asked casually, “Care to stop by the pub?” and Phil actually blushed.

Neither of them made any reference to the letter or its contents, but they chatted over drinks at the pub with a new tension between them.

******

18 July 1939

While practicing the piano in his flat, Dan was surprised to hear a knock at his front door. When he opened the door, he found Phil waiting with hands hooked awkwardly into his trouser pockets. He still looked as debonair as ever, with his shining hair and noble features, his slightly ill-fitting expensive suit, but he also seemed adorably shy. He’d never shown up at Dan’s door unannounced like this before.

He must have received Dan’s response to his letter. He must know now that Dan returned his feelings, that Dan felt the same depth of emotion and wanted the same romantic connection.

But neither of them could say anything to that effect. It was unlikely that anyone would report them to the police for an offhand comment, or that they would be officially investigated even if that did happen, but the slightest scandal could destroy both their careers, and so they would need to exercise the utmost caution.

“The weather is quite fine today,” Phil said, color high on his cheekbones. “I wondered if you might like to take a walk through the park.”

Dan grinned with a rush of giddy delight. “Let me grab my coat.”

And so they walked along the paths of Hyde Park, commenting on this and that, everything and nothing. Just two young gentlemen out for a stroll. Nothing scandalous or unusual about that at all. But they both knew that the world of thoughts and feelings between them that could not be spoken were clear with every hesitant glance and nervous smile.

******

21 July 1939

Phil suggested that they attend the London Symphony Orchestra, and Dan felt flattered. He knew Phil did not appreciate music as much as he himself did, and so it was clearly an attempt to please Dan. The fact that Phil even thought to do so meant a great deal to him, as it showed his thoughtfulness, how much he cared.

They dressed in their best finery, and Phil looked quite stunningly handsome. His tailor had cut his tuxedo much better than his suits for daily wear, or perhaps it had been a different tailor entirely, for this garment made him look like one of the most elegant Hollywood film stars. Dan stood gaping at him when Phil arrived on his doorstep until Phil cleared his throat uncomfortably and asked, “Do I not look all right?”

“You look,” Dan stopped to search for words, but could find none that were sufficient. “You look like a star, freshly fallen from the sky,” he finally said, then cringed at his own words. But the sudden bashful smile on Phil’s face made his own embarrassment worth it.

When they arrived at the concert hall and received their programs, Dan perused the selection of pieces that the orchestra would be playing that evening. He and Phil found their seats, and Phil leaned close to Dan’s shoulder to point at an item in the program. The scent of his skin and the warmth of his body made Dan’s breath catch, and he almost did not hear what Phil was saying. But he realized that Phil was pointing at the line that said, “Ludwig van Beethoven, Bagatelle No. 25 in A minor.”

“I believe this is the piece you mentioned before, is it not? The one they call ‘Für Elise’?” Phil asked, sounding uncertain but hopeful. “This was the piece that made you want to learn piano, right? I thought you might like to hear it performed.”

Dan turned to look at Phil, moved that Phil had remembered such a small detail, and found their faces very close together. Phil was still pressed close to Dan’s side where he had leaned to point out the item in the program, and they both froze. After what felt like several minutes but must have been mere seconds, Phil pulled back so that he was sitting upright and looked around them, but no one seemed to have noticed anything untoward.

Dan looked down at the program in his hand, at the listing of Beethoven’s composition that meant so much to Dan personally. He thought again of Phil’s birthday gift of piano lessons that had been bringing Dan such fulfillment after so many years of hopeless longing.

So many years of hopeless longing.

He looked at Phil.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

Phil smiled. “I thought you would like it.”

Dan let everything he felt show in his eyes as he replied, “I love it.”

******

23 July 1939

Dan sat down to write another letter to Phil. It was nearly painful to see him nearly every day and yet be unable to speak of these intense emotions between them. And yet, at the same time, he did not know if he would even know what to do or say if they were to address the issue directly. And so he put his thoughts onto the page once more.

-

23 July 1939

Dearest Philip,

I live for your letters, and every moment I spend in your presence I wish to speak my feelings aloud but know I mustn’t. No one would understand the beauty of what we experience together.

