#i’ll post it here too in the next days but

[ghostgirl-22]

im imagining one of the many times patrick is begging to fuck art he suddenly says something like “just let me put the tip in at least baby” and art isn’t in the right mind to see why he shouldn’t cause theyre grinding against each other and licking into each other’s mouths so it shouldn’t be much different. patrick cums so quickly too

Whoops anon this is gonna be a 2 for 1. I hope you don’t mind <3 But Patrick begging made me think it’s perfect for the holiday challenge too so… here’s Art staying over a few nights during winter break. Post Patrick dragging him to his dad’s office Christmas party where him and his brother dressed up like Santa (for some Christmas themed reason) sorry this is all over the place anon. <3

Deck the halls 🎄💫

Day 15: Begging

CW: 18+ !NSFW!

Pair: Artrick

—-

“I think you’re so pretty,” Patrick whispers, he’s still wearing the santa hat, and coat, drunk on spiked egg nog. His dad doesn’t even celebrate Christmas but his office sure knows how to put on a Christmas party.

“Shut up,” Art says, but he’s smiling his stupid pretty little half smile.

They stole candy canes from the Christmas tree in the lobby of his dad’s office, even though Patrick’s stupid brother said they couldn’t. And thank god, because Art’s still sucking on his. Lips stained red, cheeks all flushed— Patrick meant it when he kept telling him all night he’d make the perfect Santa’s elf. “You just blush so yummy,” He teased relentlessly, “especially after Santa fucks you.” That was when Art pushed him away.

Art’s all risky business right now, nothing on but his dress shirt, boxers and socks. His slacks are draped over the chair in the corner of Patrick’s bedroom. He’d wanted them off since he spilled a bit of egg nog on them and Patrick teased him for the way it stained.

Patrick grabs at Arts tie and he steps closer to where Patrick’s sitting on his bed, stopping between Patrick’s legs as Patrick loosens it.

“Come sit on Santa’s lap,” Patrick says, grinning.

Art rolls his eyes, but he’s so soft about it. “You’re so stupid when you drink. You know that right?”

“Come on, sit on my lap. I’ll give you whatever you want.”

“The perfect backhand,” Art says.

“I’m Santa, not Jesus,” Patrick points out and Art shoves him. Patrick laughs and grabs onto his arm pulling him closer still, takes him by the waist and lifts at his dress shirt. “Come on, lemme fuck you.”

“Don’t do that— they’re right next door,” Art says, pulling the candy cane from his mouth and turning to look at the closed door like Patrick’s brother and his wife are just going to appear in his room out of thin air. When they don’t, he pops it back into his mouth. Patrick keeps touching him. He’s not concerned about how close they are, they’re really boring and Patrick is 100 percent certain they’re probably already asleep.

But he tries to ease Arts nerves anyway. “Please. I promise I’ll be quiet,” Patrick sighs, talking to Art’s pretty waist. Art’s got the perfect little belly button. Patrick presses his lips there and feels Art suck it in as he tangles his fingers into Patrick’s hair.

“What are you doing?” He giggles cause he’s ticklish and he pushes Patrick’s head away for the same reason.

“Trying to fuck you,” Patrick sighs. He gets to his feet and he’s suddenly in Art’s face. Art steps back but Patrick steps closer and pulls the candy cane out of Art’s mouth. He presses his lips there instead. Art opens up for him right away. His kisses are sweet like peppermint. And he’s licking and sucking on Patrick’s tongue as if he tastes like candy too. Patrick settles on the edge of the bed again excited at the way Art’s following him. He crawls onto Patrick’s lap so he can keep kissing. Patrick’s hard. Like cut diamonds hard, he’s been halfway there all night. He’s going insane at Art’s tendency to mindlessly grind against it. He’s imagining thrusting inside him, imagining how Art would feel, how he’d react. Art’s already so sensitive all over. Almost like his body was made for sex, Patrick just wants to test it out.

Patrick lays back on the bed resting on his elbows and he puts the candy in his own mouth watching as Art blinks himself into awareness now that he’s not kissing Patrick’s mouth anymore. Patrick can tell he still wants to grind. His hips aren’t moving fast but he’s still gently rolling them along the bulge in Patrick’s pants.

”Fucking please.” Patrick says, quietly. “All I want for Christmas is just to nut in you just once.”

“You’re so fucking…” Art licks his lips. He’s breathless. Kiss swollen. Flushed. Every time Patrick thinks he couldn’t possibly want him more, he gets prettier.

“I will fucking do anything,” Patrick begs. He says, undoing the buttons on Arts dress shirt.

“Patrick,” Art says matter of factly. “Your brother is next door.”

“And I’ll be so quiet. And if you need to you can moan into my pillow. Please. Pretty please. I wanna fill you up and watch it spill out.”

“You’re disgusting,” Art says softly, but he’s squirming.

“I know, I know I am,” Patrick grins, he bites into the candy cane, finishing it off. “But you like it.”

God the blushing. The way he can’t sit still. Patrick hopes he doesn’t lose it in his fucking pants before he even gets inside or all this begging will be for nothing.

“I um— I don’t think I can— your so— so much, Patrick, ” Art says, suddenly shy.

Patrick can’t help himself. He’s grinning like crazy. “Just tell me it’s too big. Tell me it won’t fit.”

“You’re such a freak, ‘m not sayin that,” Art says, he’s blushing something fierce. “I’m just saying…”

“Fine fuck it… what if it’s just the tip? Lemme put in the tip.”

Art sighs, a little smirk on his lips. “You’re so fucking obsessed.”

“Yeah well fucking look at you, princess. Of course I’m obsessed.” Patrick groans. He’s undone all the buttons on Arts shirt and he’s fixating on Art’s bare chest, his perky pink nipples.

Art rolls his eyes at the “princess” comment and Patrick grabs at either side of his shirt and pulls him into another kiss. It’s only moments before Art’s gasping into his mouth and Patrick’s sure if they keep this up he’s gonna come hard in his pants. He rolls them over so he can get Art on his back. And slowly, he pulls back from the kiss. Art’s following, sitting up on his elbows.

“Can I please? Just the tip, baby, pretty pretty please?” Patrick begs.

Art bites his lip and then nods. Patrick doesn’t waste any time, he tugs at Art’s boxers. Slides them off.

Art falls into a sudden fit of giggles and Patrick can’t help smiling at him. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “It’s your santa hat. I just started thinking about you putting me on the naughty list if I didn’t blow you or something.”

Patrick laughs, he’d forgotten he was wearing it still. He pulls it off his head and gives it to Art. Pulls the coat off and drops it on the floor so he’s only in his t-shirt. “For the record I think you’re just the nicest boy.” Patrick says, looking over his dick. It’s so pretty, flushed purple and so full it’s resting heavy on his tummy. “So so nice.”

“You’re so fucking horny, shut up,” Art whispers and Patrick laughs and undoes his own pants kicking them off. Art’s just watching him. “If you put in more than the tip I’m gonna scream and wake up your brother.” He says quietly as Patrick eases himself out of his boxers. It’s clear he’s getting nervous but the way he says it makes Patrick snicker.

“I’m sure you will.” He says smirking as he rubs his palm over Art’s upper thigh. “I have lube in there, it tastes like cotton candy.” Patrick says, gently. Gesturing to his night stand.

“You fucked someone else in here?” Art asks, curiously.

“My summer time girlfriend. But I bought it for you cause your so fucking special.”

“Cotton candy?” Art makes a face.

“Shut the fuck up and get it.”

Art rolls over and pulls open the drawer, digging around. Patrick’s fixating on his ass. He rubs it gently. Almost climbs on top of him and pushes the head in right then and there. There’s so many things he wants to do to this ass. He’s seen Art’s bare bottom quite a few times when they were in school together, Art coming out of the shower. Patrick acting like he’s fine and then sneaking into the bathroom afterwards to touch himself.

“You have a lot of weed,” Art says as he pulls out a bottle from his night stand and inspects it. Same little unimpressed look on his face.

“Taste it,” Patrick says.

“Ew,” Art says.

“Fine give it,” Patrick says and snatches it away from him. He pulls one of Art’s legs up onto his shoulder to get him closer and Art does the same with his other leg. He’s just got on socks and the open dress shirt. Patrick wants him so bad. He wants him so fucking bad. Wants to be balls fucking deep in him for hours. At least an hour. Just wants to fuck him like crazy till he’s falling apart on his dick.

He coats himself in lube. Art’s holding his breath, there’s a wet spot on his tummy from where his dick is leaking. Patrick lines himself up and Art’s inhaling as Patrick presses up against his hole.

Fuck. He’s not sure if he’s gonna be able to fucking do this. Art’s so feverishly warm and virgin tight. Patrick’s struggling just to get the head in.

“Fuck,” Patrick breathes. “Oh fuck, you’ve never even put your fingers in here, have you? Holy shit.”

“W-why would I d-do that?” Art whines, pitched too high and too soft. Squirming beneath him. Patrick shivers.

“Fuck me, I’m gonna fucking lose it.” Patrick says breathlessly as he slowly, so achingly slowly, feels Art’s body open up around the head of his dick.

Art is making these little whiny noises, each sound going straight to Patrick’s dick. He can’t sit still, he’s wiggling like crazy and it’s barely… fucking… in.

“Holy shit,” Patrick gasps, he’s throbbing, aching. He strokes himself twice and he’s halfway fucking done.

“Oh my… fuck… oh Patrick it feels so….mm weird,” Art whines. And it’s too fucking much. Patrick pushes just a little more in… thinks he might just start fucking him… but it’s pointeless because just that little bit of movement combined with Art’s whining and wiggling and Patrick is suddenly gasping through one of the most intense orgasms he’s ever had.

“Fuck,” Patrick gasps breathlessly as he slips out, all his spend leaking out just after. “Goddamnit,” he groans. He’s literally never come that fucking fast in his life.

”Mm,” Art giggles. “I kinda like the tip.”

“Fuck,” Patrick sighs again, running his fingers tips along Arts legs. “You did that to me. You make me fucking insane.”

”I didn’t do anything,” Art says, grinning. “And you didn’t either.” He adds. He’s such a fucking brat.

Patrick adjusts Art’s legs so they’re on either side of Patrick’s waist and he leans over, buries his head against Art’s neck and shoulder, placing little kisses there. All while grabbing onto his dick. Art starts moaning right away as Patrick jerks him. He lasts longer than Patrick but not that much more before Patrick feels the wet hot spurt of liquid spilling between their bodies.

Patrick collapses on top of him when Arts finished. Feels him trying to catch his breath. He curls his fingers into Patrick’s hair and Patrick kisses at his throat, finishing a hickey he’d started.

“Next time I’m just gonna fuck you,” Patrick breathes against his throat.

Art snorts, ��And who knows? Maybe you’ll last longer than 30 seconds.”

“So then you agree? I get to fuck you next time,” Patrick says, grinning up at him.

Art rolls his eyes, but there’s hope— because he’s smiling too.

[yelenasdiary]

A Fluffmas request! The reader longs to provide Yelena with the authentic childhood Christmas she never had, filled with the warmth and joy of festive traditions. Initially, Yelena hesitates, dismissing the activities as childish frivolities. However, as she allows herself to participate in the cheerful festivities, she begins to discover the magic they've been missing. Each moment spent baking cookies fills the air with sweet aromas, while writing a heartfelt letter to Santa ignites a spark of hope within her. Constructing a snowman becomes a playful adventure, and crafting delicate paper snowflakes transforms her surroundings into a winter wonderland. The simple joy of making a green and red paper chain to countdown the days until Christmas connects her to the excitement she never knew. Slowly but surely, this enchanting experience begins to heal her inner child, bringing forth a sense of belonging she had long forgotten.

A Christmas Well Deserved

Pairing: Yelena Belova x Fem! Reader 

Summary: This year, Yelena is home for the entire holidays, and you plan to give her the best Christmas she could possibly imagine.  

Fluff, Tiny Angst

Warnings: Mentions of Red Room | 2.2K

Translations: Detka (baby),

AC: Thank you for sending this! I got to use one of my favourite head cannons in this, I wonder if any of you will be able to work out what it is! Enjoy! x

Holiday Special Masterlist

Yelena entered your shared home still buzzing with the same energy from her workout. Over the smell of her perfume, a hint of gingerbread candles wafted through the air as she dropped her gym bag at the door and kicked off her shoes. The home was a little too quiet for her liking as she walked the small hallway that led to the open kitchen and dining room. 

“Detka?” She called out softly. 

“In here love!” You called back from the living room. A throw pillow under your knees while the coffee table was littered with crafting paper, glue, plenty of pens and pencils and stickers. Yelena walked into the living room and paused, her heart-warming at the sight before her. She knew you loved Christmas, so it didn’t surprise her to see you getting a start on making Christmas decorations.

“You’re finally home!” You beamed with a soft smile, “come, sit!” You added, patting the cushion next to you. 

"What are you doing?” The blonde asked, as she got closer to the coffee table and took a seat beside you. 

“We’re going to write letters to Santa!” You said, picking up a vibrant green piece of card paper. Yelena chuckled, “seriously? Isn’t that for, like, you know, kids?”

You shot her a playful glaze, “hey! this is an important tradition! How will Santa know what to bring you for Christmas otherwise?” You replied, the enthusiasm in your voice very clear to her.

“Santa? The same guy who probably has a back log of mission reports longer than Natasha’s first mission?” She teased, a grin tugging at her lips. “He’s never going to read these” she added. You reached for a piece of red card paper and a maker before looking over at her again, “well, we’ll just have to make sure our letters are the best he’s ever seen!” You added, leaning closer to her, “plus, you can’t start Christmas without a letter to Santa” you added. 

Yelena shook her head mockingly, “I can’t believe you’re going to make me write a letter to some guy who doesn’t exist” she teased once again, although, she couldn’t help but feel a flutter of excitement as she kindly took the paper and marker from you. 

“That’s my girl!” You smiled, your eyes sparkling with anticipation. 

