#i am shouting this at the top of my lungs at a public park

[sk3l3t0n444]

sh recovering autistic aroace cluster b vibes

[waitineedaname]

8- gordon at Benry

“I can’t believe you told them you were my fiancé.”

“Huh? You didn’t say no, though.”

The moms of Joshua’s soccer team were an impenetrable clique. Gordon had no idea why, but for whatever fucking reason, they’d decided they hated him. Maybe he had brought the wrong snacks to practice, maybe they didn’t appreciate Joshua teaching all their sons swear words, maybe he cheered a little too loud at games. Whatever, he could deal with a little pettiness and false politeness from a bunch of housewives. He’d dealt with worse.

It was one of the first games of the season, and it was Gordon’s turn to bring drinks for the team. He was almost at the soccer field, hoping his pack of mini Gatorades would appease Joshua’s teammates, when he realized he was bringing an additional unknown variable: Benrey. The former security guard tagging along to all his outings had become such an expected occurrence at this point that he’d completely forgotten that Benrey had never gone to one of Joshua’s games before. He grimaced to himself as he pulled into the parking lot. Benrey had gotten a lot better about not doing blatant alien shit in public over time, but he was still a rogue element. Gordon could only hope he was in a chill enough mood to not make a scene on the soccer field.

Joshua had taken off running in the direction of his friends the moment the car parked, and Gordon and Benrey followed a distance behind, Gatorade packs in hand.

“Gordon, you made it!” One of the soccer moms waved at them as they walked over. “We were worried you might be late again.”

Gordon tried to turn gritted teeth into a smile. “Just because I was late one time, Katie, doesn’t mean I’m always going to be late.”

Katie gave him an equally fake smile and turned her gaze on Benrey, who was setting his pack of Gatorades down next to the cooler. “And who’s this? I don’t think we’ve met!”

“Hm?” Benrey glanced up at her, then reached out for a handshake, his hand still damp with condensation. “Yo. Benrey.”

“Katie,” She said, shaking his hand for as short a time as possible. She glanced between him and Gordon, trying to make some kind of connection between them. “Are you Joshua’s… uncle?”

“What?” Benrey squinted at her from under the rim of his baseball cap. “Nah, I’m Gordon’s fiancé.”

Gordon promptly choked on air.

Katie’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. “Oh!” She exclaimed. “I didn’t know Gordon was engaged!”

“Aw bro, you didn’t tell them?” Benrey turned his version of puppy dog eyes on Gordon, which was really just an intense stare since he’d never quite figured out how puppy eyes worked. Gordon thought he could see mischief behind the stare.

“Man, can you blame me? It happened pretty recently.” Gordon tried to convey ‘what the fuck are you doing?!’ without giving them away to Katie. Benrey just grinned and grabbed Gordon’s hand, doubling down.

“Well! I’m glad Joshua’s new stepdad could make it to one of his games!” Katie said, clasping her hands together.

“Yeah, I’m excited. Joshie’s gonna kick your kid’s ass, gonna make all the touchdowns.”

“Um.” Katie faltered, and it took all of Gordon’s strength not to snort. Never had he been so pleased by Benrey’s ability to throw anybody off their rhythm. “Well, our boys are on the same team, and it’s soccer, not f-”

“Huh? What? Sucker? What’re you calling me?”

“Okay! Well! We better go get our chairs set up!” Gordon yelled, dragging Benrey away before he could make it worse. Which led them to where they were now, sitting in lawn chairs on the side of the field, Gordon struggling not to completely break down into laughter. Benrey looked impossibly smug, slouched beside him.

“What was I supposed to say, man?” Gordon continued to protest. “I panicked! God, I’m so fucked. How am I supposed to explain that we aren’t engaged without sounding like a lunatic?”

“Just don’t? Easy.” Benrey shrugged.

“No, you don’t get it. She’s gonna be watching us like a hawk to see if we actually act like a couple.”

“Okay. Guess we gotta act like a couple now.” Benrey raised an eyebrow at him. “Unless you’re chicken? Baby chickenshit? Too afraid to act like he wants to smooch his best friend Benrey?”

“I’m not afraid, asshole.”

“Yeah? Prove it.”

Oh, a challenge, huh? Well, when he put it like that, there was no way Gordon could back down. Gordon leaned over and put his hand on Benrey’s shoulder. “You’re on,” He said, rubbing his thumb affectionately on the side of Benrey’s neck for good measure.

Pretending to flirt was way more fun than it should’ve been. It felt like second nature to lean in a little closer to talk than they would normally or to throw around obnoxious pet names to make each other laugh or to initiate extra physical affection. It felt so natural, in fact, that Gordon almost forgot why he was doing it as he got more distracted by Joshua’s game. Joshua’s team only needed one more point to win, and Joshua had control of the ball, and Benrey and Gordon were absolutely riveted. They were holding hands, but both of them weren’t even paying attention to that, far more concerned with being the loudest people cheering from the sidelines for Joshua’s success. When Joshua kicked as hard as he could and the soccer ball shot to the back of the goal, Gordon shouted “yes!” at the top of his lungs. Giddy with excitement, he turned, grabbed Benrey’s face, and planted a kiss directly on his mouth.

He hadn’t even realized what he’d done until he was already on the field, hugging and congratulating his son. Mortification shot through him like a spike. Oh shit. It was only a dumb competition, he definitely took it way too far, Benrey was never going to let him live this down-

Benrey’s head bonked heavily against his shoulder, an established form of affection Gordon had gotten used to over the past several months. Gordon leaned away from Joshua to give Benrey room to ruffle the kid’s hair and give him congrats of his own. If he hadn’t been so focused on the two of them, Gordon might have missed the sidelong look Benrey sent him and the slight smile that accompanied it.

Joshua was momentarily distracted by one of his friends running over and talking about something a mile a minute, which gave Benrey the chance to nudge Gordon in the side. “Hey,” He said. Gordon looked over at him just in time to receive a kiss on the cheek. Benrey grinned at Gordon’s dumbstruck expression, then scooped Joshua up onto his shoulders like nothing had happened. “Yo, Joshua! Your dad is gonna buy us ice cream!”

“Wh- I never said that!” Gordon protested, following them as Benrey and Joshua chanted ‘ice cream!’ over and over the whole way to the car. He laughed and shook his head. Well, at least he wouldn’t have to deal with the soccer mom clique on his own anymore.

[queenoftheworldisdead]

I have a request with dark prompts and tropes/ kinks from the list.

The Dialogues:

“Please, I have to get home.”

“Don’t move a muscle.”

Tropes:

Stalking/obsession

Kidnapping

(With the character Andy Barber)

Thank you in advance.

Hard day's night

Warning: 18 + Only, dark theme, kidnapping, choking, bondage, non-consent, dubious consent, forced fingering, cream-pie

Note: hope you enjoy

Dark Andy x Reader

The parking garage was partially empty compared to when you first arrived to work. Your heels echoed off the cement garage walls as you searched for where you parked. Some days you were lucky to park on L3 the prized spot closest to the ground, but today you were late and in your hurry you couldn't remember if you were on L5 or L8.

With the car fob in hand you press the unlock button. The familiar beep signaled that you were further away than you anticipated.

*Honk

The loud car horn from behind had you jumping out of your skin and screeching at the top of your lungs. With your heart hammering in your chest you turned only to be immediately blinded by the car behind you.

Blocking the light with your hand, you realized you were wondering in the middle of the driving path. "Sorry" you shouted back, moving over to allow them to pass you.

The black sedan creeped up and idled beside you. You clutched your purse and moved over closer to the side as the window rolled down. You didn't have mace, but you were sure your purse was heavy enough to wheeled as a weapon.

"Sorry I scared you" Andy leaned over, smiling as he looked up at you. It was slightly jarring seeing him like that. He had been extremely combative towards your boss during the deposition, each session ending in a screaming match.

Mr. Thomas, the defense attorney you paralegal for, had always been mild tempered. The objections during Mr. Thomas's cross drew an ire that you had never witnessed before. It was as if he sought to provoke him on purpose. Tempers were so high that Judge Peters threatened both sides with contempt, forcing several recesses to cool them off.

A process that normally lasted a few hours somehow turned into three grueling days of high tensions and long nights going over transcripts.

"Sorry I was in the way. I forgot where I parked." You jiggled your keys, almost embarrassed.

"Get in I'll help you find it. It's really late and you shouldn't be walking alone in the garage like this."

The offer was nice, but getting into the car of opposing console would surely be frowned apron at your firm.

You were about to protest when he unlocked the passenger door. With a sigh of defeat you got inside. Thankfully Mr. Thomas parked in reserved parking on the lower levels. Far from the general parking on the upper floors that you used.

"I assume your late because of me" he laughed lightly as he slowly drove on.

"Yeah its safe to say you are correct" you dryly chuckled as you hid low in the seat. The garage was slightly empty, but you didn't want to take the chance of being seen as doing something inappropriate. Idiot why did you get in the car?

Aside from him being apposing console Mr.Barber made you feel uneasy. During the hours long deposition you would feel a weird tingle, that made you look up from your notepad only to look up and lock eyes with the DA. You shrugged it off as an intimidation tactic used to get under the skin of the opposition.

---

Clicking your fob again you listened for your car, but somehow you were now further than you were originally. "Oh gosh can we turn back? I think I' m further up."

Andy nodded as he continued down the path. The signs above indicating 'More parking turn left' and 'Exit turn right'.

"Why are you still here?" You questioned him as you searched. The deposition ran long, but it ended hours ago.

"Oh.." He said caught off guard as he made a right turn toward the exit. "I spotted an old colleague John Wilson. We chatted for a bit, didn't and realize how late it was until the old ball and chain called."

Your office had a few former district attorneys. Most left the DA's office for the more lucrative life of defense.

"Um Mr.Barber.. you needed to make the left to go back into the garage." You pointed back when Andy made the right turn toward the garage exit.

"You know I'm impressed by your professionalism." Andy ignored and continued down the wrong path. "Thomas is lucky to have you on his team" he explained as he rolled to a stop behind a car inline to exit.

"Um thank you." You shifted in your seat at the impromptued complement. You hadn't done anything special or out of the ordinary. You just took notes like any other paralegal would.

Was he head hunting you? You heard about big firms doing stuff like that, but not for paralegals that were a dime a dozen.

Andy made no effort to change course and you felt increasingly uncomfortable as he inched closer to the exit.

"Um...you know I will just get security to escort me to my car from here." You pointed at the man in the glass box guarding the exit. "Thank you" you reached over to touch the door handle and heard an immediate click of the lock snapping shut.

"Don't move a muscle." You froze at his command.

"I wouldn't get out if I were you." He warned glancing at the rear-view. "Your boss might frown at you getting out of the apposing consoles car."

Stiffly you turned to peak over your seat, a cold chill fell over your body at the sight of Mr. Thomas car waiting in line behind Andy's in the queue. If you got out now you would be in deep shit. You slunk down low in the seat, in a veiled effort to hide. You shouldn't have gotten in this car. What the hell were you thinking?

"Come work for me" Andy casually grabbed his ticket to feed to the machine as he rolled to a stop. So this was just a job offer? If that was the case you were sure there were better ways to go about it. You had a nice chemistry with the old defense attorney and you were not interested in the stress of the DA's office or the pay cut you were sure to get.

"Um I'm not looking for a new job." You rejected him nervously. Hoping he would turn around and let you out.

"At least here my offer."

It seemed as you had no choice in the matter as he proceeded to pull out onto the road.

Your lips pressed into a frown. If you placate him, maybe he would let you go. He was a DA after all he wasn't going to hurt you tried to convince yourself.

"Fine, what is it?"

---

"Come work for me and I don't charge you with witness tempering"

Your eyes went wild at the allegation. "What!"

A lot of firms were dirty, but yours was not one of them. The cases you handled with Mr. Thomas didn't even rise to that level. At most he handled cases of over zealous brokers, financial fraud cases or embezzlement. The only time you ever came in contact with a witness Mr.Thomas was there with you. And even if it did you would never take penitentiary chances to get a leg up on the competition.

"Don't worry it's not true. I know your a good girl" he glanced over at you with a smirk. The praise graded you as you sat still stunned. "But that won't stop me from charging you. I'm willing to bet that until you get yourself untangled from the mess I am going to make of your life, your boss and his associates wouldn't think twice about letting you go."

You stared at him in disbelief. You barely said two words to this man, yet he was ready to blow up your life. And for what? For you to work for him? "And from what I know of paralegal salaries I would bet you could afford a public defender at best."

"Mr. Thomas would defend me" you scoffed.

"I wouldn't count on it. Because I would take him down too if he tried." He was serious.

You fell back on the seat as your head swam with the madness. You tried to think what you could've done to bring this on.

--

You had been to the DA's office a handful of times so when you saw the familiar building in the horizon you shrunk further in the leather seat.

Andy pulled into a reserved parking spot as the clock crept closer to midnight.

You didn't belong here. Maybe if you got out you could run for it. Make a mad dash somewhere and call the cops. But what would you say? The DA threatened you with a job, kidnapped you and took you to his office? They would think you were insane.

"Let's start your interview." He announced as he killed the engine. You pursed your lips and frowned deeply.

You were being made to interview for a job you didn't want nor ask for.

“Please, I have to get home.”

Andy paid you no mind, slamming the door in the face of your plea. Your eyes followed him as he headed toward the stone steps to the building.

What did he expect for you to do? Show up tomorrow at your office and sit on prosecutions side? You doubted the judge nor your boss would allow that to fly.

You watched him as you stayed paralyzed in the car. This had to be a joke or a dream. Had you slipped in the parking garage earlier and bumped your head. You tried pinching yourself to snap out of it only to be disheartened by the gravity of this situation.

---

Andy led you down the empty hallways, until he stopped at a door that bared his name.

You stood back while he unlocked it and motioned you to go inside. You couldn't move, dread cemented you in place. It was a miracle he had got you to come this far.

Andy tsked and shook his head in disappointment as he walked inside.

You tried to play back every encounter, every word you could've uttered that could've spearheaded this, but there was nothing.

You would've been surprised if he even knew your name, you couldn't even recall it being mentioned during the depositions.

While you drowned in despair Andy shimmed out of his blazer, tossing it on a chair off to the side.

"You're wasting your potential with Thomas" Andy declared, perching himself on the edge of his desk.

"I can tell your very focused and career driven." He continued on. It was surreal, watching him unbutton and roll up his sleeves. Like a disappointed father ready to reprimand their child.

"I noticed it from the start." The anticipation of what was to come became too much under the weight of his stare. You hugged yourself defensively while warm Tears streamed down your cheek.

It was as if he were a wolf ready to swallow you whole. You squeezed your eyes shut unable to hold his stare.

"Eyes on me" he said firmly. You sniffed uncontrollably as you forced them back open. "Good girl" Andy praised, adjusting his cock. He delighted in this, wetting his bottom lip, reveling in your discomfort.

"With a little more discipline and guidance you will reach your full potential. And I want to help you do that" Andy grunted as he loosened then knot of his tie.

Andy stayed sat before you unmoved by your tears as he slipped the fabric from around his neck, pulling it taunt with one hand while wrapping it around the other.

"You just need a firm hand to mold you. Or you can stay out there and watch as I turn your world upside down."

What could you say? He had you where he wanted you. You held your head low, sobbing to yourself as you approached him. You were no match for the power of the DA's office.

Andy rose from his perch and circled you like a shark with blood in the water. "Hands behind your back." He whispered into the shell of your ear. You looked back at him eyes wet with tears pleading. He sighed disappointed again taking matters into his own hands. You whimpered as he pried your hands from their hold, forcing them behind your back.

"Please Mr. Barber " you chanted as he encompassed your wrist with the tie. Knotting it so tight you feared for the circulation of your hands.

---

Andy's firm body pressed against you, his arms wrapped around you, roaming your body freely. The fabric of the tie burned as you struggled to free yourself. He ripped open your cheap blouse with ease, groping your breast over your bra. You withered in his embrace, unable to fight back.

"You made it hard to concentrate" he hummed into your neck while he played with your hard nipples over the fabric. The heat of his breath and the kneading of your breast electrified the coil that tightened in your core.

You tried to crouch into your shoulders, but Andy cupped your chin harshly. Forcing you to expose your neck to him and endure his assault. You went rigid when his other hand started to trail down your abdomen, tunneling past your waistline in desperate pursuit of your mound.

"Sitting so quiet, taking notes."

Your tears glazed Andy's hand as he forced you to look at him as he plunged beneath the elastic of your panties. His eyes clouded with lust at the sight of your facial contortions. Your clit buzzed as his fingers moved over it. You clamped your thighs tightly around his palm in an effort to stop further intrusion, but he pressed on. Rubbing firmly against your mound repeatedly, sparking an unwanted warmth. You felt shame and guilt as heat pooled in his hand.

"Hmmm so ready to be my perfect little helper." Andy purred.

"Are you ready to be molded by me" he teased. Andy pushed his fingers inside of you, releasing a gasp you could not contain.

"Fuck you're so tight" Andy cursed in your ear while he fingered you.

You bit down on your lip to stop the moan trapped in your throat. The embarrassing wetness, the involuntary moans, it was as if your body no longer belonged to you. Andy manipulated you like a puppet on a string.

You exhaled deeply when he pulled his fingers from you and released your neck. You panted from the over stimulation.

He built up a need and left you cradling on the edge. Without warning Andy spun you by the shoulder to face him.

"Look at you my needy little helper. Ready to learn." He smirked at you.

Your eyes went wide when he began unfastening his belt. You didn't want to find out what he would use that for. Your flight response started to kick into high gear as he closed the space between you.

Reflexively you took a step backwards, almost stumbling to the floor when you tripped on the leg of the chair behind you.

There was no way out of the room without going past him. You doubted you would get far even if you tried. The back of your legs hit his desk, halting your movements.

"Gonna be my perfect little helper?"

You opened your mouth to finally scream, but Andy swiftly rushed you. The grip on your neck felt deadly as you croaked. He leaned his weight on you, tipping you over until you slammed hard on his desk.

Whatever trinkets he had on his desk dug into your back and arms painfully. Andy wedged himself between your thighs, and haphazardly fumbled with his pants. Pushing them down with one hand as he kept you pinned with the other. You bucked and squirmed when you felt his need pressed on your pelvis.

Your skirt had rode up past your waist leaving your thin panties the last line of defense.

"Don't do this please Mr. Barber please I'll work for you please." Choked out incoherently.

You bucked more feverishly when he yanked your panties to the side. The tip of his cock lined up against your entrance.

"That's it. That's my good little helper. So wet for me." Andy praised as his sunk into you as he kept a firm hold on your neck. Your pussy pulsed around him as you strained to adjust. He made you painfully full.

Andy lifted up your left thigh, allowing himself to sink deeper. The added weight of him on top of you married with the pain from your arms.

His focused grip on your neck helped muffle your mewls, but not the sloppy sounds of your cunt. You turned away from his face as he rolled his hips into you. Only to be met with the smiling faces of his family. The facade of his wholesome life seemingly entrained by your predicament.

"Perfect little cunt fits me so well."

Your pussy clenched with every praise to your shame. There was no way to bite back the need he fed deep within you. Your stomach tensed as a staggered moan fell from your mouth.

Your feet curled in the air as your thighs squeezed around him. You felt of mix of shame and disappointment as you came around his cock.

Loosening his grip on your neck Andy could no longer hold himself back. He filled you to the brim, his seed seeped out of you as you milked him dry.

He laid on you briefly, panting heavily before pulling off. Carefully adjusting himself as he watched his cum drizzle down your raw cunt. "Get yourself cleaned up. We have cross in a few hours."

[stopeatingwhales]

the 1995 brits (pt. 2) x damon albarn & liam gallagher

ok this has nothing to do with the brits bc now its about glastonbury 1995 i just didn't know whether i should rename it lmaoo okay enjoy x

Pairing: 1995 damon albarn & liam gallagher x reader

Warnings: none at all

Word count: 2.495

part one

༉‧₊˚✧

The Glastonbury festival was always one of the best gatherings for music every year. All the best acts in the music would all be invited to perform, and it was amazing. It formed a unity, a connection between the fans and the artists, the creators and the consumers, morphing an atmosphere which only gentrified the solidarity and wholeness the nation felt when they all held adoration to the same album, same songs, singing the choruses from their hearts, with their whole being. It was a spiritual connection with the audience; you weren’t singing to them, you were singing with them. Nothing got as good as Glastonbury - a concert size any larger you would begin to feel detached with the audience - and boy was it a good feeling to be invited this year. Our band had blown up massively, and to be able to perform on the main stage, celebrating the summer and the true joys that music is able to provide and attain, is more than just doing your part. It’s a humbling experience; the lyrics that may have seemingly been written down as a daft thought on the back of a napkin whilst you were sitting having a coffee, relaxing in the tedious cycle that is life, being chanted back to you, shows the true connection those can have with simple melodies and lyrics. Once it’s released in any format, the music, the lyrics, the melodies, they aren’t yours; just as a book, once released, is not the authors’ anymore. It possesses the ownership of the public, that who purchases it, wears it out, listens to the songs back to back to memorise every single lyric and adlib. The songs become the nation's songs, they become the mere link to a dozen memories of each and every person, which they would take to their grave, remembering the good times, and potentially the bad. The true power of music is that it forms a connection - not just with the artist, but with yourself. You can relate to whatever has been said, you can understand yourself just that bit more which allows you to grow as a person, and mature and better into the person that you were set out to be.

I was standing backstage, currently watching the performance lead by Blur, trying to hide from any form of authority who would know that I wasn’t supposed to be back here yet. My band was on in a few hours, so I wasn’t permitted backstage, the only people allowed being the group that was on next. As I admired the performance being put on by Damon and the rest of the band, mumbling lyrics every now and again of songs that I had known from their albums, I felt an arm snake its way around my waist, the grip of the person’s palm squeezing my hip slightly. “Now how come I haven’t seen your pretty face in a while?” said Liam, who was grinning at me widely.

Since the Brit awards, I forced myself to stop partying as much as I used to, due to the addiction that had been stemming from my consistent use of drugs and alcohol. It began to take its toll on me entirely, and I hated the lifestyle that I had started to inhabit. Sex, booze, drugs... they all seem so wonderful, and seem to be fundamental elements that could provide an enjoyable time, don't they? But with repetitive use of such recreational activities, it would not only initiate the worst hangovers, but would also form a pit of longing in the body, endured with your attempt to fill it up with all the illegal pharmaceuticals to make you feel whole again, but of course, the happiness only lasts for a short while before you’re passed out on a couch, waking up at 5 in the afternoon with a raging headache and the only access to pain medication being a five minute walk to the nearest corner shop because you had finished it all. And to your surprise, the pit only got more deep and paining. It was ironic; the drugs designed for jubilation, euphoria, fulfillment, started to make me feel worse than I had already done previously. “I’ve just been caught up with working on the new album, so I’ve been too focused on that to be going out like I used to,” I replied, a grin masked over my lips. It was far from a lie; my band were currently working on our third album, and it had been quite an interesting experience as we were reinventing our sound, though wasn’t the main reason I had avoided all clubs in sight. “You miss me?”

“Course I do, you’re the only girl I know that’ll go as hard as the rest of the lads,” a frown painted over his face as he looked down on me. “It’s hot, y’know.”

I scoffed, my smile still evident on my face. “Oh Liam, you’re going to make me blush!” I joked, placing my arm around his waist. We both carried on watching the performance being led by Damon, who currently had the crowd screaming over the top of their heads at Girls and Boys. Oasis were on after - even these concerts were chipping in on the mess of their feud. “You nervous?”

“Me? Nervous? Never.” Liam replied, snarling at my question.

“Really?” I asked, diverting my stare to look up at Liam, my eyebrows raised in a sarcastic manner. Even though it wasn’t evident from his facial expression, everybody would be nervous. Especially if you were performing on the main stage in a few minutes.

“Okay, maybe a little bit.” He mumbled, staring at Damon with a look of disgust on his face.

“Knew it,” I grinned, allowing my hand to run up and down his back as a form of comfort to soothe his nerves. The tight grip he kept consistent on my waist proved that he felt tense. “You’ll be amazing, you always are.”

“You hitting on me?” he quickly fired back, cocking his head to the side as he admired me, his gaze flicking to my lips every now and again.

“Of course I am.” I sarcastically replied, rolling my eyes at Liam’s child-like characteristics. By now Blur had finished their set, leaving the crowd screaming and waving things in the air as a form of goodbye. Me and Liam stayed put in our place as the four boys waltzed off the stage, me congratulating them as they walked off one by one. Damon was the last to walk off, and as he began strolling off the stage proudly, our eyes connected, causing me to dart my stare away from his robust glare that had reflected off of his orbs. Knowing of his distaste in Liam, I brushed it off immediately, remembering the pettiness of their argument the last time we had all been together at the Brits. I heard Liam utter some profanity under his breath after Damon walked past us, but I chose not to question him on it, full-well knowing it was either wanker or cunt.

When the rest of the band turned up and Oasis were on cue to go on, Liam quickly detached himself from our embrace, pressing his lips to my cheek, grinning at me widely. “Don’t miss me too much!” he shouted as he walked onto the stage, causing the crowd to erupt into a fit from the mere sight of the band getting themselves ready - Liam just standing there cooly, picking up the tambourine left on the floor for him. I marvelled at the band as they began their set, instantly grinning as soon as Liam began singing the lyrics to Rock n Roll star. Let’s hope he’s not walking off stage this time.

I continued to concentrate on their performance, oftentimes laughing as the crowd progressively got more and more rowdy, screaming the lyrics as Liam sang them, as if Noel’s backing vocals weren’t enough to keep the song going to its full potential. “I wonder when you’re going to realise that you like me.” I heard a voice mutter from behind, causing me to abruptly turn my head, even though I knew exactly who it was. My eyes were greeted with the sight of Damon, a small smirk illustrated on his lips as he glued his eyes on mine - just like he had done before when he walked past me and Liam.

“I’m sorry?” I scoffed, raising my eyebrows at his clearly egotistical assumption, though I couldn’t help but resist a smile to contract on my cheeks as I gazed at him. Much like me and Liam, we also hadn’t spoken since the Brit awards, and it would’ve been a lie if I hadn’t wanted to talk to him again. Despite the fact that there was a certain tension between us that, from each meeting, seemed to intensify, and was something we were both clearly aware of, I ignored it entirely - even if my bandmates had teased me religiously every time they saw me have an encounter with him. Go out with him already! You two are constantly flirting!

Moving away from where I was standing, I made my way over to him to be able to talk over the loud music seeping out of the speakers, instead of shouting at one another. We then exited the backstage area together, welcoming us to the view of a plain grassland where a couple trailers had been parked, both of our bands included. Eventually, we walked to one of the random trailers, assuming it was his one, and stood against the shiny metal impediment as we shared a cigarette.

“Don’t act like it’s not true,” he replied casually, him reciprocating my grin as we began to walk further into the backstage space. “I saw the way you were eyeing me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I replied, attempting to act oblivious towards his statement. I could feel him gawking, focused on me as I admired the blooming sunlight that casted out towards us, the light so bright that it caused my eyes to tear up slightly. The music was still very much audible, and the screams of the many thousands jammed together in the mosh pit were still extremely loud.

“Oh, but you do.” he mumbled, causing me to shift my view to look at him. He had now fixated his stare onto the sun, the cigarette softly placed between his lips as he inhaled quickly before taking it out and allowing the built-up smoke from his lungs to escape into the atmosphere. Dropping the tobacco roll onto the ground, he placed his foot over it in order to burn it out, then turning his head to fixate his gaze onto mine. A brief moment of silence passed as we admired one another, the atmosphere carrying an element of apprehension as to what was about to occur between us. Through my peripheral I saw moving his body slightly to come closer to mine as he lifted his back off the metal surface and stood in front of me, my gaze not daring to leave him. Our eyes maintained strong eye contact as I felt my cheeks began to heat up furiously, followed by my attempt on telling myself that it was simply due to the sun’s radiance that my face held such warmth, almost as if to doubt the feelings, the tensions that had constantly piled up every time we had seen one another.

Our noses touched as our faces then became inches apart, my eyes focused on Damon, who kept darting his eyes to my lips every few seconds. Tilting his head slightly, he leaned his body forward, softly pressing his lips onto mine. We stood there for a few seconds, to allow the moment to truly sink in. His hands were gently placed on my waist as I placed them on his arms, like a form of support to allow myself to stay upright. After a while, I snaked my hands around his neck in order to deepen the kiss, the warmth of his lips colliding against mine sending shocks all around my body - the moment didn’t feel real at all. It was as if this entire time of me knowing of him, interacting with him, being in his presence, I had attempted to avoid myself catching feelings, not getting myself engraved in a situation with another musician, but due to my mind forcing such a hindrance, it became an inevitability - I caught feelings for Damon Albarn.

As we pulled away to catch our breaths, Damon leaned back, sneaking his arms around my waist as he looked down on me. “You liked that.”

“Shut up.”

“Can’t wait for Liam to find out about this.” he grinned, playing with strands of my hair as I glared at him. I knew he was aware of the glare I was giving him, because he seemingly began to grin even wider.

“He won’t, because you’re not going to tell him.” I replied bluntly, placing my hands on his chest as I began to draw little circles over his shirt. It felt so surreal, yet so normal - there was a certain amenity shared between us proving that what was felt in the past was indeed real, and indeed reciprocated.

“Always knew you’d give in one day.” he mumbled, a devilish grin painted on his lips.

“Really?” I scoffed. “Even when the tabloids were convinced me and Gallagher were an item?” I asked, staring straight into his eyes. I noticed him frown slightly after the question left my mouth, my lips attempting to form into a smile as I broke off his smug persona.

“Well it looks like you’ve left Liam to be with me.” he grinned, our eyes connecting once again. I took his hand away from my hair to interlace it with mine, holding it close to my chest for Damon to be able to feel my heartbeat. Even though anybody could have opened their trailer door and witnessed us in such an affectionate state, none of that seemingly mattered to either one of us. Everything that had occurred between me and Damon felt so perfect, to the point that I would want somebody to come and witness the true beauty of this moment. There was a strong feeling in my chest that I wanted him to feel, to understand, that what was occurring between us truly meant something, and wasn’t just a silly little play to mess with my feelings.

“Liam’s not that bad you know.”

“I’m just joking, love, don’t worry.” he mumbled, bringing our interlaced hands to his face to allow him to kiss the back of my hand. “You wanna go get something to eat before you head on?”

“Sure, I’d love to.” I said, forcing us to detach our bodies from our embrace and walk over to one of the food stalls, hand in hand.

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

He Was a Sk8r Boi

Happiest of Birthdays and best wishes to one of my most beloved and darling friends on this earth, the fantastical @hailhailsatan ! May your sass never cease.

modern au - college student Jaskier - the Kaer Morons are all skater punks

tw: mild injury (scraped arm)

---

Jaskier took a seat on what remained of a crumbling stone bench and pulled his black-and-white composition notebook onto his lap, opening it to the closest blank page. He tugged his favorite pen out from its place of honor behind his ear and waited for inspiration to strike.

And waited.

And waited.

After half an hour of staring into space and getting absolutely nothing written, the frustrated college student stood from his seat and jammed his headphones into his ears. If nature wasn’t going to help finish this stupid poetry assignment then maybe he could find a person or two to observe for inspiration instead. Glancing around the otherwise empty benches and pathways of the public park, Jaskier sighed and shook his head. “Fuck this, I’ll try the other side.”

He pulled his MP3 player out from the pocket of his light autumn jacket and painstakingly scrolled through every song available until finally giving up and pressing the “Shuffle” button. As a heavy, angry guitar riff began to filter through his headphones and lighten the load of the world from his shoulders, Jaskier found himself approaching a half-hearted attempt at a skatepark.

There was one cement half-pipe to his left and a few rails and quarter-pipes scattered around the vicinity, bolted into the ground in a seemingly random pattern. Several oddly shaped cement bowls were sunk into the earth, obviously made to work like ramps but with a larger and less predictable surface area.

There were only three skaters enjoying the park on this particularly grey afternoon, zipping back and forth from one piece of equipment to the next like emo hummingbirds. Jaskier took out his headphones again as he made his way to a nearby bench - wood this time - and casually sat himself down. The skater dudes were yelling back and forth to each other as they swanned over and around the equipment on their boards, mostly insults from what the student could hear.

The loudest of the three had springy orange hair that he wore pulled back into a small, messy half-bun at the top of his head. The rest fell down against the back of his neck in an equally messy sheet, reaching nearly all the way to his shoulders but not quite touching them. He was wearing a bright red t-shirt with a catchphrase that Jaskier couldn’t read and plain denim jeans.