For most of my life, I have known that I was different, that I was somehow defective, and that is why I did not marry. I tried to hide my deficiency from the world, for I did not want anyone to know that something was so very wrong with me.

But that night when you held my hand in yours on the grass beneath the stars, I knew in my very soul that this was in no way wrong. Nothing in my entire life has felt so right as the perfection of that moment. When I received your first letter and realized that you shared my feelings, my heart took flight as if seeking yours through the aether, and I think it has not returned to my body yet as it wishes only to reside with you.

Yours with great joy and the utmost happiness, Daniel

-

After sealing and addressing the envelope, Dan sat contemplatively holding it in his lap for a long moment.

He knew he could not marry Dora. He could never truly love her, and his feelings for Phil had only proven that more thoroughly than he had already known it before. And yet … his family expected certain things from him. A family. Children. A certain role in society. He had been raised to obey his parents and avoid embarrassing them in any way.

He looked at the letter in his hands and knew that what he perceived as joy, they would perceive as shame.

He knew he must end his engagement—it was a farce when he felt these feelings for Phil—but he felt pressure from not only his family but also the entire society around them. The old, familiar questions arose for him: How could he live an authentic life in an absurd world full of ridiculous rules? Why couldn’t society around them simply allow him and Phil to be together without these illogical laws and unnecessary expectations?

He wished he had not yet sealed the letter, for he had felt such joy upon finishing it, such bliss when signing his name, that he wished he could reread it to find that joy again. In that moment, as he held the envelope in his hand, he felt the world pressing around him on all sides so acutely that it seemed to crush the brilliant diamond of his elation, destroying it, until it simply slipped through his desperate fingers like so much sand.

******

8 August 1939 – 15 August 1939

-

8 August 1939

My dearest,

You write that you are falling, that I must catch you in my arms. I fear to tell you that I, too, fall further and deeper with every passing day. Perhaps, in falling together, we may find some safe landing that cradles us both in safety and love.

While we may both be falling, in using that word, love, I alone take a voluntary, terrifying leap into that fall. In the salutations of your letters, you have called me your beloved, but you have not used that word in the body of what you write.

I will hold back the words no longer, as I have felt them in my soul for many months now, long before our precious hours beneath the sheltering willow trees. I love you. This love is not new to me, for I have held it close and private through many hours at the club, many radio rehearsals and broadcasts, many conversations you may have considered only friendly.

This admission frightens me, for I fear that these feelings between us may be new to you and so you may pity me the longevity of my silent devotion.

I end this letter in some anxiety about your response, but, as always, yours, Daniel

-

11 August 1939

My most beloved Daniel,

I do love you. I love you most ardently, and these feelings are not new. I, too, have gazed at you with longing in my heart and wished that I might hold you close, but I did not believe you would welcome such attentions, and so I hid my emotions as best I could.

I hide them no longer. I do love you. I love you with every beat of my heart, every breath of my lungs.

I love you. I love you. I love you. Never doubt it.

Most devotedly yours, Philip

-

15 August 1939

My Dearest Philip,

Your most recent letter is the dearest possession I shall ever have in my life, and I shall cherish it always, forever keeping it close to me for the rest of my days.

You love me as I love you, and this thought is a revelation, a blessing, a miracle for which I shall never cease to be grateful. The universe has bestowed upon me the most beautiful of wonders in granting me your love, and I hope that the poor heart I offer you in return may in some way repay the grace you have granted me.

Ardently, Your loving Daniel

******

28 August 1939

While they played chess at Phil’s club, Dan’s fingers accidentally brushed Phil’s as they both reached for popcorn. They both looked up from the board, and their eyes met and held. Every word they had written but not spoken hovered between them like an intoxicating mist of emotion.

Phil bit his lip and looked back down at the board, pulling his hand away without having taken any popcorn at all, as if he had forgotten what he had been in the midst of doing. Dan worried for a moment that Phil might be regretting their time together, the letters he’d written, the promises he’d made—Dan’s mind raced with horrible scenarios.

And then Phil looked up at him from beneath his lashes and smiled shyly, and Dan’s heart calmed. They were true to each other. They may not have said the words aloud, but they were nonetheless true.

