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btsgotjams27 · 8 months ago

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things you didn't say | jjk

summary: with the recent interactions with jungkook, you try to downplay your feelings, but your friends encourage you to acknowledge your past and move forward.

✨ title: things you didn't say | tydk couple ✨ pairing: jungkook x f!reader ✨ genre/au: angst | ex-best friends to friends/lovers(?) ✨ rating: R/18+ | ✨ word count: 7.3k | ✨ playlist ✨ warnings: minor language, lana threatens oc with a fork, drinking, game of truth or dare, confessions, kissing ✨ a/n: hii--i'm sorry i've been a bit MIA in regards to writing. it's been such a struggle to get anything written. i've been thinking a lot about these two and i hope this last part gives us all some kind of resolution. enjoy. (and there's a small nod to something that'll happen in a different jk wip i'm working on hehe). and if you haven't read part one or two, please do so before reading this part.

✨ read part one | read part two ✨

The clock is nearly midnight, and you’re not ready for the magic to disappear.

All night, you’ve kept your heart at bay, questioning every move and word being spoken. Only you can see it, but a dark cloud is looming over you. Doubts linger like a predator waiting to pounce and take its prey. You want to avoid getting it wrong or being let down.

And your heart is the ultimate betrayer, but it doesn’t lie.

You’re caught up in sentimental memories from the past. His nose scrunches and boisterous cackles are reminiscent of the boy you remember. Hanging out and reliving past adventures felt like no time had passed, yet life updates from then to now made him feel like a stranger.

Giggles and claps, along with snorts and dribbles of wine, glide down the side of your mouth. The third wine bottle is on its way to being destroyed by the pair of you.

He’s careful to avoid the subject of Josie, for which you are grateful. If you could be honest, you would ask him why he was still with her and what he saw in her. But it’s not your place, nor are you in the position to pry.

Your eyes fall on the plants sitting on the corner shelf in the dining area—an array of pothos, snake, and rubber plants. They’re your typical plants, but it’s the planters that they’re sitting in that make you smile. The planters have stubby arms and legs with smiley faces.

Jungkook follows your gaze. “What are we looking at?”

You point to the planters. “Those little guys. They’re cute.”

“Thanks,” Jungkook says. “I made them.”

“The planters or the plants?”

He swirls his wine glass, letting out a small laugh. “The planters.”

“You made those planters?” You stand, walking over to them.

“When I get bored, I try new creative outlets and ceramics was one of them,” he says, taking a sip of wine.

“Wow, you have a knack for things like that, huh?” You pick up a planter, inspecting it before setting it down. “You could open up your own Etsy shop or something. People would buy these in a heartbeat.”

“Eh, I suppose. I just like doing things with my hands. It makes me feel useful.” Jungkook shrugs. He watches your every move as you continue eyeing the different ceramic pieces he’s made: vases, candleholders, etc. “Do you think people would buy the things I make?”

You lift a coiled vase, turning to him. “Are you kidding me? People would eat this shit up. Once your pieces sell like hotcakes on Etsy, Urban Outfitters will slide in your DMs.” You’re not surprised Jungkook easily excelled at something like ceramics. He’s always been talented at anything he picks up.

“And you were good at anything creative when we were in school—art class, wood shop. I would’ve failed wood shop if you didn’t help me finish my project.”

“Yeah, your birdhouse was fucking terrible.”

You scoff, walking toward him, playfully shoving his shoulder. “It wasn’t that bad.”

He deadpans. “Even birds would avoid your birdhouse.”

“Shut up! I tried my hardest.”

“Didn’t try hard enough,” he teases, his eyes crinkling at the corners with a grin on his face.

The pair of you continue to bicker about nothing, but the constant buzzes of notifications from his phone are hard to ignore. You’d catch Jungkook peering, tapping his fingers, debating if he should reply.

You sip from the bottle of dessert wine, you find it sweet and refreshing on your lips. “If you need to get that, then don’t let me stop you.”

Jungkook lifts his phone. “Nah—it’s nothing,” he protests before his phone vibrates in his hand. He glances at the illuminated screen and he finally picks it up. “Sorry, let me answer this. I’ll be right back.”

He hurries out of the kitchen and into the darkened living room. You can only hear Jungkook’s stern, hushed voice, but you can’t make anything out. His change in demeanor hints at one person, and it’s Josie. Which meant it was your cue to leave. You’ve overstayed your welcome.

You raise your wine glass, gulping the golden honey peach Moscato. Thank goodness they’re easy to guzzle. A drop runs down the side of your mouth, and you swipe it away as Jungkook walks back in.

“I’m so sorry about that.”

“Hmm? Oh—don’t worry about it. I, um, I’ve probably overstayed my welcome, so I should get going.”

“What? No, stay. We have to finish our Moscato.”

A nervous chuckle leaves your lips as you contemplate his proposition. There’s a tug in your heart, wanting to stay into the early hours of the morning, but there’s your brain telling you to take it slow and go home.

“I wish I could stay, but I should head home. I have a load of laundry to fold and sadly, it won’t fold itself.” You stand up from the bar chair, feeling a bit wobbly on your feet. Jungkook rushes to your side, gripping your waist, but you catch yourself by holding onto the counter.

“You can’t hold your liquor?” He asks with a wide grin, pulling you upright.

Clearing your throat and flattening down your jeans, you spit out, “Ha-ha. I can hold my liquor just fine. I merely tripped.”

Jungkook chuckles. “You’re a terrible liar—see, I still remember that.”

You gasp sharply, with a hand over your chest. “I’m surprised that big ‘ol head of yours can remember anything. I thought it was only filled with games and girls.” Sticking out your tongue, you conk him on the head with your knuckles.

“Ow.” He rubs the spot as if you had knocked him with a bat.

Taking out your phone from your pocket, you pull up Uber.

“Let me take you home, at least.”

You give him a look, slowly blinking your eyes at the devilishly handsome friend. Could you even call him a friend again? Maybe it was too early for that.

“Did you forget that we both had too much to drink tonight? So, you shouldn’t be driving me. It’s fine, Kook. I’ll get an Uber.”

Jungkook sighs, knowing he can’t convince you otherwise. “Fine. I’ll wait with you outside until it gets here.”

“Well, it’s not like I can stop you.”

The pair of you are sitting on his front steps, watching cars drive by and cats strolling through the neighborhood. His place is in a newer part of town, one that was built while you were away. It’s familiar and odd, just like you and Jungkook. As much as you want to forget the past and move on, there’s a part of you holding onto what the two of you had. Would you ever become best friends again? Would you even consider letting him be a part of your life? Those were questions for another time, but it felt like you had your best friend back, even if it was just for tonight.

As the alcohol in your system dwindles, the brain fog becomes clearer, along with your hearing. A nudge from Jungkook makes you come back to reality. “Hmm?”

“I asked, ‘Do you still go stargazing’?” He chuckles, shaking his head.

“Yeah, I do, but the spot I went to during college isn’t as good as the one we used to go to.”

Jungkook hums, avoiding your gaze as he picks up a small pebble from the ground. “We should go there sometime,” he mumbles under his breath. He continues toying with the pebble before throwing it into the bushes.

You’re trying to suppress a smile and swat away the butterflies growing in your stomach. It’s dumb to think things could go back to the way they were. It’s unrealistic and you don’t want to get hurt again.

Turning toward him, you want to set the record straight. “Let’s um, take this whole friendship thing slow, Kook. Dinner was great. It was nice talking to you again, but you do understand where I’m coming from, right?”

He nibbles on his bottom lip and nods. “I’ll follow your lead.”

You check your phone again. The Uber is two minutes away. As you click it off, you turn and see Jungkook staring. Something is brewing behind those starry eyes. With a raised brow, you ask, “What?”

“Can I call or text you sometime?”

“Just don’t, uh, go texting me all day and night. Your girlfriend might get jealous. Might even put a bounty on my head,” you tease, reaching to pull his black CK cap over his face.

He takes his cap off, carding his hand through his hair before placing it back on his head. As you’re immersed in your phone and looking up at the street for your Uber, Jungkook silently observes you like has for the past few years. Some might say it’s a red flag, but how else was he supposed to know if you were happy? That’s all he’s ever wanted—for you to be happy, loved, and have all your dreams come true, even though he wasn’t there to cheer you on. For seven years, he has been tormented by what he did, and he didn't want to jeopardize any possibility of any kind of relationship with you. It doesn’t even have to be like before, just as long as the two of you are on speaking terms. He could live with that.

A dark sedan pulls up alongside the pair of you. You grab the door handle, pause for a moment, then turn back to Jungkook. “We’ll talk soon?” He raises both eyebrows and hums softly, giving a thin smile. “Bye, Kook.”

Two weeks passed, and there was no text or call from Jungkook. Plenty of thoughts ran through your mind, the number one being Josie had found out about your little dinner and locked him in a basement, cutting off all contact with the outside world—especially if it was with you.

But you’re a big girl. Why should you be waiting around to hear from him, anyway?

If there’s one thing you hate about adulting, it’s cooking. You missed the days when you were in your angsty teen phase, headphones in, and hating the world, then your parents would yell ‘Dinner’s ready’. And as much as you missed home-cooked meals, you loved that your parents were off gallivanting around the world, living their retirement dreams. One day that’ll be you, living off your retirement and eating out 24/7, but for now, there’s a decision to be made about what will go in your salad for the week.

Cucumbers.

Strolling in the veggie section, your eyes scan for the green vegetables before landing on them. You stood debating on which one to get. Why are there so many varieties? But according to Google, Persian cucumbers go great in salads.

As you grabbed a second cucumber, you looked up to see the man who betrayed your trust. And no—it wasn’t Jungkook. It was his roommate, Jimin, aka ‘the trickster’.

With a stomp in your step and a cucumber in your hand, you march over to him, striking him on the shoulder with it.

“Ow!” Jimin exclaims, rubbing his shoulder as he turns around. His brows furrowed, lips in a full pout when he finds you standing behind him. “What the hell?” He looks to see the weapon in your hand. “Did you just hit me with a cucumber?” You hum. “Why’d you do that?”

Tossing the cucumber in your basket and crossing your arms, you huff out, “Because you deserved it!”

