#lacks confidence not courage; musings

[princesskenny1998]

Harry Potter | Draco Malfoy x Potter!Reader ~ Spite

Info: Alternate Universe

Starting at Hogwarts, it was an unspoken certainty that you and Harry were expected to be sorted together. Growing up as twins, the two of you were inseparable, and although you loved him fiercely, being constantly lumped together as “the Potters” could feel stifling. Still, you’d promised each other that you would face Hogwarts together.

But by the time of your sorting ceremony, an argument with Harry about, of all things, a seating arrangement on the train, sparked something fierce between you. All the pressure and expectation came to a head, and your simmering frustration came out. After the bickering subsided, you left feeling frustrated and misunderstood, determined to assert your independence. In that defiant moment, a new, impulsive thought formed: what if you did something different? What if you made a choice that would shock everyone, including Harry?

When it was finally your turn to be sorted, you walked up to the Sorting Hat with your head held high and whispered, "I want Slytherin.”

The hat hesitated, as if it were reading into the motivation behind your words. "Slytherin?" it mused. "A bold choice… the potential is there, true, but you are loyal, clever, and brave, like your brother.”

“I don’t care. I want Slytherin.” Your voice left no room for argument. And with that, the hat’s brim split into a grin.

“Very well… SLYTHERIN!” it announced.

The hall filled with murmurs and surprised looks. You caught a glimpse of Harry, who was already seated at the Gryffindor table, looking at you in shock. Ignoring his gaze, you moved over to the Slytherin table, where Draco Malfoy, with his signature smirk, gestured for you to sit beside him. You met his smirk with one of your own, feeling a spark of satisfaction. This was your choice — your own path.

At first, befriending Draco was a way to add to your new, independent identity. He seemed eager to make friends with you too, given your famous last name and now that you were one of the few who had dared to do something unexpected.

“You know,” Draco drawled one afternoon, leaning back in his chair as you sat together in the library, “I think you might be the smartest Potter after all.”

“Just because I chose Slytherin?” you asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Not just that,” he said. “There’s a streak in you that I admire — the courage to do things that nobody else would expect. That’s something most people here lack.”

Draco's confidence, which often came off as arrogance to others, began to feel strangely refreshing. He didn’t spend all his time worrying about what people thought; he simply was who he was. Over time, the friendship that started as a rebellious act became something genuine. You found yourself laughing with him, sharing secrets, and supporting each other through the challenges of Hogwarts. Draco introduced you to the complexities of Slytherin house, and you saw sides of him that others didn’t. Beneath the bravado, there was an honest, loyal friend who valued loyalty and ambition.

Harry and Ron didn’t understand it. They still saw Draco as the arrogant boy from a rival house, and Harry especially could barely hide his frustration whenever he saw the two of you together. He tried talking you out of it multiple times.

“I just don’t understand why you’d be friends with him,” Harry said one day after class, his tone bordering on pleading.

You took a deep breath, feeling the familiar annoyance bubbling up. “Maybe because he’s not as bad as you think, Harry. Maybe because you’re too busy judging him to see that there’s more to him.”

“Or maybe he’s using you,” Harry retorted. The accusation hurt, especially coming from your twin, and only fueled your resolve to prove him wrong.

Your closeness with Draco only grew, and by your fourth year, there was an undeniable spark between you. You tried to deny it at first, thinking it was simply a close friendship. But one late night, after everyone had gone to bed, you found yourself alone with him in the common room, talking about everything and nothing, and he took your hand.

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about anyone before,” Draco admitted, his usual confidence wavering. You could see a vulnerability in his eyes that he rarely showed to anyone.

You squeezed his hand, your heart racing. “Neither have I,” you whispered.

From that moment on, your relationship shifted. You and Draco were no longer just friends; you were partners, in every sense of the word. Hogwarts could be isolating, especially for a Slytherin Potter, but with Draco, you had someone who understood you, who accepted your choice, and who valued you for who you were, not just your famous last name.

Of course, the news of your relationship spread quickly, and not everyone was pleased. Harry, in particular, found it difficult to accept.

“You’re dating Malfoy?” he asked incredulously one afternoon when you ran into him in the corridors.

“Yes, Harry, I am,” you replied, crossing your arms. You’d expected this reaction but were determined to hold your ground.

“But... he’s always hated us. He’s always hated me.” Harry’s voice was filled with confusion and hurt.

You softened, understanding that it was difficult for him to grasp. “Draco doesn’t hate me, Harry. He’s been there for me in ways you wouldn’t understand. Just because he doesn’t get along with you doesn’t mean he isn’t a good person.”

Harry looked like he wanted to argue, but he sighed instead. “I just… I worry about you.”

“I know you do,” you said, giving him a small smile. “But I can take care of myself. And Draco? He makes me happy.”

Over time, people started to adjust. While some Gryffindors, like Hermione, grew to respect your choice, others remained wary, still viewing Draco through the lens of rivalry. But you didn’t care; you were confident in your relationship.

Draco, too, was evolving. Being with you softened some of his rougher edges and gave him a new perspective on Hogwarts and the people in it. He still had his moments of arrogance, but with you by his side, he was learning to let go of some of the prejudices he’d grown up with.

One snowy afternoon, as the two of you strolled around the courtyard, you watched as he stopped to help a younger Hufflepuff who had dropped her books. The old Draco would have ignored her, but now, he gave her a nod and a small smile.

“You’re changing,” you said softly, watching him as he walked back over to you.

He shrugged, a faint blush on his cheeks. “I guess I have you to thank for that.”

“You’re welcome,” you replied, grinning up at him. It was moments like these that made you feel truly proud of the choice you’d made.

In your sixth year, Draco took you to the Astronomy Tower after hours, the stars glittering above as he held you close. You had shared countless moments together, but this one felt special.

“I don’t think I’ve ever told you this,” he said, his voice low and serious, “but I used to think that love was... a weakness. I thought it made people vulnerable.”

You looked at him, surprised. “And now?”

“Now, I think it’s the bravest thing anyone can do,” he admitted, his eyes meeting yours. “Loving someone is… well, it’s trusting them completely. And I trust you.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you realized that this was exactly where you were meant to be — by Draco’s side, building a future together.

For the first time, Hogwarts didn’t feel like a battleground of family expectations or house rivalries. It felt like home.

[abigailzone]

In the depths of weary toil, I find,

A truth that echoes within my mind.

People don masks, a charade they play,

But as a Christian, I choose a different way.

For we are called to be true and sincere,

In a world where facades often appear.

Set free and justified, we stand tall,

Why then, do some choose to build a false wall?

Is it a lack of confidence, a fear of rejection,

That drives them to wear a deceptive reflection?

Moments of exaggeration we all may know,

But a consistent masquerade, where does it go?

Yet in this dance of pretense and disguise,

God's watchful eye sees through our disguise.

No hiding, no cloak can conceal our true state,

For He knows our hearts, our every trait.

Christian or believer, they may claim to be,

Yet hiding from God, how can this be?

Our faith transcends religion's mere form,

A genuine bond with God, the true norm.

As I dwell in the presence of divine,

A freedom blossoms, a truth so fine.

In God's embrace, I find solace and rest,

And the courage to be my authentic best.

These musings, reflections of today,

A reminder to walk in truth's pure way.

For in the realm of masks and pretense,

True freedom lies, a profound recompense.

GR&R ©

Gracefully Redeemed & Restored

25 April 2019

#Poetry

[roycevelvet]

Darkness at the heart of my love

Pairings: Noah Sebastian x reader Warnings: none Notes: again, don't know where this is going, many ideas, never an ending hihi. Also, listen to this song, it was my muse for this thing/chapter whatever you wanna call it lol.

You traced the faded design on your chipped nail polish, lost in memories of a summer filled with his laughter and stolen kisses. It seemed like ages ago, those sunny days when his voice was always there, comforting and familiar. Now, as you waited for him to answer the phone, you couldn't help but feel the weight of all that had shifted.

"Hey, babe" Noah's voice finally rasped through the phone, heavy with sleep. It was the first time you'd heard from him in days.

"Hey" you forced a smile. "I was starting to think you'd forgotten about me."

He chuckled, but it lacked its usual warmth. "Sorry, busy week. Soundchecks, interviews, you know...”

You bit your lip, pushing down the familiar pang of loneliness. "Yeah, I figured," you mumbled. You weren't sure if you were more hurt by the missed calls or the casual dismissal of your absence, like he hadn't missed you at all.

The silence stretched, thick with unspoken emotions. Finally, you gathered your courage. "So, when do you think we can have a proper talk? It’s been a while since, you know, we’ve had an actual conversation that lasted longer than 5 minutes.”

"Honestly, (Y/N), it's been crazy. I don't know when things will settle down."

The truth stung. You knew it wasn't just the tour schedule anymore. He wasn't making the effort, and your once vibrant connection felt like a fading radio signal, distorted and barely there.

"Okay," you said, your voice cracking slightly. "I understand."

You ended the call quickly as you didn't want him to hear you cry. The quiet in your small apartment felt overwhelming, tears welled in your eyes. It made it hard to see as you scrolled through X.

Among the bright lights and pictures of concerts, there he was. Noah, laughing with a bunch of fans, his arm around a pretty blonde girl, her smile big and happy.

A wave of nausea washed over you. You knew, logically, that he was a celebrity, bound to interact with fans. But the sight of him so close to another woman, the intimacy of his touch, ignited a jealousy you hadn't anticipated.

It wasn't just jealousy, though. It was a deeper feeling of insecurity that had been bothering you for weeks. It ate away at your confidence, leaving you feeling empty inside. You started to wonder if you were just a temporary fix in his glamorous world when he came back home.

Every time Noah didn't respond to your messages or calls, it felt like a punch in the gut. You felt completely alone, like you were drowning in a sea of uncertainty, desperately clinging to the hope that Noah would throw you a lifeline.

But he never did. Instead, he brushed aside your attempts to share your feelings, making empty promises and offering half-hearted apologies. It felt like he didn't really care about you anymore, as if you didn't matter in the grand scheme of his busy life.

When you called, he was always laughing with someone in the background, always busy, always talking. Other times, he was tired, his voice heavy with exhaustion, or sleepy, his words slurred as he struggled to stay awake. But his attention was never one hundred percent on you. It was as if he existed in a world that never slowed down, a whirlwind that left little room for anything else, for anyone else.

One evening, as you sat alone, feeling sad and listening to music, how poetic. The lyrics of "Darkness at the Heart of My Love," the song you and Noah shared, echoed around the room. Now, the lyrics felt hollow, a cruel reminder of a love that couldn't survive the distance.

A bitter smile twisted your lips. The summer had died, taking your love with it. You finally understood Noah's silence. It wasn't just about the tour schedule; it was about him choosing a different path, a path that didn't include you.

The anger that had been simmering beneath finally boiled over. You grabbed your phone and dialed his number, your fingers trembling slightly. He answered after the first ring, his voice laced with surprise.

"Is that it, Noah?" you began, your voice surprisingly steady despite the storm raging within you. "Is this how it ends? With unanswered calls and texts and photos with girls who look like they stepped out of a magazine?"

The silence on the other end was heavy and suffocating. Noah was surprised by your sudden outburst, his usually quick response delayed as he struggled with your words. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Noah spoke.”I… I don't know what to say, (Y/N). It's not like that."

He sighed. Did he just fucking sigh at your words? This making you even angrier than you already were.

"Then what is it like, Noah?" you asked, raging. "Why do I feel like I'm always waiting for you, but you don’t seem to need me?”

There was a pause, a long silence again. And then, Noah's voice said “I’m sorry, (Y/N). I've been so caught up in everything... I didn't mean to make you feel this way."

His words made you feel hopeful at first. But then doubt crept in, whispering that maybe he did mean it to make you feel this way. After all, he had been practically ignoring you for weeks, so why would things suddenly change now?

"Tell me, Noah," you continued, your voice shaking slightly as you recite the lyrics of your shared song. "Does your love have a darkness? Does it run cold, deep, like the lyrics you so readily quote all the time?"

Noah's answer came quickly, his words rushing out. "No, (Y/N), it's not like that. I love you, I really do. But... I've been struggling with everything."

You listened, feeling a tug on your heart with each word he said. But even as he opened up about his struggles, you couldn't shake the lingering question: why hadn't he reached out to you sooner? Why had he left you feeling lost and alone, without any explanation?

"Goodbye, Noah," you said, the weight of the word crushing you as much as it crushed him.

You didn't wait for a response. You didn't need one. You ended the call, the silence on the other end told you everything you needed to know.

—

But the silence wouldn't last forever. Occasionally, you'd be brought back to reality by the harsh ringtone cutting through silence. Your heart would skip a beat, hoping it was Noah finally reaching out, but it was never Noah.

Everything seemed to remind you of him, yet you never felt lonelier. You couldn't help but wonder why Noah never bothered to reach out, not even once. Did you really mean that little to him? Were you really that disposable?

In the days after, you kept busy with work or watching Netflix late into the night, trying to avoid thinking about Noah. But he was always there, like a ghost in your thoughts.

You tried to find comfort in your usual daily routine, but it couldn't fill the emptiness. The coffee tasted bitter, hanging out with friends felt empty, and the nights felt long and lonely.

You tried to move on, exploring new things and even going on a few dates. But every new situationship felt like a weak copy of what you had with Noah. He had made a big impression on your heart, and no matter how much time passed or how far you went, you couldn't forget it.

Despite the hurt, there was a small shimmer of hope. You wished, deep down, that someday he would return, willing to fight for you. Though you felt really silly and stupid for even dare to think this way.

But even as you struggled with everything, life kept marching on. You started to find joy again in unexpected places, glimpses of happiness.

And slowly, ever so slowly, the ache in your heart began to simmer down. It didn't disappear entirely – you doubted it ever would – but it became more bearable, a constant companion rather than an overwhelming force.

You threw yourself into your passions, rediscovering the things that brought you joy before Noah had come crashing into your life. Music became your refuge once more, the melodies and lyrics you hadn't realized you'd been missing.

—

One evening, a couple of months later, you had a small gig at a nearby bar. It was a simple chance to share your songs with a small crowd which you really appreciated. 

The concert was fantastic, but you did feel kinda relieved when it ended. As you left the stage, still buzzing with adrenaline, you were met with cheers and applause from the small but enthusiastic crowd. Lottie and Taylor, your ever-supportive best friends, beaming with excitement.

“(Y/N), you were absolutely stunning out there!" Lottie exclaimed, pulling you into a tight hug. "I'm so proud of you!"

"Seriously, (Y/N), that was incredible," Taylor chimed in, her voice filled with genuine admiration. "You absolutely smashed it!"

You smiled at your friends, feeling grateful for their constant support. Together, you moved through the crowd, settling into a cozy booth.

The air was filled with the scent of beer and the sound of people chatting and clinking glasses. Laughter and shared memories filled the air, recalling inside jokes and cherished memories.

They skillfully avoided mentioning Noah though, as they were fuming with him for how he had broken their best friend down to a shadow of herself. 

You were thankful for them, as they had been there since the start, helping you through the heartbreak.

As the night went on and the drinks kept coming, you got lost in the fun with your friends, forgetting about time and how much you had to drink. But just when you were starting to relax and enjoy the moment, you felt someone looking at you.

You turned around and saw Noah, his expression hard to figure out but somehow familiar. And in that quick moment, it was just the two of you, silently looking at each other. Everything else around you disappearing.

To be continued.

[whitemancumslut]

since you’re obvi a swiftie can u write something inspired by the clip from miss americana of her playing call it what you want on the guitar and joe’s filming her where like y/n is a singer/songwriter and Harry’s filming her plssss 🙏🏼🙏🏼

SUMMARY: Y/n plays her new song to Harry and it brings him back in time.

WORD COUNT: 1.2k+

a/n: hopefully this is something compared to what you requested:)) this is so ugh!!!

It was no secret; Harry wrote songs about her consistently. She was continually present in his thoughts. Every little thing she did was meticulously noted, retained in his memory and jotted down. She was his muse.

As was he for her. Y/n writing songs about Harry definitely wasn’t rare. But she never released them. She always felt like she was unable to fully express how much he had done for her. But, this song did just that. This song was something she was confident about. It definitely broke down some of the most vulnerable parts of her, but it also put together the pieces of how much she loved Harry.

“Ready when you are, m’love,” Harry announced from behind the camera. Harry sat across from her on the couch of their living room as she sits on the floor, holding her guitar in her arms.

Y/n takes a deep breath as she rubs her hands around the guitars set and replays the song in her head before she starts. She looks up at Harry who’s giving her a reassuring smile with a tight nod giving another go-ahead.

When she began to sing, Harry was so captivated that he felt as if his whole mind had been transported to the realm of folklore. Her voice was like a real life Heaven. He couldn’t describe it.

“I wonder if you know,

if you can tell I’m losin’

I’m going down without a fight,

I don’t know how you do it.”

For a moment, his focus was taken away from her elegant voice and was brought the tone and lyrics. The last line stirred up a vivid memory of the first time he ever saw her cry. It was a night he wish he could forget.

He held her tenderly, as she crumbled in his arms in a way he'd never seen before. His heart ached for her in that moment, and he fervently wished he'd never have to witness her in such a vulnerable state again.

“Wish I could be more like you. You handle everything so well.” She cried as she looked up at him. His heart broke more as he saw her lip quiver as she spoke.

Harry’s face softens as he began to realize exactly what she meant. Harry always seemed to put on a strong front for Y/n, as if it would be too much for her to bear if he were to show any vulnerability. He knew, deep down, that Y/n would have done the same for him, and would have been by his side in his darkest of times. But a part of him was scared to open up and he couldn't understand why.

“I don’t know how you do it,” She whispered.

When she spoke, a deep sense of guilt surged through him. He had shed a few tears in the shower and when he was alone, so that she would never know. Harry couldn't bring himself to be honest with her, even though she was crying about his courage and strength. In truth, he felt embarrassed and ashamed for not being able to demonstrate any vulnerability to his lover.

