#like the last time i felt this way about a ship was years ago probably 7 or 8 years

[chipeanuts]

After a month of hyperfixation, I have finally come to the conclusion that Majimako is, and will always be, one of my favourite ship of all time at this point. Thanks for coming to my ted talk stay tuned for more 🤓✌️

[shankss-magnificent-ass]

Imagine taking Rayleigh and Shakky out on a date

This is part 2 of this post

Rayleigh: so you want to take us out on a pretend date to spite your first mate and captain for bullying you?

Reader: I know how it sounds, but I figured it'd be a good way to get back at them.

Shakky: While I'm all for helping you get revenge, I don't understand your logic.

You: well, Rayleigh is Shanks's father figure.

Rayleigh: That's not how I'd put it, but I suppose I'm the closest thing he's got.

You: And while I know you two have an open relationship, I thought fucking my captain's father figure would be crossing a line.

Shakky: probably a wise move.

You: And I wanted you to go on a fake date with you, Shakky because Benn has had a crush on you for years, but has been too nervous to ask you out on a date.

Rayleigh: so a date, with both of us, would be two birds with one stone.

Shakky: Oh, I know about his little crush, his poker face is terrible

You: I know, right? I saw him in here earlier, looking at you, he was about as subtle as a sea train.

Rayleigh: *turns to his wife,* What do you think?

Shakky: I dunno.

You: I'll pay for dinner.

Shakky: Deal.

Rayleigh: Pick us up at six thirty tonight.

That night during dinner

Rayleigh: *drinking straight from the wine bottle you ordered*, So how's the brat supposed to know you took us on a date?

You: Well, he planned on dining here at seven, so by the time our food arrives, he should be here. But you know him, he's not good at sticking to plans. If he doesn't come, we could take a picture as a backup plan.

Shakky: Sounds like a plan, in the meantime, we should have a proper date.

Rayleigh: yes, tell us about yourself.

An hour later

You: And Shanks, buck ass naked, slips on the wet rocks, falls, and smacks against the surface of the water!

Shanks: (y/n)?

You: *looks over to notice Shanks and his inner circle gawking at you*

Rayleigh: hey sport

Shanks: what's going on here?

Shakky: what does it look like? We're having a date with this little cutie. *wraps her arms around you and rests her head on your shoulder, giving a pointed smirk at Benn*

Rayleigh: *puts his arm around both you and Shakky and pulls you into his side,* They were just telling us about your skinny sipping mishap on Koala Island.

Shanks: No

You: yep

Benn: *glaring daggers at you,* You little shit, how long has this been going on?

You: Not long, this is the first date.

Shanks: Is this because of what we said two weeks ago?

You: a little

Shanks: *pouts,* We were just teasing.

Shakky: You're interrupting our date, it's quite rude.

Shanks: Fine, enjoy your evening.

Later

Shanks: *alone, passed out drunk on his table*

Rayleigh: *sighs* this boy I swear.

Shakky: Want to ditch him with our tab?

You: Yeah, but we're not gonna leave him without the cash, *pulls out his wallet and puts the Berry you brought along inside before sliding it back into his pocket*

The next day on the Red Force

You: *walks onto the ship only for everyone to stare at you*

Benn: You have some explaining to do.

Shanks: *bursts out of his cabin,* Did you fuck them?

You: no, I thought that'd be crossing a line.

Shanks: then where did you stay last night?

You: In their guest room, I helped Shakky open this morning because Rayleigh had wandered off after our date... Look, it wasn't a real date, Boss, I was upfront with them about my intentions.

Shanks: We didn't bully you.

You: It certainly felt like it to me, and when I voiced that hurt, you didn't apologize, and basically told me to stop sulking. So I wanted you to know how it felt, so I asked Rayleigh and Shakky to help me get back at you for bullying me.

Shanks: I see, *reflects on his behavior for a moment* I'm sorry we teased you, it was supposed to be a joke but ended up hurting your feelings.

You: Apology accepted.

Shanks: Now, please never date any of my former crew mates from my time with Roger.

You: I promise I won't knowingly date any of them.

Shanks: I don't like the way you phrased that, but fine, I guess.

Benn: Now that that's done, tell me how in the hell you got Shakky to go on a date with you.

You: Again, it was a fake date, but I simply asked.

Benn: I was afraid you were gonna say that.

List of Up-and-coming works || Master list || Twitter

Support me on Kofi and Patreon

[rlimagi]

Eyes

Pairing: Uma x Reader

Request: Hi !! Can I please have a fluff Uma x reader fic ? Reader is Uma’s longtime girlfriend 💙 I’m so excited there’s an account for descendants fem x reader !!!!! I’m so excited to read your writing !!

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: I don’t think there’s any.

Note: I started writing this since a few days ago but I kept rewriting it because I didn’t feel satisfied with the ending. So this might have a part 2 if my brain wants to work with me again.

You were Mal’s twin sister, which meant you had the utmost unfortunate experience of having Maleficent as your mother. You never experienced the motherly love you’ve always craved for, so you didn’t know what love felt like until you met her.

At a very young age, you found your love in books. Fairytales about princesses and magic were your favorites because they’ll always end up living happily ever after, and you wanted that so badly. But your love for what many other kids claimed, ‘nerdy’ became the reason you would always find comfort alone in your room instead of doing things a villain should do. Which meant you were a total loner.

You were a disappointment to your mother and as for your twin, you guys had always been close, though being polar opposites. Mal and Jay were the only friends you had and it stayed that way for years until one night.

You had just returned your books back to the library, if you could even call it that, the area was dark and you couldn’t see the paths clearly so you stumbled on an unfamiliar alley.

It was full of older kids, most of the kids on the isles were trouble makers but the kids there were the oldest of the bunch and the worst of them all.

“Hey! Isn’t that Maleficent’s kid?” An older boy shouted out, walking towards you as his gang backed him up. Those kids were pirates, you weren’t sure how that worked out since the isles had no open water for them to sail and rob other ships, but you weren’t going to question them.

It was ironic that you’re the daughter of one of the most evil villian, yet you could barely make eye contact with people who aren’t your sister or Jay, nor fight.

“Shouldn’t she have purple hair, like her sister? Why is it blue?” An older girl spoke up this time but she was as scary as the rest of them. You stood still as she took a few strands of your hair and examined them.

“What should we do with her? Do you reckon it’ll be a good idea if we kidnap her and ask for ransom money?” Another boy smirked, his crooked teeth showed as he cracked into laughters like the rest of his crew.

You were terrified for your life as the rest of them surrounded you but then a voice called out.

“How about you leave her alone, Henry?”

You turned around to see a girl your age but her eyes showed no fear, only confidence and dominance.

“Uma, you’re no fun. Imagine all the money we’ll get from her mom and don’t you hate her sister?” The boy she called Henry shook his head as he placed his dirty hand on your hair and messed it all up.

“Hands off or I’ll tell my mom that you’re the one who broke all her tables last week.” The pretty girl clapped back as she glared at the older boy.

Henry sighed in annoyance before gesturing to the rest of his crew to follow him out. “You’re lucky Ursula’s your mother.”

Your eyes followed as you watched them kicked everything in their way, probably out of annoyance that they got dominated by a kid 3 years younger than they were.

“Thank you.” You muttered, face reddening up when she smiled and nodded. You’ve never seen such a beauty like her before, not like you’ve met a lot of girls.

“No problem, they were annoying me all week anyways…but hey, what’s your name? I’ve never seen you around here before.” Uma smiled, her eyes were dark yet it was so sparkly for some reason.

“Oh I’m-“ You were about to introduce yourself when your sister and Jay, came out of nowhere.

“Yn! We were looking for you everywhere, where have you b-“ Mal rushed to your side, face filled with worries but she abruptly stopped mid sentence when she looked at the girl standing beside you. “Oh it’s you. Hey Shrimpy~”

Your eyes widened up in shock at your sister’s reaction to Uma. You knew your sister was a bully in a way, to other kids but it was just shocking to see her like that with your own eyes. Especially to the girl who had just saved you only a few minutes prior.

“Why are you here with her sis? You’re going to turn into a shrimp if you stand too close to her.” Mal’s grimace turned into a smirk as she pulled you away from where you were.

Uma’s smile turned sour almost immediately after Mal and Jay came. Without saying anything, she gave them both a nasty glare before running away.

“That’s so not cool, Mal.” You pushed your sister away before heading home on your own, ignoring the shouts from behind.

After that night, you secretly went out late at night looking for her. You didn’t want to look for her when the sun is bright because your sister or Jay might find out. Eventually, you found her sitting alone on a dock.

That night, you gave her the biggest apology for your sister’s behavior and asked her to be friends. Luckily, she didn’t have anything against you and agreed.

That was the day your love story started to blossom. After a year of secretly being friends, Uma she asked you to be her girlfriend and of course you agreed.

But fate separated you both after the 3rd year of your relationship, because you were invited to Auradon. You were ecstatic since all your life you’ve always dreamed of getting out of the isles, and you might have a chance of having a happily ever after like those fairytales you’ve enjoyed so much. But will you actually ever find one if your lover won’t be there with you?

When you told Uma that you won’t be going if it meant that you’ll never see her again, she got upset that you’re throwing away your dream, just for her. She didn’t want you to sacrifice your happiness like that, so ultimately you agreed but with a promise that you’ll try everything in your power to see her again.

Your life on Auradon was great, the people were nice, the food was spectacular, and it was a breath of fresh air and eventually you started to forget the life you left behind.

“Yn, can we talk?” Your older sister rushed to your side as you were lying against a big oak tree, trying to read a book.

There were a few decent books back in the isles but it couldn’t compare to the ones Auradon had. After arriving at Auradon Prep, you’ve gain a lot of friends but got close to Jane the fastest after she discovered your love for books and introduced you to a few of her favorites.

“Oh, sure! What’s up?” You smiled before patting on the grass next to you, gesturing her to sit there. Pulling your attention away from the book, you noticed Mal’s sullen expression and you knew all too well what it meant. “Spill.”

Mal sighed before the look on her face turned on into a slight frown. “I’ve just had a disagreement with the other VKs and Ben. They just don’t get me. And I tried to find you first but I swear you’re everywhere yet nowhere at the same time.”

You chuckled, patting her shoulder before asking. “You know I can’t stay still. Well then, what did you talk to them about? It can’t be that bad right?”

“No, but it’s just…” Mal stopped for a moment while her eyes drifted off to the distance, to where the isles were.

“Okay, I think I get what you’re thinking of. You want to head back and they don’t?” Mal was a hard person to read, but luckily you were her twin who could read her like an open book. Even without the spells.

“Yes! I just miss being…bad, no rules, no people throwing microphones into your face and asking invasive questions. I just miss being me, you get it right?” Of course you understood her, you could see it from miles away.

You saw how she had been dealing with her new title as Ben’s girlfriend and soon the future Queen of Auradon. It was a lot of responsibility being thrown on her, you knew she would break soon enough.

“I get it, I do miss beating up nasty old men, stealing candies, and...” the thoughts of your girlfriend flooded all over your head. “Her…” you whispered.

“And?” Mal looked at you, confused. You’ve never told any one of your friends, even Mal about the relationship between you and Uma. Mal hated Uma and the feelings were mutual with Uma, they hated each other’s guts and honesty it was hard hiding the fact that you were dating the girl your sister used to bully.

You blinked, getting caught off guard before faking a cough. “Umm, nothing!”

Mal nodded but you knew she was still a bit suspicious but chose to let it go anyways. “I think, I’m going to go back.” Mal claimed confidently as she abruptly stood up. Not even a second later, she looked at you back with vulnerable eyes. “Should I? I don’t think I’ll be coming back and I don’t want to leave if you’re all going to be mad at me for doing so. Especially you, you’re my twin and your words means the most to me.”

You sighed, following her action. “Mal, .you’re my sister and as your sister, I say you should do whatever the hell you want. No matter what, and no matter what we will always be sisters.” you wrapped your arms around her shoulders. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“Thanks, I really needed that. Do you want to come with me, maybe?” Mal chuckled before punching you jokingly.

Your breath hitched, immediately thinking of Uma. You did promise that you’ll find a way to see her again.

“Thanks Mal, but I do need to return these books back to Jane first. You go a head and I’ll find you there after I’m done.” You smiled before pointing to the piles of books that laid next to you. “I’ll know where to find you.”

“Got it.” Mal nodded. “Talk to the others for me okay? They don’t know I’m leaving, at least not yet.”

“Of course, you can always count on me.”

When you arrived at your shared dorm with Evie and Mal, a freaked out Evie rushed to your side. “Yn! There you are!” She exclaimed, pulling you inside before handing over a note. “Did you know about this?”

You looked at Mal’s goodbye note before looking back at your best friend. “Of course, she talked to me right before she left.”

“And you didn’t stop her?!” Evie gasped, pulling you to sit down on your bed.

“Nope.” You replied casually before popping a few gummies into your mouth. Your table always had sweets in stock for you to munch on. You’ve never had any sugar before but after arriving at Auradon, you’ve never gone a day without them.

“I’m planning to go too, now if you’ll excuse me.” you muttered before walking past Evie to grab a notebook which you had written down all the useful spells on. Honestly, you were cursing yourself for not thinking of a way to meet her until now.

“Wait what?” Evie asked in shock before blocking your way as you were about to head out. “Well you can’t leave, not alone anyways. We need to tell Ben about this, he’ll know how to get her back.” Evie said before pulling you with her.

“Slow down Evie! She’s just giving little old home a visit and if she decides to stay there then, well we can’t do much about it!” Your voice echoed across the halls but went unheard as Evie dragged you into Ben’s office.

The next thing you know, you were pulled into the Limo with Carlos and Jay sitting beside you. The ride to the isles wasn’t too long, but you were nervous extremely nervous yet excited at the same time. You haven’t seen her in 6 months, what if she found someone else while you’re away?

Your worries never washed away, even when you bumped into Gil after landing. He was the only person in the world who knows about your relationship with Uma. How he knew didn’t happen on person.

During your second year anniversary, you and Uma had sneaked out to go on a date late at night on top of the roof of your school’s building. It was sweet and romantic but then Gil for some odd reason was there and walked in on you two making out. He swore not to tell anyone and luckily he kept his words.

“Ben, before you go in and talk to her…you need to prepare yourself for the worse outcome, alright?” You called out to Ben right before he walked up the stairs. He frowned slightly but nodded anyways.

“This is what Mal needs, no offense you’re great and I love you for her but sometimes she just needs to get back to figure things out with this side of hers…alright you can go now I won’t stall any longer.” You patted his shoulder before pushing him slightly.

“Thanks Yn, and don’t worry. Whatever Mal decides, I’ll respect it.” Ben said before rushing up the flights of stairs.

You nodded and looked back at your other best friends who all shared the same nervous looks. Not too long after, Ben came down looking devastated and ran off into the darkness. You knew that he would get lost being all by himself so you left the VKs and followed after him.

“Ben?” You called out but got left with no response, you swore he was just there a minute ago. “Ben, buddy. Is that you?” You asked once you saw a figure walking up to you.

The alleyway was dark since there were barely any light source so it was hard to identify who it was. Not too long after, you found yourself losing consciousness.

You woke up to the sound of people yelling and running around your surroundings. “Hey, Yn! Wake up!” you felt a hand nudged yours and suddenly you were finally aware of where you were. Uma’s territory.

“Ben!? Is that you? Why am I tied up? Why are we tied up? What the hell is going on?” You whispered back, squirming as you tried your hardest to get the ropes to loosen up. Of course it didn’t but it was worth a try.

