#fan fiction

[jincapableoflove]

A Jar Full of Us | one-shot

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: best friend! jungkook, best friend! reader, college! au, unrequited love (?), idiots to lovers, best friends to ??? to lovers, angst, fluff, implied smut.

Summary: You never meant for him to find them. Hundred little confessions, folded away, never meant to be read. But now, they’re in his hands. And Jungkook—your best friend—knows everything. But he doesn’t say a word. He just watches you, with that same unreadable expression, like he’s waiting for something. And this Valentine’s Day, you might just have to find out what.

Inspired by: To All the Boys I've Loved Before

Word count: 10.2K+

Warnings: arguments, jungkook is a jerk, misunderstandings (a lottt of it), angstttt, reader and jk are huge idiots, mutual pining, implied smut (its not too detailed so that the story maintains the emotional connectivity), romantic intimacy, tooth-rotting fluff.

MOODBOARD

A/N: HERE IT ISSS! this is the longest fic ive written! tysm for all the support yall have given me in the teaser of this fic. i put out a taglist thinking no one would actually want to be a part of it but so many of yall asked to be tagged 😭 im so grateful! tysm i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writng it. lmk ur thoughts abt it after u read too <3 ALSO HAPPY VALENTINES DAYYY (someone date me pls)

The door clicks shut behind you as you step into the dorm, kicking off your shoes with a tired sigh. The evening air still clings to your skin, carrying traces of laughter and the lingering warmth of Jungkook’s presence.

It had been another perfect night—one filled with inside jokes, stolen bites of each other’s food, and his usual exasperated attempts to get you to study.

Joy, your roommate, is nowhere in sight, giving you the solitude you need. You don’t hesitate. Your steps are purposeful as you cross the room, crouching down beside your bed. With practiced ease, you reach under the frame, fingers brushing against the familiar surface of a small pink, heart-shaped box. You pull it out carefully, as if it were a fragile secret, and place it on your lap.

A soft breath escapes you as you grab a nearby pen and a book, neatly tearing out a tiny slip of paper. The motion is second nature now. Without even thinking, you let your emotions spill onto the paper, crafting a fleeting moment into something permanent.

Tonight’s memory is simple, but it still tugs at your heart. Jungkook had sent you another blurry picture of the moon, captioned with a casual, “Looks kinda pretty, right?” He knew how much you loved the moon—how it fascinated you in a way you could never quite put into words. And he had remembered. Of course, he had remembered.

A fond smile tugs at your lips as you write:

Jungkook remembers the little things.

Once the ink dries, you fold the note with care and add it to the collection. The box is almost full now, brimming with countless tiny confessions—whispers of feelings you’ve never had the courage to say aloud. A hundred little moments, a hundred little thoughts, all dedicated to the boy who had unknowingly stolen your heart.

Jungkook.

Jungkook, your best friend, who always saves you the last bite of his food, even when it’s his favorite. Jungkook, who sends you blurry pictures of the moon just because he knows you love them. Jungkook, who insists on studying with you, despite his major being entirely different from yours, just so he can make sure you actually open a book instead of procrastinating.

This little tradition of yours had started as a joke. One night, after an especially soft moment where Jungkook had wordlessly placed his hoodie over your head because you were shivering, you had scribbled on a piece of paper: Jungkook is warmer than the sun.

You had smiled to yourself as you rolled up the paper and dropped it into the box. It had felt oddly nice—preserving that moment, capturing the feeling of it in something tangible. So you did it again. And again. And again.

Until, one day, you realized you had written over a hundred of them.

You hadn’t meant to fall in love. And you certainly hadn’t planned to confess.

But each tiny slip of paper holds a truth your heart refuses to say aloud.

And you're going to keep it a secret forever.

You met Jungkook almost three years ago, during freshman year. The first time you met him, he had been infuriatingly kind.

You had been struggling under the weight of a precariously tall stack of books, barely able to see over them, when suddenly, a few disappeared from the top. Startled, you looked up to see Jungkook grinning at you, effortlessly holding the books you had nearly dropped.

"You looked like you were about to tip over," he teased, his dark eyes twinkling with amusement.

With a playful huff, you had responded, "Maybe I wanted it to tip over."

Jungkook had only laughed, shaking his head. "I'll catch you next time," he had promised.

That night, you had written a tiny note and slipped it into your box: He wants to catch me when I fall, even without me asking.

From that moment on, your friendship grew in ways you hadn’t even noticed at first. Midnight walks and late-night study sessions became routine, pulling you closer together with every shared moment. What had started as swapping notes for the one class you had together turned into sharing secrets. Somewhere along the way, before you even realized it, Jungkook had become your favorite person.

The box was almost full now.

You had written so many things over the years, each note capturing a small piece of him, a fragment of your feelings. Some were simple observations:

Jungkook frowns when he eats something delicious.

His hair is always a mess in the mornings. He hates it, but I love it.

His eyes smile before his lips do.

But one night, you had written something different. Something deeper. Something that felt like the truest thing you had ever put to paper.

I love him.

The moment the ink dried, panic had set in. You had almost torn it up, almost removed it from the box as if keeping it there would somehow make it real. But in the end, you had left it. Because the box was safe. No one was going to see it.

Especially not Jungkook.

One afternoon, you came back from your classes, ready to relax and unwind before the stress of exams fully set in. You had been looking forward to a quiet evening, maybe even a movie marathon with Jungkook to take your mind off things for a while.

But the moment you stepped into your dorm, you felt something was off.

Joy was sitting on the couch, sipping her coffee, her expression smug—too smug. A knowing smirk curled at the corners of her lips as she watched you walk in, and instantly, your stomach twisted with unease.

You narrowed your eyes. "What did you do?"

"I did you a favor," she said casually, taking another slow sip of her coffee.

A cold shiver ran down your spine. "What favor?" you asked, dread creeping into your voice.

Joy grinned. "I found that little cute box of yours."

Your heart stopped. "What?"

"Don't look at me like that," she waved a hand dismissively, as if what she was about to say wasn’t about to shatter your entire world. "It was just sitting there collecting dust, and I thought—what a perfect Valentine's Day gift for Jungkook. So…I wrapped it up and dropped it off at his place."

Silence.

A deafening, all-consuming silence as her words echoed in your head.

"You WHAT?!"

Your entire body froze in place, your breath catching in your throat as horror washed over you in waves. Your chest felt tight, your pulse roaring in your ears.

Joy merely raised an eyebrow, seemingly unbothered by the sheer panic on your face. "You're welcome," she said cheekily—before promptly sprinting out of the room for her life.

But you couldn’t chase after her. You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think past the ringing in your ears.

No. No. No.

This couldn't be happening.

Still desperate to deny the possibility, you dropped to your knees and scrambled to check under your bed, your hands shaking as you reached into the familiar space where you had hidden the box for years.

Empty.

It was gone.

The tiny wooden box that held a hundred little moments, a hundred little secrets—your secrets—was gone.

And now it was in Jungkook's hands.

Of all people…Jungkook.

Jungkook lived in an apartment a little further away from your dorm. The second the realization hit, you bolted out the door without a second thought, heart pounding so hard it nearly drowned out the sound of your footsteps against the pavement.

Your plan was simple—get to his apartment before he did. You knew his habits well enough to guess that he was probably grabbing a late lunch at that fast-food place near campus. If luck was on your side, you still had time.

He hadn’t seen it yet.

He couldn’t have seen it yet.

As you ran, your mind spiraled into chaos, bombarding you with every possible scenario—each one worse than the last.

What if he had already opened it?

What if he read through every single note?

What if he found the one that said I love him?

Your stomach twisted painfully at the thought.

Jungkook was your best friend.

He was your person.

And now, he might know that you wanted to be more than just friends.

The mere thought made your chest tighten as memories of the two of you flashed through your mind. The times you spent together at the arcade, the countless movie nights, the time you and Jungkook had crashed Jimin’s birthday party with a ridiculous amount of booze.

And then…there was that moment.

The moment you almost confessed.

"I wish I could find someone who truly understood me," he had said one night, his voice softer than usual, lost in thought.

And you had almost said it. The words had been on the tip of your tongue, so painfully close—"I do."

But you swallowed them down.

Because what if he didn’t feel the same way? What if saying those words ruined everything?

And now, thanks to Joy, you didn’t have a choice anymore. The truth was out there, sitting in a neatly wrapped box in Jungkook’s apartment.

The thought of his reaction sent your mind into overdrive.

Would he laugh?

Would he think it was weird?

Would he—

Would he reject you?

No. No. No.

You shook your head violently as you rounded the corner, lungs burning from the sprint. You’re going to get there before he does. You’re going to take the box back, and he’s never going to know about it.

That was the plan.

It had to work.

As soon as you reached Jungkook’s apartment building, you barely paused to catch your breath. Your legs ached from running, but panic kept you moving. You made a beeline for the mailbox section in the lobby, frantically scanning the names, searching for his.

Box 109.

You yanked it open.

Empty.

Your stomach sank.

Maybe his roommate took it upstairs? Yeah. That had to be it. Maybe it was sitting untouched on the kitchen counter, still wrapped, still safe, still unseen.

You latched onto that sliver of hope as you rushed up the stairs two at a time, unwilling to wait for the elevator. By the time you reached his floor, your hands were shaking. You raised a fist and knocked on the door, urgency making your knuckles sting.

No response.

You knocked again, harder this time.

Then—finally—you heard shuffling from inside. A few footsteps. The creak of the floorboards. A pause.

The door swung open.

And there he was.

Jungkook.

Standing right in front of you, framed in the dim light of his apartment, wearing an oversized grey hoodie that draped over his frame in a way that shouldn't have been so unfairly attractive. His dark hair was slightly damp, messy from a shower, strands falling into his eyes. His lips were parted in surprise, his brows slightly furrowed, and the expression on his face—confused yet soft, dangerously soft—made your already erratic heartbeat lurch violently.

But then, your gaze dropped to his hands.

And the world stopped.

The box.

The open box.

Your box.

Your secret, sacred collection of unsent confessions, of words meant only for the safety of your own solitude. The pieces of your heart you had never dared to show him.

You felt like you were going to be sick.

No, no, no, no—

"You—" You gasped, barely able to form words, chest rising and falling rapidly as you fought for air. "You opened it?"

Jungkook blinked, holding the box loosely in one hand, fingers curled around the edges as if he had been going through its contents just moments ago. He tilted his head, his expression unreadable.

"Yeah," he said simply, as if the weight of the universe hadn’t just come crashing down on you.

Oh. Oh no.

Your legs wobbled. You had to physically stop yourself from collapsing right there in front of him.

His gaze flickered downward, and you followed it instinctively. In his other hand, he held one of the notes. One of your notes. The handwriting was unmistakably yours, a little smudged, a little rushed, but still legible.

He cleared his throat, then read aloud.

"I don’t know when it happened. But one day, he became my favorite person."

Silence.

It stretched on for what felt like an eternity.

You thought you might actually pass out.

"Jungkook, I—" Your voice cracked, but before you could even attempt to explain, he looked up and met your eyes.

And then, to your absolute horror—

He smiled.

Not a teasing smirk, not an awkward grimace, but a real, genuine, knowing smile. A little shy, a little amused, as if the weight of what he had just discovered didn’t terrify him nearly as much as it did you.

And then—oh god—he spoke again.

"So… do you still think my hair looks best when it’s messy?"

Your breath hitched.

Your brain went blank.

You wanted to scream.

The change was almost instant.

In the days that followed, Jungkook became… different.

Not in the way you had imagined, though.

You had been bracing yourself for a talk—a conversation where he’d tell you gently, maybe even apologetically, that he didn’t feel the same way. Or, at the very least, a moment of awkwardness before things slowly went back to normal.

But instead, Jungkook just… pulled away.

It started subtly at first. He stopped texting as much. The late-night calls that once lasted for hours dwindled into one-word replies and seen messages. The casual lunch meetups, the spontaneous arcade runs, the easy, natural way he used to gravitate towards you in a crowded room—all of it changed.

And yet, despite the distance, he never fully let you go.

Instead, he turned it into a joke.

Like today, when he leaned in—far too close for comfort—during your shared class. His voice was low, teasing, the warmth of his breath fanning against your ear.

"So, I’m warmer than the sun, huh?"

You stiffened instantly, your hands tightening around your pen. He pulled back with a smirk, his dark eyes glittering with mischief as he watched your reaction unfold in real-time.

It was unbearable.

He kept doing it.

Whenever you tried to talk to him—really talk to him—he would either dodge the conversation entirely or turn it into something lighthearted, something unserious.

Like the time you finally found him alone, determined to just get it over with, to ask what had changed between you two. Before you could even get the words out, he cut you off with another one of those smirks, his voice laced with amusement.

"So I look best in black? Good to know."

And then he walked away.

That was when you finally got the message.

Jungkook had taken it as a joke.

He didn’t care about your feelings.

It was like the caring, affectionate boy you had known for years had vanished the moment your heart had been laid bare. Like now that the truth was out in the open, he didn’t know how to handle it—so he chose to mock it instead.