“What the fuck are you doing, Eskel?” he laughed, pointing to the tallest of the group and pulling a face.

“Shut up, Bert,” the brunette shouted back at the redhead, doing a quick kick-flip over the far end of a metal railing. “You can’t skate for shit.”

“I’m better than you!”

The third member of their little gang was the quietest so far and, in Jaskier’s personal opinion, also the prettiest. He had a mass of long white hair that fell all the way to the bottom of his shoulder blades, pointed and stiff in a way that meant it had been straightened and sprayed into submission. The silvery strands were being held out of the stranger’s eyes by a baggy black beanie and Jaskier desperately wanted to know whether or not that hair color was natural (though he heavily suspected that it was not).

The white-haired guy was also the most talented of the three gathered skaters, flying from one end of the half-pipe to the other and landing a few flips in between as if risking his life was as simple as breathing. He wore no knee pads over his ripped black skinny jeans and no elbow pads either; Jaskier noted with a little zing through his nervous system that the skater’s arms were muscled like a Greek statue’s and equally pale.

He was fucking hot.

“Geralt, do a three-sixty!” the redhead jeered, chucking something at the pretty one.

“I can’t land one yet and you know it,” the white-haired guy, Geralt apparently, replied. His voice was low and sonorous and Jaskier nearly fell off his bench in surprise. The student hadn’t realized how far forward he had been leaning in order to listen to their conversation and he scooted back again with a self-conscious little blush. In the distance, Geralt continued. “Why don’t you get up here and try it yourself, asshole?”

“I just fucking might, White Wolf,” Lambert huffed, turning his board back toward the half-pipe and picking up speed. The dark-haired one, Eskel, caught Jaskier’s eye from across the park; the student blushed an even darker shade of red and looked down at his lap to avoid any sort of confrontation. If any of these guys wanted to start a fight with him, Jaskier would surely lose.

By the time the anxious student worked up the nerve to look at them again, Lambert had already climbed to the top of the half-pipe and taken a defensive stance. His eyebrows were furrowed and his arms were crossed over his chest in a projection of almost childish anger. As Geralt came up the cement incline, Lambert lashed out with his foot and kicked the other man’s board out from beneath his feet.

Eskel gave a wordless cry of alarm.

Geralt wavered in the air for a moment - cartoonishly, Jaskier thought, almost like Wile E. Coyote - before plunging to the pavement and rolling limply down the inside of the half-pipe. Eskel chucked a rock at the redhead and started screaming, “Fuck off, dude! You could have cracked his fucking skull! You could have killed Geralt, you absolute cock-toboggan!”

“Fuck! Shit, I didn't-,” Lambert fell on his butt and slid down the ramp to Geralt’s side, kneeling over him with concern written all over his face. “Are you alright, man!?”

Jaskier couldn’t hear if Geralt replied or not, but he suddenly remembered the first-aid kit sitting right there in his bag. Jaskier was a total klutz and tried to keep a handful of bandages and a tube of disinfectant on him at all times just in case he ever needed them. Thank goodness they would be able to come in handy, and for a far nobler purpose than patching up yet another one of his table-smacked knees.

Without thinking any further ahead, Jaskier grabbed the strap of his bag and took off running towards the site of the accident.

“Hey!” he shouted, coming to a stop a few feet away. “I have - uh, I have a first-aid kit if you want to use it.”

“Cool, thanks,” Eskel said, glancing over his shoulder with a curt nod. “Come on over, we don’t bite. Well, I don’t.”

“Dude, I’m so sorry,” Lambert apologized to Geralt once again. When Jaskier glanced over at him, the redhead looked legitimately upset and guilty. Geralt looked up at the newcomer from the pavement, his silver hair spread out around him in mimicry of a halo - the black beanie was lying a few feet away, forgotten or ignored.

Up close like this, the stranger stole the breath out of Jaskier’s very lungs. The man's eyes… His fucking eyes were a gorgeous molten gold in the late afternoon sun, sparking and shining like gemstones. Holding Geralt’s gaze made Jaskier feel as if his very soul was catching fire.

“Do you need a band-aid?” Jaskier asked rather stupidly, holding out the little cardboard box. Geralt nodded stoically.

“I think I scraped my arm.”

“Let me help,” Jaskier said. The student knelt beside Geralt and set the box of band-aids down. He flung open the kit and retrieved some ‘pain-free’ disinfectant, then returned to the box of bandages in search of one without a Disney princess on it. “Do you guys always do this without wearing any protective gear?”

“I’ve got a helmet,” Geralt said. He pointed towards three mismatched backpacks piled near the edge of the pavement; a bright red helmet with several semi-familiar logos stuck to it sat atop one of them.

“It’s very useful over there, keeping your backpack from cracking its skull open,” Jaskier chastised lightly, trying to keep his nerves in check. He was feeling oddly protective of a guy he’d never even met before and it was very fucking weird.

“Sorry,” Geralt shrugged. He was still laying on his back, his topaz eyes flickering between Jaskier’s hands and face. The student applied a thin layer of medical cream to the shallow scrape with shaking fingers and then wiped the remaining goo on his shirt, uncaring of the damage it may have done. He bandaged the minor wound quickly and leaned back, glancing between Lambert and Eskel as if just noticing their presence on either side of Geralt's head.

“Thanks,” Eskel grinned, holding out his hand. “I’m Eskel.”

“Jaskier,” Jaskier replied shyly. “And the loud one is Lambert, right?”

Geralt chuckled from his place on the ground and Jaskier’s heart seized painfully in his chest. What a laugh, ye gods. “Yeah, that’s Lambert. I’m Geralt.”

“Nice to meet you, Geralt,” Jaskier could practically taste the name as it melted across his tongue. “Well, not the nicest way to meet you, but I’m glad I met you all the same. Anyway.”

He stood up with a little grimace and took a step back.

“Where are you going?” Eskel asked. “You came to Geralt’s rescue so I think that means he owes you like, at least an ice cream, or something.”

“Yeah,” Lambert piped up. He smirked at the man on the ground and then turned back to Jaskier, mischief clear in his expression, “Let him take you to get an ice cream.”

“I’m lactose intolerant,” Jaskier squeaked. Then he realized he’d sounded rude and held up his hands as if offering surrender (surrender for what, he wasn't exactly sure), “Not that I wouldn’t like to hang out with you more but I’ve got an assignment due and I’m sure you’re very busy doing skater things and I-”

“Am I not good enough for you?” Geralt asked, finally sitting up. He straightened his arms out behind him and rested there, reclined comfortable, a god in his temple.

Jaskier shot the older man a half-annoyed look, beating back his anxiety with a stick. “I listen to Avril Lavigne. I know not to underestimate pretty skater punks.”

“Pretty?” Geralt raised his eyebrows. Jaskier hid his face behind his hands and turned on his heel.

“Anyway, nice meeting you!” Jaskier shouted, hoping they could hear even if he was facing the opposite direction. He took off toward the edge of the park at a brisk walk, verging on a jog. He needed to go hide behind a tree and cry. What the fuck!? He was terrible at flirting and now he’d gone and ruined his chances with the guy he’d… literally just met. Chill out, he told himself - just before a strong hand clamped down over his shoulder and stopped him in his tracks.

“So not ice cream,” Geralt said. Jaskier slowly turned back to face the mostly-stranger. His lip was caught fast between his teeth and Geralt lifted one large hand to gently thumb it free again. “Maybe a boarding lesson, instead? It would give me an excuse to put my hands around your waist and you could put yours on my shoulders.”

“Are you asking me on a date?” Jaskier asked. He fluttered his eyelashes and took half a step into Geralt's space.

The broad-shouldered punk smiled down at the Little Mermaid band-aid on his arm and then turned that smile to Jaskier. “Yeah.”

[salvejoon]

Ferris Dink | jhs

⇒ Summary: Your boyfriend has a bucket list of places he wants to do the nasty and next up is a Ferris Wheel.

⇒ Pairing: Hoseok x female reader

⇒ Genre: Smut. It’s filth, actually, just pure filth.

⇒ Rating: 18+

⇒ Word count: 1.9k

⇒ Warnings: public sex, quickie on a Ferris Wheel, sir kink, dom/sub undertones, unprotected sex, creampie. 

⇒ A/N: Hello everyone! I missed you! I hope all of you are well! This is my contribution to @jamaisjoons​ summer collab The Summer Bucketlist: Bangtan Edition! Please make sure to read the other author’s works as well as every one of us has worked hard on these. Shout out to @sombreboy​ for coming up with a title.

Jung Hoseok was many things. He was an extraordinary dancer, for starters, and he was talented enough to have his own dancing studio and live off of it. He was a great teacher and his students loved him. He was very patient and kind. He was a very bright person that could easily cheer anyone up with a single laugh. He was funny. He was smart and insightful. He was a family man. 

Jung Hoseok also had many things. He had an amazing smile, one that was contagious. He had so pretty and expressive eyes that one could easily drown in them. He had the cutest dimples. He had the softest skin. He had a body that was sculpted by Gods. 

Jung Hoseok was also a man on a mission.

The second the doors behind him closed, you felt the change immediately. The air grew heavy between the two of you, the tension rose, his demeanor changed and you already knew you were in some sort of trouble. 

All you knew that it already had your body buzzing with excitement. Not that you would let him know that. You ignored how his eyes felt heavy on your person and moved to sit down as the ferris wheel began moving slowly. 

It had been such a great day. The weather had been perfect for a date to the yearly carnival in the middle of town. Not too cold nor too warm. You had put on one of your cute summer dresses and put your hair up in a cute bun. Hoseok looked gorgeous in his brown shorts, white t-shirt and matching sneakers. His hair was parted and the inky black tresses looked soft. He had that little twirl of hair that you loved so much, dangling in front of his eye. 

But you loved it even more when his sunglasses were pushed back and it pulled his hair away from his handsome face. 

The two of you had enjoyed a simple lunch, had some cotton candy, shot darts at balloons and Hoseok had gifted you a teddy bear. You had strolled through the carnival, hand in hand, still as in love as you had been in the beginning of your relationship, simply enjoying each other’s presence and company. 

Until he spotted the ferris wheel. Then he’d grown adamant on riding it and while you didn’t care much for heights, you agreed because it was such a simple request. 

Now you doubted that it was simply he wanted to ride it. 

“Aren’t you going to sit down? You might fall over.” You patted the space next to you and smiled sweetly at Hoseok. 

“It’s not moving that fast, babe.” He reasoned and you shrugged, turning to look out the window. You knew he was about to pounce you any second. It wasn’t as if he was trying to hide the growing tent in his shorts. 

“The view is amazing from the top, I think. Already now I can see half of the city!” You exclaimed, looking out on the carnival below, to the river that ran through the city and the skyscrapers in the distance as the sun was slowly setting behind them, “It’s so beautiful with the colors, don’t you think?” 

“Not as beautiful as you.” You couldn’t help but smile at the sweet compliment and you didn’t flinch when you felt his fingers grace your chin gently to make you look up at him. 

“Flatterer.” You mumbled before his thumb glided across your bottom lip, “You’re really not going to sit down and enjoy the view with me?” 

“I already am enjoying the view.” His grip on your chin tightened slightly as he stared into your eyes. 

You smiled once more, noticing how his eyes darkened as his gaze travelled further down your body, taking in how your cute but flimsy summer dress hugged you in all the right places. 

“This dress, Y/N, has been provoking me the entire day.” 

“Really?” 

“Yes.” His eyes snapped back to yours at your nonchalant tone and he raised a brow, “But you already know, don’t you?” He leaned down, his nose bumping yours gently, “Because you’re a fucking tease.” 

Your smile turned into a grin and it only widened when Hoseok growled and pulled you up from the seat and slammed you against the side of the cabin, the plexiglass groaning slightly from the force. 

His hands moved to your ass immediately, grasping the globes roughly, lifting up your dress and he buried his face in the junction of your shoulder and neck, nipping at the skin. You spread your legs automatically when you felt his right leg trying to pry them open. You sighed deeply when you felt him lick a fat stripe from your neck to your collarbone, moving his hands from your ass to your shoulders, pushing the straps of your dress down, then moving to the front of your dress to pull the upper part down, revealing your breasts to him. 

“No bra either? You really are a fucking tease, baby.” He growled as his hands moved to cup them, “But you’re mine.” 

“Hobi, we don't have enough time to-” Your sentence ended with a whine as his lips enveloped your nipple, licking it and gently nipping it, causing it to harden and stiffen. 

He released your nipple with a pop and straightened back up, nuzzling your nose with his, “It’ll be quick, baby, don’t worry.”

“Please don’t leave me hanging.” You teased and he smirked as his hands moved to your ass again, his right leg pushing up against your center. 

“Since when have I ever left you behind, hmm?” He asked, winking at you before kissing you briefly. 

The gentleness disappeared as he ended the kiss way too quickly and whirled you around, placing a hand between your shoulder blades, pressing you against the plexiglass. Then you felt his breath whisk past your ear as he whispered, “I asked you a question, baby girl, and I want an answer.” 

There was a smack to your right asscheek which caused you to yelp and you shook your head, “Never.” 

“Never what?” 

“Never sir. You never leave me unsatisfied.” You heard him hum behind you before there was a smack to your other cheek and you bit your lip to contain a whimper. Excitement bubbled in your stomach as the clinking sound of buckle opening reached your ears. 

You and Hoseok were definitely adventurous but this was very different from fucking in a bathroom stall at a club or in a parking lot. Here, inside the cabin which had windows on all sides, you could easily get spotted by the other people on the ferris wheel. 

The thought of getting railed by your boyfriend while being watched caused a moan to escape you and Hoseok chuckled darkly as he zipped down his shorts. 

“Eager, Y/N?” 

“Please.” You whined and pushed back against him. 

“Begging already? That was fast, baby girl.” He leaned forward and placed a peck on the back of your neck, one of his hands travelling between your thighs, his long fingers pressing against your already ruined panties, “And I can feel why. You’re so wet.” His index finger pressed against your clit which caused your hips to buck and you let out a small cry. He hushed you and pulled your panties down to your thighs. Sounds of fabric shuffling made your spine tingle in anticipation and that feeling only grew stronger when you felt the bulbous head of his cock glide through your wet folds. You keened and whispered out a soft ‘please’ to which Hoseok responded by placing a kiss to your lower back as he rammed his cock into your soaking cunt. 

A soft gasp escaped you as you felt the air being punched out of your lungs. The stretch burned but it only added fuel to the fire that was slowly spreading from your abdomen to the rest of your body. You steadied yourself against the plexiglass with both of your hands as your boyfriend pulled back, only to ram back in, setting a punishing pace that rattled your bones. 

“Shit.” You heard Hoseok curse as his hands grabbed your hips hard, nails digging into your skin, “Y/N, you’re going to be the death of me.” 

“F-fuh-Fuck,” You panted, reaching back with a hand to grasp at his arm, “I’m already close.” You managed to say, craning your neck to look back at your boyfriend. His skin glittered with sweat and as the ferris wheel rose every higher, the rays of the setting sun hit him, coating him in an amber glow that had your heart constricting in your chest. 

“You’re so, ah, fucking pretty, Hobi.” You strained a smile forth as he let out a breathless chuckle, his pacing never faltering, “It’s unfair.”

“Y-You always say the randomest shit, baby, fuck, I love you.” He groaned, tilting forward, caging you in as he braced a hand on the plexiglass, next to yours. The slight change in position made his cock hit deeper and you stuttered out curses as he kept hitting a spot that had you seeing stars. Every nerve-ending was buzzing and the coil in your abdomen tightened so much that you were left breathless. 

Hoseok felt you approaching the edge fast and he moved his hand from the glass to your bun, his fingers grabbing a hold on your hair, making you cry out. He felt the cabin being to sway gently as his thrusts grew harder, deeper and more punishing. 

“You’re mine, baby girl.” He growled, tugging at your hair, making you bend your back as you huffed out a reply, “Louder.” 

“I’m yours, sir. Only yours!” You cried, tears forming at the corners of your eyes. 

“Good girl.” He praised before his other hand snaked between your legs and easily found your clit, “Now cum.” He commanded as he began applying a gentle pressure to the nub. You trembled before tensing up, breath hitching in your throat and you could only let the tears roll from your eyes as you came. Hoseok cursed lowly as you clenched around his cock, your cunt gushing with your cum, giving him an easier slide. His cock rammed you again and again, sending you into overstimulation and you wailed as he chased his own high. 

“I’m going to fill you up, baby girl.” 

“Please, sir.” You managed to croak out. Your sweet plea was just what he needed to hear because he slammed into you one last time before letting out a long whine as his cum coated your  walls. You heard his soft praises for you, a happy but exhausted smile on your lips. You winced as he pulled out and put his shorts back on, his cum slowly starting trickle out of you. 

“You okay, baby?” Hoseok asked as he put your panties back in place and adjusted the bottom of your dress before moving you to the seat, gently sitting you down, “I wasn’t too rough, was I?” 

“Hobi, you know I fucking love it when you’re rough.” You half-sighed, half-chuckled as you pulled your straps back up and pulled your hair back into a low ponytail, “It was great and I am perfectly fine.” 

He smiled and pecked your lips and then he sat down next to you as the ride came to an end. He waved to the guy controlling the ferris wheel and the guy nodded before starting the ride once more. 

Hoseok drew you into his arms, kissed your forehead as the two of you simply enjoyed the view this time. 

“I can now check off ‘Ferris Wheel’ on my list.” He murmured. 

“You have a list?” You turned to him with a raised brow.

“I do. Next up is a photobooth.” You already knew by his smirk that he had probably already spotted one somewhere at the carnival, “You game for another round?” 

[ebthecelebrity]

Raging Bull

I remember very vividly. There was a little girl swarming around like a fish out of water in a shopping cart frantically trying to escape. She screamed at the top of her lungs every 5 seconds. We were in Target on a Tuesday afternoon, and I was there because I had to make a quick grocery run for bread and a bottle of wine. The line was moving slow and the little girl was obviously not feeling it. Her yell wasn’t just a toddler’s yell who was starting to find her voice. It was a troubled scream from the pit of her little soul. She would yell and her mother would anxiously shush her. With two shoppers ahead of us in the check-out line, I realized that between the little girl’s uncooperating antics and her mother’s desperate plea for silence, a simple 15-minute wait in line would feel like an eternity.

Her mom pulled different gadgets out of her purse in order to calm the child down. She pulled out a set of keys and shook them like a rattle in her face. The little girl smacked them out of her hand. The woman walked over to the side of the cart and bent over to pick them up. She glanced at me and gave a nervous laugh. She then took out a dum dum lollipop and attempted to put it in the little girl’s mouth. In return the child grabbed the woman’s hand and bit it aggressively. She snatched her hand back and said a firm “No!” The little girl continued to yell agitatedly while beating the shopping cart’s handle

They were now next in line and I thanked God about twenty times in my head. I normally am not bothered by children and their “She’s just being a kid” behavior, but this one had me beat. The woman quickly threw her items on the conveyor belt and hauled out of there after paying. I could hear the piercing screams of the child headed out of the double door exit. I walked up to the cashier and handled her my wine bottle.

“I may need to get a bottle myself after dealing with that kid,” she said jokingly.

I gave her a dry laugh and glanced at the double door exit again. All I could see is that distraught mother’s face. The embarrassment on her face and her timid body language spoke louder than her child. My nerves were a little bad, not by the child’s behavior but on how the woman’s mental health must be dealing with this on a normal shopping trip. As I walked out of Target and headed towards my car, the brassy scream of the little girl was nearby. I stopped dead in my tracks and looked for them. I glanced across the parking lot and spotted the mother lightly fighting with the little girl to get her in a car seat. I walked over and said, “Do you need some help?”

I startled her and she grabbed her chest. “Oh thank you, I got it ma’am. I appreciate that….and sorry for the noise in there.” She let out a tense laugh. Her eyes were glossy as if she were fighting back tears. She was frazzled and her white shirt stained of underarm sweat.

“No apologies needed,” I replied.

The woman let out a deep sigh. “She’s autistic,” she said.

“Oh…I’m sorry. I….” I replied.

She cut me off in mid-sentence. “Don’t be. I normally can’t take her out in public like this. Again, my apologies,” she said.

She closed her back door and walked over to the driver’s side to get in. “Have a good day.”

I watched her back out of her parking space and drive off before walking to my car. About 17 miles down the road later, I started driving down a country road near my home. I had bought my house outside the city limits to save money on taxes and enjoy the calm, serene sounds of crickets at night. I was going about 60 miles per hour when all of a sudden, a big, dark animal ran in front of my car, causing me to slam on the breaks and come to an abrupt halt. I felt my entire body grow numb. It stopped trotting in its tracks and let out a noise similar to a frog. It was a deep and odd sound.

“Is that a damn bull?!” I shouted to myself in the car.

I tried not to panic and locked my doors, hysterically looking around me for help. I glanced over to my right to see two people running from their farm residence down to the residential street in an attempt to stop the raging bull. It started kicking its hooves up behind him.

“Oh my God, my car is red.” I silently said to myself.

The color of my car triggered the bull in a rage. The deep roar grew louder and more frequent and it continued to kick the dirt behind him. I glanced back over to the running men coming down a hill. I was unsure if they would make it in time before the bull rammed into my compact Kia sedan. Suddenly, I pictured the little girl in Target. Her actions were similar to the bull; untamed wild, and bothered. This was her spirit animal visiting me all over again. The isolation of both this powerful animal and the little girl resulted in erratic behavior. The similarities of being surrounded by people who didn’t understand them. The communication barriers that they struggled with in a closed-minded environment. The effect of sensory things like the color red and a noisy supermarket sent them both in a frenzy.

This story goes out to all the parents of autistic children. I see you every day. I see your children raging like a bull in order to gain acceptance and have others grasp their comprehension. The next time you witness a child that is uncontrollable, do not tease or pester them the same way you wouldn’t do that to a bull who is ready to charge. Rage is only an intense and uncontrollable action that only patience, love and understanding can calm.

[threeletterslife]

Nothing a Lil Green Can’t Fix

→ summary: Imagine having a best friend so crazy you have to have 911 on speed dial. Turns out that you are that friend. And it's up to Park Jimin to keep you from facing disaster.

→ pairing/rating: jimin x reader | PG-15

→ genre: i love bittersweet stories 🥺 so this is basically fluff all the way but angst lurking in the background | coming of age!au

→ warnings: profanity, mentions of death, divorce, heartbreak (like pretty fucking sad shit), implied sex

→ wordcount: 19.2k

→ a/n: i had so much fun writing this! a HUGE thank you to all of my friends & beta readers who helped me not make a big embarrassment out of myself LOL. a round of applause and special thanks to @aaugustlee​​, @fangirlfeelz​, @bangtansgalaxie​, @byuncaa​, @yunjikim021​ for putting up with my unedited writing! (: ALSO a huge HUGE thank you to @justastar​ for this BEAUTIFUL mood board 🤩

♫: Who by Lauv (feat. BTS) | Say Something by Pentatonix | Inner Child by BTS

cr.

When Jimin was younger, he knew superheroes existed. After all, his own mother was one of them. She cooked, washed the clothes, taught Jimin the alphabet, ran the grocery errands, worked from home, read Jimin a bedtime story and tucked him into bed—which was her daily schedule. She was strong, loving and caring. The things every mother should be. She handled problems better than she handled her emotions, that woman.

Which was probably why she cheated on Jimin's father. Jimin was only five when he heard the shouts and screams coming from downstairs. He remembers how frightened he had been, gripping his pillow and trying to drown the sound of yelling with his blankets. Only shortly after that night, his mother had packed her bags and left. Jimin never saw her again.

But life wasn't too bad after that. You had shown up, after all.

Even though Jimin's once perfect family was ruined, he didn't mind too much. When he's with you, he forgets about all of his other problems.

You'd first waddled up to him in his kindergarten class with a green marker in hand. "Can you please color me green?" you'd politely asked.

If Jimin's mother taught him one thing before she walked out of his life, she'd taught him manners. So when you, a complete stranger, had been so polite about a request that didn't look like it'd do much harm, Jimin complied.

He helped you color yourself green. Halfway through the process, he'd said: "Why are we coloring you green?"

You'd laughed out loud, grinning as you announced emphatically, "BECAUSE GREEN IS THE BESTEST COLOR EVER!"

You hate it when Jimin teases you of your first encounter with him. Mainly because you had yelled out 'bestest' at the top of your lungs that day and 'bestest' is most definitely not a word. (You're kind of a grammar freak.) Not to mention, both of you had gotten into huge trouble for coloring you green that day. Jimin had cried when the teacher had scolded the two of you, but you had shrugged, patted Jimin on the back and boldly asked the teacher, "Would you like to be colored green as well?"

You were banished to the time out chair and your star got moved down two slots into the angry orange section instead of the happy green. Jimin had felt sorry for you, but you didn't seem like you cared that much. Your skin was your favorite color. How could you not be happy?

Later that same day, you'd declared Jimin your best friend. And then you had taught him your secret language so no imbecile could eavesdrop on your private conversations. Jimin thought you were the coolest human being alive.

Jimin still thinks you're the coolest human being alive.

He's thirteen and waiting for you outside of your house so both of you can walk to school together. Walking to school side by side has been a tradition ever since you were little, too. It was also a tradition that you were always a few minutes late.

You suddenly bust out of the door with half a bagel in your mouth and your hair a frenzied mess. "Bye Granny!" you yell as the door slams shut. "Let's go!" you exclaim to Jimin in your secret language as he nods in agreement. The two of you begin to walk to school.

"What are you today?" he asks as he looks over at your outfit of the day. You're wearing black cargo pants, a black mesh top with a black tank top underneath, big, black boots and metal chains around your neck. You like to keep your fashion choices interesting by having a different style every day. You've already tried prim and proper, goth, princess and tomboy. But this... Well, this was something definitely new.

"I'm a bad girl." You grin, chomping down on the rest of your breakfast and brushing your hands together to get rid of the crumbs.

Jimin frowns. "You're gonna get dress coded," he says but upon your disappointed look, he sighs. "You're gonna get dress coded," he says in the secret language.

"Am not."

"Are too."

You roll your eyes, flipping your messy hair over your shoulder. "They can dress code me. Fine. I'll go to school in my underwear the next day, then."

Jimin laughs, shaking his head. "They'll send you to juvie."

You snort, throwing your head back in a fit of laughter. "Oh, Jimin, I—" You suddenly gasp, hand flying into your pocket to fish out your favorite green permanent marker. Its name is Gilbert.

"Grammar error?" Jimin asks.

"Yeah," you sigh, shaking your head in disdain. "Over there."

There's a sign in front of a local coffee shop that painstakingly reads: free cakes everyday after four!

"They forgot the space between 'everyday,' " you huff, so disappointed that you forget to speak in the secret language. "Wait right here."

Jimin stops walking, watching you quickly stroll over to the sign and circling the word, 'everyday' with Gilbert and marking in all caps right next to it: NEEDS SPACE.

You make your way over to Jimin again, sighing. "When will people learn?"

"Not everyone is good at grammar, Y/N," Jimin reminds you. "I think you're being a bit of a grammar Nazi."

You scoff. "So what if I am a grammar Nazi? Do you think it's acceptable to parade around town using the wrong 'everyday?' " You throw your hands in the air for dramatic emphasis.

"I mean, everybody makes mistakes," Jimin tries.

You huff, crossing your arms. "Yeah, like your outfit," you grumble. "You forgot to hook a strap of your overalls over your shoulder."

"Hey!" Jimin says. "It's fashion!"

"It's ridiculous," you counter. "It's like you're trying to show off your man chest."

"Well, you're trying to show off your girl chest."

You gasp, gazing down at your black mesh top before realizing Jimin's actually right—this stupid top does expose a lot of you to the public's scrutiny. "Don't look there, idiot!" you say. "Perve."

"What am I supposed to do? Not look at it?"

"Yes!" you say very indignantly. "A true gentleman would not look!"

"But it's right in front of my face!"

"You know what, Jimin? You can walk to school alone!" You start dashing away from Jimin, your heavy boots thumping on the concrete.

"Wait! Y/N!"

Though you might've won the fight at that moment, Jimin becomes the real winner when you come out of your house the next day wearing a turtleneck that covers your whole upper half and modest boot cut jeans with white sneakers.

"What are you today?" Jimin teases in the secret language.

"Shut up," you mutter. "Let's go."

Jimin happily obliges, skipping his way to school as you grumble, following right behind him.

Sometimes Jimin wonders what he would do without you. You were the angelic figure that had swept him off his feet when he needed a good distraction from reality. You had stepped in when his mother had stepped out. And he loves you no matter how weird you are.

"Jimin?" you ask, your head propped against his chest as his arm wraps around you. Both of you are staring up at the blue sky with sunglasses on.

"Hmm?"

"I think I can speak to the weather," you confess in the secret language, grinning wildly as you watch the clouds shift in the blue sky. "It was probably my fourteenth birthday gift from the universe, you know?"

Jimin loves how you never grew up. You were the same Y/N he knew in kindergarten with a big imagination and overflowing creativity—only smarter, taller and more beautiful.

"You can speak to the weather?" Jimin asks.

You nod. "I'm making it sunny right now."

"Really?"

You snuggle into his chest, clinging to his warmth as you laugh. "I control it with my emotions. I'm so happy right now that the sun can't help but shine upon us."

Jimin's heartbeat quickens as you clutch onto his t-shirt, but he tries to play it off. "And why are you so happy right now?"

"It's summertime!" you exclaim, suddenly jumping up and out of Jimin's arms. "We'll be in high school this year!! And you know how much I love hanging out with my best friend."

Jimin smiles, though he wonders if you'll ever love him the same way he loves you.

"You know," you sigh as you trudge down the steps of your apartment building in a large green raincoat and white boots with a glazed donut in your hand. "I'm feeling pretty horrible today. I think it's going to rain."

Jimin nods as he looks up at the sky. Sure enough, the rain clouds are settling in, painting the sky a dark gray. "That's not a good way to start off the first day of high school."

"It really isn't," you sigh.

"Is it your granny?" Jimin whispers in the secret language as both of you begin to walk to your new school.

You flinch. "She's just... she's not feeling too well, you know?"

"I'm sorry," Jimin says. "Do you know what it is?"

"She won't fucking tell me," you groan, handing your donut to Jimin. "I don't want it. Do you?"

It's Jimin's favorite food: a glazed donut, so he takes it and munches on it. Something tells him that you saved it just for him. "Thanks," he says. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No..." You shake your head, your lips that had been set in a stern lip suddenly curving up to reveal a bright smile. "Sorry, I'm totally killing the mood. We should be excited! High school, right?? Oh my god, do you think we're all going to dance in the gym like we're all in it together??"

"That stuff only happens in the movies," Jimin chuckles as he finishes the last of your donut. But upon seeing your disappointed face, he offers: "No, we'll definitely dance around in the gym singing songs from High School Musical."

"That's more like it!" you exclaim.

Crazily enough, by the time the two of you reach the new school, the rain clouds have disappeared from the sky. Jimin looks over at you, who had taken off your raincoat to reveal a rather summery green t-shirt dress. Maybe you really can control the weather with your emotions.

Jimin admires how you don't give two flying fucks about social standards. You're brave enough to be yourself, to stray from society and not conform to stupid high school stereotypes. You're everything that he isn't. And in sophomore year in high school, you're wilder than ever before. Frankly, he thinks you're what everyone wants to be but is too afraid to be.

"Did you study for the AP chem test?" Jimin asks as he fidgets with pages and pages of notes in his hands.

You snort, tugging your favorite green jacket around yourself. "No. Why would I? It's just a test."

"But it's an important test," Jimin insists, eyes glazing over as he half listens to you and half crams last-minutely. "Last test to raise your grade before the final."

"My time's important too," you laugh. "I don't regret those six hours I spent reading yesterday. You know, I woke up so late today that I had to wear my pajamas to school."

Jimin glances down at your sweatpants and looks up at your tousled hair.

"Yeah," you say, "only had time to put on the nearest jacket. But it's kind of hot, isn't it?"

You're right. Ever since you helped nurse your granny back into top-notch health, the weather was perfect—always sunny and just slightly breezy. It matches your mood.

You shrug off your green jacket, folding it away. When Jimin notices your shirt underneath, he gasps out loud.

"Y/N!"

"What?"

"You're wearing those pajamas!" he exclaims in the secret language, frantically. "Do you wanna borrow my t-shirt or something?"