“Deserve what?”

You roll your eyes at the not-so-innocent man. Was he trying to play Cupid or something with you and Jungkook?…Because his stupid plan kind of worked. You truly had a great time at dinner, and it was nostalgic, just like how things used to be.

“Mmhm. Count your days, Park,” you quip, turning around to head in the other direction. Jimin’s calling after you to wait for him, but you keep on walking.

As he catches up, standing beside you, he nudges your arm. “Oh, come on. I was just trying to help a friend out,” he finally admits.

“Well, don’t.”

Jimin strides in front of you, stopping you in your tracks. “Hey—” You attempt to go around him, but he’s unrelenting. “Just hear me out, okay?” You sigh, waving for him to continue. “I’m sorry I ambushed you, but it was the only way you’d hang out with Jungkook. I know the two of you had shit go down in the past, and I just wanted to help you both move on to being friends again.”

“Why does it matter to you?”

“Because,” he pauses and straightens his back with his chin up. “I like you and I like Jungkook, and who wouldn’t want to see their friends be happy, hmm?”

Jungkook’s laughter echoed in your mind. You knew it was dumb to miss something as simple as a laugh, but you had heard it for so many years, and then it stopped for a long time. It felt nice to have a piece of an old friend back.

Jimin gives you a look and a grin sweeps across his face. There’s a satisfaction behind that grin and you wish you could wipe off.

“You’re lucky you’re cute, Park Jimin,” you say, stepping off to the side as a customer rolls by with their cart through the two of you.

He laughs, showing off his pearly whites. “I should check out and head off—don’t want you to start getting any ideas and start a food fight here in the grocery store.”

“Yeah, you should run.” You pretend to grab the cucumber and watch him run off to self-checkout.

A buzz from your back pocket alerts you of a notification and, to your surprise, it’s a text from Jungkook. It looks like he hadn’t forgotten about you.

Jungkook 1:34 PM Hey. I’m throwing a small dinner for Jimin’s birthday on Friday at 7 pm. Say you’ll come.

You 1:35 PM Define small.

Incoming Call Jungkook

“If I come and it’s a big party like last time, then count me out.”

“Hello to you, too.”

“Right—hey. No, but seriously. I’m not a big crowd kinda gal.”

“Including me and you, there would only be six people. That’s not a lot, right?”

It’s not, but you’ll have to save your social battery for the dinner party.

“No, yeah, that’s fine.”

“And don’t worry, you know everyone—Lana’s going too.”

The big question is: will Josie be there?

A beat passes and you realize you’re standing in the middle of an aisle, probably blocking someone’s way.

Jungkook’s voice comes through your phone, calling your name a few times. “Hello? Hey. Are you still there?”

You turn to make sure no one’s around. “Yeah, sorry. I’m still here. Is, um, ‘who-shall-not-be-named’ coming?” You ask, nibbling on the inside of your cheek. It’s a name for fuck’s sake, but you can’t bring yourself to say it.

He chuckles at your subtle attempt to avoid the Josie topic. “I can promise you that she’s not coming. Is that why you’re hesitant to say yes?”

“Pfft–what! No!” you blurt out, lying through your teeth. Truth be told—yeah, it is. You don’t want a repeat of Jimin’s party.

You clear your throat, “Anyway, yeah, I’ll come. Count me in.”

“Cool! See you on Friday.”

“Can I bring anything?”

“Nope–just yourself. Oh, and it’s a surprise, so don’t say anything to Jimin.”

“‘Kay…sounds good. I’ll see you Friday.”

“Can’t wait to see you,” he said with enthusiasm before hanging up.

As you’re mixing the salad, you’re staring absent-mindedly at the abstract painting that’s framed on your wall because those five words rang in your ears on the drive home.

You mumbled those words in different tones, trying to make sense of the innocent expression. It’s completely normal for Jungkook to be excited. He hasn’t seen/hung out/talked to you in almost seven years. Yeah, that’s it—at least it’s what you’re telling yourself.

Lana waves her hand in your face. “Um, hello! I don’t think you can mix the salad anymore!”

Looking down, a few springs of leaves have been tossed out of the bowl and onto the counter. Oops. You pick them up, throwing them in the garbage bin. “Sorry—I was distracted.”

“Clearly.”

As you push the bowl aside, your focus is on the unopened bottle of wine.

“Are you going to tell me what’s distracting you, or should I wait until the wine settles in?”

“You can wait until the wine settles in. It’ll give me time to forget about it.”

Lana picks up a fork, threatening you with it. “I swear to god if you don’t tell me—”

“Okay, okay. The other day, Jungkook called to invite me to Jimin’s dinner party.” Lana narrows her eyes and hums, intently listening. “At the end of our conversation, he said, ‘Can’t wait to see you’, and he seemed excited.”

She nods her head, waiting for the rest of the story, but you don’t say anything else. “That’s it? God–that’s so boring. I thought you guys kissed or something.”

“Lana!” you cry out, almost knocking over the wine bottle.

“What? I thought he would’ve made his move by now.”

You roll your eyes. “There’s no move to make. He’s with Josie, remember?”

“Josie Schmosie—she’s old news, but you,” she points and grins, “You’re back and here to fuck things up,” she claps with a gleeful smile.

“Oh, will you stop it? I’m not back to do anything—and what the hell, Lana? You’re not helping!”

Lana chortles, covering her mouth. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m sure what Jungkook said to you is just a simple expression of how much he can’t wait to see you and get you underneath his sheets.”

You sigh, shaking your head. “I don’t even know why I bothered you with this.”

“Okay, I’ll stop. I promise—just kidding. Can I ask one more thing?” You wave your hand for her to continue. “You’re telling me you don’t even want to revel in the idea of the two of you being something more than just friends?”

The iciness of the tiled counter becomes apparent underneath your fingers, and you’re faced with a question you never wanted to answer—aloud, at least. Considering that he’s tried breaking up with Josie multiple times, but somehow is still with her, you’re unsure what will push Jungkook to cut off the head of the snake.

You hate that Jeon Jungkook has been—scratch that—is your Roman empire. He’s the one thing you’ve come back to even when you didn’t want to. It’s the same three questions you’ve had: Is he okay, is he happy, does he miss you too?

And if you’re completely honest, the answer is yes. Of course, you’ve reveled in the idea of you and him.

“I don’t know, Lana. I mean yes—the thought has crossed my mind. I’ve liked him since senior year, but it takes two to tango, and Jungkook can’t do that right now. Besides, I won’t wait around for him to come to his senses.”

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me, that’s the expression, isn’t it?

You can’t imagine going through another heartbreak from the same boy.

Things happen in life that don’t make sense.

Especially for the price of a pair of earrings, you’re currently looking to purchase as Jimin’s birthday present. The sales associate senses your hesitation and brings out a similar pair that’s on sale.

“Ah—that’s more like it. I’ll take those and do you still provide gift wrapping?” you ask, looking at the sign you saw on the way in.

“Yes, we do. Let me go into the back and wrap it up for you.”

The associate disappears through the back door, probably to talk shit about you to their co-workers, but hey–a girl has to save money where she can. It’s a fragile economy.

You roam, looking through the display cases of bracelets, rings, and watches. A gold Casio watch catches your eye–it looks like one Jungkook used to wear. He treasured the vintage-looking watch because it was his father’s. Come to think of it, you haven’t seen him with it when you saw him. Maybe he lost it or replaced it with something else.

Either way, you continue eyeing pieces of jewelry you’ll never purchase for yourself, and it’s when you look up to catch a glimpse of a girl you recognize. But it’s the man marking her neck that isn’t your ex-best friend. You’ve locked eyes with which she-who-must-not-be-named, and maybe it’s not too late to pretend you didn’t see her.

The sales associate returns the wrapped gift along with your credit card. You quickly thank her, looping your arm through the gift bag. Your eyes scan everything in view to see if the coast is clear. There’s no sign of your enemy, so you dart out of the store only to find Josie and this mystery man looking at the window display at the neighboring boutique.

Fuck, just go on your way and don’t engage. Don’t engage! You say to yourself, swiftly walking past them.

You’re busy berating yourself to hear someone calling your name. Stopping in your tracks, you sigh, waiting for Josie to catch up.

“Hey!” Josie chirps like the two of you are friendly.

“Hi…” you say glumly, with furrowed eyebrows. She’s never been nice to you before, so why should you start now?

“Can you not tell Jungkook what you saw?”

You tut, blinking your eyes at her like you owe her a favor. “Look Josie—what you do doesn’t concern me, okay?” you say, walking past her. It’s been a few weeks since you last saw her and she’s cheating on Jungkook with some guy? God, if only you could smack him upside the head right now—Josie too!

You’re a few steps ahead before you stop in your tracks and turn, walking back to her. You huff, “Tell me one thing. If you’re off with some guy behind Jungkook’s back. Why are you still stringing him along, then?”

Josie looks at you, ready to answer, but you raise your hand, stopping her. “Forget I asked. It’s none of my business.”

As you walk off again, there’s a revolting feeling in the pit of your stomach having to keep this to yourself. Jungkook deserves to know the kind of person Josie is, but it’s not your place to say anything. You’re not his best friend anymore. Honestly, you’re unsure what the two of you are and sometimes, there are some things you just shouldn’t say.

Whenever you think about seeing Josie and that mystery man, it makes you want to gag, and throw something at the wall, but mainly at her. Who knows how long she’s been cheating on Jungkook? You tossed and turned in bed, debating whether you should say something to him.

The dinner party is tonight, and if you happen to be alone with him and the Josie topic comes about, then you’ll mention it.

Another thought crosses your mind, what if he thinks you’re making this up because you’re jealous of Josie? Ah, fuck. Either way, you’ll turn out to be the bad guy, right? You’ll either break his heart or you’ll sound like a jealous person.

You don’t want to ruin whatever the two of you have, because you’ve missed the comfort of an old friend and you don’t want to lose it again.

Even though you know the code, you don’t press the four digits. Instead, you knock, waiting for someone to open the door.

“Hey!” Jungkook says, eyes dropping to your hands. “I said you didn’t have to bring anything.” He takes a step back, letting you through, and grabbing the box of Soju.