“I talked to Uma who’s like the captain here, I really messed up by forgetting about the other kids who didn’t get picked” Ben replied, deeply regretful for forgetting his main goal for the future of Auradon and the kids who were punished because of the faults of their parents. “It was my goal to bring every kid to Auradon. But then I got so busy with being a King that I had forgotten about all the innocent lives out here.”

“Wait Uma was here? Never mind, don’t blame yourself. You are an amazing person and King, we’re all forever grateful that you gave us a chance to figure out who we are. And it wasn’t your fault for forgetting, you’re still a kid who became King and suddenly got handled all the responsibilities.” You had always thought of Ben like a brother and he was amazing.

Ben was different than all the other royals, he didn’t have to care but he did by bringing 5 villian kids to Auradon and giving them a chance.

Everyone was outraged, but Ben didn’t care. He wanted change, and it’s starting to happen slowly but surely. “You can always make your goal happen, it’s never too late for anything.”

“I promise the first thing I’ll do when we get back to Auradon is find a way to get more kids out of here.” Ben said in determination. After exploring the island for a while, he could see how terrible the conditions were.

“I know you will.” you replied before everything went quiet. All the pirates stopped at their places and you could hear someone untying Ben and before you knew it, Harry walked past you with Ben being pushed towards the plank.

“Boo!” Someone whispered in your ear, scaring the living soul out of you. Then you heard a laugh, the voice of the only person you’ve ever loved. Uma.

“Hey baby, did you miss me?” Uma smirked as she moved to stand right in from of you. Her hand held up next to your face as she teasingly pinched your cheek. She had always adored the way your cheeks reddened up whenever she did that.

“Do I?” You teased back, enjoying how she acted annoyed whenever you played with her but you knew that she secretly loved it. “Kidding, of course I do! Now can you please untie me?”

“I kind of like it when you’re tied up though, that way you can’t go anywhere else.” Uma replied back jokingly but you could see it in her eyes that there was some truth in that. Ever since you guys became a couple, you had never gone a day without seeing each other at least once. And ever since you got sent to Auradon, you have been apart for longer than 6 months.

“Uma, I really wish I could bring you to Auradon with me.” You said sincerely as she untied you from the pole.

Uma stopped for a moment, looking at you with a smile before leaning in. Her hands trialed from your neck to your face before pulling you in for a much needed kiss. Even after kissing her so many times, the same spark and fluttery feeing from the first one will always reappear.

The way she looked at you, the way she touched your lips, the way it made you feel like you were floating, it was everything. She was everything.

“I know, but don’t worry. You’ll be able to bring me with you after Mal gives me the fairy godmother’s wand.”

You looked at her in confusion. Uma and Mal were clearly not on good terms so why would your sister willingly do that. “What are you saying?”

Your question was left unanswered as Uma broke eye contact, her smile turning into a mischievous grin after seeing visitors stepping in her territory.

You were confused by her sudden change of demeanor before looking the same way she was heading to, Mal and your friends were there.

You knew that it would not end well, at all.

[babystrcandy]

the lucky one (pt. 5) | jjk

summary: Growing up you only had one goal: beat Jeon Jungkook. Sometimes you'd win, other times you'd lose. Sometimes he'd lose, other times he'd win. But you'd both walk away from the match thinking the other was the lucky one.

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader rating/genre: 18+ Minors DNI | sports au, e2l/r2l, angst, fluff, smut word count: 27.7K chapter summary: You and Jungkook had always endured your lives, watching everyone else live theirs. It was time you helped each other learn how to finally breathe like real people. warnings/notes: typos probably, explicit language, jk and oc are the sun and moon 100%, hoseok i’m going to kiss you, karaoke..., yoonmin (i don’t ship them irl, don’t worry; all fictional and for plot purposes), panic attacks, poem referenced: mock orange by louise gluck a barbie dream house but all the dolls are kitchen knives by cassandra de alba, oc and jk are like so in love it’s not even funny anymore, oc in her mid-2521 na heedo era, she’s not doing too good, reporters are vultures, mention of king lear, i’m telling you they’re embarrassingly in love, unprotected soft sex like...soft-soft extra soft, mention of icarus/the fall of icarus, i think that’s it but if i missed anything please let me know, i hope you enjoy, my loves <3

chapter five: violet, roses are red, not blue ( ← previous | next → )  

FIVE WAYS YOU CAN Help Someone With an Anxiety Disorder:

Validate Their Feelings by Letting Them Know It’s Okay Not to Be Okay

Don’t Tell Them to Calm Down

Encourage Them to Focus on Things They Can Change

Help Them to Help Themselves

Discourage the Use of Alcohol or Drugs to Cope With Anxiety

OK . . .

You blinked once. Twice. Then once more, trying to make sense of the words before your eyes.

The thing was: you’d dealt with anxiety before. Hell, you’d been taking to biting your nails until they bled for a while now. You knew how it felt to peel over the edge of a toilet and empty your stomach’s contents just before a game. But . . . you never knew how to handle it or how to deal with it in such abundant measures.

Why were you looking into it now one may ask? Easy. You didn’t care much about how much you could endure, because truth be told: you knew you could handle it. You knew it would pass and while it sucked, you knew it was something you could deal with. And besides, you could deal with a lot, so . . . 

But . . . 

There were certain things that made sense to you. While you knew you could deal with everything on your plate . . . and while . . . while you knew Jungkook could handle himself . . . for some reason, you just didn’t want him to have to. 

It was an odd thing: realizing you’d rather deal with both your problems and his than let him suffer. You supposed that was what it meant to be friends, though . . . and well . . . you’d never really had any, so this was all new territory for you.

So ever since a few months ago when Jungkook told you about what happened to him just last year, you’d taken to the internet. You spent countless hours researching anxiety disorders, how to help, what to say, what to do, and on the off chance he had a panic attack near you, you’d taken to researching what to do then, too.

It made you feel a little stupid, yes, but you didn’t know how else to help. You didn’t want to make him feel . . . different for telling you, but you also . . . you didn’t want him to feel so alone anymore. (You’d even bought a book on it all (it only made you feel more clueless). 

Now . . . you didn’t know much, but you hoped the research would do something. And perhaps it wasn’t too far off either. After all, you’d been helping Jungkook stay away from booze as much as possible, even deciding to stay sober with him and you thought it was helping some. But you knew the late night talks were what helped more. You didn’t know how to say this without sounding full of yourself, but you liked to think you were helping him. 

That was what you truly wanted. To help him in ways you couldn’t help yourself. You could handle everything as long as he didn’t have to. That . . . that was what felt right to you.

So . . . five ways you can help someone with an anxiety disorder, you read again. You felt a little more than clueless. Still.

“Hey, Sunshine—“ Jungkook called for you, snapping you out of your own mind— “come look. It’s done.”

Blinking quickly, you clicked off your phone out of habit, realizing where you were. A tattoo parlor.

Yeah . . . 

It was the weekend of the final tournaments. The win or lose all, and Yunis was up there right next to the big leagues. How? All because of Jungkook. These past few months you and him had been unbeatable. Sure, you’d lost a few, but . . . more often than not, the two of you would end a match with grins on your faces moments before you jumped into his arms and just let yourself . . . celebrate with him.

That was how it had been. You and Jungkook against the world. And to be honest, you quite liked it that way. (Granted, after your little outburst, your teammates had stopped talking about Jungkook altogether and started to . . . almost but not really but also kind of . . . respect him more (except Wooshik, but whatever). That made things a whole lot better, but it was still just you and him and you were sure it would be for the rest of the season.)

Anyway . . . you were getting off-topic. 

The point was: it was almost the weekend of the final tournaments and Yunis was staying at some hotel somewhere in Ulsan. And well, while you and Jungkook were watching some movie in his hotel room, he got an idea. He wanted a new tattoo. For good luck, he’d claimed, and you . . . you hadn’t gotten a tattoo since that one mistake of one. But somehow, someway, Jungkook had managed to drag you out of the hotel and into the nearest tattoo shop he could find on the GPS. 

Which landed you there: sitting in the waiting area while Jungkook went first. (He wanted it to be a surprise. That was what he told you, which you thought was a little silly, but whatever.)

And then it would be your turn. 

Actually . . . 

You turned to face Jungkook, taking in the dopey grin he had spread across his face while he peeked at you through the door leading to the tattooing room. It was your turn.

“Hmm?” you hummed in questioning.

Jungkook shook his head. “Come look,” he repeated as he gestured for you to follow him. “And then I’ve got a couple ideas for yours. Don’t let me forget. And don’t pretend to forget. Got it?”

You rolled your eyes with a huff, but nevertheless, followed after him, shutting the door behind you. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of the artist, but, well, you had never been good at greeting people, so what should’ve been a small greeting wave, turned into you just staring at him with some kind of . . . smile on your face. And when you realized that was so not the way to go, you turned your attention back to Jungkook, grabbing onto the loop of his jeans as he led you to the mirror on the other side of the room.

Jungkook glanced to where you clung onto him, raising his brows as he looked between your face and your hand. “Good?”

You blinked. Then realized what you were doing. Then well . . . you cleared your throat and attempted to tear your hand from his body, but before you could, his fingers curled around your wrist. And without a second glance, Jungkook guided your hand back to him, allowing it to slip into his back pocket. 

All you could do was stare at the back of his head in shock. His dark hair was long now. Longer than it had ever been, to the point it could only be tied back with a hair tie or it’d be in his face all day, which was his go-to most days considering the days were long and hot. And somehow, he looked more like himself like that. He seemed to smile more, too, and you always managed to smile back even when you least expected it.

But you couldn’t help it. He was just . . . well . . .

(Sometimes he made you wonder if you should really find your friend this attractive but you ignored that most days.)

Whatever . . . the point was: you had trouble wrapping your head around his touch; around the fact that while he wasn’t exactly yours, he didn’t mind your hands on him at any time. No one had ever liked your touch this much. You had always been too cold; too harsh; too rough, but around him, you felt like your touch was almost . . . soft.

And that was what always shocked you.

“Are you drooling?” Jungkook asked, snapping you out of your own head.

Only then did you realize you had been staring at him for quite a while now, and well, he would always tease you about that. Because he was . . . Jungkook.

Your brows scrunched together. “What?”

But he didn’t bother to repeat his question. No, instead, he took his thumb and swiped at your bottom lip, inspecting it in thought. “Yep, just as I thought—“ he jutted his thumb toward you— “drool.”

Glaring, you stepped closer. “I don’t drool,” you nearly huffed.

“Mmm, that’s not what the evidence says.”

“It’s chapstick.”

“Really?”

“Really.” You glared a little harder. “Will you just show the tattoo?”

Jungkook only grinned.

And then, he turned his attention to his tattooed arm, slowly pulling up the sleeve of his shirt. Your eyes stayed trained on his arm the entire time, expecting some sort of skull or something stupid, but instead . . . no . . . as he pulled up his sleeve, he revealed a vine of some sort of blue flowers traveling from the empty space left on his lower forearm to his hand, covered by a saniderm wrap.

“What flower’s that?” you questioned, eyes still trained on the fresh tattoo as you carefully brought your hand to his arm. 

“Morning glories,” he hummed while he watched you slowly turn his arm to get the full view. “My mom says they’re a pain. They grow everywhere like weeds. Once you plant one, that’s it, she says. They grow like wildfire. A nuisance.” He laughed softly. “Figured it fit.”

“It’s pretty,” you murmured with a small smile. “Fits the rest.” You tilted your head to the side a little. “Kinda looks like the snake is wrapping around it.”

Jungkook nodded. “Cool, right?”

It was. It actually really was. 

“It’s nice,” you settled with instead, feigning disinterest. 

But Jungkook knew you well. “Admit it,” he pushed on, leaning toward you. “Admit you’re impressed.”

Nearly rolling your eyes, you finally huffed, “Yes, fine, it’s actually cool, Kook.”

“So I’ve impressed you?”

“Well, considering I thought you were going to get a dick, yes, I suppose I’m impressed,” you muttered with a small shrug. 

Jungkook snorted. “Well.”

Oh god. No, he didn’t.

Furrowing your brows, you pegged the question, “Please tell me you did not get a dick and balls tattooed on you.”

His face screwed up as he tilted his head to the side in thought.  “Well . . . “

“Kook.”

Pursing his lips into a cute pout, he offered you his other hand, showing off his fingers. And there on his ring finger was the number three, and on his middle was a sideways U. Meaning, yes, Jeon Jungkook did, in fact, get a small yet visible yet inconspicuous yet not that inconspicuous at all, penis tattooed on his fingers. And no, no, you were not surprised.

“Really?” you deadpanned.

Jungkook shrugged. “Whoops.”

“As long as you don’t think this is a matching tattoo kind of thing,” you started off with your finger pointing directly into his chest. “Because, I’m telling you right now, Jungkook, I am not getting a dick tattooed on my body.”

And Jungkook only snorted, shaking his head. “No, god, I’m stupid, not an idiot. I have my designs in my bag.”

Designs? Your brows twitched. He spent that much time on this? But—

But Jungkook was already one step ahead of you, walking from you toward where his bag lay on the ground beside the tattoo chair. He rummaged through its contents until he clasped his hand around a small sketchbook before he took it out and reapproached you, already flipping through it.

Flip, flip, flip . . . and flip, until . . . he paused on a page and slowly offered it toward you with an almost shy (?) look on his face. Jungkook, shy? You almost didn’t believe it, but still, you took the sketchbook from him without another word, letting your eyes take in the sketch before your eyes.

It was another flower. Well, a stem with a few flowers. Yellow this time. And a little different from Jungkook’s. Perhaps it was a little more peculiar. 

“It’s an evening primrose,” Jungkook began while your eyes stayed trained on the sketch, still analyzing it. “My mom used to have them in our garden back home. They, uh, only bloom at night. I remember every night we’d watch them. They’d do this little shake and—“ he laughed, softly at first, then a little louder— “my mom would say it was like they were yawning.”

You traced your fingertips over the sketch, remembering your own little memories of the silly flowers. That was why you remembered them. They were your mom’s favorite. She used to plant like five batches each spring and force you to come outside and watch them with her, and yes, you said force because you had always been a disagreeable child. But still, every night, you watched them.

“They’re my mom’s favorite,” you voiced aloud with a small smile playing on your lips.

“Yeah,” he hummed under his breath. “My mom said she gives her a bundle every year for her birthday.”

Glancing up, you nearly beamed. “Really?”

He nodded. “Really.”

“I guess they’d be proud of us, hmm?” you murmured, searching his face. When you realized what you’d said, you quickly cleared your throat. “For becoming chummy, you know?”

His brows twitched. “Yeah . . . I guess they would.”

A beat of silence.

Then . . . Jungkook cleared his throat, shaking his head of his thoughts as his eyes turned back to the sketch. “Anyway, uh, they remind me of home, so I thought maybe they’d do the same for you,” he allowed himself to say in a hushed tone. “But, I mean, there’s others. The drawing’s kinda shit, so—“

“I like it,” you cut him off as you held the sketchbook closer to you. “I’ll—“ you shrugged— “I’ll get it.”

Jungkook’s brows nearly shot up to his hairline. “Really?”

You only nodded. “Why not? It’s cool. It means something I think, so yeah, fuck it, I’ll get it. Besides—“ you flicked his nose— “the sketch is not half bad. You didn’t tell me you could draw.”

“That’s because I can’t.”

“Bullshit.”

“OK—“ he agreed with a shrug— “hand me the tattoo gun. I can give you a Jungkook original.”