Once you both finished making your letters to Santa, you carefully placed them on the small dresser by the front door, “I’ll take them down to the post box in the morning” you smiled proudly as you turned to Yelena. She looked at you amused, “And what are all these boxes for?” She asked, her eyes shifting to the corner of the living room with three large boxes stacked. 

“That is all the decorations for the tree!” You beamed once more, “now that our letters to Santa are finished, we can put our tree up!” You added. 

Yelena raised a brow, “I’m pretty sure I could take down half of the bad guys in the world without first having to assemble a tree” she teased in a playful tone, crossing her arms over her chest. 

You laughed at her mocking, playfully rolling your eyes, “come on, it’s a tradition! Besides, as an assassin, I’m sure you have all the perfect skills to pick out the perfect tree” you said, gently nudging her shoulder, “so go have a shower and dress warmly, it could take a while” you added. 

“Wait, we’re not just going to have one of those fake trees like last year?” Yelena questioned. 

“Well, last year we were renting an apartment and this year we’re homeowners. I thought our first Christmas in our first home should be extra special” you explained smiling softly. Yelena’s smile betrayed her, “alright, but only because I think you’re cute when you’re excited!” She warned before taking herself to the bathroom. 

After what felt like eight hours, you and Yelena finally picked out the perfect evergreen tree for your brand-new home. Yelena carefully strapped the tree securely in the back of her blue pick-up truck while you sat in the passenger seat with two pumpkin latte’s in your hands to keep them from freezing. 

While Yelena double checked each strap to ensure it was tight enough, her mind drifted to what Christmas used to be like. Nothing more than a normal day with empty cardboard boxes wrapped up in festive wrapping paper and perfectly placed under a fake tree and too young to truly remember the one time she had a real Christmas with her family. She felt tears fighting their way to freedom as she blinked them away before she got in her truck. 

“Everything secure?” You asked with a soft smile as you handed a pumpkin latte to her. She nodded, “shouldn’t be falling out on the way home” she lightly chuckled before taking a sip. The drive home wasn’t very quiet as Yelena focused on the icy roads, you rambled on and on about all the different decorations you remembered you had stored away. 

Together, you and Yelena managed to get the tree inside the living room, you cleaned up any droppings that were left in the process while Yelena couldn’t help herself and opened the boxes of decorations. With a shared smile, you both turned to the evergreen tree standing proudly in the corner of the room. It’s deep green needles filled the space with the earthly scent of nature, mixing nicely with the gingerbread candle you had lit earlier on in the day. 

“Why don’t you be the first to put something on the tree” you suggested, making Yelena look over at you with her big green eyes. “Are you sure? I mean, this is probably more your thing” she replied. 

“I love Christmas, yes, but I love it more with you and I want you to enjoy it just as much as I do” you assured her, giving her a soft, warm smile. 

She nodded without saying a word as she reached into one of the boxes and pulled out some fairy lights. “Ahh, good idea! Putting the lights on first is smart” you said. 

“Do you want to help?” She asked in an innocent tone, making your heart melt as your smile only grew bigger, “sure!” You beamed. 

As the evening deepened, you took a moment to appreciate the beauty in front of you, not the tree but the light in Yelena’s eyes as she stood back to admire the festive tree covered in colorful lights, sparkly tinsel and all kinds of different ornaments. Her eyes started from the top of the tree and slowly made their way to the bottom, ever so softly she smiled in awe, her heart filling with warmth. 

“Before you turn the star on, make a wish” you said softly, breaking the silence. She turned to you once more, “Seriously?” She asked, unsure. You chuckled lightly at her question, “darling, it’s okay to be this big, strong and powerful assassin and still be a soft, loving, angel at heart” you reminded her, “this Christmas will be a place for warmth, love and memories. You don’t have to worry about looking silly, that’s the best part” you added, assuring her. 

“Okay” she said, her voice barely a whisper as she closed her eyes for a few moments, making a wish before switching on the lights to the treetops star. 

As you both stood together in front of the tree, you knew you were giving Yelena the kind of Christmas she always dreamed of and as the month of December continued, so did the festive activities.

----

 The snow fell softly, turning the world into a sparkling winter wonderland. You were all rugged up in your winter gear, your cheeks flushed with the cool, crisp air and your breath mingled with the frosty breeze as you stood on the front lawn with a soft smile. Yelena watched you from the living room window, shaking her head as you tried to encourage her to come outside. 

“Come on! It’ll be fun!” You called, your voice ringing with excitement. Kids in the neighborhood were filling the street with laughter while they built snowmen, played ice hockey and battled in snowball fights. Yelena could see the joy the kids were spreading as she sighed together and grabbed her winter coat. 

“You want to make a snowman?” She asked, “aren’t we a little old for that?” She added although you could see the corners of her mouth turning up ever so slightly.

“Maybe” you replied, “but why should kids have all the fun?” You added, grinning widely. Yelena playfully rolled her eyes and stepped off the porch, letting the weight of your enthusiasm get the better of her, “alright, let’s see how this goes” she said. 

Almost immediately you knelt down scooping handfuls of snow into a generous ball as Yelena stood back observing you as if you were an odd creature doing something crazy. “Well, don’t just stand there baby! Get rollin’!” You said, looking up at her. Yelena didn’t need to be told twice, she knelt down beside you and began to roll balls of snow. 

Once the three large snowballs were stacked, with great effort Yelena would say, you stepped back to admire your team-work. “Now for the decorations!” You smiled. 

“I’ll get the stickers!” Yelena replied with excitement, as you dashed back inside to grab an old scarf you found while unpacking many months ago. 

“If this fails, I’m never letting you live it down!” Yelena warned with a smirk on her face telling you that she was enjoying the moment more than she let on. 

“Challenge accepted!” You shot back as you draped the scarf around the snowman’s neck and carefully arranged the buttons for its eyes and smile. 

Yelena stabbed two sticks into each side for the arms before she stood back to take in the scene. A moment later, Yelena let out a soft chuckle, “alright, I admit it, he looks…..decent” she said, her voice softening. 

“I knew you’d have fun!” You replied, playfully giving her a nudge. 

----

As Christmas came closer each day, every day was filled with something fun to do. You and Yelena baked cookies and cupcakes together, decorating them in a festive theme, you checked out a few farmers markets to pick up some unique gifts for family and friends. The town held plenty of Christmas themed activities for all to join in on, you both saw a caroling show while eating warm pretzels and sipping on hot coca, you went Christmas light watching while hand in hand and of course, plenty of Christmas movies ranging from Elf to Love Actually to Die Hard and finishing with How The Grinch Stole Christmas on Christmas Eve were watched. 

Lying in bed, you lay patiently just waiting for the perfect time to slip out of bed without Yelena knowing. Her arm draped over your waist also prevented you from moving so you waited until she rolled over and her soft snores could be heard. As you carefully slipped out of bed and tiptoed around to her side, you saw her face softened, her brows were free of worry and her lips relaxed, she was finally in her deep slumber. Only ever allowing herself to have a deep sleep when she truly felt safe. 

You quietly tiptoed into the guest bedroom, pulling out a hidden basket of overflowing gifts from the wardrobe before taking them into the living room. The tree lit with all its beautiful colors as you knelt down in front of it. You began to carefully pull out the wrapped gifts you had hidden away and placed them neatly under the tree, each gift accompanied with a little tag that read “To Yelena, From Santa”. 

After placing the last present under the tree, you stepped back to admire your handiwork. It was a sight to see and you couldn’t wait for Yelena to wake up in the morning, just the thought of her seeing the gifts brought a smile to your lips. Next, you moved to the kitchen where you nibbled at the home-made cookies and sipped the milk you both left out for Santa. You laughed softly to yourself as you purposely made a mess of the late-night snack just knowing how Yelena would find the extra effort silly but charming. 

With everything in place, you took a moment to yourself, taking a seat on the sofa. Your thoughts were interrupted but the image of young Yelena, controlled by the Red Room, an innocent little soul just wishing upon a star for her life to be different. Your eyes shifted back to the bright Christmas tree as you pictured the look on Yelena’s face in the morning lighting up with childlike wonder when she would see what you had done. 

After a while, you returned to bed and almost instantly, Yelena’s arms were wrapped around you, pulling you closer into her hold. Still in a deep slumber, she didn’t wake, she didn’t make a sound as you placed a soft kiss on the back of her hand, “Merry Christmas, my love” you whispered ever so softly before closing your eyes, excited for Christmas morning to wake you.

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[winchesterwild78]

On the Twelfth Day of Christmas

Master List

Characters:  Jensen x Reader

Warnings: mention of divorce, angst, self esteem issues, fluff

A/N: Day 12 of my holiday fics. I hope you enjoy this short series. I’m really excited about it. All work is my own, please don’t take it. Reblogs and likes are welcomed. 

This is a work of FICTION. Jensen is divorced from Danneel. If you don’t like that, then don’t read it. Sorry, but shit happens in life, and this was a story that popped in my head to round out this Christmas Series. 

Written fast and edited fast, please overlook any errors. 

Minors DNI 18+

Jensen was gone filming in Toronto. His parents were flying in tomorrow and his siblings and their families a day after that. Jensen and I were hosting Christmas this year at our house in Connecticut. We decided to stay so we could be closer to the kids for the holiday. 

Since Jensen and Danneel got divorced the holidays were always a bit tricky to navigate. Things got a little more tense when Jensen and I got married, but I try to keep things cordial with Danneel for the sake of the kids. 

I was sitting on the couch working on my laptop when my phone rang. I saw it was Jensen and smiled. 

“Hey baby. How’s filming?” “Hey sweetheart, it’s going well. I hope we wrap for the holiday soon. I don’t want to miss the kids’ performances and I can’t wait to be back home with you.”

“Me either baby. Are you guys behind?” “A little. It’s frustrating, but that’s usually how it goes when I want to wrap early or on time. I’ll keep you posted. Mom and Dad will be there in time to go with you though.” 

“Yeah, I’m looking forward to it. I know the kids are excited about seeing them.” 

“Well darlin’, I’m needed back on set. I love you and I’ll see you soon.” “I love you too, Jens.” 

We hung up and I sat in the silence of the house. It was about a week until Christmas and the house was decorated with beautiful colors, twinkle lights, and gifts under the tree.

I missed Jensen, but I was so incredibly proud of his work. I just hoped he’d be home in time for the kids’ concert and play, and of course Christmas. 

The next morning I got up early to get Jensen’s parents from the airport. His father was always very quiet and reserved around me, but his mother was always so sweet and welcoming. The first time I met her she hugged me and told me she knew Jensen was in love with me.

A few hours later we were walking through the door and I showed Alan and Donna the guest room they would be staying in. “I hope this is to your liking. There are extra towels in the bathroom, and extra toiletries under the sink. If you need anything, let me know.” 

Donna stepped towards me, “It’s perfect sweetie, thank you. Just take a deep breath. Everything is going to be fine.” I nodded and offered her a soft smile. 

I sent Jensen a text.

Me: Your parents are here safe and sound. Your mom said Josh and his family and Mackenzie and her family are still coming tomorrow. I love you.

I started cooking dinner a few hours later. Alan was watching the Dallas game and Donna was in the kitchen helping me. I still hadn’t heard back from Jensen and I was a little sad. 

Donna must have sensed it because she placed her hand on my arm, “Y/N, these shoots right before a holiday break can stretch on for hours. I’m sure he’s just been tied up on set.”

I nodded. She was right, but it didn’t stop the pang in my chest. I love Jensen’s family and his kids, but the thought of doing all of this and facing Danneel without him just makes me sad and a little anxious. 

I was busy cooking and didn’t hear my phone. “Y/N, I think your phone went off.” Donna smiled.

I looked at the screen and saw a notification from Jensen and smiled. Donna saw and smiled too. “See I told you, sweetie.” I nodded and opened my phone. 

Jensen: Hey baby. Sorry it’s been a long day. Thanks for holding down the fort. Don’t let Josh tell you I was the trouble maker growing up, because he was. 😂 I miss you so much. We are close to wrapping. I hope I can make it back in time for the kids’ shows. I’ll call you later. I love you.

I smiled and set my phone down. “Mom, before Josh gets here I need to know, which one was the trouble maker, Josh or Jensen?” She laughed, “Jensen told you Josh was, didn’t he?” I nodded. 

“Well sweetie, both of them kept me on my toes. Especially after Mac was born. They became very protective of her and were trying to be her favorite brother.” “That’s sweet. So, which one became her favorite?” “She never really said, but I know she’s always had a soft spot for Jensen. He was seven when she was born and he doted on her. He was finally a big brother and stepped into that role so easily.”

“I can really see him doing that. He’s always been so amazing no matter what his role is, but especially when it comes to family. He’s an amazing father and husband. I know how incredibly lucky I am to have him in my life. Like Jensen, my previous marriage didn’t work out, so both of us came into this relationship with walls. Jensen has an undeniable charm that can break down any wall.” 

Alan asked for a beer from the living room and Donna smirked. She handed me the beer, “Here, from what Jensen says you’re pretty great at breaking down walls too. Go break that wall down. Deep down Alan does care about you, he’s just guarded.” I nodded and took the beer. 

I took a deep breath. I know Jensen’s relationship with his father is important, so it’s important to me to have a good relationship with him too. I walked into the living room and handed Alan the beer. He looked up at me, “Thanks.” I nodded. I looked at the television and saw the Cowboys were winning. Lucky for me I had always liked them and saw this as an in. 

I started out by testing the water with questions about the game, and before too long we were talking about the season and things seemed lighter. I excused myself to check on dinner and found Donna in the kitchen smiling. 

I touched her arm, “Thank you.” She smiled and nodded. 

The next two days were a blur. Josh, Mackenzie and their families came into town and tonight was the night of the kids’ performances. Jensen still wasn’t home, and it broke my heart. 

His kids are everything to him and to miss something like this was no doubt breaking his heart. I tried to call him, but it went right to voicemail.