Constantly being a source of strength and solace from the start of their relationship, he was well aware of all the hardships that had been presented to him. Despite the lack of sleep due to his selfless efforts in supporting her through anything she was going through, he still perseveringly stood by her side.

The only time Harry’s ever heard of the song is when he overheard her singing it and and practically begged for her to play it for him. But he never knew about this verse. The man before her was in complete awe.

“You say we share a brain,

Apologizing for it.

But take it as a compliment, you make me really nervous.

This line refers to some of Harry's words at the start of their relationship that have left a lasting impression on her. She can't help but recall them even now. No one had ever loved Y/n like Harry does. From the way he looks at her to his unwavering devotion, his love for her overwhelms her. She can't help but feel slightly anxious, scared of accidentally damaging the bond they've built together. His love is one-of-a-kind, and no one has ever been able to compare.

“Ugh! Harry stop!” She giggled. “I did not!” She expressed loudly as she turned her way in the bed so she’s laying directly across from him.

“You did so!” He said back, “You were so thinking it! And you know how I know?”

She smiled, “How?”

“‘Cause we practically share a brain m’love.”

Her voice was so soft. The gentle shake her voice held as she sang those exactly lines had Harry mesmerized. His heart was beyond full as she sang to him about him.

“What are you doing to me now?”

“You came out of the blue like that.

You came out of the blue like that.

I never could've seen you coming

I think you're everything I've wanted…”

Y/n never thought she would find someone like him. He’s everything she didn’t know she needed or wanted.

“Send me every song

That keeps you up from sleeping.

I bet I could recite ‘em all”

“I won’t forget the feeling

Of staying up with you.

Despite the space between us, I’ve never felt this close to someone

What if you’re my weakness?”

Didn’t take long into the relationship for Y/n to realize being with Harry was all she needed to feel okay. He was her person and she was his. It was simple.

Both of them being on tour did happen to take a toll on their relationship. Although they made an effort to call each other every night, it could not replace her lack of having the only person who brings her comfort close by.

Obviously, phone calls weren't quite the same as when they were actually together. Still, it was a source of comfort for her, hearing from him every night. They would stay on FaceTime until one of them, usually Y/n, would eventually succumb to sleep. It was these little moments that kept her going.

When Y/n's tour ended, she planned to get up right away and stay with Harry more regularly and travel across seas with him. But Harry encouraged her to take some time for herself, to rest and recuperate after her arduous year-long tour. Eventually, when she felt ready and both of them were content, she joined him on his journey. It definitely made them ten times more happier being with each other after being so apart.

She gazes up at Harry, whose mouth hangs open in awe as he looks back at her.

He’s speechless. Harry was deeply touched by how she used intimate and pressurized moments between them in her song. He absolutely adored it.

“So?” She asked, “What do you think?” She placed the guitar against the couch, and made her way over to Harry. Smiling like a school boy with his crush, he stopped the video and placed the device down.

He hung out his arms so she can enter his embrace as he repeats how amazing she sounded and how great the song was.

“It was beautiful, love.”

a/n i’m a huge gracie fan as well so this was so fun to make:))

[thekavseklabs]

It's not something I mention super duper often (mainly because I'm not on this blog much rn due to life and often Vyn is in highest demand when I am (I'm not complaining i love writing him hence why i do so much)) but Spades, aside from his role as a crime boss/villain, is also a pimp! Before his coming into power, he had lived under the thumb of a pimp and boss known as Beatrice—she preferred to use her first name solely, claiming her surname Faulkner made her sound too old, even though she was, in fact, old fashioned. Beatrice was a cruel person who treated others horribly, and abused Spades deeply, using him as a sort of trophy or exotic specimen to parade about and take fascination in due to his being an alien. She abused him and her workers, and when he eventually snapped and killed her, those workers had nowhere to go, and the criminal underground had a power vacuum.

Spades, having gained courage and confidence after having killed her, took her place, filling that vacuum and more importantly, tearing down every horrible thing she had created, including her clubs—he then sold the properties she'd owned, having gained them by not-so-legal means (read: forged her will, which hadn't existed in the first place as the woman lacked anyone she cared about enough to leave much too, and she'd believed herself invincible and nowhere near death thanks to her power). Using that money and what she'd left behind, he created new properties and connections, eventually building the massive network of power we see today. Most of his old responsibilities have been delegated to trusted workers, as he would be unable to manage such a huge number of people personally alone, but one of the few things he still keeps an eye on personally (with the help of some extra managers and such for when he cannot juggle it all) is the original, first club he built, alongside several others to varying degrees.

While this club is primarily just that—a strip club, albeit a somewhat 'fancy' and classy one—it is also the base of operations for various sex workers, whom he ensures the safety and care of. He is very much caring to these individuals, setting them up only with clients deemed safe and covering the costs of their rent and medical needs, and anyone who mistreats them will have him and his firepower to worry about. Though he has very much grown in power, he views his workers as equals, people he trusts and respects deeply and will always defend and appreciate, as he remembers having been in their shoes and having no one to protect and care for him when he needed it. All in all, he considers himself not to be their boss, but rather their guard and aid—though he's aware that as their boss, he does have power over them, and thus he does not engage in any relations whether emotional or physical with them, knowing that they may feel pressured by his authority over their lives were he to do so.

Just as he handles this, Spades acts as a boss to a lot of different types of crime, with, of course, plenty of delegates and a large network for balancing the work of handling so many different kinds of workers. Pretty much the only type of crime he won't dabble into off the top of my head is anything that hurts the helpless (i.e. innocent people, animals) or involves trafficking and the like. Any criminal muses my friends have can absolutely plot out situations where he is their boss! But, he is the most personally involved with this, aside from the usual organizing large movements for bigger plans.

[msommers]

1, 9, 13 and 25 for riya and jorina from the romance meme!

ty!!! 💜💜 // romance & relationship headcanons

1. what is your muse's sexual/romantic orientation?

RIYA — bi princess 🥰 [some rambling about other thoughts on this topic in the next question] 

JORINA — also bisexual, and i've had some occasions of bouncing around thoughts of her potentially being demi as well. explains her lack of a romantic history (aka being entirely uninterested in pursuing romance) and beginning to crush on aleksi after she's gotten to spend a good amount of time with him on missions.

9. is your muse monogamous or polyamorous? would they be interested in a polyamorous relationship?

RIYA — i was thinking about this the other day and am still in somewhat of a "i could be debated out of my choice if the right points were brought up" space around it, but i could see her as polyamorous. i think she’s had past experience and learned a lesson or two (not as many as she should have but hey that's riya), and would certainly require a long starting discussion on boundaries/comfort levels and frequent check-ins as things go along, but i could see it. the biggest issue here would be her suffering jealousy, but that’s rarely a problem for her and could be solved with clear communication (which i simply don’t see her struggling with since she talks about fuckin’ anything loudly and openly, as i’ve discovered through dadnd sessions).

JORINA — monogamous, i don’t think she’d be able to handle polyamory tbh. she already has to juggle a lot of self-doubt with just one partner, her overthinking would go into overdrive if somebody else was in the picture. I’M gonna have a panic just thinking about how worked up she’d get over it lmao

13. what traits does your muse value in a romantic partner?

RIYA — rough because riya’s had numerous partners and the range of personalities is Insane, she’s not consistent in type. some general ones: romantic, passionate, direct, confident, supportive, brave. circling back after finishing other answers to add that sensual, patient and adventurous also come to mind.

JORINA — loyal, courageous, reliable, honest are all the ones she could have expected. romantic and optimistic are ones she discovered great appreciation for along the way, learned that she values having a partner that's an opposite in some ways to bring her a new perspective.

25. does love and romance mean a lot to your muse? do they seek it constantly or let it come when it does?

RIYA — i’d say it’s high-up on the top 5 of her priorities list because of the easy life she’s had. i can’t see her having trouble with or a preference for either, there have been times where romance/attraction has fallen into her eager lap and also plenty of occasions where she’s sought after it herself because she feels a lack. i’m including sexual ventures in this consideration just because it's riya, but if we take that bit away then it’s probably a bit lower on the priorities list. slut (but said as a goof and with all of the affection in the world she's valid there's a lot of hotties around)

JORINA — didn’t seek it out at all, was absolutely gobsmacked when it showed up. they weren't things that meant a lot to her until she suddenly found them in the midst of the inquisition, and because that work was so dangerous it helped in how quickly they became important to her. she'd been all business for so long, it was uncomfortable and unfamiliar to start but so gratifying to discover with aleksi what love and romance could mean.

[motherfuckingmaneater]

10 :)

🟣 - what is your muse’s favorite color? What does this say about them?

Green. Emerald specifically. She loves the sublimity of it, the silkiness of it when she wears silver, the way it compliments her dark grey eyes and makes them appear more wildfire than storm clouds.

I think green represents a lot about her - in honour of her house colours and the slytherin princess she was, the green of the black family tapestry and the draperies around the house and more.

Green is the colour of the heart chakra - she is passionate and dedicated to her family and those she loves, namely Voldemort. Green is also thought to be a colour which reflects confidence, courage, and self-esteem of which Bellatrix is not lacking at all.

[fumikomiyasaki]

🏊:  Ember and Fabio

🌳:  Shirrira and Odel

🎦:  Chizuko and Flynn

Summer Heat

🏊:  our muses go swimming at the lake

He was glad this day Zariyah could take over his duty so he could get out of the dorm for the day yet he was still unsure how to approach this. Despite his height and strong look he lacked the confidence in himself and in general so although he was excited to go swimming with Ember who he had a crush on he barely knew how to get his feelings across or how to show her that he cared. He arrived at the lake bringing her as gift a novel Izar didn't need anymore as she thanked him and packed it away... yet as he approached the water she noticed him being nervous.

"Can't you swim?"

"N-no I can.... its just often hard to tell how cold it will be."

She looked up at him and then gave a nod.

"We can go in slowly... I don't mind waiting as long as you are ready."

Eventually they moved forward but in shock Fabio accidentally grabbed her hand and apoligized yet she didn't let go.

"If you worry then keep holding it... I don't mind it."

"Even if m-my height strains it."

"Its alright."

He blushed a little but then continued to go into the water with her... eventually getting used to the cold and smiling even...

"Fabio, say why did you want to go with me off all people?"

"Um... I like spending time with you... and I thought maybe this way.... you get a break as well from all the things you have to do."

A calm smile appeared on her face, one where his ears couldn't help but waggle curiously.... He never knew what she really thought of him but he wanted to make sure she felt comfortable around her... as he was in thoughts however he noticed her swimming closer and blushed even more.

"Your feelings are plenty obvious."

Suddenly he felt his forehead going warm just to notice that she placed a small kiss on his forehead, swimming away and getting confused about what just happened...

"W-wait for me."

He was unsure if what he just witnessed was his fantasy or actually if it happened however for now he was just glad to spend time with her a little... maybe another day he would find the courage to actually speak up to her about his obvious crush.

🌳:  our muses look for some shade

The Sun was high, many streets were busy, however Odel knew it would be much more comforting to get a break in the forrests from the weather... especially cause he made a promise with Shirrira to take her on a walk to the forrest he described to her before... eventually among the exhausting sunlight the finally got embraced by the shade of a small secluded leafy path to their destination, as she had an arm around his to walk with him.

"The spirits voices sound calm and peacefull... but I feel one disrupting it."

"Really but... Oh no... I can guess who it is."

In quick sucession both got disturbed in their peace by Odels personal Shinigami Ame.... who posed cutely before handing him some stones.

"I thank you for finishing the errand but you couldn't have picked a worse timing."

"But Odi... I wanted to have some praise, aren't you proud of cute little me."

He groaned in annoyance and petted her head.

"Fine you did well but I would still ask you to leave, I am busy as you see."

"Alrighty then, freetime for me."

With a big smile the Shinigami exited the stage as Shirrira looked up at him.

"Who was-"

"She is... part of my power is all... I am sorry she disrupted the peace."

Suddenly he heard a cute chuckle from her that got him to show a small smile.

"She is one energetic spirit for sure..."

He opened his hand and quickly casted a small spell before handing what he held to her.

"Actually she just brought the gift i had for you. Around the right time."

She felt him bring a necklace around her neck with a beautifull blue stone hanging from it. A bit of red hinted on her face.

"Its wonderfull... thank you."

"Its as beautifull as you... I hope you will keep close."

She showed him a small smile and nodded before putting her arm in his again. "I shall."

And so they walked deeper into the forrest together. Sharing some nice chats before they have to get back to their dorms.

-----------------------------

🎦:  our muses go to an air-conditioned theater

"Urgh do you really have to see this movie?"

"But Onyx, I was busy and its only screening today, this might be my only chance to see it on screen."

As usual he was dramatic about his proposal to a date but eventually Chizuko gave in so in return he would keep quiet for the rest of the day and so they both got settled on that movie he wanted to see so bad. The theater was a blessing compared to the heat outside and in doubt if the movie was boring she still had her notes with her to write in between....

They sat on a couples seat together as the movie started... Flynn invested into the story and analysing every detail yet after 30 minutes he suddenly noticed her leaning her head on his shoulder and dozing off... it was true cause of writing she got barely any sleep left... to make her comfortable like a blanket he put his feathery arm around her to keep her close.

Eventually after 30 more minutes he woke up into the climax of the movie as Flynn gave her a small smirk.

"Seems my sleeping beauty is awake, its almost over, soon I can give you some freedom from this."

She rubbed her eyes and shook her head.

"I already owe you 30 minutes cause I fell asleep, I guess I can spend that much time with you."

"You are too sweet my Onyx, my de-"

"Pshh the movie."

As he was shut down by a viewer the both stayed holding hand during the ending before walking out together... Flynn using the rest of the time to nerd a little about the movie as she calmly listened.

[tiredelirium]

D.6

When you write straight out of your mind with zero thought or plan you tend to write a lot of random things. Tangents that have no direction. Half-formed thoughts. Failed musings that you don’t even understand yourself.

I started writing these entries as a challenge to myself. To write once a day for 30 days. Bit late to mention that now, but it’s also good to write that out because it highlights an aim.

I’ve never been good with projects, even those I give myself a personal deadline for. Outside factors help a lot though. If I know someone is counting on a thing to be done, or if it was for a school assignment, I could get a job done no problem. So doing something like this is also a test of resolve as well.

I’m proving that just writing without thought and with intention is doable over a long time. I’ll probably run out of stuff to talk about pretty quickly though, as my life doesn’t swing with the dramatics.

I do try and avoid those things.

One reason why I don’t interact with my sister’s very much, despite them being family, is they’re both very over the top. Plus they have their own families now, and one of my worst traits is feeling like I’m in the way of others. Better to stay hidden and unnoticed than draw unnecessary attention because that makes life more complicated.

It also makes it lonely.

I think about that a lot. How lonely I am these days. It’s a situation of my own making, through a lack of confidence and an unwillingness to reach out to others. I know this, but knowing it doesn’t make it an easy thing to fix.

Growing older only makes the task more difficult. Less and less social circles. I wish I had’ve been more proactive in hanging out with people, even if I didn’t know them at first, back in school and university. Extenuating circumstances made giving others my attention hard back then, but thats also a facet of my being thats continued as well. Blaming outside factors on internal shortcomings.

I should talk more about the things I love.

Get involves in communities and circles without regret.

Be more passionate with this experience we call life.

Even though doing such a thing is an act of such courage that I lack, inside and out.

I’m weak.

But that’s okay.

Because no one person is truly strong and without failings. We’re all individuals. We all have talents, efforts and feelings. Some can fight harder than others thats all. I just wish I could be one of them too.

So that’s another reason for carrying on with this project. Even if entries get smaller or writing becomes more difficult or if I run out of words to put down, or if my brain starts smoking from overthinking life.

Tiredness isn’t good for anyone, but sometimes I sleep way too long and way too deeply, thinking about holding another close to me to fill the emptiness.

[braveryhearted]

More obscure muses ( introduction ) series.

Fandom: FIRE EMBLEM; the SACRED STONES.

Muse - EPHRAIM.

Age: 18 ( games )

Ephraim is a playable character and a protagonist in Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones. He is the crown prince of Renais and Eirika's older twin brother. He is a headstrong and determined man whose skill with a Lance is unsurpassed by any other in his country, having been taught by Duessel. He has a semi-friendly rivalry with Prince Innes of Frelia and is also good friends with Prince Lyon of Grado. He wears the Solar Brace which is one of a pair of bracelets that together grant access to Renais' Sacred Stone. Ephraim is very confident and courageous, revered by his comrades as a brave leader, as well as someone who is renowned for his battle prowess, gift for strategy, and unwavering determination. He has a straight-to-the-point attitude, and dislikes wasting time on anything that strays from whatever goal is at hand. However, Ephraim seems to struggle with communication, as well as consideration of others, due to the fact that he was raised to be a distant prince, to the point of stating that he couldn't afford to feel real affection toward anyone because of this. Due to that, he comes off as shy and even a bit aloof.

One of Ephraim's dreams included becoming a mercenary in order to travel the world. But he reluctantly puts the responsibility with his kingdom first, despite always longing for battle, which means he was never able to achieve this dream. Though, Ephraim's biggest flaw is his overconfidence. Though he picks and chooses battles he is sure to win, he sometimes loses sight of the bigger picture, focusing on victory at all costs. This causes him to abandon his home country of Renais at its time of need, allowing Orson to take over as a despot and causing the citizens to suffer. Another example of this behavior is shown when he, Orson, Forde, and Kyle storm Fort Renvall by themselves, with Forde and Kyle questioning Ephraim's sanity for directing such an order at first.

He even explains to Eirika that he has a calling to battle, and it is something he is not sure he can control. Despite being reserved, he opens up to his sister, Duessel, and his retainers showing a softer side to them. He also has a friendly rivalry with Innes. Outside of battle, Ephraim is shown to be a kind, strong, and mature person despite being rather young. He takes criticism rather well, even if he disagrees with what is being said.