"What? No!" you cock your head. "What's so bad about my t-shirt right now?"

"Y/N, you're literally wearing a shirt with the periodic table on it. We're taking a chem test!"

"Oh, you're so funny, Jimin," you say, shaking your head. "It's just a t-shirt. No one will care."

Fast forward ten minutes later when your AP chem teacher calls you up before you sit down with your test and tells you that you need to put a jacket over your shirt.

"But Mr. Levitt!" you protest. "I don't want to be in a stuffy jacket when I'm taking a test!"

Mr. Levitt sighs, but after an intense one-minute staring contest in which you claim victory, he agrees to turn on the air conditioning. Silently, everyone thanks you (it's a hot day, after all) as you return to your seat with your jacket covering your shirt and your eyes sparkling with their usual mischief. Jimin thinks you might've elaborately planned this whole scheme out. Mr. Levitt is infamous for being a total tightwad on the AC, so maybe you thought you had to do something about it instead of studying for the test.

Naturally, you proceeded to completely bomb the chemistry exam.

"Ugh," Jimin groans the next day as you step out of your home with an apple in your mouth. "The scores are out. I got a 92%," he huffs. "That's barely gonna raise my grade."

You laugh out loud, tossing Jimin another apple that he gratefully catches. "I got a 43%. Deal with it."

"You're serious."

"I'm always serious," you giggle, twirling around in your rather nice-looking outfit. Jimin notices you took extra time to curl your hair and apply a sheer lipgloss on your lips. "Besides, you know, that test had so many grammatical errors that I couldn't possibly focus on the problems!" You scoff, shaking your head disdainfully as your eyes gloss over to remember the horror you saw the day before. "I had to whip out Gilbert and fix all the errors, you know? I didn't even get to look at half the questions on the test. But I'm pretty sure I got everything else right, though," you confidently announce. "Totally worth it. Mr. Levitt needs to learn a thing or two about dangling modifiers."

"But Y/N, you can't fail a class!" Jimin protests. He doesn't have the guts to tell you that you earned your 43% after a 13% curve—that in reality, you'd really gotten a 30%.

"I'm not failing," you giggle, "yet."

"What am I gonna do with you?"

You shrug, biting at your healthy breakfast and chewing slowly. "Anyways, do you like my outfit?" you ask in your secret language, totally changing the subject.

Jimin warily eyes your pretty skirt and button-down top. His face heats up just a little bit, but he forces himself to look away. "Why'd you dress up so much? You're going to fall down wearing those heels."

You roll your eyes so hard Jimin can see the whites of your eyes. "Google Earth always takes pictures, my friend," you sing. "If people see me walking down this street on that app, I want to look fabulous."

Jimin's learned a long time ago from experience to not believe everything you say. (One time when the two of you were six years old, you told Jimin if he waited in his garage at night without falling asleep, he'd see his father's old, battered Hyundai turn into a chivalrous robot—this was after you had watched Transformers with him at home—and Jimin had stupidly believed you. What followed was him staying up for three nights in a row, waiting for the car to morph in Optimus Prime. He was almost going to stay up for a fourth night until you had to put an end to his madness by telling him you were joking.) And there were many, many more times your large imagination had convinced Jimin something that wasn't real, was. But now, he knows when to take your words with a grain of salt.

Even so, the next day, he dresses up extra nicely. Just in case Google Earth is taking photos.

You pass sophomore year with mediocre grades, but by now, Jimin knows you don't really care much about your transcript.

Junior year is rumored to be the hardest of all in high school, a rumor that turns out to be quite true. Well, except for you.

Jimin's reading for his huge physics exam on his bed while you're propped up against the headboard, legs tangled absentmindedly with his. The two of you had been in that position for hours. Normally, you can't sit in one spot for more than forty-five minutes, but you must be concentrating on something because you'd been way too still and quiet for way too long.

"Hey, Y/N?" Jimin calls in the secret language. "You good?"

"Hmm," you hum. "Mhm."

When Jimin looks up, he sees you sewing. You must've gotten that sewing kit splayed before you from your granny. It's really endearing how much you love her and how much you're willing to do for her. She's the only family you've got left around here, and she's the one that has taken care of you since you were very young. Your granny is a lot like you, too. Jimin's heard from you that she likes watching extreme sports and hopes to become a three-time gold Olympic medalist snowboarder by the time she's dead (though she hasn't won a single snowboarding contest in her life). She loves fashion and enjoys taking you out to shop. She likes to preach that grades do not define intelligence. (It seems as though you've had that soaked in your brain for a very long time.) Her husband, Gilbert, was a grammar freak like her, but he passed away before you were born. You named your permanent green marker after him.

You don't like to talk about it, but your granny hasn't been in great health in the past few years. Jimin knows how much it's putting a strain on you, yet you insist that everything's completely fine before suggesting to embark on another wild journey.

"Are you sewing something on your favorite shorts?" Jimin asks, setting down his physics book.

You nod, tongue poking out of your lips as you concentrate. "It's a QR code."

"Oh, really?" Jimin becomes interested as he scoots closer to you so that your arms are touching.

"Yeah, so when I wear these scandalously short shorts and guys are checking out my ass, they'll see this QR code instead and dare to scan it, you know?" you smile proudly at yourself, setting down your sewing project as you lean again Jimin's shoulder. "Wanna know what comes up when you scan it?" you ask in the secret language.

"Yeah."

"Information about colorectal cancer."

"What?"

"Colorectal cancer. Colon cancer, Jimin." He notices the way your lips tremble slightly as the words spill out of your mouth. You're struggling to keep a straight face.

"Oh, Y/N... Your granny—"

"Yes," you cry out, tears starting to well up in your eyes. "Stage four, Jimin. Fucking stage four. She has about a year left."

"Y/N..."

You move in to hug Jimin, crying into his shirt as he wraps his arms around your waist, letting you cry in silence.

You don't like to cry. Jimin's only seen you cry one other time in his twelve years of friendship with you—when your granny had her first cancer scare a couple years back. To see you breaking down in front of him like this hurts him more than words can describe. You're usually so resilient; you wear a fierce smile on your face even when times are tough. But you'd have to take off your happy mask at some point.

He lets you sob into his chest, warm hands tracing circles on your back in hopes of soothing you. He never knows the right thing to say, unlike you, so he stays quiet.

It takes a few minutes but your sobs dwindle to soft sniffles, then to complete silence. Jimin holds you in his arms without complaint, savoring your warmth, hoping that just embracing you can help.

You pull away, wiping off the residue of your tears on your face with the back of your sleeve. "I'm so sorry, Jimin," you whisper, your hands tracing the wet patches of your tears on Jimin's shirt. "I think... I need to go home."

He doesn't stop you when you pack up your sewing kit and leave without another word. And he hates himself for being so cowardly.

But the next day, you come out of your house with a bright smile on your face. You're wearing the shorts with the QR code sewn on the back, proudly flaunting them to Jimin. He does everything so his eyes don't linger around your ass; in the end, he just looks away entirely.

You laugh when you see him blush, linking your arms together as you march to school. The sun's shining brightly today, but the streets are wet with the hard rain that had poured last night.

All too soon, senior year rolls by with summer just around the corner. You and Jimin make use of your lax time, no longer needing to worry about grades or academic productivity.

"You know, everyone has one deep fear," you confess, snuggling up against Jimin on the sofa in your room. "You know what mine is, right?"

Jimin nods. "Losing your granny."

"Good. Well, I think I know what yours is."

"Really?" Jimin asks, letting you rest your head on his chest as he plays with your hair.

"You're afraid of being left alone," you whisper. "You're especially afraid someone you love will leave you."

"Hmm..." Jimin hums. "Like my mother?"

"Yeah. But me too."

"You?" Jimin asks, bewildered, suddenly sitting up and moving away from you to stare into your eyes. "You're leaving?"

"Hey, relax," you giggle, shaking your head. "I'm not leaving forever. I'm just... I didn't tell you but... Granny passed away a few days ago. You know when it was raining really hard that night? Yeah, well that was because I was crying nonstop. She'd always wanted to be buried in Hawaii because that's where she met Gilbert. I'll be in Hawaii for a week—"

"Why don't you tell me anything until the last minute?" Jimin sighs. "You could've told me your granny passed away the day it happened. Why are you telling me now?" He struggles to keep his voice from trembling too hard. I didn't even get to say goodbye to her...

You shake your head, biting your lip to keep a straight face. "Because I knew I'd break down if I told you the day it happened."

"Y/N, it's okay to cry..."

"No, Jimin. It's not. I'm supposed to comfort you. I'm supposed to be the strong one that doesn't bat an eyelash when trauma comes her way. I'm supposed to be resilient, Jimin," you sigh. "I refuse to cry."

Jimin doesn't know what to say.

"I know," you say, leaning forward to grasp Jimin's warm hands. "I'm so sorry. I told you we'd go to the senior prom together. I'm so, so sorry, Jimin." You're smiling to reassure him, but your façade isn't fooling anyone—thunder clouds boom outside of your house, then the rain begins to fall. "I'm sorry, Jimin," you say again. "I want to make it up to you somehow."

Jimin had completely forgotten about going to prom until you had brought it up. You'd made those plans during freshman year, and both of you had been excited about it for all of high school. Now, it looks like those plans will be ruined. But Jimin knows how much you love your granny. She means way more than a silly prom night to you. He'll have to figure something out for himself. "You don't have to make anything up to me, Y/N," Jimin says. "I'm not going to prom, then, I guess."

"But you've been waiting for it since we were in ninth grade," you protest, shaking your head. "You were going to wear a green suit to match my green dress, remember?" you say in your secret language, a small smile playing on your lips. "I can get someone to go with you."

"It's fine, Y/N," Jimin says, shaking his head. "My dad wants me to start thinking about my future, anyway. I don't think he'll appreciate me going out without knowing what I want to study in college."

You nod. "Oh, okay, then."

"You're not going to college, are you?" Jimin whispers.

"I can't, Jimin," you shrug, a fake smile plastered on your lips. "I got a job at a restaurant as a waitress. I think I'll manage financially. You know, I think you should go into engineering or some pristine shit. You're too good at math and science."

"I'll keep that in mind," Jimin says as you cuddle into his chest again. He's known you for thirteen years now and he's never seen you this let down in his life. You're struggling to hide the gargantuan amount of pain you're feeling, but the weather is reflecting your emotions too well. Jimin never knows how to comfort you—partly because you're rarely upset, but also because he's scared you might leave him if he says the wrong words.

You're right.

Jimin's terrified of losing someone he loves. He's scared that you'll leave him one day.

Your senior year in high school is the last time Jimin sees you sad. It takes you a few months to adjust to a life without your granny, but after that, you jumped right back up and out of your misery. The years rolled on through delightful days and unforgettable nights. Both of you are 24 now and it seems like nothing has changed.

Jimin waits for you to come out of your house in your work uniform, and you do just a few minutes after he arrives.

"Hey!" you beam at him. "Hope you didn't sleep too late studying or whatnot."

Jimin laughs as the two of you begin to walk to your workplace. "I actually pulled an all-nighter studying for the mid-term," he shrugs, pointing at the dark circles underneath his eyes.

"Aww, Jimin," you coo. "I'm kind of glad I never went to college. Much less try for a master's degree. After your classes, wanna meet me during my night shift?"

"Sure," Jimin agrees. His eyes glance at your petite figure, admiring the bright look on your face and your sparkling eyes before realizing what you were wearing. "Oh, Y/N!"

"What?" you giggle. "Do you like it?"

"The manager isn't going to be happy about that, Y/N," Jimin sighs.

Your work uniform was black and red—a modest black dress with a cinched-in waist and short sleeves and a red waist apron. It was a uniform that Jimin thought made you look gorgeous, but he knew how much you hated it. You'd complained several times that the outfit was too dark and gloomy and that it made you look like a sexy vampire. And you do not like sexy vampires. (Jimin thinks that's because you always rooted for Jacob the "sexy werewolf" in the hit book series, The Twilight Saga.) But what could you do about it? The black and red uniform matched the colors of the logo of the restaurant you worked in: The Black Dress.

Yet it seems like you do not give a fuck.

You're now wearing a bright green skirt with a green fanny pack around your hips, and the white pirate blouse you bought on a shopping spree sale last Halloween. Your red waist apron is tied around your neck so it flows behind you like a cape. And to top it all off, there are green clips in your hair.

"I think I look outstanding!" you chirp, twirling around. "I'm still wearing my apron so I think I'll be fine."

"Y/N... You work at The Black Dress... You can't not be wearing a black dress!" Jimin cries. "You're going to get fired!"

"Nah, I'm not," you snort. "I think the new manager has a soft spot for me. He'll really like my rather innovative work uniform!"

"What if I come over during your night shift to find out that you're no longer working there?" Jimin protests. "How are you so sure he'll be fine with you not following the dress code?"

"Oh, Jimin," you giggle, shaking your head. "Live a little! Break a few fucking rules, will you? The manager and I are good friends. I'll be fine. We're still on for tonight, right?"

"Yeah," Jimin scoffs, "if you still have your job by then."

"I will!" you protest. "Do you wanna bet?"

"What? No!"

Jimin knows when you threaten to make a bet, you're always 100% sure you're going to win. He had lost a lot of money before he’d figured that out.

"See? I'll be fine, Jimin," you say, stopping your walking when you come in front of the restaurant. "Good luck on that mid-term, all right?" You give him one of your best grins, hitting his back encouragingly as you begin to walk backward towards the entrance of the restaurant. "You're going to ace it!" you yell in the secret language.

Jimin smiles brightly. He knows that your words of encouragement will do wonders to his score like always. "Thanks!" he calls. "Bye!"

You wave your arms frantically, nearly tripping on a rock as you do so (walking backwards is not your thing). With final grins exchanged, you head into the restaurant. Jimin watches as you leave, unable to hide the fierce blush of his cheeks. It's been almost two decades and he's failed to tell you that he loves you.

Meanwhile, you sashay into the restaurant, twirling around in your modified work uniform. "Hello, everyone!" you announce in your best singing voice.

"Good morning, Y/N," your manager offers, smiling at you as he walks up to greet you.

He's a handsome man, you must admit. In his early thirties, intelligent, good with his words and rather caring.

"It's just me for now," he chuckles. "I guess the others will come later."

"Wow, I can't believe I'm the first one here, Namjoon," you laugh. "I'm literally always the last. Isn't this the first?"

Your manager laughs as well. "This is a special day then, isn't it?"

"Every day is a special day. Is it not?"

"That's very true," Namjoon agrees. "Is that why you decided to ditch your work uniform, Y/N?" he teases. "I must say the modified version looks quite nice. Someone has a penchant for the color green doesn't she?"

"You caught me!" you exclaim, raising your hands up in mock guilt. "My best friend thought I'd get fired or something. He's such a plain Jane," you giggle. "But I love him though. He's coming over later during my night shift. Is that okay?"

"Of course that's okay," Namjoon smiles. "I thought he was your boyfriend. Doesn't he walk you here every day?"

You laugh so hard you snort. "Boyfriend? Boyfriend?! God, no! We've been friends for nearly two decades, Namjoon! I think one time we even showered together. We're literally best friends."

"Good," Namjoon grins. "Because I've been wanting to ask you out for a while."

Your eyes widen. "Wait, really?"

"Yeah. When are you free?" he asks.

"Hmm..." you think. "Well, I'm supposed to have a movie night with Jimin on Friday. On Saturday, Jimin and I are supposed to watch the water fountain show we bought tickets for like seven months ago... On Sunday I'm supposed to sleep over at his place so we can wake up on Monday at the same place, you know, so it'll be easier for Jimin to walk me here... I think I'm okay Sunday. As long as I get to Jimin's home by 8!"

Namjoon laughs at your long explanation, looking at you fondly. "I'll take you out on a cafe date. Then we can watch a movie and have an early dinner. How does that sound?"

"I like it!" you giggle. "I haven't been on a date in... damn, I've never been on a date."

"Really?" Namjoon asks, slightly bewildered. "No one's taken you out on a date? You?"

"Yeah!" you blush. "Why? Am I date-worthy?"

"You're very date-worthy, Y/N," Namjoon laughs. "Maybe everyone thought you were already taken. You know, you spend a lot of time with your best friend."

You snort. "Jimin and I hang out all the time but I never once thought of anything as a date. He probably thinks of me like I'm his sister!"

"Good, good," Namjoon grins. "So he won't be mad that I'll have to steal you away for a day."

You giggle, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Jimin never gets mad. The last time he got slightly irritated with me was in senior year of high school."

"Great!" Namjoon says. "I'll see you at the cafe next door at 2?"

"Sure!" you exclaim.

"Everything's planned, then," Namjoon smiles. "Well, we have fifteen minutes left until the restaurant opens. Why don't you get dressed in your actual uniform? We have extras in the back, okay? Maybe I'll see you around today! I'm going to go check up on our chefs."

"Okay!" you nod. "Bye!" When he's out of view, you have to duck your head to hide your blushing red cheeks. When was the last time a man was interested in you? Never. You're not going to mess up on a perfect chance to date Kim Namjoon who's tall, handsome, intelligent and diligent. You don't think you can wait to meet Jimin during your night shift to tell him such good news. You might just accidentally text him right now! But you can't. Jimin's taking a test and you would be evil to distract him like that.

You've awaited your fairytale romance for 24 fucking years. Maybe you've finally found the Gilbert to your granny. Something about Kim Namjoon feels right.

You squeal giddily as you flee to the back counter of the restaurant, finding the extra black dress there as Namjoon said. You skip to the bathroom to get changed, folding up your modified uniform and stashing it somewhere in the back counter. Your radiance is obvious during your day shift—you get three times the amount of tips than usual. Namjoon even notices and compliments you on your diligence!

Usually, when your day shift is over by 4 p.m., you like to sit in the corner of the restaurant with a fresh magazine in hand and use Gilbert to correct all the embarrassing grammatical errors until it's time for your night shift. But today, Namjoon sits down across from you (because his work for today was over) and he asks what you're doing.

You spend the next two hours until your night shift explaining to Namjoon the intricacies of correct grammar. He seems to enjoy every minute of it. When you have to go back to work, Namjoon promises to see you tomorrow, which was Friday and wishes you the best on your night shift. You let out a dreamy sigh when he leaves.

How did you not notice such a great man like Namjoon was right in front of your face? Granted, it's only been a few weeks since he started working here, but still.

You're usually just a little bit tired (crazy, right? for such an energetic person like you) by the time you start your second shift, but you feel more energized than ever. By the time Jimin comes into the restaurant, you're serving the last customers and cleaning up the tables and pushing in the chairs.

"Hey!" you cry, rushing in to hug your friend. "How was the mid-term?"

"It was great!" Jimin beams. "You've been in a really good mood today, haven't you? The sun was out the whole day. Huh, and you're not fired, I see. Someone made you put on the uniform?"

"Yeah, Namjoon," you say dreamily. When Jimin makes a blank face, you clarify, "my manager."

"Oh? He wasn't mad?"

"No! He wasn't!" you giggle. "He asked me out on a date, Jimin! And then he told me to change into my uniform, but that's beside the point! We're supposed to meet on Sunday at the cafe next door at 2! This is my first date! You have to help me with what to wear!"

Jimin plasters on a giant grin for you, though his insides crumble. "That's great, Y/N! Maybe I can come over later and help you choose what to wear. Are you thinking of making it official? It sounds like you really like him..."

"I don't know yet," you hum. "But I know he's a great guy! You know how well I read people, right? He really likes Gilbert too! God, I think he's already gonna be my prince!"

Jimin nods. "Wow," he mumbles. "Do you know him very well?"

"Well, I know that his name is Kim Namjoon. And he's the day-time manager for The Black Dress," you say, furrowing your eyebrows as you try to think. "He has blonde hair... uh, he's tall and he likes to wear all black!"

"You don't know him very well, do you?" Jimin accuses, crossing his arms over his chest. "Y/N, how do you like him so much if you barely know him? Is it because he expressed interest in you? You can't just go liking people back just because they like you... You need to make judgments for yourself."

You pout, shaking your head. "It's not like that," you say. "And I made my judgment already! I like Kim Namjoon, Jimin. Besides, I will get to know him. Now, I'm gonna go close up the restaurant so sit tight, all right?"

Jimin nods, grumbling under his breath about how quickly you were moving on to like someone you barely gave a second look at. He does admit that he's a bit jealous... Who was this Kim Namjoon who just decided to waltz into your life and steal you away from him? Who was he to ask you out just based on physical attraction? Jimin can't believe you were falling for a guy you basically just met. But he does admit that you've always wanted some sort of fairytale romance. Is it too late for him to confess now?

"Why are you thinking so hard?" you giggle, making Jimin jump away from you from the suddenness. "I closed up the restaurant. Shall we go home?" You hold out your hand for Jimin to take, which he does after just a bit of hesitance.

"I was not thinking very hard," Jimin says.

"Oh, really?" you snort, swinging your intertwined hands back and forth. "You were thinking so hard, a vein popped out in your forehead! A penny for your thoughts?"

When you hold out an actual penny for him to take, Jimin laughs, shaking his head. You huff, putting the penny back in your pocket. "It was nothing, Y/N."

"Wow, I didn't know nothing made you think so hard you looked angry," you tease. "You can tell me anything, you know."

"Yeah, of course," Jimin sighs, squeezing your hand and struggling to hide his actual feelings.

Damn. If he could control the weather with his emotions, it would be raining right now.

Jimin knew you would never be one to put your dates over your friends. That fact was confirmed for him when even though you got Namjoon's phone number, you never texted him when you were hanging out with Jimin—which was practically all the time.

Your Friday movie night was a blast, as usual. The two of you cuddled up on the couch and completely lost it over a hysterical comedy. And the Saturday hangout was even better with the majestic water fountain show. When the two of you separated that night, you ended up FaceTiming in each of your houses. Like Jimin had promised, he helped you pick out a cute but modest outfit for tomorrow—something that enhanced your best features (which Jimin thought is everything) and something that would make it very obvious that green is your color. You went to bed smiling because you were excited about your date with Namjoon tomorrow. Jimin went to bed smiling because you were the last person he saw before going to bed.

On Sunday morning, Jimin woke up, texted you to have fun on your date and began to study for his advanced thermodynamics class, which was a whole fucking pain in the ass. He skipped lunch, got a snack around early evening and waited for you to come over while he watched some kitten Youtube videos.

You were supposed to be back from your date by 8 p.m. It is promptly 8:07 and Jimin begins to get a bit nervous. Should he text? Call? 8:07 is such an ambiguous time. If he calls now, he'll sound clingy, like he's trying to interrupt your date with Namjoon. Well, Jimin wouldn't mind doing that, but he doesn't want to hurt your feelings and burst your idealistic bubble. Perhaps he should wait.

You're always late to everything, anyways. If Jimin wasn't in your life, you would've been late to every single day of school from kindergarten to high school. Hell, if he hadn't banged on your door for you to come out on graduation day, you might've never graduated high school. Maybe Gilbert fell out of your flimsy dress pocket and you're looking for it? (It's happened before so it could surely happen again.)

Alas, the door of Jimin's small apartment swings open and you practically skip through, giggling and twirling around. "Sorry I'm late!" you say, rushing over to where Jimin was slouched on the couch and cuddling up next to him.

You smell faintly masculine. Jimin struggles not to make an unflattering face—that was no doubt Namjoon's cologne. He wonders what base Namjoon took you to tonight. Did you kiss him? Did you make out with him? Have... sex?

He shudders thinking about it.

No. That couldn't have happened. They were in public places the whole time. Unless...

He glances over at you who's stripping off your jewelry, socks and jacket. You're too busy tying up your hair into a messy bun to notice Jimin staring at your lips. Had Namjoon kissed you goodbye?

Jimin shames himself for having these thoughts. He should be happy for you. Besides, you weren't even that late. It's only 8:10.

"You wouldn't believe why I was like, ten minutes late," you giggle, stretching out your legs and sitting in an unflattering position that hikes your dress up to your mid-thigh. Jimin struggles not to look down.

"Really?" he asks. "What happened?"

You snort. "Okay, so—wait do you have my makeup remover wipes here? And can I borrow some sweats? I totally forgot to bring a change of clothes. Sorry!" you say.

Jimin nods. "Yeah, the wipes are in my bedroom where you last left them and um, you can find some of my t-shirts in the first drawer of the cabinet next to my bed."

"Okay, thanks, Jimin!" you giggle, quickly bouncing up from your spot. When you see that Jimin's still glued to his seat, you laugh. "I can't tell you the story when you're that far away from me! Get up! I'll tell you the story while I change."

Jimin flushes at the thought. "Y-Yeah, okay," he stutters. You tug him into his own bedroom, snatching the makeup wipes from the nightstand and beginning to wipe off your light makeup. Jimin sits down on his bed, cross-legged, attentively waiting for you to start your story.

"Okay, anyways, Joon—"

"Joon?"

"Yeah, it's like my little nickname for Namjoon, isn't it adorable? Where was I? Right!" you mutter to yourself as you furiously scrub off the remnants of your mascara. "We were coming out of the movie theater, right? I found out Gilbert wasn't in my pocket! And I was just about to turn around to tell Joon my misfortune but he was already facing me and yelling, 'I FORGOT MY PHONE!' "

You take a moment to skillfully aim the wipe into Jimin's trash bin, squealing when it goes in completely clean. Jimin claps politely for you.

"Thank you," you bow dramatically. "Oh yeah, where was I?" You begin to make your way towards Jimin's bedroom cabinet, pulling out the first drawer and inspecting your choices of nightwear and sticking your hand in the neatly folded clothes to rummage through and pick your poison. "So, naturally, Joon and I went back into the theater and—ooh, Jimin you have a few condoms in here! Are you getting it on these days?"

"Y/N!" Jimin shrieks, scrambling over and snatching the condom you were teasingly holding out before chucking it into his closet and slamming the door shut. "T-That's private."

"Oh, really?" you ask, wiggling your eyebrows. "Who's the lucky girl?"

"Come on, Y/N. I'm a virgin, you know that."

You raise your eyebrows. "It looks like you're tired of being one though," you tease.

Jimin can't look you in the eyes. His face burns with humiliation. He can't possibly explain why he had bought those condoms. Back when he was an undergraduate, he had been desperate to get over his feelings for you—so desperate, in fact, that he had purchased his first batch of contraceptives to have sex with other women and completely forget about you. But he never had the guts to try. How could he? When he was so hopefully in love with you that he couldn't imagine himself being sexually active with someone else. Er, not that he sees himself being sexually active with you. But—

I need to stop thinking about this.

"Aw, Jiminie," you coo. "It's okay to be a virgin," you say in your secret language as you sit down on the bed with one of Jimin's favorite black t-shirts in hand. Jimin believes you must've thought he was pissed off at you for teasing him about being inexperienced. "I'm a virgin too, right?" you say. "I'm waiting for my prince!"

Jimin breathes a sigh of relief. So you hadn't had sex with Namjoon tonight. For some reason, he feels much better after hearing that. "You know what, Y/N?" he smiles. "I'm waiting for my princess."

You smile so bright it lights up the room. "Good," you say. "Let's get married on the same day, then. A double wedding in a castle far, far away!" you place a dramatic hand over your forehead. "Now! Where was I for the hundredth time? Oh, yeah! Joon and I went back to the theater," you say, starting to unzip your dress.

Jimin's eyes turn wide and he quickly turns his back towards you, making you laugh.

"I'm not putting on a strip show," you giggle. "You don't have to be so embarrassed about it!"

"I-I, uh, I'll just give you some privacy. Tell me when you're done," Jimin manages to choke out.

"So gentlemanly. How do you not have a girlfriend yet?" you chuckle to yourself, sliding the sleeves of the dress of your shoulders and dragging the fabric off of your body. "Okay, okay, okay. I need to focus. Anyways, Joon and I went back into the movie theater and the first thing we did was to go back into the room where we watched the movie—great film, by the way—and we literally scrounged around everywhere for my poor Gilbert and Joon's phone! But to no avail! It was as if both of them disappeared!"

You toss your dress on the floor, unclip your bra and tug Jimin's shirt on in smooth motions.

"Jimin, you can look now," you say.

He turns around, ears slightly pink and eyes averted. Quickly, Jimin sits down on his bed, across from you. "You can continue your story," he offers.

You grin. "So, Joon was panicking at this point because he lost his phone. And I was about to burst into tears because I lost Gilbert, you know?"

Jimin nods in response.

"Yeah, so I figured I'd have to be late coming to your apartment because I can't just leave without Gilbert! When I reached into my purse to get my phone to tell you of my misfortune, guess what happened. Guess! Guess!"

Jimin pouts. "Can't you just tell me?"

You roll your eyes. "I was building the story up just so you could literally guess what happened with no problem," you huff. "Fine, then. I reached into my purse to get my phone and I pulled out Namjoon's instead! Turns out, before the movie, Joon was holding all the snacks and he dropped his phone. So, you know, I picked it up and couldn't give it back to him so I just put it in my purse!"

Jimin smiles. "And you forgot you put it in your purse?"

"Well, yeah!" you giggle. "I was so worried about Gilbert!"

"Did you find him?" Jimin asks.

You snort. "Is that even a question, Jimin? I wouldn't be this happy right now if I hadn't. You'd never guess where Gilbert was, Jimin."

"So there's no point in me trying, right?" he responds, teasingly. But when he sees your death glare, he sighs. "Fine. Was Gilbert in Namjoon's purse?"

"HA!" you exclaim. "Good one! But no, it was in my right pocket."

"Oh, Y/N," Jimin says, leaning back on his bed. "You only checked your left pocket before you declared Gilbert missing, huh?"

"Yessir!" you laugh. "Joon and I got a good laugh out of it. He told me I'm really silly! And, get this, he said I'm a natural!"

"Really?" Jimin says. "A natural at what?"

"Dating!" you squeal. "He told me I'm naturally cuddly and adorable and kissable and—god, my heart exploded in my chest!!!"

Kissable???

"But I told him I don't kiss on first dates—not that I've never been on another one... You know? Like you need to give them something to long for!" you laugh, spreading out on Jimin's bed while looking up at his ceiling. "I read that from a romance novel somewhere. And it worked! He asked me out on our second date during our first date! Am I amazing or what?"

"Oh, Y/N," Jimin sighs.

"Oh, Jimin," you mock right back. "Anyways, shall we go to bed early? My princess beauty sleep is waiting!" you sing, making your way to Jimin's bathroom. "I'm gonna wash up, okay?"

"All right," Jimin answers, getting up to turn off the lights of his room. He crawls back into his bed, waiting for you to join him. A few minutes later, you do, tucking yourself in on the left side of the bed and snuggling Jimin's blankets as you sigh out.

No matter how many times he's slept beside you, Jimin feels like his heart will beat out of his chest every time. It feels wrong, to sleep in the same bed as adults when you're in nothing but a platonic relationship with him. Yet something about it feels so right... And you've been doing it since you were kids and upholding tradition is pretty important to both of you.

Jimin double-checks to make sure he isn't pulling the blanket covers too hard. He doesn't want you left with anything to stay warm through the night.

"Goodnight, Jimin," you whisper.

"Goodnight, Y/N," he whispers back.

And he drifts off to sleep. Only in his dreams can his longing to be with you come true.

Jimin is always your priority. You have a lot of friends, but when it comes to who you're willing to spend the most time with, it's Jimin. And it's always been like that—since that one fateful day in kindergarten to now. Er, kind of.

These days, your priorities may have shifted just a tiny bit.

It's been like that ever since Namjoon took you out on that stupid fifth date, which was the date that marked the official start of your romantic relationship with him. Jimin had sulked in his bed that whole day when you'd first texted him the news. But later, he forced himself to get up and have a cup of coffee with you in the cafe next to your workplace. He feigned a smile for you and told you that Namjoon was one lucky man.

And he was.

Now that Namjoon is officially your boyfriend, Jimin had to share you with him. It's unfair. Jimin's known you for nearly two decades, but Kim Namjoon decided to waltz into your life one day and win you over in less than a month. What did Namjoon have that Jimin didn't??

But no matter how bitter your relationship with Namjoon made Jimin feel, he hid it away from you. Besides, you are practically glowing these days. Whatever Namjoon tells you makes you absolutely radiant. And Namjoon must be a good man because you come over to Jimin's apartment after every date happy and bubbly like it was your first. So he's definitely treating you right.

You don't get to spend as much time with Jimin anymore, too. Sometimes, Jimin asks if you're available for lunch or dinner but half the time you've already made reservations with your boyfriend. Yet you always make sure you see Jimin at least five days a week (two days less than what was before, but it's a small price Jimin's willing to pay for your heightened happiness).