We all got ready and headed to the school for the performances. As we walked up to the school I saw JJ, Arrow, and Zeppelin standing outside looking around with Danneel. Donna took my hand and gave me a little squeeze. “You’ve got this, and you’ve got all of us.” I nodded. 

I walked over to them and made eye contact with Danneel. “Mama Y/N! Grammy and Papa! You came!” JJ squealed first when she saw us. Arrow and Zeppelin followed her as hugs were exchanged. The kids looked around and I saw their faces fall a little. 

Before I could say anything Danneel stepped forward, “So I see his children aren’t a priority anymore and he sent you instead. You will never be what I was to him no matter how hard you try. I give your relationship 5 years tops before he finds someone better, someone worthy. You’re just his rebound honey.” 

I gasped and felt a pang in my chest. I had always felt a little out of place in his life. He was Jensen freaking Ackles, and I was just Y/N, a fan he met and we hit it off. 

Before I could say anything I heard a deep voice from behind me. It startled me. “Enough! Don’t speak to her like that, especially in front of these children. She means more to Jensen than you ever did or will. Believe me, she’s more than a rebound. Y/N is the love of his life, his wife and you will treat her with respect.” I couldn’t believe my ears or my eyes. The man coming to my defense was Alan. I looked at him and he offered me a soft smile. I mouthed, ‘thank you’, and he nodded. 

Danneel backed off and told the kids to come on. Before they walked away I knelt down, “Guys, daddy is trying really hard to get here. I promise you that’s all he’s talked about the past few days. If he’s not here I’m going to record it and show it to him. He’s so proud of the three of you, and he loves you three more than anything.” They hugged me tightly and JJ whispered, “Thank you.” I nodded and they went into the school with Danneel. 

We followed and took our seats. I looked at my phone one last time before silencing it. There was still no message or missed call from Jensen. My heart broke for the kids and for him. He hated missing anything they did. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Danneel sitting a few rows back with her boyfriend, glaring at me. I turned back and looked towards the stage.

The house lights turned off and everyone clapped. I grabbed my phone to record when a low voice was beside me, “Is this seat taken?” I turned and looked up seeing Jensen. 

“Jensen! You’re here. Oh my god!” I jumped up and threw my arms around him and kissed him. He chuckled, “Sweetheart we need to sit. They are about to start.” 

Jensen sat between me and his mother. He glanced over at his family and looked back at Danneel who was shocked to see him. The first to perform was JJ. She was singing with the chorus and had a solo. After her performance we applauded and Jensen yelled, “Way to go J bird.” She beamed because she knew it was Jensen.

After the twins play Jensen was beaming with pride. We met them backstage and the kids leaped in Jensen’s arms. “Daddy, you made it!” Danneel stood to the side with a scowl on her face. 

“Nothing could ever keep me away from you three. I love you guys so much and I’m so proud of you. Now, let’s go get something to eat. I’m starving.” 

We all laughed and headed towards the cars. Danneel was going home and the kids were going to stay at our house. We all went out to dinner and of course Jensen was noticed by some fans. As I watched his interactions with the fans my mind kept replaying everything Danneel said to me. Then I saw her. 

The beautiful, young woman who went to every convention, every party open to the public and everyone knew who she was. Jensen knew her by name too. 

She was stunning and the way she hugged him and he leaned into her made my breath hitch. 

She’s studying to be an actress and she’s a musician. Young and absolutely beautiful. 

Jensen’s laugh filled the air and I saw her hand on his chest. The sting of tears filling my eyes and my heart aching. 

“Daddy, come on we’re starving” the kids said. She looked over at them, “oh my goodness, Jensen. The kids have gotten so big. Hey guys I don’t know if you remember me, but I remember meeting you guys a few years ago. Y'all have grown so much.” Jensen introduced her to everyone there except me. I sat there with the hole in my heart growing. 

Jensen and her continued talking for a while longer and the pain in my chest just grew. 

We had all sat down to order while Jensen continued talking. Donna leaned over, squeezed my hand and said, “Remember he loves his fans, but he loves you more.” I looked at her with tears in my eyes, “I hope so. Um, excuse me for a moment.” 

I stood and walked to the bathroom as the tears fell. How could he forget to introduce me? Was Danneel right? Was I just a rebound? 

When I returned to the table the food had arrived and Jensen was finally at the table. There was an opened gift next to him on the table. 

I looked at it and then at him. He leaned over as I sat down, “Are you okay?” I just nodded. 

Donna gave my hand a gentle squeeze and smiled softly. 

After we ate we drove back to the house. I kept looking at Jensen who had a huge smile plastered on his face and my eyes flicked down to the gift. 

“Jens, what’s in the gift?” “Oh she had a collage made of us to hang on the wall.” “Oh that’s sweet, but how did she get pictures of us?” “Oh no, pictures of her and I.” 

I swallowed hard and felt the sting of the tears, “Oh.” 

Jensen must have noticed the crack in my voice, “Baby, what’s wrong?” I shook my head and looked out the window. 

The tears started to fall. I tried not to let Danneel’s words get to me, but maybe she was right. She had been married to him for over a decade, and I definitely looked different than her and the other women he had dated. 

When we pulled up at home I put a smile on my face as we walked towards the door. 

Jensen handed Josh the keys and told him he’d be in the house in a minute. Josh looked at me and then Jensen and nodded. Donna took the kids inside and before she left she leaned in and said something to Jensen. He nodded. 

Taking my hand he asked me to wait. 

Once everyone had gone inside Jensen pulled me back inside the warmth of the car. 

“Baby, please talk to me. You’ve been crying all night. What can I do to help you?” 

I swallowed hard and looked down at my lap. I couldn’t look at him. “I just let Danneel get in my head, then I saw you at the restaurant with her and how you both were acting towards each other made me a little jealous and sad. It looked like you were flirting with her. Then you introduced her to everyone except me. Like you were embarrassed to admit you were married to me. If you’ve changed your mind about me, about us then please tell me. I’ll be okay, but I need to know.”

By the time I stopped talking the tears were falling hard and fast. 

Jensen’s breath was shaky. He grabbed my hand. “Oh baby. No, I love you and I haven’t changed my mind about us, and I never will. I’m so sorry I made you feel that way. Mom told me what Danneel said to you. Dad was right, you are the love of my life. You’re not a rebound. I’ve loved you from the moment I met you. You’re everything to me and if you asked me to, I'd give up everything to stay by your side forever.” He leaned forward to kiss me, but stopped, waiting for me to close the distance. “And as far as why I didn’t introduce you, it’s because she knows who you are. I talk about you all the time and her and I have talked about you and how much I love you. I’m sorry sweetheart.” “Jensen, I don’t want you to give anything up, I just need to stop letting her get in my head.”

I leaned forward, closing the distance between us and kissed him. The kiss was soft at first, but then deepened and became full of need. His hands trailed down my body and I moaned. 

“Jens.” I needed him. My arousal soaked my panties and I could feel his through his pants. 

He pulled me on his lap as we continued kissing. The rest of the world disappeared around us. At that moment it was just Jensen and I. 

Things were getting hot and heavy as his phone went off. He groaned against me and looked at his phone. 

“Josh, you’re kinda interrupting something.” Jensen laughed at whatever Josh said. “Yeah, we’re on our way in.” 

He hung up and chuckled, “We should go inside. I promise we will finish this later.” He kissed me again as I climbed off his lap. 

We walked towards the house holding hands, “I love you, Y/N. So much.” “I love you too, Jensen.” 

Walking into the house we were greeted with the sounds of laughter and children playing. Josh walked up to us laughing, “Alright you two, next time maybe climb in the backseat. I swear you two are like teenagers.” 

My face flushed red and Jensen laughed, “You’re just jealous you didn’t think about making out with Ali in the car.” They both laughed. 

Later that night as Jensen and I went to bed he pulled me into his arms. “I believe we were right about here.” Jensen said as he pulled me onto his lap. I giggled as he kissed down my neck and his hands trailed over my body. 

Jensen took his time with me tonight. We reconnected and my heart filled with so much love. As he pulled me close to his side and my head rested on his chest I felt all the love he had for me. “Jens, I’m sorry. Sorry I let her get in my head and I spiraled from there. You just got home and tonight should have been a happy homecoming, not one filled with tears.” 

He turned his head and looked at me, “Hey, this is part of life. D has always had a way of getting under people’s skin, she just knows how to cause chaos. I love you and only you. You’re it for me. I’m not going anywhere and I wake up every day thankful to have found you. You’re my calm in the chaos and the love of my life. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life proving to you how grateful I am for you, for us. I love you, Y/N. Today, tomorrow, forever.” 

A tear slipped out as I took in a deep, shaky breath. “I promise to work on letting her get to me. I wake up every day still in disbelief that you chose me. I never thought I’d find my home, the love of my life until I met you. Jensen you wear so many hats in your life and so many people depend on you. I want to be the one person in your life you can lean on, depend on. I love you, Jensen, today, tomorrow, forever. And I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life proving to you that you mean so much to me. I’m so glad you’re home, now we can focus on us and family. This Christmas is going to be one of the best in my life because I get to spend it with you and surrounded by family.” 

Jensen placed a kiss on my lips, “I can’t wait to spend this Christmas with you and our family too. This will be the first Christmas in a long time where I have everyone I love and care about under one roof. Thank you, Y/N for making it happen.” 

I nodded and smiled, “Good night Jens, I love you.” “Good night, sweetheart. I love you too.”

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[ladykailitha]

Hoe! Hoe! Hoe! Naughty Night!

Hello and welcome to my Christmas AUvent Calendar! Every day from now until the 24th I will be posting a ficlet that is 500-1500 from an AU I've done over the years.

All stories will be marked with the tag #12 aus of christmas so you can follow along as I will only be tagging my permanent list for this (it would get too confusing otherwise).

The next one on our list is: Stripper verse. You can read the story here. All links will be to the first chapter, but the chapter itself will have links to the rest of the story.

Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4 Day 5 Day 6 Day 7 Day 8

~

Eddie was positively gleeful. Ever since Steve joined the Hellfire Exotic Club, his whole life had changed. In addition to having Steve as the best boyfriend he’s ever had, he got three new dancers who were amazing, he got to design the club the way he always wanted it, and then there were the themed nights.

It all started with Fairy Tail night which was a rousing (eyebrow wagging) success. So Chrissy and he got down and started planning out other themed nights. Halloween Killer Night was a personal favorite.

Which brought him to tonight.

Hoe! Hoe! Hoe! Naughty or Nice Night. It was going to be a blast. The premise was someone accidentally writing to Satan their very naughty gift wish list and Satan deciding to Nightmare Before Christmas it up.

Brian was going to be their Santa Claus turned Greed when Satan temps him with all the finer things that Santa misses out on all year making presents for children. Scott was going to play the naughty list maker and he was going to dance with all the Deadly Sins as they check off things off his list.

It was going to be so hot.

Steve’s biggest worry was whether or not people were going to be happy to see Eddie’s Lucifer take a backseat this time as you really can’t accidentally write to Lucifer the way you could with Satan.

But Eddie had no doubts that since it was only for the one show very few people were going to have a problem with Steve taking center stage. After all that’s what he did every Sunday anyway.

“All right, you win!” Steve said after Eddie’s very impassioned speech about it. “I’ll go seduce the entire Deadly Sins. If that’s what you want.”

Eddie pounced on him and kissed him dirty. Once he was sure Steve was thoroughly wrecked, he got off and grinned. “You can slut around on stage all you want, Stevie, but I’m the only one who can do that.”

Steve propped himself on his elbows. “Yeah, yeah. Now get back up here and finish me off, you menace!”

Eddie cackled and dove right back in to do just that.

~

They were on their last dance and Eddie was absolutely covered in sweet. All his dancers were. They had worked hard tonight and had earned every bit of their Christmas bonuses just tonight, never mind the rest of the year.

Steve straddled Brian’s lap and gave the once Santa a lap dance, bumping and grinding against him. Brian’s hands were all over Steve’s oiled up form. And just as Santa grabbed Satan to take him as his own, Mrs. Claus burst on to the scene. She fainted and the other demons rushed her, pulling off her clothes. Astrid who danced as Astaroth rose up, her hair in disarray, her body naked.

The other demons danced up to her leading her away from where Santa and Satan where making out on Santa’s throne and into the arms of Scott’s wisher. Then the two danced as she fell in further into lust.

Then Eddie’s Lucifer walked out and threw out his hands. Everyone froze as if captured by Lucifer’s spell. Then yanked as if they were all on strings attached to his hands. All the dancers fell to the floor at his feet, even Santa, Mrs. Claus, and Scott.

“Someone’s been naughty, my little demons,” Lucifer said with a grin. “You need to put Santee Claus back so that he can deliver presents to all the kids of the world. Good and bad.”

Brian and Astrid stood up and walked up to Lucifer. Lucifer put his fingers under their chins. “You two are always welcome to come back for next year, but when I say you can.” He pushed them away. “Now run along.”

Both Astrid and Brian looked at each other and then gathered their clothes and ran off stage in different directions. Then he pulled Steve and Scott to him. “You two caused a lot a of mischief tonight and you know how I love mischief. So I’ll grant you each a Christmas wish.”

Scott wished to be a demon, which was granted, the clothes that he had worn all night, being torn off to reveal his nightly demon costume.

Steve looked up at Eddie and cocked his head to side. “I’m the demon of Envy, Lucy. You know what I want. Everything you have, I want it. All of it!”

Eddie pulled Steve’s Satan in close until they were practically fused to each other. “Oh my little Deadly Sin. You want everything and will always crave more and more. There is nothing in the world that would satisfy you. Nothing but me.”

Then pulled Steve in for searing kiss and the crowd went wild. Eddie ripped off the last part of Steve’s costume that he was still wearing which was the red leather thong and threw it at the audience.

“Because I all I want for Christmas,” Lucifer purred, leaning Satan back to touch his chest, “is you.”