Narrowing your eyes, you couldn’t help but purse your lips into an unamused grimace. “No, thanks, I’ll end up walking out with testicles drawn on my forehead,” you muttered with just a little bite in your words.

And that got him. Jungkook laughed, his eyes crinkling first before a grin broke out onto his face. All the while, he playfully ruffled your hair, gesturing for you to sit down in the chair a second later. And you let it happen, a small dopey smile on your face.

(And you almost realized that while Jungkook had been smiling more lately, you, too, had never smiled so much in your life. You supposed you had him to thank for that . . . 

Supposedly.)

It wasn’t your reflection which caught your attention in the mirror. No, rather, what your eyes had landed on was the fresh tattoo of an evening primrose placed in the center of your sternum. It was almost similar to Jungkook’s, yet different just like the two of you, and the funny thing about it was . . . it kept managing to bring a small, almost unnoticeable smile to your face. 

“What’s got you smiling?” you heard from behind you as Jungkook appeared in the doorway of the hotel room’s bathroom (completely shirtless, might you add).

“Oh, nothing—“ you shrugged as you reached for a comb (totally not just pretending to untangle the ends of your hair), while maintaining eye contact with him in the mirror— “just the fact you whined and whined about how much pain your arm was in for like, what? An hour after?” Turning slowly to face him, you puffed out your bottom lip into a pout. “Such a pussy.”

His brows raised—a look of challenge. “Yeah?”

A beat of silence.

Another shrug was your only response.

Jungkook fought off a grin, crossing his arms. “I’m a . . . pussy?” Pushing off the doorway, he took a step toward you, head cocked to the side slightly. “Hmm?”

Mirroring him, you crossed your arms over your chest. “That’s what I said.”

“Oh, is that what you said?” he mused, mocking your voice. 

And before you could even protest or drop your jaw in shock, he was in front of you. He caged you in, leaning his hands on the counter behind you. One more inch and his nose would be touching yours, but you didn’t dare close that gap.

“You’re such a child,” you hissed in a hushed tone as if his proximity had made the room that much smaller and you that much more exposed.

“Mmm, am I?” he mused, his eyes trailing over your features with such languid strokes, you wondered how you ever handled his gaze before.

You raised your head ever so slightly.

To which, obviously, Jungkook found amusing. With that small, toothy, almost endearing smile on his face, he closed the gap, his nose brushing yours. “Kiss me then,” he murmured, pressing closer, just enough to brush his lips against yours in a feathering touch.

And you began to wonder how on earth you ended up becoming putty in his hands. “What if I bite you instead?” you murmured, but despite your words, you leaned into his touch.

Resting his forehead against yours, he hummed, “Well, I wouldn’t be opposed to that either.”

You felt yourself grin. “Good.”

The only response you received was his lips pressing against yours. You leaned closer, pleasantly sighing into the kiss as a grin tipped onto his face. His hands tickled your sides, lightly dancing across your skin before settling on your rib cage just below the crescents of your breasts. 

(Perhaps you forgot to mention that you were entirely topless . . . 

What? It was uncomfortable with the fresh tattoo.

Whatever.)

And well honestly, you couldn’t resist not having him close. So what if it bothered your tattoo? He felt better than any pain relief. 

Quickly, you found yourself tangling your hands in his dark, grown-out hair as you pulled him close enough to have your bare chest pressed against his. It made you feel close . . . closer than you had ever felt with anyone . . . closer than you had ever let yourself. His grip tightened on you instantly, his hands squeezing your sides once more before he gently sucked your bottom lip under the grasp of his teeth.

It only deepened from there. You melted into him, allowing him to meld his tongue against yours. The act squeezed a soft sigh out of you, to which Jungkook couldn’t contain himself. He smiled widely against your lips, and then his arms were around your thighs, lifting you up onto the sink counter. And once you were supported by the countertop, he stepped in between your parted legs as his hands found your face, gently caressing your jaw while he all but sucked on your tongue like he had done so many times before.

“Stop trying to eat my face,” you chuckled against his lips, still kissing him back while your arms wrapped around his neck.

He shook his head, but the small grin you felt against your lips gave him away. “Stop turning me on then,” he murmured back. “It’s just not fair, Daisy baby.”

Daisy baby. That was a new one.

Your brows twitched without your permission as your eyes traced his features. More specifically, your gaze fixed on his lips, watching as he tongued his lip ring—a habit he had accumulated over the years you supposed. 

It made it harder to focus on anything except him. And for the second time that night, you wondered how on earth you ended up being at his mercy time and time again. 

It just felt so unlike you. So different. So new. So . . . unfamiliar. 

Did you like it? 

You questioned yourself over and over again these past months. It felt like something you shouldn’t be able to feel. Really . . . it just made you wonder and wonder and wonder.

Until . . . Yes, you decided. Oddly enough, yes, you did like it. You quite liked feeling like this.

But what exactly was this?

. . . Your eyes met his, and your gaze softened instantly. You had no idea what this was. No idea . . .

Jungkook caught onto the look which crossed your face and leaned forward, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “What’s got you lookin’ like that?” he sighed against your skin, pressing open-mouthed kisses anywhere he could.

And your eyes fluttered shut as you melted into his touch. “Nothing,” you hummed, angling your neck to give him more access to your body. “I just—“ 

But a knock at the door halted the words from leaving your tongue.

The two of you paused.

A beat of silence.

Another knock came.

Jungkook pulled back and your eyes met, confusion passing between the two of you. 

Who could be knocking at the door at this hour? Especially Jungkook’s? (Because, really, after the whole meltdown you had at dinner after the first tournament . . . everyone had steered clear of the two of you. So you wondered once more . . . who could be at the door?)

No words were exchanged between the two of you, Jungkook only took the step into the hall, and peered through the peephole on the door. You watched in silence as he stared a second too long, his posture stiff before he sighed and disappeared back into the room. And well, in utter confusion, you hopped down from the counter, following after him only to find he had put on a tee and grabbed another, moments before he handed that very shirt to you with a tight-lipped smile.

“Who is it?” you whispered, your voice hushed as you put on the shirt he’d handed you, covering your bare chest.

Jungkook tongued his inner cheek, but before you could even press the question, his face softened. A small, stiff smile met his lips as he reached out and caressed your chin with his pointer, while his thumb brushed your bottom lip. “Keep your claws in,” he murmured, that small smile still on his face as if he thought that alone would be enough to ease your wandering mind.

“What—“ 

But he was already gone. 

His touch left you and you watched as he approached the door, while you followed slowly behind. The door was swinging open the next second, revealing—

Oh. You blinked in shock.

In the doorway stood Hoseok, whose back was facing you at that very moment while he talked to . . . Seulki?

Huh?

Tilting your head in confusion, you caught Seulki’s wide dark eyes. Her eyes widened further at the sight of you two as she quickly smacked Hoseok’s shoulder and pointed behind him. The action caused Hoseok to immediately shut his mouth as he slowly turned around, his lips down-turned into an awkward expression as his gaze darted between you and Jungkook.

Furrowing your brows, you sent him a look. 

Hoseok blinked back in response. Seulki nervously waved before trying to pass it off as her attempting to scratch the back of her head. And Jungkook . . . well . . . he was the one to clear his throat, putting an end to the silence. (You, however, caught onto the fact that his eyes remained glued to his feet the entire time.)

That . . . that made you step forward, until you stood beside Jungkook, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned against the door frame. “Something wrong?” you questioned the two of them, keeping a close eye.

Hoseok opened his mouth, hesitating slightly. “Uh—“

“We were looking for you guys,” Seulki cut in with a wide smile on her face. “So it’s good that you’re both—“ she glanced at Hoseok, starting to fidget with her hands as she cleared her throat— “here. Hoseok?”

Hoseok eyed her, a tad startled before he nodded in agreement. “Right, yeah,” he hummed with a clap of his hands. “We were gonna meet up with some friends from college in Busan for karaoke. They’re just . . . they’re coming to the final tournaments and we thought ‘why not, let’s go out’.” He laughed . . . awkwardly if you might add. “Anyway . . . We’ve got two extra train tickets. Could be yours . . . ?”

Quirking a brow, you glanced between them. “How much?”

A perplexed look crossed both their faces. But it was Seulki who spoke up first. “What?” she mumbled, slightly puffing out her bottom lip into a small pout—something she happened to do a lot that you’d caught onto. “Nothing. We just . . . “

As her words trailed off, Hoseok picked up where she left off. In fact, he took it a step further. “We . . . “ He quickly shut his mouth, shaking his head at his thoughts before he raised his head once more, eyes now locked on Jungkook rather than hiding from him. It didn’t matter if Jungkook didn’t look him in the eye, it seemed Hoseok had something to get off his chest as he took a literal instead of metaphorical step toward him. “I . . . I feel bad . . . for how we treated you. I assumed things. I never asked you. I never thought to. I should’ve gotten to know you before listening to anything Wooshik had to say. I misjudged you. For that, and everything else . . . I’m—“ he touched a hand to his chest before he gestured toward Seulki— “we are sorry.”

And while his words lingered in the air, you hadn’t realized that the stiffness in your muscles had slowly loosened and your gaze was now set solely on Jungkook. How could it not be? 

With a careful glance, you took in Jungkook’s demeanor. It was clear he, too, was taking in Hoseok’s words. His head was still lowered, his eyes trained on his feet, but they kept moving in rapid motions as if he were fighting with himself to not look up. And all you could think was: look up . . . please, please look up.

You hadn’t expected it when you first saw them in the doorway, but you weren’t an idiot. Hoseok and Seulki had come here to make amends. They had come here to admit their wrongs. You couldn’t be angry with that . . . not when you had seen just how happy Jungkook had been the first time he’d been able to . . . see someone.

If he looked up . . . then that would mean he would be OK. If he looked up . . . then maybe he could breathe a little easier. And truly . . . as odd as it sounded . . . all you wanted was for him to be . . . happy.

If Jungkook looked up . . . all of that could be possible.

“Look—“ Hoseok began again, nearly reaching out to pat Jungkook on the shoulder, but he stopped himself before he made contact— “Uh . . . you don’t seem like a bad guy . . . so I was wondering if we could all hang out like teams are supposed to, you know? Not just to apologize . . . but to . . . be friends, I suppose, is what I mean . . . “

You swallowed hard, fighting with yourself not to speak for him. Look up, Jungkook, you repeated over and over again in your head, watching him with careful eyes. Look up. Please . . . please . . .

Another beat of silence, more painful than the last.

Then . . . 

. . . Jungkook raised his head, and his eyes met Hoseok’s, and you knew what his answer would be.

In no way, shape, or form could you comprehend how you managed to make it to some random karaoke bar in the middle of Busan around, like, two in the morning. Hell, you didn’t even remember hopping onto the midnight train to get to the city in the first place, but there you were, dressed in whatever the fuck you could find in your suitcase that wasn’t a badminton uniform, and you were sitting next to one of Hoseok’s friends (Namjoon, you thought his name was.)

And while Namjoon managed to impress you with his choice in cologne, he had been talking your ear off for the past half hour and you couldn’t think straight for the entirety of the time he’d been telling you about well . . . you honestly had no idea what he was talking about. In truth, you couldn’t really hear much . . . because your mind was elsewhere. Because, because, because for the last half hour that Namjoon had been at your side, your eyes had been on Jungkook.

Now . . . you knew how that sounded, but you had a reason. You see, Jungkook wasn’t alone either. He had been sat next to another one of Hoseok’s friends (let’s call him Yoongi and hope you got that right) . . . and he was like . . . looking at him. No, no, like . . . he was looking him in the eyes . . . that is why you couldn’t stop staring, couldn’t stop trying to eavesdrop, couldn’t stop just . . . just . . . just whatever!

Was it embarrassing to say you were proud of him?

But . . . you were . . .

As much as you hadn’t wanted to admit it, he’d become the only person you’d ever been this close to in your life. He’d once told you you were the only one he could see . . . the only one he wasn’t afraid of to look in the eyes, and now . . . in just a few hours, he’d allowed himself to hear people, see them, interact with them beyond the restrictions he’d put on himself the entirety of his contract with Yunis.

And the little thing that made you feel all that more warm, was the attentive, genuine smile on his face as he nodded along to whatever Yoongi was saying. That . . . that made a smile of your own touch your lips as you took in the scene.

“You agree?” you heard from beside you, Namjoon’s voice startling only slightly enough to have you abruptly whipping your head in his direction with a confused expression on your face.

You blinked, furrowing your brows. “Hmm?” you hummed in a questioning tone as you snuck a glance back at Jungkook, only to find . . . oh . . . only to find him lazily shifting his gaze from Yoongi to you with an amused smirk on his face. (Great, so he had seen you looking at him. Great. That he’ll really get you later on with.) “Do I agree—what?”

Slowly, you forced yourself to tear your eyes from Jungkook and finally face Namjoon, who seemed to be oblivious to everything else. You weren’t even really sure if he had heard your question or if he were too busy inside his own head, questioning himself. But it didn’t matter either way, because . . . the music cut out, Hoseok and Seulki’s voices died down, followed by their out of breath laughter, and then:

“Alright, who’s next?” Hoseok called out, offering up the microphone.

Immediately, Yoongi shook his head, leaning back to indulge in his drink rather than the question at hand. And no one else could get another word in before, Seulki and Hoseok had caught onto this little act, only they didn’t exactly . . . go for him. No, rather, Seulki, specifically, all but jumped toward Jungkook. “I vote Jungkookie goes!” she declared as she leaned forward to dangle the microphone in front of his face.

“Agreed! Jungkook-ah, onstage now!” Hoseok exclaimed, closing the distance to Jungkook before he wrapped a hand around his arm, urging him to stand to his feet and take over the spotlight. 

(Clearly . . . something you hadn’t mentioned . . . everyone but you and Jungkook were . . . perhaps maybe a little bit or a lot or yeah, yeah, yeah . . . they were drunk. (So you could see how . . . this had happened.))

And Jungkook all but turned cherry-cheeked. “No, no, I can’t,” he laughed it off, trying to wave them away. “I’m a horrible singer, really.”

Lie.

He once sang for your elementary school’s talent show . . . you know . . .

But the others persisted, whining and whining and blah blah blah—

. . . Five minutes later, no doubt, Jungkook finally gave in with a playful groan. He took the microphone from Seulki, slowly making his way to the center of the room you guys had booked, and then you noticed something . . . his eyes had only been on you the entire time. And suddenly, you began to wonder what that meant, wrapping your arms around yourself as your brows raised in question.

Until:

“Listen,” Jungkook began, a half-grin sliding onto his face as he maintained eye-contact with you, “I’ll sing . . . but I need my sidekick.”

Raising your brows, you knew you’d kill him for that later. But still you didn’t move. All you could do was shake your head, because no, no, no you did not want to sing in front of anyone. 

“OK. OK,” Jungkook nodded slowly to himself, but you knew him better than that. He had something planned. And you could just tell by the way he began to walk toward the system in order to plug in the song that was somehow someway on his mind. Then, he turned back around, both microphones in his hands, his eyes solely on you with a mischievous glint in them as the first seconds of the song began to blast through the speakers.

Squinting your eyes in skepticism, you watched him. 

He only sent you a knowing grin.

And you suddenly had a feeling you knew exactly what he had put on.

“ . . . She ain’t got no money,” Jungkook began, trying his best to sing, but his grin kept growing and growing just as your face fell and fell and fell. “Her clothes are kind of funny. Her hair is kinda wild and free. Oh, but—”

You nearly smacked a hand to your face.