Since your birthday is coming up, Jimin's been putting the finishing touches on your present—the one he's been preparing since the day after your last birthday. This year, you've already made him a short little flipbook (that you drew yourself) about the first time the two of you had first met for Jimin's birthday. The gift was rather nostalgic and it had almost made him cry. Jimin hopes the present he makes for you this year will make you cry. In a good way, of course.

You and Jimin share every single one of your birthdays. It's been an ongoing tradition since Jimin turned six before you did. This year is no different. You had to tell a very bummed Namjoon that you already made dinner reservations with your best friend so he'd had to give you your present when you ate lunch with him earlier that day.

Jimin doesn't really think Namjoon likes him that much. He always eyes Jimin with some sort of suspect as if Jimin was going to steal you away from him. Hmph. The feeling is reciprocal.

When you came to your favorite restaurant wearing your favorite green dress, Jimin had already ordered the food and was patiently waiting with his hand-made present.

"Hey!" you cry as you slide into the seat.

"Happy birthday, Y/N!" Jimin smiles. "You look great!"

"Right?" you giggle, tossing your perfectly curled hair over your shoulder. "I felt like for my 25th birthday, I'd have to wear something cute. I'm halfway to the fucking 50 years old, Jimin. I'm aging too quickly," you huff, crossing your arms over your shoulder. "Did you order already?"

"O-Oh, yeah," Jimin says. "Why? Did you want something different?"

"No, I just wanted to check if the menus had any grammatical errors," you laugh, shrugging. "Oh well, when we get dessert menus, I'll check out RM."

"RM?"

"Oh! It's part of the gift Joon gave me," you exclaim, pulling out a—

"Red marker?" Jimin scrunches his eyebrows. "For your birthday?"

You nod, placing the marker on your desk and rolling it towards Jimin so he can pick it up and examine it. Jimin does, scrutinizing the marker that was most definitely not as great as Gilbert.

"Well, Joon always saw that I was correcting grammatical errors with Gilbert and he thought that something red would be more emphatic, you know?" you explain, taking out Gilbert from your left pocket. "Of course I love Gilbert more, but I thought I'd give RM a try. Besides, Joon said red serves as the better color for correcting. He said the color itself brings alert to the problem and that green is too passive. I guess I can see that."

Jimin frowns. "But you like green because it's 'passive,' " Jimin sighs as he makes air quotes with his hands. "And it doesn't make the corrections seem as rude and aggressive."

"I know, Jimin," you smile. "I'll try RM out once and keep it on a shelf somewhere. Gilbert's not going anywhere. You know that. Besides, Joon was really insistent that I tried it out, you know? He was so thoughtful too! I think it's a great gift! And I think it's endearing that he named it RM for me. Did you know RM used to be his nickname when he was back in college and in an acapella group? The man can sing! What can he not do?" you gush.

"He named the marker after himself?" Jimin snorts. Typical.

"Well, yeah, I guess he did!" you laugh. "It's like I'm always carrying around a mini him!"

Bleh.

"Yeah," Jimin agrees without much heart. "Oh, wanna see what I got you for your birthday?" he asks, hoping to steer the conversation away from your boyfriend.

"OH MY GOD, YES!" you exclaim. "I've been waiting for this moment since my last birthday."

"Good," Jimin grins as he whips out a box with pretty, green wrapping. "Here."

You take it from him, shaking the box wildly and with wide, happy eyes. "It's kinda heavy!" you comment, beginning to rip the wrapping off. You skillfully force the box open with the butt of your fork. When you finally see your present, you gasp. "Oh, Jimin, you fucking didn't."

"I fucking did," Jimin smiles proudly. "Open it."

You carefully take a photo book out of the box, your eyes glued on the beautiful front cover. "God. I'm tearing up just looking at the front," you laugh. "Where'd you even get these photos?"

He shrugs, smiling. "Here and there, you know?"

Jimin had made sure the cover of the photo book would be littered with childhood photos he and you had taken when you were younger. The rest of the book is filled with little memories the two of you shared growing up with captions and comments underneath. There are a total of 392 photos in the book. And Jimin had spent seven months accumulating them—mostly from his father's old camera and Jimin's old Nokia phone he dug out from his garage. You'd always wanted a photo book, so Jimin thought it was time to gift you with one.

You're excitedly flipping through the pages, spending more time to stare at the more sentimental photos. Even when the food arrives, you can't put the book away. You're so distracted with Jimin's present that you don't even try to correct the grammar errors on the dessert menus. So Jimin grabs Gilbert and makes corrections himself. He puts the correct accents on crème brûlée and corrects a rather obvious spelling error. Then, he proceeds to order two strawberry cheesecakes. Surprisingly, even when the dessert arrives, you don't put the book down.

It's rare when something entrances you so much that you don't speak for long periods of time. You haven't spoken a single word to Jimin ever since you'd started flipping through the photo book, and Jimin finds that he doesn't mind at all. He loves watching how your face relaxes and contorts again as the memories of your childhood flood through you. The last photo in the book is the one your granny took of you and Jimin fighting over the last glazed donut when the two of you were in first grade. Spoiler alert: you'd won. But you had also felt bad after watching Jimin sulk so you'd broken the donut in half and handed a piece to your best friend.

When you finally catch sight of the last photo, you gasp, putting a hand over your lips.

"Granny," you whisper. "She took this photo. I remember..."

You're practically clouded with nostalgia and Jimin swears he sees tears welling up in your eyes. But you won't cry over something as simple as this. It's the fact that you loved his gift so much that you almost cried that counts.

"Gosh... Jimin," you breathe, fanning your eyes. "I'm not crying, by the way. Something's in my eye, I don't know," you mumble.

Jimin grins.

"I don't even know what to say, Jimin. I love it. I'll cherish it forever. Thank you. God, it's perfect," you say. "Wow. You're leaving me speechless, Jimin. And it's very hard to shut me up. You're something special."

Jimin practically beams. All the time and effort he'd spent on your birthday gift had really paid off. He loves seeing you so happy that you can't even describe what you're feeling in words.

You carefully shut the photo book, setting it off to the side before staring right into Jimin's eyes. "I would totally fucking say I love you right now but I don't think Joon would appreciate it."

"What?" Jimin breathes as his heart flutters in his chest. "But he's not here right now."

"He doesn't like it when I do 'romantic' things with you," you sigh as you lean back. "We had a long discussion about it a few days ago."

"Romantic things?" Jimin makes a face. "What the hell is he talking about?"

"Oh, it's not a big deal!" you exclaim, waving your hands. "He just thinks, well, he thinks that some of the stuff that I do with you... um, is not really, uh, platonic."

Ah. Jimin sees where you're going with this. And now it's obvious why Joon always looks at him so suspiciously—Namjoon feels threatened by Jimin.

"How so?" Jimin asks but he already knows the answer.

"Like um, he doesn't like it when I sleep over at your place, you know?" you say, fidgeting in your seat. "And he really put his foot down when I told him we sometimes share a bed. He said I shouldn't really do that with you anymore."

Jimin understands where Namjoon is coming from. But at the same time, he feels as if Namjoon had violated his rights. His rights to be with you.

"I can't hold hands with you either," you say, looking down at your uneaten strawberry cheesecake. "I'm so sorry, Jimin. I know we've been doing it for so long and I swear, I didn't know it was strictly a relationship thing. But apparently it is, and it made Joon uncomfortable that we were holding hands when I'm really dating him and just—" you stop yourself from rambling, sighing as you take a sip of your ice water. "And I really love him, Jimin," you whisper. "I don't want to lose him."

"You love him already?" Jimin says with a slight tremor in his voice that you completely look over. "It's only been a month, Y/N."

"Love has nothing to do with time," you smile wistfully. "He's my prince, Jimin. If I let him go, he'll find someone else."

Jimin's silent, unable to think of anything to say that wouldn't hurt your feelings.

You take his silence as a bad sign. "Jimin, I didn't want to break all of this to you on a celebration night but I felt like you deserved to know earlier," you say in your secret language. "I'm sorry. It was all part of our tradition too."

"It's fine," Jimin sighs. But it's really not. Yet Jimin hides his pain by shoving a forkful of cake into his mouth. He chews slowly, swallows. "What Joon's suggesting is pretty justified. Don't worry about it."

The rest of your birthday dinner is somewhat awkward. Of course, you try to save the mood by cracking a few jokes here and there, but Jimin finds it hard to laugh. It's the worst birthday he's ever celebrated with you.

You and Joon have only started dating for a month, but so much as changed already. Jimin doesn't even want to think of the drastic changes that might follow as your relationship with your 'prince' deepens and blossoms into something even more serious.

When Jimin arrives at your home to walk you to work on a Monday morning, he does a double-take because he finds you already waiting outside, shivering from the chilly air in nothing but your plain work uniform. Never in the twenty years that he's known you have you ever been on your doorstep before him.

"Y/N?" Jimin asks, bewildered. "What happened?"

"Hey!" you exclaim, waving at your best friend enthusiastically. "Nothing happened. I'm just trying to get into the habit of being early. It's not a good habit to be late all the time."

"Your face is red, Y/N!" Jimin says, shrugging his thick coat off and handing it to you and you take it gratefully. "How long have you been waiting?"

"Eh, just a few minutes," you say, sniffling your runny nose and grinning. "I'm as red as RM! Besides, the sun's shining. You know what that means? I'm fine."

Jimin shakes his head. "You should've waited inside. I'm okay with waiting. I've done it for twenty years so I wouldn't mind doing it for more."

"Joon told me I should get into the habit of being early," you giggle. "I've been late to every single one of our dates so far, you know?"

"Well, you've been late to every single one of our hangouts but I never said anything," Jimin scoffs.

"It's different with you," you say, smiling.

How? Jimin so desperately wants to ask. But he's afraid of your answer.

You wrap Jimin's black coat tighter around yourself as you skip down the porch steps. "C'mon! I wanna get to work super early!"

It takes only a week later for Jimin to realize you like going to work early because your boyfriend's already there, waiting for you.

You've been with Namjoon for about three months now, and the effects are starting to impact Jimin's life rather largely. For starters, you're spending way less time with him than before. The daily routines you had established with him for years are broken as you mold your lifestyle in the way that Namjoon wants you to. Jimin hates change more than anything. You should know that.

And you do. You apologize profusely—any chance you get—about the little changes in his lifestyle because of you; Jimin never blames you, though.

When you missed his grad school graduation because Namjoon bought you expensive vacation tickets to an acclaimed resort in Hawaii, Jimin didn't blame you.

It was Namjoon who had bought the tickets and it was Namjoon who told you the trip wasn't refundable. It was Namjoon who wanted to take you away from Jimin for a week. You promised you would FaceTime him.

And you're the best promise-keeper in the world.

"How is it there?" Jimin asks in the secret language as he lounges on his couch. "Is the weather nice?"

"It's beautiful!" you exclaim, moving out of the screen to show Jimin the sparkling blue-green oceans behind you. "We went snorkeling a few hours ago and we just had lunch so we're waiting to digest our food before we dive in again! I wish you were here," you pout. "I'm sorry I missed your graduation, by the way. Was your father there?"

"Yeah, he was. Don't worry about that," Jimin says. "I'm glad you're having fun."

"Aw, thanks!" you giggle. "Joon really outdid himself with all of this. Oh, how's your job status, by the way?"

"I got the job," Jimin smiles. "I didn't go through with those extra few years of school for nothing."

"HA!" you snort. "If I actually went to college, I would've been kicked out for literally failing every class. Remember when I got a 32% on that physics test? God, I hated Mr. Chung. Look at that! After all of these years, I still remember his goddamn name!"

Jimin shakes from laughter. "Of course I remember! Mr. Chung told me to tutor you or something."

"And then you told Mr. Chung that—"

"Baby?" Namjoon calls off-screen, interrupting you mid-sentence.

You turn around to look at him. "Yeah, babe? Oh, wait, sorry. I mean, yeah, babe?"

Jimin can hear Namjoon sighing. "Baby, can you please, refrain from using that secret language of yours in public?" he whispers. "I'm so sorry, but it sounds a bit like a chicken is being repeatedly run over by a car and people are starting to stare."

Jimin's about to give Namjoon a piece of his mind when you cut in before him.

"Aw, I'm sorry Joon," you giggle. "I made the language when I was really young. Explains a lot, doesn't it? Sorry, Jimin," you tell the camera. "I guess we'll have to stop our encrypted conversation."

"And baby?" Namjoon calls. "We're on vacation! Technology should be off when we have such beautiful scenery around us."

Jimin grits his teeth.

"Right!" you laugh. "Silly me. Sorry, Jimin," you say again, not even looking into the camera this time. "I have to go! I'll talk to you later, okay? Bye!"

Before Jimin can even answer, you end the call. Jimin's left staring right back at his own frustrated face. He chucks his phone across his couch and covers his face with his hands.

At first, Jimin didn't like Namjoon because he was jealous. But now, it's come to more than that. Namjoon's been trying to change the little quirks and habits that made you, you; he's trying to mold you into the same society you rebelled against for all of your life. He's trying to take you away from Jimin. He's trying to strip you of everything you were before you met him.

But what can Jimin do about it?

You're too head over heels in love with this Kim Namjoon. That man is the self-proclaimed prince to your princess. Jimin can't help but think he's the ogre. A handsome, successful ogre who strikes slowly, so slowly that the damage cannot be detected until it's too late.

If Jimin tries to warn you about Namjoon and his dubious intentions, you might not believe him and hate Jimin for life. If Jimin says nothing, he might not be able to recognize you in a few years' time at the rate the changes are happening now.

Jimin doesn't know what to do. He hates confrontations—that had always been your job, not his. So he does what he always does: nothing.

Being with you every day is a mystery. You have something new up your sleeve every single day without fail. Whether it be a new fashion style or a new gadget you made, you're always flaunting something that others wouldn't dare flaunt. And that's what made you so special.

But the crazy color schemes that had once been in your closet have been reduced to dark, muted colors. The Halloween costumes you kept every year to wear as everyday clothes were sitting on a rack in some Goodwill store. You dressed... plainly now.

Of course, there is nothing wrong with that. It's just not you. It is Namjoon though. Besides from Jimin, Namjoon is the plainest man he knows. And so far, switching out your wardrobe was definitely not your idea, though you seem to believe it is. That Kim Namjoon. He's planting these stupid ideas in your head and you're absorbing them like a sponge, too kind and docile and a bit too naive to disagree with your boyfriend.

Jimin's heard the way you talk about him. Your eyes gloss over with complete adoration and you giggle at everything Namjoon does. You're madly in love with him, and Jimin can't do anything about it except watch.

But no matter how many of your habits and physical lifestyle Namjoon can change, he can't touch your personality. You're the same girl Jimin's known and loved for years and years of his life. And he's not going to let you go anytime soon.

"JIMIN!!!" you yell, almost knocking your friend over by hugging him the moment you open your apartment door to see his face. "You're two minutes late!" you pout as you drag him over in front of your television. "I already picked a movie!"

Jimin can't deny Friday movie nights with you is the only thing he looks forward to these days. Though you don't cuddle with him on the couch anymore, you like to lean against his shoulder. And that's enough contact for Jimin to be satisfied.

"Really?" Jimin grins. "What movie?"

"Interstellar!" you say, collapsing on your couch as you aggressively pat the empty seat next to you. "Hurry up! Hurry up! I'm excited!"

"Y/N? Are you sure?" Jimin asks as he sits down next to you with a confused look on his face. Usually, when you choose a movie, you always end up reverting back to your classic favorite Disney princess films. "I know you don't really like sci-fi..."

"Yeah, but I told Namjoon I already watched that movie, but I haven't. So now I need to watch it," you explain quickly. "You like sci-fi, though, so you can explain all the things I don't get! Which would be half of the movie."

There Namjoon goes again. Making you watch movies that literally lull you to sleep.

"Okay," Jimin sighs. He doesn't have the guts to tell you that he's watched this movie hundreds of times.

By the time the roll credits are playing on the screen, you're completely knocked out. Well, you've been knocked out since the first twenty minutes of the film. Jimin's been watching you sleep for the rest of the two hours and thirty minutes of the film. (Not in a creepy way—an endearing way.) He had to stop himself multiple times from reaching out and tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear and away from your face.

God. Jimin needs a drink of water. Is it just him or is the room getting hotter?

He stands up slowly and quietly, making sure he wouldn't disturb your peaceful beauty sleep. Jimin's known your home since he was five; he could walk blindfolded to the kitchen if someone made him. He finds refuge near your water dispenser, fanning his face and taking his own cup from the cupboard. Your granny had bought that blue cup for him years ago, gifting you with a separate green cup. It's the only cup you use at home.

Jimin fills his cup with water, downing all of it in one large gulp. The water helps him cool off just a tad bit. He moves to place his used cup in the sink, his eyes habitually glancing over at your trash can.

You never remember to put a plastic bag inside it, which makes the gross remnants of your waste stick to your trash can. And Jimin can definitely say that that stench is horrendous. Jimin sighs as he finds an empty Walmart plastic bag rolling around your kitchen. He approaches the trash can, holding his breath just in case. But when he checks inside, there is nothing in it except for—

"GILBERT?" Jimin gasps loudly.

"JIMIN?!" you shriek. There's a resounding thud in the living room and a small "oof," from you as you lay sprawled on the floor.

"Y/N!" Jimin yells.

You dash over to your kitchen, rubbing your eyes and trying to adjust to the bright kitchen lights. "Jimin?" you say, your brows furrowed as you approach your friend who's pointing aggressively at your trash can with wide, angry eyes. "Oh," you say softly when you realize what he's talking about. "Right..."

"Why is Gilbert in the trash, Y/N?" Jimin asks, running his fingers through his hair as he grips the kitchen counter for stability. "Was it Namjoon? Did he do this?"

"No!" you shout. "I did it, Jimin. I tossed Gilbert in the trash."

"Why?" Jimin whispers, taking a step away from you. "That marker's everything to you."

"I know, Jimin, I know," you groan. "It dried out. It's ages old, you know?"

"But you take such good care of it, Y/N." Jimin shakes his head. "And you're just tossing it away like that because it dried out? What about your grandfather? What about your granny?"

"Jimin, it's fine. I'm fine," you say, shrugging. "It's time I let go, you know?

"Let go of what, Y/N? The only family you've known?" Jimin sighs. "What happened to saving the world by correcting their grammatical errors?"

"Its," you reply.

"What?" Jimin says exasperatedly.

"Saving the world by correcting its grammatical errors," you say, a slow smile emerging on your face as Jimin shakes his head to hide his own grin beginning to manifest on his face. "I'm sorry, Jimin. You're right. I don't know what I was thinking," you say. "Well, I wasn't. Joon and I had our first fight today."

"Oh..."

"No, don't you 'oh' me, Park Jimin!" you laugh. "It's really not that bad! He told me I had a premature taste in films and an immature outlook on life, but I mean, he's not wrong, you know? I tried to stay awake watching Interstellar. I really did. But Joon's right. I can't like anything that's advanced. And I realized that it's a crime to vandalize, too..."

"So you threw Gilbert away because of that?"

"Well, yeah," you say. "It's a crime, Jimin. I didn't even know until Joon told me! He's so wise!"

"Oh, god," Jimin groans, burying his face in his hands.

"Ah, c'mon, Jiminie," you say, grabbing his wrists and trying to pry his hands away from his face. "He's helping me move on, you know? He's helping me become a better person!"

A better person.

The words sting. If your definition of a 'better person' is losing the spark, the color of your life, then fine. You were already a better person than before. But all Jimin can see is the monochrome you. The you without color. Which doesn't really seem like you at all.

But it hasn't rained in a while, so maybe you were truly fine with losing your color. Either that or you had also lost the ability to control the weather with your emotions. Jimin wouldn't be surprised if that were the case.

Jimin is a patient man. Not only has he waited twenty years for you to love him back (which you never did), but also he never outwardly expressed his frustrations with your change in lifestyle to you.

Besides, if Namjoon's making you that happy, then there really was no problem, right?

Wrong.

You call Jimin on Sunday with the worst news ever imaginable.

"I'm moving!" you squeal and Jimin can hear you jumping up and down on your bed from the other line. "Joon asked me to move in with him!!"

You've only dated him for four months.

"H-He did?" Jimin stutters, cursing himself for sounding so pathetically off-guard. "What about your home? Your granny's home?"

You've lived in that house ever since you were born until now.

"I can't live in that house, forever, Jimin. I want to move on!" you say. "Plus, I think Joon and I are ready to take our relationship to the next level!"

"That's ridiculous," Jimin mutters, raking his fingers through his hair in pure frustration.

"Sorry?" you say.

Shit. Jimin had forgotten you were still on the phone.

"Nevermind," he sighs.

"Jiminie," you say with that characteristic lilt in your voice. "You can tell me what you're thinking you know! I haven't been your ride or die best friend for twenty years to not know what's going on with you."

"I know," Jimin says. But he can't tell you that he absolutely despises your boyfriend. It'll break your heart. And Jimin doesn't want to be the reason for your unhappiness. "Congratulations, Y/N," he says. "I hope you like your new place, then."

"I love it, Jimin!" you squeal. "Joon remodeled his bedroom recently and damn it's just so beautiful! I'll finally be living in a castle with my prince!"

"That's great, Y/N!"

"I know, right?" you exclaim in such a voice that Jimin can tell you're absolutely beaming on the other line. "You have to come over when the move's finished! You know what? Come over this Friday for movie night! I wanna give you a tour of my new home!"

"Namjoon won't mind?" Jimin asks.

"He's going out with friends that night," you giggle. "We'll have the whole place to ourselves! Did you know Joon has a flat-screen TV?? It's humongous!"

The offer sounds very tempting. Watching a movie on a high-end television with you on a Friday night? Hell yes. It almost makes up for the fact that you're moving out of the house you and Jimin had practically grown up in.

God, Jimin can't wait for Friday to come.

It's Jimin's turn to choose the movie when Friday night finally rolls around. Since he knows you nearly idolize Rapunzel, he suggests the two of you rewatch Tangled for probably the millionth time. But before the movie had to come the house tour, of course.

Namjoon's home is rather spacious for a guy who was single for a long time. You parade around the home as you've already lived in it your whole life. Jimin silently tags along. He has to admit that Namjoon's home is, indeed, better than your granny's old house. But he nearly bursts with jealousy when you show him around the big bedroom that you supposedly share with Namjoon.

"Isn't it great?!" you say, twirling around the commodious room with a bright grin on your face. "Joon even bought new sheets for us! I wanted green and he wanted white, so we went with light gray," you giggle. "Compromise of the century, huh?"

"Still looks white to me," Jimin mutters under his breath. But you're so hyped about showing your best friend around your boyfriend's home that you don't hear him.

"C'mon, let's go watch Tangled, now!" you say, dragging Jimin back to Namjoon's expensive leather couch and switching on the flat-screen TV.

Both of you collapse on the couch, leaning against each other by habit as the movie begins to play on the screen. Jimin's watched the film with you so many times that he's basically memorized the whole script.

You like to silently mouth Rapunzel's lines and Jimin mouths Eugene Fitzherbert's lines. You also like to sing when Rapunzel does, and you've been trying to convince Jimin for years to sing with you. But Jimin does not sing. And that was that.

No matter how many times you've watched Tangled, you cry when Eugene Fitzherbert 'dies.' Before you were dating Namjoon, you'd always bury yourself in Jimin's arms, waiting until the climax of the scene is over. Nowadays, you limit yourself to placing your head on Jimin's shoulder, burying your face in Namjoon's couch pillows. Jimin doesn't mind. He likes that you take comfort in his presence.

Just as the tension of the scene is about to lift, the front door of the house opens and Namjoon walks in. But you're so engrossed in the movie that you barely notice, instead, digging your face harder into the pillow.

Jimin's head jerks towards Namjoon and their eyes meet. Namjoon doesn't look very happy. For just a split second, Jimin fears his life. He takes the time to scoot a bit away from you so Namjoon doesn't come for his neck. You whine when Jimin pulls away, trying to tug him back as your eyes are glued to the TV.

"Y/N..." Jimin whispers. "Your boyfriend's here."

"Oh, what?!" you say, breaking from the trance that the movie had put on you and finally turning your head to see a frowning Namjoon. "Joon! You came back so early!"

"Why is he here?" Namjoon asks, ignoring your enthusiasm. He doesn't look at you when he speaks, his eyes trained on Jimin, instead. Jimin gulps.

"It's Friday movie night!" you laugh. "We're watching Tangled! Oh, Jimin can you pause the movie? Damn, we'll have to rewind it. Wanna watch with us?"

"No, Jimin," Namjoon says through gritted teeth. "Turn the TV off. Y/N, this is not your home. It is ours. You're to tell me if you are to have guests over." He glares at Jimin again. "Then we can talk if they are welcome here or not."

"I-I, uh, I have to go," Jimin stutters, desperately, standing up from the couch.

"But we didn't even finish the movie!" you protest, grabbing Jimin's wrist and looking at him with puppy dog eyes. "We always finish the movie."

"Y/N, we need to talk. Let him go," Namjoon says, crossing his arms.

"I—" you sigh, letting go of Jimin's wrist. "Okay..."

It hurts to watch you look down at your feet like Namjoon was scolding you. You look so small, powerless up against him that just for one, small second, Jimin contemplates staying. Maybe give Kim Namjoon a piece of his mind.

But who is he kidding? Jimin could never compare himself to a man like Namjoon.

"I'll uh, talk to you later," Jimin quickly says. He doesn't look back when he leaves and you watch him go with a certain emptiness in your heart.

The moment Jimin's out the door, he runs. He runs from your boyfriend, your obvious pain... He runs away from himself. But he should know. No one can outrun cowardliness.

You're really the only significant figure in his life; the only person he's loved for twenty consecutive years. Yet he can't do anything to save you from the obvious monster that is your boyfriend. Jimin hates himself for that.

He crash-lands on his bed, burying himself in his pillows and drowning in self-hatred. He lays still for what seems like hours in the darkness, the silence. He tries to numb his thoughts. But when his vision is nothing but a black screen, he cannot do anything but think.

He thinks of the fight you might be having with Namjoon. He thinks of how sad you must be inside. He wonders if you genuinely like being with Namjoon. He wonders if you're genuinely happy. But most of all, he wants to know if you miss your old self.

Jimin groans when he hears his phone ring next to him. He doesn't want to get up nor move, but something inside tells him that it's important. That it might be you.

And it is.

Hurriedly, Jimin answers the call. "Y/N?"

"H-Hey, J-Jimin," you wheeze.

Jimin freezes. You're crying. And everyone knows you don't cry.

"Y/N?!" Jimin panics, sitting up. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"Of course I'm okay!" you yell, making Jimin wince at the harshness of your voice in his ear. "Joon and I just fought! I'm fine!" you sniffle. "You said to talk to you later so I'm calling you!" you try to laugh but it comes out like a broken sob. "I'm not crying, I swear!"

Bullshit.

This is the third time Jimin's heard you cry. The first two times had been because of your granny. This time? It was because of that bastard, Namjoon.

"Did he do anything to you?" Jimin says, his hands slightly shaking as he waits for an answer.

"No! Joon would never," you say. "We just talked. You don't have to worry, Jimin."

"He looked angry when I left..."

"He was..." you sigh. "Listen, Jimin... this is going to sound bad, but um... Joon... He, well, he doesn't want you coming over anymore."

"What?!" Jimin blurts out. "At all?"

"It's okay! It's okay!" you say, though you sound far from it. "I can always come over to your house!" You sigh deeply. "It's just that I don't think Joon's very comfortable around you."

No, he's just not comfortable when I'm around you.

"This is ridiculous," Jimin mutters.

"Sorry, Jimin, what did you say?" you ask. "I didn't hear."

Jimin closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He tries to stay calm, tries to keep from bursting out and yelling, but he can't help himself. It had to be said. "It's fucking ridiculous!" he shouts suddenly, standing up and starting to pace back and forth in his room with a crazed look on his face. "He's being fucking ridiculous!" he yells.

"Him? You mean Joon?" you say.

"Yeah!" Jimin throws up his hand in frustration. "He's acting like he fucking owns you!" Jimin snaps.

God. He's done it now. There's no going back.

"He's not, though!" you protest. "Don't get mad, Jimin. He's only voicing his rightful opinion. There's nothing wrong with that."

"He's trying to separate us!" Jimin yells. "Don't you get it?"

"No!" you say, starting to raise your voice. "Joon wouldn't do that!"

"Like he wouldn't fucking convince you to throw away Gilbert? Like he wouldn't convince you to clean out your closet and replace it with clothes that he finds sensible? Like he wouldn't fucking convince you to keep your distance from me?? He wouldn't fucking do any of these, huh?" Jimin shouts, his voice interlaced with anger and sorrow. His throat feels raw in his neck, but he continues on with the thoughts he's held in for months. "You're blind, Y/N! He's ruining your fucking life can't you see? Where's the Y/N who used to talk to me for hours before going to sleep in our secret language? When's the last time you've spoken that, huh? And when's the last time you pretended to control the weather with your emotions? Where's the real Y/N? What happened to her?"

"Joon doesn't like her!" you yell at the top of your lungs. Your voice rings in Jimin's ear.

"Why do you want Joon to like you? What are you trying to prove to him?" Jimin cries, his voice quivering.

"I'm following my path to love!" you shout. "It's something you'd never understand. You don't even know what that is! I've never, ever seen you pine for anyone in the fucking twenty years I've known you! You can't be talking about love if you've never fucking felt it!"

Jimin collapses on his bed, his head numb and hands cold.

You take his silence as defeat. "I fucking thought so," you say. "Joon says you're too dependent on me. You need to go out and make another friend other than me. The world changes, Jimin. People come and go. Stop being just so—just so fucking stuck in the past. Goodbye."

You don't wait for a response, ending the call right away.

Jimin's phone slips from his ear, falling face down on his bed. He's frozen into shock. If only you knew why he had never chased after love for twenty fucking years. He didn't need to. Because his love was right in front of his face the whole time.

Aside from the occasional bickering as kids, you and Jimin had never fought. This is the first time both of you had exchanged nasty words with each other.

You had used to call Jimin a peaceful soul because of his extreme hate for confrontations, unnecessary drama and fighting. Not once in his life had Jimin ever said something that he knew could damage something significant to him. Not once in his life had Jimin ever initiated an argument. Not once in his life had Jimin ever really argued, in fact. It had always been you yelling and Jimin nodding if anything.

But when things had stacked up, Jimin couldn't take it anymore. He'd cracked. He'd yelled. And he'd finally fought with his words.

Yet the fight doesn't symbolize anything except a double loss for Jimin because you had ultimately chosen Namjoon over him. Then, you'd proceeded to completely crush his heart by failing to recognize his love for you.

Jimin never had to worry about heartbreak. He and you had always been best friends, nothing more. No matter how much he loved you, he never acted upon it, which meant you never rejected him. So, yeah, no heartbreak.

But this... that fight... When you'd accused him of not knowing love... when he had loved you for years. That was heartbreak. And it is still heartbreak.

Jimin found it extremely hard to get out of bed every morning after the fight. Sometimes, throughout the day, when something even the slightest bit amusing happens, he whips out his phone to inform you of it. Then, he realizes he and you are not quite on speaking terms at the moment. Jimin also realizes if he can't text you, he has no one else to text.

Maybe you were right. Jimin needs more friends.

It's almost been a week since the fight on the phone; it has also been almost a week of constant rain. It pours down hard and steady, only slowing down for light drizzles in the afternoons. It's the only reassurance that Jimin can get. That you're just as sad as him. That some part of you misses him as much as he misses you.

The weather forecast said the rain was supposed to clear by tonight. But Jimin waits by his window, where the thunder clouds boom over the roof of his lonely house and the rain pounds against the concrete. It's a storm.

He worries about you.

Maybe he should text you? Call you? What if you're all alone in your room, crying profusely and that bastard of a boyfriend, Namjoon's giving you the silent treatment? It's like Jimin can feel your pain through the weather.

A lightning bolt flashes through the sky and four seconds later, Jimin hears the booming thunderclap. It wasn't supposed to rain today. You must be crying all alone. You must be missing your granny. You must be missing him.

Another sharp thunderbolt pierces through the dark rain clouds in the sky and the thunderclap rings louder than the last. That's it. Jimin picks up his phone.