He sealed that promise with a searing kiss.

~

Day 10 Day 11

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

[kingofbodyrolls]

Songs of the Heart (m) | pjm | chap 2: who

You’re only human, and day by day, you find yourself falling for your neighbor—the world-renowned singer-songwriter, Jimin. But behind his dazzling smile lies a hidden fragility, a heart weighed down by unspoken sorrow. When his young daughter shows up at your door, her teary eyes and trembling voice telling you her father is crying, your heart skips a beat. Rushing to his side, you find him on the floor of his studio, surrounded by scattered papers and raw, unfiltered pain. Now, as his quiet strength falters, you’re left wondering—can you be the melody to soothe his fractured soul? Can you help him piece together the remnants of his broken heart?

→ Pairing: jimin x reader (female) → AUs: musician!au (not completely idol!au), single dad!au, slice of life!au → Trope: strangers to lovers / neighbors to lovers → Genres: slow burn romance / fluff / angst / smut / comedy → Rating: mature/explicit/R18  (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 8.8k → Warnings + triggers: mention of past bad relationships (only briefly mentioned), crying, pain, hurt (emotional), stereotypical assumptions, slight misunderstandings, protective and oblivious big brother Yoongi, Hwa-Young is so cute 😭 → Read on AO3? [link] → Author’s note: waaaah 🤧 This chapter holds such a special place in my heart—it’s one of those moments that feels like capturing a fragile piece of the soul in words. There’s something tender, something magical about it... but I’ll let you discover that for yourself. I truly hope it speaks to you as deeply as it does to me 🫶💖 This whole story (which will be posted every Sunday for the next eight weeks) is for my dear friend @remmykinsff! I hope you’ll love it 💜

← prev | s.masterlist | m.masterlist |  next →

Jimin is the kind of neighbor who seems almost too good to be true. Warm, thoughtful, and effortlessly kind, he’s the type of person who lights up a space simply by existing. But there’s a shadow beneath his radiance—a quiet sadness that lingers in his faraway glances, in the melancholy chords of his songs. Despite his inviting smile, you can’t help but wonder what burdens his heart carries. Is it loss? Longing? The memory of someone who used to be here—perhaps the mother of his sweet, joyful daughter? The questions tug at your mind, but you hold them back. Curiosity simmers, yet you don’t dare pry into his private pain.

Since the day you introduced yourself, he’s gone out of his way to make you feel at home. In the past week, you’ve unpacked every last box, even posting an ad for someone to take them off your hands for reuse. And in that same time, Jimin has invited you into his cozy, art-filled home more times than you can count, eager to hear your thoughts on his lyrics. His daughter is just as charming as the house she brightens, her laughter filling every corner. Their kindness is so genuine, so disarmingly human, that you wonder how someone so well-known, so revered, could remain this grounded. You’d expected someone of his fame and talent to carry an air of distance, but Park Jimin is anything but.

“So, do you have the hots for him yet?” Namjoon teases, jabbing his fork into a helpless carrot on his plate.

The question hits like a snowball, and you feel the heat rise to your cheeks, turning them as pink as the cranberry sauce on your plate. “What? No!” you stammer, immediately looking away, out the frosted window of the restaurant. Outside, snowflakes swirl in the brisk wind, blanketing the streets in soft white. It’s warm inside, but the chill of Namjoon’s question lingers. Christmas is just around the corner, and yet, all you can think about is a certain neighbor with sad eyes and a voice that seems to carry the weight of the world.

When you don’t respond—don’t even lift your gaze from the table—Namjoon chuckles, the sound low and teasing. “So you do like him.”

A heavy sigh escapes you as you practically collapse against the table, your arms folding under you like a crumpled paper. “How can you blame me?” you groan, voice tinged with exasperation, though the tightness blooming in your chest says otherwise. Jimin’s face flashes in your mind—his warm smile, his soothing voice, the gentle way he looks at his daughter—and your heart betrays you, skipping a beat. “He’s just… he’s so good-looking, so sweet, so—kind. And don’t even get me started on his daughter. She’s the most precious kid I’ve ever met.”

“Wait,” you say suddenly, lowering your voice to a conspiratorial whisper, as though afraid the other restaurant patrons might overhear. “Did you know he had a daughter?”

Namjoon pauses, his glass of water halfway to his lips. He raises a brow. “I didn’t,” he admits, taking a sip. “But, honestly, it makes sense. The guy keeps his private life locked up tighter than a vault. I didn’t even know he lived out here in the sticks.”

You laugh softly, though there’s an edge of disbelief to it. “Right? I mean, the Park Jimin, living in some rundown neighborhood? When I found out he was my neighbor, I thought I was dreaming. But, seriously, why would someone like him live there? He’s famous. He has money. He could live anywhere—penthouse, sprawling mansion, you name it. So why here?”

The thought makes your cheeks burn, and you look down at your hands, fiddling with the edge of your napkin. You’re not sure if you’re embarrassed at the audacity of your questions or the fact that you’ve been thinking about this way too much.

Leaning forward, you rest your elbows on the table and let your words tumble out before you can stop them. “Joonie…” Your voice is quieter now, almost tender, as though you’re confessing something sacred. “Jimin seems so sad. He lives all alone with his daughter, and all of his songs—they’re so full of pain, of longing. Do you think…” You hesitate, swallowing hard, then press on. “Do you think all his songs are about his wife? Do you think she left him? Or…” You don’t finish the sentence.

Namjoon lets out a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes as he sets his fork down with a clatter. “Slow down there, Miss Investigative Journalist.” He leans back in his chair, his expression somewhere between amused and exasperated. “First of all, did you even check if he had a ring on his finger? That might save you a lot of speculation. Second…” He points his fork at you for emphasis. “Why are you asking me? What do I know? I don’t have some magical hotline to his personal life. All I know is the guy is a phenomenal singer. If you’re that curious, why don’t you ask him yourself?”

His bluntness sends a blush creeping up your neck, but you manage a small laugh, shaking your head. “Ask him? Yeah, sure, Joonie. Hey, Jimin, so who broke your heart and why do you look so sad all the time? That’ll go over well.”

Namjoon smirks, raising a knowing brow. “Hey, you’re the one who’s dying to know. Maybe it’s time to stop speculating and start finding out.”

You let out a heavy sigh, leaning back against the stool, the wooden legs creaking softly under your weight. “I didn’t see a ring,” you murmur, almost to yourself. “But… his daughter, Hwa-Young—she looked so sad when I asked about her parents. I don’t know. I don’t want to pry, but at the same time…” You trail off, glancing at Namjoon, your voice quieter now, hesitant. “I also don’t want to get involved in something complicated, you know?”

Namjoon doesn’t miss a beat. He throws his head back with a laugh, loud and carefree, drawing a few curious glances from the nearby tables. “You’re already thinking about dating the guy, and you barely know him?” he teases, shaking his head as he spears the last piece of chicken on his plate.

“I am not!” you shoot back, your cheeks flushing. You cross your arms, pouting slightly. “I’m just… trying to protect myself, okay? You know what happened last time. I’m not exactly great when it comes to men.”

Namjoon sets his fork down with a scoff, his eyes narrowing playfully. “Oh, trust me, I know. Thank god you never told your brother about Mark.”

At the mention of him, you groan, covering your face with your hands as a whirlwind of memories comes rushing back. Mark, with his sharp words and subtle lies that chipped away at you piece by piece. Controlling. Manipulative. Always holding you at arm’s length, but never letting you go. Everything Jimin doesn’t seem to be.

You peek at Namjoon through your fingers, your lips twitching into an incredulous smile. “Yoongi would’ve kicked his ass.” The thought is enough to make you burst into laughter, the sound coming unbidden and pure, like the first light after a storm. “Honestly, it’s probably for the best that he never found out what really happened with Mark.”

Namjoon’s grin widens as he nods, clearly enjoying the idea of your overprotective brother delivering swift justice. “Oh, no question. He’d have tracked the guy down, dragged him out of whatever hole he’s hiding in, and sent him running for the hills.”

You shake your head, laughing, the tension easing from your shoulders. The restaurant’s warm glow feels softer now, like a comforting blanket against the frost-laden world outside. You glance out the window, watching the snowflakes tumble lazily from the darkening sky, and push aside the lingering thoughts of the past.

By the time you’ve both polished off your plates, the conversation has shifted to lighter things—memories of college pranks, ridiculous holiday traditions—and the laughter between you and Namjoon feels like medicine.

After settling the bill, the two of you make your way to the cinema, the cold biting at your cheeks but doing nothing to dim the warmth between you. You tuck your scarf tighter around your neck as Namjoon buys tickets to the cheesiest Christmas movie playing, grinning like a kid as he hands you your popcorn.

The night stretches out before you like a quiet snowfall, soft and full of potential. And for a while, you let yourself get lost in it—lost in the glow of the screen, the sound of your best friend’s laughter, and the feeling that, maybe, just maybe, better days are finally ahead.

Days later, you find yourself nestled in Jimin’s living room, the soft hum of warmth from the fireplace wrapping around you like a blanket. Hwa-Young is curled up beside you, her bright, innocent energy a stark contrast to the quiet gravity of her father’s voice as he strums his guitar. The song he plays is one you heard last week, but hearing it live—here, in the heart of his home—feels different. Intimate. Raw.

“I’ll put it all on the line.I’ll be that someone she can count on.One, two, three, four, five…So many people to see.Places to go,”

His voice floats through the room, hauntingly beautiful, the kind of sound that lingers in the corners of your mind long after it’s gone. It’s even more mesmerizing live than it was over the radio. How many singers can claim that? His voice is unfiltered, rich, filled with a vulnerability that pulls you in like a tide you can’t resist.

You bop your head gently, letting the words soak into your skin, but your mind drifts, lingering on the mystery that surrounds him. Who is this song about? His lyrics feel personal, like fragments of his soul laid bare, and you can’t help but wonder about the story behind them. He’s not wearing a ring—but not all married or widowed men do. And then there’s Hwa-Young, undeniable proof that a woman once held a place in his life. Where is she now?

Hwa-Young slides closer to you, her small hands tugging at your sleeve as she giggles, her laughter light and free. “Ain’t daddy amazing?” she says, her voice brimming with pride. She flashes you a smile so bright it could rival the glow of the lights strung along the window. “He writes all his lyrics himself.”

You glance at her, then back at Jimin, who’s still lost in his music, his blonde hair falling slightly into his eyes as he leans into the melody. You nod, lowering your voice to a whisper as you reply, “That’s incredible. He’s amazing.”

And he really is. Every note, every word, every small kindness he’s shown you since the day you knocked on his door confirms it. But as much as you’re drawn to his talent and the warmth he and his daughter exude, there’s something else—a shadow in his gaze, a sadness woven into his songs. You know sadness isn’t a fault, but you can’t help but wonder if it’s a key to the puzzle of who he is and the life he’s lived.

You find yourself staring at him a moment longer than you probably should, the sound of his music echoing in your chest, making your heart ache for reasons you can’t quite name.

Jimin’s fingers glide over the strings, each delicate stroke coaxing the guitar to sing. His voice follows, soft and earnest, like a confession carried on a fragile breeze. The melody wraps itself around you, filling the room with a warmth that seems to melt even the winter frost outside.

“We never met, but she’s all I see at night.Never met, but she’s always on my mind.Wanna give her the world. And so much more.Who is my heart waiting for?Is she someone that I see every day?Is she somewhere a thousand miles away?”

The words weave their way into your chest, stirring something unfamiliar yet comforting. You can’t help but feel the faint flutter in your heart, your cheeks heating as his voice dips lower, like a secret meant for only you to hear. And in that moment, you understand. You understand why millions of people adore him—not just because he’s an artist, but because he’s an open wound made beautiful, a man unafraid to bare his soul in his music.

It isn’t just his voice or his lyrics, though both are stunning. It’s him. His presence, his kindness, his quiet humility. The way he feels so human and yet otherworldly at the same time. It’s impossible not to feel flustered under the gravity of who he is, as if he has a way of making you forget the rest of the world exists.

The song begins to fade, his voice softening, the strumming of his guitar slowing like the end of a heartbeat. A stillness settles over the room, fragile and delicate, as if even breathing too loudly might shatter it.

Hwa-Young, oblivious to the sudden weight in the air, turns to you, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Y/N, do you have a boyfriend?”

Her question feels like a pebble tossed into a quiet lake, sending ripples through the silence. Jimin’s fingers falter, the music stopping abruptly, leaving the air heavy with unspoken tension. His gaze flickers to you, unreadable, and you feel the heat of his attention settling on your already burning cheeks.

You laugh nervously, a sound that feels too sharp in the gentle atmosphere of the room. “I don’t,” you manage, your voice betraying the sudden tightness in your chest.

But why does your heart race? Why does the admission of your single status feel like something monumental here, in this room, in the presence of Park Jimin? You haven’t thought about relationships in so long—not since Mark left you in pieces, his manipulation and control carving wounds you thought would never heal. You’d sworn off men like him, sworn off feeling this kind of vulnerability ever again.

So why, now, do you feel as though a single glance from Jimin could undo all those walls? Why does the quiet between you feel louder than the song he’d just played?

Hwa-Young giggles, her innocence breaking the moment, but your thoughts linger, circling around questions you can’t yet answer.

Jimin offers you a soft smile, the kind that feels warm but weighted with unspoken thoughts. You sense his gaze lingering, yet you can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes. Something about the moment feels too tender, too fragile to face head-on.

“My dad is single too,” Hwa-Young chimes in, her cheerful tone catching you off guard. Your cheeks burn again, and you feel as though your entire face might combust. Is she… is she trying to play matchmaker with her father? The idea stirs an unexpected mix of flustered amusement and… something you can’t quite name. But if he’s single, then does that mean…?

Jimin shifts in his chair, resting his arms casually against the curve of the guitar, though his expression turns gentle, serious. “Hwa-Young’s mother passed away shortly after she was born,” he says softly, his voice carrying a heaviness that lingers in the air, wrapping around the room like a cloud.