Dan smiled at Phil in return, and they turned back to their game as if nothing of import had transpired. And, in the eyes of all those around them, nothing had.

******

2 September 1939 – 6 September 1939

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2 September 1939

Most Beloved Daniel,

If I may be so bold as to ask, when did you first become aware of your affection for me? I must admit that I am curious. For my own part, I know that I had admired you from our first meeting but only became aware of the extent of my attachment when you informed me of your engagement. I must admit that in that moment I was struck through the heart and knew not what to say. I had not realized how deeply I had come to care for you before I heard those words from your lips.

I apologize for leaving so abruptly the next day, and with no word to you, but I felt a desperate need for the comfort of my loving family beside me when I felt such distress. I hope you will not feel guilt that I reacted thus, for I am certain you had no idea that your words or their import would so deeply affect me, but I had great need of the affection and warmth of my mother, especially, in those difficult days. As you know, she is a deeply loving person, and I felt a terrible longing for such comfort at that time, as I was then convinced that you could never love me as I then realized that I loved you. I felt hopeless, lost, a boat without a mooring, adrift in a love that had no end in sight and no possibility of reciprocity.

The fact that you now profess such emotions for me is a gift I could never have predicted, expected, or even hoped for. I am grateful every day, every moment, for the love you have offered me.

Devotedly yours, Philip

-

Dan himself felt struck through the heart by Phil’s words. The letter offered no blame regarding Dan’s engagement to Dora, no requests or expectations, but Dan knew that this continuing commitment must still cause Phil pain, and that knowledge itself caused Dan pain in turn.

Surely this situation could not continue, and yet Dan could not bring himself to disappoint and shame his family by ending the longstanding engagement. Such an action would not only disappoint Dora but put her into an awkward social position, and their two families would surely cease all friendly interaction. In such a small village, this strife would cause everyone involved a great deal of discomfort and difficulty.

Dan could not find the strength to cause so much disruption and unhappiness to so many people he had known his entire life. And yet the dishonesty he had hidden for so long had now grown even more acute.

This internal conflict could not continue indefinitely, but Dan had no idea how he could resolve it without causing pain to someone he cared about. Perhaps there was, in fact, no way to do so. He dropped his head into his hands and despaired.

But Phil had asked him a question, and Dan owed him an answer. He took up his pen.

-

6 September 1939

My dearest,

You ask when I first became aware of the depth of my feelings for you, when I first realized that the flutterings in my heart bespoke love and not merely friendly affection, and I think you will be surprised by my answer.

Looking back with honest eyes, I can see that my regard for you began turning toward love during our very first meeting. When you whispered to me that you would prefer to play Puck in our production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, I began to fall. In that moment, knowing so little of you except the kindness and humor in your eyes—the boyish, playful longings we both shared—I fell. I did not see it immediately—I knew only that I valued your company above all others, that I longed for your admiration and attention—but I can now see that those feelings were the earliest stirrings of this enduring devotion.

Will you think me frivolous, that I developed such an attachment so quickly? I can assure you that it had never happened before. It was you. Simply you. I saw you, spoke with you, and my heart knew it had found its match, its one and only true partner among all others in the world.

No other exists for me but you.

With ardent affection, Daniel

-

Dan put the pen down on the desk and reread the letter before addressing the envelope. “No other exists for me but you,” he had written, and yet he continued to promise himself to another. As he addressed the envelope, writing that most beloved name, he felt disgust at his own hypocrisy.

******

20 September 1939

They walked out of the cinema together after watching “The Man They Could Not Hang,” which was the scariest of the films they’d seen together thus far.

“I rather wish I could take your arm and huddle up against you to keep away the monsters,” Dan joked, then noticed guiltily when Phil glanced around them. Was he nervous that someone may have heard what Dan had said? “I’m just teasing,” Dan said more loudly, trying to set things right. Phil looked at him in confusion.

This was going all wrong. He needed to just behave naturally. The problem was that his natural inclinations now, after all they had to written to each other, were to curl up against Phil like a kitten, and that just wouldn’t do. Not in private, and certainly not on the pavement in front of the cinema.

They never spoke of those written words, those truths too private to risk exposure to the world. Their eyes might betray their feelings if anyone had known to look, but they hid their secrets well.