It's sad that you're still the only person in his favorites contact 'list.' He taps on your icon and presses the phone against his ear, looking out the window as if you were out in the rain all by yourself. The phone rings. Once. Twice. Three times. Usually, by then, you pick up the phone. But it occurs to Jimin now, that this is not going to be a usual conversation. His phone is heavy in his hands and he rests his cheek against the cold window, wondering if you're ever going to pick up.

Maybe you're crying so hard that you can't hear your phone ring.

Jimin lets out a shaky sigh, just about to disconnect the call to avoid hearing the all-too painful dial tone when you finally pick up.

"J-Jimin?" you breathe, groaning. "God, Jimin."

"Y/N?" Jimin exclaims. "Thank god, Y/N!" he breathes a sigh of relief.

"Mmm," you groan again.

"That's right, princess. You're mine all right?" a hushed, masculine voice whispers.

"Joon," you whine, urgently. "Please..."

Jimin can hear the soft slapping of skin in the background, Namjoon's heavy grunts and your whimpering. Immediately, the hairs on the back of Jimin's neck stand up straight. It's then when he realizes that you're moaning from pleasure. That Kim Namjoon's fucking you right now. And that you had still decided to pick up Jimin's call.

Tears blur Jimin's sight as he fumbles to end the call, chucking his phone halfway across the room afterward. He crumbles up in a ball, digging his face into his arms and sobbing.

Did you disrespect him that much? To pick up the call so he could hear you having sex?

It's the first time Jimin's ever questioned why he's in love with you.

Maybe, in the beginning, he had good reasons, but that had been because you had good intentions. You had been boisterous, unafraid to go against the current, wild, rebellious and had this my-way-or-the-high-way kind of character. That's the person Jimin had fallen in love with. The girl who carried around a green marker in her pockets to correct others' grammatical errors. The girl who invented a secret language when she was young just because she felt like it one day. The girl who convinced herself and others that she could control the weather with her emotions. The girl who didn't give two shits about what anyone thought of her. The girl who wore whatever the fuck she wanted because she could. The girl who never showed him when she was sad because she wanted to be strong, resilient. That's the person Jimin had fallen in love with.

But who the fuck are you?

Jimin had used to think it was Namjoon's fault you were so different. But you'd let him change you. You'd become docile, tedious, plain. All the things Jimin was and is. It's your fault. You could've stopped everything if you wanted. You could've broken up with Namjoon. But you didn't. Because you wanted to change.

Jimin can't love the new you. He doesn't even know if he can see you again.

His body shakes hard with fear and rage.

He's definitely not going to see you again.

He was never your prince; you'd ultimately chosen Namjoon. And you were never his princess; he had been delusional to think so.

He's going to walk out of your life. He needs to leave. For himself.

Jimin had already spent a week without your company and that had been enough. Now he wants to cut off all contact with you. He's already blocked your number, switched apartments and stashed away everything that reminded him of you—which was fairly a lot of things. He was so determined to be independent, to forget what it felt like to be dependent on you.

But without your presence, his bland life was even blander than before.

Waking up every day and not walking you to work felt foreign to him. Friday nights felt lonely without you. Weekends were dull. Weekdays were even worse.

He missed having to hear your bright, cheery voice. He missed talking about the craziest things with you. He missed waking up in the morning and wondering what you would be wearing today. He missed Gilbert. He missed your granny, too. Most of all, he missed you.

But you'd hurt him. Whittled away his heart little by little over the many years just by never loving him back. You'd humiliated him by choosing the man you knew for four months over the man you'd been best friends with for two decades.

Jimin figures he'll miss you for a long time. You'd been a large part of his life, after all. He'd already broken off contact with you, and that was already a giant leap. The next step would be to stop thinking about you, and the step after that to stop missing you. And when that's all over, he can stop loving you.

Looking back, Jimin realizes he struggled to get his life back on track for nearly eleven, long months. He'd seen winter come, spring pass and summer leave. But just as winter was making its presence on the weather again, frosting the leaves of plants and chilling the morning air, he'd finally come to his senses.

The past eleven months had been mournful. But as the days passed, he'd allowed himself to think about his current life more than his past. It had occurred to him that now, he was living a life of no-nonsense. Of no silly, childish imaginations. He was living in reality. Where he should've been in for all of his life.

Sure, he spent his birthday alone and without you for the first time since he was five years old. But it was something he could get used to. Celebrating the day he turned one year older just didn't seem like such a big deal anymore.

Maturity suits Park Jimin well.

He'd always preferred things that were tangible, anyway. Things that could be proven. Things that made sense. It was time to say goodbye to the foolish things of his past: secret languages, weather-controlling, naming markers...

It took him eleven months, no, 25 years, but Jimin finally became an adult.  

He's 27, now.

He likes to drink black coffee in the morning like his co-workers. He likes vanilla ice cream the best just because it's the most simple. He likes to tell women that he's a civil engineer to impress them on first dates. He has an adequate number of friends. He goes to work five days a week, eight hours per day. He drinks on Friday nights, watches the news and goes to bed early. On the weekends, he spends his mornings reading articles in the science section of the paper and he hangs around bars at night with his friends.

It's a humble, normal, plain life. But Jimin likes it. It suits him.

He has thoughts about you from time to time; he would never forget what it felt like to love you. But he never again gets the urge to call you. You're a figment of his past, and Jimin's moved on.

The early spring breeze caresses Jimin's cheek as he walks steadily, staring at Google Maps on his phone and glancing up every once in a while so he doesn't run into a pole like last time. He was supposed to have a Sunday brunch with Jeon Jungkook but that silly bastard had canceled last minute on him to take his own girlfriend out on a date. Typical. But Jimin actually appreciates the alone time.

Jungkook had promised to take Jimin to a great cafe that was walking distance from Jimin's place. Since Jimin had nothing better to do, he decided to have his brunch there alone.

"You've arrived at your destination," the monotone voice named Karen drolls.

When Jimin looks up, he sees a small cafe sitting at the corner of the block, surrounded by towering trees shading the area and lots and lots of verdant green bushes. Something about the place seems homely. Familiar, even.

Deja vu, maybe? Jimin thinks.

He doesn't think much more and walks in. The inside of the cafe is decorated mainly with wood, green yarn and healthy vines twisting around the furniture. Jimin's hit by a cordial, oaky smell that instantly calms his nerves and clears his mind. The place is completely empty, too. His footsteps pad against the wooden floor as he admires the little cafe. The ordering counter stands in the corner, fairy lights and green paper lanterns dangling from it to illuminate its surroundings. Jimin walks towards the lights as if he were in a trance.

Something about this place seems so damn familiar.

Jimin hasn't felt this connected with nature, with this much creative liberty since—

"Jimin."

He whirls around, eyes widening and mouth dropping open when he recognizes the owner of that voice. Sure enough, he sees you, wiping your hands on a bright green waist apron. You're wearing a white pirate blouse that could've passed for a Halloween costume and a skirt with layers and layers of different shades of green fabrics—it looks like you'd made it yourself.

"Y/N," your name leaves his lips in a breathless whisper.

"Hey," you smile, waving awkwardly. "It's been a while, huh?"

A while? Two whole fucking years, in actuality. "Yeah, I guess," Jimin nods. He glances at the door, contemplating just leaving, but some instinct inside of him urges him to stay. "You work at this place?" he asks as he walks up to the counter where you're getting ready to take his order.

"Yeah," you giggle. God, Jimin had missed that smile of yours, but of course, he doesn't want to admit it. "Well, I own this place."

"Really?" Jimin asks. "It's beautiful."

"Thanks!" you say. "I decorated it myself. What can I get for you? Do you want me to recommend our best dishes? Look, we have a separate menu just for brunches!" you say excitedly, showing Jimin a neatly laminated menu laced with green yarn. "I recommend the Gilbert Special. Eggs, toast, bacon and hash browns. But, the Jimin Special is our house favorite!"

"The what?"

"100% off for the person it was inspired by," you smile. "That's you, by the way."

"W-Wow, Y/N, I'm—"

"No! You have to take the offer!" you say. "You can't even say you won't like it because it's literally all your favorite breakfast foods combined!"

Jimin smiles, shaking his head. "It's really the house favorite?"

"You bet it is," you laugh.

"Then I guess I'll have a Jimin Special," Jimin says. "Any chance it comes with a glazed donut?"

You shoot him a knowing look, a grin spreading across your lips. "It wouldn't be a Jimin Special without one."

Jimin ends up having brunch with you.

The icy, awkward barriers in the beginning slowly melt away into the friendship Jimin had known for more than half of his life. He dines on the best breakfast he could have ever asked for while getting to talk to you again after nearly two years. He can't imagine a better way to spend his Sunday.

Small talk with you is fun because you spice everything up with loud gasps, wide eyes and extroverted reactions that make even the dullest stories exhilarating. But it's suffocating to speak of such shallow things with a person he'd been best friends with for twenty years. Jimin's dying to know how you've really been, not what you found hilariously funny last week.

"So," he asks, "how are things with Namjoon?"

You snort, shaking your head. "God, that was fucking ages ago," you say. "We broke up a while back."

"Sorry," Jimin says. But he's not really.

"You're not that sorry, aren't you?" you laugh as Jimin's face morphs in shock when you call him out. "It's okay. I know how you feel about him. And I agree with you now. That idiot had the audacity to tell me to grow up. And he called you a good-for-nothing-awkward-ass-wimpy-child." You roll your eyes. "I knew it had to end when he said that. Besides, there's a certain highly endearing thing about innocence, don't you think? We should all be a little more childish."

"Wow," Jimin breathes.

"Wow, indeed," you smile wistfully. "That bastard could've said anything he wanted to me, but he shouldn't have dared to bring you up like that. I can't fucking believe I thought he was going to be my prince! I was so scared I'd lose him so I did everything he said, you know? God, in retrospect, I was just a really, really, oblivious and desperate idiot."

"You were just in love, Y/N," Jimin says. "Love makes you blind."

Your face twists for just a split second before you smile, shaking your head and sighing. "Jimin, I feel like I have to get this out before we become life-long best friends for fucking ever again."

"Hm?"

"I never apologized for what I told you like, two years ago," you say. "That fight we had on the phone? I told you that you didn't know love. And god, I've regretted saying that for every day, every hour, every fucking minute and second of my life. It was wrong." You shake your head, looking extremely disappointed in yourself. "At least what you told me was right. God, I was so angry, so terrified of losing my first love that I spit out words without thinking. How could I say you didn't know love, Jimin?" you say. "Of course you did—of course you do. You wouldn't have stuck by my side for years if you didn't. And Jimin, fuck. I love you too. I never said it enough. But I'm saying it now. I love you and I missed you. And I'm sorry I picked up the phone when I was having sex."

Jimin laughs. Around two years ago, that day had definitely not been a laughing matter. But only time can tell if the most depressing matters can morph into rather laughable memories. "I love you too, Y/N," he says. "And you shouldn't be sorry. I think we're all past that now."

"C'mon, I wanna show you how I redecorated my granny's home!" you say, bolting up and taking Jimin's cleared plates in your hands. "Meet me at the front of the cafe in two minutes!" you holler as you dash to the kitchen.

Jimin can't get rid of the smile on his face. He adjusts his jacket and stands up, taking another look around the cafe before he exits with a light skip to his step. He'll have to buy Jungkook dinner sometime for recommending this cafe to him. What was the name of this place, anyway?

Jimin steps back and squints at the big, capital letters placed on a banner in front of the cafe. He can't help the laugh that bubbles out of him.

"Nothing a Lil Green Can't Fix!" you exclaim as you come bounding down the steps of the cafe to stand next to Jimin. "Isn't that true? Green fixes like, everything."

"Lil's not a word, Y/N. I thought you knew better," Jimin jokes.

"Oh, spare me," you say, placing a dramatic hand on your forehead. "It had to be done. The stupid company had a character limit for the logo. It was either Nothing a Lil Green Can't Fix or Nothing Green Can't Fix," you huff. "And the latter is completely disgusting."

"I agree," Jimin snorts. "Then, in that case, I believe you made the right decision."

You smile. "I sure did. So, shall we go now?"

"Definitely."

Your granny's apartment looks exactly the same on the outside, but on the inside is an abundance of green. From plants to paintings to posters to silverware, everything is green.

"Nothing a lil green can't fix, indeed," Jimin breathes as you drag him around the whole place.

"Right?" you giggle. "Look! I even made a separate cabinet with all the birthday presents I've ever received from you!!"

The tour nearly takes five hours because the two of you get distracted every other minute, indulging yourselves in past childhood memories. And when Jimin's been tired out, the two of you lay side by side on your dark green sheets, silent but comfortable.

"Hey, Jimin?" you whisper, breaking the silence momentarily.

"Hm?"

"Remember our senior year in high school?"

"Of course I do," Jimin says. That year was the hardest (arguably) in your life. It was the year where you learned of the fatalities of death. It was the year you had lost your granny.

"We had the conversation about our true fears that year," you say with so much nostalgia in your voice that when Jimin closes his eyes, he can see the events of that day unfold before him. "Turns out, I didn't have just one fear. I had two. One was losing Granny. The other was losing you. And you know? For two years, I thought I lost you both. It hurt to think that my best friend hated me so much he had to dissociate himself from my life."

"I didn't hate you," Jimin says, opening his eyes as he turns to his side to look at you. "I swear. I just figured it was a good time for me to self-improve. You know, become independent for once. And maybe I didn't like who you had become, but I never hated you."

"Really?" you say, turning to face your best friend. "I was so scared that you'd shit talk me if I ran after you when you left that I didn't do anything. I thought it would've been better if I let you go. But I mean, I think the time apart was needed. We've self-improved."

"Yeah," Jimin agrees.

"So..." you say, a silly grin appearing on your face, "are we reunited now? Best fucking friends forever?"

"Of course we are," Jimin says.

"Okay, good," you say. "And before you say anything else, I have to ask you something, Jimin."

"What is it, Y/N?" Jimin asks, sitting up as you start to rummage in the pockets of your skirt.

"I just—" you're unable to finish your sentence, smiling. "Will you color me green, please?" you politely ask as you hold out a green marker in your hands.

"Oh my god," Jimin breathes. "Is that—"

"I pulled him out of the trash, Jimin," you say, eyes watering with emotion. "As soon as you left that night, I pulled him out. And then I kept him with me for years. I even recently got the ink replaced so it works fine, now." You let your tears fall down your face and you blink rapidly to see your best friend's softened face. "Did you really think for a second that I'd throw him away?" you ask in your secret language.

Jimin almost sobs right then and there. He'd never thought he'd hear that language again, and even after two years, he's able to understand you fluently. He hopes he doesn't sound too awkward when he replies, "I mean, you did have him in the trash can," he laughs, wiping away his tears with the back of his hand. "You really want me to color you green again?"

"It's the bestest color in the world. What did you expect?"

Jimin's never been happier in his life. Tears streak your cheeks but you are unbothered by them, holding out Gilbert for Jimin to take. He takes note that you do not try to hide your tears anymore. In a way, you've become more beautifully confident. He realizes that you want to take him back to the start—the very beginning of when your friendship had commenced. With those simple words, "Will you color me green?" you've transported the two of you back to a place of innocence, of childishness, of thoughts of staying young forever, of avoiding maturity at all costs.

Outside, there's a slow drizzle of rain, indicating another spring shower. But above the soft gray rain clouds is a double rainbow. The colors are so vibrant, they wash away the monotonous hues of the clouds heavy with rain.

Romantic love makes people suffer. Jimin should know. He's been in love with you romantically for nearly two decades. He's felt feelings such as pain, experienced experiences such as heartbreak and dealt with the understanding of the wretched concept of unrequited love. But now? Two years later?

He realizes that you may never love him the way he had loved you. But that's okay. Because maturity is when you accept the way things are. Being childish is refusing to let go, which is what Jimin is too—he refuses to let go of you. But that goes the same for you, for you refuse to let go of Jimin.

You still love him. And for once in his whole fucking life, Jimin loves you in the same exact way that you love him.

a/n: find my behind the scenes thoughts and original endings here!

masterlist

[that-little-zebunny]

Closer Than You Know

HBC 24 HOUR SUPRISE DRABBLE CHALLENGE: FERRIS WHEEL

This is my entry for @the-ss-horniest-book-club​  HBC Summer Loving Challenge. Today’s theme is State Fair.

Pairing: Chris Beck (The Martian) x Wife!Reader

Summary:  He left the space life to be with you and you wanted him to feel being near the stars again in your own ways. WC: 1,020* Warning: Fluff coz Beck is my sweet darling, A litol angst if you look hard enough.

“Come on Chris hurry up!” You said to him as you full him across the sea of people towards the line for the Ferris Wheel. You excitedly clapped your hands when you're able to get in line for the current set to get in.

“You seem very excited for this babe.” Chris smiled warmly as he watched your sparkling eyes that are full of excitement. You can’t wait to get up and give him your surprise. Its your second wedding anniversary and after a full week of thinking what you’ll give him you thought of this. You know how much he misses being up in space watching the beautiful universe and the bright sparkles of every star.

That is why after your wonderful and fancy date you dragged him to the nearest amusement park looking out of place with your red dress and him in a suit. You love how dashing he looks even though you know he is not used to dressing that way.

“I am!!! I have a surprise for you babe come on it’s our turn to go up.” giggling you excitedly went to the ticket booth. “Hi, for two please.” you told the man behind it and paid for the two of you. The man took his time handling the ticket as he looked at you up and down which made you cringe but not until you felt your husband's strong arm around your midsection in a protective embrace looking at the man with serious eyes.

“My wife is beautiful isn't she?” He asked, raising one eyebrow as he stared down the man which made the poor dude pale up.

“E-enjoy your ride.” the man said but more for Chris now which made you giggle. It’s not often you see this side of him.

“I love it when you go all Mr. Possessive of me.” you winked at him as he assisted you from getting up the cart. As expected your sweet darling blushed as he realized he did it in public.

“I...I don’t like the way he’s looking at you but that can’t be helped because you're gorgeous, especially tonight in that red thing.” he said shyly which made you blush as you try to hide your wide grin. It always catches you off guard when he acts like this but you are not complaining!

Now that you are both secured inside the cart you excitedly rummaged your purse to get a certain box. Once you found it you stealthily hid it behind you when Chris was looking down at the amusement park’s retreating view.

“It’s weird to see myself go up slowly.” He said. “When we were going to space we usually only have the view above but never below.” he said. You smiled lovingly at him. He had sacrificed the life he worked hard to get just to be with you.

You hugged him enjoying the warmth of this body heat as your cart goes higher and higher. You waited until you're almost on top when you held his cheek to make him look at you and kissed him sweetly. Chris’ eyes closed his arm guided you to sit on his lap to kiss you deeper which made you moan but you have to focus on your plan. More kissing later. Leaving his delicious lips you put on some space between you and pointed at the stars.

“I know this is not much but here is my gift for you babe.” you held his hand and kissed his knuckles. He looked at the direction you pointed to and in there he can see the open space the sky is bare to his eyes and stars sparkles beautifully.

“It’s beautiful Y/N…” he said, his voice stammering.

“There’s more…” you nervously said as you picked up the rectangular box you had been carrying the whole day not knowing how to show it to him but now...this moment seems like the perfect time. “I-I have...uhm Christopher Beck, my dear wonderful husband, thank you so much for being true to your vows this two years of our marriage and for doing more and loving me so much. I love you with all my heart and…” you handed him the box. “ and I am so happy to complete this family with you. Open it babe.” you looked up at him and saw that his eyes are full of tears.

With shaking hands he pulled the ribbon on the box and opened the lid. He gasps as he stares at the content of your gift and then looks up at you and back on the box.

“Y/N...this...this-” he swallowed and took the pregnancy kit from the box. You are starting to be nervous as he is just staring at the two lines in it.

“Babe?” you asked nervously.

“It's...there are two lines…?” he whispered and you nodded at him smiling. “I’m going to be a f-father?” he cried harder now as the news seemed to start to sink in to him. “I’m going to be a father!” he shouted at the top of his lungs towards the night sky as if talking to the stars. That made you chuckle. “Yes babe. You’re going to be a dad.” you peck at his lips.

“This is the best gift ever babe...I may not be near the stars anymore but being with you is like staring at the most beautiful celestial being the stars that I love the most is closer thank you know and now that we are going to be a family...it's everything I dreamed and more. You and our baby...you are my universe, my everything...I love you so much.” he said and brought your face down to his and kissed you with everything he got. Your child is going to be the luckiest kid because he has Chris Beck as their father. The sweetest, smartest and bravest man you’ve known. And just like the Ferris Wheel life has its up and down but you’re very much prepared to face them as long as you have your family.

Sebastian Stan and characters: (Join My Taglist)

@nano--raptor​ @marvelgirl7​ @godofplumsandthunder​ @jobean12-blog​

[today-only-happens-once]

Ikigai

Title: Ikigai

Word Count: 5,955

Summary: Ikigai. (n.) a reason for being; the thing that gets you up in the morning. Or, five times Logan Sanders doubted himself as a father, and one time he didn’t. Human!AU, Parents!Logicality with focus on Paternal Analogical dynamics with moments of Paternal Logince dynamics as well.

Warnings: cursing, crying, lots of self-doubt, adoption, hospitals, car accident mention, vague mentions of death/dying, absent father/abuse in the form of emotional neglect (not perpetrated by any canon characters), anxiety and panic-attacks, mentions of depression, fluff, softness.

A/N: This fic kind of happened by accident almost. I hope it’s okay! Got some mixed feelings about it. I hope you enjoy. Edited by yours truly so all mistakes are mine. Shout-out to @creativenostalgiastuff for her help in brainstorming a few things for this fic.

 I.

The hospital linoleum floor is waxed so thoroughly that Logan thinks he can see his reflection between his shoes. The small room is crowded with nurses and a doctor as they prepare the person in the bed to move to recovery. Logan promises to check up on her soon. She gives him a tired but content smile. He does his best to stay out of the way, shifting along the wall to stand by the window that has its blinds drawn.

“Logan,” his husband says in a quiet voice.

“Yes?” Logan looks up, coming up suddenly short at the sight before him.

Patton’s flop of brown curls fall messily into his eyes. The fluorescent lights above them reflect in the lens of his glasses, even as his gaze is latched onto the bundle of cream-colored blankets in his arms. Nestled against his chest, Patton looks down at the newborn in his arms with something in his eyes that Logan can’t quite pinpoint. Love, clearly. But something else at the same time. Devotion, perhaps.  

“You wanna hold Virgil?” Patton asks, finally glancing up to meet his husband’s eyes. It’s then that Logan can see the beginnings of tears forming in the corner of Patton’s eyes.

Logan is an astrophysicist. His entire life had always centered on figuring out the universe and humanity’s place in it. He worked in fields of science and research, frequently writing long reports, dissertations, and essays that utilized precise words to explain complex phenomena. Logan understood how stars were created and destroyed, he understood patterns of behavior in the universe, and he situated those understandings in language understood by users of scientific research journals and the general public alike. He could write and speak eloquently on the complexities of String Theory in both scientific jargon and in plain English. Words rarely escaped the scientist.

He finds words failing him entirely now.

Logan nods, accepting the bundle that Patton eases gently into his arms. He cannot find the words to explain why the breath leaves his lungs so entirely when he looks down at the infant in his arms. He knows suddenly and intensely that this tiny little person in his arms is the most wonderful, breathtaking thing he’s ever seen in his life. Virgil.

Logan had always been a man of science. But a small part of him—distant and quiet but with complete conviction—can’t help but think he’s holding a miracle. He feels a sudden fear grip his lungs and squeeze at his throat. I don’t know how to be a dad, Logan realizes with a faintly dizzying surge of uncertainty. He tries to swallow the fear down.

“Hello,” Logan says softly to him. His voice comes out a whisper. “Welcome to the world, Starlight.”

II.

Logan hears the wail from his three-year old’s bedroom and shares a glance with his husband. The alarm clock on the dresser reads 11:32 PM in green block numbers. Patton gives Logan a worried look before they both roll out of bed and pad their way down the hall. Virgil had been having nightmares the past few nights. He rarely remembered them with any specificity, but they usually involved some kind of monster that was coming to get him.

“Daddy!” Virgil gasps from his bed when Logan opens the door. “There’s a monster.”

Logan sighs softly, moving to the edge of Virgil’s bed and taking a seat. Virgil has a blanket with the constellations on it on top of his head and wrapped around him so that only his face was visible. “Santa” had given it to Virgil in his stocking last Christmas. Virgil more-or-less carried it around with him everywhere.

His eyes are red and puffy. His knees are pulled up against his chest under the blanket, effectively turning himself into a ball.

“Virgil,” Logan says as his son shuffles closer to him, “I can promise you that there is no monster.”

“Yes there is!” Virgil insists. “I heard it!”

“Monsters aren’t real,” Logan explains patiently. “Sometimes our brains get confused, though.”

“It’s under my bed,” the three-year-old wails. Patton takes a seat by the foot of the bed, giving Virgil a soft and sympathetic look.

Logan purses his lips in thought. “I’ll check under the bed for monsters. Okay?” Virgil sniffles in response as Logan stands up from the bed and lowers himself to the floor, peering under Virgil’s bed. He sees a pair of socks, a couple of toys, and a coloring page. Definitively no monsters.

Logan jumps back up to his feet. “No monsters, Virgil.”

“You scared it away!” Patton adds on brightly. He shares a glance with Logan. It’s too fast for Logan to understand what his husband is trying to convey.

Virgil shakes his head adamantly. “You just can’t see it.”

“It’s invisible,” Logan repeats, managing to keep the frustration out of his voice. He can help best when he can rationalize away irrational concerns. Logan doesn’t know how to get Virgil to believe him. Imagination is a powerful instrument, and Logan doesn’t know to combat it.

He doesn’t know how to help his son feel safe, and something about that bothers Logan more than he’s willing to admit.

Patton suddenly straightens up a little, his eyes brightening. “I may have just the thing, kiddo. Stay here with daddy.” Patton jumps up from the bed and hurries down the hall. Through the doorway that is still open, Logan sees Patton slip into their own bedroom and close the door behind him.

Logan sits beside Virgil again, wrapping an arm around him when his son presses against his side. The astrophysicist leans his head back against the headboard. Virgil seems to relax under his arm a bit, and unfurls the blanket from around his head and looks down at the constellations on it.

“Dad?”

“Yes, Virgil?”

“What do you like best?”

Logan leans his cheek on the top of Virgil’s head, sleepiness beginning to creep back to the edges of his consciousness, and looks at the blanket in his son’s lap. “Which constellation?” he asks to clarify Virgil’s meaning. His son nods. Logan hums thoughtfully. “Perhaps Pyxis Nautica. It means ‘mariner’s compass’.” He points it out on Virgil’s blanket.

“Mar… Marin… Mariminer?”

Logan chuckles softly and kisses the top of Virgil’s head. “Mariner. It means ‘sailor’.”

Patton comes back with what Logan recognizes as a bottle of Febreze with the label peeled off. Logan frowns, his brow furrowing in confusion. Patton winks at him.

“I found it!” he announces, brandishing the bottle.

Virgil sits up a bit more against Logan’s side. “What’s that?”

Patton holds the blue spray bottle closer for Virgil’s inspection, whispering conspiratorially. “It’s Monster-Be-Gone spray. You see, your dad worked really hard to make the perfect concoction that is scientifically proven to banish all monsters! All you gotta do is spray it around the room, and then they run away.”

Over the top of Virgil’s head, Logan quirks an eyebrow. Virgil turns huge eyes onto him, and Logan schools his expression into agreement, nodding sagely. He had the feeling that perhaps Patton’s far-fetched fabrication would be enough for Virgil. Perhaps imagination itself was really the only way to solve the problem in the first place.

“Whoa,” Virgil says, awed. “You promise it works?”

“I promise,” Patton insists emphatically. “Here. Let me show you.” Patton begins dousing Virgil’s bedroom in the lavender scented spray. He sprays under the bed, in the closet, around his window, and around his door. Virgil watches him closely and intently.

There’s a beat of silence, then Virgil gasps. “It works! I don’t hear the monster anymore.”

Logan releases a small sigh of relief. Patton is smiling. “No monster can possibly stand up to the Monster-Be-Gone. Any time you think something might be there, kiddo, we’ll give ‘em a good spray and they’re 100% guaranteed to poof away.”

Virgil nods, not protesting as Logan helps him lay down and get situated under his covers again. “T’anks,” Virgil says with a yawn. “You’re the best dads ever.”

Logan feels a small squeeze in his chest as he drops a kiss to Virgil’s forehead. “I love you, Virgil.”

“Love you, kiddo,” Patton adds.

Virgil is already asleep.

 III.

Logan comes rushing into the hospital lobby through the sliding door. The nurse at the front desk looks up from her computer as he approaches, doubtlessly taken in his unusually rumpled appearance. Strands of his hair fall into his eyes but he can’t be bothered to brush them back into their usually pristine position. His shirt is wrinkled. He is still wearing pajama pants.

“I am here for my husband,” Logan says in a steady voice, despite feeling distinctly unsteady in this moment. “I received a call that he had been in an accident.”

“What’s his name, sir?”

“Patton Sanders.”

The nurse types quickly and methodically, her eyes scanning the screen in front of her. Logan glances at the clock on the wall behind her. It’s 9 o’clock in the evening. Logan had received the call at exactly 8:17 PM. He had dropped Virgil off at Valerie’s at 8:30 on the dot. It had taken him twenty-two minutes to drive here, six minutes to park, two minutes to walk to through the front door.

Logan keeps the timetable in his head because numbers are precise and certain and nothing else in his life at this moment feels that way.

“Your name?”

“Logan Sanders.”

The nurse nods. “Your husband is currently in surgery, but a doctor will be out to update friends and family as soon as they have information to give you.”

Surgery. Logan’s grip on the edge of the front desk tightens and he thinks for a moment he might be physically ill. He swallows. Nods stiffly. Turns, walks fifteen steps, and sits down in an uncomfortable chair in the corner of the lobby by the window.

Patton had been on his way home from parent-teacher conferences at the elementary school where he teaches second grade. Half an hour before Logan had received the call from the hospital, Patton had called and asked Logan if he needed to get anything from the grocery on his way home. He had promised to be home soon when he heard Virgil ask Logan where Patton was.

Thirty minutes later, when the phone rang again, Logan definitely hadn’t been expecting to hear the words “you are listed as the emergency contact for a Patton Sanders, sir?” on the other end of the line. He hadn’t known what to say except to confirm. He mostly listened.

He still hadn’t known what to say when Virgil, with a sharper intuition than a ten-year-old should have, had said, “Dad? You look pale…What’s wrong?” Logan had simply told him to grab his backpack and put on shoes.

Logan had blindly grabbed a change of clothes for Virgil from the laundry that was in the middle of being folded, his son’s asthma inhaler, and anxiety medication. He shoved his feet into shoes that were either his or Patton’s—he wasn’t paying attention—and his car keys off the kitchen counter. He called Valerie on the way, and he only hoped that she knew his empty-sounding “thank you” was out of shock rather than a lack of gratitude.

Logan twists his wedding band around his finger and thinks about Patton’s cheerful voice telling Logan that he loved him—like Patton did at the end of all their phone conversations. He’d been the one to get Logan more comfortable with the phrase in the first place, after all. Logan had said it back. He’s grateful for that.

Patton brought a spontaneity to Logan’s life that had been missing for the longest time before they met in college. His friendliness and cheery disposition had, at first, been jarring for Logan. But Patton had seemed to find something worthwhile about the astrophysicist student, and Logan found Patton to be a light of empathy and compassion on a level that Logan did not always understand but did always deeply value.

What started as spontaneity gradually became a needed constant in Logan’s life. Patton balances him. Logan had long since forgotten what life had been like before him, except that it wasn’t nearly as joyful, dynamic, or vibrant. By the time Logan proposed, he knew that he didn’t ever want anyone else by his side. That feeling had somehow—impossibly—only grown stronger since adopting Virgil.

As if on cue, Logan feels his phone vibrating in his pocket and fishes it out. He sees Valerie’s face flash across his Caller ID and feels the uneasiness in his stomach turn to ice.

“This is Logan,” he answers.

To his surprise, it’s Virgil’s voice that responds to him. “Hi, dad.”

Logan swallows hard and scrubs a hand down his face. “Virgil, are you all right?”

“Yeah. I’m just… worried about dad.”

Logan feels his eyes suddenly start to sting and he squeezes them shut tightly against the feeling. “Yeah,” he replies. “Yeah, me too.” Logan does not know what else to say. He feels like a ship without a lighthouse to guide him. Patton is that light. Patton had always been that light…

“Is… dad gonna be okay?”