The words hit you like a sharp wind. Your heart clenches as you glance at Hwa-Young, who sits beside you, still smiling, though it’s tinged with something wistful and bittersweet. She probably doesn’t remember her mother at all. And Jimin… Jimin is a widower. A young widower. You can’t help but wonder how he’s carried that weight for so long, raising his daughter with such love and kindness despite the ache that must linger in the quiet moments.

“She was daddy’s best friend,” Hwa-Young adds, looking up at you with a small, melancholy smile. Her words make your heart ache in ways you hadn’t expected, the sweetness of her tone laced with an understanding far beyond her years.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you murmur, the lump in your throat growing harder to swallow as you address them both. Your thoughts are tangled, a mix of sorrow for their loss and admiration for the strength it must take to carry on.

A question bubbles to your lips before you can stop it, driven by the weight of curiosity and compassion. “Is Hwa-Young’s mother who you’re singing about?” The words escape before you can think better of them, and your face instantly flushes with regret. You bite your lip and lower your gaze, berating yourself for prying into something so intimate.

But Jimin doesn’t seem offended. If anything, his smile remains, soft and calm, like the steady rhythm of a tide. He leans forward slightly over his guitar, the warm tones of his voice easing your nerves. “Not really,” he replies with an almost bittersweet chuckle. “I just like singing about love… because I’ve never really experienced it.”

His confession catches you off guard. You blink, taken aback, his words echoing in your mind. Never experienced love? How could someone like him—a man who seems to pour so much longing and devotion into his music—have never truly felt the very thing he sings about?

“But what about…?” you begin hesitantly, the words fumbling on your tongue as you glance at Hwa-Young. You don’t know how to frame the question, don’t know how much Jimin has shared with his daughter about her mother. You don’t want to tread on sacred ground, but the curiosity burns too brightly within you.

Jimin tilts his head slightly, watching you with a knowing look, as if he can read every thought racing through your mind. The room feels smaller now, quieter, as you wait for his response.

“Oh. Jiwoo and I were never in love,” Jimin says softly, his words gentle but sure, carrying the weight of a truth long settled. “She was just my best friend.” His tone holds no bitterness, only the quiet grace of someone who has long made peace with the past.

Before you can respond, Hwa-Young slides down from the couch, her laughter light and airy as she runs to her father. Jimin sets the guitar carefully on the floor, opening his arms just in time for her to leap onto his lap. She settles there with the ease of someone who knows she’s always welcome, her joy radiating as he threads his fingers tenderly through her chestnut hair. She giggles at his touch, her laugh as pure as a bell.

The sight pulls at your heart, a bittersweet ache blooming in your chest. There’s something about the way Jimin looks at her, his entire being devoted to this moment, that makes it hard to look away. You feel a small smile tugging at your lips, your eyes prickling with tears you can’t explain.

“So…” you venture, your voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid to disturb the delicate warmth in the room. “You’re looking for love?”

Jimin glances up at you, a flicker of amusement in his gaze. “Kind of, yeah,” he admits with a soft chuckle, and then grins, teasingly adding, “But love songs also make me a lot of money.”

Before you can react, Hwa-Young chimes in, flashing a proud smile. “We’re rich!” she declares, her enthusiasm unfiltered and unapologetic.

Jimin bursts into laughter, his shoulders shaking as he looks at his daughter. “Hwa-Young,” he says with gentle patience, “we’ve talked about this. We don’t go around saying we’re rich.” He leans down slightly, catching her gaze. “Yes, we have money. But we’re just like everyone else.”

Hwa-Young’s cheeks flush pink as she looks down, sheepishly nodding. “Oh, sorry, I forgot.”

“It’s okay,” Jimin says, brushing off her embarrassment with a warm smile. He tousles her hair affectionately, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek, which draws another giggle from her.

The scene before you is almost too much—too warm, too full of love, too foreign to your own experience—and yet you can’t bring yourself to look away. Instead, you sit there, taking it all in, the ache in your chest mingling with a kind of longing you don’t quite know how to name.

This bond Jimin has with his daughter—this easy, overflowing love—reminds you of something you once had, something you still miss deeply. It’s the kind of connection you shared with your dad, back when his hugs felt like a shield from the world and his laughter made everything seem lighter. Warm and unconditional.

You swallow hard, suddenly aware of how rare this feeling is in your life now. Men have always seemed distant, their affections guarded or transactional. Whatever Jimin has in his heart, it’s something entirely different—something you haven’t found in romance and can’t help but yearn for.

And as you sit there, watching him whisper something to Hwa-Young that sends her into another fit of giggles, you wonder—not for the first time—if you’ve spent too long searching in the wrong places.

Days have blurred into weeks, a gentle rhythm forming in your life. Most evenings, you find yourself at Jimin’s house, Hwa-Young nestled comfortably in your lap, her laughter ringing out like wind chimes as Jimin’s fingers dance over guitar strings. His voice fills the room, tender and haunting, and you let it wrap around you like a warm blanket after a long day. On the weekends, when you’re not exhausted from work, you sit there longer, hours slipping away in a haze of quiet conversations, soft melodies, and the kind of peace you haven’t felt in years.

You wouldn’t call it romantic—at least not yet. But there’s something about being near him, hearing his voice, watching the way he interacts with his daughter, that makes your chest feel a little lighter, your smile a little wider. It’s enough for now, and that alone feels like a gift.

Today is a rare day off, a pause in the steady hum of life. Bundled up against the cold, you step outside to toss your trash, the crisp winter air nipping at your cheeks. As you near the bins, you notice Jimin on the same errand. His silhouette is soft against the gray sky, breath rising in small, fleeting clouds. When he spots you, his expression brightens, and he lifts a hand to wave before crossing the short distance to you.

“Not working today?” he asks, his voice warm against the chill as he offers you one of those soft, heart-stopping smiles that always seem to linger on his pink lips.

You shake your head, a grin tugging at your own mouth. “Nope. I’m on vacation until after New Year’s.”

“Lucky you,” he says, tucking his hands into his jeans pockets. “Did you have a good Christmas?”

“I did,” you say with a nod, the memory bringing a flicker of warmth to your face. “What about you guys?”

“We had a great time,” he replies, his smile widening. “Hwa-Young’s grandparents came over, along with my parents and grandparents. It was nice.”

He pauses, tilting his head slightly as his eyes sweep over you. “Are you freezing?”

You laugh softly, though your chattering teeth betray you. “A little,” you admit, bouncing slightly on your feet in an attempt to ward off the biting cold.

Jimin chuckles, the sound low and warm, and then his expression shifts, thoughtful. “You know,” he begins, “you’ve never shown me your place. Mind if I come over and see it?”

His question catches you off guard, and your cheeks flush a shade of red that has nothing to do with the temperature. You fumble for a response, nodding quickly, your breath misting in the air as you manage to mumble, “Sure.”

“Great,” he says, and you swear his smile softens even further as he falls into step beside you, his presence as easy and natural as the falling snow.

As you lead him toward your door, you can’t help but feel a flutter of nerves mix with excitement. For weeks now, you’ve been a guest in his home, soaking in the warmth and love that radiates there. And now, for the first time, he’s stepping into your space, a piece of your world.

You let Jimin step inside, his presence filling the quiet space like a comforting hum. You’ve never known someone who could so effortlessly invite themselves over without it feeling awkward, but somehow, with him, it’s different—endearing, even. Maybe it’s the way he carries himself, or the subtle confidence in his smile. Still, you can’t help but wonder what could possibly interest him about your small, modest home.

“I love what you’ve done with the place,” he says as his gaze drifts over your living room, and something about his tone makes you pause. You realize he must have known the people who lived here before.

“Oh, um, thanks,” you murmur, shifting your weight slightly before offering, “Would you like some tea?”

He nods, his smile softening as he walks to your sofa and settles onto it, as if he belongs there. “Yes, thank you,” he says warmly, his voice carrying the quiet ease of familiarity.

You move to the kitchen, the gentle clinking of mugs and the quiet hiss of boiling water filling the air as you prepare the tea. When it’s ready, you return, the cups warm in your hands, and you sit down beside him. It’s only then, as you hand him his mug and feel the heat from his arm so close to yours, that it hits you—this is the first time you’ve been alone with Jimin. Without Hwa-Young’s cheerful chatter filling the air, the room feels heavier, more intimate.

“Where’s Hwa-Young?” you ask, the question escaping your lips before you can stop yourself.

Jimin’s smile deepens, his expression softening in that way it always does when he talks about his daughter. “She’s at school. They’re offering extra classes today.”

You nod, sipping your tea, the delicate warmth spreading through your chest. The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s charged in a way you can’t quite explain. It lingers, stretching like the glow of sunset before nightfall, until Jimin shifts slightly, turning toward you.

“I actually wanted to thank you,” he says, his voice low, sincere, and when you glance at him, your brows furrow in confusion. He chuckles at the look, shaking his head slightly before continuing, “For being so kind to Hwa-Young.”

His words catch you off guard, and your heart twists as you see the gratitude in his eyes. You can’t help but smile back, warmth blooming in your chest. “Of course! She’s so sweet and cute—it’s impossible not to love her,” you say, the image of her bright smile flashing in your mind.

Jimin chuckles softly, but there’s something else in his expression—something wistful. He takes another sip of tea, his gaze drifting for a moment before he murmurs, “Not everyone finds her sweet.”

His words are quiet, almost as if spoken to himself, but they linger in the air, heavy with meaning. You blink, surprised, your curiosity bubbling to the surface before you can stop it. “Why?”

The single word slips out, unguarded, and as soon as you say it, you feel your cheeks flush. But Jimin doesn’t seem to mind. He sets his mug down gently on the table, his fingers brushing against the handle, and his gaze meets yours.

Jimin’s lips part, and you know he’s about to say something—something that feels heavy and important—but before the words can form, the faint scrape of metal against metal cuts through the moment. A key slides into the lock, followed by the soft click of the door swinging open. The chill of winter slips in, brushing against your skin and swirling into the warmth of the room. You instinctively turn your head toward the entrance, your breath hitching as your brother, Yoongi, steps inside.

You recognize him immediately—not just by sight, but by the familiar rhythm of his grumbling and the huff of annoyance that escapes his lips as he wrestles with an armful of grocery bags. Only Yoongi, you think, would crash into your life unannounced and utterly unapologetic. After all, it’s only him and Namjoon who have a spare key to your place. But still—why now? Why does it have to be now of all times?

Yoongi’s presence is as it always is: sharp-edged, protective, and oddly comforting. For a man who once told you to “be a grown-ass adult,” he sure as hell has a habit of showing up with groceries and cooking dinner for you like it’s a duty he’s assigned himself. You’ve long since stopped questioning it. This is how Yoongi loves—through the quiet, practical acts of care that speak volumes even when his words don’t.

He steps into the living room, his boots leaving faint marks of melted snow on your floor. But then he stops, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the sight of you and Jimin sitting side by side on the sofa. His gaze flits between the two of you, sharp and assessing, and his lips press into a line.

“Hi,” he says at last, his voice low and raspier than usual, the single word carrying more weight than it should.

“Hi,” you reply flatly, trying to mask the unease creeping into your chest. From the corner of your eye, you notice Jimin glance at you, his brow furrowing in quiet curiosity. He doesn’t say anything, but the unspoken question hangs in the air.

You wave a dismissive hand toward your brother. “Just put it in the kitchen,” you say, gesturing at the bags he’s still holding. Anything to break the tension, to redirect the moment back to something mundane. But as Yoongi moves toward the kitchen, the clatter of grocery bags and the hum of the fridge door opening do little to quiet the storm of thoughts brewing in your head.

What had Jimin been about to say? Would he pick up the thread again, or was the moment already gone?

When Yoongi finishes unpacking, he saunters back into the living room with the slow, deliberate gait of someone who knows how to make their presence known. His gaze flicks between you and Jimin once more, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Aren’t you going to say thank you?” he asks, his voice light but tinged with mock annoyance.

It’s such a Yoongi thing to say—half-serious, half-teasing, his version of poking at you just to see how you’ll react. You sigh, rolling your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitch upward despite yourself.

You huff, crossing your arms as you fix your brother with an exasperated glare. “Yeah, yeah, thank you so much,” you mutter, waving him off with a flick of your hand. But Yoongi doesn’t head back to the kitchen. Instead, his eyes widen, darting between you and the man sitting beside you.

“Oh my god,” he breathes, his voice low but loaded with incredulity. His gaze locks onto Jimin like he’s just uncovered a secret scandal. “Is that… is that Park Jimin?”

You groan, rolling your eyes so hard you’re surprised they don’t stay stuck. “Yeah,” you reply, deadpan. “He’s my neighbor.”

Yoongi’s mouth opens slightly, as if he’s struggling to process this groundbreaking revelation. “You never told me that,” he accuses, his tone dripping with disbelief, as though withholding this information is some heinous crime.

Jimin, to his credit, sits there gracefully, his eyes flitting between you and Yoongi, an amused smile tugging at his lips. He shifts slightly in his seat, clearly unsure whether to be flattered or just let the moment pass.

You sigh, feeling heat creep into your cheeks. “This is my big brother, Yoongi,” you say, gesturing toward him with the weariness of someone who knows this interaction is going to get worse before it gets better.

Jimin tilts his head in greeting, his posture as warm and composed as ever, and then extends his hand, palm steady and inviting. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says, his voice velvet-smooth.

Yoongi, of course, isn’t one to miss a beat. He grins, flashing his signature gummy smile as he takes Jimin’s hand in his own. “The pleasure’s all mine. My wife is obsessed with you.”

And there it is—that word. Obsessed. You cringe, the flush in your cheeks deepening until it feels like your face could rival the color of the setting sun. You sink slightly into the sofa cushions, wishing they’d just swallow you whole. Who isn’t in love with Jimin? you think, casting a side glance at the man in question.