“Shall I walk you home?” Phil suggested. “I can catch a taxi from there.” Dan nodded, and they began walking side by side in the direction of Dan’s flat. Their steps were slow, neither of them wanting to rush toward the moment when they must part. Occasionally, they cast glances at each other, smiling when their eyes met. Dan chuckled and ducked his head shyly the third or fourth time it happened. They were like lovers in a film or book, unable to keep their eyes off each other … like nothing Dan had ever experienced in the real world before this.

“Should I not look at you?” Phil asked, and Dan couldn’t tell whether he was joking or not.

Dan glanced around to see no one else nearby before saying quietly, “I like when you look at me.” He could feel his cheeks heat with his blush, but was glad that the lamplight would not be bright enough to make his embarrassment obvious.

Though if there was anyone he was comfortable being that vulnerable with, it was Phil.

He jumped slightly when he felt Phil’s hand brush his lightly, as if by chance. He looked at Phil, who smiled at him and said simply, “Me, too.”

They walked in near silence until a light rain began to fall when they were not far from Dan’s flat. “Blast!” Phil exclaimed when the rain began to fall more heavily. “I don’t have an umbrella. I’ll have the devil’s time finding a taxi on the street in this rain!”

They both broke into a trot. “Come in and phone a taxi from my flat,” Dan suggested as they jogged, his hair flattening to his head as the rain ruined his carefully styled slick hairstyle. At least in this kind of rain, his hair would be too soggy to spring into its natural curls and utterly shame him.

When they arrived at the flat, Dan opened the door quickly and they both rushed inside, drenched to the skin. After their sprint, they were both breathing heavily. They turned to look at each other, both soaking wet, and broke into laughter. Dan pushed his hair out of his face and saw Phil do the same.

Phil removed his spectacles, complaining, “These things are useless in the rain, and then they promptly fog up when I enter a warm room!” He tucked them into his shirt pocket and then pushed his hair back again before letting his eyes rest on Dan and stay there.

Cold droplets of water were dripping from Dan’s hair onto his sensitive neck, and it made him shiver. He tried to keep his voice light as he joked, “Without your spectacles, I must look like only a blur right now.”

“A beautiful blur,” Phil replied with a smile. “And perhaps it only means I need to come closer.”

This stepped beyond their usual flirting into potentially dangerous territory, and so Dan said brightly, “Let’s get you that taxi,” a little embarrassed by how breathy his voice sounded. But Phil rested a hand on his arm again, just enough to keep Dan from turning away. He looked into Phil’s pale eyes, so striking without his spectacles, and found he couldn’t break the connection, extremely aware of the feel of Phil’s gentle touch and the harsh sound of their combined breathing in the silent entryway.

Suddenly, Dan felt a rush of bravery and asked hesitantly, “Would you like to … you could take your coat off and dry your hair. You could … stay a while. We could talk.”

Phil gazed at him mutely in surprise at this unexpected invitation, then smiled tentatively and nodded.

Dan showed him in and took his coat, which was soaking wet from the rain. He hung it on a peg near the front door, along with Phil’s scarf and his own coat. Then he and Phil stood awkwardly near the entryway, neither knowing what to say. They had previously avoided such potentially scandalous privacy, but at this moment, Dan simply could not force himself to ask Phil to leave.

Eyeing Phil’s wet clothing, Dan said, “We seem to wear a similar size. Would you like to borrow some dry clothes? You might be more comfortable. If you don’t find it overly forward, that is.” Suddenly overcome with embarrassment, Dan waved his hands and looked down at the floor, feeling humiliated that he had suggested something so inappropriate. “In fact, never mind. I’ve obviously overstepped.”

But then he felt Phil’s finger lifting his chin so that their eyes met again. “Some dry clothes would be lovely. I thank you very much for the kindness of the offer.” He seemed a bit stiff, perhaps nervous, but smiled.

Dan hunched his shoulders slightly in embarrassment for overreacting and nodded, probably more than was strictly necessary. Then he fled to his bedroom to fetch some dry clothes for Phil. He chose some wool trousers and a warm, fleecy jumper, wanting Phil to feel comfortable in his home. They could build a fire, as well.