Logan does not know. He pulls the phone away from his face and takes in a deep, shaking breath. He feels like he is suddenly spiraling, and he doesn’t know how to correct course. Logan doesn’t know how to be a dad without his partner. They are a team. They had always been a team. Logan doesn’t know if he can be the dad that Virgil needs without Patton to help him. He doesn’t know how to do it alone.

Logan pulls the phone back to him and is honest. “I hope so, Virge.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know.” Logan tries to swallow past the lump in his throat. He doesn’t know whether it’s better right now to tell Virgil that he’s afraid too so that he doesn’t feel alone in his fear or if it’s better to pretend to be strong to assuage the feeling of fear. Patton would know. Patton always has an intuition for such things. “It’s… okay to feel scared.”

There’s a long silence. “Can I come be with you at the hospital?”

Logan bows his head, brushing quickly at his eyes under his glasses. He suddenly and desperately wants to say yes. He wants to hold on to Virgil and never let go. Hold on and pray that Patton is holding on too. I don’t want to do this without him.

“Perhaps tomorrow. You should try to get some rest tonight.”

There’s a long silence. Logan expects an argument. Instead, Virgil asks, “Do you promise to call as soon as the doctors show up?”

“You’ll be the first to know when I hear anything. I promise.”

“He calls me brave,” Virgil says suddenly. Logan doesn’t need to ask who he’s referring to. “But I don’t feel brave right now, dad. I feel really, really…. Scared, and I know you said it’s okay to feel that way but what if I’m letting him down when he needs me—”

“Whoa, Starlight,” Logan says quickly, the rare nickname slipping out as he hears the way Virgil’s voice starts to get panicky. “Listen to me, okay? We’re gonna breathe together.” Logan walks him through the 4-7-8 breathing technique he’d discovered when researching anxiety coping methods after Virgil got diagnosed a few months ago.

He waits until Virgil’s breathing on the other end sounds normal before he continues. “Bravery is not fearlessness,” he says calmly. “Fearlessness means you aren’t afraid of anything. Bravery means that you act despite the fear you feel. You can be scared and brave. Those are not mutually exclusive terms.”

Another pause. “Okay.”

“But right now, all we’re asking of you, Virge, is to try to get some rest. Okay?” Logan’s voice is suddenly thick. He coughs slightly in an effort to clear it.

“Okay. I love you, dad.”

“I love you too, Virgil.”

 IV.

Logan watches quietly from the doorway leading out of the kitchen as Roman Prince—his sixteen-year-old son’s best friend—ends the call and stands stock still in the middle of the Sanders’ living room. The window outside shows a dark sky and the silhouette of the neighbor’s houses against the night. The only light in the room comes from a lamp on an end-table by the couch. Above them, Logan can hear the shower running from Virgil’s bathroom and Patton watching TV upstairs.

Roman suddenly hurls his phone into the brown cushions of the couch. In the silence that follows, Logan hears the shaking inhale Roman sucks through a clenched jaw.

“Roman,” he says softly.

“I’m fine, Mr. Sanders,” Roman tells him without turning to face him.

Logan glances down at his shoes, then back up at the teen standing in the middle of his living room. “Your anger is understandable.”

Roman finally turns to face him. The golden lamplight reflects against the sheen in Roman’s eyes even as he shakes his head. “I’m not angry.”

Logan is silent. He sees Roman’s hand curl into fists moments before the teen shoves them deep into the pockets of his jacket. His eyes glance to the phone he’d thrown against the couch as if hoping there may be something that alights on the screen. It stays dark.

“I don’t need him, y’know?” Roman says, and Logan wonders for a moment if he may just be talking to himself. “I’ve never needed him, Mr. Sanders. I can take care of myself. I didn’t need him when I was seven and auditioning for the first time at the community theatre. I didn’t need him at my first opening night, or any other performance. I didn’t need him to teach me how to ride a bike, and I didn’t need him to teach me to cook, and I didn’t need him for the seventeen birthdays he didn’t show up to.”

Roman starts pacing, and Logan watches him quietly from his stationary space in the doorway. “I didn’t need him when I got outted at school two years ago. I didn’t need him to learn to drive, did I, Mr. Sanders?”

Logan meets his gaze, pretending his chest doesn’t tighten with Roman’s increasing desperation.  “No. You didn’t.”

Roman gestures towards the window, stalking away from Logan now to cross the room again. “And I’m not going to need him. No sir. Who says I even want him around? What can he teach me? I got accepted into college without him. I’ll dance at my wedding without him. I’ll build a family and I’ll be twice the father he never was in the first place--” Roman’s voice wavers, and he stops talking. He turned back to Logan, and it’s then that he realizes the tears that had been building in the corner of Roman’s eyes have finally overflowed.

Roman scrubs at his eyes with his hand and sinks himself into the couch beside his forgotten phone. “I just… I feel so stupid.”

Logan’s brow pulls together, and he steps further into the room. “Why?” He immediately thinks it might have been the wrong thing to say, from the way Roman suddenly freezes.

Logan had never done well with helping people through emotional distress. Empathy wasn’t something Logan was particularly adept at. That had always been more of Patton’s domain. But he can see the way Roman is coming apart at the seams on his couch, and Logan finds himself feeling as lost as Roman looks.

Logan doesn’t know what to do, and he doesn’t know what to say.

“Because…” Roman tries, pressing the pads of his fingers into his eyes, “because I just… I wasted so much of my life trying to… to…” But Roman doesn’t really need to say the words that keep evading his grasp. Because Logan already knows.

The data was all there, as far as Logan had been concerned. He’d been noticing it ever since Roman and Virgil first started being friends when they were in fifth grade. He’d seen the surprised look Roman had given Virgil when he and Patton would ask the pair about their day whenever Roman was over at their house. He remembers their eighth-grade year when Roman tried out for the basketball team even though he’d devoted much of his life to pursuing the arts, and a passing mention that his dad had once been a high school basketball star. He made the team, but he saw the increasingly angry look in Roman’s eyes when he saw Logan and Virgil and Patton in the stands, and never the one person he’d joined for in the first place. Logan had seen the barely-hidden look of disappointment in Roman’s eyes after every theatre performance thereafter, when he scanned the crowd during the bows as if he was looking for someone.

It had been plain to Logan for some time. It didn’t mean that Logan knew what to say, but he figures he has to say something. Logan chooses to speak from honesty. Patton had always told him that was best.

“Roman,” Logan says, crossing the distance between them and crouching down to be eye-level with the teen sitting on the sofa. Roman looks up at him. Logan sighs. “I am aware that this may be… insignificant of me to say in this moment. But should you have any doubt… you are a talented, courageous, and dedicated young man. I am… grateful that you and my son became friends. And if nothing else, know that I am proud of you. Not only for your numerous achievements, but also for who you are as a person.”

Logan doesn’t know if it’s enough, or perhaps too much. He is not Roman’s dad in any official capacity, though the affection Logan feels for the teen before him does bare comparison to the love he feels for his own son. He had known Roman long enough to see him try and fail and succeed and everything in-between. He’d seen Roman get figuratively back up again and again and again, and if Roman were his son… Logan can’t help but feel he’d be damn proud of him.

But Roman stares at him with wide eyes, and Logan can’t help but feel he may have mis-stepped somehow. Logan’s lips press into a line before he opens his mouth to apologize—

And then promptly finds himself with an armful of the teen as Roman launches himself straight into Logan in a desperate hug. He can feel Roman shaking against him, can feel his shirt getting damp, and Logan only hopes that he hasn’t upset Roman further. It was the exact opposite of what he’d been trying to do.

“Roman,” he tries, “if I said something that upset you, I sincerely apologize—”

“No, Mr. Sanders,” Roman says hurriedly, pulling back and sniffling. His eyes are red and Logan can see tears still falling. Roman brushes at them, his face coloring in embarrassment. “I…” he swallows thickly, and seems to re-think what he’d been about to say. “Don’t apologize. I’m… thank you, sir.”

Logan gives him a small, kind smile. “You do not need to thank me, Roman. Especially when I spoke only the truth.”

Roman’s voice catches a little in his throat again, and he coughs. He wipes the back of his hands against his eyes. “I… Mr. Sanders, would it…. Be alright if I slept here for the night?”

“Of course. I’ll grab some pillows and a few blankets, as it can get cold in here during the night. If you want to grab a shower—after Virgil is done, of course—there is a spare set of towels in the bathroom down here.” Logan stands up, running through the mental checklist. “I generally arise early in the morning, but I promise to do my best to not wake you. If you’re hungry, there’s plenty of snacks in the pantry and you are welcome to help yourself, though I do encourage you to not eat too much as it’s already late and you should try to get optimal rest.”

Roman makes a sound that sounds almost like a laugh. “Okay. Thank you.”

 V.

Logan is doing the dishes when he glances over at his seventeen-year-old son, sitting at the kitchen table with his fingers buried in his hair. He’s scowling darkly at his homework. Logan’s quick glance over his shoulder two hours ago had been enough for Logan to know it’s chemistry homework—Virgil’s hardest class, if his passing comments to Patton during dinner last night had been anything to go by. Logan rinses off a plate and sets in the dishwasher.

Virgil had been acting unusual for the majority of the time that Logan had been home. He’d been unusually brusque with Patton when asked to set the table for dinner and hadn’t eaten as much as he usually did. He’d seemed…. tense. His shoulders hunched, barely making eye contact, barely speaking—and a tendency to be monosyllabic when he did. All indicators, from Logan’s previous experience and knowledge, that pointed to today being a particularly bad day for Virgil’s anxiety.

“Virgil?”

“Mm?”

Logan grabs a sponge and scrubs out a pot, keeping his attention on the sink. “If assistance with your chemistry would be beneficial to you, I would be more than happy to provide it.”

“I’m fine, dad.”

Logan places the pot in the dishwasher and closes it before turning off the faucet. “You do not need to be… ashamed of requiring help.”

He sees Virgil’s grip on pencil tighten. “I’m fine.”

Logan sighs. “Virgil, you appear to have been stuck on the same problem for the past hour—”

“For crying out loud, dad,” Virgil snaps, shoving back from the table. “It’s not the chem, okay? Sorry for not being fast enough at it for you, but I’m fine! I’m fine. For once in my life I actually understand this shit, I just—” Virgil is speaking faster now. His voice sounds strained. “It’s all the other shit that I can’t—I can’t understand, like why I can’t just… just… fuck.”

Virgil shoves his hands harshly into the pockets of his hoodie as his voice cuts off. He rushes out of the room and Logan hears a door slam shut. From where the bang sounds in the house, Logan quickly understands that it’s not Virgil’s own room. It’s the bathroom.

Logan frowns. There were many things that Logan didn’t understand about what Virgil just said. Strong language aside, something certainly seemed to be troubling him. Logan may not know what, but if it was a cognitive distortion, perhaps Logan could help him think through it.

Logan sighs again, drying his hands off on the towel before following after his son. The door is closed. Logan raps a knuckle against the door. “Virgil?”

He hears a faucet turn off. “Go away. Please.”

“I wish to be of assistance. But I can’t help if you don’t talk to me and tell me what is going on.”

He hears a huff of frustration. “You wanna know what’s going on, dad? I don’t even know! I’m a fuck-up of a kid with fucked up anxiety and maybe depression and I can’t even do my fucking homework without being a burden on everyone and everything. You can’t help me. Nobody can. So just… leave me alone.” He hears Virgil’s voice crack through the door.

Logan leans his head against the closed door. He doesn’t know what to say, really. When Virgil’s cognitive distortions turned inwards towards himself, Logan had always struggled to get him to disentangle them. Logan could get Virgil to look at situations and talk through them, as long as the stressors were external. When they became internalized, experience told Logan that Virgil would absently nod along and not believe a word Logan was telling him.

Logan doesn’t know how to help him in this moment. And it clenches something in Logan’s chest to admit that to himself.

Still, he can try, can’t he?

“Virgil Sanders, you are not a burden on any of us. And you are not alone, though I understand you may feel that way.”

Silence. Logan opens his mouth to continue speaking, but he doesn’t know what else to say that will help his son on the other side of the door. All the same, Logan refuses to abandon Virgil right now. Logan is not a believer in empty platitudes. He never spoke for sentiment alone, preferring to back the words he expressed with actions.

So Logan does the only thing that he thinks will show Virgil he means what he says. He sits down on the floor in the hall across from the door. And he waits.

Almost an hour later, the door opens and Virgil steps out, wiping at his eyes. He stops short at the sight of Logan sitting outside the door in the hall. Logan pushes himself to his feet.

“You… Were you out here the entire time?” Virgil asks, with an expression that Logan doesn’t know how to read.

“Yes,” Logan replies simply, confused at the way Virgil is staring at him. “I told you that you were not alone—” Logan stumbles back a step as Virgil launches himself straight into his dad’s chest.

Logan doesn’t hesitate to return his hug.

 +1

The night air is calm and quiet. A gentle late spring breeze plays with the loose strands of Logan’s hair as he sits on the front porch of the house. Crickets and chatter from inside the house create a background of sound against which distant thunder rumbles. Logan takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. Behind him, someone opens the front door and Logan hears cheerful shouting and music flood from the house and out into the night before the door closes. Footsteps creak against the wooden porch floor.

“Hey, dad.”

Virgil sinks himself into the rocking chair beside his father. Logan glances at him as he does so. In the back of his mind, Logan finds it hard to believe that his son just graduated college. It hadn’t seemed quite that long ago that Logan had been laying on his back with Virgil under the stars teaching him the different constellations.

“Evening,” Logan greets. He quirks an eyebrow. “The festivities a bit much?”

Virgil huffs an amused laugh. “Roman’s had a bit too much and is trying to convince dad to start Disney karaoke.”

Logan smiles. “It would not take much to convince him, I’m afraid.”

“Which is why I got the heck out of there.” Virgil sighs and leans back into the chair, rocking it back and forth slightly. He slips his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, staring out across the yard.

Logan glances at him. “Are you all right?”

Virgil meets his gaze quickly, then nods and looks back out at the night sky. “Yeah, actually. I’m good.” His voice is subdued a bit, but calm. He sounds like he means it. “Glad to be graduated… I think.”

“You aren’t sure?” Logan remembers the sunken eyes and tense shoulders he’d seen his son come home with on the holidays, brushing off concern and questions. College had been hard for Virgil. And stressful. Though he’d come out on the other side of those four-and-a-half years with a respectable GPA and a degree under his belt, Logan would have expected that his son would be ready to wash his hands of higher education. At least for the time being.

Virgil sighs, pausing before he answers. “I mean, I won’t lie, dad. I’m glad to be done with the tests and projects and paper-writing. But the real world is…” He trails off, shrugging.

“Intimidating,” Logan finishes for him.

“Yeah.” Beside him, Virgil rocks the chair back and forth, back and forth. The wood creaks a bit in a rhythm that blends with the distant storm they can see rolling in over the horizon line through the silhouette of the neighbor’s houses that surrounded theirs.

“I dunno,” Virgil says suddenly. “Maybe that’s dumb.”

Logan shakes his head. “On the contrary. I think perceiving the ‘real world’, as you call it, to be an intimidating space is… normal, for where you are in your life. It is more than understandable.”

Virgil scoffs, but there’s no real malice in it. “No offense, dad, but I don’t think you find anything intimidating.”

“Falsehood,” Logan replies simply.

“Yeah? What have you ever found intimidating?”

Fatherhood. “Plenty of things, Virgil. I am not as brave as you may believe.”

He can feel Virgil’s gaze on him now. Logan keeps his own trained out on the stars and the distant storm. “Bravery isn’t the same thing as fearlessness, it’s acting in spite of the fear you feel. You know how taught me that?”

“Hm?”

“You did. The night dad was in that wreck when I was ten.”

Logan smiles faintly, affection warming in his chest.  “I’m surprised you remember that,” he admits.

“I remember a lot of stuff you guys taught me. I mean, I wouldn’t be here without it, y’know?”

Logan looks over at his son. His long bangs still fall across his eyes, he still has dark eyeshadow smudged underneath them, he is still wearing the plaid-patched hoodie that he’d had for God-knows how long. Even in the dark, though, Logan can see something earnest in Virgil’s gaze that is meeting his unwaveringly. As if Virgil is trying to get Logan to understand something, except that Logan isn’t quite sure what it is.

“It’s our job to help you and support you,” Logan says softly after a moment.

“Sure, yeah, I guess.” Virgil sits up a little more, leaning forward towards his father. “But… You and dad are the best parents I could’ve asked for. I don’t know what I would’ve done without either one of you. And any time I start to get like, freaked out about the future and everything…I just…. I remember all you taught me, yeah? And it helps me feel a little better.”

Logan blinks at him. He doesn’t know what to say and there’s an unexpected lump forming in his throat that he swallows past.

Virgil glances down at his shoes and keeps talking. “I know I wasn’t always the easiest kid to manage—” Logan opens his mouth to reply but Virgil presses on—"but you never once gave up on me. You forgave me before I ever apologized, and you were patient when I was frustrated, and at every single twist and turn—and we’ve had a lot of them—you were there, dad. You let me explore the world for my own but any time I got lost, you were that compass that kept pulling me back to North. Like Pyxis.”

Logan is grateful for the dark because his eyes are stinging a little. To his surprise, he can see a slight sheen to Virgil’s eyes too. But there’s also a small smile.

He sniffles and brushes his hoodie sleeve across his eyes. “You and dad need to go on a vacation or something now that your job is done, yeah?” He gives his dad a crooked grin.

Logan runs a hand across his mouth and looks back at his son. “We are always going to be your dads, Virge. Our job isn’t over just because you’ve graduated.” Virgil huffs a laugh. Logan stands up and presses a kiss to the top of his head. Virgil leans into Logan’s form a little.

“I’m so proud of you,” he adds. He waits until Virgil pulls away first before he pulls back to head inside. “Congratulations on graduating. Welcome to the world, Starlight.”

///

Tags: @helloisthisusernametaken, @ren-allen, @quoth-the-sparrow, @princelogical, @random-pianist, @ravenclawicecream, @erlenmeyertrash, @milomeepit, @at-least-seven-pretty-potatoes, @rileyfirstname, @pinkeasteregg, @sassy-in-glasses, @vigilantvirgil, @generalfandomfabulousness, @lacrimosathedark, @thepoolofthedead, @monikastec, @heir-of-the-founders, @yourworstnightmare999, @artistictaurean, @kanejandkruge, @cdragontogacotar, @damienswifeolicitydallysgirl, @angst-patton, @savingshae, @noneed4thistbh, @awesomelissawho, @unikornavenger, @bopthesnoz, @spiralofsilencetheory, @finger-gunsss, @crownswriter123, @swlotakulady34, @gaylotusthatexists, @analogical-mess, @dolphidragon, @flix-net, @narniasfinestavengingsociopath, @friedlieb-ferdinand-runge, @bibbidy-bobbity-booyah, @procrastinations-my-middle-name, @theburntesttoast, @monroig

[grouptalekindnesssoulstories]

You can’t be my soulmate!

So, I kinda got a sugar rush when I was watching a tiktok compilation on youtube. And the idea of the first words but with multiple people popped in my head. So I decided to do a lil snippet. I may still have too much in my system but eehhhhhhh just makes my brain go zoom!

Warnings: Misgendering, manipulation, a mention of homophobia, mention of disownment

What are you laughing at hot topic? haunted each day that Virgil didn’t find his soulmate. 

I love the new outfit caused Roman to switch up his attire everyday he could, but being a well-known actor made that a common sentence. Not a very common first sentence luckily. 

Thanks, why wear those gloves? shamed Ethan every time they removed the aforementioned gloves. 

___

I fiddled with my newest piercing, the third on my ears. I had gotten it less than two months ago, which had gotten dirty looks from my parents when i saw them. They had disowned me several years prior after learning I was gay, and trans. With a shit-eating grin, I flipped them a double bird. After they turned away in horror, I mounted my motorcycle and roared down the streets. I parked it behind the restaurant I worked at, locking it up on a special pole my brother had installed when I got hired. 

“Reeem. Seen our parents lately?” I called as I shoved open the back door. He poked his head back, tilting his sunglasses down as I removed my patchwork hoodie.

“What parents. All you’ve got is me, babes. But, yes. I saw the people who birthed us a few days ago. I assume you ran across them and they disapproved?”

“Of what? My top surgery, new piercing? Answer to that one is all of it” I gave him a quick peck on the cheek and waved to one of his partners, Remus. I tapped my ear after tying on an apron. He pulled out his ear so I could see the blue pin in it. I shot a thumbs-up as I straightened my posture to wait on my first table. The first few hours passed in a blur of people I didn’t care to make note of. 

“Excuse me, sir. I believe we have a reservation?” A weedy man flagged me down. I raised an eyebrow as I checked the schedule. 

“Only one, and that’s for R. Roy. One sec-” I turned around and shouted over my shoulder “Re? What time was the reservation coming in?” 

“That’s for m-”

“Uh, 3 o’clock or so” Remus surfaced, cutting off the man. 

“I’m afraid I’m here on Mr. Roy’s beh-” The man tried again, this time I cut him off. 

“That was twenty minutes ago. And where did Brit go? They were supposed to be doing this” 

“EXCUSE ME. I AM HERE TO MAKE SURE MR. ROY’S TABLE IS READY” The man practically screamed, cutting off our conversation. 

“Ah, I’m afraid he’ll have to come himself. We only answer to our customers” Re cut in, smiling wide. 

“You and I both know that isn’t true you idiot” An almost-familiar voice accompanied the man himself. 

“RoRo!” My sibling-in-law immediately brightened, scooping the smaller man into a hug. I chuckled behind one hand as the man made breathless protests. When he was at last released, my laughter got louder because it was the Roman Roy, and his appearance was all mused up now. 

“I’m so sorry sir! I’ll go get your backup right now!” The assistant started to buzz nervously around the famous man, reminding me of a fly. 

“No, no. I’ll be fine. This is a family place, so it’s not a big deal if I look a little messed up” He soothed, waving the man out the door. My laughter had not ceased by the time he had turned his attention to me. 

“What are you laughing at hot topic?” I clasped my wrist as the words tattooed across it flared with heat. I shoved the discomfort down, offering my hand.

“Only your fly-like assistant. I’m Virgil Maelstrom. I’m the younger brother of that idiot’s partner. Or one of them at least” Mr Roy took my hand, shaking it briskly before following Remus to the table near the counter. I pulled down my sleeve to see a name written under my words. Roman. I was soulmates with ROMAN ROY the singer! How did I end up with him. Emile caught me staring numbly as new words appeared beneath the original ones. 

“So. Finally met your soulmate?” They asked, a soft smile gracing their features. The smile that had caused my crush all those years ago. I had long grown out of it, but it still held power for their partners and me. 

“One of them I guess. It’s Roman Roy” I whispered the last part, showing them my arm. They hummed thoughtfully, messaging their own wrist. Rem had told me about his own experiences all those years ago, but to actually experience it was insane. 

“Well, why don’t you go tell him?” 

“I...can’t. He didn’t react to me saying anything. It was like I was just another person, y’know?” 

“Well, as your sibling-in-law, I say we’re gonna tell him. C’mon” They pulled me after them. I tried to make excuses, but the doctor was in full help mode. There would be no stopping them. 

“Uh, what’s up honey?” Re asked, looking confused at the determined march. 

“Roman. Good to see you. I found you a soulmate” They yanked me forward as they spoke, lighting up in pride. 

“Look, I’m sorry. They’re just re-” I started babbling, reaching my exposed arm up, forgetting it was free for anyone to read. 

“That’s my name” A soft voice interrupted me. Then a whoop from Re shattered the shock. 

“Lil’ bro! Look at that, two siblings, two chance meetings in this restaurant!”

“What did you say your name was-ow!” He cried out as words burned into his arm. Only your fly-like assistant -Virgil appeared beneath another set of words.

“I- Virgil. I’m Virgil Maelstrom. And it looks like we have another soulmate” He scooted over, nodding for me to sit by him. I took it hesitatingly, watching as his hands started moving as Remus drew him back into a conversation. The shop was closed as Roman ate, and paid for the rest of us to join him. I buzzed nervously, playing my my earring once more. It wasn’t until we were cleaning up when Roman approached me. 

“So. Uh. Virgil? Would you. Would you w-. Wouldyoubemyboyfriend?” He stammered, so at odds with how he was when in the public eye. I nodded mutely, and he swept me into a hug. 

~Elsewhere, A few months later?~

My hands shook as I reached for the top shelf. I wobbled, leaning heavily on my cane. I snarled, planting my cane firmly and stretching for the stuff I had put up there. 

“Sir, do you need help?” A woman approached me. I nodded, and she got it down easily. 

“Thank you mx-”

“Oh, no. It’s Mrs. Smith. Have a good day sir!” She pranced off, ignoring my protest that I was not a ‘sir’. The fire that had scarred me burned away my gender too. I hoisted the bag onto my good shoulder and walked the opposite way. I did not look forward to returning to the place I was forced to call ‘home’. 

“I’m home” I called, opening the door slowly. My girlfriend ran around the corner, beaming. 

“Sweetie! I missed you so much! I was gonna be so sad if you hadn’t gotten back so soon!” She nearly yelled, her face dropping slightly at the thought. 