And worst of all?

He was pulling away from you completely.

The time you used to spend together? Gone. He was hanging out with other people now, filling his days with anyone but you. And when you did manage to cross paths, he only acknowledged you through those insufferable little comments, those cruel reminders of the things you had never meant for him to see.

It hurt. More than you wanted to admit.

Because maybe—just maybe—you had hoped that if he knew how you felt…

He wouldn’t push you away like this.

The next week brought the on-campus career fair—an event mandatory for all students. You weren’t particularly excited about it, but at least it was a distraction, something to keep your mind occupied.

Or so you thought.

Because that’s when you saw him.

And he wasn’t alone.

He was walking around with Hana, a junior from your college. They moved easily through the crowd, side by side, completely immersed in conversation. And then, to make things even worse—he laughed.

A real laugh. The kind that made his nose scrunch up and his eyes crinkle, the kind you hadn’t heard in what felt like forever.

Your stomach twisted.

You weren’t expecting him to make it this obvious.

If he wanted to reject you, fine. If he didn’t feel the same way, you could live with that. But did he really have to parade it around like this?

Maybe this was his way of sending a message. Maybe he wanted you to know, without actually having to say it out loud.

A silent rejection.

What a jerk.

These days, you barely have the motivation to attend classes. You go through the motions—waking up, dragging yourself to campus, sitting through lectures—but your mind isn’t really there.

Because no matter how hard you try to distract yourself, the brutal reality of rejection lingers like a shadow, following you everywhere you go.

Jungkook threw away your feelings like they meant nothing.

You should have expected it, right? You should have known this was how it would turn out.

Maybe you were never meant to be anything more than a friend to him. Maybe, the moment he realized you held deeper feelings for him, he got scared. Or worse—maybe he just didn’t care at all.

The thought makes your chest ache.

Jungkook has always been a romantic at heart. You’ve seen it in the way he talks about love, in the way he watches romance movies with a dreamy look in his eyes. But clearly, you were never part of that dream.

And now, because of your stupid feelings, you’ve ruined everything.

You used to be his best friend. The one he joked around with, the one he trusted, the one he leaned on.

But now?

Now he barely looks at you.

And if he does, it's only to throw some teasing remark your way—like your feelings were some kind of joke.

The person you were most angry at was Joy.

Not Jungkook. Not yourself.

Joy.

Because none of this would have happened if she had just left that damn box alone.

That day after the box incident, the moment you stepped back into your dorm, she was there, lounging on the couch like nothing had happened. She glanced up as you walked in, a smirk already forming on her lips.

“I didn’t expect you to come back so early. I thought you guys would—” she wiggled her eyebrows—“get freaky after the whole confession, you know?”

She laughed, expecting you to groan or throw a pillow at her like usual.

But then she saw your face.

Her laughter faded. “Wait… what happened?”

You didn’t answer. You just walked past her and sank into the couch, staring at nothing, your mind still replaying every moment from earlier—Jungkook’s teasing, his smirk, his distance.

You heard Joy shuffle closer, her voice softer now. “I… I’m sorry. Did I send the gift too early? Did Jungkook not like it?”

You let out a hollow laugh. “Oh, no, he loved it.” You turned to her, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Thank you so much for your help, Joy.”

Her expression faltered. “Wait… what do you mean?”

You shook your head, exhaling sharply. “Jungkook probably thinks I’m pathetic now.”

Joy winced. She sat beside you on the couch, guilt written all over her face. “I— I really thought—” she hesitated, chewing on her lip. “I was so sure, though. That boy always had heart eyes for you.”

You let out a bitter chuckle. “Well, now you know he didn’t.”

Silence settled between you both.

And for the first time, Joy didn’t have anything to say.

The next time you see Jungkook, he’s with Hana again.

They’re standing by one of the campus notice boards, deep in conversation. You don’t mean to eavesdrop—you’re not even sure why you stop—but the moment you hear them talking, something in your gut tells you to listen.

Hana tilts her head, her voice low but clear. “Are you sure she won't find out?”

Jungkook sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know… Maybe it's better this way”

Your breath catches in your throat.

Your first instinct is denial—maybe they’re not talking about you. Maybe it’s about someone else entirely. But deep down, you know.

As far as you’re aware, there isn’t another she in Jungkook’s life. Not before. Not when you were still close.

You’ve already been replaced.

Your chest aches as you piece it together. He doesn't want you to find out—because he's probably in a relationship with Hana now. Because he doesn’t want to hurt you with a direct rejection, he thinks hiding his relationship with her is the kinder option.

It isn’t.

You swallow the lump in your throat and force yourself to step back, turning away from the scene before you can hear any more.

You decide then—no matter how much it hurts, no matter how pathetic it makes you feel—you can’t bear being apart from Jungkook.

Even if he doesn’t love you back.

Even if he only sees you as a friend.

Losing him completely? That’s not something you’re ready for. Maybe you never will be.

So, you do the only thing you can think of.

You wait for him after class.

Your heart pounds against your ribs as you watch the door, your hands clammy with nerves. When Jungkook finally steps out, your breath catches. He looks the same—same hoodie, same soft brown eyes—but everything feels different now.

Taking a deep breath, you step forward.

"I get it, okay?" you say, voice firm despite the way your throat tightens. "You don’t like me. And that’s fine. I hope she makes you happy."

Jungkook halts mid-step.

His jaw clenches. His fists curl at his sides.

"You don’t understand," he mutters.

"Then make me understand, Jungkook," you plead. You take a shaky breath, forcing yourself to keep going, even as your last shred of dignity slips through your fingers. "Can we still be friends, at least?"

Silence.

Jungkook doesn’t reply.

And somehow, that hurts more than rejection ever could.

There's a party happening, hosted by one of the biggest party animals on campus. Everyone is invited, and Joy insists that you go.

After much convincing, you finally give in. You've mended things with her—finally forgiven her. Maybe it wasn’t entirely her fault. Maybe you just needed someone to blame.

You decide to go, hoping for a distraction. Maybe the music, the drinks, and the endless chatter will help you forget, even if just for a night.

But you already know Jungkook will be there.

Probably Hana too.

And that's fine.

You'll just stay out of their way.

The party is in full swing when you arrive—loud music, flashing lights, bodies moving wildly on the dance floor, and the unmistakable smell of booze in the air. Bottles are being passed around, and the energy is electric.

A few friends from your classes spot you and pull you in, offering drinks. You take them all without hesitation, reaching for the strongest ones, letting the alcohol burn away the ache in your chest.

Jungkook is nowhere in sight.

Good. Maybe he didn’t come. Maybe you can actually enjoy yourself tonight.

With the alcohol settling in, your limbs feel lighter, your mind a little hazy. You dance to the outdated playlist blaring through the speakers, laugh with strangers, and let yourself let go—just for a while.

But after some time, it all feels like too much. The heat, the noise, the overwhelming buzz in your veins. You slip away from the crowd and make your way to the rooftop, breathing in the crisp night air, letting it cool your flushed skin.

And then you sense it—someone else's presence.

You turn, your head spinning slightly, and there he is.

Jungkook.

You blink, wondering if you're imagining him, but his gaze is fixed on you, a slight furrow between his brows. There's something like concern in his expression as he watches you, taking in your drunken state.

Your heart stumbles in your chest.

The alcohol makes everything feel lighter—your body, your thoughts, your inhibitions. So when you see Jungkook standing there, looking at you with that unreadable expression, the words just spill out before you can stop them.

“I liked you, you know,” you mumble, swaying slightly. “But now I realize… I was just wasting my time.”

Jungkook doesn’t react. No apology, no denial, not even a flicker of emotion across his face.

He just exhales softly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You’ll be fine,” he says simply, then turns on his heel and walks away.

Just like that.

The cool night air suddenly feels suffocating, the weight in your chest heavier than ever. You watch his retreating figure, your heart shattering all over again.

The next morning, you wake up with the nastiest headache ever. Your head throbs, your mouth is dry, and your body feels like it’s been wrung out. You groan, forcing yourself to sit up as the hazy memories from last night slowly piece themselves together.

Jungkook. The rooftop. The way he just… walked away like he didn’t care.

You shake the thought from your mind, dragging yourself out of bed. There’s no point dwelling on it. Your exams are approaching, and you need to focus.

Deciding to get some studying done, you head to the library. The quiet atmosphere should help clear your head—or at least distract you from the mess that is your life.

But the moment you step inside, your breath catches.

Jungkook is sitting at the table you both used to frequent, completely absorbed in scribbling something into a notebook. For a second, you consider turning around, but then something catches your eye.

He rips out a small piece of paper, folds it neatly, and—without hesitation—slips it into a glass jar sitting beside him.

Your heart clenches.

Is it for Hana?

You don’t stick around to find out. Before Jungkook can notice you, you turn on your heel and walk away.

February 10th. Your birthday.

You wake up with a small flicker of hope. Maybe today would be different. Maybe Jungkook had been ignoring you all this time because he was planning something—some kind of surprise. That had to be it, right?

Surely.

So you wait.

By 3 PM, your phone is filled with messages—friends, family, even distant relatives reaching out to wish you. Everyone but Jungkook.

Not even a single text.

The hope that had carried you through the day starts to crumble, replaced by a hollow ache in your chest. You don’t go to class. What’s the point? This might just be the worst birthday ever.

That’s when Joy bursts into your room with a grin.

"You got a package!" she announces, holding out a neatly wrapped box.

Your heart leaps.

Jungkook?

You rush over, fingers fumbling as you tear open the wrapping—only for your stomach to drop.

It’s from your parents.

Disappointment washes over you, but you push it aside. They went through the trouble of sending you something, and you should be grateful. You take a deep breath, forcing a smile as you pick up your phone and call them.

"Thank you," you say, voice steady. Because at least someone remembered.

There was still time.

It was only evening—plenty of hours left before midnight. Jungkook would surely text before then. He had to.

Joy, noticing your gloomy mood, tries to lift your spirits. "Come on, let’s go out drinking. Have some fun, at least for your birthday."

But you shake your head. "I’m not in the mood."

She sighs, clearly frustrated but doesn’t push you. Instead, she flops onto your bed, staring at the ceiling. "I hate this," she mutters. "I hate seeing you like this. And I hate him for treating you this way."

Her voice is laced with anger, but there’s something else there too—guilt.

Because deep down, Joy still blames herself.

If she hadn’t sent that gift early, if she hadn’t tried to play cupid, maybe things wouldn’t have turned out this way. Maybe you wouldn’t be spending your birthday like this—waiting for a boy who might never come around.

Jungkook didn’t text that day.

He forgot your birthday.

You waited all day, checking your phone every few minutes, hoping for a message that never came. Midnight passed, and still—nothing.

The realization settles deep in your chest, heavier than you expected. You feel pathetic.

Pathetic for hoping. Pathetic for waiting. Pathetic for still caring.

It’s the day before Valentine’s Day.

You can’t afford to miss any more classes. You haven’t stepped foot on campus since your birthday, but today, you decide to go.

You have no motivation to see or talk to anyone. You tell yourself that you’ll just quietly attend your classes and head straight back home. No distractions. No unnecessary interactions.

But as soon as you reach campus, you notice a crowd gathering. There’s some kind of matchmaking event happening for Valentine’s Day tomorrow.

Great. Just great.

Everything about it feels like the universe is mocking you, rubbing salt on an already raw wound. Heart-shaped decorations, pink confetti floating in the air, and couples laughing—completely oblivious to how suffocating it feels for you.

You try to move past the crowd, but suddenly, someone pushes forward, and you get caught in the chaos. You stumble, losing your balance—bracing for impact—

But you don’t hit the ground.

Because Jungkook catches you.

His hands grip your arms, steadying you out of instinct. His touch is firm and warm, familiar in a way that makes your chest ache.

For the first time in days, you look up at him. And for the first time in days, he looks right back at you.

He doesn’t let go of you immediately.

His grip stays firm, his fingers pressing into your arms like he’s grounding himself, like he’s hesitating. His throat bobs as he swallows hard, his lips parting slightly—like he’s about to say something.

The music playing in the background fades into a distant hum. Everything around you slows. The laughter, the chatter, the festival lights—it all blurs.

All that’s left is him.

Still holding you.

Your voice barely comes out, a whisper against the space between you.

“Do you even care, Jungkook?”

His hands tighten for a fraction of a second. His jaw clenches. And for a brief, fleeting moment, you think you see something—something raw and unspoken flash through his eyes.

But then, like a switch flipping, he lets go.

So fast that you nearly stumble again.

"No, Y/N. I don’t."

His words cut through the air, sharp and merciless.

Then he turns. Walks away.

And you’re left standing there, alone in the middle of a festival meant for love.

This is it.

This is your answer.

Jungkook has made his choice.

And now, it’s time for you to make yours.

You have to move on.

That night, you decide—Jungkook was never meant to be yours.

It’s a painful truth, one you’ve been avoiding, but tonight, you accept it.