Although Ephraim is not very knowledgeable in history, he is viewed as a suited king to the throne by Duessel and others. He is passionate about his goals, and deep down cares about others, such as how he very actively wants to protect his twin sister. He also explains in his Level 40 conversation in Fire Emblem Heroes, that he is always striving to strengthen his lacking qualities, especially after losing Lyon, who he refers to as 'a good friend of his'. Anytime Ephraim is attacked from at least a space away, no matter what weapon he is holding, his sprite will show that of a ranged lance-type weapon (Javelin, Short Spear, or Spear.) A similar oversight happens with the Great Knight class. When he becomes a Great Lord, his max stats are almost identical to Eliwood's. He shares his English voice actor, Greg Chun, with Eldigan, Ike, and Lukas in Heroes. Ephraim is one of two Lord in the series that cannot equip swords, even after promotion. The other is Micaiah.

[notspincless]

[arminsumi]

˗ˏˋ꒰ 📖 ꒱ BOOKSTORE BOY

Armin x fem!reader

Chapter index / Chapter Ⅰ

Overview; Since moving into town, you've been visiting the bookstore that Armin works at. He's got a sorely obvious crush on you, but he's too nervous to even say hello.

Content; fluff

"Aaand you're drifting off again. Did you even hear what I said?" Connie mused, but Armin wasn't really listening; he was looking at you.

You were perusing the cramped aisles, your eyes curiously scanning the bookspines. You had a habit of tilting your head while reading the titles, which Armin found utterly adorable.

It had been a month since you began visiting the book store every day. Armin was frustrated with his lack of courage; he really wanted to talk to you. He planned so many conversation starters in this time, but used none of them when you came to the checkout to pay.

A pattern formed; you would scan the book titles down a few aisles, Armin would crane his neck to catch a glimpse of you from behind the register, then after you had found a book, you would meet him at the checkout counter and flash him a sweet smile before paying and leaving. You know, he always looked after your wake when you left the store, too, and he internally kicked himself for not commenting on your book at all. He really liked your diverse taste.

"Oh my God, man, really..." Connie rolled his eyes, "Just go on and ask her out. You just know she's single if she's hanging out in bookstores every day."

Armin hissed for Connie to be quieter, a slight blush crowning his ears.

"It's harder than you make it sound." Armin sighed, leaning against the cash register, "I can't just, like, approach her and say — 'oh hey, I know you're looking for books, but do you wanna go on a date with me instead?'"

"Uh, yeah, you absolutely can do that." Connie said stubbornly.

Armin shook his head at him. He didn't understand how impossible it felt to him. Even his goodbyes to you at the checkout were shaky, so how could he ever talk to you?

The golden hour was approaching; such a tranquil light flooded the bookstore, and it created this serene-like atmosphere. The bookshelves were illuminated by this eye-catching golden light, yet Armin was not admiring that; no, in fact, he was admiring how the light illuminated you — you seemed downright dreamy to him. This perception of you was only emphasized by how you floated down the aisles, like a goddess, Armin thought.

The bookstore cat stalked around, drawing closer to you with its blue little paws. Connie didn't even need to ask what had brightened Armin's mood, because he saw by his eyes that a plan was brewing in his mind.

Armin waited until Umi got close enough to you to warrant his intervention;

"Sorry!" He said with a feigned guilty smile, then pried Umi off the shelf that you were observing just as she began to bother you.

"Oh, it's alright." You said, "I love cats."

Armin's eyes glittered at you, his voice was slightly hyper in tone, "Me too — her name's — uh — Umi." He said.

"Oh... Umi? What does that mean?" You asked curiously.

"It's — well — it just — it means — it translates to 'ocean'." Armin said, then gave smile that was more so an attempt to quell his anxiety.

"Oh! That's so sweet..." You squinted adoringly at Umi, then observed her greyish blue fur, "A British Shorthair, right?" You said.

"No... actually, a Russian Blue." Armin corrected confidently.

You could feel a tide of his emotions rushing towards you. He was so blatant in his demeanor that you could sense his feelings rushing towards you like an incoming tide.

Armin was paranoid about coming off as too excited to talk to you, so he toned it down a bit.

"Oh, by the way..." You began, "... do you have any Virginia Woolf books here?"

"Virginia Woolf? — Uh — wait, I'll check for you." He said, then swiftly disappeared from the aisle.

Armin's heart was thumping erratically. All he could think was oh my God I actually talked to her. She talked to me. I actually did that.

Connie nearly burst out laughing at how speedily Armin dashed behind the checkout counter. He checked the store's stock on the computer, his hands shaking a bit as he typed. Connie began to playfully tease him, so Armin hissed under his breath for him to shut up and continued searching the store's stock for Virginia Woolf books.

Armin thought that you had such an interesting eye for books. Sometimes you bought books that even he didn't know about (And, mind you, he was a big bookworm). He admired your diversity, too, because one day you'd buy Poe, the next you'd buy Kerouac.

His grandfather peered over the railing of the second-floor's coffee shop loft. He just had to smile to himself, because it was nice to see his grandson's melancholy dispersing because of you.

Both Armin's family and friend group worried that he was growing more and more melancholic by the day, and truly he was; he pressed his chin gloomily atop the cash register every day and waited for something interesting to happen. His spirits kept sinking, but then one day you started visiting the bookstore.

His family loved to tease him and say that he was falling in love with 'the bookstore girl'. There was even a running joke that you were 'the bookworm that wormed into his heart'.

When the database showed negative for Virginia Woolf books, Armin returned to you. In the small seconds it took him to walk down the aisle, he gave himself a pep talk so that he could calm down his overwhelming excitement.

You had been trying to play with Umi in that time, but she was the type of cat who scrunched up in repulsion when you tried to touch her, so you gave up.

"I don't think we have any Virginia Woolf... sorry." Armin said.

"Oh, that's alright — but thanks for your help." You said.

Armin seemed more composed now; his hands were neatly tucked behind his back, which was straightened like a soldier on command. His grandfather took note of this tell-tale posture; it's what Armin did when he was trying to impress someone.

Armin's eyes glittered with excitement at you. He realized he'd begun staring, so he abruptly reanimated himself.

He awkwardly stammered something like "...I'll get back to work... let me know if you need help again..." and retreated behind the checkout counter, where Connie giggled quietly.

You wandered from aisle to aisle for some time. If Armin knew that he had gotten your heart fluttering excitedly from that simple encounter, he'd be flying across the stars.

Finally, you plucked a book and headed to the checkout. Armin was blushing under Connie's relentless teasing; you noticed his red ears, but you had no idea what was going on. But you had to smile at the two friend's banter. They seemed to be as close as brothers.

"I'm taking this..." You said timidly, placing the book softly on the counter.

Even the way you gently placed the book down was something that Armin squealed about inside. You just had this... je ne sais quoi thing about you.

Meanwhile, you were thinking about his je ne sais quoi quality; he was so awkwardly charming, so sweetly nervous.

Armin rung the book up for you while you pulled out your wallet. You fumbled with your money in such a way that, to someone looking, it looked like you had robbed a bank.

He noticed this nervous quirk of yours. It made him smile and feel relieved to see that even you were nervous with such simple tasks in public.

Connie was holding back giggles while he observed this all.

"Thanks!" You beamed at Armin, "See you..." You said, taking your book and the receipt and leaving for the upstairs cafe.

"Bye!" Armin squeaked.

You ascended the stairs to the coffee shop's loft just as Armin's grandfather descended. Both he and Connie rung out with giggling laughter when you were out of earshot. His grandfather had this endearingly cheeky cackle.

"Bye!" Connie mimicked you.

"Shut up, both of you... you're menaces..." Armin groaned and rubbed his face.

They continued to giggle amongst themselves about Armin's squeaky goodbye while Armin observed you longingly. You looked so comfy when nestled into your usual seat with a new book. Even the way you pursed your lips to sip coffee made Armin feel fluttery. (He probably wanted to be that coffee cup).

Umi stalked up to Armin, and he looked at her with a warmer affection than before.

"I owe you some treats." Armin smiled, petting under her chin with his finger.

A subtle blush spread across his cheeks while he replayed each moment of the encounter between the two of you.

Connie came over just to wiggle his brows at his blushing friend.

"Ah, fucking hell... will you shut up..." Armin groaned.

"Well, damn... the next thing is marriage, right?" Connie laughed.

Armin sighed hopelessly, "I'll be lucky if I ever get to talk to her about something other than cats and books..."

He continued to observe you as you sipped coffee and focused intensely on the yellowed pages. Another Kerouac novel... the one which was his favorite, but he didn't even get to say that while ringing it up for you.

He felt this overwhelming urge to be in your company again, but instead of acting on it, he sulked behind the register and complained to Connie about his lack of courage.

[ossonee777]

Moon through the houses

Moon in the first house: Your feelings are right out there for everyone to see, and you can come across as emotional and impatient, or nurturing and caring (or both). You need emotional stimulation, movement, and freedom to express yourself in order to feel happy and fulfilled. They may try to hide their emotions, but it is difficult. They are on display. First-house moon people are cautious in their interactions and always on guard for fear of getting hurt. Forget about pleasing everyone (it can't be done) and instead focus on doing your best. Develop self-confidence and the courage to be different and don't let it get to you. You can be very sensitive to your environment so do not go to places that might bring up ill feelings or bad memories in you. Your sub-conscious is probably very strong and sometimes quite unmanageable.

Moon in the second house: A constant worry about money and keeping the security it provides is common with a second-house moon. If money is plentiful, the chart holder may easily become complacent until the money dwindles causing a cycle of comfort and worry. Financial security is necessary for a person with their moon in their second house. You tend to hold back and wait before expressing yourself, and when you do it is with deliberation.

Moon in the third house: You are very responsive, communicative, and curious. You can have a talent for imitating others and/or for picking up languages. A third house-moon is at ease with learning and finds it comforting. Like the third-house sun, early schooling is a central issue whether it is positive or negative. This position also inclines a person to communicate their feelings and lends an ability to explain their feelings clearly. it gives a bit of detachment to the moon's emotions because it ads an intellectualism.

Moon in the fourth house: You long for a sense of true belonging, but you may be quite restless in your search. You might change residence frequently, or simply feel the need to make many changes in your home. Home and family are paramount for fourth-house moons as they look to home and family as their sanctuary in the world. Interacting with family members is serious business for fourth-house moons and any disagreements or disputes are taken to heart. Their heritage is experienced on a feeling level rather than as something they learn about as they mature.

Moon in the fifth house: There is a constant need to find ways of expressing themselves. With the moon, there is always a need to fulfill the desires of the house in which it falls, which is so deep it is often unconscious. In the fifth house of self-expression, art, music, performing, home decorating, fashion, dating, and bearing children are examples of activities that fill the need, but the list is endless. Many people with a fifth-house moon are able to express themselves genuinely, and they are satisfied. Easily flowing from one creative endeavor to the next, they feel comfortable with who they are. Romance is second nature rather than awkward.

Moon in the sixth house: With the moon in the sixth house, the focus is on caring rather than perfecting. The sixth-house moon chart holder doesn't lose the desire to live well and perfect their skills, but this need is subdued by the need to care for others and be cared for by others in practical ways. Those with sixth-house moons assume that their loved ones will always provide them with food, money and shelter. Likewise, they are happy to do laundry, clean and cook. As long as the balance is there, these chart holders hum along happily.

Moon in the seventh house: You seem to attract sensitive people as partners, perhaps those who want to "mother" you or be mothered. There can be many changes of partners and many relationships because of the need to find someone who can bring an ultimate security. You desire companionship, hence many relationships. Your feelings are greatly influenced by those with whom you are in close personal contact. You want to be popular with others. You are therefore likely to attract a partner who is kind and domesticated. Both you and your partner may need to be on your guard against moody or fickle behavior. Marriage may be undertaken with the object of establishing a home. More than one marriage is possible.

Moon in eighth house: You desire security and perhaps look for it through other people's possessions or resources. You have self-doubt and worry. You may be subject to jealousy, envy and possessiveness. Psychic sensitivity is noticeable and psychic abilities can be developed, hopefully along positive lines. There may be financial gain through a partnership, business or through marriage. You are intrigued by what motivates others. Preoccupation with sex or death can exist for you.

Moon in ninth house: You are a dreamer and muse often about the higher aspects of life. Since you may not be content with the way your life currently is going, you have the desire to search for fresh fields. This search may take you on many long travels, both physically and mentally. Security may be found in a religious or philosophical ideal. Your philosophy of life is what nurtures you and gives you security. You have a variety of interests, in sports, hobbies, and studies. You make a stimulating teacher because of your personal interest in the subjects you teach. They are really a part of you and that comes across to those who listen to you.

Moon in tenth house: Comfortable in the public eye, the tenth-house moon wants to be out in the world enjoying its natural gift of assumed high status. The public arena is the natural home for these chart holders and the world naturally accepts them. From an early age, these chart holders feel comfortable in the public eye. It is emotionally satisfying for them to feel accepted by the public. Being on stage, in front of a camera or speaking to the public comes naturally to them and feels emotionally natural. In fact, the feeling of being accepted by the public feeds their emotions, and success in the public eye gives them emotional homeostasis. These chart holders will always do well in careers involving caring for the public as the moon is about mutual caring. Think of Mahatma Gandhi whose tenth-house moon wanted to care for the world before himself.

Moon in the eleventh house: Their ability to move society on a large scale comes from a deeply felt need rather than the drive seen with the eleventh-house suns. It is emotionally based and there is comfort in groups. When an eleventh-house moon gives a speech or promotes their social message it has a caring tone to it. These chart holders often use the moon's emotional nature to express their views artistically. A high comfort level in group leadership positions puts people at ease and instills trust in people. They are able to lead people and enact social change by gaining trusting supporters. They also expect society to support them. The moon's caring nature has an equal but opposite need to be cared for in return. Depending on signs and aspects, they may have an expectancy of acceptance which gives them a natural advantage and confidence.

Moon in the twelfth: The twelfth-house moon person is denied the comforting, nurturing childhood the rest us assume is a normal part of childhood. A mother who is preoccupied, distant or absent creates an unnurturing environment for this twelfth-house moon child. Childhood is often painful and lonely. Over time, these chart holders have no choice but to learn how to self nurture. Sometimes this is done with drugs or alcohol, but religion, meditation, philosophy and service to others also satisfies the nurturing need. The ability to find a productive way to self-nurture that isn't self destructive is difficult and often takes years. It's easy for these people to fall into depression and feel lost and alone. It takes a great deal of emotional strength for them to crawl out of the dark loneliness of this planetary position and develop the ability to love themselves enough to compensate for the lack of emotional support they receive from the world. Even when these people are able to get past this, there is a vague feeling of confusion about how to find comfort and nurturing on a daily basis. They don't know what they like or how to really feel satisfied.

[yostresswritinggirl]

Researching...

ZETA

You need to see this first then this

The alchemist had been trying all remedies to shake off the stress and fatigue in his system and they all seemed to fail, no amount of sketching or discoveries can pull him away from it. So when you offered a solution he hasn’t heard, he’d jump at it immediately. “You know, some people say having intercourse with someone is a good stress-reliever.” “Intercourse? If it’s true, then please, I wish to have intercourse with you.” “Wha- wait Albedo, do you not know what that is? It’s only done between lovers!” “Convenient, I love you, anything else?”

Pairing -> Albedo x Female Reader

Word Count -> 2944

Themes -> Smut, PwP, PwF, Woohoo, the "thing", the "do"

Series -> #Bonafide Specials (100 followers event)

Warnings -> NSFW CONTENT, DO NOT READ IF YOU'RE UNDERAGED! (this is awkward because you two have no experience, jsyk)

(Z,E)-9,12-tetradecadienyl acetate (TDA, also known as ZETA) are usually emitted by females to attract males for mating. Sex pheromones are defined as odors, produced by either males or females that stimulate one or more behavioral reactions in the opposite sex, bringing the males and females together for the purpose of mating.

The foldered papers at the mahogany desk met with a soft plop at its weight, and you noticed the Alchemist suddenly straighten his back from his spaced out daze on the noise, whipping his head towards where you stand. Albedo's teal eyes were wide from the sudden intrusion, but his eyelids drooped over them once again upon the realization that it was just you who entered as it loses its light once more. This worried you.

The Chief Alchemist of the Knights of Favonius has been in a dilemma recently. And all of Mond knows of this.

Albedo naturally holds himself in a regal and composed aura that draws people to him in admiration and trance. But this Albedo lacks such gait, with shoulders tense and eyebrows furrowed, steps heavy and head hanging low.

He has hit a wall in his never-ending research. And the effect was obvious on him.

Days he'd be cooped up in his laboratory staring at nothing, glaring at his setup. Days he'd be gone beyond the walls with his easel and sketchbook, only to return with unfinished artworks meant to be forgotten. Sucrose had tried placing experiments that are easy to handle and give him at least a sense of self-confidence for solving, but even that cannot pull his mind away from his obstacle.

"You know," leaning on the table with arms crossed, you watched the Kreideprinz drag his foot to where you were, aiming to check on the folder that you just submitted, "Some people say having intercourse with someone is a good stress-reliever." Such words smoothly flowed out of your mouth despite the masked embarrassment you expertly hid through a haughty smirk.

That someone was Kaeya, and that Kaeya threw out that same comment next to you when you two saw Albedo walk through the headquarter's halls like a zombie a few days ago.

The sudden pound of fists on the table at either side of you startled you, expertly caging you in as you looked up. Albedo loomed over you with eyes brightly catching the sun, giving it the luminosity that carried the same curious look he had when faced with the unknown. "Intercourse? If it's true, then please," oh no, "I wish to have intercourse with you."

Excuse me? "Wha-" suddenly, you were hyper-aware of just how close you are to one another. You slightly hiked yourself up against the table, as to preserve what little distance you have. "Wait Albedo, do you not know what that is? It’s only done between lovers!”

And without skipping a beat, he mused, "Convenient, I love you, anything else?" That familiar smirk displayed on his face.

Contrary to his face tho, you greatly contest to Diluc's hair. Really a normal reaction- to this guy suddenly confessing! Your head is already whirling around in confusion and your eyes couldn't set itself straight at him, still mindful of the distance of which reminded you why you were in this predicament in the first place.