Jimin chuckles softly, a sound that feels like the crackle of a cozy fireplace, and you catch a faint blush rising up his neck, settling on his cheeks. It’s subtle, but it’s there—proof that even someone as seemingly untouchable as him can get flustered. He doesn’t say anything to Yoongi’s comment, just offers a polite smile and a quiet laugh.

Yoongi, oblivious—or maybe purposefully oblivious—plops himself into the armchair directly across from the two of you. The chair creaks slightly under his weight, and he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as if settling in for a long interrogation.

“So…” Yoongi begins, his tone annoyingly casual. “What were you two talking about?”

You clench your teeth, trying to stave off the irritation rising in your chest. Yoongi might as well have brought a flashing neon sign reading “Third Wheel” and planted it in your living room. Couldn’t he see that he was interrupting? Couldn’t he feel the delicate atmosphere he’d just shattered?

You shoot him a pointed look, silently willing him to disappear back into the kitchen—or, better yet, back to wherever he came from with those damn groceries. But Yoongi doesn’t budge. He sits there, grinning, blissfully ignorant—or perhaps intentionally obtuse—as if his mere presence isn’t practically cockblocking you.

You glance at Jimin, wondering if he feels the shift, the way the air between you had been light and full of possibility just moments ago, only to be deflated by your brother’s untimely arrival. But Jimin doesn’t seem annoyed. Instead, he looks… entertained. Like this is some private little comedy show unfolding before him.

You can’t decide if that makes it better or worse.

You don’t say anything. The words sit heavy on your tongue, tangled in hesitation, because continuing this conversation feels too personal—too vulnerable—especially with your brother sitting there like an uninvited witness. Jimin, perceptive as ever, is quick to steer the moment in another direction. His voice is a balm, smooth and unhurried.

“I was just asking your sister if she’d like to come see me perform at my concert in May,” he says, his eyes shifting toward you, warm and expectant.

Your head snaps up, and you gape at him, blinking as if you’ve misheard. Does he mean his sold-out stadium tour? Your heart stumbles over itself, and beside you, Yoongi looks just as stunned, his jaw slack. You can practically see the wheels turning in his head—probably imagining being in your shoes just so he could make his wife’s wildest dreams come true.

“Ehm… yeah, if you want me there?” you manage to stammer, the words slipping out in a breathless, uncertain tumble. You can’t tell if it’s a question or an answer. You’re too taken aback to know.

“Of course,” Jimin replies, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips, his gaze lingering on you in a way that feels both casual and intimate. “You’ve helped me so much these past weeks. It’s the least I can do.” His hand brushes against your thigh—light, fleeting, but electric.

For a moment, your entire world narrows to the warmth of his touch, the gentle cadence of his voice. The blood rushes to your face, heat pooling in your cheeks, and you feel like you might combust right there on the sofa. If only Yoongi weren’t sitting directly across from you, his hawk-like gaze taking in every detail, his brow furrowed as if mentally cataloging the scene to interrogate you later.

“Backstage pass, too,” Jimin adds casually, as though he hasn’t just turned your world upside down.

You barely nod, unable to form a coherent thought. Yoongi, however, stares at you, his expression flitting between disbelief and muted jealousy. You avoid his gaze, knowing full well what’s going through his mind: Why didn’t you tell me Park Jimin was your neighbor? His wife would combust on the spot if she ever found out.

Moments later, Jimin rises, his presence still lingering even as he moves toward the door. “I should head back,” he says, his voice warm, though you can sense his reluctance to leave.

You trail behind him to the door, your heart pounding. “Thank you,” you manage softly as he slips on his shoes.

He turns back, his smile lighting the space between you. “I’ll see you soon, then?”

You nod, unable to do much else as the door clicks shut behind him, and the room plunges into a momentary stillness.

But the peace doesn’t last.

The second the door closes, Yoongi’s voice cuts through the quiet like a crack of thunder. “Why didn’t you tell me Park Jimin is your neighbor?” His tone is sharp, his eyes narrowing at you with all the intensity of an older brother who feels personally wronged.

You sigh, crossing your arms in a gesture of defiance. “Because I don’t want you telling your wife,” you shoot back, leveling him with a pointed look. “The man deserves some privacy, and I know exactly what would happen if you let her find out. She’d be at my place every day trying to ‘bump into him.’ No, thank you.”

Yoongi scoffs, clearly unimpressed with your reasoning. “You act like I’d tell her on purpose,” he grumbles, though his tone betrays his guilt.

“You would tell her,” you counter, your voice firm. “Maybe not on purpose, but you wouldn’t be able to keep it to yourself. One glass of wine at dinner and it’d slip out.”

Yoongi opens his mouth to argue, then seems to think better of it. Instead, he leans back in the chair with a resigned huff. “Fine,” he mutters. “But if you end up dating the guy, you have to let me and my wife meet him.”

You roll your eyes, exhaling in frustration as you grab one of the throw pillows and hurl it at him. “Get out of my business, Yoongi.”

But even as you say it, you can’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips. Because for all his meddling, Yoongi is still your brother—and no matter how annoyed you feel in the moment, there’s comfort in knowing he’ll always be there, grocery bags in hand, ready to pry into your life whether you like it or not.

Still, as you glance at the empty spot where Jimin had been sitting just minutes ago, you can’t help but feel the shift in the air—the quiet sense of something new blooming, fragile and undefined, but full of possibility.

It’s New Year’s Eve, and the world outside hums with the anticipation of fireworks and fleeting resolutions, but you’ve chosen solitude. For once, you’ve turned down your friends’ lively invitations and decided against more time with family—Christmas was enough. Tonight, it’s just you, the quiet of your home, and the comforting glow of your playlist.

Jimin’s voice drifts through the room, one of his songs filling the air like a soft embrace. You sway to the rhythm, your body moving without thought, the melody wrapping around you until it feels like a conversation—a secret shared between the two of you.

Then comes the knock, sharp and unexpected. It cuts through the moment like a thread snapping, and you pause the music, your feet hesitating as you move toward the door.

When you open it, your heart clenches at the sight before you. Hwa-Young stands there, her small frame trembling, her tiny face scrunched with worry. Her lower lip quivers, and her breath fogs in the cold air.

“Daddy’s crying,” she says, her voice cracking, a heartbreaking sniffle escaping her. “I don’t know what’s wrong.”

The ache in your chest tightens, but there’s no time to think. Grabbing your keys and slipping on your shoes, you pull her into a quick hug before locking the door behind you. The icy air bites at your skin as you walk her back to her house, your heart thundering in your chest.

Jimin’s crying? The thought pounds in your mind, relentless. The man who seems to hold everything together, even when the edges fray—what could make him cry? The worry claws at you as you follow Hwa-Young inside, her tiny hand gripping yours like a lifeline.

As soon as the door closes behind you, you hear it—soft, raw, unguarded. The sound of Jimin crying seeps into the air, low and melodic in a way that only he could make heartbreak sound beautiful. But it’s a beauty that twists your stomach into knots.

Hwa-Young leads you toward his studio, her steps hesitant but trusting. And there he is, seated on the floor amidst a sea of scattered paper, his shoulders hunched, his head bowed. A pen trembles in his hand, a few smudged lines of ink staining the page beneath it. Tears drip from his cheeks, dotting the paper like the punctuation of sorrow.

You step forward, slowly, carefully, as if approaching a wounded animal. Sitting down beside him on the floor, you glance back at Hwa-Young, who hovers in the doorway, her wide eyes fixed on her father.

“What’s wrong?” you ask softly, your voice a whisper meant to break through the fragile moment without shattering it. You want to reach out, to touch him, to offer some piece of comfort, but you hold back. This is his pain, his space—you can’t rush into it uninvited.

Jimin lifts his head slightly, sniffling as he swipes at his tear-streaked face with the back of his hand. “Oh,” he breathes, his voice hoarse but still laced with that quiet magic that lingers even in his brokenness. “I’m just trying to write a song.”

His words catch you off guard, simple yet heavy, as if they carry more weight than he’s letting on. You glance down at the scattered papers and see fragments of lyrics—lines crossed out, others rewritten, the ink blurred where his tears have fallen.

Your chest tightens as you realize the depth of his struggle. Writing isn’t just an act for him—it’s a pouring out of his soul, and tonight, it seems that soul is heavier than it can bear.

“Jimin…” you murmur, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, a wish to ease the ache you see in him. He doesn’t meet your gaze, his eyes fixed on the paper as if searching for answers in the empty spaces between the lines.

He lifts his gaze to meet yours, his eyes still rimmed with a faint redness, and then looks past you to his daughter. “Ah, did you get worried, Hwa-Young?” His voice is gentle, like a melody subdued by sadness, a softness meant only for her.

She nods, her small fists rubbing at her tear-streaked cheeks. “Yeah,” she sniffs, her voice trembling. “I don’t want to see daddy cry.”

Before you can react, she runs to him, her tiny arms flinging themselves around his neck with such force that he nearly topples backward. He catches her in his embrace, holding her tightly, like she’s the anchor keeping him grounded. He presses a kiss to her temple, his lips lingering there as though drawing strength from her. “I’m okay,” he murmurs against her hair, his voice low but steady. “Sometimes writing hurts a little. But it’s a good kind of pain.”

“But I’m good, I promise,” he says, pulling back just enough to cup her cheek. His thumb brushes away the lingering tears as his expression softens, the corners of his lips curling into a faint smile. She studies him for a moment, her worried eyes searching his face for any cracks in the truth, but she seems to believe him—or at least want to.

“Okay,” she whispers, her shoulders relaxing.

You take her calming presence as your cue. Shifting slightly on the floor, you ask gently, “Do you want to talk about the lyrics?”

His lips press together, and you notice the way he chews on the inside of his bottom lip, hesitant. But after a moment, he nods, the vulnerability in his expression clear. “Yeah, okay.”

Hwa-Young slides off his lap, still watching him protectively, and retreats to the couch with a little bounce, her legs swinging off the edge. She doesn’t go far—close enough to keep him in her line of sight but distant enough to give you space. You and Jimin remain seated on the floor, papers sprawled around you like autumn leaves scattered by a restless wind.

“Alright,” he says softly, picking up a page and smoothing out the creases with his fingertips. He pauses for a moment, gathering himself, and then reads aloud, his voice quieter now, almost reverent. 

“Even if you try to make believable excuses again, even if you try to close your eyes and turn away, you know that it’s already broken, that it can’t be reversed.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and unyielding, like the ache of something lost. You sit with them for a moment, letting their weight settle over you, your chest tightening at the raw beauty of his sorrow.

“Do you really think some things can’t be reversed?” you ask finally, your voice barely above a whisper, afraid of breaking the spell.

He shrugs one shoulder, a small, almost self-deprecating smile ghosting across his lips. “I think... maybe some things can. But not everything. There are cracks too deep, things shattered too completely. Sometimes, you just... can’t put it back together.”

His gaze shifts downward, his fingers toying with the edge of the paper, as though the lyrics themselves hold the answers he’s searching for. There’s a quiet sadness in his words, an acceptance of something unspoken, and you can’t help but wonder what he’s alluding to.

You nod slowly, the truth of his words sinking in, even if you don’t fully understand what’s behind them. “Your lyrics...” you pause, searching for the right way to describe them, “they’re painfully beautiful. They feel like they come from somewhere deep.”

His eyes flicker back to you, and for a moment, you see a flash of gratitude—or perhaps relief—in his expression. “Thanks,” he murmurs, the word simple but heartfelt. “It’s... complicated, you know?”

You glance at the chaotic scrawl on the page, the ink etched like unspoken confessions. “Do you have more?” you ask softly, your voice barely breaking the stillness.

Jimin’s gaze lowers, his lips parting as though the words might resist leaving him. But then, they pour out, raw and unguarded. 

“When falling asleep, drunk,And being unable to remember anything,I thought about it, “what am I doing now?”Why am I the only one like this—no, everyone is like this.The me who pretends to be okay every time,I find him pathetic.” 

His voice wavers, each word heavy with the ghosts of emotions too painful to name.

The weight of his words hits you like a wave, swelling in your chest, rising to your throat. You feel your eyes sting, and you blink hard against the tears threatening to spill. Is that really how he feels? Or how he has felt? The thought aches, cutting deep into you.

“It’s not really how I feel right now,” he murmurs, but his voice cracks under the strain, a betrayal of the truth that lingers beneath. “But these are feelings I’ve had before, and...” His voice falters, choked by the weight of what he’s carrying.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, your own voice thick with emotion. Without hesitation, you slide closer to him, wrapping him in a hug that feels both fragile and firm. Your hand finds his, trembling slightly, and you trace soft circles on his skin, hoping to ground him, to offer something—anything—that might soothe him.

At first, he doesn’t move, his breath shuddering as if holding back. But then, he crumbles, his head falling against your shoulder as his tears come freely. The sound of his crying is quiet but heart-wrenching, and all you can do is hold him, cradling his pain as though it were your own.

After a moment, he pulls back slightly, his face still streaked with tears but his voice steadier now. “I’ve written more,” he says, sliding another paper across the floor toward you. His fingers tremble as they release it.

You pick up the page, your eyes scanning the ink smudges that seem almost like tear stains. You take a breath and begin to read aloud, your voice catching as the words unravel before you. 

“The same day all over,goes by, yet again. How long should I endure through this? To be able to return...”

The words linger in the air, heavy and sharp as glass, and your voice falters, the ache in his handwriting so palpable it feels as if it’s cut into you too. You set the paper down carefully, as though it’s something precious and breakable, and look at him, your heart twisting.

“Oh, Jimin,” you breathe, your voice barely audible. It’s all you can say. Words feel too small for the depth of what you’re witnessing. You pull him into another hug, tighter this time, as if trying to physically piece him back together, though you know that’s impossible.