When he returned to the lounge, he found Phil standing awkwardly in the center of the room. “I didn’t want to sit,” Phil explained. “I didn’t want to get your furniture wet.”

“Oh!” Dan exclaimed, embarrassed again. “Of course! Let me … I’ll get you a towel … and here are some dry clothes.” He held the clothes out to Phil, who took them and held them carefully away from his drenched body. Dan fetched a towel and showed Phil where to find the toilet so that he could dry off and change into the borrowed clothing.

Phil emerged a few moments later looking much less posh than usual, and Dan was surprisingly moved by the sight of Phil in the more casual garments, primarily because Dan had worn those familiar clothes so many times himself. It somehow felt extremely intimate—this sharing—even if it was only a few pieces of cloth against skin. Phil gestured to himself and said, smiling, “You were right. Your clothes fit me quite well.”

“Let me start a fire in the grate,” Dan suggested, but Phil stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Leave the fire to me,” Phil insisted. “You should go change into some dry clothes yourself. You look half frozen.”

“Oh,” Dan said, looking down at himself. He’d forgotten that he, too, was soaking wet, so focused was he on Phil’s comfort. “Of course. I’ll go change. Back in a moment.” And he fled the room where Phil looked so tempting with his tousled hair and borrowed jumper.

There was no way to salvage his hair, simply no way at all, and so Dan simply toweled it until it was no longer dripping and decided that he would have to allow Phil to see his hair in its wavy natural state, as the Brylcreem could no longer hold it in place properly after being so thoroughly exposed to the pouring rain. He changed into some comfortable clothes, including a black jumper that was quite soft and, he hoped, looked quite handsome on him, even though he was embarrassed by his desire to look attractive for Phil.

But why should he be embarrassed? They had expressed their mutual feelings. He knew that Phil shared his attraction, his love. Taking a deep breath to fortify himself, he returned to the lounge, where Phil was crouched in front of the grate, stoking the fire. Phil turned to look at him, and his eyes roamed from Dan’s stocking feet to his damp, wavy hair, and then back down again. Dan shivered under that heated gaze.

“I think the fire will warm the room quickly,” Phil said, returning to standing. As they stood there again, facing each other uncomfortably, Dan frantically wracked his brain for some way to make this all less awkward.

“Shall we sit?” Dan suggested. “Or I could … I could play the piano for you. You could hear the results of your birthday present. I mean, I haven’t improved tremendously, but … never mind.” He could feel his face heat. “Oh, I’m a disaster,” he moaned, laughing at himself, safe in the knowledge that Phil would not judge him.

Phil stepped closer and slowly wrapped his arms around Dan, a far gentler embrace than the masculine hugs they had occasionally exchanged over the course of their friendship. Dan leaned into Phil’s body and wrapped his arms around Phil’s waist, leaning his head down to rest on Phil’s shoulder. “I would love to hear you play,” Phil said quietly. “But I would much more, at least for tonight, prefer to sit with you in my arms, if that would not make you uncomfortable.”

Dan lifted his head to look into Phil’s face, once again bespectacled, and replied softly, “I would like that very much.”

And so they settled onto the sofa, cuddled together, and listened to each other’s quiet breathing and heartbeats for a long time.

******

26 September 1939

The morning after his evening in Phil’s arms, Dan woke with a feeling of peace that he had not felt in a long time, perhaps ever. He knew that they had not broken the letter of the law that forbade a man loving another man, and yet they had violated the spirit of that law.

But he felt that he could not believe in a law that prohibited something of such beauty and joy.

And so, one morning a few days later, he sat down at his desk and composed another letter to Phil. Like the letter in which he had first declared his love, this one took a great chance, for he did not know if Phil would likewise be willing to hazard this risk, but for his own happiness—and Phil’s own, he hoped—he considered the emotional jeopardy worth the potential gain.

-

26 September 1939

My dearest Philip,

I have given this a great deal of thought, and so I do not wish you to think that I take this matter lightly. I know that it would involve some amount of risk to both our reputations, and I respect the fact that you may not consider that danger worthwhile, but allow me to suggest that perhaps there is no reason that two young men—friends and colleagues—might spend time alone together upon occasion in each other’s homes. None would, I think, see anything amiss in such behavior.