“—Love grows where my Rosemary goes,” he continued, beginning to bob his head now to the music. “And nobody knows but me.” Clearing his throat over the music, you knew you were in for it. “Come on, Rosemary, on your feet. Let’s go. Let’s go. Let’s go, because! Love grows where my Rosemary goes! And nobody knows like—Come on!—me!”

And finally . . . finally after being hounded and hounded, you unstuck yourself from your seat, your eyes solely on him as if it were just the two of you against everything, and then you took the microphone from his hand, and you knew you’d sealed your fate. Shaking your head at him, you playfully rolled your eyes moments before you glanced at the screen, checking where you were in the song.

Great, you thought. Fuck . . . OK. Clearing your throat again, this was your Hell. “I’m a lucky fella,” you began, your voice nearly tone-deaf, and certainly agony to the ears. “And I’ve just got to tell her that I love her endlessly.”

“Oh, because!” Jungkook jumped in, bumping you with his elbow. “Love grows where my Rosemary goes, and nobody knows like me!”

Snorting once, you continued for him, “There's something about her hand holding mine. It's a feeling that's fine,” you hummed along, realizing that perhaps . . . this . . . was . . . fun. And slowly, so slowly, you didn’t even realize you were doing it . . . you had begun to dance along, following Jungkook’s lead. “And I just gotta say—”

“Hey! She’s really got a magical spell and it's working so well that I can't get away,” he drawled out, perhaps carrying out his words a tad too much, but there was something about the smile on his face while he did it that you didn’t care. 

That was when you really lost it. Perhaps lost it was the wrong word, but that was when you really stopped caring if there were other people in the room, about keeping up your image or whatever. It just felt like it was you and Jungkook and the music.

And before you knew it, the song had ended, cheers came from Hoseok’s friends, but your eyes were solely on Jungkook. They had never really left him, because this was the song you’d sang at the talent show in elementary. It was also the song you had been too afraid to sing alone . . . because you were perhaps maybe not a shy child, but an antisocial one. And Jungkook . . . Jungkook had offered to sing with you. He’d never wanted to be in the talent show, but you . . . you always wanted the spotlight, and so, it was because of him that you were able to have it that day. Otherwise you probably would’ve spent the entire night crying in the school’s bathroom because you couldn’t force yourself on stage. And he . . . he had saved you back then. 

It seemed he always was . . . 

That made a smile slowly grow on your face, but before it could form into a toothy grin, cheers erupted throughout the room. Eyes widening, you glanced toward the noise, realizing it was not just the two of you but rather the two of you and . . . them.

But this them didn’t feel malicious as it had in the past. No, in fact, before you could even blink, Seulki was already jumping toward you, jumping up and down while she beamed about how that had to be one of her all time favorite songs. And Jungkook . . . well . . . Hoseok had reached him in seconds, clasping a hand on his shoulder as he went on and on about how he had no idea he had such a voice, asking if he’s taken lessons, and blah blah blah . . . all the while everyone else shouted requests at the two of you, hooting for an encore.

It . . . well . . . to say the least, it managed to bring that smile back onto your face, and finally you let yourself look away from Jungkook, knowing you could trust the others with him, and suddenly all you could see was Seulki. You’d never had many friends. Perhaps competition or surface people, but a little part of you saw Yurim, your college doubles partner and probably the closest you’d ever had to a friend, in Seulki. 

Except unlike all those years ago . . . this time you embraced Seulki with a hand on her shoulder and a warm smile touching your face as you finally let yourself tell her the little story of how the song came to be for you. Now, yes, she was drunk out of her mind and would probably forget about all of this tomorrow, but you didn’t care. 

It felt . . . nice . . . to talk to people like . . . this. And—And this feeling when you did . . . Oh what was that feeling called? Like, like warmth but better, perhaps innocent? 

Were you . . . happy?

And then . . . you began to wonder . . . was this what it felt like to have . . . friends? Were you allowed to feel like this? Like . . . like you were happy?

In that moment, you glanced back at Jungkook for a brief second just as he did the same. Your eyes met, and you knew he felt the same. And then: relief, relief, relief . . . 

A beat of silence. 

In it more relief. 

Beat.

Beat.

Beat . . .

But . . . like all things . . . balance. A knock on the door ripped that blissful beat of relief from your grasp. Brows furrowing, you slowly turned to see a blurry shadow just behind the door, indicating that someone was . . . asking for permission to come in? But . . . who? As far as you knew everyone who was there was supposed to be there.

You wondered and wondered, trying to tilt your head to see if you could make it out. And then you heard them call his name, but you didn’t believe it at first. You didn’t quite hear it. Seulki was jumping beside you, and you could have sworn you heard Yoongi announce that it was probably his partner at the door.

And then as Yoongi slowly walked toward the door, opening it to greet the man with this adoring look in his eyes, your heart plummeted to your stomach. Instantly, your eyes snapped to Jungkook, and you saw the entire world crumble before you. You tried to reach him but Seulki was still holding onto you, and you couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t speak, you couldn’t move, you couldn’t do anything but stare and watch as the world fell and fell and fell, leaving you with no way to put it back together.

Amongst the chaos, your eyes fluttered back toward the door and you heard his name once more. Jimin, you could have sworn Hoseok had called out, and you knew this was reality. 

Like an old ghost, Jimin had appeared at the door, almost unrecognizable from the boy you remembered in college. His hair now honey blonde, his cheeks full and almost rosy, with this way about him that just screamed he was different now. It made you wonder how different he was now than a year ago when Jungkook left his past behind him. 

Breathing carefully, everyone’s attention was on Jimin, but you caught sight of it first. Jimin’s eyes scanned the room and then . . . then they met yours. Your heart stopped again and you could have sworn his mirrored yours. His eyes widened only slightly, until they shifted just to the right of you, and you watched in silence as his lips parted, his brows twitching upward.

That was weird.

You would have expected him to meet the sight of Jungkook with anger . . . but the only expression on Jimin’s face was that of pain . . . perhaps . . . yearning . . . ? For something . . . ?

And finally, you allowed yourself to glance back at Jungkook, and you began to wonder if it truly were possible to die of a broken heart.

Jungkook stood stagnant, unmoving without even a single rise and fall of his chest. No, instead, his hand was clasped over his chest as if he were in physical pain, but he still didn’t move. Until he did.

Before you could reach him, Jungkook was off. He made a B-line for the door, pushing past everyone while they were distracted by Jimin’s appearance.

And you were a step behind him.

“Kook, where you going?” you briefly heard Hoseok call to Jungkook. “Jimin’s got to show you his vocals, man. He’ll give you a run for your money.”

But Jungkook wasn’t reachable. “I—um—restroom,” he barely strained out and then he was gone, slipping out the door and out of your sight.

You tried to keep up, desperately pushing past the others as you reached the door as well, but a hand on your upper arm stopped you in your tracks. Your eyes flicked from the hand on your arm to the face of the person it belonged to. 

Jimin . . . he was the one who had stopped you. Of course.

But you had never been easily swayed. You quickly ripped your arm out of his grasp, and left without a look back. But it was no use. The hallway was empty. Jungkook was gone.

So what? You’d find him. You had to.

Without another thought, you didn’t even wait to hear the door close behind you as you began to stalk down the hall, but a voice called out to you. 

“Hey, hey, wait,” the voice pleaded.

But you knew this voice well. You knew Jimin well, and you didn’t care what he had to say, not when Jungkook was missing.

Attempting to make another run for it, you put one foot in front of the other, only to be pulled back. Jimin wrapped a hand around your upper arm, pulling you into him and turning you to face him all at once. And you saw that hurt expression once again, but you didn’t care, you didn’t care, you didn’t care! Jungkook was out there and he was alone and you needed him to know you were never leaving his side again.

So fuck it, fuck it, fuck it. You didn’t care!

Desperately, you tried to peel his hand from your arm, but his words halted you in your tracks.

“Is he OK?” Jimin quietly asked, his voice barely above a whisper, almost as if he were ashamed of his own words. 

Taking a step back, you could only shake your head at him. “Are you fucking serious?” you all but hissed, the words burning on your tongue as you finally ripped your arm out of his grasp. “Now you care? Now you want to act like—“ Your words were ripped from your lips, unable to finish the sentence. Instead, another shake of your head came. “You’re fucking unbelievable . . . Of course he’s not OK. He hasn’t been for a while, and you would know that if you hadn’t—“ 

The words died on your tongue, and Jimin watched. While your eyes betrayed you, watering slightly, Jimin looked as if he couldn’t believe his own eyes. His gaze darted across your face, his brows raised in concern (?) while he watched as you fought against the floodgates, trying to bite back the tears in your eyes and the lump in your throat. 

And finally, you were able to force out the words: “He’s not OK. He’s really—“ you quickly exhaled— “really not.”

A beat of silence.

You swallowed that lump in your throat while a look of realization crossed Jimin’s face. It was funny . . . he looked completely different now than he did years ago . . . or maybe it was the look he wore. It was something you had never seen on him before. 

But you really didn’t care.

Sucking in a breath, you cleared your throat and began to back away. “And he needs me so I have to—“

But Jimin cut you off. “So he told you?” he asked almost a little too hesitantly as he took a step toward you.

Nodding, you swallowed hard. “Yes.”

His brows raised. “You guys are . . . good?”

“Yes,” you muttered, nodding again. “He’s—We’re friends.”

Jimin blinked. “Oh.”

“What?”

“I just . . . I didn’t see that coming . . . “

“Well—“ you bit your inner cheek— “it did.”

Another beat of silence.

Then: Jimin took a step back. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, almost too under his breath to even hear. “I didn’t expect that he’d be here. I haven’t seen him in . . .  in a year. I didn’t even think he was . . . I didn’t think he was like that.”

Oh . . .

Don’t say it.

Don’t say—

Don’t—

But you couldn’t help but bite out, “No thanks to you.”

Jimin pinched his brows together. “What? What do you mean?”

You just had to say it . . . 

“Nothing—“ clearing your throat, you realized just where your loud mouth had landed you— “just . . . I have to go, alright?”

With one final look at the man before you—a man you once knew that now barely resembled the one you’d known—you walked past him, eyes trained solely on what was before you. Jungkook was the only thing on your mind. Finding him was the only thing you cared about. Leaving the past behind was easy when you knew he was waiting for you somewhere up ahead.

But a hand wrapped around your forearm, halting you in your tracks. Your eyes widened as you heard Jimin speak, but you couldn’t quite make out what he was saying until you glanced over your shoulder, your eyes meeting his words head-on.

“Look . . . look, I know,” he had said, an almost desperate expression plaguing his face. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly before he sucked in a sharp breath. “I know. Trust me. I do.” Exhale.

Slowly, your brows scrunched together as you pried his hand off your arm. “Know what?” you questioned, your voice a slightly accusatory tone while you cocked your head to the side, eyeing him with skepticism. 

A moment’s silence passed before he searched your eyes. What he was searching for, you couldn’t quite make out, but he kept searching and searching and searching until his brows twitched upward, an almost pained expression fueling his face. And then: “I know it wasn’t Kook’s fault,” he confessed, his voice soft and quiet as if he were ashamed of his own words. “What happened between him and Tae. I knew it wasn’t his fault.”

Instantly, your heart dropped. 

He knew. He knew and he still let this happen.

You wanted to scream. At him. At everything. At nothing. 

But you stayed frozen, your mind spiraling and spiraling.

“I tried to get them to see that, too, but . . . Kook had always been our glue, not me,” he nearly whispered, harshly pointing at his chest almost as if he were trying to punish or rather condemn himself. “Tae and I would get into arguments over stupid shit all the time, and Kook would always be there to get us to see eye-to-eye. I didn’t know how to help them. I’m not good at that; he was.”

And then you saw it: you saw the past in his eyes. Slowly, it unraveled, and you watched as the three of them practiced day in and day out while you glared at them across the field back in college. You remembered being angry, but you hadn’t known why, and now . . . now you realized you had been envious of the fact that they were . . . friends. While you had none, they had each other. 

To see the three of them in completely separate places now . . . made your head spin and spin and spin. Never once did you think they’d do anything without each other, and now . . . now you were watching the past crumble through Jimin’s sad eyes.

It was almost as if you could see the moment they went their separate ways. Kook alone. Jimin and Taehyung together . . . but . . . distant . . . 

The distance was clear on Jimin’s face, and when he spoke, he spoke with a certain type of nostalgia that you knew all too well. “I knew what I had to do,” he continued, those sad eyes of his not leaving yours. “I chose Tae. I would’ve chosen them both, but I couldn’t . . . so I stayed by Tae’s side. I knew how they both felt. I knew that I could play neutral all I wanted, but Kook was gonna leave and I had to either go with him or stay with Tae.” He shook his head as he chewed on his inner cheek. “And I couldn’t let Tae go through this alone . . . and—and there wasn’t enough time to fix what happened between them, but I thought Kook would be OK. I would’ve fought harder if I knew—”

His words cut off, getting tangled around his tongue as the lump in his throat rose higher and higher. There was no way to tell when it’d finally choke him. What would happen then?

“He was just always so . . . fine,” Jimin whispered more to himself than to you, shrugging his shoulders as if he couldn’t believe it. “I thought he’d be OK. I thought he’d ignore all of this and win that medal we all dreamed of . . . but then he left the team and Wooshik . . he told me where he ended up.” He shook his head once more, his eyes now trained on the wall behind you, tears still glossing over and threatening to spill. “I didn’t think he was . . . struggling. I just thought he was hiding. I didn’t realize he was . . . “

“Well . . . I guess we all have our own ways of dealing with . . . guilt,” you heard yourself spit out before you could stop the words from flowing. You didn’t know why, you just . . . you just . . . you were just so angry. But at him? That you weren’t sure or.

It seemed Jimin was as shocked by your words as you were. His eyes met yours once again, blinking quickly, causing a few tears to slip down his cheeks. He quickly wiped them away, shaking his head in the process. “Don’t do this,” he muttered under his breath.

But you almost couldn’t control it. You were more parts anger than anything else, and there he was, the perfect subject to take it out on. Putting up a fight was useless, your mind was on autopilot. “Tae’s at home bedridden I assume and you’re here? On a date?” you hissed out through gritted teeth. “Mmm, I don’t know . . . sounds—”

“Don’t,” Jimin quickly cut you off, mirroring your anger. “You of all people don’t get to judge me.”

You raised your brows. “Why not?”

“You—“ he shoved an accusatory finger your way— “left him too once.”

And just like that, his words pierced your chest, making the anger spread into your bloodstream. “That’s different,” you bit out, eyes now shamefully trained on the ground.

“Is it?”

Scoffing, you shook your head. “Don’t turn this around. You—”

But Jimin wasn’t having it. “He loved you, you know?” he spat like the words had burned his throat.

The world stopped.

A beat of silence. 

Two beats.

Another.

. . . You could have sworn your heart thud in your chest. But . . . but that could’ve been your breath catching in your throat. 

And then you heard it: your own shocked voice. “What?” you all but gasped out, taking a subconscious step back.

Jimin furrowed his brows as if . . . confused (?) by your reaction. “He loved you,” he went on, keeping a watchful eye on your face. “I don’t know why or how considering you were such a horrible person the entirety of college . . . but he stuck by you. I’ve never seen anyone love somebody that much. Hell, I didn’t think it was real, and I couldn’t understand why . . . but he loved you, and when you pulled that shit on him; when you left, me and Tae saw it. He didn’t talk to anyone for months.” 

He loved you? He . . .

“He slowly came back, and a year later I thought he was fine. I thought he was finally over you, but . . . “ Jimin wet his lips— “I guess some old habits never die.”