“I know, but Lana always says, ‘Don’t go anywhere empty-handed’,” you say, flashing a small smile.

“Ah, well, the Soju will go great with tonight’s menu.”

The aroma from Jungkook’s cooking is immaculate. You can almost taste the different dishes he’s prepared.

“Oh my god, it smells so good–like how your mom used to make food for us all the time.” You walk over to the dinner table, displayed with grilled meat, japchae, tteokbokki, buddaejjigae, and a plethora of banchan. “How is your mom? I miss her and her cooking.”

Jungkook chuckles softly. “She’s doing great. Her cooking, though? Not so much. It’s become too salty for my taste—Don’t tell her I told you that.”

You rub your hands together. “Oh, you bet that’s the first thing I’ll say after giving her a hug.”

“Don’t! She’ll disown me. She already hates that I’m a better cook than her,” Jungkook says, opening the box of Soju.

“You should become a private chef or something.”

He opens the refrigerator door, placing the Soju to chill. “Nah—I’ll just cook at home. I’m still learning, testing the waters, y’know?”

“I hate you.”

His eyes perk up with concern. “What did I do this time?”

“You’re good at everything you do—it’s unfair to the rest of us peasants.”

Jungkook relaxes at your answer, thinking he did something wrong again.

Placing the last Soju bottle in the fridge, he turns back, scanning you from head to toe. You’re dressed in an oversized Linkin Park band tee and jeans. He recognizes the shirt, the one you wore religiously during your emo teenage years.

“What? Is there something on my face?” you ask, touching your cheeks.

He shakes his head no and clears his throat. “I, um, wanted to talk to you...about something.”

“Oh?” Your eyes and ears perk up, but you’re interrupted by a commotion coming from the front door.

“The birthday boy is coming! Hide!” Lana says in a hushed tone. She rushes over to you, crouching down behind the counter, pulling you down with her. You chuckle, shaking your head.

With the front door open, Jungkook’s other roommate, Namjoon, walks in first–hand in hand with his girlfriend, and then following is the birthday boy.

Lana peers above the chairs to see if they’ve come in. “Surprise!” She cries out. Everyone’s ears must be ringing at this point.

Jimin gives a half-smile along with a chuckle. “Lana, you ran past us in the driveway.”

Her mouth turns into a cheesy smile. “You caught me. Sorry, I kind of ruined the surprise.”

“Happy birthday Jimin,” you say, walking over to him, arms out for a hug.

“I’m glad to see you and Kook have made up,” Jimin utters. “He needs someone like you around.” He pulls back, squeezing your arms before letting you go.

Namjoon and his girlfriend, Nora, greet you and Jungkook and then take a seat at the dinner table.

You look at Jungkook. “We’ll talk later?”

He hums in agreement. “Yeah, later.”

You’ve missed this—hanging out with old friends. It’s fun to be around people who you’ve known for a long time. You remember Namjoon being a senior when you were a freshman and the stories you’d hear about him—prom king, valedictorian; he did it all when he was in school. And Nora was the perfect woman for him. They’re both working toward their doctorate in philosophy. Their IQs were the equivalent of yours, Lana, Jimin, and Jungkook’s combined.

“Wow, I feel unqualified to be sitting at this table,” you say jokingly. Being an HR specialist was never the plan, but you’ve come to enjoy your job because you like to think you’re a good judge of character when it comes to hiring.

“Let’s stop talking about work, and have some fun! After all, it is Jimin’s birthday. How about a game of Truth or Dare?” Nora asks, looking around the dining table to get some confirmation. “I need verbal consent, please.”

Everyone glances at each other, awaiting answers. There are various responses, and everyone agrees to play.

Nora claps with a joyful squeal. “Okay, Jimin gets to ask first since it’s his birthday. Choose your victim, and anything’s fair game!”

There’s a groan from you and Jungkook. You have a feeling this night will become interesting.

Jimin rubs his hands together and then points to each person. “Eeny, meeny, miny, moe…” He continues the rhyme, and you know he’s itching to choose you or Jungkook, and his finger lands on Jungkook.

“Oh-ho-ho. Please pick dare, or I’ll make you answer something you don’t want to,” he says, playfully sticking out his tongue.

Jungkook narrows his eyes at his devilish roommate. “Don’t test me, Park. I can make your life a living hell, too.”

“Ah yes, I’d like to see you try.”

Your heart’s racing, and your hands are sweaty while gripping the chair’s armrest. Jimin has always been sneaky, and you’re sure he’ll make Jungkook kiss you.

Everyone’s waiting for Jungkook’s answer. He groans before replying, “Fine. Dare.”

Both Lana and Nora let out muffled squeals while you’re holding your breath.

“I dare you…to say something dirty to ____.” Jimin grins from ear to ear, staring at you.

You knew Jimin would be unrelenting when it came to you and Jungkook.

Turning to Jungkook, you say, “If you’re uncomfortable, don’t do it. It’s just a dumb game.”

“Hey! Nora said anything’s fair game and my dare is completely harmless. I could’ve asked you to do something else, but I didn’t,” Jimin refutes.

“It’s fine,” Jungkook says with a scowl. Turning to you, he leans over. His breath is warm against your ear, goosebumps are trickling on your skin, and your hair is standing on its end. He whispers, “You look so pretty—wish I could do this forever.”

“Hey, hey, hey! You’re supposed to say it aloud for everyone to hear,” Jimin protests.

You visibly gulp, returning to a straightened position in your chair. The ten words he said shouldn’t affect you, but it does. The room has grown warmer and you’re practically melting like butter in a hot pan. It’s just a silly game and you’re so over Jimin and his antics.

“Your dare was ‘to say something dirty to ___’. You didn’t specify if it was a whisper or if I had to shout it from the rooftop,” Jungkook chirps, quickly glancing in your direction to make sure you’re okay.

Jimin glares at Jungkook with a blaze of a thousand suns. “It’s implied that you say it out loud so everyone can hear.”

Lana elbows Jungkook. “What did you say? How dirty was it? Like, give us a rating, PG-13, R, NC-17?” He doesn’t answer her, but she looks at you, pointing her fingers to her eyes and then back to you, indicating that you’ll tell her later.

“I’ll let it go this time, but from now on, no whispering, and everyone has to hear what everyone says,” Jimin demands, awaiting confirmation from the group. “Okay, Jungkook, it’s your turn.”

He turns to Lana and bluntly asks, “Would you ever sleep with Jimin?” Jungkook peers at Jimin because he knows that Jimin’s had a crush on Lana since high school.

Lana’s mouth twists before answering, “Yeah, I guess.”

Jimin scoffs, offended by her response. “You guess? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know if you’re any good in bed!”

“And I don’t know if you’re any good in bed!” he chirps back.

“Please—I’ll be the best sex you’ll ever have,” she jeers, crossing her arms.

Jimin stands. “Oh yeah? Prove it.” He retorts, raising his chin in defense.

Everyone ‘oohs’, staring at the two like they’re in a stand-off.

“Prove it! Prove it!” Nora urges, pounding her fists on the table.

Namjoon fakes a laugh, muffling his girlfriend’s pounding. “I’m sorry. She’s had too much to drink. Don’t listen to her.”

Jimin leans forward, hands on the table. “Yeah…prove it.” He raises an eyebrow, wondering if Lana will back down or take on the challenge.

“Right now?” She tilts her head, scanning him from head to toe.

He shrugs. “Mm, what a shame. I guess you’ll never be able to prove it,” he says with a tut.

The chair legs squeak when Lana pushes herself to stand. “When’s the last time you got tested?”

“A month ago,” Jimin quickly replies like no one else is in the room. “I’m clean. You?”

“I’m clean too. You got condoms?”

You sink in your chair, wiping your face, watching these two go off on each other. Honestly, you can’t believe you’re witnessing this.

“Got a whole box ready for you.”

Lana marches over to Jimin, grabbing his hand. “Well, come on birthday boy.”

Your mouth drops, watching the two-run upstairs. “They’re not gonna fuck, are they?” Lana has been in a dry spell for the last year, so you don’t blame her for wanting to get laid.

“Yeah, I think they are,” Jungkook answers. “Yah—” he turns to yell toward Jimin’s room. “Keep it down, will ya?”

The rest of you continue the game, but they’re just questions to get to know each other.

“Jungkook, if there’s one thing you could take back. What would it be?”

He looks in your direction, then plays with his Soju glass, spinning it a few times. You’re biting the inside of your cheek, eyes bouncing from him and then to Nora and Namjoon.

“Um, I’d go back to the day I broke ___’s heart—take everything back.”

The couple looks at each other, forcing a fake laugh. “Well, I can sense the tension between our friends here,” Nora says. “Joonie, baby, didn’t you wanna show me that thing in your room?”

Namjoon’s eyebrows furrow. “What thing?”

Nora stands, tugging his hand, and drags him down the hallway to his room. You can hear the two bickering before the door closes.

You’re silent. Unsure of what to say. You want to move forward, but the past keeps haunting you. Will it always be like this with you and Jungkook? And certainly, there are things you didn’t say that you should say now, but what’s the point?

“We should clean up,” you say, picking up a few plates to stack them. Jungkook follows your lead, helps clear the table, and walks over to set them in the sink.

Turning on the faucet, you rinse off the plates. Jungkook leans back against the kitchen island, eyes scanning over you.

“I meant what I said earlier.”

You close your eyes, then breathe out a sigh. Looking at the boy who used to be your best friend. His eyes hold the galaxy and you get easily lost in them. You’re an explorer longing to find the next big discovery. It’s right in front of you, but at a moment’s notice, you might lose him like you did before.

“Kook…we were kids back then, and you can’t change the past.” You continue to wash the dishes, but it’s hard to focus when he’s near.

Jungkook reaches to turn off the water, gently squeezing your arm to look at him. “Yeah, I know, but I can try to fix it now, right?”

Your hands grip onto the sink, your eyes focused on the water dripping from the spout. You fixate on Jungkook’s words. How can he reconcile a friendship he tore apart? And for what? A girl?

He calls your name, breaking your focus. “Talk to me.”

There’s a tightness in your chest as you turn to him. “Fix it? I don’t want you to fix it.”

“O-kay…then tell me what you want and I’ll do it.”