Albedo attentively watched your eyes stray to the side as he stands there in silence, seeing it land at the entrance to his laboratory. Ah of course, he thought he'd made a discovery, as he leans away from you to make his way towards the door.

And shut it with a click.

"Wait, wait, why did you lock the door?!" You finally mustered up the courage to speak (breaking away from the shock of his confession) as he finds himself where he stood over you, eyes filled with confusion.

"You were quiet after my confession. I know such moments of romance are intimate and with your eyes, I only wanted to give us privacy," his brows furrowed with confusion before his shoulders dropped, a sharp sigh escaping. "Normally people would express their reciprocation by now," he breathed as he starts pulling back and away, "but voicing your rejection would have been appre-"

Quickly with a yelp, you reached out for his departing form, pulling him back by the grip on his shirt. Albedo's eyes only widened a little as he was quick to grip the table's edge to stabilize himself, one arm wrapped around your waist to ground you. "No! I do- do love you too!" You finally squeezed out the embarrassing confession, "You were just so sudden, it surprised me so much!"

And suddenly he was laughing openly, full of relief and humor, as his shoulders slackened at the validation. The heavy weight on his shoulders eased as if a physical matter left it, the bout of removed tension making him slump on you.

You cradled the tired Albedo in your arms as you let him place his chin on your shoulder. This man is your lover now, you thought as the fact finally dawned on you. The brilliant and most loved in Mond now tied down to you.

Basking in the presence of a person now his, Albedo found himself breathing in. There was a scent to you that always soothes him which now feels emphasized at the closeness. His pupils dilated as his face buries itself closer to the junction where your neck and shoulder meets.

Ah, what was this? Was this the pheromones you once talked about in your research on zoology that attracts those to them? He mused in his mind as those teal eyed fluttered shut, nose brushing at your neck for another whiff.

While Albedo indulged himself with the natural scent of you, you stood there with weak legs, trembling and red from the notions. Oh gods, you whimpered at the feeling of his lips brushing at your skin, you're whipped for this man.

"I'm waiting," you had to hold the shiver when his words vibrated against your neck, "for your answer on my offer, I think it would be good to try." Ah the 'intercourse'. You placed your hands flat on his back as he leans away to stare in attention, and then you finally explained to him what you meant, what you'd do, and what it entails to.

Albedo nods in understanding at your every clause and explanation. And his bright mind understood far too easily how it would help. "We are lovers now," his eyes twinkled at the cute scrunch of your nose upon the embarrassment of the fact, "sooner or later we'd end up doing it anyways. When shouldn't be a matter."

Albedo always make a good point.

With your consent, Albedo slowly lays you on the surface of the table as his other hand makes quick work to swipe away the items that would be in the way, thankfully the carpeted floor prevented anything from breaking. His lips found yours almost naturally as you urged him to take off his coat and you worked on your own, the thoughts spiraling in your head for every clothing that is shed:

Albedo has little to none idea on how sex works between humans, and you had your base knowledge from the things you learned from academics; in short, you're both inexperienced and you are his anchor.

How funny how the master role quickly switched, you thought with an inward laugh before it died in your throat at the sight— he stands there with his undershirt unbuttoned, belt and shorts caught by his knee, and his apparent bulge outlined by his boxers. Your thighs instinctively closed, you don't know what's considered average in size for such things, but you know for a fact there's gonna be some difficulty.

"Is something wrong?" His raw and calloused hands (gloves long gone) softly landed at your squirming thighs, the contact sending a shiver all over. "Am I doing something wrong?"

No, you breathed as you urged him to step closer and settle between your legs at the edge of the table, his form forcing you to spread your limbs apart.

The intoxicating scent that Albedo indulged in earlier was stronger now, drowning him and clouding his thoughts. The waft plunged through his senses so forcefully that he stumbled a bit on you, hips hitting as he grips your sides to keep him steady.

Next came the warmth that touched his sensitive length as it laid between you, the contact had forced out a cute squeak from you and an airy groan from him. His hips buckled to catch the sensation as he finds himself rutting between your folds with ragged breathing.

So good, it felt so good. Albedo finds himself struggling to keep his eyes open from what he now identified to be pleasure, and as he looks up to check on you, you were struggling just the same. Your chest rises and falls in quick successions as you covered your eyes with an arm, whimpers coming out of your slightly parted lips.

Fuck. If only he wasn't so engrossed, he wanted to capture this image through painting. "Am I-," he cleared his throat of the hoarse voice, "Am I hurting you?"

You gasped at the cold and wet feeling swipe from your chin to the corner of your lips, licking the trail of drool you didn't even notice when you opened your eyes to see Albedo's up close. With a shake of your head, you gripped the ponytail of his braid to pull his head for a sudden kiss.

Staggering over your form as your legs hiked up to hook around his waist, you guided the tip of his length to your entrance as he ravaged your mouth without restraint. Lips bruising each other, tongue tracing the underside of yours gingerly before it licks at the roof of your mouth— all the sensations had fogged up your consciousness so badly that you didn't feel an ounce of pain when he finally entered into you, guided by a shy gentleness to his ministrations.

It is only when his tip finally touched the opening of your cervix did you whimper; the way you're being stretched and the fullness of his length in you making you writhe under and around him, the friction only making rousing him more.

Albedo produced a low growl against your lips as he bit down on the bottom one, his trimmed nails digging to your soft-skinned hips as he pins it down. "Stop- nghh- stop moving around so much," a sudden warmth pooled into your stomach as you tightened around him.

Mistake number one: You didn't expect for his gentleness to be gone.

Spurred on by your tightening grip and the pleasure shooting up him everytime his tip came in contact with your edge, Albedo went into a relentless pace, pounding straight into you to hit that spot. Your pants turned into breathless chokes everytime he comes in contact, forcing your raw moans out of you. There's a dull pain by your entrance everytime he grinds against your walls, and he whimpers your name in pure ecstacy every stroke.

Your back arcs as he smacks into you, pulling back halfway through before burying deep into your hole once again. His brutal pace gets sloppy at times, before his strength comes back again to pull you closer. Halfway through Albedo produces a feral growl as he grips one of your legs behind the knee, pushing it closer to your body and slightly angled to the side.

And the moment he thrusts in with the new position, you cried out his name. The tip of his length reached far deeper with this new angle, and had plunged the top right into your cervix— your hips trembled as Albedo's whole body shivers at the new sensation, fingernails digging into your thigh as his other hand intertwines with yours, pinning it down on the table as leverage.

"Ahn," he whispered your name tiredly with tears pricking at the edge of his eyes, for the first time staring at your eyes after he had started, "How are you? Is it okay? Is it..."

Good, you mumbled with a tired smile at his consideration, bumping your hips to emphasize on it- which drew a sharp gasp from the both of you, he was already in so deep, your hips bruised and touching.

He rolled his hips to test out, his thickness rubbing at the walls as he stirs your insides. The sweet moan you produced spurred him on, and he was once again staggering into you, his hips slightly elevated in an angle meant to pierce through you.

The sound of flesh smacking against each other overpowers even your loudest moan as Albedo pleasured himself inside you desperately, the smell of sex filling your sense of smell. He chases the way your hole drips and wafts with the scent, drawing in a huge breathe whenever your mixed cum spills past his tightly locked dick in you.

And soon his pace became more desperate and short, as he makes quick work at hitting you in your most sensitive part to barely give you time to gasp for air. Your walls clenched down on him so tightly as you came, a cry of his name passing your lips as your back arched—

the pressure made him buckle and he thrusts in deep one last time, tip breaking past your cervix, as his climax enters you in thick strings of warmth.

That was mistake number two: you didn't bring protection with you.

But at that moment you couldn't care less (your cycle just ended anyways, you should be fine), watching him whimper your name in full pleasure as his teeth grinds against each other, his forehead and eyebrows knit and furrow as he releases before it relaxes after he is done.

And then he falls face first to your chest, the renowned Alchemist running out of the minimal stamina he had with him. Buried between the valley of your breast, Albedo had the most serene (almost drunk) expression on his face, lips pressed against the skin over your heart where it beats with fervor from your activity.

He tested another experimental thrust, lighter this time, as he felt your mixed fluids moved around the tiny space. You gave a wailing moan at his action, and he breathlessly laughed at your reaction.

Albedo stayed in you and on you for a few more minutes after that. Still trying to regain strength as your tired pants became the white noise that night.

"Albedo..." he hums against your chest as his arms tightened around your waist, enjoying the peace your hands brought to him as you stroke his cheek. "Albedo, I need to clean up." He jests that you should just keep it in you and you responded with rapid pats, whining at the notion. He chuckles.

It took him a lot of willpower to get up and he made it obvious as hell, taking his time to remove himself off your chest, grumbling that his bed was complaining too much. You let out a cute snort before smacking his arm. Albedo grips your hips as he gently pulls out when he stops suddenly, realizing that the liquids would pour out and make an obvious mess if he were to do so.

His head passes around the immediate area as he pinpoints a peculiar object, plucking it from its plastic package, still new from the bubble wrap. A sharp gasp suddenly comes by you at the cold and hard sensation that replaced Albedo inside you, only a few inches deep as the Alchemist walks off to get tissues. Wary, you looked down to see the object, choking out when you saw its end sticking out past your crotch:

A test tube, pristine and clean, was preventing the fluids from dripping out of your hole.

When Albedo came back with the tissues and spare cloth in hand, he muses at how your deep red face was smacked tightly against your palms. He offers to clean up, a gentle hand carefully pulling out the tube, but you refused and got quick work on yourself. That was enough embarrassment for tonight.

Unbeknownst to you with your busied self, Albedo held the glass vial in close inspection and curiosity. The translucent white liquid barely blocks the night light and produced the same strong scent he'd been chasing the whole night— he sticks his tongue out to taste, ah, slightly salty and sticky.

Albedo wonders what kind of experiment he can do with this.

The obvious lift on the shoulders of the Chief Alchemist was greatly acknowledged by everyone in town who were aware of the impasse the young man had troubled himself with for the past few days. The bags under his eyes were gone, and the tealness he has shined with newfound vigor. Besides the mood shift, many of the knights had also noticed the time spent between the two of you. Missions and expeditions were always coinciding with each other and people barely saw you separated, giggling and smiling to yourselves in your pink world.

One day they finally found out about your relationship when a knight barged in to his laboratory for an urgent matter. Blurting out the Chief Alchemist's name before he realized that you were there, lips locked against each other.

The news spreads fast with that little detail and everyone congratulated you on your relationship.

Behind your bashful smiles, you and Albedo sighed in great relief, thankful to the archons that the knight didn't took notice of your hand under his big white coat that time.

This turned out like this cuz alchemy boy very new to things u_u and little stamina, he needs to exercise more ehe-

@creation-magician @dandelion-dreams @zelos-simp @struggljng @youroffical-weirdo @your-local-venti-simp @indigodreamtime47

[sylverstorms]

Daniela x Maiden ----Haunted

Commission for the wonderful @uni--tea that I received on Ko-Fi. Thank you so much for all the support. I have no words ❣

Normally, you take pride in your self-control.

Both physically and mentally, you have a solid grip on you at any given moment. It is a trait that has helped you throughout numerous situations in your life so far and you're certain it will only continue to do so in the future.

But.

At the same time, the fear of losing this hallmark –your greatest strength— is always there, right under your skin. It hides its ugly shadow behind your confidence's light. Never gone. Never lessened.

Because you know just how easy it is for that control to shatter. You know it takes next to nothing to bring to the forefront everything you took years suppressing, locking in the deepest part of your psyche.

Perhaps it is one of the reasons why you dread living in the castle. Stimuli that can set you off lies everywhere. A maiden's cry. A whimper. Pools of blood.

Then it all goes to hell for you.

That is how it happens again; with a girl's scream down the corridor.

Your body automatically rushes towards the sound –a questionable response, you're aware— yet by the time you get there it is already too late.

She has made the mistake of opening a door you all know not to and stepped into the courtyard. Perhaps prompted by an outside sound into the foolish action, or perhaps seeking her freedom at any cost. All she finds is her death, in the form of a flying creature's claws sunk deep through her flesh.

You see a fountain of crimson as the creature attempts to fly away with the corpse, talons digging further in for a better grip, as if through butter. Your first instinct is to leap forward to save her. Save what you can. Whatever is left.

Your body has other ideas. You find that you freeze, instead, unable to will yourself even a single step forward. Your hands are shaking, the entire world is tilting before your very eyes. Gravity magnifies; you drop to your knees, weak, useless, while the shriek of the retreating monstrosity blares through your brain.

Your heart, you feel, is one pound away from breaking in your chest.

The castle fades away into your old home. You are trapped in a fragile, twelve-year-old body again, watching the man your parents healed rip away at them with a kitchen knife. You see the spray of red at every downward slash of the blade. Then the door is kicked down, the police is rushing in, there is so much noise—

Yet rather than a door slamming open, you hear a soft click. A casual slide of bars, followed by a familiar, soft voice;

“Oh, no. Another one's kicked the bucket. Mother will not be pleased.” A deep huff comes. “You'll tell her I had nothing to do with it if she asks, won't you, my Knight?”

Even in your panic attack, you recognize Daniela's nickname for you. Except this time, it rings so false to your ears the sensation is almost acidic.

Knights are supposed to be beacons of bravery, but here you are, swallowed whole by your terrors. You are not courageous, no fighter and certainly no hero. Not where it really matters. You are nothing.

Nothing.

“Knight, I'm talking to you.” An impatient, cool finger hooks itself under your chin and forces you to look forward. The redhead has crouched down to your level, you realize, eyeing you closely, a tad irritated at your lack of response.

Shallow as it may be, it helps your case that her face is pretty as a fairytale. That her eyes glint amber instead of crazed blue. That there is no blood on her face or her clothes, this time. It helps that she's no man –even if she's a hundred times more dangerous than the memory of the killer that haunts you.

Your muscles gradually begin to unlock. Oxygen still feels lackluster, but at least you are no longer suffocating.

“You've gone pale.” she observes, leaning a tad closer.

The finger used to trap your chin ends up caressing your jawline, in a touch gentler than anything you would have ever expected from her. The chill of her skin is— soothing.

Your eyes close.

Daniela does not stop there, though. She gradually slides closer, practically climbing onto your thighs while her head tucks in the crook of your neck. You don't know what she's doing or why, but...

Her hand has moved slightly down, to lazily trace shapes on your neck. She smells so good, flesh out of a bath, no doubt, and she feels criminally nice in your arms. You are only human; you will take comfort where you can.

“It's unbelievably cute that you were so worried about me you froze up like that, my Knight!” she exclaims, ending your confusion there.

You want to facepalm, but that may result in death so you only let out a faint sigh, instead. In all honesty, you should have suspected what was going through her head would not be anything remotely based on reality.

That being said... Daniela Dimitrescu, of all people –mutants, vampires, whatever category she falls under— did pull you out of a panic attack.

Why burst her bubble? you muse as you carefully wrap your arms around her slender waist, a non-verbal ‘thank you’ for the help she will never be aware she gave you.

She seems to like the gesture.

A tad too much, because her grip tightens to a point that makes your very bones protest.

“Ugh, Daniela... I can't...”

“Aw, you can't bear to lose me?” she giggles by your ear and the sound really shouldn't be that endearing when she's crushing you.

“Well, I—” How do you explain that is not the case without signing your own death sentence?

Daniela, by some miracle of the universe, pulls back, keeping her dainty hands idle on your shoulders. She looks straight into your eyes, her own glowing like stars.

“Tell me more~”

[mypersonmyg]

Tebori Tapioca | JJK

**beautiful banner made by @monvante​ <3

pairing: Jeongguk x reader

genre: fluff, strangers to lovers, love at first sight,  tattoo au, tea shop au

wc: 15k

warnings: language, slow burn???

summary: a shining beacon in a sea of monotony OR you just might believe in love at first sight

a/n: hi friends, umm so yea this is a fic i’ve been cooking up for a while and as seems to happen with most of my fics there’s definitely room for more but i didn’t wanna go overboard because the last time i did no one read womp womp...

ANYWHO there’s still very much room for this universe to grow whether it be drabbles, smaller oneshots or whatever so if you have requests pls send them !! for this au or any others

honorary tag: @gukssunshine​

masterlist

Sunlight filters through an open storefront, natural light shading the room in incandescent glow, the honk of horns  just overstating the chirp of the birds perched in overarching trees that line the street. Lights are still lit, strung throughout branches despite the hour slowly inching toward noon. 

Your pencil taps a worn pad, the hundredth rotation of the dormant rectangle of sheets providing no more inspiration than ninety-nine and below. You shove the contents along a desk littered in your crumpled defeat, legs kicking to the wooden surface with comforting intent. 

It’s not unusual, the stray of your eyes to the shop just a few buildings from the florist decorating the opposing side of the street. A work in progress, a work almost in completion. It’s become a game, the guessing of its contents, the colorful display before it’s displayed intriguing to many passersby. You’re close to pondering a new theory when Jimin interrupts with his entrance from the back, reciting safety to Namjoon’s latest masterpiece. 

He whistles an impressive tune following the departure of a satisfied client, rounding his occupied desk and knocking your feet from his cluttered surface. You don’t have time for the countered glare of offense before his words are zeroed in as if he’s been waiting to direct them long before now when your guard is readily disarmed. “You have an office for a reason, why do you always have to sit at my desk.” 

“It’s a nice view.”

“I’ll admit that my delicate features leave nothing to the imagination, but I’m tired of cleaning up after you.” His words are emphasized by his hand’s routine swipe, piles of paper tumbling to the can beside him in rapid succession. Your eyes roll, Jimin’s fingers already beginning to type away on his desktop while your pupils track the delicate arch of his digits and your ears listen to the satisfying click of keys. The consideration of locking yourself away in your office trapezes along the wide expanse of your mind, but before it’s made up Jimin is speaking again, this time with an air of factual superiority. “A tea shop.”

“Hmm?” 