Jungkook loved . . . you? In college he—But, no! He thought you guys had been friends. You were the one who had hated him, and he had thought of you as a friend. There was no love there. No, no there couldn’t be. He did not love you. He couldn’t have. No. No . . . No!

“And now you’re here . . . defending him . . . and I just can’t wrap my head around it,” Jimin finished off, his words more stable now. Then, slowly but surely, he nodded as if he had made peace with his thoughts. “But I get it. We all make our own choices. You made yours, but you . . . you don’t get to stand here now after everything and judge me when you left him in the dark for years. I made my choices, and I regret them most days, but it is what it is. You of all people should know that.”

But if he had loved you, then . . . had you broken his heart? 

You knew you’d done quite a lot of damage on him, but you hadn’t considered that you’d broken . . . the very thing you’d come to grow so fond of. Because truly, over the past months, you’d come to know him more than you knew yourself, and you realized he’d always had this softness about him. He’d always had a good heart. That was what you had come to admire most about him. And if Jimin was right, that meant you had hurt that very part of him.

If he was telling the truth, you had done so much more damage to Jungkook than you had thought. Perhaps it had been you who had ruined him.

That . . . that made your rage boil. “I do,” you ended up biting out, your voice harsher than it had ever been as your rage boiled and boiled, nearly bubbling and spilling everywhere. “I regret every mistake I’ve ever made and I know hurting him is at the top of the list, but you knew that, too, and you still repeated what I did wrong. Why didn’t you go back for him? Why didn’t you, I don’t fucking know, try?! Why didn’t you fucking try?! Huh?!”

Those words left your lips and before you knew it, you were face to face with Jimin, not even two inches apart. Your breathing was ragged and you could feel your rage burning through your bloodstream, turning it to rot, surely burning through your skin. 

Had it reached your heart?

“Why didn’t you try?” Jimin mumbled, the anger gone from his eyes as he took in your expression. And his words . . . this wasn’t a question. He wasn’t asking why you hadn’t tried to help Jungkook back then, no . . . he was reminding you that you hadn’t tried for a reason. 

Admit it or not, you hadn’t let him in because you hated yourself. And making yourself hate him, blame him, was easier than admitting you didn’t want to live with the person you had become. 

That was why you hadn’t tried—you were exhausted with yourself, with everything. 

And only then did it hit you. As those final words left your lips, you realized why you were so fueled with anger. You realized why you had chosen Jimin as your punching bag, and you realized what you had done. 

Because, really, you weren’t angry with him. No, you were angry with yourself. It was like he had said . . . you had left Jungkook once, too. 

Looking at Jimin was like looking in the mirror. What he had done to Jungkook was nothing close to what you had done to him. So being angry at him . . . hurting him was an excuse to ignore who you were really angry with: . . . yourself.

And finally, Jimin spoke for the both of you. “Because . . . I was exhausted,” he mumbled through a heavy exhale. “You don’t get it . . . I’ve stayed by Tae’s side for a year, and I’d do it again and again, but that doesn’t mean that there isn’t a part of me that doesn’t blame him, too.”

Wetting your lips, you took a step back, your anger slowly turning to guilt. This wasn’t his fault. Why did you blow up on him like that? Fuck.

Hating him wouldn’t make you hate yourself less . . .

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“After the incident, it was like he just disappeared,” Jimin went on, his voice equal parts solemn and guilty. “Badminton was his dream. I think Tae loved it the most out of all of us, and just like that, it was gone. And without it, he just faded away. I don’t even think he blames Kook. He’s just . . . gone. It’s like he’s been on autopilot for the better half of a year.”

Fuck. Jimin wasn’t to blame. Just like Jungkook, this entire situation was just one big mess. No one was to blame. Fuck, no one was to blame, and yet . . . you were sure they all blamed themselves. 

How could you have been so blinded by rage you hadn’t noticed this before?

“And I . . . I have had to live for the both of us,” he confessed, finally raising his head to meet your watchful gaze. “I knew what I was getting into, and I did it because I care for him, but I didn’t realize . . . I didn’t realize that . . . you can be there for someone as much as you want but there comes a time when caring for someone makes you stop caring about yourself.” His brows twitched only once, but the action carried a world of pain. “Tae is my best friend. They both were, and I . . . I didn’t just lose Jungkook that day. I had to live for Tae, and in doing so, I stopped living for myself.”

I stopped living for myself. Closing your eyes, you were only reminded how wrong you had been. The three of them were all in pain, refusing to admit it. They all blamed themselves, you were sure of it. 

But no one was to blame.

No one.

Still, you stayed silent, keeping these thoughts to yourself. Your eyes fluttered back open, and it was as if you were staring the past in the face once again. And god, did it have such a guilty conscience.

“I know it’s wrong, but there will always be a part of me that resents him for it,” Jimin went on, sighing as his words left his lips. “And he—” he gestured back to the karaoke room; back to where Yoongi still resided— “is the only reason I didn’t lose myself. He is the only reason I can fucking breathe just for a second . . . so that is why I’m here. I don’t care if it’s selfish. He’s my sliver of happiness, which is why . . . “ he wet his lips, staring at you as if you were a reflection of his own past “ . . . which is why I don’t blame Jungkook for the things he did for you back then. So . . . I don’t blame you either but . . . but I guess what I’m trying to say is . . . I know what I did. I will always regret it and I will always wish I could turn back time and make it all go away, but I can’t.”

Which is why I don’t blame Jungkook for the things he did for you back then, you repeated in your head once more. Was Jimin right? Had Jungkook truly loved you? 

And then, one more final question popped into your head: Did he still?

“Min?” 

The singular name brought you and Jimin out of your little bubble. The two of you turned your heads in the direction of the sound, finding Yoongi had peeked his head out of the karaoke room. His dark eyes shifted between you and his boyfriend, a skeptical look plastered across his face. 

“Everything’s fine,” Jimin replied with a tight smile.

That was when you saw it—the way Yoongi’s face softened instantly with just a couple of words from Jimin. You recognized that look. You’d seen that very expression reach Jungkook’s face time after time again in the past months you’d spent getting to know each other more and more and . . . 

Wait . . . 

Wait, wait . . . you recognized that look, but in a deeper way, in a visceral way. Yes, you’d seen Jungkook wear it many times, but . . . you could have sworn you’d seen it somewhere else, too. You could have sworn you’d catch glimpses of it on your own face when you’d walk past a mirror or catch your reflection in a puddle. And you’d always catch sight of it when . . . Jungkook was up ahead or behind or near. 

Yes, that was it. You’d seen that expression on your own face when Jungkook was involved. But . . . did that mean? 

No, no . . . no. Stop it. You couldn’t think about what this meant or that meant or this or that and those and them or whatever! No. 

Right now . . . right now you had to focus. Jungkook had run off and you . . . you needed to find him, but—

Your gaze fixated on Jimin once again. What happened back then . . . He wasn’t to blame. No one was. They, all three of them, were in pain, blaming themselves and yet too scared to face it. None of them would dare to either. But it was so clear that Jungkook missed Taehyung and Jimin as well. And now . . . now it was clear just how much Jimin missed the both of them . . . 

And well, you could do something about that. Perhaps then this guilt would leave you alone. Perhaps then things could be set right. Maybe then things could be the way they were supposed to be before life got in the way.

The answer was clear, and you couldn’t stop yourself. “Jimin,” you began, clearing your throat and interrupting the conversation between him and his boyfriend. Once his eyes were on you, with a clearing of your throat, you continued. “I’m sorry . . . for blowing up on you. I didn’t realize that—nevermind—just . . . Jungkook . . . he misses you . . . and Tae. I can see that. He’s . . . He doesn’t hate you, you know? He blames himself, yes, but he’s not angry with either of you. I think he just wants you guys back . . . so . . . if there’s any way . . . ask Hoseok for my number.” You paused for only a second to swallow. “You shouldn’t have to live with regrets.”

A beat of silence followed your words once again, almost as if it were mocking you. But instead of turning your words to shit, Jimin welcomed the silence. He embraced it as a small smile lifted onto his lips. And then . . . then he nodded.

It was a silent agreement, but it was good enough for you. 

This could be it.

A new leaf.

For him.

For Jungkook.

For Jungkook, you affirmed, and with that thought, you nodded back. “It was nice to meet you, Yoongi,” you mumbled genuinely, before your eyes shifted back to Jimin once again. Another nod from you. “Jimin. Tell Hoseok that Kook and I went to eat, yeah? We’ll see him at practice tomorrow.”

“Hey—“ Jimin piped up before you could leave— “remember to live for yourself, too, yeah?”

And you nodded back with a smile.

The world fell away piece by piece as you turned from them, their faces still glued to the back of your mind, but you couldn’t waste any more time. As it was, your anger had already bubbled over and burned enough bridges that night to waste a lifetime. You should’ve kept your cool. You should’ve tried to see everything from a bigger picture, but this rage trapped inside you seemed to be bigger than you knew how to control. Sure, it had subsided now . . . but only because . . . because that was what was right.

You didn’t know how to explain it, but . . . Jungkook had become someone important to you, perhaps the most important in your life. You’d never felt that before. You never thought you’d be able to care about someone this much before, but . . . you did, and that was enough to put away that anger boiling deep inside you just enough to do right . . . for him.

Did that make you crazy? Maybe . . . maybe it did, but there wasn’t much in you to care about things like that. All you wanted was to find him. If you found him, everything would be alright. It would. You swore it would. 

Your feet didn’t feel like your own as you raced down the halls of the karaoke bar. The lights had begun to blur together in your vision, creating mixes of blue and purple racing in your peripheral. You’d even looked into room after room, disturbing group after group, solely searching for him.

Until . . . with your heart pounding in your chest, your breathing uneven, and a relentless shiver shaking throughout your body, through the muted colorful lights, you caught sight of a man’s figure crouched down in a corner of the building. His hands were covering his ears, his face hidden in his knees as he breathed heavily, but he was there. You’d found him. Instantly, your muscles relaxed. Exhale.

You’d found him. “Ju—” but you quickly cut yourself off before you could draw any attention to yourself.

Think. You had to think. You couldn’t approach him like you normally would. You couldn’t go in all thorns and nails on a chalkboard. This was different. This was what you had read about. What you realized you had never been good at—comfort.

How could you comfort? You had never been nurturing. Hell, you’d read something once that told you some women just weren’t meant to be mothers, and you knew you were one of them. You knew you couldn’t didn’t know how to be . . . soft.

But you had to try. For him . . .

And then you remembered:

Five Ways You Can Help Someone With an Anxiety Disorder:

Validate Their Feelings by Letting Them Know It’s Okay Not to Be Okay

Don’t Tell Them to Calm Down

Encourage Them to Focus on Things They Can Change

Help Them to Help Themselves

Discourage the Use of Alcohol or Drugs to Cope With Anxiety

But . . . but . . . fuck! How was that supposed to help you now? Let them know it’s OK not to be OK. OK . . . You swallowed hard. You could do that. Focus on things they can change. OK, OK. You could do that, too.

Hesitantly, you took a step forward.

But shit! You paused, halting in your movements. What if that didn’t work? What if you didn’t do it right? What if it only made it worse? What if you only made him worse?

Just . . . just . . . fuck, OK! Just— 

“Kookie,” you heard yourself say clearly before you knew you had even opened your mouth.

In response, his breathing stopped but he didn’t raise his head to meet your gaze. Instead . . . “It’s OK. Just go back . . . “ he muttered out, just loud enough for you to hear, but he still wouldn’t meet your eyes. “I’m OK.”

I’m OK. You swallowed hard. No . . . no, he wasn’t, and unlike all those years ago, you were not going to leave him behind. Not now. Never again.

It didn’t take another second for you to cross the distance to him before you sank to your knees right in front of him, reminding yourself not to startle him. “I’m here,” was all you said, fighting against everything harsh and rough in you, trying desperately to be soft.

The thing was: people could tell you countless amounts of things on how to help someone, but . . . you’d never get it. You weren’t good at it. You couldn’t do that, be that. You knew him, too. He wasn’t textbook like all the things you’d read up on. You assumed no one was . . . so . . . you’d like to add one more to the list: ask him how you could help.

“What—” you inhaled sharply— “What do you need me to do?”

Still, Jungkook would not meet your eyes, but he didn’t need to. You saw his body shift. You saw him process your words. And you knew he wasn’t going to hide from you. “Just—” he all but choked out— “ground me. Put your arms. Squeeze . . . hard.”

And just like that, you acted quickly. You didn’t waste any time as you scooted behind him, wrapping your arms around his figure, locking him into your body, and squeezing as he’d instructed. Resting your cheek on his back, you continued hugging his body to yours, listening to his heartbeat as you did so. Squeezing your eyes shut, you begged for this to help him, but the beat of his racing heart met your ears like a drum.

It wasn’t enough. You had to keep going. 

“OK, OK, what else?” you asked him, your voice clear and calm . . . and soft.

But the beat of his heart was the only thing you heard.

Ground him. You squeezed harder. “You’re here with me. I’ve got you. You’re safe. Speak to me, Koo,” you all but begged.

“Tell me something,” he mumbled, and you nearly exhaled in relief. “Please, say anything.”

Nodding quickly, you tried to scrounge up something, anything. “OK, um, um,” you stuttered out, racking your brain over and over again, until finally . . . “Do you remember when we were kids and my parents rented that cabin for the summer? You had this fake tattoo of a dragon that you really really wanted to put on your arm right—“ you grabbed his forearm, pressing your thumb into a spot— “here, but I wanted everything you had so I just had to have the tattoo. I whined and whined until you finally let me have it. And yet, in the end, my mom forgot to take off the plastic so neither of us ended up with the damn tattoo and we were both pissed.” Smiling against his back, you readjusted your grip on him, holding him closer than before, perhaps so close your souls could almost touch. “Your mom made us hold hands until we got over it.”

And with a small smile on your face, you heard it . . . 

His heart rate had started to slow, his breathing becoming more controlled as he tried his hardest to breathe in deep and exhale long. Was it? Was it working? OK. OK. Speak more. Speak—

“Yeah, and you wouldn’t stop crying, meanwhile, I won that thing in a raffle,” he interrupted before you could rack your brain for another memory. 

Wetting your lips, you replied, “But it worked, didn’t it?” Your eyes danced around the room, the memory almost as clear as day. The smile on your face grew. “We were sitting by the fire, getting way too messy with those s’mores you swore you knew how to make.”

“We camped outside the entire night,” Jungkook mumbled under his breath, his shoulders shaking slightly as a small laugh escaped him.

“Yeah, until you almost pissed your pants because you thought you heard a bear,” you remarked, the smile on your face too wide to contain.

“Hey!” he quipped back as his hand fell to your arm. “I was like nine.”

In shock, you watched as Jungkook slowly raised his hands to cover your arms, hugging them to his chest. Then, you rested your ear against his chest, and you realized his heartbeat had returned almost to normal . . . and . . . and . . . his breathing had calmed. And then you saw it, a drop of . . . something had wet his shirt where your cheek laid . . . and you realized . . . you were crying.

Was this softness that you felt? Or weakness?

The truth was: you didn’t care. Not now. 

Quickly, you wiped your damp cheeks on your shoulder and sniffled. “Scaredy cat,” you mumbled with a soft laugh.

Jungkook breathed out a laugh through his nose. “Brat,” he hummed as he squeezed your forearm.

A beat of silence met the two of you then. You nestled closer, holding him until he finally gave you the go-ahead that he was alright. You’d stay there all night if you had to. And he welcomed this with open arms, holding you as close as he could in his position, and just letting things . . . be, it seemed. 

Until, finally, after what seemed like hours, he whispered against your forearm, “I’m sorry.”