If it was only that easy.

You close the distance between you, looking at him. “What do I want?” He hums. “I want you to be broken. Wrecked—just like how I was. It took me years to get over you—our friendship. I hate it, Jungkook.”

“I hate what I did to you—”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “You don’t understand, Kook.” Your heart is aching—like someone reached in, squeezing it as hard as they can.

“Then explain.”

Your eyes meet his. “You. Own. Me,” you say, your index finger pressing into his chest with each word. “These last few weeks have been excruciating. I don’t know who I am when I’m around you. No matter how hard I try to convince myself that I’ve moved on. You’ll always be the one thing that I’ll never be over.”

Your heart is pounding, and every inch of your body is burning to the touch. You didn’t think anyone could ever make you this livid. But as much as you want to hate him, moving back home simply confirms everything you’ve been attempting to hide for the past seven years—you love him.

“I was hurt, too. You don’t think I was?” Jungkook says softly, lifting your chin so you can meet his gaze. “I was devastated, knowing how much I hurt you. I couldn’t eat or sleep for days. Seeing and talking to you every day and then it just stopped. My world was falling apart, and I didn’t know how to fix it. I watched you go off to live your life while I was stuck here with you, haunting me everywhere I went. Philz, the damn grocery store, the park–you were there. There was no escaping you. So yeah, I was wrecked and broken, just like you.”

The narrative you created in your head of Jungkook and Josie was something out of a fairytale. Boy meets girl, they fall in love and live happily ever after. But according to Jungkook, it was hardly the case. You haunted him as much as he haunted you throughout the years.

Chuckling to yourself, you think about how this could've been avoided if one of you had just spoken up. Stepping back from him, you take a breath to calm your nerves. You lean back against the sink, arms folded. “Can I ask you something?”

Jungkook’s eyes flick to you and his body mirrors yours. “I’m an open book, ___.”

“Why did you give up so easily? Why didn’t you fight for me? Our friendship?”

A beat passes, and he doesn’t respond. It’s foolish to think he’d have an answer for you.

Your lips thin, and you breathe out a sigh of frustration. “It’s fine, Kook. Don’t answer. We’ll just go back to the way things were. Have a good life.” You walk off toward the living room and he follows.

“You don’t get to walk away,” he says, shutting the front door when you try to open it.

“Yeah? Watch me!” You turn back to the door, attempting to open it, but Jungkook’s hand is holding it shut.

He grips your arm. “I was scared, okay? I was young and stupid, and scared.”

You turn around and push him back. “Scared? You’re still scared! That’s why you can’t even break up with Josie! She’s cheating on you, by the way! I saw her with some guy glued to her neck. I don’t understand why you can’t just let her go.”

“I’m not scared of breaking up with Josie. I just got comfortable with her being around and didn’t think I could do any better.” Jungkook steps back and reclines on the couch’s armrest.

“You don’t think you can do better than Josie? You’re Jeon Jungkook, of course, you can.”

He forces a laugh, shaking his head no. “I barely graduated high school, practically failed my college classes. I don’t have a steady job and I have no idea what I’m passionate about. So yeah, I didn’t think I could do any better than Josie, until…”

“Until…?”

“Until I saw you at the party. I know it sounds cheesy, but when I saw you standing in the living room. It was like a sign from the universe, waking me up from this auto-pilot life I was living in. Seeing you again really shook me up.”

You could say the same thing about seeing Jungkook again. The universe loved to toy with the two of you, didn’t it?

“And then after our dinner two weeks ago, I broke up with Josie–like officially. I gave all her stuff back. I’m not answering calls or anything. So, I guess when you saw her, she must’ve moved on to the next guy–that’s what I wanted to talk to you about, me breaking up with her.”

There was a sense of relief when he said that because you were ready to fight Josie.

“Oh,” you say softly, taking a step toward him. “I guess I was wrong about you—being scared, I mean.”

Jungkook’s toying with his necklace, circling it around his neck. “I’m still scared.” He steps toward you, waiting for you to look at him. “I’m scared I’m gonna mess this up,” he says.

“How are you going to mess this up? We’re just friends.”

“That’s the thing. I don’t want to be ‘just friends’.”

Your gaze flicks to him and then drops to his lips and back up again. You know what he’s alluding to, but you need to hear those words leave his lips. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He knows you’re teasing him. “Do I really have to spell it out for you?”

“Yes.”

“Because I love you, okay? I’m in love with you. Have always been in love with you, and I’m scared to lose you again.”

Your eyes are glossy, fighting back tears. You’ve longed to hear those words from Jungkook, and like him, you’re afraid of an unknown future, but right now, all that matters is him.

As a tear falls down your cheek, you’re ready to let love in. Let him in. Discover new things. Rediscover old things. You’re ready to be vulnerable, move forward from the past, and let go of the heartache and pain.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe.

Jungkook steps toward you, cupping your face. “No, no, no. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

You shake your head. “No, I do. I’m sorry I didn’t fight harder for you–for our friendship. It’s my fault too.”

His thumbs caress your cheeks. “Hey, can we agree to let the past be in the past and just focus on us now, in the present?”

Your hands cover his, and you nod, flashing a soft smile. “Mhm. I’d like that.”

Jungkook wipes your tear-stained cheeks. “Now, can I do something I’ve been wanting to do for a long time?”

“What’s that?”

His lips finally touch yours. It’s not fervent or haste. It’s soft, uncertain. But you kiss him back. You’re savoring each point of contact. His lips overlapping yours, capturing a hint of your cherry Chapstick. Your eyes are half-lidded and you pull back for air, but he leans in, bringing you back in for more. His nose bumps into yours as he turns his head, deepening the kiss. Your body presses against his, your fists balled up, tugging on his white t-shirt. There’s a glow of excitement and nervousness rushing throughout your body when one of his hands grips your waist and the other is on the small of your back, pushing you further into him.

A low whine leaves his lips when you withdraw. He reaches for another kiss, but you stop him.

“Kook—” you whisper as his forehead touches yours.

“I don’t want to stop kissing you,” he says, kissing your cheek and tracing your jawline. “Don’t think I can ever stop.”

You chuckle. “I don’t want to stop kissing you, either. Maybe we should take this to the bedroom?”

While lying in bed next to Jungkook, you simply enjoy each other’s presence. Your fingers trace stars across his chest and you love how he breathes–his chest rising and falling ever so softly. The sound of his voice vibrates through your fingers and into your body. With one arm wrapped around you and the other resting behind his head, Jungkook tells you about the dreams he had but never dared to pursue–you being one of them.

And as the clock strikes midnight, the magic of you and him didn’t dissipate. It’s here. It’s real.

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #jungkook angst #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook scenarios #jungkook imagines #fic: things you didn't say

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billielolly · 2 months ago

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Sims 3 Build - Relaxation Retreat

A vibrant family home full of opportunities for fun and relaxation, with plenty of space for a budding gardener. 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, on a 30x40 lot.

Watch the speed build: https://youtu.be/-7bnRL8bAsA

Download here:

Patreon (free): https://www.patreon.com/posts/111265768/

Exchange:

Expansion packs:

Ambitions

Late Night ?

Generations

Pets

Supernatural

Seasons

University Life

Stuff packs:

None

Store content:

Stones Throw Greenhouse - Greenhouse Window, Greenhouse Roof Center

Custom content:

heaven - Neutral Slate Roof with White Trim

missyzim - Neoclassic Build Set (Tall Wide 2x1, Tall Wide 1 Tile, Counter High 1 Tile, Tall 1 Tile)

Cakenoodles - 13pumpkin Rustic Wood Floor

Angela - Aiden Buildset 3x1 Arch

Martassimsbook - MyCupOfCC Hot Tub

Onyxium - Jena Bathroom Accessories (Reed Diffuser, Soap Dispenser, Toilet Brush, Tooth Brushes)

Mutske - Toiletroom Aria Toilet Paperholder

Gosik - Kobe Bathroom Towels 2

Martassimsbook - cmdesigns Anemone Bathroom Set Candle

Martassimsbook - Ars-botanica Cup of Pansies

Martassimsbook - Cowbuild Dahlia and Delpinium Vases

Mutske - Plant Palm Large

sim_man123 - Emerson Ficus Tree

Martassimsbook - novvvas Planties pt3 (Ficus Lyrata V1, Ficus Elastica, Monstera Deliciosa)

Martassimsbook - Cowbuild My Home Set (Hanging Pothos Plant)

ATS3 - Kitchen Herbs (Basil)

ArtVitalex - Mayorka Ceiling Spot Lamp

johziii - Irene Lamp

NynaeveDesign - Lyne Curtains (Curtains 1x1 Left, Curtains 1x1 Right, Curtains 2x1, Curtains 3x1, Rod)

ArtVitalex - Kalkgrund Mirror

Onyxium - Gibsonton Bed

Martassimsbook - Lorelea Floral Paintings

ArtVitalex - April Kitchen

ArtVitalex - Glen Mirror

Angela - Michelle Bedroom Mirror

ArtVitalex - Hampton Dining Chair

sweetdevil - More Planters (Prickly Planter)

sweetdevil - More Planters Part 3 (Fancy Box Planter)

Wandering Sims - Wildflower Mix Pattern 4

missyzim - French Country Paintings (Country Floral Painting, French Country Paintings 3, Provencial Painting)

Mutske - Liatorp Palm in Basket

Angela - Simspiration Issue 01 Watering Can

ArtVitalex - Upland Bathroom Accessories (Toilet Brush, Soap Dispenser, Toothbrush and Paste)

Twinsimming - Single Serve Hammock

Crowkeeper - The Cryptic Triptych Paintings (Enchanted)

ArtVitalex - Rowlett Hallway Extra (Key Bowl, Umbrella Holder)