His head rests against yours, and you hear his breath hitch, feel the faint tremor that still runs through him. In this moment, you realize that being here, holding him, is the only thing you can do. You can’t rewrite his past, can’t undo the pain that shaped these lyrics, but maybe—just maybe—your presence is enough to remind him that he doesn’t have to carry it alone.

“Thank you,” he says softly, his voice catching on the edges of his words as he looks up at you, his eyes glistening with lingering emotion. “Sometimes writing can be... exhausting. Emotionally, mostly. It’s like digging up the past, uncovering feelings I thought I’d buried, things I’ve been trying to ignore. But turning them into music—it helps. It’s like breathing life into the pain, giving it purpose.”

You nod, feeling the weight of his confession settle into the quiet space between you. “I get that,” you murmur. “I’m just glad I can help, even if it’s only a little.”

His gaze softens, gratitude radiating from his tired but sincere expression. “Thank you for listening,” he says, his voice almost a whisper before he leans forward to hug you. The embrace feels tender, fleeting, but carries a warmth that lingers even as he pulls away. He wipes a stray tear from his cheek with the back of his hand and pauses, his eyes scanning the scattered pages on the floor. “Do you think it’s any good?” he asks, gathering the papers with a careful, almost reverent touch.

You glance at the crumpled sheets in his hands, the raw emotion woven into each line. “I think it’s painfully good,” you say, the words heavy with sincerity. “It moves you in a way that sticks—it’s the kind of raw honesty that people can’t help but relate to.”

A faint smile tugs at his lips, bittersweet and beautiful. “Sharing the pain... it makes it feel lighter somehow,” he admits, setting the papers down on the desk as though releasing a burden. The vulnerability in his voice tugs at something deep inside you, and when he turns back, sitting beside you, his presence feels closer than ever—like the warmth of sunlight just brushing your skin.

You’re acutely aware of the space between you, or rather, the lack of it. The heat of his thigh grazing yours is magnetic, grounding and electrifying all at once. You turn your head, your gaze finding his profile—delicate, yet so undeniably strong. There’s a quiet grace about him, a dainty elegance in the way he carries himself, even when baring his soul. His honesty, his unfiltered emotions, they pull at you like a tide, drawing you closer without permission.

You don’t know what this is—this invisible thread between you, taut and shimmering in the quiet. Is it just you? Are you the only one feeling this pull? Or does he feel it too, this gentle but unrelenting gravity between you? Is he always this open, this raw, with everyone? Or is this... something else?

The questions swirl in your mind, but you don’t dare voice them. Instead, you sit there, your thoughts tangled, the warmth of him beside you keeping the world at bay, if only for this fleeting moment.

→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379 @jeonsbabygirlsworld @fancypeacepersona @ktownshizzle @pjmxxjm @ajoonniice @kookiewithluv @mikrokookiex

→ Series taglist: @13-manggaetteok @mima795 @hnnnjm @flaneuseonthestreets @miniesjams32 @graydolan12

→ Author’s endnote: okay, confession time: I might have totally ugly cried while writing this chapter, and… wow, it hit hard. I’ve poured a lot of myself into Jimin’s character—like, not exactly me, but in the way his lyrics carry that raw, emotional depth (which honestly feels like the whole of Bangtan, let’s be real 😭). Anyway! I need to know—what did you think of this chapter? And more importantly, what pain do you think Jimin is hiding? 👀 Spill your theories, because my brain is doing the little ‘evil laugh writer’ thing right now 🤔✨

© @/kingofbodyrolls 2024 // Please don’t copy or repost! You are more than welcome to reblog it, leave a comment or ask me anything about the story 🥰

[rrezshifts]

𝓶𝙮 𝙝𝖔𝙗b𝙞𝙚s — ᴍᴀʀᴠᴇʟ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴛʏ

𝓓ay 19. mittens -> What are your hobbies in your dr? How do you usually spend your down time?

despite how this reality sounds… i’m not a hero or a vigilante or even a villain. unfortunately i’m making this post before an introduction so that can be a common misconception. this dr is specifically focused on matt murdock and maya lopez too (literally no one else so far lmao). ALSO this is more based on the marvel comics rather than the mcu !!

anyway… since i’m not fighting or saving people, i have a lot more free time on my hands. i do usually like to use it to hang out with my friends as well as maya and matt. but when they’re busy here’s some of what i do:

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

ɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄ ᴅᴇꜱɪɢɴ & ᴠɪᴅᴇᴏ ᴇᴅɪᴛɪɴɢ

while this “hobby” is technically just my job, as i am a freelance graphic designer and short form video editor, i still enjoy using this art form to make things related to my interests or anything not business related.

i can definitely get tired of it though. there’s days where i have so much work to do or the one project i’m working on got a little tough. i’m just too drained to spend too much of my time on this hobby for the next few days. but i love watching the projects come together in any context and so when i have no work for a while sometimes it’s nice to still create something that other people can enjoy as well !!

ᴡɪɴᴅᴏᴡ ꜱʜᴏᴘᴘɪɴɢ

my career track isn’t necessarily luxury just yet. and living in a decent sized apartment in new york means i don’t get too much money to spend on non-essentials. that and me going somewhere with a credit or debit card is dangerous !!

so instead i go to a mall or shopping center or any small shop with a friend or two. and we’ll walk around talking about everything we see, shopping with our eyes. talking about “well if i save up” and all that. we don’t buy anything other than like a snack or cheap meal and then the occasional splurge.

if any of us gets an extra large payday though, we take that as a “we have to go to the mall and shop with them”. we enjoy seeing each other be able to get things that makes them happy. so it’s a fun experience !!

ꜱɪɴɢɪɴɢ & ᴅᴀɴᴄɪɴɢ

despite the photos i used i am not professionally singing and dancing. in reality i just sing and dance in my apartment randomly throughout the day. i’m not even professionally trained. and most of the time i hate how i sound and don’t look at myself in the mirror when i dance so the likelihood any of it is good is so slim lmaoo 😹

maya is actually a dancer, she used to be a big performer, and still does occasionally dance. she’s a phenomenal ballet dancer. when she watches me dance she’s very entertained, she’d call it cute and i’d get embarrassed and then not dance in front of her for weeks

matt hears me sing often. the first time he did though he wasn’t meant to. he was in another room as i was singing under my breath. he didn’t tell me about his thoughts when he first heard it until after we started dating. i rarely sing in front of anyone, so the only time he ever does is when he catches it from afar.

ꜱᴡɪᴍᴍɪɴɢ

i love love looove water! being in it is very calming so going to pools or the beach often is a must for me. i’ll just go to those places and swim for a while. not necessarily fast, like in training for the olympics. but more just swimming around at my pace and pretending i’m a merman 🧜‍♂️

i cap swimming off at most 2-3 times a week bc showering with chlorine/grime/salt coated hair is some of the worst things ever and i will not deal it with more than i have to. but i refuse to swim less than three times a month.

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

[evabby]

POLAR OPPOSITES.

chapter iii < chapter iv > chapter vi || series masterlist.

SUMMARY : you and abby anderson go to the same college, and are in the same english class — you’re polar opposites who clash at every turn. abby is carefree and confident, whereas you’re more focused and disciplined. when you’re forced to partner up on a project, your rivalry deepens, but an unexpected connection does too. as abby pushes you to loosen up, your dynamic shifts from competitive to something far more complicated.

AUTHOR NOTE : im sorry for not posting in a while!!! a lot of stuff has just been going on but chapter 4 yay!!

WARNINGS : none i think !!

CHAPTER IV : BREAKING POINT

“angel?”

you froze at the sound of her voice. when you looked up, there she was — abby, standing a few feet away, her expression softer than you’d ever seen it.

“go away,” you mumbled, swiping at your eyes, sat with your knees up and your head resting on them.

she didn’t.

instead, she sat down next to you on the bottom of the stairwell, close enough that her presence felt grounding but not overwhelming.

“you looked like you needed a break,” abby said gently, her voice low.

you laughed bitterly. “a break? i just humiliated myself in front of everyone. i couldn’t even finish my presentation.”

abby tilted her head. “you didn’t humiliate yourself. you’re just… human. it happens.”

you shot her a sharp look, the frustration and hurt bubbling to the surface.

“not to you. you’re always so.. so perfect. like nothing gets to you.”

abby blinked, and for the first time, you saw something like hurt flicker across her face.

“you think i’m perfect?”

“don’t start,” you said, your voice cracking as you speak quietly.

she sighed and leaned back, looking up at the ceiling tiles.

“i’m not perfect. trust me. i screw things up all the time. my dad’s this incredible doctor, and im always wondering if i’ll ever measure up. but you? you’re… amazing. even when you’re too hard on yourself.”

her words made your chest ache. you wanted to argue, but the lump in your throat stopped you.

“i’m so tired,” you whispered instead.

abby’s voice softened. “then stop trying to carry everything on your own.”

the vulnerability in her tone cracked something open in you. you looked at her, and she held your gaze, her expression steady and unflinching.

“i don’t know how,” you admitted, looking back down at the stairs.

abby hesitated for a moment before speaking again.

“let me help you. you don’t have to go through this alone, silly girl. not with me here.”

something about the way she said it, so earnest and unguarded, made the tears spill over again. you didn’t fight them this time. instead, you let abby pull you into a loose embrace, her arms warm and solid around you.

“i’m sorry,” you murmured against her shoulder, sniffing to cover up the tears falling down your face.

“for what?”

“for avoiding you. for everything.”

abby pulled back just enough to look at you, a faint smile on her lips.

“i was wondering when you’d realise I’m not that easy to get rid of.”

you let out a shaky laugh, and something inside you loosened. for the first time in days, you felt like you could breathe.

“i missed you,” you admitted quietly.

abby’s smile widened, her usual cocky charm shining through. “of course you did. look at me.”

you rolled your eyes, but the warmth in her tone settled in your chest like a balm.

the silence between you stretched, comfortable this time. abby reached out and tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear, her fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary. your breath hitched, and when you looked at her, the playful glint in her eyes was replaced with something deeper.

“angel,” she started, her voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “i—”

you shook your head quickly. “don’t. not yet.”

she studied you for a moment before nodding. “okay. not yet.”

but the unspoken promise was there.

for now, this was enough.

it started small.

a message from abby popped up on your phone the next day.

hi angel

you okay?

you stared at it for a long time, debating whether to respond. your chest still felt tight from the presentation, and the memory of abby’s arms around you was fresh, almost too raw. but in the end, you typed back a hesitant:

i’m fine

thankyou

that seemed to be enough for her to start breaking down the walls you’d built. she didn’t push—abby never did. instead, she started showing up in the little ways.

during class, you noticed her sliding a copy of her notes toward you when the professor went too fast for you to keep up.

at the library, she’d casually drop off a coffee at your table without a word before heading off to her own seat.

and when you were both in study groups for different classes, she’d catch your eye across the room and give you a small, reassuring smile.

it was maddening and comforting all at once.

one evening, abby showed up outside your dorm. you opened the door, surprised to see her standing there with a takeout bag in her hand and that infuriating grin on her face.

“figured you hadn’t eaten yet,” she said, holding up the bag.

“abby, you don’t have to—”

“i know,” she interrupted, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “but i want to.”

you sighed, letting the door close behind her. as she unpacked the food, you couldn’t help but notice how easily she filled the space. she sat on the floor like she belonged there, cross-legged and already picking at her fries.

“come on,” she said, patting the spot next to her. “you’re not gonna let me eat all of this by myself, are you?”

despite yourself, you smiled and sat down. it felt normal. comfortable.

there conversation stayed light— abby told you about a lab experiment gone wrong she’d witnessed earlier that day, and you laughed despite your lingering stress. for a little while, it felt like the tension between you had faded, like things were slowly falling back into place.

but when she left that night, you found yourself standing at the door long after she’d gone, your chest heavy with the weight of all the things you couldn’t say yet.

the next time you were alone with abby, it was during one of your late-night study sessions. the project was almost finished, and you were both sitting in the quiet corner of the library that had become your unofficial spot.

abby was leaning back in her chair, balancing a pen between her fingers as she watched you skim through your notes.

“youre doing it again,” she said suddenly, breaking the silence.

“doing what?” you asked without looking up.

“that thing where you overthink everything.”

you sighed, dropping your pen. “i’m not overthinking. i’m just trying to get this right.”

abby leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand as she studied you. “you always do. you know that, right?”

her words caught you off guard. you glanced at her, and there was something in her expression that made your heart stumble—something softer than her usual teasing grin.

“abby, why are you—”

“because i care, angel,” she interrupted, her voice quieter than usual.

the words hung in the air between you, heavy and loaded with meaning. you felt your pulse quicken, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say.

“i..” You hesitated, your throat tightening.

abby sighed and leaned back again, running a hand through her hair. “you don’t have to say anything. i just— i can’t pretend anymore. i care about you. more than i probably should.”

her confession was raw, unguarded in a way that made your chest ache. you opened your mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come.

“it’s okay,” abby said, standing up and grabbing her bag. “take your time. i’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

before you could stop her, she was gone, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the weight of what she’d just said.

for the rest of the night, you couldn’t focus on anything else. abby’s words replayed in your mind, over and over, until they were the only thing you could hear.

chapter iii < chapter iv > chapter vi || series masterlist.

[vir-tanadahl]

fijakslzdx

This post was supposed to be about Mythal as the Big Bad in the next game and her long-overdue reckoning. But because I wasn't clear in the initial post, we’ve ended up debating whether it was Morrigan or the Inquisitor who drank from the Well of Sorrows.

Look—I’m not here to argue about your playthrough. It’s your game, your choices. Personally, it’s always my Inquisitor who drinks from the Well, especially when I’m playing a Lavellan.

But if we’re going to focus on why it might have been Morrigan—fine. I’ll play along. Here are the reasons why I think Morrigan drinking from the Well makes the most sense in terms of canon.

If you agree, awesome. If you don’t, that’s cool too. At the end of the day, I’m just one person on the internet who loves DA. You don’t have to agree with me. Take what sticks, leave what doesn't.