And you couldn’t help yourself. Your brows pinched together, confusion revisiting you as you asked, “For what?”

“You don’t need this,” was his only answer.

Another beat of silence.

And then: “You’ll always be unhappy when it comes to me.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, your only response was to hug him tighter. Fuck.

It is not the moon, I tell you. It is these flowers lighting the yard.

As the night droned on, writings upon writings popped into your head as you tried to make sense of this, of tonight, of everything; one, in particular, visited you too frequently to be ignored; one that you had held onto for years now. You supposed it was a silly thing—realizing just how many poems you had trapped in your head, but you had three years of isolation, three years of loneliness, three years where you only read and read and read. Those three years . . . poems had been all you had.

You supposed it would always end this way.

I hate them. I hate them as I hate sex, the man’s mouth sealing my mouth, the man’s paralyzing body—

And like the poem stated, these words remained true to you. You hated many things, perhaps too much. In those three years, you had grown to hate another’s touch, perhaps because you craved it so viscerally. But . . . the scent of mock orange wasn’t in the form of a man for you. To you . . . the scent of mock orange smelled a lot like a badminton racket.

and the cry that always escapes, the low, humiliating premise of union—

Perhaps you had grown to hate badminton. You hadn’t even realized it, but . . . looking back at it now . . . you had done everything to be someone . . . to be the best, and you had wanted that. You had really wanted that. Sometimes you thought it was the only thing that would ever make you happy, but . . . 

But . . . 

In my mind tonight I hear the question and pursuing answer fused in one sound that mounts and mounts and then is split into the old selves, the tired antagonisms. Do you see? We were made fools of. And the scent of mock orange drifts through the window.

But perhaps . . . like growing pains . . . a part of you had outgrown badminton. Could this be real? Could you really have outgrown the one thing you had ever loved? And if you truly had . . . what did that mean for you now?

How can I rest? How can I be content when there is still that odor in the world?

That odor.

That damned odor of mock orange blossoms.

. . . You had smelt them the day of the incident. The stench had followed you to the hospital, crawling under your skin and resting there for the months to follow. They hadn't even bloomed then, yet you still smelt them every time you breathed. When your heart felt less heavy and your mind was clearer than the day before, when it became month after month after month, the scent finally rid itself from your senses. And you thought you might have actually been allowed to rest without that odor in the world.

But as another month melted into the next, and you tried to get back onto your feet again, the scent of mock orange drifted back into your life. You, of course, ignored this, eager to get back on your feet. You’d been able to take a few steps, which eased the ache you had been carrying around for the past few months. You knew it was stupid to imagine you could actually be healed after a few months, but you didn’t care. You just wanted to walk again . . . maybe run . . . maybe play again with a racket in your hand.

It was nice—being able to dream for a few minutes.

But it did only last for a short time. Soon you being you had gotten too cocky in your progress. You wanted to try longer walks. You wanted to see if you could run.

Then as you ignored the warning signs from your parents, from your doctors, from your nurses, the second they allowed you out on the hospital courtyard, you took off, attempting to run. But . . . before you knew it, something snapped and . . . you were tumbling to the ground, crying in pain.

And just like that . . . the scent of mock orange drifted in and remained in the air.

You remembered just laying there after that, contemplating just how much this would set you back as the nurses hurried you back to your room to be examined. You wondered if you had fucked yourself entirely. You wondered if this was it and you would never be able to play or even walk again. You wondered what that made you now. You might as well have not even been a person anymore, because back then . . . badminton had been all that you had. Back then, if you weren’t the best; if you weren’t someone great, then you were nothing. 

And yes, you knew you had never been particularly interesting, but you never thought you were . . . nothing. The scent of mock orange tainting the air reminded you of the truth—without badminton, you might as well have been no one.

As you were escorted back to your room, examined, and left to rest, you laid there, the scent of mock orange being your sole company, and you realized you hated them. You hated those stupid, putrid flowers as you hated feeling . . . less. You hated them as you hated yourself.

Guilt might have been your ghost, but the scent of mock orange was your shadow.

How could you rest? How could you be content when there was still that odor in the world?

You were sure you never would.

And truly . . . how could you rest? If you were constantly trying to be better and better? When would you finally be the best? Could you be? No . . . no, you knew you couldn’t, but then who were you?

Who were you without . . . badminton?

That was the question on your mind as you flicked at your ramyeon with your chopsticks. You supposed like the mock orange blossoms, your coming-of-age escapades did not deliver the fruits of its promise. Becoming someone was all you had ever wanted out of life. You wanted glory. You wanted greatness. And yet . . . why did the thought of badminton slowly and slowly start to turn into this . . . dark thing? Why was it that when badminton was involved . . . bad things happened?

Now, you didn’t believe in signs and you surely wouldn’t start now . . . but it became evident that you had been made a fool of, wishing on a shooting star that was on its last breath. The scent of mock orange would drift in every time, reminding you that you would never reach that greatness again no matter how many times you tried. 

And that should’ve filled you with rage . . . jealousy . . . pain . . . but . . . you didn’t feel any of that. What you felt, at its core, was a gentle ache in your chest; the same kind of ache which came with nostalgia. 

You just couldn’t stop thinking of it. Actually . . . you hadn’t stopped thinking about that scent of mock orange since you saw Jimin earlier that night. He’d told you Taehyung had loved badminton the most . . . he told you he was a ghost of himself now because of what he lost. And then you began to think of what had happened to you . . . 

Those three years . . .

All you had ever thought about was getting back to the person you used to be. That was all you had cared about, and when you finally won that first game all those months ago . . . you had felt that same joy that you had always felt after a win. Except . . . this was different, you realized.

Remembering the win now, the image of you smashing the birdie down onto the court wasn’t what came to mind first. No, you remembered that day; you remembered the thrill of the win, but the image that came to mind first was Jungkook smiling down at you moments before you sprung into his arms.

Jungkook was what you remembered that day, not the look on the other team’s faces when you took home that winning title. And then you realized what you had been trying to ignore ever since you let your walls come down layer by layer: perhaps . . . perhaps there was more to life than badminton.

In the months you had let Jungkook in, you’d lived more than you had in your entire life. You’d laughed more, smiled more, felt more. You’d felt yourself be more. 

The scent of mock orange never visited you when he was around. It was like he was the real thing. You weren’t even sure if that made any sense. But . . . but . . . if you couldn’t smell those damned phony flowers, then perhaps Jungkook had taken their place. By chance . . . did he smell like an orange blossom? Without mocking, without malice, without trickery? Was he . . . real?

There was just something about the world that Jungkook had shown you that had a way of making everything just . . . mute. It was like before he’d shown you life through his eyes, everything had been loud, intense, brutal. And then . . . there he was, a bright smile on his face and the words ‘trust me’ leaving his lips as he held out his hand for you to take.

And you took it every time.

The scent of mock orange blossoms was left behind. And you began to wonder if just as you had outgrown your hatred for Jungkook . . . had you outgrown this visceral urge to hold a racket in your calloused hand?

Glancing down, you took in the image of your hand. The calluses were still there, the small cuts from accidental injuries, the bitten nails . . . they were all still there. Did they still fit around the base of a racket as they had three years ago?

You blinked, flexing your hand. Whatever, you decided. It would be tomorrow’s problem. (But we all know how good you were about . . . not . . . getting in over your head (so like, give yourself five minutes and you’d be thinking about it again).)

Whatever. Whatever. Whatever.

Anyway.

Focus on the present.

Yes, that was the plan. You nodded at your thoughts as you blinked, forcing yourself back to the present.

The scent of mock orange blossoms still lingered in the air as you tried grounding yourself to reality. Ignoring them was the best you could do. Because right now, you were supposed to be present, aware, and solid. You were supposed to be Jungkook’s shoulder to lean on after what he had endured at the karaoke bar. You were supposed to know what to do . . . but you didn’t know anything. You just . . . you just wanted him to be alright . . . 

And all you could focus on was the fact that the two of you hadn’t spoken since you held him about—

You checked your phone.

—an hour and a half ago.

It had been quiet between the two of you ever since. It had been even quieter the second you stepped inside the nearest convenience store. (Who knew how long ago that was.)

The convenience store was perhaps too quiet now. The two of you had bought some instant ramyeon—one spicy, one mild and sat at the nearest tables outlooking the streets of Busan. Many people had walked back and forth, going about their night (well . . . now early morning), but not once had either of you decided to make little guesses about their lives as you had done many times before. No instead . . . Jungkook was silent. And you were too. 

But . . . you didn’t like the silence; not like . . . this. Slowly, with that thought plaguing your mind, you turned your head toward him.

Jungkook sat beside you, his head lowered slightly as he stared blankly out the window. He hadn’t touched his ramyeon once, which was evident as his chopsticks were all too clean without any stain or color. He just kept staring out the window, following those who walked by with his eyes all the while his tongue toyed with his lip ring. 

It was obvious why he was stuck in this limbo. Sure, of course it was all too obvious, but that didn’t make it any easier. Knowing why he was stuck like this wouldn’t do anything to . . . help.

And suddenly you were reminded of what Jimin had told you that night. Remember to live for yourself, too, he’d said before you left him. He’d told you it was impossible to live for two, but . . . why? Why couldn’t you? Why couldn’t you at least . . . help? You supposed the problem in that was the fact that you had no idea how to help, and that scared you more than you’d liked to admit.

You just . . . you just wanted him to be OK . . .

“You gonna eat that?” you heard yourself ask him before you knew what you were even saying.

Jungkook turned to you instantly with an almost shocked expression on his face as if he couldn’t remember where he was or who he was, but his eyes still shined with recognition as if he could still recognize you despite it all. He blinked slowly, eyes drifting over your face, and then . . . then he slowly started to relax. His shoulders slumped slightly as the stiff muscles in his face loosened. And once he returned to the present, his eyes drifted from your questioning expression to the ramyeon in front of him . . . and then he was shoving a huge bite into his mouth all the while maintaining eye contact with you while he chewed.

You shot him a blank look, because you knew what he was doing—avoiding the inevitable by trying to make light of the situation. “I wasn’t going to force-feed it to you, you know?” you ended up mumbling as you continued to watch him chew, half making sure he ate all of it and half not sure where to rest your gaze.

“Don’t look at me like that then,” Jungkook muttered, his words muffled from the food in his mouth.

“Like what?” you questioned as you leaned closer to him, analyzing the crease between his furrowed brows.

His eyes shifted to the ground ever so slightly before he turned back to meet your gaze. “Like you pity me or something,” he huffed, jutting out his bottom lip into a pout as he averted his gaze to his bowl of ramyeon.

And you couldn’t help but let the corners of your mouth perk up into a small smile. He was still the boy you remembered when you were kids. He hadn’t changed too much. He was still . . . him. Only now, you had grown to appreciate how he was unlike in the past. Now . . . when he flashed you that pout, you wasted no time in waving him off with a small sigh. 

“Oh, Jungkookie,” you all but mused as you grabbed a napkin from the table, “sometimes it’s like you’re still that whiny little kid I grew up with.” You brought the napkin to his lips, gently dabbing. “You really haven’t changed at all, you know?”

With his eyes flicking from the napkin to your face, he timidly licked his lips and mumbled, “I was not whiny.”

You breathed a small, barely audible laugh. “Mmm, if it helps you sleep at night,” you hummed with a small shrug as your hand, now discarding the napkin, reached his face once again, except this time, you barely thought about your next move. Instead, you let your hand drift to his hair gently curling the long, dark strands behind his ear. 

And he just stared at you, his dark eyes warm and gentle as they always had been. His brows twitched as you alternated between playing with his earrings and toying with the longest strands of his hair. He almost seemed . . . at peace, and you wondered if this could be considered a moment of happiness?

Perhaps . . . 

It was moments like this that you wondered how the sick smell of mock orange blossoms had ever ruined your life. 

But like the poem described . . . the smell wasn’t something to be forgotten. It eventually seeped back in. And just as Jungkook had almost allowed himself to sink into your touch, his eyes turned back to the window where he caught a glimpse of his reflection.

It was almost soul-crushing how fast his face fell.

Jungkook took one last look at his reflection, shaking his head slightly as he averted his gaze to the table and clenched his jaw. "Fuck,” he whispered out, his voice hoarse, “this is so fucking annoying. Everything feels so off. I just . . . “ His words tangled around his tongue as he dropped his head to his hands. “Everyone always looks at me like I'm some fucking problem. Like if they get to my core, they can fix me. But I can't be fucking fixed. I fucked up. I ruined my best friend’s life. I don't deserve to be fixed."

And suddenly it was as if you were twelve years old again, seeing your mother cry for the first time and not knowing what to do or what to say. You had grown up that way—not being able to comfort. It had always been who you were. You’d never known what to do to . . . help. 

Yes, you could follow the directions of some online article and you could ask and ask and ask how to help him, but would it ever be enough? And what if he said he was fine when he was so clearly not? What then? How were you supposed to help then?

God, you wished you knew the answers. 

“You’re not broken, Koo,” you started with, your voice just as small as how you felt in that moment.

“What if I am?” he mumbled into his hands. Slowly, he raised his head, and for another time that night, you faced that crushed look on his face. For another time that night, you saw the things he had been dealing with all on his own. You saw him. “What if I . . . ?”

And then you realized: you didn’t know how to comfort, but you did know how to bear things well. You knew how to crumble up the pain of not being good enough. You knew how to deal with a dream being crushed. You knew how to just . . . deal, and if Jungkook needed help, you could carry the load for him.

So, swallowing your own emotions bubbling up in your throat, you began slowly, "I know I can’t say . . . anything. I know that no matter what I do it's not gonna' make you feel better, because shit doesn't work that way. I'm not some fuckin' hero. I know that. You just need to know that I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere, okay? I'm never leaving your side." Nodding your head, you could feel your eyes burning again. But you didn’t care. The world could see you cry for him and only him and you’d accept it with a heavy heart.

A beat of silence followed your confession.

The world exhaled.

You inhaled as you rested your hand on top of his moments before you began again, "You're—I care about you. . . and—and that means that no matter what time it is, if you feel like you're gonna do something to yourself, then you call me. We can go throw shit off a bridge or—or punch dummies. You need to scream? Then we can go scream until our lungs bleed, okay? Whatever. It doesn't matter. Just—" you squeezed his hand as your heart pulsed in pain in your chest— "You're not alone."

Though the expression on his face didn’t lift, Jungkook accepted your hand, taking it within his grasp to intertwine your fingers together with his. “It’s been months . . . and I still feel like this . . . “ he trailed off, gently shaking his head as he turned back to his reflection in the window.

Instantly, your free hand found his cheek, slowly turning his head so his eyes would only face yours. “I don’t think healing is . . . linear,” you admitted softly. “If I think about it . . . it took me years to be able to play again. Mental shit has to be like that too, right?”

His eyes fluttered shut under your touch. “I don’t know,” he softly sighed as his other hand reached to rest over the one you had caressing his cheek. “I’m just tired of feeling like this.” He swallowed thickly. “I just . . . it’s like . . . I watch everyone else live their lives while I endure mine. And—And I don't know what to do. Sometimes everything just gets so intense, and it just happens. It's like it's some fucked up kind of instinct. Trust me, I wish I could feel something other than this, but I don't feel anything. It's all fucking numb." He nearly dropped your hand, but you clung on tighter, refusing to let him slip through your fingers. "I don't fucking know what I feel. I just . . . I feel like a fucking ghost."

And for the second time that night, you watched the once never-bothered Jungkook reveal another layer of himself to you. 

I feel like a fucking ghost, rang in your ears again.