Julietsimscc - Dark Landscapes Artwork

ArtVitalex - Doyle Pen Holder

Lulu265 - Bedford Bedroom Wall Art

deeiutza - Cottage Reading Corner Books

Martassimsbook - Pinkboxdesign Kitchen Clutter Set Dishsoap

Martassimsbook - Syboulette Millennial Kitchen Fruit Basket

ATS3 - Ceramic Canisters

Dhalsims - EA Ceiling Smoke Alarm

ATS3 - Wall Rack IKEA Fintorp-like

ATS3 - Washing-up Wooden Dish Rack

Martassimsbook - Cowbuild 500 Patrons Gifts Notebooks

Kerrigan House Designs - Belle Epoque Vanity

Martassimsbook - novvvas Mid Century Modern Living Room Books 2

QoAct - Lina Cushion II

sim_man123 - Celea Lily Vase

ATS3 - School Notebooks

ATS3 - Parisian Bistro Chair 4

bioniczombie - Tom Berry Knife Block

Martassimsbook - Chicklet Modern Lenai Patio (Chair, Box Deco)

Martassimsbook - Marvell Breeze Collection Plant

PralineSims - Contemporary Carpet 22

PralineSims - Big Flokati III

PralineSims - Classic Carpet 3

(Optional) zoe22 - Flower Arranging Mod (Table Used)

#ts3 #ts3cc #s3cc #the sims 3 #simblr #ts3 build #sims 3 build #sims 3 house #ts3 house #sims 3

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carmyberzattosjournal · 1 month ago

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Entry 11: Fistful of Tacks

Bearblr Promptober Day 11: Corn Maze

Summary: Carmen's girlfriend (who he refers to as Darling) joins the kitchen crew on a trip to a corn maze and pumpkin patch that Nat organized, and Carmen is struggle bussing. (Feat. Sydney, Marcus, mentions of Tina, Richie, Eva, Nat, Pete, Nat's daughter)

Warnings: Anxiety, self-worth issues, mentions of disordered eating, mentions of nausea, mentions of panic attacks, swearing, fem reader who is a trauma surgeon (nothing gross described), she/her pronouns, mentions of The Devil (Chef David)

Notes: All journal entries will be titled as such and tagged with #cb journal.

Thank you for reading. Thank you to @carmenberzattosgf for putting together this prompt list.

11 Oct 2024

Why the fuck do people like corn mazes?

No, thank you, I don’t feel like getting lost in fucking corn with a bunch of random people for hours; I could be doing so much more with my time. It’s corn. It invades everything in the Midwest already, for what purpose would you want to intentionally seek out more of that invasion? Getting some freshly-harvested corn for grilled corn, corn chowder, creamy corn sauce with gnocchi, I’m pretty sure Marcus could make a killer sweet cornbread crumble-type thing—sure, I’ll haul my ass to the nearest fucking cornfield—

“Is that a no on the corn maze then…?”

“It’s a fuck no on the corn maze, Syd.”

—But no, I’m not doing a damned corn maze.

Syd recoiled. “Oh. Alright, okay, Jesus. Sorry for bothering you.”

Darling hugged my arm tighter and pouted. “Aw, but I did them with my grandma all the time when I was little. They were so fun.”

I covered my eyes and dug my thumb and fingers into my temples to stave off the dull ache forming in my frontal lobe. “I don’t feel like getting lost in corn.”

Syd. “You just follow the left wall, though.”

Marcus joined us at our table. “You do what now?”

“That’s how you solve mazes, you follow the left wall.”

“Huh.” His voice drew closer to my ear. “You okay, Chef?”

I nodded. Still had my palm over my face. It wasn’t the loudest it could’ve been—again, we beat a lot of families with kids, who tended to show up after 2 pm, according to the people who ran the pumpkin patch and corn maze, and Chicago decided that particular Sunday would be the respite day of hell-with-some-respite season, so it wasn’t murderously hot or humid out. Richie and Tiff were off co-parenting Eva in the pumpkin patch, so that meant I didn’t have to listen to his bullshit—though, admittedly, he was much less bullshit since his stint at Ever, even if we hit that snag after Friends and Family where I thought about launching knives at him every time he happened to be within striking distance.

Boy, am I glad I’m too much of a coward to actually act like the animal I sound like sometimes.

Nat organized something of a family and friends’ get-together to celebrate half a year of being open as a restaurant—and maybe to force us all to take a bit of a break now that we weren’t looking at a bad week potentially shuttering us. I brought it up to Darling not expecting her to jump at the prospect of meeting the whole group—should’ve known, she’s a social butterfly, and, if I was being honest, it was the primary reason I asked. So, she could help buffer in a social setting. These were people I worked with, would take a bullet for, but outside the restaurant, I had barely any social footing. And I wanted to. Have social footing, that is. Darling liked being around people, and while she never complained about me wanting our time together to be our time together, something nagged at me to at least be able to tolerate socializing.

We met up and poked around the market they had nearby for some small decorations we could put in the restaurant that fit the season. Little things that locals made by hand—a macrame wall-hanging, little ceramic pumpkins with paper florals arranged in them, some planters. The planters were Syd’s idea. Bring a bit of greenery to the four-tops. Tina was fawning over Sug and Pete’s baby while they took pictures of her first fall. Or. Something. I don’t know, I had too much on my mind and my head was killing me before we even made it to the pumpkin patch and corn maze. Darling suggested we stop for a bite to eat, sit at the covered tables to get out of the sun for a bit.

She’s smart like that.

We weren’t doing the best with our margins. I forwent being paid to make sure Syd made enough to keep her apartment, and even she was making sacrifices in her pay to make sure front-of-house didn’t get shafted. About 2 weeks ago, my apartment's stove goes, then two of the radiators do, and the landlord—an aside here: fuck landlords. I hope hell exists so landlords can burn in them with me.—anyway, the landlord is being a shit about it, so I’ve been crashing at Darling’s place. But then her range and oven also go to the shitter, like, 3 days later?

Like I said: fuck landlords.

Which means I’m on week two of having to rely on overnight oats and fucking granola bars, family, and takeout or unviable food from service that’s still at least calories, and because we’re getting this shit dialed, that usually means scraps. If any. And you’d think a motherfucker like me who got his shit kicked in when working in New York would be able to tolerate eating literally anything, but that’s the thing—I already did this shit, and it’s already fucked me up. I can’t even get it down anymore without my arms and legs exploding in goosebumps. Without seeing, hearing, feeling, smelling Empire and The Devil all over again. Half the time, I just go hungry and ignore the pangs in my stomach until I get caught up enough in work that I forget about eating, and then whoops, 14 hours have gone by and I haven’t eaten a thing and bile surges at the base of my throat and my eyes water, I can’t breathe. And I get to Darling’s place with what used to be a local favorite, and four bites in, I’m so sure I’m going to throw up because it just tastes like stomach acid and my guts are twisting into knots from anxiety anyway.

Something slid across the table in front of me, and two breaths later, the scent of grilled meat, pepper, vinegar, onions, and mustard filled my nose. My jaw stung as my mouth watered. Darling untangled an arm from around mine and rubbed across my shoulder blades.

“How about we try to eat something, hm?” she cooed.

I picked the pickles off the Chicago dog before inhaling a third of it in one bite. Goosebumps exploded under my jacket.

“Wow, how’d you do that?” Syd asked.

“How’d I do what?”

“Get him to do, uh, anything?”

“Fuck off, Syd,” I said through a mouthful of food.

She snorted into her apple cider.

“Sweetheart,” Darling warned, punctuating it by raking her fingers through my hair to get it off my forehead.

“She did not just call you ‘sweetheart.’” Syd again. I could hear her smiling.

My face flooded with warmth.

God fucking dammit.

Thankfully, Marcus spoke up. “Come on, let ‘em have it or we’re gonna torment you when you find yourself someone nice.”

“Like hell you are!”

“Oh, I’ll remember! Karma, baby!”

Syd let out a huff of a laugh. I wish I would’ve seen her face to get a better sense of how she felt about the idea of letting someone into her life. It’s strange, really, how similar yet different we were, like two clippings taken from the same tree, planted in different pots, placed in different homes. There’s this deep, unidentifiable thread of connection that I feel with her—and she feels with me, I’m sure of it because how else could she call my bullshit for what it was while still preserving the feeling of safety that eluded me everywhere else but a locked room or, sparingly, though getting more frequent, in Darling’s arms? Sort of like a family member you haven’t seen in an eternity but you know would have your back in an instant if you got into trouble. If I’d found out we were twins separated at birth, I wouldn’t question it for a second. And I doubt I’d want to protect her any differently.

She’s got that fire in her eyes that I used to see in my own when I stared into my reflection back in Copenhagen. Feels like an entire lifetime ago (Darling told me that trauma can make time feel like it’s not real, and I’m only finding more and more reason to never doubt the woman) but, back then, I did want something out of cooking that went beyond flipping Mikey the bird. It wasn’t that I wanted the best chef title or even a bullshit star, I wanted to prove something to myself. I wanted to throw a fistful of tacks back at that persistent, shitty voice in my head that kept telling me that I’d never do much, never make a thing of myself. I never did well in school, I didn’t get into college, I didn’t have any friends, I wasn't funny, I couldn’t help my mom, I couldn’t stop Sugar from going mad, I couldn’t keep up with Mikey, I couldn’t ask Claire out, I never made it past districts in wrestling—I was good for fuck all, and that stupid fucking phonograph reminding me of all the shit I couldn’t or didn’t do wouldn’t shut. The fuck. Up.

Syd’s got that fire in her eyes. Syd’s got that passion that I wanted, that I found for a brief stint before The Devil sunk his claws into me. And yeah, I could do fuck all to protect Mikey from his own demons or Sugar from mom’s, but I will glass this planet before I let it stamp out her flames. And doing it like I did? By cutting out people and burying myself neck-deep in the craft of food? Would I stand by and let her do that to herself, too?

Darling erupting into a giggle fit brought me back to the pumpkin patch.

“It looks like it’s got a big ol’ pot belly—look at it!” Syd pointed at a pumpkin with a large lump in it and did an exaggerated walk with her arms up and her cheeks puffed out. Eva giggled at her antics. Darling and I were a bit away from the others as they discussed... something about the pumpkins, I couldn’t even begin to figure out what. I glanced around, tried to get a sense of where and when I was.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Darling murmured, circling around in front of me and taking my face in her hands. “There you are. Where’d you go?”

Her hands were cool, familiar, grounding. I didn’t feel like I was boiling in my skin, which had to be a good sign, right?

“How-how long, uh...?”