Needing a distraction, you start clearing out your closet, pulling out old clothes, forgotten trinkets, anything to keep your hands busy. That’s when you see it.

The pink heart-shaped box.

Your breath hitches.

You had snatched it from his hands that day, barely able to meet his gaze before bolting out of his apartment and driving straight back to your dorm. You had shoved it deep into your closet, hoping that if you buried it away, you could bury your feelings too.

For a moment, you consider throwing it away. What’s the point of holding onto it now? Jungkook knows. He read the notes, saw every piece of your heart laid bare. And in the end, it changed nothing.

Your fingers tremble as you lift the lid.

One by one, you pull out the little folded papers, unfolding memories you once held so close.

"I don’t know when it happened, but one day, he became my favourite person."

"His laugh is my favorite sound."

"I wish he knew how much he means to me."

Tears blur your vision.

You never wanted him to know.

Because you never wanted to lose him.

And now, you have.

The weight of it crashes over you all at once, and before you can stop it, the tears spill over, hot and relentless.

You clutch the notes to your chest as silent sobs wrack your body.

You’ve been holding the pain in for too long.

So tonight, you let the dams break.

And you cry yourself to sleep.

It’s Valentine’s Day.

You feel miserable.

Forget having a Valentine this year—you don’t even have a best friend anymore.

So you stay in bed all day, buried under the covers, refusing to acknowledge the world outside.

Your mind drifts, unbidden, to last year’s Valentine’s Day.

You and Jungkook had gone out for dinner—not as lovers, not as anything more than friends, just two people who didn’t have dates. You remember how he laughed at the terrible restaurant music, how he stole fries from your plate like they were his.

You miss it.

No—wait. You shouldn’t be thinking about him.

Shaking off the thought, you grab your Nintendo Switch and start playing, trying to distract yourself.

Then the doorbell rings.

You ignore it. Joy is probably home—she’ll get it.

But it rings again.

What is Joy doing?

Then it hits you—she probably stayed over at her boyfriend’s place last night.

With a groan, you push off the covers and make your way to the door. You swing it open, ready to shoo away whoever it is—

But there’s no one there.

Your gaze drops to the ground.

And then you see it.

A singular jar, placed carefully on the doormat.

You stare at the jar, a strange sense of familiarity creeping in, but you can’t quite place it.

Where have you seen something like this before?

Your mind scrambles for an answer, flipping through memories like pages in a book, but nothing surfaces.

With hesitant fingers, you reach down and pick it up, feeling the cool glass against your palm. It’s heavier than you expected.

That’s when you notice the writing on the lid, scrawled in red marker.

"To Y/N."

Your heart stutters.

You blink, trying to steady your breath, but the moment feels unreal—like you’ve stepped into a dream.

It’s only then that you notice the jar is filled with tiny rolled-up notes, crammed inside like secrets waiting to be unraveled.

Your mind starts spiraling.

What is this? Who left it? Why does it have your name?

Your hands tremble as you twist the lid open, the slight pop of the seal echoing in the silence.

You reach inside, fingers brushing against the countless little slips of paper.

With bated breath, you pull one out.

You carefully unroll it, eyes scanning the words scribbled in rushed, familiar handwriting.

"I lied."

That’s all it says.

Two words.

Your breath catches in your throat as your eyes trace the messy yet unmistakable handwriting.

Jungkook.

Your fingers tighten around the note as your pulse quickens.

It’s his.

The realization slams into you with a force that leaves you momentarily stunned.

Your breath turns shallow as the memory crashes into you—

Yesterday.

The crowd. The music. The overwhelming blur of people around you.

You had stumbled, nearly falling, only for Jungkook to catch you. For a fleeting moment, he held you close. His grip was firm, his expression unreadable.

You had searched his face, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Do you even care, Jungkook?"

You had wanted him to say yes. Even a little. Anything to make the ache in your chest feel less unbearable.

But instead—

"No, Y/N. I don’t."

His words had cut deeper than you ever thought possible.

And then he had let go. So fast, like touching you had burned him. Like you meant nothing at all.

You remember the way your heart had cracked, the way he had disappeared into the sea of people, leaving you stranded in the middle of a festival meant for love.

But now—

Now you stand here, gripping a jar full of his words.

"I lied."

Your hands fumble as you reach into the jar again, pulling out another note.

Unrolling it with shaky fingers, you read:

"I thought if I pushed you away, it’d be easier for you to move on. But the truth is, I don’t want you to."

A sharp pang strikes your chest.

Your mind reels, and suddenly, you're back at the rooftop party—drunk, vulnerable, spilling your heart out in slurred words.

“I liked you, you know? But now I realize I was just wasting my time.”

Jungkook had stood there, silent, unreadable, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

No apology. No denial. Nothing.

And then, just as effortlessly, he had turned away.

"You'll be fine," he'd said before walking off, leaving you alone in the cold night.

The memory burns like an open wound, and yet, here you are, standing in your doorway, holding the truth he should have told you that night in the palm of your hands.

Your fingers tremble as you pull out the next note.

"I missed your birthday on purpose because I wanted to give you something that lasts longer than a text."

Your breath hitches.

He didn’t forget?

He chose not to text?

A bitter chuckle escapes your lips, but it fades just as quickly as the weight of his words settles in.

You reach into the jar again, pulling out another note, heart pounding against your ribs.

What you didn’t know was—

Jungkook had spent hours writing your birthday note.

He had sat at his desk that night, a dozen crumpled papers around him, rewriting the same message over and over, never satisfied. His hands had been shaky when he finally folded the note and slipped it into the jar.

Because words were permanent.

Because he was afraid.

Because deep down, he knew—if he told you how much you really meant to him, he wouldn’t be able to push you away anymore.

And that terrified him.

Your grip on the jar tightens as you pull out the next note.

"I was scared you’d see me in the library that day. And you did. I almost stopped writing. But I wanted to finish this for you."

Your breath catches in your throat as a memory rushes back—

The library.

That afternoon, when you had finally dragged yourself back to campus to study for your exams, you had seen him sitting at your usual table, scribbling something into his notebook.

At the time, you thought nothing of it—until you watched him tear out a tiny slip of paper and slip it into a jar.

A jar.

The very same one you now hold in your trembling hands.

Back then, you had turned away, assuming it was for Hana.

But it wasn’t.

It was for you.

Every note in this jar was for you.

Your vision blurs as you stare down at the tiny rolled-up messages still waiting to be read.

He had been writing to you all along.

By the time you reach the last few notes, your hands are trembling. Maybe you can’t even read them through the tears clouding your vision. The weight of all those misunderstandings—every ignored confession, every painful silence, every moment you thought he didn’t care—crashes down on you all at once.

Your breath is uneven as you unroll another slip of paper.

"You thought I didn’t care. But I did. I always did."

A sob escapes your lips, the ache in your chest unbearable.

You clutch the jar against you like it’s the most precious thing you’ve ever held—because it is. Because it’s him.

Every unspoken word. Every hidden feeling. Every truth he was too afraid to say aloud.

And now, you finally know.

Your breath catches as you reach the bottom of the jar, realizing the significance—there are exactly 100 notes, just like the box you once gave him.

With shaky hands, you pull out the 99th note.

“I was always bad at saying things out loud. So I wrote them instead. I just hope it’s not too late for you to read them.”

Your chest tightens.

You take a deep breath and reach for the last note, your fingers trembling. Slowly, you unroll it, heart pounding in your ears.

“Y/N, will you be my Valentine?”

The paper almost slips from your fingers as your vision blurs with fresh tears. A shaky laugh escapes your lips, somewhere between disbelief and overwhelming emotion.

After everything, after all the silence, the pain, the misunderstandings—he’s finally saying it.

And suddenly, all that matters is what you’ll do next.

The moment the words register, you don’t think.

The jar nearly slips from your grasp as you scramble to your feet, your heartbeat hammering louder than the thoughts racing through your mind. Jungkook. He couldn’t have gone far—he must have just dropped it off.

You fling the door open, barefoot, barely even stopping to grab your keys. The cold air bites at your skin, but you don’t care. You sprint down the stairs, nearly stumbling in your rush to get outside.

Your eyes dart wildly around the street, your breath coming out in frantic puffs. Where is he?

Then, you see him.

A few feet away, Jungkook is walking slowly, hands in his pockets, head low like he’s already bracing for disappointment. Like he’s already convinced you won’t come after him.

But you do.

“Jungkook!”

He freezes.

You don’t stop running until you’re right in front of him, breathless, clutching the jar close to your chest like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the moment.

His eyes widen when he sees you—messy hair, no shoes, trembling hands still gripping his gift like it’s the most important thing in the world.

You swallow hard, voice shaking. “Did you mean it?”

Jungkook looks at you for a long moment, the night stretching between you like a fragile thread.

Then, barely above a whisper—“Yeah.”

Your chest heaves, breath uneven, voice shaking as you clutch the jar tighter.

"You absolute—jerk." Your voice wavers, but the anger, the hurt, the sheer weight of everything he’s put you through spills out in every word. "You sat there, letting me think I meant nothing to you. And the whole time, you were—" You shake the jar, almost laughing in disbelief. "—writing these?"

Jungkook doesn’t answer. He just stands there, hands stuffed in his pockets, jaw tight, like he’s bracing himself for whatever you’re about to say next.

"You could’ve just told me, Jungkook. You could’ve just—" You pause, gripping the jar like it’s the only thing holding you together. "Why? Why lie to me?"

He exhales sharply, his voice rough, like he’s been holding it in for too long.

"Because I was a coward."

You blink. You weren’t expecting him to admit it so easily.

Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, looking away. "I thought pushing you away was the right thing to do. If I let you think I didn’t care, maybe you’d move on. Maybe you’d find someone who wouldn’t hurt you like I did."

Your throat tightens. Your fingers dig into the glass of the jar. "You were the one hurting me, Jungkook."

His eyes finally meet yours, and the weight of them almost knocks the air from your lungs. He looks wrecked.

"I know." His voice is barely above a whisper.

"Then why?" Your voice trembles, frustration bubbling over. "Why did you let me think I was chasing something that wasn’t even there?"

His jaw clenches, and for a second, he doesn’t answer. But then, his voice comes, low and raw.

"Because I was afraid you’d realize you deserved better."

Silence settles between you. A silence so thick it presses against your chest, making it hard to breathe.

You stare at him, your vision blurring. You should walk away. You should scream, cry—anything. But instead, you do the only thing you can think of.

You reach into the jar, grab a note at random, and shove it into his hand. "Read it."

Jungkook hesitates. Then, slowly, he unfolds the paper. His fingers tremble as he reads the words he once wrote.

"If I had been braver, I would’ve told you every single day how much you meant to me."

He sucks in a sharp breath, gripping the paper like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. His eyes flick back up to yours, burning with something you can’t quite name.

"Say it now," you whisper.

Jungkook's breath catches. His grip on the note tightens like it’s the only thing keeping him together.

You wait. Trembling, heart pounding, eyes locked onto his. Daring him to finally, finally say it.

He exhales shakily. His voice is low, rough—like it hurts to speak, but he does anyway.

"Y/N…"

You don’t look away. Don’t let him run from this.

His throat bobs. His hand curls into a fist at his side, then slowly unclenches.

"I love you."

A sharp inhale cuts through you. Even though you were waiting for it, the words hit like a tidal wave.

Jungkook shakes his head, almost laughing, but there’s no humor in it—just raw, aching regret.

"I loved you then. I love you now. And I don’t think there’s a single version of me that won’t love you."

Your vision blurs, the weight of everything pressing down on you all at once.

"Then why—" your voice cracks, "—why did you let me think you didn’t?"

Jungkook exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair. His face twists with something close to pain.

"Because I was scared." His voice is barely above a whisper. "Scared that if I let myself have you, I’d ruin you. Scared that you’d wake up one day and realize I wasn’t worth it."

Your hands clench at your sides. "You don’t get to decide that for me."

He nods. Swallows hard. Takes a step closer.

"I know." His voice is softer now. "And if I could go back, I’d do it all differently. But I can’t. All I can do is stand here and tell you—"

Your lips crash into his, years of longing and heartbreak unraveling in a single, desperate moment. Your fingers fist into his jacket, pulling him closer, closing the distance like you’ve been waiting forever. Because you have.

Jungkook catches you. His arms wind tight around your waist, grounding you, anchoring you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away again. His grip is firm, unyielding, as if holding you is the only thing that makes sense anymore.

The kiss isn’t soft—it’s frantic, raw, filled with all the words you never got to say. It’s a confession, an apology, a plea. His lips move against yours with urgency, pouring everything into it, like he’s trying to make up for every second he spent pushing you away.

Jungkook tilts his head, deepening the kiss, and a shiver runs through you as his fingers tangle into your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath hitch. His other hand spreads against your back, pressing you impossibly closer, like even this isn’t enough, like he’d fuse you together if he could.

You melt. Every wall you built, every ounce of anger, every misunderstanding—crumbling, dissolving into the heat of him. The way he kisses you feels like an answer to a question you didn’t know you were asking. Like a promise.