“The shop down the street, it’s a tea shop.” 

“You sound pretty confident,” You hum, eyes darting to the window, turquoise staring back in the fashion of awnings and fresh paint bordering a wooden frame. The sleeves of your sweater bite at your wrist in comforting fuzz, a slight itch along the skin  to pull you from quaint interest. “What makes you so sure?” 

“Just a feeling, it’s got that certain ambiance, you know?” Jimin’s hands wave with the impression of the ambiance so to speak, his eyes squinted in that way you so adore. The thought crosses your mind on many occasions, to compliment his subtle beauty, but the knowledge of his playfully arrogant counter always draws you from speech.

“Or because we ran into the owner on our way in this morning,” Namjoon chirps in kind, strolling to the lobby, his own pad in hand. He neatly tosses it to the desk, fingers skimming through unkempt hair. “Nice guy, said he might drop in for a consultation sometime.” 

“Consultation? Sounds big,” You muse, hand finding your abandoned pencil to drag faint strokes along your page, though even the slight draw brings grimace to your features, dulled in the shadow of your palm pressed to your forehead, easily nudging wisps of loose hair. Namjoon shrugs, a non-committal range of motion, his neck craning over your shoulder to sneak a peek at your lack of a work of art. 

He doesn’t speak on it, simply taking in the unfinished strokes, presumably in an attempt to reassure you in the midst of inspiration long lost. You're prepared to assure him that there’s no need for forced encouragement, but he moves on, collapsing onto near plush without a word.

“Says he’s been thinking about it for a while so I told him we could help him out. He also invited us to his opening, said he'd save some tea for us if we’re busy.” Lips pull back, dimples accenting Namjoon’s heavy cheeks. 

You’re unsurprised by his amicable tale, recalling your fresh steps into this very shop just a few years prior. Your body was bare of ink and your arms bore only a flimsy book with hopeful sketches. He’d taken in your wide eyed glance and the disappearance of your bottom lip to the gnawing confines of your teeth. His towering height and newly trimmed hair taunting you within the daunting shadow that filled your frame through the doorway. 

You chuckle at past memories, wondering how you could ever fear the gentle giant, his lips pulling into ready grin as he showed you to the very desk before you now. 

“What’s so funny?” Namjoon calls to you,  Jimin halting in his current endeavor to glance the smirk stretching your cheek. 

“Nothing, just thinking. Was that your last client for the day?” You grab for the sign-in ledger, finger trailing the thick page, pinky tugging at the pulled edge of a worn corner. Your smirk flips to a frown poorly withheld, the page filled with Namjoon only reminding you that your own supplies need only be sanitized to prevent the collection of dust. 

“Yeah, I figured we’d just close shop early today.” Jimin swipes the ledger with a tisk in your direction, not blind to silent thoughts. 

“It’s noon, what if someone wants a walk-in?” Your gaze slides to the clock, hands ticking slowly along the round wall piece. It’s not unreasonable to assume someone will come in seeking art of the bodily variety, and your hands itch to prove your worth, even if it lies within an album long binded. 

“Then I’m sure they’ll still want it tomorrow.” Namjoon shrugs, his hands folding over his chest forcing the bulge of recently buffed arms. You almost make a joke about the possible tear of the t-shirt hugging his frame, but refrain out of refusal to partake in the pursuance of sure to follow antics. “Besides, it’ll give you more time to work on that.” 

You follow the tilt of Namjoon’s hair, long grown out from his routine refusal to take time from his day to get a trim. You often joke that he’ll be gallivanting with a tail soon enough, his thick locks nearly shoulder length as it stands. He often finds himself shaking it from his peripheral with the wrong angling of his head. He motions to your barely done sketch, the page glaring at you with a mocking disgust. 

“Yeah, that’s what I’m gonna do.” You drip sarcasm, pad tossed to your bag and jacket jerked to waiting arms. 

~*~

Off-white trim borders the wall of a shop nearly complete, Jeongguk checks and double checks a list stored in the confines of his mental. Aside from constant fear of the opening of doors without the steady flood of patrons he’s eager for business, hard work finally paying its due. 

He’s only in for the morning, the steady tick of his wrist a reminder to snap from his obsessive habit, sure that he’ll receive word from Taehyung that he's on his way to drag him from the building. His grin rivals the glare of the sun as his eyes travel a building come together. His hand falls to his arm in dramatic pinch to ensure that his eyes aren’t filled with hopeful deceit. 

It fits, he thinks, stepping out onto the walk, key slotting into the door to ensure security. His shop melds perfectly with the heavily lined street, animated tapioca unfinished in the window somehow making sense with the neighboring extravagance of bloom at the near florist and the samples of ink from the tattoo shop across the way. Even the simple thrift shop with it’s objects of interest decorating the window compliments his simple display.

Opportunity hasn’t struck to visit his new neighbors, though he did stumble into a chunk of the owners of one of the shops. He found surprise in the ease with which conversation flowed, his mouth like the babble of a brooke despite the nerves that skipped like pebbles in his stomach and his heart that beat a million miles a minute following their friendly departure. 

In his stupor he nearly misses the float of voices a ways down the quietly milling street, but the recognition of a melodic tone draws his gaze. 

“I’ll take you for ice cream.” Jeongguk recognizes the voice that seeks to entice as Jimin, though he doesn’t recognize you. 

“I’m not a child you know.” Your statement is grumbled, the words echoing that of a childlike pout. Jeongguk can see the movement of your arms as they reach to a playful shove, the rhythmic shift of Jimin’s feet looking routine even from a distance. You choose not to acknowledge Jimin’s coo, his fingers poking at your protruding cheek as if to say Oh but aren’t you?

Jeongguk watches with interest and the initiative to work up the courage to bring acknowledgement to his presence and perhaps introduction to who he expects is the other third of the tattoo shop. You and Jimin are too caught in bickering to notice the figure just feet away, your fingers pinching Jimin’s nose with  a countering taunt. 

“Can’t I just treat you to a nice frozen treat? I don’t recall that being a crime, but please enlighten me.” You pinch the bridge of your own nose, the scent of freshly packed soil wafting from neatly situated pots. 

You spot the poke of pink from one of the tall and timid plants, though you imagine the fragile nature is only by way of visual, Yoongi always diligent with his seedling evolved friends. You make note to beg him to allow the purchase of a precarious plant, an act of teasing to stem from your track record, the memory of shriveled begonias bringing even your shoulders to lift in cringe. 

“Are you still talking?” Your gaze shifts back to Jimin, his flow not conscious to your unconscious senses. 

“So rude, you should be thanking me for the extra time off.”

“As if I need more time off, but fine, I suppose I can let you treat me as an apology for your ratty transgressions.” You tut. Were your ears peaked and footing less strayed you would’ve noted the distant chuckle of Jeongguk, still standing dormant outside of a dimmed shop.

His thoughts of hurried introduction came to halt with his notice of you. Your voice held a playful jab when you spoke, Jimin’s reactions only animated enough to draw slight attention from your raised tone. Despite your fussing dialogue, your posture was slouched just a tad and your hands fisted into snug jacket sleeves  to mimic paws. Jeongguk decides he’d be hard pressed not to be endeared by you in the slightest. 

“Wow, I thought I was gonna have to come here and drag you out by the ears.” Hands clap Jeongguk’s shoulders, Taehyung rounding his frame, grin gentle as he regards with relief. “I swear you’d probably live here if I didn’t keep you at bay. What are you--oh she’s pretty.” 

The two watch your retreat, your hand easily clasping Jimin's, the swing of connected wrists appearing natural with your stride through the afternoon chill. Jeongguk ignores the flare of his cheeks at the notion of exposure, thankful that Taehyung doesn’t make a show of his ogling. 

“Yeah, looks like she’s taken though...you wanna get ice cream?” Taehyung scrunches his nose, wind kissed cheeks held between gloved palms. His scoff is inward, Jeongguk’s suggestion appearing nothing short of ridiculous as the two are swept by a wind that’s particularly biting. While Taehyung shivers, Jeongguk doesn’t appear to mind, hands shoved in his pockets, heels rocking along cracked concrete. 

“Do I look like I want to get ice cream? It’s freezing out here and not everyone radiates the warmth of a furnace.” 

“Well unlike you, not everyone is so dramatic.”

“Whatever, just get some when we get home.” Taehyung lightly shoves, legs turning in the direction of his car, parked on asphalt, freshly coated by summer’s end.

 Jeongguk stares after the winded trail of a billowing pea, your bobbing figure rounding a corner and straying from widened eyes. He sucks through clenched teeth, opportunities knock having been missed at the hands of Taehyung. The clench of fists in pockets goes unnoticed as he rounds on planted heels and makes his way to the car, Taehyung happily staring from  the passenger seat waiting with a grin dripping sincerity. 

“You definitely owe me for this.”

~*~

You twitch along with the consistent drip of a leaky faucet, the tap of digits on worn ceramic offering a release to limbs without proper use. The biting chill in your toes is only minutely cured by the pilling of four blankets, barely thick enough to rival the wool knit socks Hoseok gifted you last christmas. 

You find pause in the sun setting from the window, dim lighting pouring through weak curtains. Your tongue prods at the confines of your mouth, frosted by forced treat and abandoned with the recommendation of a mug of hot cocoa which now rests lukewarm in your clenching palms. 

You force your mind to yield, racing in a direction opposite the self destructive course that usually remains dormant until you lay to rest for the evening. Hands numbed by the interference of a numbing chill met with the warmth of a mostly empty mug nearly spilling when your right palm jumps in the direction of your phone, perched on an end table composed of chipping wood and stains too set to resemble anything but a dark pool, a picture puddle fit for galoshes in adolescence. 

You wonder if Yoongi’s taken his plants in, the set of cold not nearly the condition for any pending life surely. Though you quickly pull back, recalling a conversation following another mishap, your plant lying limp before the attentive florist, his cheeks rosy from the heat lamps and the temperature set to ensure maximum growth year round. It was with passion that he waxed about the difference between certain plants and the amazing circumstances of their survival. 

It was with half amused grin, your head lopsided along the freshly painted door frame that he assured you that if a plant can survive the harsh conditions of the season of cool there was surely one meant to survive you. 

You glance to the succulent placed on the sill overlooking your sink. You had been indignant at Yoongi’s insistence that you take it, almost begging that he give you one of the smiling pink numbers reflecting in the window rather than the less impressive green poking from the dirt of a tiny hand painted pot. Yoongi’s reaction was much the same, innocence painting his rose blushed cheeks as he explained the beauty of every plant, sure to continue on until you gently removed the pot from his fingers.

Now the once shy note of green was large enough to cover your palm, a bright spot in the dark of your apartment, falling apart at the hands of purposeful ignorance from an absent landlord. 

A sharp tap against your front door draws your gaze, pointed as if to break the barrier of solid wood. You don’t notice the spill of your drink until warmth slips through your sweater, arm jerk sending the mug careening to shatter. The pieces decorate the floor with a colorful tap to pair with the running of dark liquid along the hardwood.

“Shit.” Words muttered in haste, one of many blankets piled in swaddle is heaved to the floor, your legs lifting you from the chair and gently to clothed knees. Cocooning the glass in the thick material you stand to full height when another tap draws you. Your hands tug at your sweater, the seep of the liquid already beginning to set in and your skin grows irritated from the unwanted intrusion. “Coming!”

You glance to the spot where chocolate dances along the edges of your braided rug, the centerpiece itching to soak up what it can manage of the chocolatey drink,  already dreading the work of scrubbing to prevent permanent damage. Making your way to the door your feet stride in a half walk half slide along hardwood, tripping up due to the soiled bits of fabric sticking to your feet and resisting a usually easy trek along the hardwood. The pull of the door is a surprise, an unfamiliar face staring back at you with a geometrically flattering smile. 

“Hello…” Your words are drawn and rasped, a mixture of the lack of dialogue and settling curiosity. 

“Hi, I’m Taehyung.” There’s no deterrence from Taehyung at your lack of reciprocated enthusiasm, just the shake of locks, shaggy and shielding his eyes that appear to glisten in the flicker of the hall lights. His eyes brighten in recognition, though you can’t seem to separate his stare from the reflection of his shocking irises and simply accept his hand as it slowly extends.

“Y/n. Is there something I can help you with?” You attempt a glance around his ever present frame in hope for an explanation, but the notion is non-existent so you wait as he gathers his own. You don’t miss the wandering of his eyes to the open of your apartment but don’t call him on it, an entrance composed of nothing more than a table and a crooked portrait gifted by Jin. You can hear his distant cackles as he positioned it just perfectly before the door. 

“Actually I was gonna ask you how to work the heat in this place, but you look about as warm as me so…” He shifts on his heels unsure, taking in your heavily bundled appearance. 

You tug once more at your stained sweater, your face heating with recollection of the soiled garment still clinging to you, now with more fervor from the added moisture. Your thick socks are layered over a pair only slightly less so and your legs appear heavily padded under two pairs of dense sweats. “You must be new here.”

Taehyung shrugs, half a step taken in retreat. He tilts his head just so, gesturing to the vacant hall, a door half ajar allowing the flood of light to illuminate the peel of ancient wallpaper. Not for the first time you wish you’d taken Jimin up on his spare room. “Yeah, just officially moved in today. We’re down the hall, heard the apartment’s been vacant for a while and it seemed nice enough.” 

“But no one told you that the heat only works correctly on a good day, sounds about right.”

“And our shower--” 

“Leaks?” You finish, the distant drip from your kitchen just audible over your speech. Your thumb pushes against the bow of your pursed lips, teeth grabbing hold of roughened skin whilst you watch the turn of cogs tumbling before you. 

“Yeah...should I call the landlord?” His brows knit at your nonchalance, thumb jerking to his apartment. You almost chuckle, covering your outburst with a quick tilt of your head. The simplicity of the suggestion seems only to add to the hilarity of the situation. 

“Sure, but I’d recommend investing in a space heater and keeping a couple of tools handy. I’m not wearing four layers to make a fashion statement.” Your fingers drum along the frame of your door, the gentle tap carrying between you in soft silence. “Well...welcome to the building and sorry to be the bearer of bad news.” 

“Guess someone had to be,” His throat clears in chuckle, hand tugging at the sleeve of his hoodie, the strings hanging lopsided where his hood lay half scrunched at the base of his neck. His thumb lifts to trace the corner of his mouth, shifted in that same grin that greeted you minutes prior, though this time your return is swift and without the same haze that accompanied his unfamiliar presence. “Thank you. I appreciate your help.”  

Taehyung turns on his heel at the pace of the gears turning in his brain, swift stride carrying him back to his door, yours clicking shut along the shells of his ears. He pushes into his residence, door squeaking on hinges as it closes in his wake. Straight for the living room he makes haste with lengthy stride, spotting  Jeongguk who swallows the couch with his body, spread as much as the lengthened cushion will allow. He peeks from his curtain of hair, dangling at the angle of his head, blinking with the poke of a follicle gently prodding his pupil. 

“So?” He pushes up to a sit, nearly knocking his phone from the arm where it’s perched without care. His shoulders shake from the mix of cold and anticipation, mistaking the grin that Taehyung sports as a triumphant mission. 

“Oh this place is spectacularly shitty, my friend. Looks like we’ll be snuggling like penguins if we wanna get warm tonight.” As if to punctuate his vivid explanation, Taehyung slides dangerously close to where Jeongguk remains sitting, legs brushing as he sinks into the already heated seat. 

Jeongguk nudges to the sharp of Taehyung’s shoulder, encouraging him further inward with a defeated groan. He’s sure he catches the scent of something similar to carpet that’s been left to mildew, but he attributes it to imagination. Somehow this very apartment seemed a saving grace just a month ago.  “I knew we should’ve splurged on that loft. Why are you smiling?” 

“Hm, so that girl that you were staring at earlier, you know her?” Taehyung doesn’t shy from his urge to throw himself over Jeongguk’s lap, ignoring the squint scrutiny from above. He pokes at the underside of Jeongguk’s chin, teasing a reaction from him, grimace evident from the suction of his cheeks. 

“Not exactly, I know the guy she was with though. They own the tattoo shop, why?” Taehyung braces his head with one hand, the other grabbing hold of the string dangling from his clothes, rolling the aglet between agile fingers. He ponders the thought of revealing that just beyond moth eaten wallpaper and the cracks of a concrete hall you await just a few doors down. 

“Just a question. You didn’t think I would just leave it, did you?” Jeongguk’s nose scrunches because he did in fact find that avenue favorable among the chosen. Taehyung pats his muscled thigh with  a patronizing shake of the head, hair already tangling with the push of his heavy skull to Jeongguk’s tough jeans. 

“So what, she’s cute, not like I know anything about her. I’m more concerned with making it through the night without contracting pneumonia or risking the complete freeze of my limbs.”

The two seem to scoot closer at the thought, Taehyung now pushed against Jeongguk’s abdomen. They paint quite a picture on their second hand furniture, couch in need of stitching at the seams and the questionable stain that inhabited it upon arrival nipping at the press of Taehyung’s socked feet into the cushion. 

Fatigue abandoned the task of unloading boxes that litter the expanse of open flooring and leftover furniture. Their energy fueled endeavor long forgotten along with the memory of comforting warmth. They both ponder the idea of retreating to respective rooms, but find it would be a miracle if they could manage to pull themselves from half comfort, abandoning the hope of body heat against the chill of the shared space. 

Audible groan travels the four walls when a gentle fist beats against the door. Taehyung shoves at Jeongguk’s shoulder, a silent appeal to the younger to make sacrifice and leave their cocooned warmth. Jeongguk won’t be swayed, his arms easily finding the weight of Taehyung’s side and nudging enough to send him careening to the floor with a resounding thud. 

Grumbles and groans of the incoherent leave Taehyung’s mouth, amused giggles falling from Jeongguk whose legs are now pulled to drink in the heat left behind. Taehyung stops for a moment, thinking that his timely trek was wasted, opposing party’s fist meeting wood no more. He gently opens the door, head ducking around the corner, foot stepping out only to stub into something surely placed for such an occasion as his physical reckoning. 