She shrugged as Cousin, Eva, Tiff, Syd, and Marcus laughed again. “15 minutes, maybe.”

“Why-why didn’t you snap me out of it?”

“Well, you did eat your food. I figured it probably was a good idea not to interrupt that. And you weren’t warm. Or shaky. Or upset.” She finger-combed my hair back again. “I figured it wouldn’t be the worst thing to let you process for a bit... We gotta do something about your hair, baby.”

“Yeah, I need to get it cut.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think you need to—unless it’s bothering you. But you should put something in it.” Some strands got caught on her fingers, and I flinched at the sting. “Ope, sorry. It’s starting to get crispy on the ends.”

I eyeballed the sign pointing to the entrance of the corn maze while she picked through more knots in my hair.

She kissed my cheek. “What’cha thinking, handsome?”

“How long do you think the corn maze would take us?”

“Um. Hm.” She wrapped her arms around my waist and tucked her head under my chin. I forgot about the friends and family present and hugged her back. Kissed the top of her head. “Maybe an hour. Why?”

“I’d like to try it.” It came out like a question.

My phone dinged.

She pulled back and beamed at me. “Yeah? You sure?”

Her excitement wrenched a smile from me, too. How could I not? She was adorable.

“Yeah. Just need some quiet time.”

She took off for the maze, and I followed. Glanced at my phone to make sure it wasn’t something important.

2 messages from Sugar.

A photo of the two of us hugging, followed by a message saying, “You two are so cute. I'm proud of you, Bear.”

I stopped, glanced back at her. She was holding her daughter, giant smile on her face, in the middle of pocketing her phone. She tipped her head in the direction of the maze and mouthed “Go.”

I saved the photo to my favorites album and headed to the corn maze.

#cb journal #bearblrpromptober #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto fanfiction #the bear fanfiction #carmy berzatto fanfiction #carmy x reader #the bear #carmen berzatto fluff

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grimfolks · 1 year ago

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i’m sure you know it was coming!

where do you find most of your misc. cc? (like little trinkets, and tiny plants, knick knacks etc) i hope im not being too vague but i love a bunch of clutter! (but also get lazy decorating 😭)

I was waiting for this day to come🤣but honestly I love answering those wcifs, and as someone who's constantly looking for clutter cc I understand the need. Here's everything I managed to find:

1. umbrella stand (unavailable anymore?) / 2. wellies v1 and v2 / 3. boot planter with flowers / 4. tulips / 5. iron / 6. hanging plant / 7. cardboard box / 8. heavy metal box / 9. baskets / 10. lemon basket (couldn’t locate it, it’s converted by moi) / 11. alarm clock / 12. ceramic canisters / 13. piggy planter / 14. paper towel / 15. jar / 16. basic ceramic canisters / 17. box with things inside / 18. stack of pans / 19. clutter keys / 20. fruit basket / 21. utensils in a jar / 22. mushroom pot / 23. curvy vase plant / 24. snacks / 25. cylinder canisters / 26. cookbooks / 27. salt and pepper mills / 28. dishes rack / 29. tiny botanicals / 30. cds / 31. mushroom plant / 32. books / 33. bread and rainbow plush / 34. books with bear bookend / 35. vintage home phone

Other items are either from ea store or I didn't consider them as a clutter piece (ofc if any of you reading it is curious about any particular item from these pics you can ask further and I'll do my best to link it). Also, it took me a while to collect it and I messed up the numbers on the way too so if anyone spots a mistake that I overlooked, not working link (or finds the link for that poor lemon basket) etc. please let me know!

#wcif #uglynormie #I didnt double check these links just copied from my drafts bc dear god my eyes are tired now

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biscuitblinkeu · 2 years ago

Text

The Finale - Part Two [11]

Park Chaeyoung x Fem!reader

Word Count: 2142

Finally, it’s over. I’m free. (😂)

……………………………………………………………………

“Why does it keep drooping like that!” You whine for the nth time. Your square shaped planter has sides that don’t want to cooperate at all. Every time you reshape the sides, as the wheel spins it just mellows out again. Your arms are tired and your forearms are caked with wet and dry clay.

Rosé laughs at you and you glare at her perfect looking vase. She was just like this when she first started using the pottery wheel. It was a work in progress. “Ready to accept some help this time?” She teases.

Nala was already at the wooden table next to where you two were, painting her heart-shaped planter with a variety of colors. Yet you were still stuck on shaping it.

There’s another factor into why you’re taking so long; maybe you’ve been declining her efforts to help you long before you got yourself in this situation because you really thought you’d get the hang of it.

You sigh, turning to her with a bashful smile. “Yes I give in. Help me please.”

“You got it.” Rosé hums, and gets up from her wheel seat and makes her way to you, pulling a nearby stool over to sit to your side. “Can I discard this?” “That sad thing? Go ahead,” you laugh, and she throws away your previous limo of clay and brings a new one.

Impressed, you watch as she kneads it a little, then puts water on the wheel base before growing the clay on. She gets it started for you and positions your hands around it, guiding you. “Don’t try to dig into it too much, it’ll become too thin— which is why your shape wasn’t working. Press gently.”

“Gently” went out the window when she grabbed your hands. Your heart was beating out of your chest and a heat rose to your cheeks. Unaware (or maybe aware) of the effect she had on you, she giggles and helps you fix the shape. She does this every time it starts looking wonky— and soon you had a nice square pot.

“Wow, it looks really good.” Rosé says.

“It does, thank you for helping me.” You beam at her, placing a kiss on her cheek as a thanks. She blushes, stammering “You’re welcome.”

Now that your planter is dry, you paint it a neutral color, like the colors in your home since you’ll put it to use. Rosé paints a diamond pattern along the sides of her vase, and Nala painted— you don’t even know..but it’s adorable nonetheless.

After Rosé lost the battle of “I’m going to pay for you” with you once again, it was on to location number two, as Rosé surprised you. You had a lot of fun at the ceramic shop and it seems that there’s more. You wonder what she has in mind…

It was a huge glass building, and through the glass pane windows you could see the faint green colors and structures of the trees that grew. It was an indoor botanic garden, you knew it would look beautiful inside. Upon walking in, the temperature was much warmer than outside so you take your jackets and coats off.

You let out a gasp as you finally get a look at the place. Trees of all kinds grow on the edges of the walls, and a wooden bridge with an archway of vines and pretty flowers leads you into the main area.

Nala lets out a squeal and you have the motherly reflex to grab her hand before she goes running off. “Wow…”

“What do you guys think?” Comes Rosé’s voice to your side.

“Pretty!” Nala answers, hopping slightly.

“It's beautiful Rosé, I didn’t know a place like this existed in London…”

“I didn’t either till about a year ago. I was lucky to stumble upon it.”

You all walk around, reading the descriptions on the signs of the different flowers till you get to a hallway. A sign, illuminated with a soft yellow and accompanied by a picture of a butterfly, reads Butterfly Hall. It was like a butterfly house, but in a long hallway they allowed visitors to go in.

“Look Rosé, butterflies!” She squeals, tugging on Rosés sweater.

“Yes,” she lets out an exaggerated gasp, matching Nala’s excitement. “Aren’t they pretty?”

Nala nods vigorously, and you find your lips stretching into a big smile at their interaction. “Would you guys like to go inside?” She asks both of you, to which Nala responds first. “Yes please!”

“I think I’ll just stay out here, you guys could go though…” You trail off, looking at the amount of butterflies flying around unhinged. You were terrified of bugs, even if they were pretty and harmless. What would you do if one landed on you or grazed your skin? Scream and run around like a mad woman.

Rosé’s face saddens for a moment and she feels guilty; what was wrong?

Of course you saw the cloud of sadness pass her face— you needed to clear things up. “Rosé? I would love to come with you two…but I’m terrified of bugs.” You wince as the confession leaves your lips, because who's scared of butterflies of all things.

The smile returns to her face and she laughs lightly. “And I was here thinking it was something else. I’m sorry. I didn’t know that, but now I do. I’ll take Nala in for a few minutes then? We won’t be long.”

You smile and give them a thumbs up, and not wasting any time, your daughter pulls Rosé into the room after they get done talking to the staff.

Now, you’re currently making your way out of the botanic garden, when Rosé speaks up. “We have one more stop.” So she leads you to a different section of the building. A flower shop.

“They make bouquets and flower arrangements here, so I thought It would be nice if we got some flowers or seeds to put in what we made at the ceramic place…” You want to coo at how shy she’s acting now, like she thought you would oppose her idea or find it stupid.

“I’d love that, Rosé. That’s a great idea.”

Nala agrees with you.

Rosé eases up and grins, “Is it still a great idea if I’m paying?”

“Hah.”

(She can dream.)

Rosé drives you all back home and you put Nala in her room so she could take a nap.

You sit down across from Rosé, nursing a cup of green tea. “Hey Rosé? I really had fun today, and so did Nala. I’d love to do this more,” you tell her softly. “ And I’m glad you came up with the idea of making our own planters and using them. They look really cute,” you say next, looking at the planter you made sitting next to your daughter’s on the table.

She smiles back. “Yeah? I’m glad.” She’s really happy it all went well and you and Nala had fun.

***

Later, Jennie and Jaylyn arrived for the court date. The day it all goes down. You chatted with Jaylyn and Rosé downstairs while Jennie had been dragged upstairs by Nala fifteen minutes ago. She was comfortable with Jennie because Jennie often left the company to visit Lisa at the CAD building, so she saw Nala when you and Jaylyn brought her with you to classes.

“Momma!” “(Y/n)!” A chorus of your multiple names comes from upstairs, presumably Nala’s bedroom, where you left them.

“Yeah?” You tilt your head towards the staircase, yelling back.

“You gotta come upstairs!” Jennie yells, and it’s accompanied by your daughter's giggle.

You sigh, but a smile is growing on your face nonetheless. “I wonder what they’re up to…guess I’ll have to go and check. Duty calls. I’ll be right back.”

“…”

They haven’t said a word since you left.

That was six minutes ago. You’d think two adults knew how to start up a conversation but in this case they just don’t want to.