When you finally pull apart, neither of you lets go.

Jungkook rests his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours, still uneven, still shaken. His hands remain on your waist like he’s afraid that the second he lets go, this will all disappear.

Your fingers stay curled in his shirt, gripping the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

His voice is raw when he finally speaks, barely more than a whisper. “I don’t deserve you.”

You exhale, shaking your head, the weight of everything still pressing against your chest. Your voice is quiet, but steady. “Then spend every day proving that you do.”

Jungkook lets out a soft laugh—one that sounds broken and real, like he can’t believe he’s still allowed to have this moment with you.

“Deal,” he murmurs.

And then he kisses you again.

The door barely clicks shut before Jungkook is on you again, his hands framing your face as his lips crash into yours. There’s no hesitation now, no careful restraint—only heat, only the raw, aching need that’s been simmering between you for far too long.

His body presses against yours, pushing you back into the door, and you gasp against his lips. He swallows the sound, deepening the kiss, his tongue sweeping over yours with slow, deliberate intent. He tastes like something addictive—like want, like longing, like the kind of hunger that makes your stomach tighten and your knees go weak.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, needing him closer. His hands roam down, slipping under the hem of your shirt, fingertips skimming along your bare skin. His touch is scorching, leaving a trail of fire wherever he moves. He pauses, his breath ragged, lips barely brushing yours.

"Tell me to stop," he murmurs, voice rough, uneven.

You shake your head, tilting your chin up until your lips ghost over his again. "I don’t want you to stop."

The words break something inside him.

His mouth crashes onto yours again, hungrier this time, more desperate. His hands slide up your back, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the hard lines of his body, the way his chest rises and falls unsteadily against yours. One hand grips your waist, fingers digging in just enough to make you shudder, while the other slides lower, gripping your thigh and hitching it up against his hip.

A quiet moan escapes you at the feeling, and he groans in response, pressing harder into you. His lips leave yours, trailing a path down your jaw, to the sensitive spot beneath your ear, where he lingers. His teeth scrape lightly against your skin before he soothes it with his tongue, sucking gently, enough to make you arch into him, enough to make your breath hitch.

"Jungkook—" His name leaves your lips in a breathless whisper, and he exhales sharply against your skin, like the sound is enough to undo him.

His grip tightens as he lifts you effortlessly, hands settling under your thighs. Instinct takes over, and your legs wrap around his waist as he carries you across the room. He lays you down on the bed with care, but there’s nothing careful about the way he follows you down, covering your body with his own.

He hovers above you, his breath warm against your lips, his dark eyes searching yours. His thumb brushes over your cheek, then lower, tracing the curve of your bottom lip, his touch unbearably light.

"You’re sure?" he whispers, voice thick with something heady.

Your only answer is a whispered "Yes," breathless, certain.

Something shifts in him at your words. His lips find yours again, but this time, he takes his time—exploring, savoring, as if he wants to memorize every inch of you. His kisses trail downward, along the curve of your neck, across your collarbone, his mouth mapping out a path of heat and sensation. His hands move with just as much purpose, slipping under fabric, pushing it aside, fingers tracing bare skin with an intimacy that makes your pulse stutter.

Every brush of his lips, every slow, deliberate touch sends waves of electricity through you, igniting something deep and primal. Clothes are discarded in slow, teasing movements, the heat between you building with every layer that falls away.

His lips ghost over your shoulder, down your arm, over the curve of your breasts, his breath hot and uneven. He watches you, eyes dark with something intense, something almost reverent, as his fingers trace slow, lazy patterns along your bare skin.

"You’re so beautiful," he murmurs, voice filled with something deeper than desire.

You reach for him, pulling him back up, needing his mouth on yours again, needing more. He obliges, kissing you fiercely, like he never wants to stop, like this moment has been waiting to happen for far too long.

His hands explore moving towards your heat, his touch reverent yet possessive, like he’s memorizing every inch of you, like he’s making up for all the lost time. You arch into him, breath hitching, hands gripping onto his shoulders as heat coils low in your stomach.

"Jungkook," you whisper, his name falling from your lips like a plea.

His breath catches, and he exhales shakily. "I’ve got you," he murmurs against your skin, voice barely above a whisper. "I’m right here."

And then there’s no more talking—only movement, only passion, only the feeling of finally, finally being exactly where you both belong.

The air is thick with warmth, bodies tangled beneath the sheets, hearts pounding in tandem as the last echoes of your shared breaths settle between you. The world outside might still be turning, but in this moment, it doesn’t exist. It’s just you and him, skin against skin, the weight of what just happened pressing down like the softest, heaviest thing in the world.

Your body is spent, muscles trembling faintly from the aftershocks, but you don’t move. You can’t.

Jungkook is still holding you. One arm draped lazily around your waist, the other tracing absentminded patterns against your back. His touch is slow, soothing, like he’s still trying to convince himself you’re real. Like if he lets go, you might slip away.

You stay like that for a while, chests rising and falling in sync, your head resting just above his heart. The rhythm of it is steady now, no longer racing like it had been just moments ago. Still, there’s a softness to it, an unspoken question lingering in the quiet space between you.

It’s you who finally breaks it.

“So…” You shift slightly, fingers trailing absentmindedly along his chest. “Hana knew about the jar?”

His hand stills for the briefest moment before he exhales a small, breathy laugh. His voice is thick with exhaustion, but there’s amusement in it too.

“She didn’t just know about it.” His fingers resume their slow, idle circles against your bare skin. “It was her idea.”

You blink. “…What?”

Jungkook hums in confirmation, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Yeah. She was the one who told me to do it—to fill a jar with everything I wanted to say but couldn’t.” He pauses, then adds, “She also threatened to expose me if I didn’t.”

You scoff, though you can’t help the warmth blooming in your chest. “So let me get this straight… You couldn’t tell me how you felt, but you told Hana?”

Jungkook turns his head slightly to look at you, eyes still heavy with sleep, but the amusement in them is undeniable. “I didn’t tell her. She just… figured it out.”

Of course, she did.

You huff, feigning annoyance, but your fingers betray you, tracing soft, aimless patterns along his collarbone. “Still. She knew before I did.”

Jungkook grins, rolling onto his side to face you fully. One hand slips beneath the sheets, finding your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. His voice is low when he asks, “Are you jealous?”

You glare at him. “Shut up.”

His laughter vibrates against your skin, rich and warm, before he dips down to kiss you—slow and lingering, like he’s trying to pour everything he can’t say into it. When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet.

Then, softer now, more serious, he murmurs, “Are you gonna answer me?”

Your brow furrows slightly. “Answer what?”

Jungkook leans over, reaching toward the nightstand where the jar still sits, its notes untouched—except for the last one.

“The question,” he says, retrieving the single unfolded slip of paper. He holds it between you, and even though you already know what it says, your heart still stutters when your eyes skim over the words again.

Y/N, will you be my Valentine?

Earlier, you had left it unanswered, too overwhelmed by everything that had come before it. But now, after everything—after confessions, after heartbreak, after finally finding each other again—there’s no hesitation.

You reach out, plucking the note from his fingers. Slowly, carefully, you fold it again, tucking it beneath your pillow like something precious, something worth keeping. Then, meeting his gaze, you whisper, “You never needed to ask.”

Jungkook exhales, slow and shaky, like something inside him has finally settled. His hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin like he’s memorizing the moment.

“Good,” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “Because I wasn’t planning on taking no for an answer.”

Your breath catches. Not because of his confidence—but because, deep down, you realize you’d never wanted to say no in the first place. Maybe you had tried to fight it. Maybe you had convinced yourself that the past had built too many walls between you. But now, lying here in the warmth of his arms, the truth settles into your bones like something that had been waiting for you to accept it all along.

It had always been him.

Your fingers tighten in the sheets as you search his gaze, looking for hesitation, for doubt—for something to make this feel less like a dream. But there’s nothing. Just him. Just you. Just this moment you both fought so hard to reach.

Jungkook watches you, waiting, always waiting, his hand still resting against your cheek as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

So you close the distance.

You kiss him slowly this time, letting it sink in. The warmth of his lips, the taste of him still lingering, the way he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years. When you pull away, his forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing the same air, hearts beating in time.

And then, with a quiet, knowing smile, you whisper, “Then don’t.”

Jungkook’s lips part slightly, his expression shifting—softening, melting—as if those two words had knocked down every last barrier between you. And maybe they had. Because before you can say anything else, he’s pulling you against him again, tucking you close, his hand slipping into yours beneath the sheets.

Neither of you speak for a long time after that. You don’t need to.

Outside, the world keeps turning, time moving forward just as it always does. But here, in the hush of your dorm room, wrapped up in him, it feels like the universe has paused just for you.

Not to make up for lost time.

But to remind you that some things—some people—were never really lost at all.

And maybe, just maybe, they never would be.

EPILOGUE : Years Later – Valentine’s Day

The door clicks shut behind you as you step into the apartment, kicking off your shoes with a tired sigh. The evening air still clings to your skin, carrying traces of laughter and the lingering warmth of Jungkook’s presence.

It had been another perfect night—one filled with inside jokes, stolen bites of each other’s food, and his usual exasperated attempts to get you to pick a restaurant instead of saying, “Anything’s fine.”

Jungkook is nowhere in sight, giving you the solitude you need. You don’t hesitate. Your steps are purposeful as you cross the room, crouching down beside the bed. With practiced ease, you reach under the frame, fingers brushing against the familiar surface of a small pink, heart-shaped box.

But this time, there’s something else.

Your fingers find the jar—the one that started it all.

You pull them both out carefully, as if they were a fragile secret, and place them on your lap.

Soft footsteps approach. Then, a familiar weight sinks onto the mattress beside you.

Jungkook’s voice is quieter now, fond. “Didn’t think I’d see those again.”

You smile, running a thumb over the worn edges of the box before glancing at him. “I don’t know what made me reach for them.”

He hums, gaze flickering between the objects in your hands. “Habit, maybe. Or fate.” Then, smirking, “You always did have a thing for digging up answers.”

Rolling your eyes, you pop the lid off the jar, fingers fishing out an old note. The paper is creased, the ink slightly faded, but you already know what it says.

"Y/N, will you be my Valentine?"

Jungkook watches you, expectant. “You never actually answered me, you know.”

You exhale a laugh, shaking your head. “Jungkook, we’re literally married.”

“And?” He leans in, teasing. “I’m just saying, a verbal confirmation wouldn’t hurt.”

You scoff but humor him anyway, fingers curling into his sweater as you whisper against his lips—

"Yes, Jungkook. I’ll be your Valentine."

His arms wrap around you, pulling you in. The jar sits forgotten on the floor, the pink box nestled beside it.

Once upon a time, you had pulled it out, searching for clarity. Looking for a sign.

You didn’t realize then—you never needed the answers inside.

Because you’d already found them.

Because you’d found him.

And maybe that was the answer all along.

taglist: @iamstilljk @hirochan112 @withluvjm @amarawayne @jeon-has-left-you-on-seen @blueofocean @tattzjeon @tsick @stuti2904 @gukkiebabysblog @taekritimin123 @whisperingonyx @sadgirlroo @nerdycheol @hoshiskimchi @blueberriesm @kooksrqcer @minimoninini @dreamersparacosm @yok00k @whothefuckisthishoe @prxdajeon @darkangelfei @sunainasworld @kia091106 @khadeeeeej @welcometomyworld13 @noshametempo @bakuhoethotski @ohyeah35sworld

thank you so much for reading! let me know what u think about it <3

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Always reblog

I made it

[starconstruction]

The Best "Friend"

Gahyun x Male Reader (Smut)

Pure indulgence piece, no real plot, no real description. Written entirely on a whim

No smut tags, nothing super gross, wanted to try this writing style.

Word Count:904

Not proof read.

You and Gahyun were "just friends" to everyone else in college. The kind of friends who bickered in class, engaging in lengthy arguments whenever time allowed.

You and Gahyun were also "just friends" to each other. The kind of friends who have one of them on the dining room chair, pants off as the other one gobbled their "friends" needy cock.

Gahyun was always so sloppy, licking up and down your length greedily. Her lips were divine, sucking the life out of you as you moaned.

Gahyun was always such a good "friend", kissing your balls as she stroked your shaft with an intense desire, wringing out your semen as you shot all over her fingers, she brought them to her mouth and licked them clean, like good "friends" do.

You and Gahyun were such great "friends", sitting down eating lunch, sharing a meal as you two smiled. Gossiping through your free periods, people jealous of the combined chemistry you two shared.

You and Gahyun were even greater "friends" when it was the weekend, you coming over to her home as she invited you upstairs. Gahyun gave you a meal, her panties laid discarded on the ground as your tongue writhed in her crotch, lapping up her slick as you feasted on her cunt. Her moans as you ate her meal, you liked to play with your food. Two fingers thrusting into her needy bottom lips as it greedy swallowed you. She came undone as you lapped up her sweet nectar.