Jungkook squeezed his eyes tight and slowly . . . a single tear trickled from the corner of his eye down the side of his nose. 

I feel like a fucking ghost, once more, and you knew the words which would leave your lips before you even had the chance to think.

"Haunt me, then," you found yourself breathing out in a hushed whisper as your thumb caught his fallen tear, wiping it away with ease.

His eyes cracked open, a shocked expression crawling onto his face. "What?” he barely got out as he searched your eyes for anything that would tell him you hadn’t meant to say . . . that.

But you had.

Haunt me, you’d told him, and you knew you’d meant it. The words didn’t have to cross your mind for you to know what you spoke was the truth.

Haunt me.

Haunt me.

Haunt me.

Give it to me, and breathe.

That is what you had wanted to say. That is what you had meant. You could only hope he knew you were telling the truth.

Tilting your head to the side, you breathed out the air in your lungs. "I told you before, and I meant it,” you began in a gentle tone. “I'll carry the weight for you. All of the pain, the anger, the hatred . . . all of it . . . I will carry it all. Give it all to me, and I will find a way to deal with it." Squeezing his hand once again, you offered up a small smile. "You're not alone anymore, Kook. You do not have to deal with all your shit on your own. You've got me, and you can hate me, you can push me away, you can leave me stranded with no way home . . . but I promise you, I'm not going anywhere."

His brows twitched. “I can’t do that. You’ve got too much to think about.”

You shrugged with a roll of your eyes as you dropped your hand to your intertwined ones. “Like what? I’ve never thought a day in my life. Barely passed college with a 2.7,” you hummed, your voice a little more chipper now as you tried to keep his eyes on you and coax a smile out of him. “I’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“The games,” he muttered with a small sniffle. “You’re shit at multitasking.”

That time, you did smile wider. There he was. “I can manage,” you mused as you leaned into him, nudging him with your elbow. “How about let’s go feed the fish by our hotel after practice tomorrow, hmm? To relax? Yeah?”

And then . . . you could have sworn he nodded. Maybe it was to himself or maybe it was to you, but you knew what it meant. You would accept a nod.

“You gonna eat that?” he asked a second later, gesturing to the half-eaten bowl of ramyeon in front of you.

And you knew he would be OK by your side. You would make sure of it. (You were the older one after all.)

So with a small smile still on your face, you detached your hands from his and reached for your bowl, scooting it toward him. Quietly, he took it from you and began to devour what you had left.

Yeah . . . he was still the same kid you knew growing up. And that . . . that was enough to make your heart feel warm.

It made you wonder if you could ever be . . . warm . . . like him. Unlike this cold, hollow shell you were so used to. Was that even written in your books? 

Wetting your lips, your eyes fell to your lap, only to be met with the image of Jungkook’s hand resting on your thigh, secured under the holes in your ripped jeans. It seemed without you noticing, Jungkook had absentmindedly reached for you, toying with the strings adorning the rips in your jeans, only to end up nestled underneath in an attempt to feel your skin against his.

It was sweet. Innocent. 

It made you feel warm, yet again, yes. But it also made you feel . . . fuck . . . what was that word?

And that was when you realized something . . .

“You’re wrong, you know?” you ended up muttering out before your brain could catch up with your impulse.

Jungkook hummed, eyeing you. His eyes were still slightly puffy, causing your heart to swell in your chest.

How could he ever think he deserved this?

Wetting your lips, you confessed, “I’m a better person because of you. How could I ever be unhappy with that?”

Jungkook blinked, clearly shocked. Then, he began to toy with his lip ring before he sucked in a sharp inhale and nearly whispered, “All I want . . . is for you to be happy.”

And you couldn’t help but smile. It was warm. It was innocent. It was because of him. “Would you look at that?” you mused in a quiet voice. “Looks like we just came to an agreement.”

The corners of his lips twitched ever so slightly as he nodded once before the two of you resumed your late-night slash early-morning meal. He finished your food for you, and you watched, making sure he ate it all, all the while, the words, I’m a better person because of you rang throughout the air.

I’m a better person because of you.

How could I ever be unhappy with that?

And you knew you meant every word.

The scent of mock orange blossoms couldn’t reach you now. 

Not here. 

Not with him.

When you were a kid, every Barbie doll your mother ever bought you would end up scalped and decapitated. Now . . . morbid . . . you knew. You weren’t exactly sure why you resorted to . . . that, but playing with dolls just always meant ripping their heads off. You supposed it was kind of symbolic now. 

Maybe you were jealous that their lives were perfect and yours was . . . meh. Or maybe you really just really hated dolls.

You supposed there had always been a certain sickness to you; a certain uneasiness that came with being a preteen girl. You were told sweet sixteen was when the claws came out, but you began to question if yours had grown in long before then. Maybe you had been born like . . . this or maybe everyone just felt this way and spent most of their lives hiding it, because if not . . . 

. . . it felt like life was just some sick joke that you hadn’t clued in on yet.

Perhaps that was why you had become so keen on poetry: it said what you feared only you felt. 

Because really, you used to use pages out of books to fasten a joint in a pinch, too, and now it physically hurt to imagine ever even tearing a page. 

But words felt more comforting now. Sure, a racket felt like it fit into you like a hook in an eye, but now . . . now it felt just a tad more awkward than it had in the past. Words . . . words could never disappoint you, you decided long ago when they had been all that you had had.

There’s something soft in me—

You remembered reading long ago.

—we killed it and it’s rotting.

And maybe it was silly. Maybe it was dramatic, but words made things feel better. It made the world less scary. It made looking at Jungkook and wondering what this feeling in your chest was . . . not so scary. It made things . . . better.

So, you’d read, and you’d overanalyze, and you’d spend your time too wrapped up in words because it made everything that much bearable. Because it made the fact that your claws didn’t come in at sixteen so much easier to swallow; it made the fact that there was nothing soft about you alright.

Because maybe there had been something soft about you long ago. Or maybe you had killed it; maybe you had taken the softness and traded it for survival, only to discover all the rot inside of you that you had been trying to ignore for years now. 

Had the fire gotten a hold of you even back then? 

Is that why you no longer feared it? Because there was nothing left to fear? Did all this rot mean you were no different from a hit deer off the highway? 

. . . 

Whatever. 

It didn’t mean much, right? 

There were no birds coming to feast on your rotting corpse like the deer you wondered if you resembled. Nothing had come to consume your body as the world had consumed your soul. You were just there . . . 

With a sigh, you clicked off your phone, disregarding the poem as you shoved it all away into the back of the pocket of your athletic shorts. And as you stood there, you slowly glanced up only to meet the image of Jungkook walking toward you, a half-smile on his tired face with a duffel bag over his shoulder and a racket in his hand. You hadn’t seen him since you woke up that morning, quickly dressed and told him you’d meet him at the center after your run. And there he was, his hair in a small ponytail with a grin on his face at the sight of you. (You tried to ignore the urge to meet him halfway. (Also ignoring this . . . weird feeling blooming in your chest the second you saw him.))

“Well, it seems the sun’s decided to come out after all,” were the first words out of his mouth as he drew closer. And only then did you realize the day was dreary, filled with dark clouds and humid spring air. 

Tearing your eyes from the clouds above, your gaze landed on Jungkook just as he stopped before you, setting his duffel bag on the pavement beside you. He wasted no time either, poking your abdomen with his racket. “Bad day already?” he questioned, tilting his head to the side in thought.

Sighing, you shook your head. “No, just . . . thinking.”

“Well, stop, it’s aging you,” he lightly scolded.

You squinted your eyes into a glare. “You’re on one today.”

And well . . . all he did was wink. Of course.

Now . . . you knew how this looked. Just last night you and him were up into the early morning nursing each other’s wounds and now it seemed like it hadn’t even happened, but there was a reason for that. The two of you knew each other. He appreciated that you didn’t make it a big thing. You were always going to be there for him; that much was obvious by now given your history with each other. But if there was one thing the two of you both hated, it was being treated as if you were as fragile as glass. So for now . . . last night was a little secret between the two of you, and right now . . . right now you both had to get your heads in the game for the finals tomorrow.

So there . . . that was that. At least that was how it was for you. You were sure it was the same for him, but it wasn’t like you could think about that right now either. Right now you had to think of the tournament as draining as it felt to even acknowledge it.

But just as you were about to move past it all and grab your own duffle bag from the ground, Jungkook halted you with a hand on your wrist. Your eyes immediately snapped to his.

“You sure you’re good?” he questioned once more, his eyes wider now, more concerned than before.

(There’s something soft in me—

But you couldn’t burden him now. Not after what he went through last night. Because you knew him, and you knew he’d do anything to make things right for you . . . even if it meant ignoring his own troubles. And well, despite what you liked to claim, you couldn’t bear to do that to him.

—we killed it and it’s rotting.)

So instead, you blurted out: “Just stressed, you know?”

His brows pinched together slightly, but he didn’t press it further. “Right . . . “

And that was that. You didn’t let another word pass between the two of you as you picked up both your duffel bag and his and began to walk toward the training center. Jungkook, of course, fought you the entire way, trying to grab the duffel bags from your hands, but you insisted, tsking at him as he tried to outsmart you (as if he ever could).

While he repeatedly tried to snatch at least one bag from your grasp, your eyes were training on the scene in front of you. And it was only when the two of you turned the corner, now facing the center head-on, that you realized maybe the dark clouds had been a sign telling you to turn back; to stay inside; to practice somewhere else. Jungkook, on the other hand, was preoccupied, as, in your shock, he managed to snatch both duffel bags from your grasp. And he was mighty proud of himself too until he heard what you had seen . . . and slowly the grin fell from his lips as he turned to face the scene.

Because before the two of you, crowding in front of the training center were reporters on top of reporters with their big flashy cameras and notepads, and . . . behind them, spray painted across the building was your name . . . with the words ‘is a traitor’ too big not to notice.

There’s something soft in me—

we killed it and it’s rotting.

It happened in slow motion. The reporters caught sight of the two of you, and that was it. They were racing toward you in seconds, all screaming this and that, trying to get a story, and all you could do was stare in a state of confusion and shock as if you were waiting for a car to pop out of nowhere and hit you.

Off the highway like another deer.

You’d never seen something like it. Sure, you’d seen this stuff in movies, but never in real life, never because of . . . you. There had been articles published when you fell out of the badminton scene three years ago, but never something like this. Never something like this. Fuck, even the interview you’d done as a team were never like . . . this.

Off the highway like another girl.

What was . . . this?

It was bad. You knew it was bad, but you couldn’t hear anything. You could see Jungkook growing angry beside you, pushing the reporters back as he said . . . something . . . but you couldn’t quite make out what it was. You couldn’t hear it. You couldn’t hear anything.

You should have known better. You should've known there was a chance something bad would happen. Because like always, when you got that sick feeling in the pit of your stomach, when the dark clouds came out and the air felt wet but chilly but humid . . . something bad always happened. But you hadn't thought that the world would be so cruel, especially the day before the end.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to—

You felt the world caving in on you. You felt small. Small and disgusting. You wanted to disappear. You wanted to run, but you couldn't. Your mind had been the only thing to stay alert. Just run, you thought. Run. Run. Fucking run.

But you couldn't. You wanted to but the camera kept flashing and the reporters kept yelling and yelling and yelling and all you could make out was that everyone hated you. Suddenly, it was three years ago and everyone was pretending to be nice to you, then bitching about you behind your back. Suddenly, you were falling. Your hip was hurting. You were screaming and nobody cared. Nobody cared. Nobody—and then you were pushing everyone away again. Suddenly, you were alone again. And then you felt it. You felt it all, and then . . . then you couldn't breathe.

I can't breathe. You tried gasping for air, but it never stuck in your lungs. I can't breathe. You could have sworn this was what drowning felt like as your breaths came out quicker and quicker. Oh, my God, I can't fucking breathe.

You needed air. You needed to run.

Your eyes darted to the training center, and you knew what you had to do. You forced your legs to move as you tried to make it to the center. You’d be inside in a minute; you just needed a second. One second and you could breathe again.

But before you could even really move to make it, a hand was on your shoulder, and it wasn’t who you thought it’d be. No, it wasn’t a comforting touch; it was the touch of a reporter trying to make you stay in place just for you to answer their question. There was no making it out of this.

Glancing up, your eyes met the reporter’s and then you finally heard the words you’d been drowning out all morning: “Are the bribing rumors true?”

All air escaped your lungs. Bribing? You? “What?” you weakly asked (you’d never sounded like this before in your life, and yet . . . ).

But before anything else could escalate, Jungkook was stepping in front of you. His body blocked yours from the reporters, his hand carefully resting on your hip as he tucked you behind him while he mumbled, “Don’t bother—”

“What—” you blurted out before you could stop yourself— “What rumors?” 

You just . . . you wanted to know. Bribing? All you’d ever done in your career was try to be the best. You’d put blood and tears and sweat and everything into badminton, and this . . . this was how it repaid you. You’d fucked up your leg for it; fucked up your life; fucked up everything just to hold a fucking racket in your hand and now they wanted to say that you bribed your way into . . . into what? Success? You wanted to know the truth. You wanted to know.

But no one bothered giving you an answer. It was just question after question, confusing you more and more, and all you could come to the conclusion was the fact that the whole world must have thought you were as horrible as a person as you feared you were.

So, the final person asked, “Do you have anything to say?”

And all you could fathom was: “I—” you swallowed hard— “I . . . don’t care.”

That was it.

I don’t care, you’d said even though you did, because you always had. You cared too much. Too fucking much. And you were too much. And this was too much. And just . . . just . . . 

You didn’t bother thinking further. Your mind went blank as you tore yourself from the scene. Dropping your racket to the ground, you took a step backward. 

. . . And then you were gone.

Run, you’d told yourself, and finally, you listened.

And as you ran, you realized, things were easy for you when you could ignore them. If you spent your time worrying about everyone else, then there would be no more time left to worry about yourself. You supposed that was an issue on its own, but that was how you survived. 

A burnt child loves the fire. Yes, and you did. You loved it because it meant you’d have one more reason to survive. Survive enough and you wouldn’t have to deal with the aftermath. Just keep surviving the fire. That . . . that was what you were good at.

But you didn’t know how to deal with . . . this.

This wasn’t a fire. Far from it. 

It was almost as if you were stuck at the bottom of a lake, your foot trapped under a rock, unable to get to the surface. And no matter how hard you fought to unsheath yourself, you stayed trapped at the bottom, water threatening to clog your air pipes.

And the thing they don’t tell you about drowning: it only takes forty seconds.

Forty seconds turned into minutes then an hour, and you began to wonder how long you had been left at the bottom of that lake. How long until the water finally reached your lungs?

It was about half an hour ago when you’d finally found the pond just outside the hotel your team was staying in, that you’d finally searched up whatever the fuck had gotten you in so much shit.

Yunis Doubles Player Accused of Bribing Referee to Make Nationals, was the headline. Apparently, an anonymous inside source had come forward and claimed that you’d not only bribed your way into winning each tournament for your team, but on top of that, you were also taking whatever drug to help with your fucked leg.

And get this . . . apparently it was because once you won finals, you’d go on to sign for Russia, leaving Korea behind, essentially making yourself a traitor. So there it was. In less than a day, you were a traitor, a drug abuser, and a cheat. Because apparently, that was true. 

Whatever . . .  it didn’t matter anyway. Even though it wasn’t true, the media had made it so, so it was by default. And as if badminton hadn’t already been feeling like a chore, your love for it lessened and lessened into . . . this hate.

That was what you felt: hate. Had you become hatred now?