She’s under great scrutiny; she can feel him staring, studying her, and it makes her skin prick. So she stares at him back, always one to take a challenge— or in this case with her eyes, ask why the fuck he’s staring. Apparently she didn’t dial down the intensity of her gaze at all because he coughs and looks elsewhere. Multiple times.

God this was awkward. Just fantastic. She was never one to put herself in situations like this but right now it was unavoidable. Were they really sizing each other up? Is this what that is? The ex versus current lover— why is she partaking in it?

She wonders if Jaylyn knows already and maybe he’s trying to find a flaw. (He surely won’t find one with her looks, or confidence, for that matter.)

She doesn’t want to act like a bitch but, “Did you have questions?” And wow, she could’ve tried harder to hide the bite in her tone. She’s irritable from this childish staring contest.

“No. Jennie filled me in, thank you.” He doesn’t quite look at her as he says it, which leaves no doubt in her mind that he’s wary of her. Though he clicks his tongue a moment later. “I do want to ask you something, though, it’s more of a personal question— if that’s okay.”

“I don’t bite. Go ahead.” She settles down on the couch, crossing her arms over her chest and legs over each other, looking at him expectantly.

You see, Jaylyn doesn’t believe a word she just said— she bites, alright. (Bites the mess out of your neck.) “You seem close, you and (Y/n).” He smiles after he speaks, hoping to convey he doesn’t have any bad intentions and rather wants to lighten the room’s tension, but he knows his attempt at trying to get her to lower her guard with his friendly stance…crashed and burned. Which he assumes from the way Rosé tenses up.

“We are,” she said with a raise of her brow, her lips threatening to pull into a snarl, but she frowned instead. Is he trying to get information out of her?

Jaylyn puts his hands up, as if he was soothing a (very) mean dog. “That was a bit too forward. But I mean that in the best way possible. I’m really glad you make her happy, Nala too. She doesn’t have a lot of people to support her and she likes to do things herself.”

She nods, the corners of her lips quirking up slightly. “She is like that.” It’s funny because he’s not wrong. Since you became friends and now, girlfriends, you haven’t let her pay for anything she originally ordered or bought for you and which she originally planned to pay for as well, once. That will change someday, she’ll make sure of it.

After that little crack in her shell, Jaylyn was able to get her to open up a bit, and they conversed and laughed about things, you being the subject matter.

“There’s something going on between the two of you, right?” Jaylyn finally asks the question he so desperately wants to know. He wants to see if he’s right.

That Rosé is the mosquito-vampire that “attacked” your neck.

She doesn’t feel the need to lie to him as she already has a feeling he knows. “Yes.” She feels a tinge of guilt. I mean, you’re not even legally divorced yet and she’s with you.

“Thank you for being honest.” He says, smiling slightly. He pushes his sleeve down and looks at his wristwatch, “It’ll be time to leave soon, so I’ll get ready.” He stands up and walks to the door. Rosé waits for him to leave the room, but he pauses in the doorway, and turns his head back towards her. “Just take care of her alright?”

She smiles. “I’ll do my absolute best.” He nods before walking out.

A/n: This is my laziness coming through so I am going to end it there. I thought letting everyone know about the relationship that’s developing would be good and showing that Nala approves somewhat was a good way to end it— sorry it’s not a sappy moment or kiss. (lol)

But! Below is a bonus.

In Jaylyn’s car (because Jennie wouldn’t let anyone that’s not Lisa sit in the passenger seat of her own car) Jennie and Jaylyn drive to the court, with you, Rosé and Nala following from behind.

Jennie turns to Jaylyn, “So…how do you feel knowing about those two?”

“To be honest, sad. But it’s a good sad in a way, because I have a feeling Rosé will make her happier than I did.”

Jennie nods in understanding, looking out the window. “Married couples,” she mutters under her breath amused, with a roll of her eyes.

(A/n: Girl…you’re married yourself!)

#biscuitblinkeu #rosé x reader #blackpink x reader #unlawful.biscuit #rosé x fem!reader #park chaeyoung x reader #park chaeyoung x fem!reader

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bakuliwrites · 2 months ago

Text

In Our Youth, Chapter 1- Empty

Rating: Mature

Fandom: Baldur's Gate III

Pairing: Eventual Gortash x Tav

Tags: Angst, Fluff and Angst, Fluff, Eventual Romance, Pre-Canon, Location: The House of Hope (Baldur's Gate), Mentions of Abuse, Mentions of Past Abuse, Body Horror, Eldritch, Warlocks, Warlock Patrons, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Spoilers for Gortash, BG3 Spoilers

Summary: Enver, in this dream, we are happy. In this dream, we are free. And I am yours, forever and ever... Yours Always, Orlando.

Years before death cults, tadpoles, and nautiloids, a young Tiefling girl is taken to the House of Hope, where her life is forever changed when she meets a young Enver Gortash. Together, they must figure out how to escape their prison and make their own way in the world.

Read here or over on my AO3.

Orlando is eleven, and she sits at the window, staring out at the bustling harbor of Baldur’s Gate. Last night’s storm lingers in the cracks of the cobblestones below and hovers in the earthy scent of petrichor. Orlando wonders if her mother found shelter last night, if she stayed safe from the ruinous tempest that swallowed boats on the horizon and battered piers to splinters. She wonders if her mother is adrift in the sea, lost and confused, unable to follow the sound of the ocean home because the ocean is all around her.

She should’ve been home by now. She should be in her room, curtains drawn shut to drown out the painful sunlight, sleeping off the exhaustion that has crept into her muscles from night-after-night of hard labor on the docks. But instead, Orlando’s mother’s room is empty, and silence seems to permeate every inch of the little flat, save the restless drip of water into the basin beneath the leaky window. Orlando watches each drop beading from the loose sill: small at first, then fat, fat, fat- until the drop swells and plips in a ripple along the surface of the pool underneath it. Perhaps, Orlando thinks, her mother is a ripple in the sea, and nothing more.

The door to the flat bursts open, crashing against the wall and sending a hanging planter crashing to the floor.

“Cían!” Orlando scolds, knowing their mother will be furious when she discovers the mess of soil and shattered ceramic in the entryway, “Be gentle!”

"Sorry,” her brother sheepishly mutters, shrinking where he stands. A wave of guilt courses through Orlando’s veins as she realizes she is being far too harsh. This is as difficult a time for her twin brother as it is for her. She lifts herself from where she’s been keeping watch by the window and goes to help Cían clean up the mess.

“Any luck?” she questions, plucking broken pieces of pottery from the ground. Her brother shakes his head, webbed ears sinking dejectedly.

“Me neither,” is all Orlando can manage.

“I tried the dockmaster, but he didn’t know anything,” her brother begins, scooping up piles of soil into his taloned hands and dumping them into a nearby pot, “Said he’d ask around. Guess a lot of people are missing after last night.”

“You don’t think-” Orlando starts but can’t bring herself to finish. Her brother shoots her an irritated look.

“Mom’s not dead,” he spits, his motions becoming agitated. He deposits the last of the soil with a furious thrust, rising swiftly from the ground and storming over towards the window. His eyes scan the road below, “She’ll be back. She always comes back.”

Nervously, Orlando sidles over to him, plastering herself to his side and slipping her hand in his. She gives it a tight squeeze and finally, his foul mood relents a bit. He smiles sorrowfully, leaning his head against his sister’s shoulder and sighing.

“She’ll be back,” he repeats, and Orlando hopes to the gods that he’s right.

***

Days pass with Orlando and Cían taking turns going out to hunt for their missing mother, while one of them stays home to keep watch in the chance that she makes her way back. In the evenings, they rifle through the pantry to make a suitable meal for themselves. The children sit at the windowsill gnawing at bread that is swiftly going stale and nibbling at the remainder of a chunk of cheese. As their store of food begins to dwindle, Cían takes it upon himself to break into their mother’s emergency funds. Guiltily, he swipes a couple of coins from the stash underneath one of the loose floorboards in the hallway.

“I don’t think she’d mind us using it for food,” Orlando tries to reassure, wringing her hands in worry. Her brother gives a small nod before they set out together to navigate the bustling market. They speak to no one, schooled strictly by their mother to not speak to strangers, especially when she isn’t around. Orlando and Cían keep their heads down except when to politely thank a vendor or to murmur a quiet, “Excuse me,” in order to squeeze by someone.

The children keep their eyes peeled to see if, perhaps, their mother might be wandering through the crowd, lost and confused. But there is only a sea of strangers to greet them. Eyes seem to track Orlando and her brother, leering out from beneath dark cowls, watching their every motion. Cían pulls his sister closer to him when he spots a hooded figure leaning against a wall, glittering gaze staring after them. The man watches them for a long while, pushing away from the wall and trailing after them through the crowd.

“Get ready to run,” Cían whispers to Orlando, fear tightening his grip on her hand. But Orlando manages to tug her brother into a small crowd of elderly women who fawn over the two Tiefling children for a moment- long enough for the man to lose sight of them. After they’re sure the coast is clear, Orlando and her brother slip away through the crowd and head back home, shaken by the city crowds. Orlando is beginning to understand her mother’s fears.

“Are you scared because papa might be looking for us?” Orlando had once asked her mother after receiving another lecture on why Orlando and her brother shouldn’t be talking to strangers. The look in her mother’s eyes was one of abject fear.

"Yes,” she confirmed, glancing swiftly away, “Yes, your father. And-” Her mother paused.

"And who?” Orlando pestered. Her mother swallowed hard before setting down the rag she’d been using to dry off the dishes. She turned to her daughter, smiling softly, though notably not answering Orlando’s question, which irked the little girl to this day.

“You and your brother are- unique,” her mother began, gently taking Orlando’s shoulders.

"Isn’t that what every parent says to their kid?” Orlando had petulantly returned. Her mother laughed.

“Yes, but-” another pause as she gazed intensely at her daughter for a moment, “There are people that would pay a lot of money for people like you and Cían. For people like me. Because of what we can do.”

Orlando glanced furtively around before whispering, “The thing we’re not supposed to do?”

Her mother nodded, “Right. Unless we’re in danger.”

"Unless we’re in danger,” Orlando had repeated, a mantra she held close to her heart.