I do not, of course, propose any activities illegal or immoral, but I found our recent evening together at my house to be so delightful in its privacy that I have decided to take the chance of suggesting that other such evenings might be possible.

If I have given offense, I apologize, for I do not wish you to believe me harboring inappropriate intentions. I simply believe that an evening as lovely as that which we shared cannot be in any way wrong. I hope that you will not blame me for feeling so.

In some anxiety, Daniel

-

Dan sealed the letter, not giving himself any time to doubt himself or possibly change his mind. He addressed the envelope quickly and immediately walked to the postbox on the corner, where he deposited the letter with a shaking hand.

There. It was done. Either their relationship would change, allowing for more privacy and intimacy, or Phil would chastise him for daring to suggest that he might be willing to behave in such a scandalous fashion, simply because it had happened once by chance.

He returned home, knowing that in the evening he would see Phil, all innocent of the behavior Dan had so boldly proposed. Dan looked at his trembling hands and wondered if Phil would be able to read his nervousness without even needing to read the letter itself.

In a few days, the letter would arrive, and then Dan would see Phil again, and he would know.

******

[ Continue to Chapter 10 ]

[sparkknightella]

A Mistake Person

HEYO all of y'all are suddenly interested in my writing and wowza i cried thank u all!!

THIS WAS BASED ON REAL LIFE EVENTS!! I’M EDDIE!! MY CRUSH IS RICHIE!! I’M A DUMBASS!!! but my crush didn't say cute shit they just said thanks haha

warnings: possible cringe?? BLOOD!!! THERES A BLOODY PICTURE YO

This is lowkey a texting fic so whoops. (also softboirich is my actual instagram follow me (that was slick as hell))

-

Eddie scrolled through Richie’s page for the fiftieth time that day. Hoping, wishing, praying his crush would post something and he could feel himself fall in love all over again.

“Dude, stop pining and just message him already. He can’t be that full of himself. Anyway, if he is rude, you deserve better.”

“Stan! That’s not how that works! Messaging someone out of the blue is totally weird and not okay like you’re just bugging that person and anywa-“

A pillow flew at Eddie’s face. He could feel his stomach unclenching and his mind unclouding from the haze of nerves it had been.

“Jesus, fine, stop with the projectiles.”

He looked back down at his phone.

Eddie rushed to send a message to his now-injured crush.

eddddie.k: Baby, holy fuck, are you okay? What the fuck happened?

He sent the message without proof reading. Without giving a second thought to what he said.

Stan leaned over and glanced at the message. “Did you realize you called him baby?”

“Wait, I what?”

Cue stomach clench. Cue a crazed squeal. Cue a punch to Stan’s shoulder.

eddddie.k: HAHA holy shit i didn’t mean to call you baby i’m sorry i totally overstepped my bounds.

He waited a few seconds.

eddddie.k: I hope your hand feels better.

•

He and Stan played Mario Kart to distract Eddie from the monumental mistake he believed he made.

“Dude, I still don’t understand why you like Luigi so much, he’s so boring! Yoshi or death.”

“Well, Viva la Luigi asshole.”

He picked up his phone to make sure his mother hadn’t texted him demanding for him to come home.

softboirich: its all good, no bounds to overstep!

softboirich: bummed about my hand though, can’t play for like a week unless i want to fuck up my hand more

Eddie squealed and threw his phone at Stan.

“You made me message him! What the fuck do I say!”

Stan picked up the phone and read the messages. “Dude, it’s just another human being. He’s no better than us, also he already follows you? It’s no big deal.”

eddddie.k: you could put band-aids on, would that even work?

Eddie put his phone face down and looked at Stan, clearly panicking. Stan started cracking up.

“Shut the hell-“

He felt his phone vibrate and picked it up.

softboirich: i tried, they split open again.

eddddie.k: wait!! what if you played with your other hand.

Stan saw Eddie getting wrapped up in texting and waved a goodnight, heading to the Kaspbrak’s spare bedroom.

Eddie gave a halfhearted nod in his direction.