Why it Makes Sense that Morrigan Drank from the Well:

Morrigan was raised and taught by Flemeth to preserve and study ancient elven and arcane knowledge. Realistically, she’s the most prepared to handle the Well of Sorrows—both its consequences and the overwhelming knowledge it grants. Morrigan herself points this out before anyone drinks from the Well, and she reinforces it later if the Inquisitor is the one who drank, noting their struggle to process the voices they now hear.

While Morrigan initially pursued knowledge for her own purposes, her motivations evolved over time—especially if she had Kieran.

Morrigan also reminds us that power isn’t just about raw strength—it comes in many forms, including the power of knowledge. I also don't think Mythal is all knowing. And I also think she wants her vessels to research and learn this information to.

Beyond her expertise, Morrigan is also Flemeth’s daughter and, canonically, Mythal’s successor. As Kieran puts it, she’s the “Inheritor.” When Flemeth died, Morrigan inherited a fragment of Mythal’s essence, solidifying her role as not just a student of ancient knowledge but an agent—or perhaps even a vessel—of Mythal’s will.

Having Morrigan drink from the Well of Sorrows helps consolidate Mythal's power and knowledge within her chosen successor. This ensures that Mythal's influence—and access to the Well's secrets—remains firmly in her control.

Morrigan has spent her entire life immersed in ancient magic and lore. She wouldn’t waste the Well’s knowledge or power but would wield it effectively to advance her own goals—or Mythal’s. And if it was Morrigan who drank from the Well, she’d act on Mythal’s will whether she realized it or not.

We already know that Mythal, through Flemeth and her other hosts, has been playing a long game, manipulating events across centuries. Positioning Morrigan to drink from the Well could be yet another deliberate move in a larger plan—one we’re still piecing together.

(If fact, Mythal says to Morrigan, regardless of who drank from the Well, "You seek to preserve the powers that were, but to what end? It is because I taught you, girl...")

Narratively, Morrigan has always been driven by a desire to defy and escape her mother’s influence. Drinking from the Well adds another layer of complexity to her arc as she grapples with whether she’s acting for herself, her son, or as an unwitting pawn in Mythal's long-term plans.

If the reckoning is tied to Mythal’s vengeance, justice, or restoration, Morrigan makes an ideal vessel to carry out that plan. Her deep connection to Mythal, paired with the Well’s knowledge, puts her in a unique position to act decisively when the moment arrives.

Let’s Talk About Why It Might Not Be the Inquisitor

First things first—let me share my personal opinion as it ties back to my Inquisitor before diving into the reasons why I don’t think it was 'canon' the Inquisitor to be the one who drank from the Well.

- As I mentioned earlier, my Lavellan always drinks from the Well. But honestly? I don’t want my Inquisitor to be deeply tied to whatever fallout comes from that choice in the next game—because it raises the risk of them dying. And I really don’t want that. - No matter if they’re Lavellan, Trevelyan, or any other origin, I’m incredibly attached to my Inquisitor. I want them to have their happy ending, to retire peacefully with their romantic partner and live out their days free from looming cosmic consequences. They’ve earned it. - The whole point of the original post was Mythal being the Big Bad--I don't want my Inquisitor involved in that! If you do, amazing, then leave this whole post behind!

Second things second, here is why I don't objectively think it is the Inquisitor:

- The devs have said too many choices can complicate things, which is why DATV offers only three options. While the Well of Sorrows was originally included, it didn’t make the final cut. What that means for the story remains a mystery. - The devs have noted how hard it is to keep every world state valid. BioWare seems to be narrowing options to maintain a cohesive story—too many branches make that nearly impossible to manage. - The Devs have stated that the Inquisitor's story is over. - We can debate respecting player choices all day, but the reality is, while the devs do their best to honor those decisions, sometimes it’s just not possible. Storytelling and technical limits mean compromises have to be made. - We can debate the game’s timeline and whether the Inquisitor might have escaped the Prison of Regret with Solas (if that’s your world state), but without knowing exactly when the game takes place, it’s kind of a moot point.

Digging into the In-Game Reasoning (Both Stated and Implied) for Why Morrigan Could Be the Choice

If Mythal’s goal is to prepare someone both knowledgeable and strategically positioned for the reckoning, Morrigan is the clear choice. Morrigan has an understanding of the ancient knowledge, political neutrality, and ambition makes her uniquely capable—and driven—to wield the Well’s power effectively. (Sure, we can argue the an Inquisitor can learn everything Morrigan has been studying for the like 10 or so years...)

With her magical expertise, willpower, and cunning, Morrigan wouldn’t be overwhelmed by the Well.

This creates tension—Morrigan might serve Mythal’s plans while believing she acts on her own terms. The Well’s binding isn’t just about knowledge; it’s about enduring its weight. Having spent her life mastering powerful magic, Morrigan is uniquely prepared for this burden.

If Mythal wanted just anyone to drink, she could’ve chosen someone more obedient. Morrigan drinking wasn’t random—it was a deliberate choice aligned with her rare skills and determination.

Flemeth’s death wasn’t just a transfer of power—it was a continuation of intent. Morrigan isn’t merely a vessel; she’s Mythal’s chosen successor in spirit and purpose. Drinking from the Well cements that role, binding her even more deeply to Mythal’s legacy.

The reckoning isn’t just about knowledge—it’s about willpower and agency. Morrigan ensures Mythal’s agent isn’t just capable of wielding the Well’s power but driven enough to act on it.

ANYWAY, I COULD BE COMPLETELY WRONG AND THAT IS OKAY! I LIKE THEORIZING FOR FUN.

UPDATE TO ADD: The story took a turn after David Gaider left in 2016, about a year after Trespasser was released. The devs have mentioned they had to rework parts of the narrative because they felt they couldn’t fully deliver on Gaider’s original vision. This likely means the implications of the Well of Sorrows choice could have shifted too. To what extent? 🤷🏼‍♀️ Who knows.

What if it was actually Morrigan who drank from the Well of Sorrow because if you drink it, "everything you do, whether you know it or not, will be for [Mythal]," according to Solas.

And that fragment of Mythal is in Flemeth. So when Flemeth dies and goes to Morrigan, Morrigan is going to be more primed for accepting Mythal because she drank from the Well of Sorrows.

Because Mythal is still planning her reckoning.

EDIT: this post is focusing on Mythal being the big bad and getting her reckoning in the next game. I personally think she prepped morrigan for this and needs the power from the Well of Sorrows.

[ash-and-starlight]

That was when he saw the crate under the seneschal’s bed. He eased it out.  Inside were lengths of red silk embroidered with gold thread. Then he moved the bundle aside, and a shiver shot cold down his spine. There, amid the cloth, lay the mask of the Blue Spirit.

Chapter Three of The Mercy of Magpies out now!

written by @ranilla-bean and betaed by @faux-fires

Chapter post || Cover || Map and Characters || Ch2 art

[a-sketchy]

potatoes of indeterminate size

[moodlemcdoodle]

After a year of doing art in secret (and forgetting to post anything… I’m sorry I will have my backlog queued up soon!) I have finally accumulated enough power… to revive my ancient human superhero Sonic AU and make it actually good! Here’s a bunch of my sketches, mainly of Sonic and Tails but also of a bit of lore… More to come later!

[seiwas]

hope everyone is having is having a great week so far! 🥹✨

[adrift-in-thyme]

Hi everyone! Quick heads up!

Just wanted to let you all know that one of my New Year’s resolutions for 2024 is to better both my mental and physical health. I haven’t been myself since the pandemic and everything that happened during it. I need to find that person again. And I’m not doing it by spending too much time on here (because I am. I’ve caught my time on here only increasing as the months went by and I’m consistently using it as an escape from things and emotions that bother me. It’s reached unhealthy levels.)

SO from January 1st until Lent ends at the end of March, I’ll be completely off of Tumblr. Feel free to tag me, send messages and asks, whatever. I’ll just answer them when I get back.

Y’all are awesome and I’ll miss you. But it’s not for too long and I know this is something I need. Thank you for understanding!! <33

[3amsnek]

new icon time bc the moment we hit double digits on the halloween countdown my brain genuinely straight up forgot it was still summer

[ladykailitha]

Howlin' for Yule

Hello and welcome to my Christmas AUvent Calendar! Every day from now until the 24th I will be posting a ficlet that is 500-1500 from an AU I've done over the years.

All stories will be marked with the tag #12 aus of christmas so you can follow along as I will only be tagging my permanent list for this (it would get too confusing otherwise).

The next one on our list is: Werewolf verse. You can read the story here. All links will be to the first chapter, but the chapter itself will have links to the rest of the story.

Do you know how ridiculously proud I am of that title? Do you? Because I am so damn proud of that title. Also welcome to the one that got away from me. I could have kept it short. They dance, they schmooze, and they go home.

But I wanted to write more with this one and when I realized if I wanted this to end on the 24th, I should have started on the 13th, instead of the 12th, I figured I could extend this and post it Christmas Eve.

Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4 Day 5 Day 6 Day 7 Day 8 Day 9

~

Eddie stood in front of a mirror and fussed with his tie. He usually got a chuckle from seeing his reflection in a mirror because according to Wayne that one only became a myth recently with them no longer using silver to back them anymore. But not even that thought could bring a smile to his face.

Because he had to look super nice for his boyfriend’s big Yule Tide ‘do up at the new vampire coven’s place. After the Creel house had almost burnt down when Jason attacked, Chrissy thought it would be better to move the coven somewhere safer. Closer to civilization so that if that happened again, they could get help faster.

They had bought a beautiful mansion in Loch Nora that was able to house all the remaining members of the coven comfortably. It even had a large room just for balls. Which is what this most certainly was.

When Chrissy suggested it back in October, she had merely suggested party including the vampires and werewolves as a way to foster peace between them. But Steve, the beautiful big brained and even bigger hearted had suggested a Yule Ball for all the supernatural beings in Hawkins.

So that meant that all Eddie’s friends were going to be there and he had to look nice.

“You look like you’re going to a funeral,” Wayne groused from behind him. “Probably your own judging from the sour expression on his face.

Eddie whirled around in shock. Wayne was standing there in early 18th century clothes in golds and browns. He looked amazing. “Why can’t I look like that?!”

Wayne looked down at his attire and then back up. “Would you like to?”

Eddie cocked his head to the side. “I mean we really don’t have much time to make me something like that.” He waved at Wayne’s outfit. “Because I don’t think your clothes will fit me very well.”

Wayne chuckled. “Oh ye of little faith. You take that monkey suit off, and I’ll play fairy goduncle. Go on.”

Eddie raised a questioning eyebrow but did as he was told. He hadn’t been gone two scant minutes when he came back and all the clothes were laid out on his bed. Silks, velvet, and lace all in black. He would cut a dashing figure for sure.

He hurried to get dressed and then rushed out to the front to the kitchen and poured out a bowl of milk, placing it on the windowsill.

Wayne chuckled from the living room. “She owed me a favor, but I’m sure she will appreciate the treat anyway.”

Eddie shook his head. “It’s just good manners.”

Wayne nodded solemnly. He had raised this boy right. Not just in the ways of the supernatural, but in the ways of being a good human, too.

Then the sound of horses arriving, clattered outside their window and they both exited the trailer to see an elegant coach and four black horses.

“Your boy sure has a flare for the dramatic,” Wayne huffed as he was helped into the carriage by an actual footman. Something that Wayne had never experienced in his long life.

Eddie could only agree. In the last light of the shortest day of the year, the driver and footman seemed to glimmer as though they had a glamour placed over them to look vaguely human.

They pulled up to the coven’s new home and Eddie let out a wolf whistle. “The new Dominus seems to have her own flare for the dramatic.”

“Nah,” Wayne said as he exited the carriage, “that just comes from being a vampire.”

They were shown into what Eddie could only call a ballroom. It was massive. It was currently setup with long mahogany tables with little nameplates in front of every placement. The eating utensils were gold, the glasses were crystal, and plates were fine china.

It screamed opulence and once Eddie would have turned tail and ran. But not anymore. Being a vampire changed that, for sure, but what really cinched the deal was the man, standing next to the Dominus in a beautiful red and gold outfit similar to what Wayne and Eddie were wearing.

Steve Harrington, Roane Pack Alpha.

To be continued on Dec. 24th

~

Day 11

I could have waited until the 23rd to post this one, but there was something symbolic about posting it on the day of the winter solstice. The longest night.

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

[euphor1a]

Hello, my belovedest petals 🌸

It’s been,,, 365 days since I started posting on here 🎀 (the first post made on this blog, for reference!), and I just wanted to thank all of you for being here, from the bottom of my heart ♡

To celebrate, I’ve changed my blog theme entirely (both on mobile n desktop) >.<! I wanted to do something ~unusual~ that is not out of my reach and capabilities, so I thought maybe this would be a good idea... I mean, everyone likes to look at pretty things, right? So I hope you guys can look at all the pretty gfx I made and feel happy in some way 🦋✨🌆! It took me whole 4 days and probably 40+ hours of brainstorming and working on everything, so I really hope my hardwork paid off! 💖💜

Tumblr has never been an easy place for me to be on as I struggle with interactions, building connections, and as a result get lonely very easily. More than often, I’ve felt like an outsider on my own blog, because of how unwelcomed I had felt in a space that is created by me. But, I’m trying to work on those things slowly, especially on how to be rational with my own feelings, and not listening to my brain whenever it’s being unnecessarily mean. About interactions though, it’ll probably take me a long time to actually show improvements, but I promise I’m trying my best always ^^! I appreciate everyone who has ever made an effort to interact with me, I see you and I appreciate you lots, even if it doesn’t feel that way 🫂

That got a bit heavy, no? Don’t mind it, please :( those who have seen me for long enough probably know that I’m kind of like this, but still ╥ ╥

Lastly, I wanted to say thank you so much, once again! I hope my presence here can be a positive one for me and you all as long as I’m here; let’s be happy in this silly little corner of the internet ♡

much love,

aleyna 💌