He foregoes subtly, mouth unhinging and curses falling akin to rocks from a cliff side, the echo bouncing against concrete and soaking into the slips and edges of the silent walls. Jeongguk ambles around the corner with concern etched features, the draw of his eyes landing on his roommate, leg at an angle and clutched whilst he leans against the doorframe. 

Jeongguk squeezes past, kneeling to pluck the sticky posted from the top of what appears to be a space heater. His eyes scan the crisp note, glancing down the hall with the knowledge that the perpetrator is surely long gone. “Dude, you good?” 

“Stubbed my fucking toe,” Taehyung strains. Jeongguk let’s him sulk, hiding a purposeful grin from the dramatist leaning over him. “What is that anyways.” 

“Space heater.” He passes the note, Taehyung scans it quickly with a hum. He doesn’t miss the look he’s receiving from Jeongguk, aware of the name scribbled along the tiny parchment. “Was nice of them. What did you say anyways?” 

“Nothing really, guess I’m just a natural charmer.” 

~*~

“Will you tell her that she should just move in with me like I suggested in the first place?” Jimin snags on the thick of Namjoon’s t-shirt, pulling him from his task, resituating his glasses along his face rather than the slide to the tip of his nose that seemed a regular occurance. You choose to ignore the commotion, back to sweeping dust and scattered leaves from the entrance of the shop. 

Your living situation, less than ideal, often leads you to Jimin’s door, his spare room rather drenched in your deposited belongings. It’s his futile mission to persuade you to trade up from your desolate one bedroom with it’s desperate calling for tlc and take permanent residence in his humble abode just uptown. 

It’s foolish not to consider, but you always find the scrape of your teeth roughening the budded surface of your tongue when he turns to you with his grin of sweet saccharine nearly once a week. You don’t know what it is about the cracks that seem to shimmy further up the walls with each passing minute or the breaks in the tile that beg an earthquake decades off, but you aren’t quite ready to part with it. 

“If you want me to stop coming over just say so,” You huff, fully aware that’s not the case but sure it’ll throw Jimin for a curve with enough distance to keep him at bay. 

He sputters, releasing Namjoon with a gentle shove, “That’s not it and you know it! I just don’t see why you stay there, it’s so...broken.” 

“I’ll have you know that I-”

“Have lived there since you came here blah blah blah, we know. Oh hey, a customer! Would you look at that,” Jimin’s over enthused response following a set of feet flooding through draws your next words to thin air, replaced with a well meaning grin. His perked posture slumps when he realizes that it is not in fact a patron looking to empty their wallet. “Oh, it’s just Hobi-hyung.” 

“Thanks for the sunshine,” Hoseok counters, elbows covered with a patched overcoat resting along the edge of Jimin’s desk. Though his words hold a tinge of sarcasm, he’s all smiles as he regards you. Much like Namjoon he sports his frames today, wide and rectangular perched along the bridge of his nose. From the opening of his coat you smirk at the peak of a bright yellow sweater, an animation practically dancing along the expanse of his chest. 

“Guess it’s a good thing that’s your job,” Namjoon pats him on his way to his office, returning with a box overflowing with garments and books. It’s not unusual that the two of them exchange goods, Hoseok’s thrift always looking for ways to fill the shelf.

 It surprised you in the beginning, the flow of people who seemed to always leave his shop holding something to their chest like it was the world stuffed into a novelty bag. That was before Hoseok insisted that you visit yourself, sure you’d find something of interest. He wasn’t perturbed by skepticism, it only seemed to fuel the glint of a thousand galaxies that flared in his concentrated stare. 

You’d ambled the lot for a good thirty minutes, fingers gliding along shelves so sturdy it came as a shock that he installed them himself, the wiggle of his elongated fingers when you recited the thought still fresh. It was the belief of Hoseok, in his own words, that there was a magic in places like his. A magnetic pull that would lead you to just the thing you need, often times things he himself didn’t even know he possessed. 

“The rest is all in good fun,” He’d finished with that smile that rivaled the shine of the largest star glistening from above. 

Your magic was nestled in the thick of it all, buried beneath someone else’s waiting fortune. It was the far corner that drew you, something about it just a shade darker than the rest of the large room. You’re unsure what possessed you, ignoring the insistence of magic cycling through the heavy air conditioning as you pillage through a pile of neatly folded quilts and the random placement of a busted stereo. 

“Find something?” Hoseok appeared, head resting just over your shoulder. Your crouch betrayed you and were it not for quick reflexes and a helping hand the bust of your ass was sure to find the floor. Hoseok stood with a pool of change shaking in his palm and his neat smile waiting for you to putter around with your find. 

“It’s just a necklace, nothing special.” 

“Still, take it, you never know.” He was insistent that you leave with the silver chain, an onyx pendant dangling from the end  and even more so that, rather than pay him, you admit that there’s something in the air. You agreed, but your reluctance was only truly squashed when you found yourself adorning the necklace more than your usual jewelry reserved for occasion.

“Hey, did you guys hear about the tea shop opening up?” Hoseok plants himself on Jimin’s desk, ignoring the playful glare burning a hole in his side. Namjoon rests the box on the ground next to him with a grunt, clear on Hoseok’s intention to linger as long as time will allow rather than collecting his treasure and hurrying back to his own place of work. 

“Jimin and I met the owner yesterday, he seems like a really nice guy.” Namjoon fills before Jimin has the chance to allow his jaw to unhinge, no doubt planning to flaunt his basic knowledge like privileged information.

“That’s nice. Rumor has it he specializes in boba.” You would chuckle were it not for the wild look in Hoseok’s eyes, his hands painting imaginary rainbow before slotting through the pockets of his coat. His feet steadily tap tap against the tile, the gentle nod of his head not at all unusual but nonetheless intriguing. “It’ll be so nice not having to drive a town over just to have a nice tapioca pearl.” 

“You know they sell those, you could make your own.” Your words are all but lost on the eccentric businessman, his tactic to avoid information displeasing to his interests taking full effect. His body angles, half hiding a chuckling Jimin from your view. Sliding the broom to the near closet, not unaware of leaves sadly crumpled against the tile from Hoseok’s timely entrance, but not bothered enough to scoop them into the waiting bin, you make haste to your office slipping between the door slightly ajar. “Right. Well I’m gonna go try to get some work done.”

You release a stuttered breath upon the gentle click of your door, mumbled dialogue just barely pushing through the thick wood. Air puffs your cheeks in half contemplation, silence stealing the inspiration that seemed to dance before you, brain now only half awake as time seems to dwindle at the speed of sound. Instead of the reach for a waiting pad and the scatter of ballpoint colors staring from your desk unused and impatient, you grab for a volume that seems to scream from the near bookshelf. 

It begs the recollection of time well spent, a pang in your chest follows a  rushing to the surface as if air tearing from lungs lacking capacity. Your full weight collapses to your chair, recently upgraded at Namjoon’s insistence that nursing the squeaky four wheeler that threatened to collapse with the wrong release of breath violated his own moral codes before the hushed mumble about legal repercussions. You aren’t complaining, the upgrade makes you feel like a permanent staple, especially when your mind is convinced that layoff is imminent. 

Your fingers trace the smooth cover of hardback, reckoning with the ache to feel the crisp of unturned pages and avoid the buildup that follows suit. It’s the not knowing that tugs at the precipice of your flowing mind, wishing for diagnosis from a stagnant flow of a previous gold mine. 

Your ears peak at the surge of voices layering the lobby, though your mind squashes the urge for a slip back into the throw of pleasant chatter. You draw a drawer, fishing for half tangled buds, slipping them into your heightened canals to drown with the sounds of your latest fix. 

~*~

The lift of Jeongguk’s gaze as heavy feet carry him past the fluorescent sign of Uhgood Tattoo and through the ringing entrance is subtle enough as doe eyes scan the lengthy space for a feminine form. He’s met with null, but the snag of his pupils on a wall of intricacy almost distracts from the loiter of men staring straight for him and Taehyung who is decidedly less preoccupied. 

“Jeongguk, nice to see you again!” Namjoon booms over every voice in the room. His arms are half open in eager acceptance and Jeongguk leads Taehyung to the settled group, one last sweep still leaving him wanting for an introduction or a glimpse at best. “We were actually just talking about you.” 

“About me?” His tone toes between surprise and unease, lips puckering in the shape of ‘oh’ and steps stuttering against the crunch of leaves slipping along linoleum. 

“Yeah, Hoseok here was just saying how excited he is that you moved in. He owns the thrift shop just across from you.” 

Hoseok doesn’t need much introduction before he’s centered in front of Jeongguk, smile glinting and hands reaching for the younger man with much fervor. Jeongguk would find the proximity daunting were it not for the friendly face reflecting in his widened irises. His chest rumbles, glad to place a face to bright signs and eccentric displays. 

“Nice to meet you, we’re all glad to have a new face on our little strip. I’m especially glad to have an excuse to save myself from Jin’s questionable experiments in the kitchen.” Hoseok’s hand has yet to stop its steady shake of Jeongguk’s, too caught in words, leaving his mind’s body on its own. “Feel free to drop by my shop anytime, I love seeing new faces. Plus-”

“Here we go…” Jimin cuts, feigned exasperation coating his pitched tone before he excuses himself to the back of the shop. His exit isn’t swift enough to hide the exasperation of the puff of air that gaps his lips. 

“There’s a special kind of magic in a shop like mine and because you just moved in the first trinket is on the house!” 

“Oh magic? Taehyung’s really into that stuff, we’ll stop in sometime.” He gestures to his friend whose hands are shoved to the thick of his sweatshirt, lips pushed inward with the suck of his cheeks. “This is him by the way, Taehyung, he’s my partner of sorts at the cafe and my roommate.” 

“Yeah, though the last one is questionable at the moment. Nice to meet you guys, this place is sweet! Do you do piercings by any chance?” As if by pure luck Jimin’s stepping back into the room, his eyes set ablaze with passion by the innocent inquiry. 

“Piercings are my specialty actually, I can pierce any and everything!” His hands clasp to Taehyung’s shoulder, glad for excitement out of the realm of files and spreadsheets. Taehyung, surprised by the eager response, can only seem to nod along to the spew that falls from Jimin’s lips that near miles per minute.  “Are you interested? I’d be happy to show you our collection.” 

“This could take a while,” Jeongguk is startled by the presence of Namjoon somehow closer than before. Jimin is still spouting about his work to his potential client, Jeongguk takes in Taehyung’s features in search of a signal for help, but only finds him  painted with interest and intrigue at the bundle of knowledge that is Park Jimin. Namjoon gestures to a hall along the far wall, a couple of paintings half crooked beckoning them forth.  “We can talk about those tattoos if you’re interested?” 

The buzz that surges in the cavity of his chest is answer enough, companied with the vigorous nod of his head, curls bouncing against the frame of his cheeks. “That would be great!” 

Namjoon easily falls into the roll of guide, leading the two down the hall and past a couple of doors tightly sealed. The walls are a dark shade, set aglow by the heat of fixtures hanging overhead. Even in the dim setting, Jeongguk finds his head swiveling in every direction, thirsting to take in every inch of the place.  In his haste he nearly trips over a section of flooring slightly raised, likely the result of settled foundation  over many years. He decides rather quickly in favor of the building, the character of the interior clashing rather nicely with the updated signage on the outside. 

‘We’ve got a few different stations for working,” Namjoon speaks up, drawing Jeongguk’s attention back. “We do them in the section off the side of the lobby if the customer is comfortable and it’s nothing major, but we also have private rooms that we as the artists like to use depending on the project.”

“That’s what these rooms are?” Jeongguk reaches with a pointed finger, tracing the expanse of the wooden frame, chipped and roughened, to a closed door. Rather than plaquing to decipher between the various enclosures there are framed sketches posted outside of each, nothing a newcomer like himself could pick up on, clearly contributed by the owners.

“For the most part, there’s my office and Y/n’s, and a storage closet but this is where the magic happens.” Namjoon allows Jeongguk a path to his office, door shutting in their wake with a dull thud. 

It’s less decorated than Jeongguk was expecting, the barely bare walls outside of the office building up the anticipation of the canvas that must be spread within. Instead there’s nothing put bright white, almost blinding compared to what he’s seen so far. There are a few framed photos of Jimin, himself, and you; all smiling in various scenarios of glee. Other than the placement of a decently sized shelf in the corner and the desk perched along the adjacent wall this office gives no indication of Namjoon’ s labyrinthine line of work. 

Even so, Namjoon appears highly intimidating as he takes a seat at his desk, gesturing Jeongguk to the comfortable chair across. Jeongguk is well aware that he doesn’t mean to give the impression of a boss, straight backed and fingers laced over mahogany, but that doesn’t make it any less so. 

“So!” Namjoon speaks with triumph, his gauntlet the toss of the pen that had previously dangled from the fold of  pierced ears. “You have any idea what you’re looking for in the ink department? I figure we can start with graphics and then discuss placement to see who the best fit would be for you.” 

“Best fit?” Jeongguk leans forward, boots squeaking obscenely on the tile beneath. His cheeks flush at lack of knowledge, feeling as if the words spewed were foreign when in reality it was a jolt sent to the creases of his spine and straight to the red soaked appendage in his upper chest. While he’s entered this room with the assumption that Namjoon would be his sole artist, there lay a chance that the two of you will come face to face. 

“Yeah, Y/n and I are both good at what we do but of course we both have our specialties. So we like to decide our clients that way sometimes.” Namjoon’s explanation leaves him none the wiser to hidden meanings and the hopeful perk of Jeongguk’s shoulders. 

“Oh. I haven’t met Y/n yet,” He wonders if you rest behind one of the many doors leading to this one, sketching away on what he’s sure can only be a masterpiece. “Is she around?” 

“Yeah...I don’t wanna disturb her though. Maybe she’ll be in the lobby when we’re finished here.” Namjoon’s words are sincere though his eyes seem to drift far off, their target the window over Jeongguk’s shoulder, shadowed by the growth of a large tree, branches dwarfing the ground outside. His trance is but a moment, focusing once more on the man before him. “What did you have in mind for your tattoo?” 

“Well, actually, I was wondering if you guys use the tebori method here? I know it’s more widely used in japan, but I don’t really see myself heading over there anytime soon.” This shop isn’t the first that Jeongguk has scoped in hope of an artist with an extra element of technique, the buildup for disappointment resting in a rehearsed expression. He watches the myriad of expressions that Namjoon cycles through, almost as if the answer rests against the tip of his tongue, but he’s unsure if it’s the correct one. “It’s totally fine if—”

“We do.” He speaks without much expression save for the way his spine seems to cave inward as he continues to think. Jeongguk isn’t sure whether he should continue speaking, choosing instead to study the tilt of a pen on the desk, threatening to roll to the floor if it dances any longer at the edge of the surface. His nerves itch to grab for the object for some form of reprieve, afraid that the pending clatter will disturb Namjoon’s steady concentration and perhaps the calm mask that he appears to be sporting.

His head tilts a tad, curls falling over one pupil, the other spying Namjoon as if zeroing in on a target, nearly scrutinizing the pensive thinking with his galaxy gaze. He can see that just past the roof of Namjoon’s head there lies a single divot in the wall, nearly tricking the bump of accidental furniture, but Jeongguk’s own fist clenches in recognition, thumb tracing the jag of his knuckles. 

“Y/n is the only person here that can tattoo with that particular technique, she’s amazing at it really, I’m just not sure if she’ll be up for it right now.” Namjoon’s words seem to pain him to utter, a strained longing in his voice that’s indecipherable without context. Jeongguk only nods along, curiosity curbed by his unyielding sense of etiquette in a situation that doesn’t wholly concern him. His feet are already pressing against the flooring, prepared to push to his feet and exchange pleasantries and assurance of no hard feelings, but Namjoon doesn’t seem quite through, leaving Jeongguk’s position to an awkward one hanging from the edge of his seat. “I don’t wanna speak for her though, so maybe you two can talk.” 

“Okay, should I set up an appointment?” 

“No, I think I heard her leave her office, she’ll probably be in the lobby. I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you now.”  Namjoon’s mouth is once again split in dimpled grin, leaving Jeongguk’s head to a spinning akin to a child’s top. He’s led from the room, paying extra attention to the hall, ears itching to pick up a tone much higher than those in the lobby he left only a short time ago. 

Contrary to Namjoon’s inference, the lobby is emptier than when they left, Jimin and Taehyung the only ones left milling about. Their speech mimics old friends, Jimin poking at Taehyung with the smile of someone who knows something that no one else does, Taehyung simply replying in kind with half grin. 

“I thought I heard, Y/n.” Namjoon directs his voice at Jimin, fingers tapping the surface of his desk whilst his eyes take inventory of the shop. Jeongguk wonders if he thinks you’re hiding behind one of the plants situated in the corner, waiting for the perfect moment to catch them off guard.

“Mm, she left. But not before this one got his flirt on,” Jimin’s elbow catches Taehyung’s rib with a sharp jab coloring his words. Taehyung doesn’t allow this to phase him, standing to his feet with a shrug of nonchalance.

“Not flirting, we just happen to know each other. You done here?” He aims at Jeongguk stepping with purpose toward the door. Neither makes eye contact, the subject of interest not particularly left to the category of unmentionable, but leaving them both awkward and stiff. 

“Uh, I think so.” Jeongguk slants so that Namjoon is well in his sights, already typing vigorously on his phone screen. “Should I schedule something or…?”

“Don’t worry about it, I have your number so I’ll just have Y/n give you a call to see when you guys meet.” 

Jeongguk stands a moment longer, his toes tapping to the leather roof of boots so chunky they seem to swallow him from toe to ankle, the footwear attempting to take from his lengthy form and failing miserably. He turns mid-step when Taehyung slaps lightly at the sleeve of his jacket, urging him to step beyond the threshold. He lifts his arm to half wave, mumbling pleasantries, barely audible of the steps that echo in his ears with each pace onto the desolate sidewalk. 