You and Gahyun were model "friends", fingers intertwined as you laid against the school gate. Watching the students who played sports, enjoying your shared platonic company. The brisk winter air unbothering you two as your bodies pressed together. Others frequently talked about your friendship, suspecting a potential relationship. Given you two were practically conjoined at the hip.

You and Gahyun were model "friends", your fingers intertwined as you thrusted your cock into her warmth cavern, her bottom lips greedily drooling juice into the sheets. She always moaned loudly as you pounded her into no tomorrow. Rubbing her clit vigorously as she screamed "I love you!" You two were conjoined at the hip as your cream shot into her awaiting body.

You and Gahyun were always so good at comforting stress, rubbing her back as the coursework stacked up, an endless pile of paper that never seemed to cease. But you two always got through it, no matter how many tears came out.

You and Gahyun always had ways of dealing with each others stress, take right now for example. Rubbing her asscheeks as you gave light smacks, tonguing her asshole as she grinded on you. Stress melting away from the pleasure you gave her, an endless assault from her "friend" that never ceased. Her eyes pricked with many tears as she came her brains out, feeling way better than before.

You and Gahyun were the archetype all couples tried to reach, no matter how many times you two insisted you were just "friends", how you bought her flowers and chocolate for valentines. You just felt bad she had nobody to celebrate with! That's why.

You and Gahyun were the archetype all couples tried to reach, passionately making out on the couch as you fucked her slowly, melding together as you enjoyed each others embrace. You couldn't leave for too long, as your cock immediately slammed back. Desperate for her, just like you were desperate for her sweet sugary lip gloss, coating your lips with it as you pulled out. Coating her lips with a different kind of substance which was equally glossy.

You and Gahyun were great to reference if you needed to embrace the unknown, you two both going to a fitness class neither of you had seen before, stretching your bodies in new ways, coming out happy as you two shared another friendly moment.

You and Gahyun loved to embrace the unknown, her delicate asshole lubed up as you pressed slowly into her, taking a new level of stamina to not immediately cum inside her tight ass, almost painful for you as it rejected your throbbing length. Stretching her body in a new way, thrusting into her like a rabid animal as you used her for all your needs. You two came happy as you two shared another "friendly" moment.

Sometimes, you and Gahyun had moments that didn't have a public presence, like right now. As you sniffed her feet, full of salty sweat that pierced your nose. But friends help other friends, licking her soles as you diligently cleaned the hard day of work away, slobbering over her toes as you did what she requested. Leaving them shining in your hard work.

That's not to say your "friendship" was onesided, Gahyun was very good at helping you out. Her nipple in your mouth as you sucked your anxiety away, her lube covered hand stroking your cock as you enjoyed her sweet skin. Throbbing in her hand as you came over her.

You and Gahyun were perfect friends. Hugging each other as you two watched movies in the library, a sandwich of bodies with no filling.

You and Gahyun were perfect friends, her tits hugging your cock as you watched her needy eyes, desperately waiting for your thick load. A sandwich of flesh, this time with a filling. Her tongue flicked your mushroom tip, invoking a powerful shock wave as you got cum all over her tongue, lips, face and her hair.

You and Gahyun were sleeping in your bed, her body nestled comfortably in yours as you two embraced each other. Are you sure you were just friends?

[dandelionwishh]

Title: Left Behind

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader (feat. Choso angst)

Summary: You waited for him. He never noticed. Is it too late?

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Love Triangle, Drama, Marriage, Heartbreak, Gojo being possessive, Choso regret, Gojo being down BAD for you.

PART2 PART3 PART4 PART5 PART6

The moment you step onto the grounds of Jujutsu High, you can feel the weight of curious stares. Not in a way that unsettles you—you’re used to attention—but here, it’s different. The way their eyes linger is not just because of your looks but because of something else entirely.

You’re a newcomer, yet you carry yourself with a quiet confidence that demands acknowledgment. Your heels click against the pavement as you take in the traditional yet slightly worn-down architecture of the school. Dressed in a tailored ensemble that strikes the perfect balance between professional and effortlessly stylish, you already know you stand out. It’s not intentional. It’s just who you are.

The cool morning breeze lifts a strand of hair from your face as you adjust the bag slung over your shoulder, making your way toward the main entrance

Your arrival does not go unnoticed. “Damn,” a voice drawls out almost immediately, smooth yet teasing. “They really upgraded the staff while I was gone.” You don’t even need to turn to know who it is—Satoru Gojo.

His reputation precedes him, and it’s confirmed the moment you look over to see his signature blindfold, his lips already stretched into a knowing smirk. His posture is casual, hands tucked into the pockets of his long coat, but there’s an undeniable energy about him that demands attention.

“I like you already,” he continues, taking a step closer.

 “Smart, beautiful, and fashionable? Jujutsu High’s finally making good choices.” You raise an eyebrow, unimpressed but amused.

“You hit on all the new teachers, or am I just special?” Gojo grins, tilting his head. “You’re definitely special.”

Before you can respond, a sigh interrupts the exchange. “Gojo.” Your gaze shifts, landing on Kento Nanami. He stands with his arms crossed, exuding professionalism with his neatly pressed suit and unimpressed expression.

Unlike Gojo, his gaze doesn’t linger on you with intrigue or flirtation. Instead, there’s a quiet assessment, a calculation in the way his sharp eyes take you in. “She hasn’t even settled in yet, and you’re already bothering her,” Nanami states flatly. Gojo clicks his tongue. “Bothering? I’m welcoming her.” Nanami ignores him and turns to you instead. “Don’t let him distract you too much. You’re here to work, not entertain his antics.”

You smile at Nanami’s straightforwardness, something you can already tell you’ll appreciate about him. “Noted.”

It doesn’t take long for word to spread. Within the first few hours of being on campus, students and faculty alike find ways to cross paths with you—whether intentionally or not. Your students are eager, their excitement evident as they steal glances at you during introductions.

Even Mei Mei, the notoriously composed sorcerer, gives you an approving look when you demonstrate your skills during a casual sparring session.

She leans against a pillar, twirling a strand of her pale hair between her fingers as she watches with interest.

“You’re good,” she finally says, her voice smooth and unreadable. “I’d hope so,” you reply, rolling your shoulders. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

A small smirk plays at the corner of her lips. “I like you.” It’s a rare compliment, one you don’t take lightly.

Despite the overwhelming attention from your colleagues and students, it’s one person in particular who catches your interest—not because he flirts with you like Gojo or assesses you like Nanami, but because he doesn’t do either of those things. Choso stands off to the side, leaning against a tree with his arms crossed.

His presence is quieter, less immediate than the others, but no less powerful. Dark eyes, deep and unreadable, watch you from beneath thick lashes. There’s something about him that draws you in, though you can’t quite put your finger on it yet.

Your first real interaction happens when you step outside for some fresh air, needing a break from the overwhelming influx of introductions and training sessions.

You don’t expect to find Choso there, sitting on the stone steps leading to the courtyard. He glances at you but doesn’t speak right away. You take a seat a few steps away from him, enjoying the quiet for a moment before finally breaking it.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” Choso exhales slowly, shaking his head. “Not unless I need to.”

You hum in amusement, tilting your head toward him. “So, do you need to say anything to me?” A pause. His eyes flick to yours, something unreadable lingering in them. “Welcome.” It’s simple, but there’s a warmth behind it that surprises you. You smile. “Thanks.” And just like that, the first thread of connection is woven.

[rafesbows]

jj maybank after the break up headcanons

❥ still turns his head whenever he hears your name, even if it’s not about you. it’s instinct. his heart drops for a second every time, like maybe you’ll be there, like maybe you’ll look at him the way you used to.

❥ keeps your favorite snacks in his cabinets out of habit. tells himself he should just throw them out, but then he sees them and remembers how happy you looked munching on them, sitting cross-legged on his bed. so they stay.

❥ scrolls through old pictures of you on his phone when he’s alone, finger hovering over the ‘delete’ button, but he never presses it. tells himself he’ll do it tomorrow. but tomorrow comes, and he still can’t.

❥ hears a song that reminds him of you and suddenly everything stings, his chest, his throat, the backs of his eyes. he used to sing along, off-key and obnoxious, just to make you laugh. now it just reminds him of what he lost.

❥ drinks a little too much, parties a little too hard, kisses a few too many girls who aren’t you. he tells himself it’s fine, that he’s fine, but his hands don’t linger, his lips don’t taste, and he never lets them stay the night.

❥ refuses to admit he misses you, but his body betrays him. he still dreams about you. about your hands in his hair, your voice teasing in his ear, your sleepy mumbles when you used to roll over in his bed. wakes up reaching for you, only to be met with empty sheets.

❥ would take you back in a heartbeat if you asked. but he won’t say it first. he doesn’t think he deserves to.

[girlsloveships8]

THIS!!!

"you've already left kudos here. :)" ok and I'll leave some more. You got a problem? Because in my opinion, this work is so good and the author totally deserves it

[spilledmilkxo]

Hey quick question was the dark mode Ao3 thing a joke and if not, how does one set that up? I have been on there for years and I feel like boo boo the fool

Hi! first of all so sorry for not replying sooner i forgot to have a look at my inbox 🫶🏾

dark mode definitely is a real thing on AO3! this is how i did it on my phone (im going to assume it’s the same for both apple and android)

1. Log into your AO3 account and go to ‘My Dashboard’

2. Click on ‘Skins’

3. Click on ‘Public Site Skins’

4. Scroll through the available skins - For dark more click the ‘Use’ button under the Reversi skin

5. Enjoy reading without destroying your eyes!

[savage-sinister]

I love you character introspection. I love you inner monologue. I love you seeing inside a character's head.

[wiggly-fruit]

As someone who just posted a 1,500 word chapter to my long ass fic I needed to hear that.

[Image Description: A Tweet that reads: Hey, you. You're valid for writing fanfiction. Someone has stayed up late reading your words on their phone with auto-rotate off. Someone has dropped everything when they got that update email. Your work has made someone happy and you do it *in your spare time*. You're awesome. End ID.]

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

Valentine's Day | Sebastian Sallow x OC

Happy (belated) Valentine’s Day friends ❤️ I’ve been working on this in preparation and didn’t manage to get it done for the big day (was a little busy myself….) but a few hours late isn’t so bad right??? I hope y’all enjoy!!

Words: ~6,500

Tags: Smut, Size Kink, Pregnancy Kink, Established Relationship, Fluff, Chonky Seb Supremacy

Read more stories about Sebastian and Evangeline

Sebastian blinked the sleep from his eyes as he reached for his coat, yawning as he slung it over his shoulders. It had been a long week—longer still considering how little sleep he and Evangeline had been getting.

Not for the usual reasons, no.

At nearly eight months pregnant, Evie’s discomfort had reached an all-time high, and between the endless tossing and turning, the nighttime cravings, and the occasional sharp jab of their child’s ever-growing limbs, neither of them were getting much rest.

Sebastian didn’t mind, though. If anyone had a right to be miserable, it was his wife.

Still, he hated leaving her in the mornings, knowing she hardly got a moment’s peace.

As he turned back toward the bedroom, he found her exactly where he’d left her—curled on her side beneath their blankets, the soft glow of the morning light making her long dark hair shimmer against the pillow. She stirred slightly when he leaned over her, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“Mm, you’re warm,” she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep as she nestled deeper into the sheets.

He chuckled. “Don’t tempt me, love. I have to go.”

Evangeline cracked one eye open, squinting at him. “But it’s Valentine’s Day.”

Sebastian smirked. “And?”

“And,” she said, stretching, “I had this wild hope you’d stay in bed with me all day.”

The thought alone sent a pleasant warmth through him, but he shook his head with a sigh. “If only. We both know that’s not happening.” He brushed a lock of hair from her face, his fingers lingering against her cheek. “I’ll pick up dinner on the way home, yeah? We’ll have a quiet night in.”

It wasn’t much. Not by his usual standards. But nowadays, Evangeline could barely sit through a meal without shifting uncomfortably, and the idea of forcing her into a dress or making her endure a busy restaurant felt cruel.

Evangeline only hummed, eyes fluttering shut again. “Mhm. Quiet night.”

Sebastian took her hand, pressing a lingering kiss to her palm before squeezing it gently. “Get some rest, love.”

With one last glance at her, he pulled away and stepped out of the room, completely unaware of the wicked little smirk she wore as soon as he was gone.

Tonight would be anything but quiet.

The moment Sebastian was out the door, Evangeline threw off the blankets and swung her legs over the side of the bed—only to immediately regret it.

“Merlin’s bloody beard,” she muttered, pressing a hand to her belly as their child made their displeasure known with an insistent kick against her ribs.

Right. Moving quickly was no longer an option.

With a sigh, she carefully pushed herself upright, resting a hand against the small of her back as she stood. The house was quiet in his absence, but that wouldn’t last for long—not with what she had planned.

She had one goal today—to remind Sebastian that she was still his wife, not just the mother of his unborn child. Not that he had ever made her feel otherwise, but between the exhaustion, the swollen ankles, and the ever-growing weight pressing on her spine, she hadn’t felt particularly desirable in months.