“No, I wouldn’t. You know I try to be home as soon as I can” I offered a soothing smile. She took my cane and dragged me after her. She ignored my winces, her face screwed up so she couldn’t see. I kept as quiet as I could until the tv concert of Double R. I beamed as he sung, his current outfit looking so much better on him than the previous. When it had finished, my girlfriend was fast asleep on the opposite side of the couch. On a complete whim, I stood up and limped to the door. Taking my cane, I set out on a walk. 

~~~~

“Ro, be careful. You’re easily recognizable” Virgil begged as I stepped outside.

“Don’t worry my storm cloud. I promise to not draw unnecessary attention-” He snorted so I revised my statement with a glare “-I promise not to draw any attention to myself. I’ll be back soon” 

“Whatever. I’ll have my phone on me, so call if you get in trouble” He closed the door behind him. We had been dating for a few months, and they’d been the best (and safest, but don’t tell Virgil that) of my life. I couldn’t wait to meet the third member of our soulmate bond though. I drew the hood of my sweatshirt, borrowed from Virge, up over my head. I wandered aimlessly for a while before deciding to get some milkshakes before heading back. I bumped into someone as I was putting in my earbuds.

“Oh my gosh, are you ok?!” I asked them, and they waved me off. 

“Yea whatever” They mumbled to the ground. I offered them a hand up. They took it and when meeting my eyes, just stared. 

“I love the new outfit!” They finally blurted out. I let out a yelp as my arm suddenly got warm. 

“Thanks! I uh, I think you should know that you may be my second soulmate?” I said, drawing back my sleeve to show them my first message. Just like when Virgil’s message had finally appeared on my arm, there was a name there now. Blocky letters spelled out: Ethan. 

“I...yea. That’s my name. I’m Ethan! Ethan Snips. They/them please” they spoke hurriedly. I nodded, sweeping them up into a hug. 

“C’mon! You’ve gotta meet your other soulmate now” I smiled as they stared in disbelief when my own first sentence to them appeared with my name. 

___

I was soulmates with Roman. Roy! And there was a third person. I obviously needed to meet them as I had their message left. But I had two soulmates and one of them is famous!

“Wait I- nevermind. Please, just take me to meet them” I smiled, limping after him as quickly as possible. He bought three milkshakes, which he rudely refused to give me mine until we got back. We were near his trailer when I heard her. 

“She doesn’t sound happy” Roman turned nervously towards the sound.

“No, she isn’t. Hurry, please” I nearly shoved him in my haste to get away. 

“Bad?” He asked, meeting my eyes. I noticed he didn’t even seem to register my scars

“Very bad” I nodded, raising a hand up towards my blind eye as if it would keep her from coming. 

“HELP! SECURITY!” He screamed at the top of his lungs before scooping me up and running. I yelped, clinging to my cane and the arm wrapped around my chest. 

“Princey, you idiot, what did you do!” A dark haired man appeared, one hand already on his hip.

“Reeescued someone?” Roman smiled charmingly. 

“You idiot. He’s pretty, so I can see why you wanted to be knight in shining armor”

“No, you’re prettier. Handsome! Like the moon” I mumbled dazed. 

“Thanks, why wear those gloves?” I saw his frazzled gaze on my threadbare gloves. I clapped one hand to my arm where  warmth radiated suddenly. I raised my cane in answer.

“This is Ethan! Our second soulmate! Uh, they/them. I need to explain to the head of security why I uh...just screamed. Have fun!” Roman dashed out the door. 

“I’m Virgil. I’m assuming that was your mark suddenly warm, so my name should be under it” He sat a few feet away, playing with a small ball. I checked, and that was true. He didn’t move any closer or try to continue the conversation. It seemed like his question was more of a defense mechanism than him actually asking. 

“Virgil?”

“Hm? What’s up?” He looked up.

“What’s your family like?” There was a small chuckle as he picked up the ball and started tossing it between his hands.

“Well, I’m assuming you don’t want to hear about my parents. They disowned me a few years back. My older brother Remy basically raised me anyways. He married Ro’s older sibling, and Dr. Picani. I work at the restaurant they own. I met Ro a few months back when he came in, and we started dating” 

“Oh.” I traced the end of my shoe in thought. 

“Here. A secret for a secret? I’ll you something most people don’t know about me for something about you?” 

“Uh, sure. My middle name is Daniel”

“Ohhhh that’s kinda sweet! Well, I’m trans”

“Huh. And once again society has made equal exchange impossible”

“Ah! I see we have a philosopher” Roman came back in, kicking off his shoes and handing out replacement milkshakes.

“Yea. it happened aft-After a certain`”

“You don’t have to tell us if you’re not ready. We have time” Virgil interrupted me. 

“No. No, I want it in the open. I was caught in a fire, which caused serious damage to most of my left side, and my hands” I pulled off my gloves, showing the scars that across them. Virgil reached over, offering a hand in invitation. I shook my head and he withdrew it without comment. I already felt safer with these two than I had with anyone else. 

[ddaenghoney]

chapter twelve

masterlist link in blog description.

As a successful songwriter, you want nothing more than the acknowledgment that the chart-topping musical pieces are your own creations. But contracts, relationships, and the difficulty of facing the stakes involved head on, keep your mouth shut until pressure builds too much.

Pairing(s): Park Jimin x Y/N, Min Yoongi x Y/N

disclaimer: any characters depicted do not represent the actual personality of the respected idol in real life.

Series warning(s)/genre(s): Chapter-based written fic, Slow-burn relationship(s), Fake-dating, Unrequited love, Songwriter/producer!oc, idol!Jimin, idol/songwriter/producer!Yoongi, friends with benefits, drama, romance, smut, angst, fluff (updated as needed)

Chapter warning(s): mentions of anxiety and themes of anxiety from slight claustrophobic environment.

Word count: 5463

if you enjoy please, please let me know!

You click the volume button on your phone to raise the playlist’s sound to comfortable blur of the world around. More particularly, to avoid any verbiage from entering your eardrums when you are already too aware of how much attention you bring to yourself. Rationalizing that your presence at the airport makes sense given your public relationship with Yoongi, you simply scroll through a feed of posts on Instagram to bide time, waiting for an arrival text.

Yoongi told you not to come when you told him as he boarded his flight home that you’d be there to greet him. Explaining that it’s dangerous to your safety considering the amount of crowds sure to welcome him as well with the flight back being public, Yoongi said he’d go see you from the airport instead. You would’ve agreed had the whole ordeal not been requested hours earlier in a direct email from Yerin.

“Ms.,” The sound muffles in your ears, more aware of the bodyguard’s request for your attention by means of a gentle pat on your shoulder. You remove an earbud, spine tingling at choice words that seemed amplified by the tall ceilings and shiny tile floor of the terminal. “He should be landing soon, when he enters, please make sure you follow our guidance to the vehicle instead of loitering. For your safety.”

You nod, feeling exceptionally feeble in this alien situation. Never in your life would you picture yourself waiting for someone of such high recognition in the middle of the airport at the top of a wall of fans held behind you by use of a flimsy metal barrier. Furthermore, you would not ever think the person would be a falsified boyfriend where your position in the crowd only drives irritated spikes constantly in your direction.

Granted, the majority of people waiting to spot Yoongi seem polite, and even yell back in your defense. Still, you didn’t necessarily want to be at the center of this type of attention. The guard next to you probably finds you being there just as annoying as you thought you’d be when you read the email’s demand-

“Look, he’s here!”

Like the shot to start a race, the one discernable exclamation causes a frenzy of calls. The barrier budges only slightly, impact stopping as sensibility takes over and the hundred or so people try to act as civil as possible given the circumstances.

You clutch your phone tighter in your grasp, glancing back at them all as they scream different things to gain attention, but your eyes go back to the opening doors. Along with other passengers getting as far away from the mayhem as possible, Yoongi walks out with the inherent entourage of staff and guards.

Your smile is incredibly forced because of the nerves rumbling in your throat from the amount of people and volume, but then altogether the expression fades away as Yoongi just nods in a direction for you to follow them down the premade path to the awaiting SUV. Gathering he’s irritated by the added hysteria of you being there, you move towards him quickly, grabbing hold of the hand he extends out for you, but it becomes abandons as well. Instead replaced by Yoongi’s arm worming around your waist to pull you closer to his stature as the crowds get more vivid on account of paparazzi waiting towards the doors.

Your newly free hands find purchase quickly gripping onto the fabric hanging off of Yoongi’s torso, nervously following his pace as the bright flashes stun your senses. Biting roughly on your lip, you feel the bumps from security, hear the constant shouts of attention for both of you, and try your best to ignore it all, repeating that it’ll end soon.

The car doors are open long before the two of you reach them. Yoongi nudges you ahead at last moment to let you inside first, following in quickly afterward with the door shutting just as swiftly. You exhale air held in your lungs as your hands fiddle with one another in your lap, trying to ease as the car departs.

“Are you okay?” Yoongi raises the armrest of his seat to turn, knee nearly bumping your own seat while his eyes scan over your person. “I wish you would’ve told Yerin no-- that-” He points to the back of the car where road trails behind you both, head shaking, “is scary enough for anyone, but making you wait there for me for hours?” He scoffs, rubbing his bangs back from his face, “Bullshit. You shouldn’t have had to go through that, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

Quiet lingers in the air, Yoongi’s chest rising and emptying a bit more visibly from the angered rant. He waits for you to respond, still eyeing your figure for outward signs of distress from the crowds. You eventually nod your head,

“Not a fan of that all.” Your voice feels grated, must sound so too as Yoongi frowns at you in response. He glances to your hands balled in your lap, still fidgety for relief with one another. Wordlessly he reaches for them both, taking them within his larger appendages. Rubbing gently, Yoongi also nods his head to your conclusion. “I’m sorry if it made you upset I was there though.”

“I’m not mad about that.” Yoongi mumbles easily in response, keeping contact for himself because of how your hands feel between his. Naturally, he hates that invasive part of fame, finding it anxiety inducing for multiple reasons. “It just bothers me you had to be around all of the crowds and deal with that.”

“I’m okay.” You convince him with a small voice, that also helps your own psyche to hear aloud. A faint smile curls on Yoongi’s lips as he lifts his gaze back to yours, silently telling you that you didn’t need to pretend. Your shoulder shrugs because it’s not a complete lie. “You’re here. I’m okay.”

Yoongi’s lips pursed at your tiny admission, appearing to grow satisfied with the words, but his head ducks shyly. The balling connection of your hands feel only a little tighter because of a flustered squeeze by Yoongi, “If you say so then...”

“Oh,” You interrupt the moment to shift on your seat, facing Yoongi when he looks back to you in a focused surprise. “Can we go to my apartment? I have the cake.” You grin as you watch Yoongi’s eyes light up in remembrance of the jovial promise you made to him before leaving. His lips curl, visibly peeking teeth as he chuckles at the excitement and pride you emit from the endeavor,

“Who am I to say no to cake?” ---

“Ignore all the papers on the-- what’s supposed to be-- dining table. I’m the worst at keeping it clean.” You mutter as you type in the code for your front door, ignoring Yoongi’s light laughter because in reality you’re internally thinking about how much of a mess you left the rest of the place. Pushing the door open, you scan the room as Yoongi follows you inside. Incidentally, it’s not that awful, but the table is as much of a disorganized array of papers, notebooks, and other stationary that you knew it would be.

“You can put your backpack on the armchair, or anywhere.” You gesture to your living area, before walking along to the kitchen space on the side opposite the table.

“I’m going to end up falling asleep on the couch if I get too close to it.” Yoongi admits in a joking murmur as he places his bag beside the entrance to your door instead, stretching out his arms when they’re free of the weight.

“Wait, yeah, you’re probably really tired, huh?” You frown as you pull out the cake from the refrigerator, turning to place it on the small island. “I’m sorry, I should’ve let you go home and sleep-” “I’m okay,” He says with a smile, though your frown remains because of sleepiness in his eyes as Yoongi meets you in the kitchen. “Besides I’m just going to make my sleep schedule worse if I let myself go to sleep at two in the afternoon.” He tilts his head, smile tugging on his lips as you continue to frown up at him dissatisfied with the situation. “Quit pouting, I’m okay.”

“I’m not pouting.” You mumble, averting your gaze to the cake, fingers lazily playing with the container’s lid. The movement halts as Yoongi’s chuckling rings in your ears followed by his thumb prodding the plush of your cheek, calling your eyes back to his.

“You’re literally pouting.” Yoongi’s voice is quieter than it needs to be, despite its playful intonation as he studies your expression with gleaming fondness seemingly in his irises. You tighten your lips into a line, listening to the silence while the imaginary sound of your heart tries to pretend it’s accelerating audibly. “I can sleep later; I wanted to see you, Y/N, it’s not a big deal.” His arm falls back to his side as Yoongi looks to the container, catching the pink frosting’s pigment visible through the blur of the container’s texture. “Don’t judge me if I eat this entire thing, by the way.”

“Are you hungry?” Your soft tone is contrastingly teasing paired with a smile as Yoongi makes a tiny unintelligible noise followed by a mumble of falling asleep when they served food on the plane. You poke your finger into his side, giggling instantly as he jerks from you and grabs your hand. His eyes are wide, startled when he looks back at you, appearing utterly and dramatically offended that you tickled him beneath his ribcage. “Grilled cheese sound good?”

A grilled cheese layered with deli meat and quickly sauteed veggies and a full slice of cake make Yoongi sigh with contentment as he relaxes back into your couch. You watch with amusement as the amount of carbohydrates weigh down his eyes more than before. Chewing on the final bite of cake he insisted you had to eat as well or else it wouldn’t be a real celebration, you set your empty plate to the coffee table clattering its edge barely against Yoongi’s. “You and Namjoon are great at cooking.”

“It was just a sandwich.” You play off the compliment, thinking back to the first year of Namjoon’s cafe opening where you helped him out a lot more than nowadays that it is settled.

“The best one ever.” Yoongi goes on, eyes closed while he lounges back on the cushion, smiling when he hears you scoff in disbelief, yet with gratitude. The show’s sound lingers in the background of your perception, as you ponder calling him a cab so Yoongi could go properly rest. “You know you still haven’t told me about how the meeting with Yerin went.”

In the moment Yoongi brings up the topic you’ve done entirely well to avoid so far, you bite onto your bottom lip, shifting your stare aimlessly back to the television. Telling Yoongi that you’ve practically quit your job with no plan on how to get back on your feet afterward sounds like a way to get him to think you’re a little bit crazy, or at least very careless. When Namjoon found out he spent about ten minutes going back and forth from congratulating you without fervent emotion and staring at you like he was just as confused about what you would do as well.

You didn’t really want to go through that again, even if it is warranted due to their worry.

A hum vibrates your lips, thinking of a way to get him to altogether forget about this subject. Maybe if you put on a rain asmr playlist he’d fall asleep and you could abandon the country for a week to figure out an excuse of why you’re irrationally spoken decision in the meeting won out over something more civil. And resembling a continued livelihood.

“Was it bad after all?” Yoongi shifts on the couch beside you, legs coming up to sit criss cross as he faces you to better gauge your emotions. “You said you’d tell me about it when I got back since it wasn’t a big deal, but,” A tiny laugh leaks out with a contrasting mixture of nervous and attempt to keep the conversation’s ambience light-hearted. “Maybe not?”

“There’s just not much to say,” You begin vaguely, fingers in your lap fidgeting with one another as you figure out how to go about speaking, “They weren’t interested in changing my contract anymore than giving me a larger percentage of royalties so,” You shrug as the words trail away, thinking that you have no actual reason to find this difficult to admit. Yoongi wouldn’t be angry or judge you, but it felt embarrassing to say. Considering how financially secure your career at SoundWave keeps you, how could you just pull away from that to practically start over from the ground up?

“Ah,” Yoongi head nods in understanding. You glance towards him, watching him tossle around his locks and appear so groggy and without energy from the ten hour flight home. Yet he still seems intent to pay attention and hear what your situation is like now, to be beside you as you adapt to changes. “So you signed with them again.”

“I didn’t renew the contract.”

Without flinching, your eyes follow Yoongi’s head as it shoots up. No particular shock invades his appearance for a moment, just eyebrows creasing and a mutter, “You didn’t?” It’s as you nod slowly that his eyes begin to widen, lips parting in a shocked circle, then a repeat, “You didn’t.”

You swallow thickly, before cracked, small, practically soundless laughter leaves your lips as you just nod again. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.” Your words are hollow, different from how you casually spoke the facts to Namjoon a week ago. More caught up with the severity. Worried.

“Wait,” Yoongi frowns, rubbing his neck as he connects everything verbally, “They weren’t going to change the contract like you wanted, so you decided not to renew. You’re just going to be there until your contract ends?” Rambling continues along while you just nod in response. Eventually your own hands come up to hold your jaw as you mutter,

“Oh, I fucked up. I messed up, didn’t I?”

“No,” Unconvinced you look at Yoongi whose head shakes instantly, though there’s nothing about how his eyes stare at you that help you believe the response. “No, no-- you deserve credit, Y/N. You really do.”

“I’m not getting credit for anything at SoundWave.” You mutter, letting yourself fall on your side into the couch, straying from Yoongi just so he wouldn’t catch the consistent nervousness invading your expression. “I have to find a company-- work in general for songwriting or production with a blank resume.” You inhale, counting the seconds as the air sits in your lungs.

In the short gap of response you recall how much Yoongi has had to do for you so far. Always comforting your screw ups and dealing with the remnant dissatisfaction in your previous relationship. Now you lie on your couch, ranting your problems again, and hoping for something in response. You don’t do enough for him at all, yet you still lean on him like it’s his job to help you out.

You didn’t want to tell him about the meeting because Yoongi’s nice and he’d give you advice, spend his energy worrying for you as well. You shouldn’t misuse his kindness, especially when he has plenty of other responsibilities for his own job. You exhale the air, scooting further from him to rest your head on the plush of the armrest, “Yoon, just forget it. I’ll figure it out on my own somehow, you don’t need to listen to all of this crap.”

Yoongi blinks, frowning in dissatisfaction of the apparent worry, and your misplaced desire to push him out of your affairs for fear of it being annoying. “I’m not obligated, Y/N.” He waits a second to hear a response but receives nothing more than your legs curling slightly towards your chest. His hand presses into the couch, torso arching as Yoongi scoots to lean over, “What’s wrong with telling me?”

“I always rant about things to you.” Your eyes evade his own, though you’re very aware of the closer proximity due to the shadow he casts over you. “And you’re always, like, I guess accommodating to all the problems I have, and I bet it’s so old by now. You’re tired from your plane ride and I’m just stressing you out more.”

“You have to get this out of your head that you’re troubling me because of any of this, angel.” Yoongi’s voice resembles starlight, and the sentiment exuding shines in little spurts across your senses. Your mouth tightens into a line, just returning the slightest glance because you’re unsure why he’s this sweet to you. “I can’t imagine how nerve-wracking this is for you, but it’s okay to let people help you.”

“Do-” You cut yourself off, sighing as you head shakes a little. It’s past the time when you should be asking what you want to ask, but it feels acceptable to go on as Yoongi simply stays silent. To help encourage you further, his free hand rest overtop of yours, working to cast warmth. “Do you think I messed up, Yoon?”

Despite the uncertainty, despite this being the biggest decision you could have made for your career, the line of questioning doesn’t cause Yoongi a lot of thought. One could blame the blind optimism or inherent positivity of his closeness to you that makes him assume your success from here on is sure, but he doesn’t think that deeply about it. After all that you’ve created and produced musically, he simply believes everything will be okay for you, so he shakes his head. Smiling gently as his hand squeezes yours,  he says all you could want to hear in that moment,

“Not at all. You stood up for yourself. That’s never wrong.”

It takes only a moment for a smile to begin flowering on your face, more on account of Yoongi’s convicted gaze that maintains a softness that you’re starting to believe is an unconscious talent of his. Nodding slightly, you sigh letting yourself heed his perspective, if only as a means to make yourself try and think as optimistically. In the very least, if you were able to make a career out of music, albeit not under the best circumstances, then you have as much of a chance to do it again.

“Maybe I always tell you everything because you always say something to make me happier.” The audible ponder causes a tiny prickling of heat to crawl along the back of Yoongi’s neck then flourish more so as you shift beneath him, properly looking up at him with a sincere smile. The situation between your bodies travels closer to the forefront of his mind, but Yoongi’s cheeks speckle with pink only because of your words’ effect.

“I’m glad you think that.” Yoongi speaks quietly, rich timbre touched with a fluster. You nearly giggle at the fact, but the candylike tone of his proceeding admission causes your chest to swell, “I’ll always try to make you feel better, whenever you need me to.”

His words are sweet like honey, inciting summer to crawl along your complexion. You swallow nothing, just finding the gaze he returns to your eyes completely entrapping, but more so like that of a hug. Your heart could gush from just the pleasantness of his voice.

“Yoongi,” You find nothing to say following calling his name, so instead your hands escape his singular grip so that you can cover your face, hiding away the erupting blush. “You’re-” You groan without irritation, prompting Yoongi’s eyes to widen in confusion. His lips curl into an inquisitive frown, altogether taken aback back by your flustered state. “You’re dangerous-- you’re too sweet. I can’t even believe you.”

“What?” He chuckles at your senseless mumbles where you lie beneath him. “Dangerous and sweet, that doesn’t make sense.”

“Right?” You peek from beneath your hands, nodding. “You’re a contradiction.” Masked away from his view is your smile as Yoongi continues in chuckles. You feel his body growing limp, likely tired from holding himself up on one arm for the duration of the conversation, and then sleepy on account of his earlier plane ride. “You should take a little nap, at least. I’ll wake you up, promise.”

“You think so?” He questions your ability to wake him up though not actually intending to challenge you. Yoongi’s body inevitably sinks atop of your own, and he intends to shift away until your hand lies on his bicep comfortably. He bites his lip, suddenly undesiring of moving, especially as you hum an affirmative to his rhetorical ask. “Aren’t I heavy?” A testing whisper. Gauging if you’re as settled with the position as he finds himself to be.

“No, I don’t think you are.” You brush away his nerves unknowingly, finally finding your own courage to let your free hand mesh very gently into his bleached locks. Trying to soothe him into a quick slumber you guide your fingertips play around rhythmically, only ceasing for a moment as Yoongi’s waist shifts just so that he can rest more comfortably. Also ensuring that the majority of his body weight doesn’t press onto you, but that’s about all he can manage until the ministrations of your fingers in his hair lull him out completely.

---

“What are you so worried about?” Yoongi stares blankly at the computer screen while Hoseok’s question on speaker phone rings through his ears. Analyzing the final touches on the side project of potential songs he’s made with you over the past couple of months, he finds himself unsettled looking at them. Your name brightly pixelated in parenthesis beside each title, and it only serves to irritate Yoongi to continue seeing it.

Not that he ever planned to release these songs, but now that they’re done and he’s well into consideration for what could come for you at the end of the month when your contract is officially finished, Yoongi can’t avoid the negative association of their presence in his computer’s library.

“She doesn’t know what she’s going to do, and even if she’s as talented as she is, it’s fucking hard to get any noteworthy company to give her chance, Hoseok.” Yoongi sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his index finger. “I’m worried about her; she already shouldn’t be having to start over, but I can’t do anything to help her, and I couldn’t do anything to help you either.”

There’s a falter of replies, both parties finding themselves surprised at the final piece of the outburst.

“Yoongi-”

“I should’ve helped you.” The conversation shifts back into stagnation. Yoongi sighs again, rubbing his face as the expected reply comes after a long pause.

“I told you me getting fired is my own fault. You know the CEO already had crap against me. The situation with Seulgi just sealed the deal for him.” Hoseok’s voice reasons factually, as if those two simple reasons are enough to say being laid off from their old company makes any type of sense. “I don’t blame you for anything.”

“I do.” Yoongi doesn’t know if his voice is loud enough for Hoseok to hear, but he doesn’t repeat the admission. Recalling how simple it would’ve been to defend his friend, Yoongi taps his finger on his desk, then glances back up at his screen where your presence remains like a reminder of a year ago. Yet different from that time.

Yoongi feels no worry about his own career while he stares in thought of what to do about your own. Where he had to consider his actions in light of his stoic reputation in the public, he doesn’t think about that in the present. His manager would if Yoongi brought the issue up, likely be ready to shut down anything related to helping you in the eyes of the media and fans. Risking the long-running persona of SUGA for some unfortunate songwriter who made a misguided choice is impossible. Reasonably speaking, SUGA can’t help you without sticking the name in the middle of a potential scandal.

“It’s kind of funny hearing you so worried about her considering you only became friends from having to pretend to date.” Hoseok disrupts the stream of thought, bringing Yoongi back to reality. “She went and met you at the airport a couple of days ago, right? Saw it all over twitter.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi nods, then furrows his eyebrows at the memory of loud people and camera lenses in every direction around you as he walked into the lobby. “They made her go. Isn’t that fucked up? What if something happened?” He rubs his jaw, feet pushing him languidly side to side in his seat. “She’s not used to crowds like that-- it makes me mad-” Hoseok’s laughter stiffens Yoongi’s shoulders. Wondering what he said, Yoongi whines to cut into the laughter, “What?”

“You’re just really fond of her, huh?” Hoseok’s light voice makes Yoongi go quiet. Lips tighten into a line as he goes on. “I thought from the pictures that you became an actor overnight, but I guess that was really you being protective.”

Confused, Yoongi tilts his head in thought, trying to recall if he seemed particularly overbearing in the airport, but can only come to the conclusion that he had been trying to ensure you felt secure in the intense environment. He crosses his arms over his chest, humming when Hoseok questions aloud if the line went dead.

“What do you mean fond of her?”

“What?” Hoseok laughs again, but more so from amusement, spinning around in his desk chair on his side of the line, barely missing a collision with his knee on the corner of the table. “Bro, you know what I mean-”

“Wait,” Yoongi takes hold of his phone as loud thumping hits against his door followed by the ring of the doorbell. “I’ll talk to you later, I need to go.” Rolling his eyes at the dramatic, high-pitched whine Hoseok sends through the line, Yoongi ends the call, abandoning his phone on the desk as he gets up. Dotting through a quick list of potential visitors, he doesn’t recall anyone supposed to come, and knows it isn’t you because of your knowledge of the passcode.

“Hey,” One of the other producers greets Yoongi with a smile as he opens the door. A large, orange envelope  in his hand waves into the air, “I was just bringing you some mail from the lobby while I was on the way to my desk.” He explains casually, prompting a nod from Yoongi albeit with smothered confusion on why the random producer is doing him a favor when they’ve barely ever worked together.

“Oh, thanks for that.” Yoongi sets aside the speculation, instead voicing appreciation as he takes the delivery.

“Yeah,” The guy’s reply falters, but Yoongi shakes it off to step back into his studio until the exchange continues further, “Actually, you’re close with Y/N now, right? Is it true she got fired?”

Inquisitive to the ear, but something deeper about the tone makes Yoongi’s eyebrows crease. He looks back towards the producer who meets his eyes with a now forced smile. Deciphering the intention as something negative, Yoongi’s head tilts in consideration of what he could be trying to get at. “Where’d you here that from?” “What? Oh,” He stutters, glancing towards the door frame as he shrugs, “You know, just gossip and all… I was just curious since she gets the most work, you know?”

Yoongi inhales remaining silent as he comes to understand this producer to be similar of a vulture. Likely others too are interested in receiving more work following your inevitable departure, but the insinuation of you being let go instead of quitting unsettles him. Irritating to hear. “I mean, it’s not just me curious,” He glances again away from Yoongi this time down the hallway where his eyes grow wide for a split second upon recognition, “Oh, like Jimin here-- hey, you’re wondering if Y/N got fired too, aren’t you?”

Yoongi steps a small step forward so he can lean his head and view down. Jimin appears confused at the question, hands in his pockets like he’d simply been walking to wherever.

“You heard she got fired, didn’t you-”

“Stop saying that.” Yoongi cuts into the producers loud voice, slicing them with an annoyed grit clinging to his words. “She didn’t get fired.” His arms cross over one another, envelope hitting against his side as he does so. Jimin’s movement causes Yoongi’s gaze to shift back towards him, expression etched with his upset temperment from the rude gossiping.

Jimin doesn’t say anything, slow steps like that of someone on a stroll, intending to walk past them both. The producer shifts a little distance away from Yoongi’s calm and heavy glare, watching with a stupor at the disposition that originally he hadn’t expected as a reaction to his questioning.

“It was just a question,” He mutters then nearly bites his tongue when Yoongi snaps his eyes back, “I just think it’d be pretty good for the company to vary more, that’s all-- she just works in the background anyways, it’s not like anyone would notice.”

“Hey,” Jimin interrupts the trail of irritated rebuttals about to leave Yoongi’s lips, eyes fixating into a glare towards the fidgeting producer, “She does more for the company than any of us do, so why don’t you stop talking shit and go actually work on something?”

“I,” The producer bites his lip, glancing nervously between Jimin and Yoongi, before nodding his head, “Yeah,” He turns on his heel, then startles backwards a few paces towards Jimin, eyes widening. “Oh, Y/N-”

The tension in Yoongi’s expression releases, stepping forward to let his studio door shut, revealing you barely more than a few feet from the three of them with two members of a girl group looking increasingly shocked and curious at the conversation at hand. He stays quiet, wondering how much of the guy’s stupidity you heard, but as he takes in your narrowed eyes he can freely assume enough.

“I didn’t get fired, I quit.” You say simply, voice devoid of civility. Glancing from the completely embarrassed producer to Yoongi then Jimin, you just sigh. Though you were aware this questioning would come eventually, you expected something more decent than gossip about people wanting to shift into your spot the second you leave the company. The two girls around you voice shocked questioning, but you pay no mind to them, “Next time you want to try gossiping about me, just ask me yourself; this is so ridiculous going behind my back for your own selfish gain.”

Jimin steps to the side as the producer nearly collides with him as he paces back another step, “You’re right, I’m sorry-- really.” You just scoff, watching him quickly scamper down the hallway so nothing more could be said.

“Wait, Y/N, you’re really leaving?” The youngest of the girl group members asks you with surprise, frown covering up her face. You just rub your face, nodding,

“Yeah, sorry; I have stuff to do.” You mumble in reply feeling a headache ready to come on from this whole stupid situation that is no doubt going to become increasingly invasive as this situation gets talked about around the company. You step towards Yoongi, turning to smile apologetically to the two girls, “It’s not a big deal, sorry.”

You hear the familiar sound of a clicking keypad and find the door opening as Yoongi takes the hint to let you inside. He steps inside first, holding the door open with his hand, as you go to follow and find yourself looking towards Jimin. Devoid of much expression his head just nods in a silent greeting to you and your find yourself doing the same without really noticing, going on to murmur quietly, “Thanks for speaking up for me, Jimin.”

Then you enter into Yoongi’s studio, realizing as the door clicks shut that Jimin finally did what you thought he never wanted to. Where in the past he’s only ever stood by silently while the company uses you to its own benefit, he today defended you without any need. Though you have no way of reasoning why he suddenly found it necessary to speak on your behalf, you find the fact that it occured a startling mixture of thankfulness and comfort.

Only it came too late.

if you enjoy please, please let me know via ask, comment, rb with tags– however ! i’d just really appreciate feedback 🥺 i hope you enjoy the series, i’m working really hard on it! : )

tag list (send an ask to be added): @jaiuneamesolitaiire​ @tsvkino-usagi​ @xionysus​​ @baebyjoonie​ @honeyoongles​

[atreegrowsinnorthnywrites]

Prompt: “Start your story with one character trying to convince another to take up their favorite hobby.”

A Short Story:

The silver Volkswagen Jetta snaked up the mountain road, maneuvering the switchbacks with ease. Despite Henry’s confidence behind the wheel, Ada still held tight to the door handle. He glanced over and gave her a dimpled smirk as they rounded the final corner leading to the resort.

“I still can’t believe you’ve never skied,” Henry said as he pulled into a cramped snowy space between two trucks that was far too small to be within lines, but traditional parking lot rules appeared not to apply.

“I grew up in the rain,” Ada replied curtly, grimacing at the large flakes already covering the hood of his car. “Not the snow.”

“You grew up in Washington,” Henry corrected, carefully opening his door. Ada scowled as she wiggled out the barely open passenger door into the bitter, windy cold. “The snow is never far.”

“Spoken like a true Eastern Washingtonian,” she grumbled, trudging through a waist-high snowbank behind him in the direction of the resort.

“You know,” He called over his shoulder, grinning at Ada with his mega-watt smile and wiggling his bushy, dark eyebrows. “If you let yourself…you might actually have fun with me.”

Ada’s inhale caught in her throat. He had distinctly said have fun with me, not have fun skiing. The diction of the words was similar enough that the blowing snow sailing in front of her face could have caused her to mishear. That had to be the logical answer because there was no possible way Henry Harrison, her only sister’s ex-fiancé, could be implying that he hoped Ada had a good time with him, specifically.

“Are you coming?” He shouted, having already reached the outdoor line to procure their lift tickets. Ada hesitated, wondering how many hours it would take her to walk back down the mountain road, avoid being hit by all vehicles, and reach the little town at the bottom of the mountain where she had been able to get one bar of service when they stopped for gas.

“Adaaaaa.” Henry was now wildly waving his arms, his fluorescent lime green mittens drawing significant attention from all the parties approaching the ticketing booth around her.  “Woohoo! Ada Anna Montrose!” Ada closed her eyes and swore in defeat because if there was one thing she could not handle, even more than spending the day learning to ski with her sister’s ex-fiancé, it was public embarrassment.

“I’m coming,” She hissed, marching up to Henry with hot, red cheeks that matched her auburn hair.

“Just checking,” He replied cheekily.

As they waited through the lines to obtain first, lift tickets, and then, rentals, Ada considered how she had landed herself in this situation at all. It had all seemed like a great idea when she agreed to Henry’s bet, four drinks in, at the arcade bar in Tacoma among their mutual friends. Henry had been a surprise addition to the night out, but that was the funny thing about long-term relationships that ended in a sudden, amicable breakup. There were no clear-cut rules on who got the friends. Although, admittedly, there was a clear rule on who got their own sister.

Ada was obviously on Evie’s side when her sister and Henry’s engagement was called off. Evie was just eighteen months older and Ada’s only sibling, and although their childhood had been filled with screaming matches, as adults they were the best of friends. Just one year apart in school, Ada and Evie’s friend groups had bled into each other over the years. Henry Harrison had come to know both girls set of friends quite well, ever since Evie had excitedly brought Henry home her sophomore year of college at the University of Washington.

Which was why, when the group chat agreed to drinks at the arcade bar on Pac Ave on a Friday night at nine, and Evie bowed out due to a nasty cold she had caught from work, someone had decided to invite Henry Harrison.

“How do those feel?”

Ada snapped out of her thoughts and took an awkward step forward in the ski boots. “Are they supposed to be so tight?” She frowned, shuffling uncomfortably across the carpeted floor of the rental room.

“They should feel secure,” The rental associate with tattoos covering her hands and a black Burton beanie said with a pop of her gum.

“Like your ankles won’t roll around and snap on the hill,” Henry added.

Ada blinked. “Comforting.”

“Those will work,” Henry said to the associate. Ada glared at Henry and he winked back at her. The associate looked between them, popped her gum in her mouth again, and gave a thumbs up.

“Dope.” She raised an eyebrow at Ada. “Do you need to add lessons?”

“I’m teaching her,” Henry interjected.

“Right,” She said with a third snap of her gum, and a smirk. “Good luck. I’ll ring you up around here.”

After having to be practically carried up two sets of stairs in ski boots – why a rental shop catering mostly to amateurs would be in a basement Ada could not fathom – she stood at the base of the bunny hill with skis in hand, a rented helmet and googles atop her head, and a pair of borrowed snow pants a size too small covering her legs. Ada stared in horror at the mechanical rope with staggered handles carting tiny children a third of her age to the top of the far-too-steep hill.

“I’ve changed my mind. I’m not doing this,” She declared, turning to leave.