Richie was already texting back!

softboirich: i don’t have a left handed guitar

eddddie.k: what? left handed guitars are a thing?

eddddie.k: WAIT

eddddie.k: cause the strings are in a certain order!

softboirich: like a piano, yeah

eddddie.k: i’m probably so annoying, i’m sorry. I’m completely wasting your time

softboirich: actually, you’re neither

eddddie.k: are you sure? cause my stress is ready to ready

He reread his message. Eddie’s stomach clenched. He could feel his cheeks flush bright red. Ready to ready? What kind of dumbass was he?

eddddie.k: ready to go*** oh my god that’s so embarrassing

softboirich: NO IM SURE!

softboirich: also, you shouldn’t be embarrassed, don’t ever feel anxious when talking to me, i know how much it sucks.

Eddie’s head was spinning. He was so happy and his cheeks were closer to a red balloon’s hue than they were to an actual skin tone. God, he’s so cool. And cute.

Now, Eddie only intended to say the former. Only intended to justify his nervousness. Instead he totally fucked up.

eddddie.k: You’re just so goddamn cute

eddddie.k: COLL*

eddddie.k: COOL*

Now Eddie waited, wishing he could disappear. Wishing he could delete his account. Delete his existence.

softboirich: THANK YOU!!!!

softboirich: you’re cute too

Eddie Kapsbrak was officially a puddle of a boy. His heart raced. His cheeks flushed even darker.

softboirich: your mom is cuter tho

-

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[gashinamoon]

An Eye for Poetry - an Olicity fic

Summary: Oliver and Felicity make great use of the fridge magnets that they'd originally bought for their kids to play with.

Words: 1502

Notes: So my friend Brianna posted this tweet and I haven't really been able to stop thinking about it since. So this happened. You're welcome, Bri. I hope you all enjoy this! Please let me know what you think!  Thanks to @ghostfoxlovely for helping me pick names for the kids. I've literally never written a fic where they have kids before and I had no idea how stressful it can be.

Read on AO3

Waking up on Sunday morning was always bittersweet for Felicity Smoak.

It was nice because Oliver always took the kids to the park early so she could sleep in or get the house cleaned or read a book or do some work or whatever she felt like doing. So she was grateful, she really was.

But it also meant that almost every Sunday she woke up in an empty bed and the house was too quiet and both of those things never made her feel like doing much at all besides waiting for her family to come back.

She never thought she’d ever be one of those wives and moms who misses their family as soon as they leave her sight, but over the last 3 years, that's exactly what she’d become. And it was especially bad on Sundays. She just didn't have the heart to tell Oliver that she really wished he wouldn't take the kids out so early. They all always came back so happy and excited and she knew they'd had a great time, Oliver included, and she just couldn't bear to take that from them for her own purely selfish reasons.

Today, however, was different.

She’d woken up and rolled over to Oliver’s side, slipping her arms under his pillow and breathing in his scent, the way she always did when she woke up without him, only this morning, she’d found a note under the pillow. Grabbing her glasses excitedly she’d found that it was written on a piece of notebook paper that had been torn messily from the book and it was slightly sticky with… something, she assumed it was maple syrup or maybe juice from some strawberries, and it said;

Morning, mommy! We left you a message on the refrigerator! And there's pancakes on the table! Love you, Emilia & Isla

PS Daddy had nothing to do with this PPS Daddy also said the pancakes would be cold by the time you woke up but Isla cried so we made them anyway. They'll probably still taste good if you microwave them for 3 minutes. PPPS Sorry about the kitchen. We were driving daddy crazy and he had to get us out of the door before he cried. He says he’ll clean it up as soon as he gets back and we’re taking naps.

Felicity chuckled to herself and smiled as she reread the note several times. It was written in Oliver’s handwriting, but she could tell he’d been distracted or in a rush because it was almost intelligible by the end. She could perfectly picture the girls wanting to write it themselves, even Isla who was only 2, and Emilia’s 4 year old handwriting alone would have taken up six pages in the notebook. She knew they'd still be downstairs writing it now if Oliver had given in, like he usually did when they wanted something. Anything.

She laughed again and got up out of bed, slipping on Oliver’s shirt that he always left for her on the floor by the bed, and a pair of her fluffy socks. Leaving the bed unmade, she headed downstairs.