Tonight, she was going to change that.

And the first order of business? A long, hot soak in the bath.

She drew the water until it was steaming, infusing it with a touch of lavender and chamomile, hoping to ease some of the tension in her back. As she lowered herself in—slowly, carefully—she let out a long sigh, resting a hand over her belly as warmth seeped into her aching limbs.

“Now, you behave,” she murmured to the tiny troublemaker in her womb, who had been shifting and stretching all morning. “Let Mummy enjoy this, just for a little while.”

For once, their child seemed to cooperate, and she took full advantage of the moment, soaking until her fingers pruned and the haze of exhaustion lifted. By the time she emerged, she felt almost like herself again.

From there, it was a matter of putting her plan into motion.

Step One: Sweets.

Sebastian had been indulging all of her strange cravings for months—pickled plums at midnight, treacle tart with extra clotted cream, and that regrettable week where she insisted that everything had to be spicy. He never complained, never refused her, but his favorites had been sorely neglected in the process.

She intended to make up for that tonight.

It had been ages since she’d last baked—standing for too long made her back ache, and even with magic, there were limits to what she could manage. But today, she was determined.

Sebastian deserved something special, and if that meant pushing through a little discomfort, so be it.

With a flick of her wand, the kitchen came to life. Flour sifted itself into a bowl, eggs cracked mid-air, and the rich scent of melted chocolate soon filled the room.

Evangeline propped herself on a stool, watching carefully as the ingredients mixed. It wasn’t quite the same as doing it by hand, but she supposed she could allow a little magic to help her along.

After all, she had plenty more to prepare before her husband got home.

Step Two: The Bedroom.

Sebastian would have a heart attack if he knew she’d been moving around so much. He was protective to the point of hovering, constantly insisting she rest, that she take it easy, that he could handle everything. And while she appreciated it (mostly), tonight need to be perfect.

So, she ignored the voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like his, telling her to sit down, and instead focused on tidying their bedroom.

Freshly washed sheets were a must—their usual ones were soft, well-loved, but she wanted something crisp, something luxurious against her skin. With slow, careful movements, she stripped the bed and replaced everything with the set she’d picked out days ago in a rich, deep shade of red,

Then came the lighting.

A flick of her wand sent enchanted candles floating into place around the room, their flames flickering softly, casting a golden glow that made the space feel impossibly warm, impossibly intimate.

She paused, surveying the room as she rubbed slow circles over the curve of her belly. Almost there.

The pillows were next. She propped them just so, ensuring she’d be comfortable later, because if she had her way, she wasn’t leaving this bed for the rest of the night. Sebastian could protest all he wanted, but she knew him well enough to know that once he was sufficiently distracted, he’d forget all about lecturing her.

By the time she finished, she took a step back, admiring her work. The sheets were smooth, the lighting was perfect, and the air held the traces of chocolate and cinnamon from the sweets cooling in the kitchen.

A satisfied hum escaped her lips.

Step Three: Herself.

Evangeline sat at the vanity, regarding herself in the mirror as she brushed through her hair. The candlelight cast a warm glow over her features—softer now, rounder. Pregnancy had reshaped her body in ways she was still adjusting to, filling out her curves even more, her face slightly fuller, her skin more luminous.

Sebastian never said anything negative—never. If anything, he looked at her with something like awe, as though he couldn't quite believe she was real. But she knew him. She saw the quiet concern in his gaze when she struggled to stand, the way he watched her at night when she winced from an ache or a sharp jab from their baby.

She understood. He worried. He always worried. But she missed the way he used to look at her with heat in his gaze and unguarded hunger. The way he used to drag her into his lap at the end of a long day without thinking twice.

Tonight, she was going to remind him.

Her fingers trailed over the scattered makeup pots on the vanity, her mind drifting to the most recent Gladrags catalog that had arrived by owl post. The latest Parisian fashion had captured her attention—women with darkened eyes, deep red lips, a striking, elegant boldness that made her want to try something new.

She reached for the small pot of eyeliner first, dipping a careful brush inside before sweeping the dark pigment across her lids, elongating her lashes and sharpening the shape of her eyes. It was bold. Dramatic. Almost too much—until she imagined Sebastian’s reaction.

A smile curled at her lips as she reached for the next touch: lipstick, deep crimson, almost too rich against her pale skin. It made her lips look fuller, plusher.

He wouldn’t be able to look away.

The thought sent a shiver through her as she leaned back, admiring her reflection. Good. Perfect.

From the bottom drawer of the wardrobe, she pulled out the package she’d hidden days ago—lingerie, soft and lacy, designed specifically for her new figure. It wasn’t something she would have ever considered wearing before, but when she’d caught sight of it during a shopping trip with Poppy, something about it had called to her.

And now, she understood why.

Sebastian had been patient. Sweet. Careful. He treated her as if she were delicate, precious—like glass, ready to shatter at the slightest misstep. And while she loved him for it, respected him for it, she was tired of careful.

Evangeline changed slowly, fingers skimming over the sheer fabric as she adjusted it around her belly. The material fluttered over her skin, accentuating every curve, every soft swell that had once made her self-conscious but that Sebastian had always adored.

Her pulse thrummed with anticipation as she settled onto the bed, propped up by pillows, waiting.

Sebastian wasn’t expecting this, but she knew he wouldn’t complain.

Sebastian rolled his shoulders as he stepped up to their front door, exhaustion settling deep in his bones. It had been another long day—paperwork, training drills, the usual Ministry nonsense—but at least it was over now.

And he wasn’t arriving home empty-handed.

In one hand, he balanced a takeaway bag filled with their dinner—roast lamb and buttered potatoes from Evangeline’s favorite bistro, along with an extra slice of treacle tart because he knew she’d been craving it lately. In the other, a bouquet of roses, their petals a deep, velvety red that shimmered faintly in the light.

It wasn’t much. It would have been more in different circumstances.

Before pregnancy, he would’ve planned something grander—a candlelit dinner at some overpriced restaurant, maybe even a weekend away. But that wasn’t an option now, not with Evangeline so far along. She could barely sit through a meal without shifting uncomfortably, and he refused to make her suffer through an evening of forced romance just because of some arbitrary holiday.

No, a quiet night was best.

Sebastian exhaled, adjusting his grip on the bouquet before nudging the door open with his foot.

“Evie?” he called, stepping inside, shaking the lingering cold from his coat. “I’ve got dinner, love. And before you say anything, yes, I got extra dessert.”

Silence.

His brow furrowed. Usually, she was curled up on the sofa by now, dozing in the warm glow of the fireplace, waiting for him with some book half-finished in her lap. But the house was still. Too still.

Something flickered in his chest—not worry, exactly, but something close to it as he stepped deeper into the house.

A faint, sweet scent lingered in the air, a mis of vanilla, chocolate, and cinnamon.

Sebastian stepped into the kitchen, takeout bag in one hand, bouquet still clutched in the other, only to stop short at the sight before him.

The countertop was covered in sweets.

Cookies shaped like hearts, delicate pastries drizzled in chocolate, tiny tarts dusted with powdered sugar—all neatly arranged on red and pink doilies, as if plucked straight from the window of a high-end bakery.

His brows lifted, surveying the sheer effort that had gone into it all.

Merlin’s bloody beard.

Evangeline hadn’t baked in weeks—not since standing for too long had started making her back ache, not since she’d taken to spending more time on the sofa, exhaustion settling deeper with each passing day. He hadn’t minded, of course. If anyone deserved to put her feet up and be doted on, it was her.

Which made this all the more baffling.

Sebastian exhaled through his nose, shaking his head as he stuffed the takeout into the fridge.

Of course she had gone and done this. Baking all of this for him when he would have been perfectly content with a quiet night curled up beside her, rubbing slow circles over her belly while she drifted off in his arms. But no—Evangeline never did things halfway.

His gaze flicked toward the faint glow spilling out from beneath their bedroom door own the hall.

She was probably already asleep, candles still flickering, too exhausted to even blow them out after all the effort she’d put in today. Merlin, he really needed to talk to her about that—what if she set something on fire?

Sebastian sighed, stuffing a bite of cookie into his mouth, his heart tugging as he imagined her curled up in bed, fast asleep, the scent of flour and vanilla still clinging to her skin as she waited for him to join her.

His chest ached with something warm, something fond, something so wholly his that it sent a rush of warmth up his throat.

Still chewing, he padded quietly down the hall, roses in hand, intent on pressing a kiss to her temple, whispering his thanks against her skin before wrapping himself around her for the night.

But when he pushed the door open—

The half-esten cookie nearly fell out of his hand.

Because Evangeline was not asleep.

No, she was very much awake, sitting up against a pile of pillows, watching him with a smirk.

The dim glow of the candles cast a golden halo over her bare shoulders, over the sheer lace that clung to her body, over her winged eyeliner, the deep red of her lips.

Sebastian froze. His brain simply stopped functioning.

His jaw tightened, his pulse roared in his ears, and he barely managed to chew the last bit of cookie before swallowing it down in one dry gulp.

Evangeline’s lips twitched.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, love.”

Sebastian said nothing.

He was too busy trying to breathe. Too busy staring at her, the way the sheer fabric draped over the swell of her belly, the way it hugged her curves, the way she looked—

Sweet Salazar.

The bloody cookies were irrelevant now. He was about to have a new favorite dessert.

His grip on the bouquet tightened. “Evie,” he rasped. “What—”

“What?” she interrupted, feigning innocence. “Did you think I’d be asleep?”

Sebastian blinked. “Yes,” he said honestly.

She laughed, soft and lilting, before beckoning him closer with a crook of her finger.

Sebastian obeyed before he even realized he was moving.

His feet carried him forward on instinct, the roses slipping from his grasp onto the nearby dresser as his hands twitched at his sides, aching to touch her.

“Merlin,” he breathed, eyes dragging over her, drinking her in like a dying man crawling toward water. The dark liner around her eyes made her gaze sharper, smoldering. The red of her lips—Merlin’s bloody beard, her lips—was so rich, so inviting, that he nearly lost himself in the thought of kissing her senseless then and there.

And the lace. The damned lace.

It clung to her in ways that made his throat go dry, sheer fabric stretched over the heavy curve of her stomach, teasing at the edges of her thighs, her breasts, her hips. He had seen Evangeline in every state imaginable—soaked in rain, smeared in dirt, draped in fine silks and ballgowns, tangled in his sheets with nothing at all. But this?

This was going to be the death of him.

“Do you like it?” she asked, tilting her head.

Sebastian let out a laugh, but it was breathless, strangled, a little desperate.

“Like it?” His jaw clenched as he reached out, fingers tracing over the lace at her hip before pressing his palm to the swell of her belly as if reminding himself of everything she had given him—was still giving him.

“You—” His voice cracked, rough, raw. “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

Evangeline hummed, the corner of her lips tugging up in amusement. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Liar,” he murmured, his hand finding her thigh, smoothing over soft, warm skin.

She gasped, barely a breath of sound, but he heard it, and hell, if that didn’t set his blood on fire.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he murmured, his lips hovering just above hers. “You know I love you exactly as you are.”

“I know,” she whispered, her hand rising to cup the back of his neck, pulling him closer. “But I needed this.”

Sebastian let out a low groan, his forehead dropping against hers as his restraint wavered—thin, threadbare, fraying by the second.

"How badly?" He asked, his voice low.

Her nails scraped gently against the back of his neck as she tilted her head, letting her lips barely ghost against his own.

“Very badly.”

Then, with a slow, deliberate roll of her hips—just enough to make his hand press firmer against her thigh—she whispered, “More than you can imagine.”

Sebastian let out a ragged breath, his jaw tightening as he felt her—warm, soft, pliant beneath his touch, the sheer lace doing absolutely nothing to shield him from the heat of her.

“You’re not too tired?” he asked, because even now, even now, some part of him was still desperate to make sure she was comfortable, that she wasn’t straining herself, that she meant this.

Evangeline huffed, her hands gripping the front of his shirt. “Sebastian Sallow,” she murmured, “if you don’t fuck me into oblivion, you’ll be sleeping on the couch tonight.”

Sebastian choked on a breath, his entire body going taut as a smirk curled at the corner of her lips. Smug. Teasing.

Wicked, wicked woman.

His woman.

Sebastian kissed her—properly, thoroughly, with every ounce of pent-up desperation that had been simmering beneath his skin for weeks. Evangeline gasped against his mouth, but he swallowed the sound, devoured it.

He groaned against her mouth, shifting to cage her in, the sheer fabric of her lingerie teasing against his knuckles as he let his hands roam—from the soft curve of her thigh, up to the generous swell of her belly, then higher still, tracing the edges of lace and silk and sin.

“Fuck,” he muttered, pulling back just enough to look at her. “You are unfair.”

Evangeline only smirked, breathless, her lips deliciously red and kiss-bruised already. “And you,” she murmured, running her fingers through his hair, tugging lightly, “are wearing far too many clothes.”