Henry caught her by the arm, and she was forced to meet his honey-colored eyes pleading for her to stay. “Will you trust me?” He asked calmly. He looked annoyingly professional in his personal set of skis and matching grey snow pants and jacket, and Ada’s body betrayed her with a nod of her head.

On their acscent, Ada fell off the tow rope twice much to the delight of the giggly children around her, but Henry patiently skied off the tow rope trail both times, helping her upright and instructing her on how to get back on. When they finally reached the top of the bunny hill, he skied around to face her with his back to the bottom of the hill.

“You’re going to ski backwards,” Ada deadpanned.

“I am,” He confirmed with a smile.

“You are actually the worst.”

“I know.” Ada held back a laugh as Henry pointed to her skis. “Now, the first thing you need to know is how to slow yourself down and stop.”

“Sounds important.”

“You’ll position your skis in the shape of a slice of a pizza.”

“A slice of pizza.”

“Ada.”

She sighed, adjusting her skis to look like a triangular slice of pizza. He then gently pulled her over the crest of the hill to begin her descent. Ada held her breath as her triangular shaped skis bumpily skirted down the hill.

“To increase your speed, start to straighten them,” Henry explained.

“I don’t want to increase my speed.”

Henry threw back his head and laughed, while skiing backwards, which Ada found both insanely impressive, and irritating. “Alright, let’s start turning,” He encouraged, and Ada sputtered with fear as she began to pull her skis into the shape of a much more acute triangle in a wide right turn.

“There you go!” He cried. She skied over the slope gently and Henry encouraged another turn, first right, then left. “Big, wide turns help you maintain your speed. Never go straight down.”

“They go straight down at the Olympics.”

“Are you an Olympic athlete?” He asked, with that stupid dimpled smile again.

Ada did not have an opportunity to reply, because her glance up to Henry’s dimple and away from her skis proved to be a fatal mistake as the two pieces of wood strapped to her feet crossed over one another. Henry lunged to keep Ada upright, but suddenly four skis were entangled in one another, and with a shriek from Ada and a “Shit!” from Henry, they were both on their backs.

“So, I am not, in fact,” Ada wheezed, wiping frigid snow from half her face, and looking over to Henry who was wincing as he attempted to sit upright. “an Olympic athlete.” Henry chortled as he sat up, his skis perpendicular to the sloping hill. Ada, fearing a broken ankle, remained on her back.

“You do this for fun?” She exclaimed, looking up at him.

“It’s my favorite hobby,” Henry admitted, smiling. “It’s the closest I think I’ll ever get to flying.”

“You could, you know, just take a flight.” Henry swatted at her shoulder and they both chuckled.

“That was really good for your first time on skis,” He added.

“Liar.”

“I mean it,” He insisted, extending a hand to help her sit up. Ada eyed it warily, suddenly panicking over whether her hand should be in his. In the six years of knowing him, she could not remember after taking Henry’s hand. And why would she? He was her sister’s fiancé. Ex-fiancé, her brain reminded her.  

Ada ignored his hand and scrambled up to sitting on her own, her legs flailing briefly and her hip protesting at the angle she chose, but upright, nonetheless.

“Why did you invite me?” She blurted out, pushing the wavy auburn locks that had escaped her helmet back inside.

“Well, I didn’t invite you, per say,” He replied. “You lost a bet.”

“But why did you bet me?” Ada pressed, suddenly feeling quite warm despite sitting in a bunch of a snow on a cold hilltop. Henry bit his lip, and Ada noticed how his normally pale cheeks were rosy and with his goggles back on his helmet, those honey brown eyes practically sparkled in the sun. Ada’s heart thundered in her chest.

“Do you really want me to say it?” Henry asked, his voice lower and huskier sounding than normal.

“No,” Ada said instantly, shaking her head, picturing Evie cooped up in her Seattle apartment with a cold and takeout, clueless about her ex-fiancé and sister’s whereabouts. “Never mind.”

“Do you remember that dinner at Lowell’s in the market?” He asked softly, and despite Ada looking away, observing the elementary school aged child blubbering to his dad about hating skiing, she remembered. “It was that unusually warm day in April.”

“I remember,” She whispered.

“Evie cancelled because of a last-minute client dinner, so it ended up being just the two of us.”

“Henry.”

“I knew, then. When we stayed for hours, talking and laughing.” Ada closed her eyes, remembering his tousled chestnut hair that day and the forest green button up he had worn. “I never laughed like that with her-“

“I can’t,” Ada said sharply, opening her eyes and finding his face inches from hers. She felt shaky and lightheaded. Evie was fading from her mind as his lips moved towards hers. He hesitated, his eyes asking the question his mouth would not. The smell of his cedar shampoo filled Ada’s senses, and she was taken back to that dinner in the market where they watched the sun set from their table and a soft breeze had blew that same cedar smell her way.

Ada pressed her lips against his, butterflies erupting in her stomach. She shifted her body toward him, moving off her hip and digging the edge of her skis into the hill melting into his kiss, when they both heard an abrupt snap.

They broke apart to discover one of Ada’s skis had released from her boot and was rolling happily down the remainder of the hill. She frowned, swiveling her head slowly from the runaway ski to Henry, who was fighting back laughter, his hand cupped over his mouth.

“I don’t think skiing is for me.”

[stellar-alley]

Everfalls

•Chapter 4•

This is based off of the artwork by oceanteeeth on Instagram! Also shout out to my Beta super.rose.cosplays!

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

(Summary: Eddie offers to help Richie after the fight with Bowers. Eddie takes his first car ride and opens up about his past)

~

The scratch needed about 2 more minutes before it would be fully healed. That's when the wolf's eyes shot open, big glowing yellow eyes, and they were filled with furry. Eddie resisted the urge to jump back and tried to continue the healing process. The eyes landed on Eddie and he went stiff as a board. The boy on the ground let out a deep growl. He swung his arms off the ground, grabbed Eddie's shoulders and threw him off of him.

Eddie flew backwards landing flat on his back with a grunt a couple feet away. His beanie came off on impact, but Eddie hadn't noticed. He was too busy focusing on the pain that reverberated through his body.

Richie jackknifed, snapped upwards into a sitting position and without missing a beat, leaned over, grabbed his glasses and put them on. They were in plain sight, yet Eddie didn't see them. He leaped up and onto his feet, his yellow eyes magnified by the coke lenses of his glasses. They scanned the landscape, eventually falling on Eddie.

A deep, bone shaking growl erupted from his lungs that shook Eddie to the core. The boy leaned down, close enough for Eddie to get a clear view of his sharp fangs, hell, he could even smell his damn breath.

Richie's eyes moved from Eddie's chest up to his head, then he saw something. Something that shook him out of his haze of anger. Richie fell backwards, never breaking eye contact with Eddie.

"O-Okay, this isn't what it seems. I-I can't go back... Please, please don't tell the council" Eddie carefully sat up, worried that he'd spook the other boy.

Richie did a double-take, he shook his head "What? What are you talking about? Fuck the council those guys are a bunch of tree-hugging assholes" he shook his head again. Eddie could practically see the gears turning in his guy's head as he tried to piece together this puzzle.

"S-So you won't tell anyone that I'm here?" Eddie confirmed, he couldn't risk losing this new life he'd just started to live.

His voice seemed distant, "Yeah don't worry". Richie slowly got to his feet, he stood up and dusted himself off. "What are you even doing here? What even are you?" His voice was filled with confusion, yet he still offered his hand out to help Eddie up.

Eddie looked at the hand for a moment before he grabbed it hesitantly, Richie hoisted him to his feet. "I'm a hybrid. If you couldn't already tell" He gestured to the perky bunny ears, his cheeks reddened at the sudden attention they got.

Richie looked at them, mesmerized by the way they lightly swayed with the breeze, "They're cute" He said without thinking. His eyes went wide when he realized what he'd said, "Wait what the fuck are you doing here?" He quickly changed the subject in hopes that Eddie didn't hear what he'd admitted previously.

Eddie shied away, not only did the compliment make his ears red and his heart skip a beat, but he also didn't want to get into the whole 'if I didn't run away I would've died' thing. So he stayed quiet for a moment, opted to serve the area and make sure no one was watching them. No one was, thank god, even the cop car had disappeared.

"Well?" Richie asked, his patience was slipping as a headache formed around his forehead.

He didn't look up from his shoes, "I... was going to be killed" Eddie grumbled under his breath.

"Pardon?"

"I was gonna be killed" Eddie repeated, only slightly louder than previously.

"one more time" Richie requested, this time he put a hand to his ear.

"The council gave me the death sentence" Eddie snapped, his voice stern and serious. Only now did his gaze meet the one of the taller boys.

Shit, he's tall...

But it kinda suits him

"Fuck dude! What the hell did you do?" Richie asked a tinge of laughter in his voice.

The bunny rubbed the back of his neck, "Can we not get into this, especially here?" He glanced around at the very public area they stood in. "Fuck... I don't even know who you are" He sighed at the realization.

"Shit you're right" Richie almost gasped. He bent over and grabbed his red beanie off the ground, dust and dirt strained its red material, as well as... Blood? "W-What happened?" He breathed.

"Henry knocked you out. Shit! Dude, you're still bleeding" Eddie cursed and jumped up to reach up to Richie's forehead. The wolf swatted the rabbit's hands away and felt the scratch for himself. He looked at his hand and saw the blood.

"Shit... I can't go home like this. My mom would kill me, especially for putting up a fight like that" Richie groaned as he recalled using his strength to nail Bowers with the rocks.

Eddie pulled his beanie back on, "Come to my place" he offered innocently. Sure Eddie had just met this guy but there was obviously more to him then he was leading on. He wasn't even sure if it was just because Richie was an Ancestor, or if it was his contagious laugh, but Eddie had already begun to trust him. Also the wolf was bleeding, and Eddie always had an urge to help the wounded... Just like his father.

Richie's eyebrows scrunched together as he did the same with his beanie, "Listen Bunny, you don't even know me, okay? So don't-".

"I know you're hurt, and I can help! Plus you can't go home like that, your mom would kill you" Eddie mocked, which earned him a playful shove from Richie.

"God, you're a stubborn little bunny aren't you?" Richie nudged Eddie again.

"Stop calling me that" Eddie rolled his eyes.

"If I knew your name-"

"Eddie. Eddie Kasbrak" he stuck out his hand before him.

Richie's lips curved into a warm smile, he shook his hand "Hiya Eds, I'm Richie Tozier" He said with a wink.

"Uh" Eddie groaned, "Don't call me that".

Richie let out an over dramatic sigh, "uhh, then what can I call you?".

"Eddie?" He suggested.

"Boring" Richie sang out, "Whatever, I'll figure it out as we go. Anyways, you said something about heading back to your place?" Richie offered and Eddie nodded. "Are you sure? What would your parents-"

"I live alone" Eddie stated before Richie could finish his sentence. Then he began to walk, Richie watched only for a moment before catching on and running to catch up to him.

At first Eddie was going to walk Richie all the way back to his place. The walk was about 45 minutes. "No way am I walking that far. My car is parked in the parking lot. I can drive" Richie offered. The idea of stepping into a car stopped Eddie all together, he'd never been in a car before, and the idea terrified him. Fast, metal objects speeding towards an unknown destination. The only stories Eddie had heard of cars were when they hurt someone from the village.

Richie noticed and stopped as well, "You good, Eddie?".

The bunny's eyes were wide as he imagined the car they'd ride in. Some big hunk of junk with dried blood around the tires. He shook at the thought. "I-I... Have never been in one before..." his voice drifted off.

"Oh?" He coaked an eyebrow, "oh..." He said in realization. "It'll be okay. I'll take it easy" He put a reassuring hand on Eddie's shoulder.

Eddie's gaze went from the soft hand on his shoulder to the boy in front of him, "Okay" He whispered.

Richie carefully led Eddie off the school's property and down the street to where he had his car parked. He drove a CJ5 baby blue jeep, "Eddie, this is Roscoe. Roscoe, meet Eddie!" He happily motioned over to his jeep.

"Roscoe?" Eddie asked.

Richie smiled at Eddie, "Yepperoni! She's my baby" he rubbed the hood of the car. "Trust me alright? It'll be a blast" He insisted as he helped Eddie into the car.

At first, Eddie kept his mouth shut. He watched Richie's every move, how his hands held the steering wheel, how he tapped his index fingers on the dash during red lights, and how his eyes always found their way over to the boy in the passenger seat.

"How are you enjoying it?" He asked Eddie after 5 minutes of odd silence. Eddie almost thought he was enjoying it until he noticed how tightly he was clenching his fists. Hesitantly, he opened up his hands and saw the dark red semi-circle marks left on his palms by his fingernails.

Richie noticed this as well, he watched as Eddie examined his hands. He forced his eyes back onto the road right on time, as he didn't notice how quickly he was approaching a red light. He slammed on the breaks and the car slammed to a stop.

Both of the boys were breathing heavily. Richie, because this is a bad habit of his and he's worried that it'll cost him one day. And Eddie because he was sure that this was how he was going to die, he didn't even notice the way his hand had gripped onto Richie's thigh, as if that would've helped him. Richie only noticed when he saw Eddie glancing at it.

He kept his eyes on the light but he moved one of his hands from the steering wheel down to where Eddie gripped his thigh. "Hey... Eddie, It's okay" His voice was calm and warm, like the soothing tea that Eddie’s mom used to make to calm his nerves during a thunderstorm.

Richie carefully laid his hand on top of Eddie's tense fingers. Usually if someone he'd just met pulled this move on him, he'd slap their hand away with disgust. This was different, Eddie was different. So he only slightly surprised himself when he pulled Eddie's hand off of his thigh and gently laced their fingers together. "You're okay" Richie assured him again. They spent the rest of the ride like that.

After another five minutes, they finally pulled up to a dead end. Richie looked at Eddie with curiosity as the bunny undid his seatbelt, something he watched Richie do before. "We walk from here," He explained in a soft voice. Eddie slowly slipped his hand out from Richie's grasp and got out of the car, as he tried to make it look like he wasn't terrified of the thing he'd just been sitting in.

Richie noticed almost immediately the way Eddie's mood changed. Inside the car, he was quiet and tense, but not even a minute after they began walking through the forest did Eddie seem lighter. He's in his element. Richie thought and looked around at the forest they were in.

The two walked in comfortable silence through the forest. Eddie led Richie through every twist and turn until he stood in front of an open meadow. "Here she is!" Eddie smiled and opened his arms up wide to gesture at the open field.

"Uhh- Eds there's nothing here" Richie pointed out awkwardly.

"Hm? Oh! Right," Eddie said as if he remembered a vital step of the process. Richie watched the boy turn around and place a hand on something that wasn't there. "Hey, you can trust Richie. He's my friend, I think..." He thought about it before he turned around, "We're friends right?" He asked.

"Yes! We're friends" Richie called out as if he was trying to prove something to some unknown force.

Friends, Richie liked the sound of that.

His face dropped, his mouth turned into a shocked 'O' as he watched a house materialize before his very eyes. "Woah" was the only word he could muster. Finally, he saw the thing that had kept this house a secret, the forcefield. It was almost transparent, but he could vaguely see it reflect the sunlight when he tilted his head.

"Here we are!" Eddie announced.

"Here we are..." Richie repeated and followed Eddie through the forcefield and onto his property. After he stepped inside the house he felt the initial shock of a magically appearing house begin to fade. Eddie ushered Richie into the kitchen. He sat the wolf down at the table and got back to work on healing Richie’s cut.

Richie watched in awe as Eddie began to heal his wound. "So what about your family? Are they here with you?" Richie asked at the sound of a seemingly empty house.

"No... It's just me" Eddie ended the conversation pretty quickly as he wasn't in the mood to talk about his overbearing mother or his dead father. He kept his eyes on the healing scar, watching as it slowly stitched itself back together. Once it was done, he leaned away to admire his work.

"It's cool! Really cool..." Richie tried to lighten the mood, so he took his beanie off as a sign of trust. His wolf ears now out in the open.

Eddie noticed the gesture and couldn't help the way his cheeks began to heat up. Carefully, he tugged the beanie off of his head and revealed his two bunny ears. "Wanna see something else?" Eddie asked with a tinge of nervousness in his voice.

Richie only nodded, unsure of what Eddie was planning next. What he didn't expect was for the boy to lift his hands over his head, he stretched and closed his eyes for a moment. Riche couldn't help it as he glanced down and noticed how a part of Eddie's midriff was showing. His cheeks turned the same shade of pink as Eddie's. Once the boy leaned back into a normal stance, he turned around. Richie stared at his back before he noticed something twitch.

"Awwww" Richie cooed at the sight of the small bunny tail that peaked out from his pants, "It's so cute! And small...".

"Small?" Eddie turned on his heels to face Richie, "Compared to what?" He asked with curiosity.

"THIS!" Richie arched his back and hastily moved his shirt and revealed a brown fluffy wolves tail. Which was indeed, much larger than Eddie's.

Eddie laughed at Richie's choice of movements and at how Richie's tail was indeed bigger, and cute. Richie watched for a moment, unable to hold back his own giggles as if Eddie's laughter was contagious.

Once the boys calmed down from their little laughing fit, Eddie took Richie on a tour of his house. He gestured to each room and explained his plans for them, or mentioned how it was empty and he had no clue what to do with it. When they entered Eddie's personal room, Richie noticed the small things he had lying around. Of course, it wasn't much as Eddie had only been living here for a couple of days, but he took note of a couple of books he had, the clothes he had laid out, and the map on the wall.

He examined the piece of paper, tainted yellow with time, and located The All Lands. He tapped it with his index finger "This is where my dad was from".

Eddie noticed that he was looking at the map and walked to stand by his side. "Really? Why'd he leave" He asked cautiously, unsure if this was a touchy subject or not.

The wolf's eyes didn't leave the map "He didn't leave. He was banished" Richie explained solemnly. Shit, maybe this is a touchy subject, Eddie thought as Richie continued "Fell in love with a human, my mother. So the council made him choose. The All Lands, or the love of his life... Who the fuck does that?" Richie turned, only slightly, to look at Eddie, but his eyes were closed, as if he was trying to forget a bad memory.

Eddie opened his mouth to speak when Richie opened his eyes, "But it's fine... Hey if they never left that shithole they would've never had me. That would've been a travesty."

"Yeah... Sure" Eddie rolled his eyes, but he couldn't hide the hint of amusement that settled over his face.

This earned him a playful nudge from Richie, "oh come on Eddie Spaghetti, you love me" he drags out the O in love. Just the mention of the L Word made Eddie's heart skip a beat. Yes he knew that they just met, and they were just friends, but he still blushed. He tried to hide it by looking at the map, mirroring Richie.

They stood in a comfortable silence for a couple of moments. "My dad was killed at the hands of the council" He took a shaky breath and continued, "He helped a human who was dying. They claimed he put our village at risk, Everfalls" Eddie points to his village on the map. He's never had to tell anyone about his father before, since everyone else in the village had already heard the story, and it's not like he wanted to talk about it. Richie had told him his story, so he thought it was only right that he tells him his story in exchange.

Richie's eyes softened at the news, "Awe, Eds I'm sorry about-"

Eddie snapped, "I said, don't call me that" he shook his head then turned and went to go sit on his bed.

The curly-haired boy stood still, frozen in shock as he's never seen Eddie like this. There was a sharp inhale, it pulled Richie out of his thoughts. He tilted his head up to see Eddie's eyes were red with his hand held up over his mouth as he tried to stifle a cry.

The wolf acted quickly, he sat on the bunny's bed and slid towards him. He wrapped an arm around Eddie's shoulder, he desperately wanted to pull him closer and hold him close. He forced himself not to.

Richie you literally just met this guy, so take it easy. Plus he's probably straight. You're not lucky enough to find a guy who shares the same secret as you and have him be gay. No way.

So he just opted for the shoulder hug. It was Eddie who made the move and leaned in, he rested his head on Richie's chest. He felt a pair of arms wrap around him, it filled him with warmth.

Eddie tried so hard not to cry, but he couldn't hold the tears back any longer. He had cried over his father's death back when it happened, but he never had a shoulder to lean on. Sure his mother would envelop him in one of her rib crushing hugs, but those were always for her own sake. So when Richie sat down and put his arm around him, he knew he couldn't stop the waterworks. Someone had finally offered him that shoulder he craved.

"I-I'm sorry I shouldn't get so worked up over this" Eddie sniffled and tried to pull back and out of Richie's grasp.

"Eddie, it's okay, ya know, to cry. You've gotta do it at some point" Richie looked down at him and with one hand he pushed his big glasses up the bridge of his nose. The shorter boy opened his mouth to protest but Richie had already wrapped him up again, instead Eddie let out a shaky breath. "It's okay, you're okay..." Richie whispered to him while he rubbed circles into his back. Eddie melted into his touch.

Word Count: 3220

I adore these boys so much! I had a blast writing this chapter, especially the scene where they're comparing tails lol.

I hope that you guys are enjoying this fan fic as much as I am! Don't forget to like comment and share, it's a great way to show your support and it inspires me to keep writing.

That's all from me, I will see y'all next week with chapter 5!

Until next time

So Long and Goodnight.

[kinksonyeondan]

BTS Reaction: Initiating Sex

Genre: Smut Word Count: 2,387

Member: Kim Seokjin 

Summer. One of the worst seasons in your opinion. Of course, you loved that you had a vacation, but the heat was always unbearable. What's even worse, is that you never did your Spring cleaning. So, you had to do it now, or else you'll get too lazy.

You were dying in the heat, wearing a sleeveless shirt that exposed your sides, and shorts that kept your legs from melting into butter. You had a high ponytail, drops of sweat streaming down your temple. "I'm going to die," you thought to yourself.

You weren't the only one who was dying though. All this time, your helpful boyfriend, Seokjin, has been lending a hand with your cleaning. But, he found it so hard to keep his member from making a tent in his pants.

Every time you walked passed him, he saw your black bra, cupping your breasts nicely. He would skim your legs, reminding him that those were the same legs that would wrap around his waist, pulling him down so he could go deeper. The sweat making him reminisce the times he would go berserk on you, the intense heat and pounding making you glisten with a sheet of sweat.

Before he could stop himself, it was too late. He felt his already hard member pressing against the hem of his shorts, releasing an audible groan. You stopped in your tracks, a chill running down your spine. "Did you hurt yourself?" You asked him, staring at him with puppy eyes.

He nodded, his mouth slightly parted. You set your things down, attending to his care, "Where are you hurt?" He forgot his shirt was long enough to cover his crotch, realizing that you were genuinely worried.

He grabbed your wrist, placing it on his crotch. Your eyes widened a little, biting your lip. "This is hurting..." He replied, leaning towards your ear.

"And the only way to make it better is an orgasm."

Member: Min Yoongi

Composing. Writing. Editing. Rapping.

A combination of everything he loved, but sometimes, it gets stressful. Sometimes he would get offers to compose a song for other artists, trying to capture their vision, the meaning behind the song. He gains inspiration out of the simplest things.

It could be an old memory or the scenery from a place he visited. But the stressful and frustrating part of making music for others is that they don't "like" his vision. Sometimes he wants to shout, "The whole world knows me because of my music!"

After a long day of dealing with an annoying artist who's personality is different when in public, he went home. He just wanted to embrace you in his arms, smell the sweet aroma of your hair, hear your sweet humming as you sing him to sleep. It did make him seem like a child, but he loved it.

You never went to sleep before he came home. If he came at 3 am, then you'll sleep at 3 am. Even if you were tired from work, you knew his job was even more stressful, so you never complained. You were scrolling through social media when you heard the doorknob twist.

The opened door exposed a tired Yoongi, his eyes threatening to close on him. It was only 11:30 pm, so you knew today was a long day for him. Without a word, you spread your arms, encouraging him to come in for an embrace. He smiled, removing his hat and mask and jumping into the bed.

He kissed you on your head, "I missed you." You chuckled, his sweet side coming to light, "I missed you too." He breathed in deeply, rubbing his cheek on the top of your head. You shut your heavy eyelids, humming his favorite lullaby.

You guys stayed there for a few minutes until he abruptly removed his cheek from your head. He stared at you with loving eyes, your heart beating in your eardrums, "Yes?" His gaze fell to your lips, reaching down to connect his lips with yours. You both kissed passionately, not even realizing the shifting your bodies, his figure now hovered above yours.

"I don't want to hear you sing..." Yoongi said breathlessly, brushing your hair off your face.

"I want to hear you moan my name."

Member: Jung Hoseok

"Fuck me!" You yelled at the top of your lungs, messing up your hair furiously. "I'll do it later," Hoseok replied, his sly remark making you laugh sarcastically. "Haha, very funny. You're not helping..." You retorted.

You were frustrated because you kept messing up the moves, tripping on your own two feet. Hoseok was sitting on the couch behind you, his arms crossed across his chest. You wanted to ask him for help, but your ego is too big, remembering what you told him earlier, "I don't need your help. Don't you see me radiating with talent?" You groaned in annoyance, "Why did I say that?" You thought.

He sat there, a smirk plastered on his face, like if he read your mind. You scoffed, "Why are you smirking like that?" He crossed his legs, "Because I know you need my help, but you don't want to ask for it because your ego is almost as big as my penis."

Oh my God. He did not just say that. Hahaha, he's so full of himself.

You intentionally reached over to touch your toes, acting like if you were stretching your hamstrings when in reality, you were showing off your ass. He rolled his eyes, knowing your true intentions, but he enjoyed it, "I'm not going to help you."

Fine.

You removed your overly large sweater and threw it to the floor, showing off your spaghetti strap shirt. With all the sweat and dark colored bra, your moss green bra was easily noticeable through your shirt. He was fidgeting a little, making you smile. Just a little more.

You let your hair down, swaying your locks around. You ran your fingers through your scalp, messing up your hair, but this time, in a seductive manner. Hoseok groaned, trying so hard not to lose against you, but he almost reached to his limit.

You stretched your arms up, arching your back, letting out a moan. He shook his head vigorously, getting up from the couch. You smirked devilishly, watching him from the mirror. He yanked your arm, spinning you into a tight embrace.

"Don't worry, I'll help you...help you scream."

Member: Kim Namjoon

"A pool party?" You said in confusion, not getting the memo that it was that kind of party. You and Namjoon were invited to a pool party but didn't know that until you both got there. "Oh shit! I knew I forgot something!" Your friend said, her husband playfully smacking her on the forehead, "Come on sweetie, you had one job," he chuckled.

"Oh! I have an idea!" She exclaimed, "You can just borrow one of mine! Come on, let's go upstairs!" She grabbed your hand, pulling you back inside the house. While her husband dragged Namjoon further into the backyard, offering him a beer.

You were skimming through the different bikinis, kinda worried they wouldn't fit. You had bigger boobs and bigger curves than your friend so it might be a problem. "Don't worry, these over here fit me kinda big, and I'm too lazy to exchange them, so they'll probably fit you.

"Okay..." you said, grabbing three pairs of bikinis and walking into the bathroom. The first one was a white, one-piece bikini that exposed your back, the second one was a two-piece, with cherry print on a white background, and the third one was black two-piece bikini, that had straps on the side of your hips so that they were exposed, and a strapless top that cupped your boobs.

After a long debate, you went with the black one, just because it was the most comfortable for your breasts. Your friend hooked her arm with yours, accompanying you outside. Many heads turned, including your boyfriend's. You were kinda shy, but you tried not to show it.

"Let's get it the water," she nudged you, running into the water. You followed her inside the pool, many guys and some girls deciding to go inside as well. You and your friend were having a good time, Namjoon not as much. He didn't know whether to be horny or pissed. You turned him on with your bikini, but he hated the way people were looking at you. The way he looks at you when he's aroused.

"Excuse me," he said, setting his beer down. He walked to the edge of the water, "Babe, can you come with me for a bit?" "Sure," you replied, getting out of the water. He seized your hand, giving it a light squeeze. He impatiently marched up the stairs, heading towards one of the doors. "Wait, Namjoon!"

He pulled you to one of the spare bedrooms, locking the door behind him. You stood there, cold, water dripping down onto the floor. He walked towards you, passionately connecting your lips with his, pushing you back onto the bed. Your eyes widened, pulling away from him, "Namjoon! I'm going to get the bed all wet!" He looked at you with dark eyes, smirking while staring at your pink lips.

"That's not the only thing that will get wet."

Member: Park Jimin

You were trying on outfits for the dinner party you and Jimin were going to attend. He's laid out on the bed, his arms leaning back into the mattress, raising his upper body. You were frustrated because you didn't want to look too casual, but you didn't want to look too professional either.

The constant need of having to try another tight dress that defined your curves, getting naked in front of him, he was breaking a sweat just thinking about your body against his.

"What about this one?" You said, twirling around in a circle. You were wearing a black dress with a deep v-neck that exposed your cleavage, lace sleeves reaching to the middle of your forearm. He began tapping his foot, loosening his tie in frustration.

You stared at him in confusion, "What's wrong? You don't like it?" You turned to face the mirror, Jimin's face embedded with desperation. He tried looking away from you, but his gaze will always wander back to your ass.

"Seriously, what's wrong?" You asked him, meeting his eyes through the mirror. He got up from the bed, rushing towards you. He clasped his hands on your hips, bucking your ass against his crotch. You felt his member poking you through his pants, making you swallow hard.

"This is what's wrong with me," he growled, slightly grinding himself on you. You gasped, the feeling tracing to your core.

"Now you have to help me get rid of it."

Member: Kim Taehyung

You and Taehyung were in the living room watching a movie. His arm was wrapped around your shoulder, your head laid on his head. You guys were watching 'Twilight', just for laughs.

When you told him you used to love watching the movies when you were younger, he laughed his ass off, making references here and there. "I can't believe you used to like these movies," he chuckled, giving you a noogie. "I know..." you said unbelievably, getting second-hand embarrassment from the cringey acting.

You buried your face into the nape of his neck, gently biting him. "Oh My God! What the heck?!" He screamed, confused with your sudden action. "I wanted to test a theory," you replied, giving him an innocent grin. He looked at you in awe, wondering how you got the guts to do that.

He grabbed your head in one hand and your shoulder in the other, making enough room for him to stick his face in between. "Wait, hold on! Hold on!" You shrieked, laughing as he pinned you down into the couch. His bites turned into kisses and your laugh turned into moans. He kissed you, tugging your bottom lip as he pulled away.

"I'm going to drain the life out of you tonight."

Member: Jeon Jungkook

It was midnight. You and Jungkook were cuddled up in bed, his body perfectly aligned along with yours. You can feel his chest against your back, slowly heaving up and down. His arm was wrapped around your waist, grazing his fingertips on your bare stomach.

You felt his hot breath hit the nape of your neck, tickling you a bit. You felt his grip tighten on the side of your waist, making you groan quietly.

He was restless, not able to control himself. Cuddling is romantic, but it is also a way to turn a guy on, especially if the girl keeps jiggling her ass to get more comfortable. He kept rubbing his palm down your side and along your thigh, leaving your skin hot.

You moaned quietly, arousing him. He couldn't help but glide his hand between your thighs, rubbing your clothed clit. You gasped, seizing his hand with yours, "Jungkook!"

He chuckled, "It's your fault for rubbing your ass against my crotch." He removed himself from your side and rolled you on your back, hovering above you with both arms on either side of your head.

"Now, shut up and let me fuck you."

A/N: I know some of them are longer than others, but it just happened. I hope you enjoyed!

[dinodawn2]

Shower Surprise

Warning: little smut, mostly kisses

Shower Surprise

**It has only been a few months since you’ve started dating CNCO boy band member Zabdiel De Jesús. He is very sweet and kind to you, but so far everytime he provides a romantic gesture you manage to fuck it up like the virgin mary you are. Somehow you mess up a goodnight kiss after a lovely dinner, and you manage to look silly as you only hold his hand walking in the park.

(Y/N)

You come back to your apartment after a long Friday full of challenging college classes, between Quantitative Reasoning, English literature, and Anatomy you feel like you could pull your hair out. You just let out a sigh, as you toss your bangs onto the floor closest to your side of the room, since you share with one of your best friends Nikki. She hasn’t come back yet, probably tutoring someone in spanish or at a workshop with Shay in their sorority. You decide to grab a early shower and skip dinner or call delivery later. You grab your pjs and jump into the shower.

Feeling the hot water touch your skin, your muscles begin to relax. You think about changing this shower to a well deserved bubble bath, but decide against it. You jam out to your mix of country and old rock music in the shower, slightly singing at the top of your lungs, not caring who hears. Enjoying your alone time in the room, singing away in the hot splashing water of the shower, you don’t hear the door open nor do you remember that Zabdiel is coming over for a dinner that you were supposed to have made before he leaves on tour for the next three months.

Zabdiel POV

I think that I am in love with (y/n), explaining to Chris and Richard how I feel about her. I think about her day and night, everytime I hear a corny joke I see her smile and hear her cute laugh that she can’t contain from time to time. Everytime she blushes a new shade of red or the way she tries to hide her face when she thinks she is making a fool of herself. I don’t think she understands how much I love her, when she is being herself around me, instead of a wannabe celebrity like so many other girls I have tried to date. That the curves of her body drive me wild just thinking about holding her in my arms. How she gets all flustered and giggly when we kiss goodnight or hold hands in public. How perfectly imperfect she is to me. I love her so much.

I head over to her place, thinking about how I am going to tell her how I feel and that I believe we will go far. I am excited to see where the night goes. I climb the stairs to her second floor apartment she shares with a friend of hers. I knock on the door but no answer, I try again, I hear music through the door, and realize that (Y/N) is singing, so I let myself in just thinking that she can’t hear me.

I follow the sound of her voice, through the apartment into her bedroom, realizing she is in the shower. I notice that no food has been made and it would seem that she doesn’t plan on getting out very soon. She must have forgotten, maybe she doesn’t feel the same way about me. No, she is not the kind of girl that would drag me along, I am beginning to freak out, I start pacing the floor trying to wrap my head around the situation. Should I leave, or stay? Let her explain or just assume? NO! She deserves time to explain but I can’t wait for her to get out of the shower. What am I thinking, as I open the door to the bathroom, just ask her straight up her feelings, yeah this is going to work.

“(Y/N), I need to know right now, how you feel about me! Because I think I am falling in love with you. Please, tell me.”

(Y/N) POV

Is that knocking on the door? No, can’t be I don’t think anyone is coming over, well if they want in bad enough they’ll just come in. God, I really needed this shower.

Bursting open of the bathroom door. The shower curtain pulled back, and the next thing you know there is a still dressed Zabdiel in the shower with you. “(Y/N), I need to know right now, your feelings for me! I am falling in love with you. Please.” Zabdiel half asking and half shouting at you. You stand there in the shower thinking why is he here, what do I say, yes I like you maybe even love I don’t know, think think think. The only thing that bubbles out of your mouth is “Yes!”

He looks at you so confused. Like Yes what? You wrap your arms around him, pulling his face towards yours with a gentle hot kiss. Bodies pressing together, here you realize for this to work at all, he has to lose some clothes, at the same time he seems to think the same thing. You both begin to tear at any piece of clothing he has on to get it off. Still kissing neither party wanting to break away, until you need air. You look at him fully undressed now, standing in your shower, you assume he was large but your eyes showed you just how large he was, causing you to blush and gasp a little at the sight of him. He let a laugh escape his lips and he pulled you back in for another wet kiss, running your fingers through his curly hair while he held every piece of what you considered ugly fatness of your body in his hands, not letting you go. You could finally feel the ripples of his muscles on your skin, smell his sweet coffee and beach blend that grounds you in a soft and safe place. Suddenly he pulls away, “Are we really going to do this right here and now?”

You think for a second, but decide to turn your brain off and just feel as you hold his hands. “Yes, we both feel the same way obviously, plus your already in here with me. Let’s do this. I’m ready if you are.”

He flashes you a quick smile, grabs you in close, and kisses you saying “If I knew this was the way to speed things along, I would have done it a month ago. So I wouldn’t have to leave and wait three months for this to happen again, mi amor.” You hit him on the chest with a smile, leaning up to kiss him, “Where were we?” you ask. “I think I remember” he says and he begins to shower you with warm passionate kisses everywhere. You giggle of course but you know in your heart that he truly loves you and there is no way you can mess this moment up right now.

…

As the night goes on, just before your fun with Zab is interrupted by the very late return of Nikki, you whisper to him “Te amo, Zabdiel”, “Me too (Y/N), but about you.”