Jeongguk heads toward his own shop, missing the realization of the lack of paired steps with his own. Several paces behind him, a subtle guilt dressing the plains of his cheeks, Taehyung tugs at the wear of half chapped lips, wondering if the broach of a hazy subject is necessary. He catches Jeongguk easily with a jog, nearly stilling him mid-stride but saved from the extra physicality by the passing of a car.

“You know...Jimin was just joking.” Jeongguk’s brows lift, clearly only just catching sight of his constant companion, his own thoughts carrying him along the street without a wayward glance. His eyes widen, unsure of Taehyung’s intentions or the direction of the current topic. “About Y/n, I mean. I don’t really know her and we don’t flirt.” 

“Wouldn’t matter if you did.” 

“Yeah, sure. It’s just—look I know you saw her the other day and I’m willing to bet the only reason you haven’t mentioned that you’re intrigued is because you thought she was dating Jimin.” Taehyung treads, careful to avoid the gaze of reddened cheeks, Jeongguk’s hand raising to a nudge at his soft lobe, the other clenching and unclenching in denim blue, nails scratching the rough of fabric with each clasp. “Well clearly they’re not dating, so it wouldn’t be a bad thing if you did like her is all I’m saying.” 

“Like I said, I don’t really know her. I think she’s cute, from a distance anyways, but I don’t think that’s any reason for a declaration.” The gentle tick of the crosswalk draws Jeongguk's attention on the present path to the opposing side of the street, ignoring the gentle tick of his chest. 

A shining beacon in a sea of monotony. The words that filtered like a mantra, dressing the walls of his clogged brain, overflowing from files and dancing with the fires in tipped bins. Taehyung’s words extinguish the licking flames, if only momentarily, with meticulous reassurance. 

A pocket of vibration, dark and clinging to his chilled skin, is notification for incoming correspondence. His steps skip, tripping along asphalt, saved only by the subtle grasp of a steady hand. His thanks are dropped without hesitation, hand slipping from fabric confines with the heavily encased lifeline pulsing with power.

From: Unknown [ 2:25pm]~is this jeongguk? namjoon gave me your number, said you need a consult?

From: Me[ 2:26pm]~yea...this is y/n im guessing?

His eyes pierce the screen, undressing the words with precision, ensuring he doesn’t make a fool in reply. He wasn’t prepared for the quick interception of the conversation he’s still processing, inner workings too focused on what’s straight ahead, not minutely prepared for Namjoon's speedy deliverance.

From: Unknown [ 2:30pm]~ding ding ding. im pretty much free whenever, so let me know what works with you and we can meet to discuss what you need and whether im the person for the job 

From: Me[ 2:33pm]~ how about tomorrow around this time?

From: Unknown [ 2:34pm]~ cool. let’s meet at the park around the corner  

And now, he waits.

~*~

The first thing you noticed was his approach, a confidence in his stride yet eyes that tried and failed to hide the glisten of steady orbs and the kiss of wind landing atop the surprising density of his cheeks like the piling of new snow. Your legs were crossed at the ankle, bare skin grazed by the cool of grass half dried by the desert chill, hands gripping the accumulation of sleeve inched to the open of your palm whilst your lips curved in mimic at the pout of his own, unintentional but perfectly protruding with the tracking of your steady tilt.

If one were to ask about the slight tremor in your hand or the subtle inch across inches between, you would fail to mention the metaphorical personality of your pulsing appendage and the ooz of liquid red abandoning the organ overflowed to trace the expanse of veins humming with the melodic string of laughter yet to abandon the space since he first spoke. You were immediately taken with soft speech and stolen glances, the professional tossed aside when you asked him to meet you, altogether forgotten when he said hello. 

The pulsing was stunned only momentarily when he withdrew, hand disappearing into deep pockets to pose leather-bound pages and the hesitant stretch of muscles, the quick twitch of his neck the line of a rod, drawing you forward with each gentle reel of innocence. Now you sit, tangled in silent adoration, dripping admiration for the collaged pages, soaked in brilliance. 

“These are yours?” You stroke the page with the ease of your pointer, his head tilting, hair framing, whilst he nods in a lopsided grin. You don’t notice the glue to your cheek, his eyes steady studying you while you study the glide of his hand with jet black against the white page. 

He wonders if you catch the nerves, the steady vibration of his unsteady palms, gentle leap of muscled thigh and the brush of your leg with each accidental inch closer. The proximity did him in, your face from a distance only a picture on a page, face to face giving him the overwhelming sensation of the walk through a gallery filled with seven wonders, their spectacle meaningless without the promise of you. 

He pretended for a moment, between laughter and brushes of innocence that he’s known you a lifetime, the thought only pulling at his metaphorical strings because he wishes he had. Your voices echo is sure to leave him wide eyed and ceiling bound for nights to come, imagining the galaxy as you, white expanse the only thing keeping from the grip he so wishes he could establish on the slip of your time here. 

He knows it’s insanity, thoughts that won’t leave him be, the closeness driving him further to the edge. It’s the reason for his transition to the journal, the reason you’re perched in the grass with the whipping wind and dead leaves skirting around you. 

“It’s just some ideas I have, I jot them down so I don’t forget. I was hoping we could work on them, flesh them a bit more…” Your gaze leaves the page, magic dwindling a sum, aghast at the audacity in his words. You withdraw, clenching fists to rationalize the wait for rejection on your behalf. 

“Why me? I mean, you’ve seen Namjoon’s work, he’s great.” 

“He said that you’re skilled in the tebori method. I’d like them to be done in that style and not many people can. Plus, I’ve seen your work too, it’s just as amazing.” Jeongguk notes the deflation, not unaware of Namjoon’s warning. He’s tempted to pry, but reverses hoping to stumble upon neutral territory, already missing the strain of your muscles in smile. “But obviously it’s only if you’re comfortable. I don’t mean to put you on the spot.” 

“You’re not, I just...can I think about it? I know that’s so incredibly unprofessional of me but—”

“Take as long as you need.” Jeongguk decides immediately he doesn’t need an explanation, that your rumination is the promise of another rendezvous, high hopes lifting him over the horizon of the midday sun, skin aching for the glow of golden hour. 

You already know you’ll say yes, outright rejection never an option, the flicker of expression alight in your left receptacle more than reason to feel him once more. The physical is through the page, but the metaphorical is the connection of souls, the cliché of one person and the hope of renewed ardor. 

“I promise I won’t be long…” The words hang, heavy in the air between and with more meaning than your intent. You’re led away by the weight of obligation, required assistance from Jimin to cover the desk, legs like infant limbs after an hour unmoving. 

Jeongguk follows suit, still chewing the words before spewing his own right back. The same weight and familiarity in his soft deliverance. 

“I’ll be waiting.”

And now, you climb.

~*~

“How was your date?” Jimin is already setting up his station, eyes not sparing a glance, concentration wholly reserved. His vibration is palpable, though you don’t immediately notice, the feeling still finding stringed limbs when you reach your seat behind the desk. 

“I was meeting a client,” You speak hollow and unconvincing, the magic coursing through your veins begging to differ. Wonder is silent, eyes latching to the single eye muraled to the wall, imagining it to glisten like Sirius reflecting in the night sky, musing how one day could build a coherency of such magnetism yet still be held at arm’s length. 

“Oh really? It’s just that, I never meet my clients at the park...” His voice is a hum, settling an array of options for the post pierce browse. “—it’s certainly a bonus that said client is very handsome and already seems pretty interested.” 

“You’ve never even seen us in the same room, I just met him today.” 

“Whatever. I assume he’ll be coming around a lot more.”

Your fingers grasp the nearest instrument, ballpoint clicking in time with the tap of your toe against the leg of the chair. “I don’t know if I’m gonna agree. I don’t want him to be disappointed in the result.” 

“I know you think you’re old news, but the fact that you didn’t say no is reason enough. There’s clearly a part of you that wants to, so why not take the plunge?” 

“I can’t say yes just because I feel some strange attraction to him. That would be inappropriate,” Your mind barely registers the entrance of figure three, a client you presume, the sign-in ledger already halfway across the desk when Jimin speaks again. 

“So you are attracted to him?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yes you did,” Your pen clatters, nimble fingers swooping it in your absence, Taehyung’s smirk a playful gleam to counter your startled posture. He greets Jimin as an old friend, the two waiting for you to catch up, the slouch of your spine and the configuration of the scene pulling you back into the current take. 

“You’re the one getting a piercing?” Wheels push the foundation, abandoning the desk in favor of the plush leather Taehyung has already sunken into. You believe he feels at home, the decorative jewelry already hanging from his lobes the badge of a pierced veteran. 

“Yeah, I figure it’s time to expand my collection.” His hand brushes the lengthy edges of his dark locks, leaving ample space for Jimin to reach his target, the depth of his gaze landing on your arch over the chair’s arm. “I’m assuming your meeting went well?” 

“What do you know about my meeting?” 

“Why do you think I was here yesterday? The piercing was just a bonus,” He pokes at the tray beside him, the light smack of Jimin’s hand drawing him back to the confines of his lounge. You try to connect dots lost in the fray of day to day. Taehyung is not entirely new to you though still unfamiliar, but you don’t recall the mention of Jeongguk during his earlier visits. 

“So you guys know each other then?” Your disbelief finds Jimin, his hand’s busied with extra sanitation and his lips focusing hard to keep his face straight. “I’m assuming I’m simply the last to know, okay then.”

“It’s just circumstance really, I’m the one who came to your door, you were in your office when we came here yesterday and he was in Namjoon’s office when you came out. I promise he wasn’t avoiding you, quite the opposite actually.” You’re too intrigued for embarrassment, your attention handed tenfold to Taehyung, his head slightly tilted while Jimin readies to pierce him. 

As of late the stench of disinfectant would trigger a memory you were fighting hard to shield from the surface, but the idea of not knowing more of Taehyung drives it from your mind, currently on one track and unwavered by anything that’s not Jeongguk. Even so, there’s a haze, or perhaps the attempt of common sense forcing you to look past the filter of brights to truly grasp reality.

“We’d never met before today, how could he possibly be looking for me?” 

“We actually saw you a few days ago, before you and I officially met. You and Jimin were leaving the shop and he seemed pretty distracted by you, but he thought you two were dating.” Your laughter emits in breathy sighs, muddled by the fluttering in your abdomen, Jimin’s lips smug, shoulders rounded. 

“Easy mistake, we’d make a cute couple.” It would be a fib to deny that it’s the first time it’s been thought that you and Jimin were more than friends. His neighbors foolishly believe your late nights are spent anywhere save for the couch, silver screen glaring back at your glued lids. 

You watch Jimin work, ignoring the bore of Taehyung’s eyes, his focal point to ignore the sharp sting of the needle. He barely flinches, your own body lurching in slight when the needle meets puffed skin. His hand clasps your wrist, pulling you closer, examining the bare skin in earnest. 

“You don’t have any tattoos...none that I can see at least.” He notices, jumping to your eyes and back to your arm. He leans forward when Jimin steps away, gathering his studded collection of earrings, reflecting with golds and silver. “That’s pretty interesting considering you give them to other people for a living.”

“Astute observation. I do not have any tattoos visible or otherwise.” Taehyung kisses his teeth, easily opting for a pair reminiscent of chains. You look for judgement, but there’s none in his study of the colorful space, just a curiosity he’s not sure he should breach. “I’ve always wanted one, but I was too scared. Ridiculous but true.” 

“Scared of needles?” 

“At first maybe. Scared of the permanence of it all. It feels like such a big responsibility, to me at least, to decide what to get tattooed and I’ve never gotten to a point where I could just do it.” You think back to pages bound by leather with frightening immediacy, the conviction with which the they screamed at you almost haunting if not for the beauty of it. Chilling in the details of sketches, moments in time grasped so eloquently. A part of you is certainly jealous, but the other part is so irrevocably drawn to depth and desire. “Hey, Taehyung, is Jeongguk still at his shop by chance?”

��Actually I’m supposed to be meeting him for ice cream after this so he might already be there.” He pulls his device from his jacket, squinting at the screen, thumb gliding in swiftness. “You guys should come!”

“Oh we don’t wanna—”

“I’m in, I’ve been craving a good scoop,” Jimin leaves no room for disagreement, his limbs already at full speed to hurry cleaning his station. “We don’t have any clients and Namjoon is out of town for the day, so I think we’re good to close up. Plus, you can tell Jeongguk you’ll take him on.” 

“I never said I would,” You slide back into your jacket, tucking your limbs into the sleeves. The sky has darkened significantly since the dusting of rays that splashed your skin as you sprawled the grass barely an hour earlier. 

“You never said you wouldn’t.” The two are like stooges, already mastering the collaborative effort to challenge you. 

“Have fun with your ice cream, I’m, hopefully, going home to a heated apartment.” 

~*~

Jin has been talking to Jeongguk since he entered, the recognition of the new young entrepreneur on the strip catching his attention without pause. He’s a nice guy, his energy something Jeongguk would appreciate on any given day, but he was hoping for a moment of collection before Taehyung arrived. 

He’s stuck on a blur, the low heat of his skin and the canals of his ears, yearning for the vibration of laughter and soft words spoken beneath the breeze. It was easy and good, an hour lost, an hour found. He would’ve laid there in the grass for hours after your departure were in not for the chill that crept in so easily without you beside him. 

He wonders if it was a mutual feeling or if your reaction was just polite, a business tactic. No. Not you, you’re not the type to pretend, he knows even if he doesn’t know. Your sincerity was like a sickness, spilling from your every crevice, pouring out with your every phrase. He’s sure even you don’t notice the significant way you carry yourself, impossible to turn away from. 

“Hey, Jin, talking Jeongguk’s ear off I see.” Jeongguk breaks his stare from where it concentrated on the ink already eating his skin, Jimin standing over the booth with Taehyung chuckling beside him. “Maybe give him a break and take out order?” 

“There’s a counter, Park Jimin, and—” Jin squints in the direction of the counter, a small line waiting for their treats of the frozen variety, though not many people are keen for the cold in the midst of winter. “—yup there’s definitely someone up there waiting just for you.” 

“Ha ha, leave him alone, Jin, his mind is already occupied plenty.” Jin slides from the booth, Jimin immediately taking his place, Taehyung sliding in after him. 

Jin feigns reluctance when Jimin recites his order, all around friendlier when Jeongguk and Taehyung do the same. Jimin turns his attention to the other side of the booth when Jin sidles off, already choosing his next target. “Where’s your head at?” 

“Hm?” 

“We just talked to Y/n, I hear your meeting went well, prospects are high. She seems interested,” Taehyung’s speech is backed with encouragement, Jeongguk’s lip quivering, but winning the fight against his impending smile, intent on not giving himself away too quickly. 

“She said she’d think about it and I’m perfectly okay with that.” He thinks of your promise, the thoughts skirting past the surface for a sign, a signal that the more he feels is exactly the meaning behind your words. His rang true, he would wait and be content. He would be prepared to have you work as his artist and end things there, but the weight in his pocket and the recollection of your eyes doubled in size leaves room for the want of more. 

“She seemed impressed with you,” Jimin adds, chin rested in his palm, reading for reaction. “The fact that she’s considering is a really good sign. For her and for you.” 

“It all just felt really natural,” The two watch as Jeongguk’s eyes glaze over just thinking about the exchange. “Almost like we…” 

He trails, face heating, his thoughts almost betraying him. He’s relieved when a server comes bearing dishes, thanking them aloud with pleasantry and inwardly for saving him from himself. The relief is short lived when two sets of eyes beam at him like he’s an amusement, waiting for him to continue.

“Almost like you…” 

“Nothing, it’s really stupid. She’s really great, I’ll be lucky if she decides that I’m worth it.” He covers lamely, shoving his spoon past his lips, letting creamy vanilla coat his tongue and ease his mind. 

“Trust me,” Jimin mumbles, swallowing his own hefty scoop. “She decided that the moment you sat down.” 

~*~

It’s unclear what brought you to this stool some nights later, half buzzed and wondering if you’ll have to call Jimin to drag you home. Your mind hasn’t completely fogged, liquor light with mercy, heavy consequences no doubt pending for the morning to come. A break, you’d decided, hands and knees stained with product, trying in vain to work the stain from your carpet, the smudge faint but not enough to miss your eye. 

The crowd is surprising, though you wouldn’t know as you don’t often go to the place with the metaphorical bad stuff, your own brand of lunacy dancing in boxes lacing your cabinetry. You recall the draw of drinks from mugs and Jimin off-key when you’re sliding more bills than you prefer across the counter. Moving is without appeal, head to the counter the way to go.

“Hey, you okay?” The voice is familiar, worth the work to lift your head. Jeongguk looks down at you, his hand placed to the bar, eyes wide with concern. 

His own stumbling through the door of the room with the dim lighting and the absurd amount of sports playing in every corner was boredom. Taehyung had plans and he was left alone to the drone of the television, the shop in need of a break from him. The dishes already glistening from his tenth wash despite the lack of use. A spot of dust enough to send him into a frenzy. From Jimin the name of the dive was briefly mentioned, in relation to what he couldn’t say, the topic never picking his brain from the moment it was first spoken. 

Now he’s glad he wasn’t a horrible companion, the sight of you hunched over reason enough for his half listen. He notes your solitude immediately, drawn to the side of the bar rather than the thick of it all, two glasses empty before you. 

“Jeongguk!” Your tone is uneven, eyes looking watered under the lights, your smile brightening in his eyes. He can’t help but to return, lowering into the stool so your faces are level. “I didn’t know you were here.” 

“I just got here actually and I saw you so…” 

“You came for me?” If you were less influenced the words would have remained nothing more than a thought, passing in a sea of others you could never muster courage to speak. Though you’re not sure that a post buzz reflection will make you wish they were any less materialized, the way his features soften like a fertilization for the growth of your thudding heart.

“I—yeah, I came for you. Are you ready to head home?” 

“You don’t know where I live,” You say the words, knowing you’ll go anywhere with him even if he doesn’t. You let him guide you from your stool, his touch soft, never too much. 

“You know, I’ve got a pretty good idea.” 