Sebastian let out a rough, ragged sound, somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “You know,” he mused, as his hands found her hips, “I should be lecturing you right now.”

She arched a brow. “Oh?”

“For exhausting yourself,” he murmured, voice low and teasing. “For standing on your feet too long, for making all of that.” His eyes flicked toward the door, toward the kitchen filled with sweets, before dragging his gaze back to her. “And this?” His fingers skimmed along the lace barely covering her swollen breasts, his thumb grazing her nipples just enough to have her breath hitch. “This is just cruel, love.”

Evangeline hummed, tilting her head, utterly unfazed. “Mmm. I think you like it.”

He huffed out a laugh, pressing his forehead against hers. She was right. He was hopeless, absolutely bloody hopeless for her.

He kissed her again, slower this time, deeper, savoring the way she sighed into him, the way her hands traced over his shoulders, moving to working at the buttons of his shirt.

Sebastian let her push the fabric aside inch by inch until her hands met bare skin.

Her nails dragged lightly down his abdomen, tracing the softer flesh there. He hadn’t looked quite the same since they’d gotten married. Somewhere between settling into their life together and indulging in Evangeline’s baking (when she wasn’t too exhausted to stand), he’d grown thicker, broader. His shoulders had filled out more, his arms stronger, his stomach softer,

And it had only gotten more apparent.

It felt as though her pregnancy had started rubbing off on him, as if all those late-night cravings and extra servings had settled into his frame just as much as hers.

And Merlin, the way she looked at him now. She was completely feral for him like this.

He had figured it out months ago when that old green flannel refused to button properly. He had stood in front of the mirror, frowning, tugging at the fabric like it was the shirt’s fault, like he could will it to fit the way it once had.

He’d hated it.

Until Evangeline had looked at him, taken him apart with nothing but a slow sweep of her gaze and proceeded to ride him within an inch of his life, whispering absolute filth against his lips about how good he looked, how much she loved him like this, how unfair it was that he could gain weight and only get stronger, thicker, better.

So now, when her hands slid over the bare plane of his stomach, when her thumbs smoothed along his waist with something bordering on reverence, he let her.

Evangeline hummed in approval, her eyes dragging over him, drinking him in. "Fuck," she muttered, shaking her head as she trailed her fingers lower, pushing his shirt off his shoulders completely. "Look at you."

Sebastian exhaled sharply through his nose, his grip tightening on her hip. “You act like you don’t see me every day.”

She lifted her gaze to meet his, smirking. “Not like this. You’ve grown, Sebastian.”

He let out a strangled sound, somewhere between a scoff and a groan. “What, like I’m the one carrying a bloody child?”

Evangeline laughed, shameless as ever, her eyes dark with something heated, something hungry. “Doesn’t matter. You’re—fuck.” Her hands slid down to his waist, gripping him with a possessiveness that sent heat rushing through his veins.

Sebastian swallowed thickly, his jaw clenching as he leaned in, his breath ghosting over her lips. “You like it,” he murmured, smirking when her fingers flexed, digging into his sides. “You really like it.”

Her lips curved. “Obsessed, actually.”

Her fingers skimmed lower, curling at the waistband of his pants, her gaze dark and hooded as she took him in—half clothed, flushed, breath coming in uneven gasps as he hovered above her.

Sebastian huffed, his hands tightening at her hips, fingers pressing into the softness there. "You’re looking at me like you want to eat me alive."

Evangeline smiled. “And what if I do?”

Sebastian pulled back just enough to look at her, his gaze molten, heavy-lidded. “You sure you can handle this, love?”

She huffed a breathless laugh. “You’re the one who should be worried about keeping up.”

He groaned at the way she rolled her hips up, seeking friction, seeking him.

“Bloody hell, Evie.

She was insistent now, pupils blown wide, her hands tugging at the buckle of his belt like it was the only thing standing between her and salvation. “You’re still too dressed,” she whined.

Sebastian let out a ragged breath and grabbed her wrists, stilling her frantic movements. “Easy, love,” he murmured, voice hoarse, teasing. “You’re going to tear it at this rate.”

Evangeline huffed, her chest rising and falling with each desperate, panting breath. “Then help me,” she demanded, squirming beneath him.

Sebastian swore under his breath, his hands flying to his belt to help her. If she kept whining like that, he was going to lose what little restraint he had left.

"You have no idea what it’s like," Evangeline continued, her voice half a whimper, half a plea. "You can reach yourself whenever you need to. You don’t have a bloody beach ball in the way stopping you—” She let out a sharp, frustrated sound. “You have no bloody idea, Sebastian."

Sebastian stilled, his blood running hot, his cock twitching at her words, at the pure, unfiltered need in her voice.

She hadn’t been able to touch herself. Hadn’t been able to soothe the ache, to take the edge off. Had been suffering with no relief

And yet, fuck, if that wasn’t the single hottest thing he’d ever heard, because she needed him.

“Jesus Christ, Evie,” he groaned, pressing his forehead against hers as his belt hit the floor, careless, forgotten, clinking against the hardwood as he let her pull at his trousers, dragging them down as far as she could before he kicked them off himself.

Evangeline let out the most obscene little moan as her hands found the bare skin of his waist, gripping, pulling, claiming.

Sebastian nearly lost his mind.

“You’re killing me,” he rasped.

“Good,” she whispered, breathless, her fingers already tugging at his briefs.

His hands moved to help her, fingers curling over hers as they tugged at the fabric, working together in frantic, needy little tugs until the fabric wa s gone, kicked somewhere onto the floor, utterly forgotten.

A sharp inhale left Evangeline’s lips, her gaze dropping, her eyes darkening at the sight him. Her thighs trembled, her fingers flexing against his waist like she was fighting the urge to drag him down, to take him without a second thought.

He gritted his teeth, exhaling through his nose as he pulled back just enough, just barely, enough to see her properly, enough to take her in. And sweet Salazar, she was—

Splayed out beneath him, curves plush, full, sheer lace draped over her body in a way that made his chest ache with something more than just need.

Her belly rose and fell with each shallow breath, her thighs pressing together like she was trying, failing, to soothe the ache between them on her own.

Sebastian clenched his jaw, dragging his fingers up her thigh, spreading her open. “Look at you,” he murmured. “Laid out so pretty for me.”

Evangeline whimpered, her hands fisting the sheets.

Sebastian dipped his head to press slow, open-mouthed kisses along her jaw, down her throat, across the tops of herbreasts.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against her skin, dragging the lace between his teeth. “Every single fucking inch of you—mine.”

“Sebastian,” she gasped, voice breathy, trembling.

He lifted his head, locking eyes with her, his lips curling as he braced himself above her, his hand smoothing over the curve of her belly, reverent and possessive.

“How do you want it, love?”

"Hard," she begged, hands fisting against his shoulders, nails dragging down the bare muscle of his back. "Fast—Sebastian, I need—"

The way she looked at him—flushed, desperate, completely at his mercy—sent heat flooding through his veins, scorching, unbearable.

"You're insatiable," he murmured, voice thick with amusement, even as his own self-control frayed, his cock twitching at the way her thighs trembled for him.

Evangeline whimpered, her hands tightening around him, pulling, pleading. "You have no idea."

Sebastian growled, dipping his head, pressing his mouth to the curve of her belly, to her ribs, to her breasts, dragging higher until they found the sensitibe , flushed skin of her throat. "Oh, I know, love," he murmured, his tongue flicking over her pulse "You’ve been waiting for this all day, haven’t you?"

She moaned, her back arching, her thighs spreading wider, offering.

"Impatient thing," he murmured, voice full of praise, adoration, his lips ghosting over hers as he lined himself up over her thong, teasing her, drawing it out. "You need me that badly?"

"Yes," she gasped.

"Bend over for me, then."

Evangeline let out a soft, desperate little sound, her fingers clawing at his shoulders. "Sebastian—"

He smirked, pressing a kiss to her throat. "Come on, love," he murmured. "You wanted it hard and fast—wanted me to ruin you, yeah?"

She gazed at him through half lidded eyes, her head tipping back as she nodded, her hands tightening in his hair.

"Alright, on your knees for me, then."

Evangeline whimpered as he helped her roll over, shifting her hips, pressing her chest against the mattress, her hands curling into the sheets.

Sebastian ran a reverent hand down the length of her spine, his fingers splaying wide, possessive, before dragging down to the soft, plush curve of her ass.

“Good girl,” he praised, his hands tightening over her hips as he settled behind her, his cock straining, aching, twitching.

Evangeline shivered, letting out a soft, needy moan. “Sebastian, please—”

"Shh, love," he murmured, his hand trailing lower, fingers pressing into the plush, thick curves of her thighs before teasing over the damp lace between them, his breath catching when he felt her, warm and soaked and waiting for him.

“Fuck, Evie,” he groaned. “You’re dripping for me.”

He slid his fingers beneath the lace, dragging his knuckles against her clit, watching the way her body jerked, the way her lips parted in a strangled cry.

Sebastian's cock twitched at the sight. He wanted to tease, wanted to drag this out, to worship her properly, but—fuck, she was so gone, so desperate for him, and who was he to deny her what she needed?

He pulled back just enough to tear the lace from her body, tossing the ruined fabric aside without a second thought.

“Sebastian—”

“I’ll buy you another one,” he muttered, pressing a lingering kiss to her shoulder before tightening his grip on her, lining himself up again, pressing his cock against the slick entrance of her.

“Alright, now deep breath, love,” he murmured, voice thick and dark with promise.

She nodded against the mattress, humming in response, and then, finally, finally—

He rolled his hips forward in one slow, thorough stroke.

Evangeline shattered beneath him, her breath catching in little, broken gasps as she felt him—deep, stretching her, filling every aching, empty part of her.

His hands roamed, feeling and worshipping every inch of her as he buried himself to the hilt, seating himself deep inside her, stretching her in the way only he could.

She was so tight, and wet, velvet-soft, and fuck—he was barely keeping himself in check.

But he had to.

She was pregnant, swollen, full with his child, and as much as his instincts screamed at him to move, to take her, he needed to make sure she was comfortable, that she relaxed, adjusted—

Evangeline let out a frustrated little sound, "Move," she demanded, er hips rolling back against him, trying to force him deeper.

"Easy, love," he tried, voice rough, wrecked. "Need to make sure you're—"

Evangeline snapped.

“Sebastian fucking Sallow, if you don’t start moving, I swear I will—"

He hips flicked forward.

Evangeline moaned, her body jolting, her back arching as he filled her, as he gave her exactly what she was begging for.

Sebastian growled, his hands steadying her, holding her, making sure she had nowhere to go, nothing to do but take him.

"That what you need, love?" he managed, his voice breathy, dark and dangerous.

Evangeline let out a wrecked little whimper,her ass pushing back against him. "More," she gasped. "More—"

Sebastian exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers digging into her waist as he rolled his hips into hers again, this time harder, this time sharper, enough to pull another sweet, perfect moan from her lips.

The rhythm he set was devastating, pulling out just enough to feel the tight, wet drag of her before pushing back in, seating himself all the way inside her, making sure she felt every thick, aching inch of him.

“You’re taking me so well, love,” he breathed. “So fucking tight for me.”

Evangelin groaned as his fingers slipped beneath her belly, feeling the soft, round swell of it, the warmth of their child nestled between them. And Sebastian felt it—the way she was melting beneath him, surrendering, letting him take everything she had to give.

"Doing so well, love," he murmured, dragging his hand lower, his fingers finding the most sensitive part of her and rubbing tight circles.

“Sebastian—" she sobbed, "fuck I'm—"

“Come for me, Evie,” he whispered, his fingers pressing harder against her clit. “Come for me, love.”

And like the good girl she was, Evangeline fell apart.

Her whole body shook, her thighs trembling as her climax crashed over her, pleasure wracking her in sharp, overwhelming waves. She gasped, choking on a sob as her fingers clawed at the sheets, her back arching, her body clenching down around him, dragging him deeper, holding him tight.

Sebastian swore, his grip on her bruising, his own control snapping like a frayed wire.

"Fuck, that's it," he groaned, his voice rough, reverent, ruined. "That's my girl—

Evangeline moaned, her breath catching in little, shaky gasps as he kept moving, rolling his hips into hers, working her through it, drawing every last bit of pleasure from her until she was nothing but a boneless, shaking mess beneath him.

Sebastian was right there, hanging on the edge, teetering, his whole body taut as he chased his own end, lost in the heat of her, the feel of her.

"Evie," he ground out, his fingers sliding up her belly, his palm splaying wide over the curve of it—

Fuck.

With a deep, shuddering groan, he followed her over the edge, his vision blurring, his body shaking as pleasure crashed through him, hot and overwhelming as he spilled inside her, filling her in the way he knew she loved.

Sebastian exhaled sharply, the aftershocks rippling through them both as Evangeline melted onto her side, warm and sated.

He followed her into the sheets, his arms wrapped securely around her, pulling her against his chest, and Evangeline sighed a soft, contented sound

"Happy Valentine's Day, my love," Sebastjan murmured against her skin, pressing the softest kiss to her shoulder.