That had been the last time the subject of the children’s father had been brought up, but not the last time their mother had given the siblings the “stranger danger” lecture. It was a monthly reminder, now. And now that their mother was missing, Orlando found herself going back to this conversation over and over again.

***

One night, Orlando and Cían decide to sneak out into the darkness, hoping to avoid the crowds. Perhaps tonight will be the night they find her. Perhaps tonight, the sea will be kind, and the tides will bring their mother back to them.

No luck on the docks, so Cían suggests they split up and meet back up before the moon rises too high in the sky.

“I’ll check the square if you want to check near Basilisk Gate,” he says, “We’ll meet up near Sorcerous Sundries when we’re done.”

Orlando gives a determined nod before marching off, tugging the hood of her cloak down to obscure her face. She darts down dimly lit alleys, careful not to be spotted by any of the city guards who might be wondering what a little one is doing out this late. When she reaches Basilisk Gate, she hides behind a stack of crates and peers out into the moonlit darkness. A few stragglers from nearby taverns stumble along the streets. Shuttered produce carts create strange, amorphous shadows in the darkness. But there is no sign of her mother.

Orlando is so focused on her watch duty that she does not notice the marching sound of footsteps coming up the alley behind her.

“You there!” a harsh voice calls. Orlando nearly jumps out of her skin, whirling around to face the two hooded figures that have snuck up beside her.

“You shouldn’t be out this late,” one of them speaks, peering at her from beneath their cowl, “Where are your parents?”

Orlando, too frightened for words, merely makes a choking sound in her throat. There is something in the eyes of these strangers that sends shivers up her spine. Something hungry. Orlando grips the handle of the little dagger she keeps hidden on her belt, ready to swipe at them should they come any closer.

“Lost, little one?” the other purrs, creeping nearer. Orlando feels a surge of anger in her chest, scowling at the man.

“Come any closer and I’ll scream,” she spits, assessing what her options are. Screaming would certainly alert any nearby guards, but would they reach her fast enough? These men could snatch her up in an instant and disappear down one of the nearby alleys or manholes into the vast sewer system beneath the city. Her brother would be left alone, motherless, sisterless. She couldn’t do that to Cían.

She could run, but surely, they would follow her.

Unless we’re in danger, echoes in her head. There is that possibility. But it would be an even greater risk than if she were to simply run.

Orlando doesn’t get much of a chance to decide. She hadn’t noticed the third man creeping up behind her until he was nearly on her. She feels his presence in the hairs standing up at the back of her neck. Reacting on instinct, Orlando whirls around, knife drawn, swiping out in an arc and slashing the man’s arm. He cries out in pain and anger, the momentary chaos enough for Orlando to dart out from behind the boxes and dash down the alley. She can hear the pounding footsteps of the men following her. They’re fast, but she is faster and more agile. Orlando weaves through tiny spaces and narrow corridors, on the lookout for anywhere she can hide. Finally, she is able to duck behind some large casks outside a tavern, pressing close to the wall, webbed ears listening out for her stalkers.

After a while of relative silence, Orlando peeks out from behind the large cask. It seems she’s lost the men, much to her relief; but just as she is about to risk stepping out of her hiding place, she is forced to dart right back into the shadows. Someone skulks out of one of the backdoors of the tavern, shifty gaze darting this way and that down the alleyway. When they are satisfied that there is no one else around, the figure wanders into a small patch of moonlight and sighs. Orlando scrunches against the wall, making herself as small as possible, fearful she’ll be chased yet again. However, the stranger merely stands there, letting the moonlight and the gentle night breeze wash over them.

Orlando relaxes, peering closer at the figure, curious, but careful not to make any sudden moves. However, even if Orlando wanted to move, she couldn’t, awestruck by the silver glimmer of the stranger’s pale hair. It seems to be woven of starlight, iridescent and cold, curling around his pointed ears like soft, snowy tendrils. The man turns his gaze upwards and that is when Orlando catches a glimpse of his irises: red like polished garnets, and filled with a deep, deep sorrow. In fact, Orlando has never seen someone quite as crestfallen as this pale elf. There is something lost about him, aimless and adrift. She wonders if he is some Elven prince, lost in a city he’s unfamiliar with, searching for a home he cannot find.

Searching for home, sounds in Orlando’s mind. She is suddenly pulled from her silent awe when the man speaks.

“Little tip for skulking in the shadows,” his voice drawls, casting his gaze over towards the cask Orlando is hiding behind, “Try to breathe a little quieter. A deaf cat could probably hear all that sniffling you’re doing.”

Orlando’s ears droop in embarrassment. She takes this as a sign to emerge from her hiding spot. The Elf’s gaze hardens as the Tiefling creeps into the light, the angles of his face severe in the shadow of the moon.

“Hmm,” he hums, scanning her, quirking a pale brow up, but saying nothing more. Orlando blushes softly as she continues to stare curiously at the Elf.

Just as Orlando is about to ask if he is a prince, the tavern door bursts open.

“Oi! Pretty boy! Where’d you get off to?” a voice shouts in a slurring, singsongy tone. The Elf scowls, giving a small, “Tsk,” before storming back into the tavern, leaving Orlando alone in the alley once again.

The momentary spell Orlando had been under breaks, and she suddenly remembers why she’s out at this late hour. She scolds herself, feeling guilty for allowing herself to be distracted. Orlando vows to come back to the tavern tomorrow night, to see if she can’t help this sorrowful prince find his way home. She understands how scary it can be to not know where you are, how dreadfully sad it is.

I’ll bring a shell! she thinks, recalling what her mother had once said when Orlando had gotten lost on her way home from the market.

“Whenever you cannot find your way, my darling,” her mother had begun, wiping away Orlando’s tears with a handkerchief, “Listen for the sound of the ocean. Let her waves guide you back to me.”

That day, her mother had given her a little conch shell and explained that it would always help her find her way. Orlando wouldn’t dare part with the shell her mother gave her, but she could certainly find a different one for the Elven prince with hair woven from starlight.

Cían is already waiting at Sorcerous Sundries by the time Orlando gets there. She worries that he is upset with her, based on the look on his face. However, as she draws nearer, Orlando realizes her brother’s frown is one of sadness and not anger.

"No luck either?” he begins, and all Orlando can do is shake her head. Hand-in-hand, the siblings retreat to their home, weary and losing hope. They will rest tonight to gain strength for another day of searching tomorrow.

***

After yet another unsuccessful search, Cían and Orlando debate going to the city guards. Mama had said not to trust anyone, but did that include the authorities? Orlando isn’t sure. And neither is Cian, really. But they both decide that enough time has passed where they need help, both for their Mama and for themselves. So, hand-in-hand, Orlando and Cian head to the nearest guard on patrol and explain their situation. The guard nods, instructing the children to return to the safety of their home for now.

“We’ll take care of it,” the guard explains, smiling gently at the terrified children, “Do you have anyone you trust that you can go to?”

Orlando and Cían shake their heads, to which the guard frowns.

“I’ll send someone to come look after you,” they finish, before sending the children on their way.

Before they return home, Orlando requests to go to the beach, where she searches for the perfect shell for her Elven prince. She finds one, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, iridescent just like her prince’s hair. But she does not have the chance to go to the tavern again that night, having been instructed to stay home until someone can come look after her and her brother. For now, she sets the shell on her bedside table and promises to go back tomorrow, hoping she will see her Elven prince again.

That night, she dreams of being the princess of a faraway land; wearing gowns made of gossamer and silk, hanging on the arm of a handsome prince, and spending her days reading and writing and practicing her spells. In this dream, she is safe, and so is her brother and her mother. In this dream, she does not have to run or hide or worry about anything anymore. In this dream, she is happy, and her heart cannot be touched by fear.

***

The strangers arrive the following morning, four of them marching up the road towards the furniture store Orlando, her mother, and her brother live above. The owners of the shop are gone, so the men have to force the door open to get to the flat above. Orlando and Cían hide in their room, clutching each other close, free hands clasped over their own mouths to prevent them from making any sound. There is something foul about these strangers, something hateful in their gaits. Orlando recognizes one of them as the guard they confided in, and the other three as the men that harassed her near Basilisk Gate.

“This is all my fault,” she whimpers to Cían, who hushes his sister softly and reassures her.

“It’s not your fault,” he repeats, trying to quiet her tears, “It isn’t. They would’ve come for us eventually, anyway.”

It takes little time for the children to be discovered, pulled out by their tails from their hiding place under Orlando’s bed. Orlando scratches with her talons, tries to poke out their eyes with the sharp tips of her horns. Cían sinks his teeth into the hand of one of the men. The man swears, dropping the little Tiefling boy. He scrambles towards his sister’s captor but is caught by one of the other men and bashed in the back of the head. Orlando screams, struggles harder as her brother falls limp to the ground. Rage burns through her, splitting open her chest. She can feel her imminent transformation, her skin coldly simmering and threatening to take new shape. A forbidden shape, one her mother told her never to use.

Unless we’re in danger.

Orlando’s leg kicks out, knocking over the shell on her bedside table and sending it shattering across the ground. This only fuels her rage, mother-of-pearl glimmering in broken pieces beneath her.

“Hold her!” one of the men shouts frantically as Orlando squirms and writhes and feels her skin burning away. She’ll be free, she thinks. She’ll save Cían. But in moments, pain blooms across the back of Orlando’s head and she, too, sees only darkness.

A/N: It has taken me many, many months to figure out what direction I've wanted to go with this series. And finally, I feel happy with what I've been writing. Each story in this series will focus on the relationship between my Tav, Orlando, and Gortash over the years. This first fic will focus on Orlando and Gortash's time in the House of Hope, from their youth into their early adult years. It may end up that I publish this series in a slightly weird order, depending on what I'm feeling inspiration for, but I'm going to try to stick to being chronological. We shall see. Anyway, thank you so much for reading! Working on chapter 2 of this fic, along with some other fics in this series. Not sure when they will be out, as I have a million other WIPS I'm working on, but hoping to have them out soon. Thank you so much for reading, for your likes and reblogs! Hope you are all doing well! Lots of love <3

#bg3 #tav #astarion ancunin #enver gortash #angst #tw: mentions of abuse #tw: body horror #tavtash #bg3 spoilers #my writing #dani writes #pre canon #gortash x tav

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