~*~

He lingers outside of your door, adoring the small struggle you have with lock and key, about to lend a hand when your triumph catches him, arms lifting over your head, turning to him with a smile. “Come on!” 

“You want me to come in?” Taehyung will be home soon and he has no way of explaining that he’s at your place that doesn’t involve some teasing on his best friend’s end of it, though it doesn’t matter when you latch on to the sleeve of his jacket and pull him past the threshold. 

The biggest difference between your place and theirs is the lived-in aspect. He would say that it’s cute, but it’s too simple a word. It seems you prefer mood lighting, the flip of a switch igniting fairies strung to the base of the ceiling. It suits you, who’s already stumbling toward the kitchen expecting that Jeongguk is hot on your trail. The décor is simple, a few paintings on the wall, rugs and cozy furniture. 

“I’m sorry if it’s cold in here, it’s always kind of cold in here,” You mutter, grabbing two mugs and giving life to your kettle. Jeongguk recalls that you were no longer in possession of your space heater, taken by Taehyung and himself and still unreturned. He debates running over to grab it, but your hand once more on his wrist, drags him to the sofa erasing the thought of walking out of that door. “Thanks for bringing me home, I promise I’m not that wasted. You don’t have to be so nervous.”

“No, I’m not nervous! Not because you were drinking anyways…” 

“So you are nervous...why?”

“You make me nervous...in a good way!” He’s quick to regroup, noting the fall of your features, hating that it’s because of him. “It’s completely insane, but from the moment I saw you I…” 

“Me too.” Jeongguk’s previously averted gaze rushes to meet you, already staring back. He doesn’t need to ask what you mean, confident that what you feel is what he feels. Confident that it doesn’t matter how insane it may sound. “It’s so crazy, but when I saw you yesterday something just clicked and I thought maybe it’s because you’re ridiculously attractive but then we talked and it was so natural.” 

“I’m glad it wasn’t just me,” He takes a chance, hand sliding to yours, resting against your thigh. Your fingers tangle without stutter, the position meant to be, so full of warmth and understanding. “I saw you with Jimin a few days ago, I couldn't stop staring."

So long is spent staring, enjoying each other and the mutual affection that's like an aura engulfing you.

"Where exactly do we go from here?” Jeongguk tugs at his bottom lip, another quality that fills you with warmth. 

“Why are you opening a tea shop?” 

“What?” 

“We’re practically strangers, I don’t even know your last name actually. So, if there’s some weird predestined love at first sight phenomenon going on here, I’d like to know everything about you before we proceed.” You click, smile a contagious thing, one that Jeongguk would be remiss not to embrace wholeheartedly. “So why a tea shop?” 

“Well first, my last name is Jeon—”

“Jeon Jeongguk…” He watches you test the words against your tongue. “Cute. You’re cute.” 

“Anyways,” He blushes. “I’ve always loved making tea. I learned it at a young age and then I started experimenting and decided that this is what I wanna do. I figured focusing on boba would draw more people in, but I also wanna expand on what I already know.” 

“Well if anything, Hoseok will be there at least twice a day.”

“What about you?” 

“I think I can make time, though you are really out of the way I might not be able to swing it.” 

“I’ll pick you up, or better yet I can just bring it right to you,” He offers, amused but truthful. “No, but I mean how did you get into tattooing, and how did you learn tebori?” 

“Ah…” Your eyes find one of the frames hanging nearest the window, a landscape that Jeongguk can barely make out aside from the distance of neon. “Well, I was studying abroad actually, in Japan. I was an art history major and I didn’t really know what I wanted to do so I thought getting away would help me figure it out.”

You think often about the day when your current occupation seemed so foreign, your adolescence always filled with imaginings of galleries under curation, days filled with frames and packed schedules. 

“One of my classmates convinced me to go out with her one night because she wanted a tattoo and I wanted one too, so I didn’t really see why I shouldn’t go. She got hers first, a flower I think, and while I was watching the artist I was just blown away by the technique.” 

“Tebori?”

“Mmhm, of course I’d seen the regular ink and needle, but this just seemed to me something on a deeper level and I fell in love with it. It’s probably the most insane thing I’ve done to date, but I finished my degree abroad and stayed in Japan to learn and now I’m here.”

“Why’d you come back?”

“It just felt like it was time...sometimes I wish I hadn’t or that I could go back to visit. Like it’ll remind me what it felt like in the beginning, make me feel like less of a failure. I'd actually get my tattoo.” 

“You’re not a failure, we just have patches sometimes. You’ll figure it out, we’ll figure it out.” The steam of the kettle startles from the moment you're quick to exit to the stove, mulling words and recovering from the embarrassment of exposure over the steaming water. “You know, I don’t have tea so I hope hot chocolate is okay?”

“It’s perfect,” Jeongguk accepts his mug and the packet of mix, stirring it in time with his breathing. He’s left to the obvious blushing of his cheeks, musing his circumstance, sharing a drink with the perfect anomaly. He’s ignored the constant stream of vibration from his pocket, no interest in removing himself from the cozy bubble. “So this place is pretty shitty, I would know and I’ve only lived here about a week. Why do you stay here?” 

“You live here? Wait...you and Taehyung are roommates, duh sorry. I’m still trying to catch up.” 

“Yeah, thanks for the space heater by the way. I’m pretty sure I would’ve given in the first night if I had to sleep in the cold.”

“Ha! No worries, sometimes I do give in and I stay over at Jimin’s place. But I’m just not ready to let this place go yet, I guess. It’s not great, but change is hard and I’ve been here for so long.” 

You're close along the counter, space invaded without invitation, gravitation controlling your every step. The rest of the night follows suit, closeness and appeal. You enjoy words and laughter, ignoring the possibility of the responsibility the next day alludes. 

Somehow you find yourselves in your bed, faces close and bodies tucked beneath the thick duvet. You're glad the heat isn’t working tonight, Jeongguk wrapped around you like a boa, slowly falling into the depths of unconsciousness, the conversation lulling with each random topic. Your throat is strained from laughter and your brain is filled with more than it thought possible. 

Inches are now centimeters and you’re snails inching toward the finish, certain but uncertain if the light of day will change the result of your exchange. 

The morning following you wake much the same as you slept, tangled, breaths mingling between. Jeongguk is still snoring, blissfully unaware of the authoritative knock echoing from your front door. Hands pushing at your eyes, feet tingling against the cold flooring, you swing the door with an annoyance you’re prepared to unleash before you’re met with Taehyung. 

His eyes are half frantic, neck craning to see around you. 

“Taehyung?”

“Hey, I’m sorry to bother you, but have you seen Jeongguk? I’ve been trying to reach him since last night and he’s not answering.” 

“O-oh...um he’s here, let me get him,” You mumble, allowing Taehyung, his eyes softening and features squinted, to step inside. You leave him standing in the living room, ignoring the knowing smirk, head bowed as you step into your bedroom. 

You regret the gentle shove of his shoulders, and the hushed “wake up” that slowly but surely draws Jeongguk from his sleep. He looked peaceful, full of youth with his eyes stapled and breath steady rising and falling. His eyes are puffy when he raises, confusion laced features recalling that he wasn’t in his own home. 

His arm extends, patting your side of the bed, unaware that you were the reason for premature awakening. “Hey sleepy head.”

“What are you doing up?” He finds your hand, grabbing hold in an attempt to pull you back to bed. Though you would be more than willing, Taehyung is sure to have heaps to say already, no reason to add fuel to the fire already blazing in his pupils. 

“Taehyung is here,” That catches his attention, eyes darting to the door half open. “He said he’s been trying to reach you. He’s waiting in the living room, I’m sorry if you didn’t want him to know you’re here, I panicked.” 

“No it’s fine,” He assures, sliding from the bed, the same chill that ate you catching him with bare feet. You follow him back out to Taehyung, who’s taken it upon himself to peruse the space, currently examining the coffee table with it’s day old mugs. “Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you.” 

Looking between the two of you, your hand finding habit at Jeongguk’s shoulder, he shrugs. “No biggie, just thought you might be in a ditch or something. Turns out I was very wrong, so I’ll leave you to it.” 

“I’ll just come with you, I should probably shower and change. I’ve got some stuff to take care of before the opening. I can’t believe it’s only a couple months away.” You drop your hand, leaving him to it, an awkward and unsure feeling settling in your stomach. It’s clear that Jeongguk is a bit embarrassed, not that you’re own emotions haven’t caused the sting of a heat in your cheeks. You wait for him to follow Taehyung, who’s already waved goodbye, hands in his pockets as he stalks away. 

Jeongguk isn’t so quick, turning to your ground bound pupils, fingers drifting to the trace of your jaw and nudging you to greet him. You’re taken by the lack of hesitation when his lips meet yours in kiss, short and sweet, altogether unexpected. “I’ll see you later, yeah?” 

“I wouldn’t miss it,” You coo, fingers brushing his cheek gingerly, rewarded with one more peck before Taehyung is groaning in the hallway, effectively tearing Jeongguk from you to catch up. 

~*~

You’re warm, for the first time in a long time you’re warm, from your chest to your veins, head and toes, and it’s all because of Jeon Jeongguk. His departure wasn’t the last of him, the next few months full of meetings planned and spontaneous, your phone alight with too many notifications, every one taken in with the same adoring smile and your own obsessed response. 

You would stop by Hoseok’s blessing him with a coffee, happily listening to his rambling about the horrendous new flavor Jin had him and Yoongi test the other night. Across the street you could just see Jeongguk through the window, lips pulled in concentration, pen scribbling on the pad in front of him. Though it was cute, you couldn’t help but to attempt to cheer him up, his eyes immediately finding you after he’s read the little note sent to his phone. 

You would be sick with yourself if you were the one to witness the affection radiating from your expanse, but you couldn’t care less how many times Jimin fake gags or the small lecture you endure when Yoongi delivers flowers later in the day. You hold on to the feeling and you hope that it feels like this all the time. 

“What are you working on?” Namjoon steps into your office, no other reason than his own boredom swallowing him whole, much like the cushions when he collapses into your sofa. 

“Just some of Jeongguk’s sketches…” You noticed rather quickly the familiar book resting on your bedside table after your first night together, no doubt placed by Jeongguk before sleep could find him. You spent the morning getting to know his art better, so you could try to make it exactly what he wanted. You only just got around to transferring the sketches to your own notebook, hoping to have something to show him at his opening. 

“He’s really good for you. I haven’t seen you this eager about sketching in a while.” 

“You think so?” 

“What, you don’t?”

“No, I just...I don’t want you to think I’m completely insane for jumping into this so suddenly. I mean, I think it’s insane that I could be so completely sure about someone so quickly and I think the world of you, so I don’t want you to be disappointed…” 

He laughs, whole hearted laughter fills your office and you’re not positive how you should respond. Your hands are unsteady on your pen, ready for him to completely crush your soul, back to the same girl standing in his doorway all those years ago. 

“Honestly, you give me way too much credit.”

“What do you mean?”

“The night that you showed up, I was wondering how I was even gonna keep this place open. The building wasn’t the most friendly looking, most people walked right past, the outside giving them the impression that the inside was just as decrepit,” He sighs, head supported by the arm of the chair, eyes holding the ceiling in place. “When you showed up I was seconds away from telling you to get lost, then you handed me your sketches and you looked so hopeful. You were my last chance, so really I should be thanking you for being so spontaneous, especially if it means you’re happy.” 

“Wow, why didn’t you ever say anything?” 

“I didn’t want to put more pressure than you already put on yourself. Plus, it doesn’t really matter now, does it? We’re doing pretty good, and that’s what’s important.” 

The revelation is a motivation, your grip on the pencil tightening, strokes light and even on the page. Namjoon doesn’t say much more, silent inspiration while he falls into slumber, the only reason he ever finds himself meandering into your space. 

“Knock knock,” Jeongguk peers around the corner, your finer flying to your lips, the other gesturing toward Namjoon, dozing peacefully. “Sorry, does he do that a lot?” 

“Oh yeah, he pretends he wants to know what I’m up to then he’s out like a light before I’ve finished speaking.” 

“I’ll have to try it sometime—”

“Watch it,” You warn playfully, sneakily closing your notebook so he can’t see. “What’s up? I figured you would be too busy filling orders for little ole me.” 

“Never, and I want you to try this! I was thinking I could add it to the special menu. I know everyone is into the whole lemonade with boba thing which we do offer but I was trying to make a tea that’s more on the fruity side than the tea side because I know some people are put off by the tea taste, ya know?” He watches you uncomfortably closely, your face trained to be as neutral as possible while flavors explode, traveling to opposing ends of your mouth, battling it out, but ultimately left with no winner. 

“You know, I appreciate the thought and I’m sure if you work on it some more it’ll be perfect but…”

“It’s disgusting.” He finishes for you sighing in defeat, collapsing in the chair across from you. 

“No!” You round the desk, his arms ready to accept your slide into his lap. “It’s not disgusting, it’s just...not quite blended yet.” 

He takes the to-go cup, sipping his own concoction. You wonder if he tried it at all before running over here, his habit of trusting your initial judgement extremely endearing, but unnecessary. It stems only from your admittance that you weren’t the biggest tea drinker and that you’re one of those lemonade with the boba people. His mission became clear, he couldn’t stand to see you walk into his shop knowing that you’ll be leaving with sugared lemons squeezed into juice. He has to make you the perfect tea if it’s the last thing he does.

He was set on making it for the opening, but to no avail, the sign flipped, his employees brewing away, his drop here only partially out of the necessity for his favorite taste tester. “It’s disgusting,” He decides immediately, fighting the urge to spit it back into the cup. “You have to stop being so nice to me, it’s cute, but I want you to yell at me like you yell at Jimin.” 

“I don’t yell at Jimin!” 

“You yell at Jimin all the time, lovingly, but there are voices raised.” Namjoon rubs at his eyes, tugging at the shirt riding at his abdomen. “We goin for tea or what? I swear people are gonna think we’re out of business with how often we close early.” 

"Yeah, can you just give us a minute?" You try your best to be discrete, nodding toward the notebook on your desk. 

"Yeah...Jimin and I will just meet you there." He leaves you, door clicking in his wake and you turn to Jeongguk with a ready grin, eyes wide with excitement.

"Is this one of those things where I should knock everything off of your desk? If so I'm down, but this is a weird time…"

"No! I have a surprise for you." You pull his journal from it's position beneath the stacks of paper on your desk. "You left this at my place your first night over."

"I've been looking for this! I was embarrassed to tell you I lost it, but it turns out you're a klepto." He teases, taking hold of the pages. "So you decided to hold it hostage?"

"I wasn't holding it hostage, I was working on…" You lift your sketchbook, flipping to the appropriate page. "These."

They aren't complete, but you want his first impression and suddenly you understand the tea thing. It's a radically different medium, your shared art actually pending ink on his body, but you don't want to go too far only to disappoint. He leans against the desk, not speaking, just staring, expressionless.

"If you don't like them we can talk about what you want changed, I just tried to make something I thought would fit what you've already got going." 

He finally looks up, eyes glistening, your stomach doing flips. You're too afraid to ask what he's thinking, so you continue to wait, hoping he'll speak up soon and that you didn't insult him with your vision.

"I love them."

"Really? You don't have to worry about hurting my feelings, it's your body you know."

"Really, you're amazing. This is better than I could've hoped and I can't wait until it's permanent." His words are firm with sincerity, notebook laid to the side in favor of pulling you into his arms. "How am I supposed to compete? I can't even make tea for you."

"Relax, your tea is perfectly fine! I just enjoy the occasional lemonade. Come on, we'll go to the shop, you can make me whatever you want and I'll love it."

"Deal, but...I-we have a surprise for you as well."

"For me?"

"Yeah, I was talking with the guys the other day, we were talking about you..."

"You and the guys? This should be good."

"It is, I promise." He produces an envelope from his pocket, no scrawl on the outside, more mystery than you're ready for. “I was thinking about what you said that first night, about wanting to remember what it was like in the beginning.” 

“What did you do?” You tear into the envelope, fingers moving so slowly you fear the skin will catch in the thin edges. What you pull is far from what you imagined, a ticket printed blue for a week’s time. Jeongguk stares at you expectantly, waiting for some form of reaction, but you’re not sure what to say. “This is a plane ticket…” 

“Yeah, to Japan. We want you to go back and we knew you wouldn’t do it unless we planned it for you.” 

“You guys didn’t have to.” 

“We wanted to, I wanted to. The way your eyes lit up talking about that time in your life, I would do anything to give that to you again. So we want you to go to Japan, do something for you.” His lips land on your forehead, breathing you in while you process the unexpected gift. It’s more than you could ever imagine, but there’s a single string, dangling with uncertainty. You figure the only way to eliminate it is to pull full force, risk sounding ridiculous. 

“What about you?” Jeongguk’s face scrunches in confusion, the inquiry the last thing he expected. His thoughts were far from himself, not naive enough to think his mind would be focused anywhere but you while you’re gone, but never thinking it would be a reason you’re unsure about going. “I don’t mean to sound stupid, but I’d miss you too much.” 

“You can call me everyday, any time of day. I’ll be there, you don’t have to worry about me not being here waiting for you.” 

“Or...you could come?” 

“Oh, you want me to? I figured you’d want to do your own thing, not have me weighing you down.” Your arms find his waist, head resting against his chest, giggling at the prospect of Jeongguk being anything more than a comforting presence. 

“Of course I want you to, I wanna show you everything.” 

“I’ll have to figure things out with the shop, but—”

“Oh, wow I’m so selfish. Of course you can’t just drop everything to come with me, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” You shake your head, silently scolding your inconsideration. Jeongguk grabs hold of your shoulders, stopping you mid step, hand halfway to smack your forehead.

“I would love to come, I just have to talk to Taehyung about it. I’m sure he wouldn't mind taking on a little more responsibility. Actually he’ll probably pack my bags for me.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. I’ll probably have to catch a later flight, just to get things taken care of.” He thinks aloud. 

“I think I can manage a few days on my own.” 

“I promise I won’t be long.” 

“I’ll be waiting.” 

And now, we smile.