Evangeline let out a breathy little laugh, tilting her head just enough to catch his lips with hers in a slow, sweet kiss. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Sebastian grinned against her mouth, nipping at her lower lip before pulling back. His hand smoothed over the swell of her belly, fingers tracing slow, reverent circles over her skin, feeling the warmth of her, the weight of them, of the little life growing between them.

His.

His Evangeline. His wife. His home. The mother of his child. His everything.

"You doing alright?" he murmured, voice thick and lazy.

Evangeline hummed, her body melting further into his. “Mmm. More than alright.”

Sebastian chuckled, pressing another kiss to her neck. "Good. Because you're not moving for a while. You've done enough today."

She huffed a laugh, threading her fingers through his where they rested over her middle. “You act like I could, even if I wanted to.”

Sebastian grinned, utterly wrecked in the best way possible.

They stayed like that for a long moment—warm, tangled, utterly content, until—

Her stomach let out a loud, insistent growl.

Sebastian snorted, burying his face in her hair, his chest shaking with laughter.

Evangeline groaned. “Oh, fuck off,” she muttered, pouting as she tucked herself further into the pillows.

Sebastian grinned, pressing a teasing kiss to her shoulder before rolling away, dragging his briefs back on and padding toward the kitchen.

"Stay put, love," he called over his shoulder, smirking as he went back for the takeout bag he'd abandoned earlier. "I've got dinner—and extra dessert."

[kirain]

Part four of my appreciation project!

@iedistis A fic based on their wonderful art piece here. Thank you for feeding the fandom!

Morning light streamed through the windows, painting the half-empty bed in molten gold. Dawn—Emmrich's favourite hour. Nothing compared to the thrill of waking beside his beloved, both of them messy and vulnerable from sleep's blessed embrace. It was an intimacy beyond words, a fragile moment reserved for them alone. As she stirred from her slumber, he stood before the mirror, adjusting the collar of his shirt, waiting—always waiting—for her.

Filomena. His anchor. His everything.

With a slow stretch, she slipped from the bed and stepped in front of him, her movements graceful, her gown ruffled and revealing. Raven-black hair cascaded over her shoulder as she reached for his neck pin, her fingers deft from weeks of practice. This small act of service had become something sacred between them, a silent devotion he anticipated each morning.

He ignored his reflection, instead watching her hands—her beautiful, delicate hands—as she fastened the chains, ensuring the skull clasp sat perfectly against his throat. The act was tender, seductive, and yet, unbearably distant. How he longed to reach for her, to caress her cheek, to break the quiet cadence of her gestures and return the devotion she so freely gave.

But as always, the moment she finished, she stepped away. And as always, he let her go.

It wasn't just him. She did this with everyone.

When Lucanis worried over Spite fleeing in the night, Filomena kept the spirit entertained until morning. When Bellara struggled to tune the artefact, Filomena listened, offering insights long past her own exhaustion. When Harding and Davrin doubted themselves, she was the first to lift them up. When Taash needed help appealing to their mother, she stood at their side. When Neve sought guidance on blood magic, Filomena answered every question, no matter how time-consuming or difficult.

But the worst was the battlefield. She was reckless—always throwing herself in front of others, always making sure no one else bore the brunt of the attacks. She carried everything.

Everything.

And today, as she finished with his pin, Emmrich saw it. In her hands—moving just a little slower. In her eyes—just a little heavier.

"Darling," he said softly. "Are you all right?"

Filomena blinked, the brief pause betraying her feelings before she mustered a well-worn smile. "Of course."

Emmrich winced. As she turned away, he caught her hand—not forcefully, but with quiet insistence.

"Truly?" he pushed, his voice gentle, persuasive. "I don't mean to pry. You've just seemed... distracted lately."

Filomena hesitated before slipping her fingers from his grasp, her gaze flicking away. Truly, he asked. A truth she couldn't speak to anyone, not even to him.

Truly, the weight of their looming battle against Ghilan'nain pressed down on her like a vice. The closer they drew to that moment, the more she feared not just failure, but leading them all to ruin.

"I'm just a little tired," she lied, forcing another placid smile. "Too much activity the last few days. It's been hell on my elegant features." Emmrich frowned at the obvious deflection, but she shrugged it off. "I'm going to read for a bit. Why don't you head downstairs and I'll meet you later?"

Emmrich sighed, concern knitting his brow as she moved towards the fireplace, feigning contentment. He could sense her pain, her facade, he just couldn't discern the cause.

"Filomena..."

"I'm fine, Emmrich," she stressed as she lowered herself onto the carpet in front of the divan, crossing her legs beneath her. "I'm sure Manfred probably put some tea on. Why don't you go wish him a good morning? I'll join you when I finish this chapter."

Filomena flinched at the unexpected touch, her head tilting slightly. "What are you doing?"

Emmrich watched as she grabbed the book of poetry that rested on the cushion behind her, left there from the night before. As she flipped it open, her fingers stilled over the pages, uninterested and unmoving. Even as she stared at the words, she wasn't reading. He could tell.

She wanted space, but he followed anyway, settling down on the divan and caging her within the warmth of his presence. Then, without a word, he reached forward, sweeping her silken hair behind her back.

"Your hair," he said, his lips curving into a small, knowing smile. "You like it braided, don't you?"

She froze, startled by the offer. "Yes, but I can do it myself."

His hands rushed to her shoulders, grasping them firmly yet gently. "I know you can," he hushed. "But I'd like to, if you'll let me."

A rare flush bloomed across her cheeks. "Do you... know how?"

"Of course. I learned during my years as a mortician."

She nearly laughed, but the weight on her heart smothered it before it could form. Instead, she simply scoffed, her gaze sinking into the fire's glow. With a weary nod, she set the book in her lap, an air of resignation in her tone.

"If you really want to," she relented.

"Thank you, darling."

He started carefully, his fingers weaving her thick, luscious strands with flawless precision. The sensation—his fingertips grazing her scalp, the steady pull and twist—was unexpectedly soothing.

"Am I hurting you?" he asked, the thought unbearable.

"No. It's—" Nice. "No, you're not hurting me."

The room went silent, save for the occasional pop of burning wood and the rhythmic glide of his hands.

"I know something's wrong," he said after a while. Filomena tensed, but he squeezed his legs tighter around her arms, his body her sanctuary. "You can talk to me about anything. You know that, yes?"

She didn't respond, her heart clenching.

"Darling, please."

The sincerity in his voice, the way he begged—it shattered her defenses. She swallowed hard, her gaze fixed on the hearth, the flames dancing with the freedom she yearned for.

For a long moment, she said nothing, until her voice emerged, low and abnormally diffident.

"I hate that I was put in charge."

Emmrich didn't react. He only listened, working her hair with patience.

"I didn't earn this," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "Varric left me in charge, and everyone just... follows. Not because I deserve it, but because they think they have to. 'If we don't fight the gods, who will?' So they joined at my request, never once questioning my reasons or qualifications." Her hands tightened over the book in her lap. "But I wasn't trained for this, Emmrich. I worry that—"

She cut herself off, unwilling to confess the worst of it.

She worried about making a fatal mistake.

She worried about leading him, Harding, Davrin—all of them—to their deaths.

"Well," she exhaled, ready to dismiss it, "I just worry sometimes. It's not worth discussing."

In her mind, she'd shared enough. She may have been Emmrich's partner, but she was his leader as well. He wasn't there to alleviate her doubts and insecurities. She turned a page, acting as though the conversation never occurred.

"I see," Emmrich hummed, tying off the braid with a black ribbon.

He sounded... relieved?

"That," he said, bending down, his breath a balm against her ear, "is absolute nonsense."

"What?"

Before she could turn, his lips brushed the side of her neck. Filomena stiffened, her breath hitching, but Emmrich persisted, shamelessly revelling in her scent. In her fleeting astonishment. He kissed lower, skimming her sensitive skin, his voice an affectionate murmur.

"No one follows you out of obligation, my love." Another kiss. "They follow you because you're capable." Another. "Because you're brilliant." Another. "Because you care."

His kisses trailed lower—sucking, nibbling—then back up, his moustache tickling her jaw.

"Emmrich..." Filomena shuddered.

He smiled against her, pressing another sensual kiss to her neck before gently turning her to face him. Their eyes met, and for a moment there was nothing but quiet understanding between them.

Then, his lips met hers, strong yet humble, aching with devotion. He cradled her chin, holding her comfortably, possessively. Filomena tried to resist, but she moaned, the book slipping from her grasp as she surrendered to her desires.

With a swift motion, she turned on her knees and fisted his shirt, pulling him closer, needing him—and he answered with equal intensity, his fingers tracing the line of her wrist, his body bending despite the protest of his age. He endured it. For her, he would endure anything, so long as it meant he could taste and console her. She opened up so rarely—always giving, never taking. Always putting herself in harm's way. Always suffering in silence.

Today, he wouldn't allow it.

The sound of their coupling echoed through the room, the wet, harmonious sups like a melody, crude and sophisticated all at once. If not for the incessant calling of the world outside, helpless and waiting, they could have stayed that way forever.

As the sun crawled higher in the sky, however, eventually he had to pull away, leaving her breathless but sated.

"Varric was right to entrust his legacy to you," he said, his voice velvet as he brushed his thumb along her reddened cheek. "Whether you see it or not, we trust you. Not because we have to, but because you've earned it. Every second of everyday, you earn it."

Filomena sighed, averting her gaze. "And if I mess up?"

"You won't," he smiled, urging her to look at him, to see how much he believed in her. "We choose to follow you, my darling. We all know the risks, and we know you'll do right by us. No matter what happens."

"Emmrich..." Her voice trembled, a whimper escaping as his warm, hazel eyes rattled her walls, if only for a moment.

For the first time in weeks, the tightness in her chest seemed to loosen.

"You're more than our leader, you're our friend. And to me..." He pressed a final, lingering kiss to her forehead. "To me you're—you're—"

"I know, Emmrich. You don't need to say it."

And she didn't want him to say it. Not yet. Not aloud. She wasn't ready—not for those three words that would make everything undeniably real.

"Darling, it's all right to rely on us every once in a while. That's the whole point of a team. Being in charge doesn't mean you have to do everything alone. We're here for you, just as you're here for us. I'm here for you."

"Come here," he said, pulling her up and wrapping her in his arms.

Filomena withdrew into her thoughts, wrestling with the concept. Her entire life, she had been alone. She'd always had to adapt, to prove her worth, or risk being abandoned. But as she stared up at Emmrich, feeling the warmth of his love and adoration, a timid smile spread across her face.

Filomena gasped, melting into the embrace, her hands gripping his shirt. Maybe—just this once—she'd let herself lean on someone else.

[jincapableoflove]

A Jar Full of Us | Moodboard

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: best friend! jungkook, best friend! reader, college! au, unrequited love (?), idiots to lovers, best friends to ??? to lovers, angst, fluff, implied smut.

Summary: You never meant for him to find them. Hundred little confessions, folded away, never meant to be read. But now, they’re in his hands. And Jungkook—your best friend—knows everything. But he doesn’t say a word. He just watches you, with that same unreadable expression, like he’s waiting for something. And this Valentine’s Day, you might just have to find out what.

Inspired by: To All the Boys I've Loved Before

Word count: 10.2K+

READ FULL ONE-SHOT HERE

[authorandwriter]

I’m writing my first fully sad ending soon. No character revivals, no second chances, nothing. It’s the end of the series too. We’ll see how it lands

you can pry happy endings from my cold-dead hands. It can be the most heart stopping, gut wrenching fic that has every existed and I will read every drop of it if I get my happy ending. I have had enough painful endings in real life, give me happy in my fantasy world. It can be at the last second, it can be a single sentence, even a single word. Give me all the angst and hurt in the world for 500,000 words, but please give me the comfort I need in the ending. please and thank you.

[emperorsfoot]

Honestly, I just wanna update this chapter right now

[alabasterpickles]

Hey, everybody!!

Tomorrow is the big day — I do, in fact, have a post prepared to share with chapter one, as promised!

I am SO excited (and extremely nervous too!) to share this story with all of you!

I have received so much love and so many kind responses to the work I’ve shared over the last couple of years, and now it is finally time to start posting all of the content I have cooked up for this AU.

That said, I did, unfortunately, miss my window to procure an Ao3 account. As of right now, I won’t be able to share any writing there until March. So, I will be sharing chapter one of “A Matter of Life and Death” here on my writing account (@enthuzimuzzyme) tomorrow instead.

Once I get everything sorted out with my Ao3 account, I will post all subsequent chapters there!

If anyone has any recommendations for alternative fanfic sites, I would be glad to hear them! I haven’t publicly shared writing in years, any help would be much appreciated.

Please feel free to drop an ask in my askbox and I will make new arrangements!

One more thing before I wrap up this post, I will be starting school again at the beginning of March, so I will only be posting chapters once a month until further notice — however! My plan is to have some filler visuals/short comics to go with them, so there should be two updates monthly.

Anyway…

Y’all are the best!!