*

Oliver was right to have apologised about the kitchen. There were dishes in the sink as well as in the dishwasher that had been left open, there was the same sticky substance that had been on the note all over the counters, there were crayons and markers and superhero action figurines all over the floor and the girl’s pyjamas had been left strewn over the back of the bar stools at the breakfast table. It definitely looked like it was worthy of an apology.

But she’d definitely seen it look worse.

Ignoring the mess, she walked over to the fridge, smiling at the plate of pancakes that had been left for her as she passed the table. There were two, covered in maple syrup and raspberries which explained the sticky stuff, with a knife and fork left neatly next to the plate. They were also cold, as Oliver had said, she could see that even without trying them, but she looked forward to putting them in the microwave and eating them all the same.

Reaching the fridge, she saw that the magnets they had with different words and letters on so that the girls could practice their spelling and writing, had been arranged into what looked like some sort of poem.

She is a goddess to me My sun and my moon A luscious garden of beauty My ship through the storm

Felicity felt her cheeks blush red hot with happiness as she read the poem. The girls had clearly had very minimal input.

Oliver could be such a huge sap sometimes, and she could never understand fully whether she absolutely loved it or kind of hated it. She’d never been the overly romantic type, even with Oliver let alone before him, and she sometimes still struggled with his affections for her. Of course, deep down she adored hearing him say things like this or doing ridiculously sweet and wonderful things for her, but those things also had the tendency to make her feel inadequate sometimes, like she just couldn't compete or didn't deserve them. And then there were the times where they just made her blush and also cringe a little inside because come on, “a luscious garden of beauty” was a sentence she was sure didn't come from this century or the one before it.

Grinning to herself at just how painfully over the top Oliver could be sometimes, she bent down and gathered some of the remaining magnets together to add her own sentence onto the end.

As she thought of something to add, she remembered how ridiculous Oliver had found these magnets when she’d first bought them, telling her that no 3 year old needed to know complex words like dazzling or effervescent or shattering just to name a few that had been in the pack. He’d eaten his own words a few days later when said 3 year old had walked into the living room and asked why the sun was so “resplendent” that morning. Felicity had just smiled smugly to herself at the shocked expression on his face. Later that night he told her how happy he was that it looked like at least one of their kids would grow up to be geniuses like their mom. Felicity hadn't argued with that.

Finishing up her touches to Oliver’s poem, Felicity stepped back and snapped a picture on her phone, sending it to Oliver in a text before smiling and going over to her pancakes to heat them up for breakfast.

*

Emilia and Isla were playing happily together in the sandbox at the park when Oliver felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. They'd been out of the house for an hour now and since it was so early, they were practically the only ones there. It was a beautiful Sunday morning, clear blue skies and bright sunshine forecast for the entire day. After the chaos that had ensued in the kitchen just an hour ago, Oliver was glad to be out of the house and far away from all the mess even if he did feel bad about Felicity having to wake up to such disarray. Part of him hoped she’d still be asleep when they got back and he could clean it up himself.

Glancing down at his phone, his opened the text, smiling widely when he saw it was from Felicity. His grin soon turned into choked laughter when he opened the picture attachment.

It was an image of his poem on the fridge, except there was an extra line on the bottom so that the poem now read:

She is a goddess to me My sun and my moon A luscious garden of beauty My ship through the storm

and dat butt hot

Underneath the picture was a simple text message.

Your poem was nice, but you forgot something.

He laughed again as he reread the text. It was just so… Felicity. She had to be in a very particular mood to not make a joke out of something overly romantic that he’d said or done for her. At first, it had annoyed him. All he wanted was for her to see herself the way he saw her but she always seemed so adamant to lessen it somehow, like it made her uncomfortable. But after talking about it, after hearing how she felt sometimes, like she wasn't worthy of his affection somehow, it had only made him want to do it more. One day she’d see herself how he saw her, he’d make sure of it. And for now, he would have to just take her cute little blushes, dry humour and slightly self deprecating jokes as they came.

A few seconds later, his phone buzzed again.

Come back, please. I miss you guys. Love you.

Barely 5 minutes later, Oliver and the girls were in the car on the way home.

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