Had you become a ghost, too? . . . Had you always been? . . . 

“Don’t do it. You’ve got so much to live for,” you heard a voice say in a joking manner behind you just as you tossed another rock into the large pond below your dangling feet. (The voice had startled you all the same, nearing skyrocketing the rock out of your grasp, but we don’t dwell on that.)

Still . . . 

. . . you didn’t jump. There was no need to. Startled or not, there was no need to fear. You knew that voice, and it only ever filled you with comfort, nothing else.

So instead of answering, you dropped your head in shame, eyes on the koi fish swimming idly through the water below you as your hands tightened around the edge of the rickety bridge. 

Jungkook had found you. Somehow he always managed to make his way back to you, no matter how many times you pushed him away.

(It used to be annoying. Now it was just . . . well . . . it was something else now. It had grown into something . . . more . . .)

His footsteps grew closer. He was behind you now. Close, yet still so very distant.

Silence for only a beat more.

And then, he spoke.

“I was trying to find an excuse to come find you,” he murmured, his words unexpecting of a response as he sat down beside you, dangling his feet over the edge of the bridge.

And you . . . you stayed still, peeking at him through the corner of your eye. Sure enough, he was real, and he was sitting there dressed in his athletic clothes, some of his hair pulled back into a ponytail, while he held in his hands two pieces of . . . bread (?). 

Your brows scrunched in confusion. “Bread was your excuse?” you questioned, your voice quiet.

Jungkook glanced between you and the bread, then back at you until he settled on the bread, tapping a finger to the loaves. “Ah . . . right . . . well . . . buy one, get one free,” he curtly explained. His eyes drifted back to you, then, as he wet his lips and sighed. “You talked about wanting to feed the fish.” Add in a shrug. “Thought this might be where I’d find you . . . so—“ a clearing of his throat— “Just—Are you OK?”

And you couldn’t help it. You took him up on his offer, silently grabbing a loaf of bread from his hands and resting it on your lap. Your eyes followed it the entire way, watching as your hand began to rip a small piece from the corner. “I think,” you finally replied to his question just as you tossed the piece of bread into the water. “I can’t force people to believe me. So—” pausing for a second, you watched as two koi fought over the piece of bread— “whatever, right?”

Jungkook plucked a piece of the bread off, but instead of throwing it to the fish, he plopped it into his mouth, chewing in contemplation. “You were always the best player,” he mumbled through the mouthful. Plucking off another piece, he waved it in your direction, gesturing to you. “They can’t take that away.”

Maybe it was the sentiment or maybe it was how he’d begun to eat the bread he brought solely to feed the fish, but you couldn’t help but fight off a smile. Because when times were like this, you felt fine; you felt . . . almost good, but when you were out there neck-and-neck, trying to hit the birdie again and again, you felt . . . off.

It made you realize that one: badminton didn’t feel like it used to and two: you weren’t entirely sure that the accusation itself was the reason behind your anger. Because maybe it was easier to be angry or sad. It always had been. 

But as you ripped off another piece of bread to throw to the fish, it hit you. You weren’t exactly hard to figure out you’d like to think, so really, put two and two together and you get one burnt-out badminton player looking for an excuse to quit.

Fuck.

It really was that, wasn’t it?

You didn’t want it to be. You didn’t want to believe it either because badminton was your life. There was no without. Like a hook in an eye. Hook in eye. Hook in eye. Hook in eye. You couldn’t escape it. 

But now . . . after years and years of trying to get back to that same person you were before the accident, you’d ignored just how draining it had begun to feel to practice and practice and try and try and . . . try. You mistook it for physical fatigue; for healing from your injury. You didn’t once think that your disinterest may have been because you had grown further and further apart from a racket in your hand and the sound of the court squeaking under your shoes. And when that reporter asked you if you’d cheated to get back in the game . . . you’d taken that chance to run away; to ruin it for yourself once more . . . and this time not for the sake of self-sabotage but perhaps . . . conservation.

So you began to ask yourself the same question that had been haunting you for a while now: how well did badminton still fit into you? You’d thought about it last night. You thought about it a million times before, refusing to acknowledge it, and now . . .

Then you found yourself turning to Jungkook. “What—” you sucked in a quick breath— “What made you want to play badminton? . . . In the beginning . . . “

Setting the bread aside, he leaned forward, resting his forearm against the lower part of the railing. “I’m not really sure,” he mumbled as he rested his cheek against his forearm. “It was just . . . easy for me. I liked being good at things.”

“But . . . “ (you had begun to toy with the bread instead of tossing it to the fish) “ . . . why did you love it?”

A few beats of silence.

Beat.

Beat.

Beat.

Then, Jungkook spoke: “The people, I think,” he finally said in a calm, collected tone, adding in a shrug at the end of his sentence. “I never really cared about being someone special; I just when I played, I always played with friends. It was fun. I think when I look back on it, it wasn’t badminton that I loved, it was the people. My friends . . . coaches . . . “ his eyes flashed to meet yours, “. . . you.” And he maintained eye contact. “It was the only time I ever felt happy, and when I grew up . . . when badminton felt more like a game of loss . . . it lost its magic. I wasn’t a kid anymore. Everyone had grown up and I was still there, on that court. . . . It wasn’t fun anymore . . . “

Oh.

Because, truly, you’d felt the same. Well . . . perhaps a tad different. Badminton had been fun for you because you always won. It was the only time you felt . . . special, good . . . worth . . . something. And when you lost it all, you felt like nothing upon nothing upon shit. So when you finally gained it all back, it was almost as if with each win, that magic Jungkook spoke up washed away bit by bit. Winning wasn’t fun anymore; it was being with him that made it worth . . . something.

But could winning itself ever have the same effect as it did years ago? Would you ever crave it so violently again?

“Do you think it could ever be fun again?” you voiced your thoughts aloud, hesitant as if admitting this aloud was some kind of sin.

“Maybe,” Jungkook muttered with another shrug. His attention was drawn on the fish now, his round, brown eyes following them as they swam to and fro. “But—” he breathed in heavily— “if I had it my way . . . I’d go back home and help run my parents’ shop.” There was that smile creeping up on his face again at the mention of home. “And if I really had it my way, I’d be thirteen again and I’d never grow up. I’d be small and happy and I’d never have to leave home again. That is what I truly want; to be that kid again . . . but for right now . . . I think I’d settle with just going home, knowing my mom’s special dish is waiting for me.”

Home.

He spoke of it so fondly, and you began to wonder if you’d ever loved it as much as he did. Now, you knew you did. Your parents were good, kind people. They were good parents. You loved them, missed them, but home had never been something that you’d acknowledged if that made any sense. You were just always looking forward to the future and who you’d become. You supposed you never stopped to take in the lines drawn onto the bathroom wall labeling your height year after year. You supposed you never stopped to catch sight of the way your mom would shave off the skin of the apple because she knew you didn’t like getting it in your teeth. You supposed you never thought of home as home because you always knew it’d be there, and now . . . now it was far far away and you were so so small, no longer great and big, and looking forward to the future. 

It made you wonder if this feeling deep inside you had something to do with missing this home Jungkook spoke of. And then you began to agree that, yes, yes you would very much like to be small again, coming home from badminton practice to the smell of your mother’s cooking and your father’s tunes playing on the CD player.

Perhaps . . . perhaps you wished you were little again, too. And perhaps you wished you could start over, this time with badminton as more of a love than a state of survival . . . and maybe then you’d know more of this . . . home.

“Kook . . . “ you began, eyes darting from fish to fish as your thoughts raced, “if I admit something . . . do you promise not to judge?”

Jungkook hummed moments before he reached out to tuck your hair behind your ear. “What’s on your mind, hmm?” he mused, nudging you with his elbow as if telling you to go on.

Another few beats of silence. (It was odd how it kept lurking over your shoulder like a vice.)

And then: wetting your lips, you swallowed the weird feeling in your throat, finding it hard to get these words out for some reason. And then . . . when you were sure the silence had begun to eat at your flesh, you opened your mouth to voice your thoughts. “What if . . . what if I don’t love badminton anymore?” you mumbled, your voice nearly inaudible as you heard your words echo in your head again and again. But just like Pandora’s box, once they were spoken, you couldn’t shove them back down. Your words just kept flowing. “I mean . . . I’m—I’m twenty-five years old. All I’ve ever known is badminton. I ruined my life for it. I wasted three years trying to get it back and . . . and . . . and what if I did it for nothing? I wasted my entire life trying to be the best at something that I don’t even like anymore. What am I supposed to do if—if I don’t want it anymore?”

There.

Right there.

There was the truth you’d been hiding from for so long, and it was laid out in front of you, staring back at you.

What if you had wasted your entire life trying to be the best at something you didn’t even like anymore?

It wasn’t even like you wanted an answer from him either. You just needed to say it. You just needed to admit that perhaps you and Jungkook were more similar than either of you had ever thought. 

And did that . . . did that give you relief? To be understood in this way?

“I just—“ you blurted out, still trapped inside your head— “It’s like you said. I just . . . maybe I just want to go home. I don’t . . . I don’t want to go to the Olympics or—or anything. I don’t want to be who I was. I just . . . I don’t know if I care to be . . . that anymore.”

A beat of—wait—no, unlike you thought, no silence entered your space. No, instead, Jungkook didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, baby—” he sighed, his voice like honey moments before you felt a warm hand cup your cheek— “you haven’t changed one bit either. Don’t you know? Violet, roses are red, not blue.” Your eyes met. His filled with understanding, while yours stained in shock. And then . . . then he tapped his thumb against the corner of your mouth, and offered up a small smile. “Where’s your smile? Hmm?”

Instantly, you sucked in a sharp breath as your eyes fluttered ever so slightly, taken off guard by his words. You wet your lips, trying to form any kind of sentence, but nothing ever came. Until you realized something . . . this feeling . . . it wasn’t something you were used to . . . but it was something you’d heard of . . . and it was . . . soft.

You’d never held something like that. You’d never owned something like that either. You’d never been it. You’d always just been machine parts and badminton plays. Strategies upon strategies. Always thinking and thinking and thinking and never just . . . being . . . feeling . . .

Until . . . 

. . . until him.

And you had no idea how to handle that.

“I’m so scared,” you heard yourself whisper before you realized it was you who was speaking.

Jungkook furrowed his brows as his eyes trailed across your face before he wiped his thumb across your cheek, then dropped his hand to yours. Only then did you realize you had been crying. Not sobbing or anything close, but a few tears had slipped past, and there he was again wiping them away like it was normal; like it was OK.

“Why are you scared?” he questioned softly as he squeezed your hand.

“Because,” you muttered out with a confused shrug. Hell, you didn’t even really know. You just knew . . . you just knew that: “I’m only still here . . . on this team . . . because of you. I think . . . I think what I like about badminton is . . . you. You’ve made it worth something when it’d lost all meaning to me. And . . . and . . . I think what scares me the most is that . . . is that you’ve made me . . . soft . . . and I can’t tell if I hate that or if I . . . if I’m grateful.” Quickly, you wet your chapped lips. “I’ve had good things in my life. I’ve had success and victory and fame . . . but it all felt like it came with a price. You know? Win a competition and you feel great but what about the next one? It was always just a constant race . . . but being around you . . . it doesn’t feel like I have to win anything. I feel softer and—and it doesn’t even come with a catch. It’s free.” Your eyes searched his. “Am I even allowed to have something like that when I should be obsessing over winning this championship?”

Jungkook leaned closer, taking your hand into both of his as he held it close to his chest similar to how you’d hold a teddy when you were a child. And then . . . he spoke, and you couldn’t believe your ears, wondering if this was the same man you knew when you were young. “Have all of me,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours as if he wanted you to know he meant this within his soul. “Take my bones and build yourself a home. They’re worn, sure, but I like to think they’re pretty sturdy . . . so . . . take them.” His eyes searched yours deeper. “Take all of me if you have to. Take all of me . . . ”

Blinking slowly, you shot him a look, a small, shocked smile creeping onto your face as you let a sliver of a laugh out before you knew it. “That’s disgusting,” you scolded him, shaking your head at his words, but you couldn’t help but find some sentiment in them. Maybe it was the morbidity to you, but no one had ever said such things to you . . . and you found yourself holding these words close to your chest just as Jungkook held your hand close to his.

He smiled back, too. “Good. I knew it’d make you laugh,” he murmured softly, and you knew this, too. It was him after all. He’d do anything to get a laugh out of you, and you began to realize that it had always been that way. (Perhaps you should’ve spent your childhood laughing more than scowling at him.) But it seemed he didn’t mind as he began to rub his thumb back and forth against your knuckles, his smile slowly fading into a solemn expression. And then: “You asked me to haunt you, but you’re the one who haunts me.”

You swallowed hard.

You’re the one who haunts me.

Oh . . . 

And then you began to wonder: was Jimin right? He loved you, he had told you. And suddenly, you realized that if this were still true . . . it didn’t bother you. You’d accept it even. But what did that mean for you?

You swallowed hard once again.

“You said I make you feel real again,” he continued on, making you forget your own thoughts as you watched his head tilt to the side in thought, ever so slightly. “I’ve thought about it. I don’t want to haunt you. I don’t want to poison your softness. I want to make you keep feeling real and soft and . . . you. And . . . and well . . . you make me want to be real again. You–you make me want to be a person, to be something, to make something of the person I am. I don’t want to end up like your King Weir—”

“Lear,” you felt yourself whisper so quietly you almost didn’t hear it. All you could do was stare at him and stare and stare and . . . 

“I don’t want to be him,” Jungkook restated. A small pause followed as those warm brown eyes you’d come to be fond of searched yours like you were the only two people left on the planet. “I don’t want to be nothing . . . and you’ve reminded me of that.” Wetting his lips, he reached for your other hand, now holding both your hands in his, his thumbs running across your knuckles.  “So I was wondering—” he maintained eye contact, while he gave a quick squeeze to your hands— “if maybe instead . . . well . . . I want you to help me live . . . no haunting necessary.”

I want you to help me live.

It echoed in your ears.

I want you to help me live.

I want you to help me live.

I want you to—

Did he know that he’d given you a whole new reason to keep living? Did he know that when you thought of him, you realized you had another reason to live? Didn’t he realize that it was him? That caring for him had made you a better person?

But Jungkook took your silence as a sign of rejection, so before you could slap yourself up the side of the head, he nearly retreated, quickly muttering out an apology for being . . . weird. Only, this was now and not then, and you were you, and well, you quickly reached for his hands, pulling them into your lap. His eyes followed your movements, clearly taken off guard, but you didn’t let him dwell on it too long.

“How about—” you began, running your thumb across the tattoos dotting his fingers— “let’s take care of each other?”

Jungkook blinked once. Then twice. Then . . . then his brows twitched in longing? Understanding? Or . . . oh what was that word?

Whatever.

It didn’t matter. What mattered was his answer. And you already knew it before you’d spoken those words. 

OK, he nodded. 

OK, he smiled. 

OK, your eyes seemed to glisten back.

OK.

There was a time in your life, where every night you’d have the same nightmare. Over and over again, you’d be trapped in this room with no windows, no doors, just darkness. And in the middle of the room would be you, or rather a version of you, strapped to a chair, with flames slowly licking up your legs, scorching your skin. But you wouldn’t feel any pain, because it wasn’t actually you. Sure, it looked like you, but . . . you were on the other side of the room, watching with wide eyes as you heard yourself scream and beg to be released from the shackles. 

The flames wouldn’t touch you there. They were around, yes. They were burning holes into your clothes, yes, but you couldn’t feel it. All you could do was sit and watch as this variant of yourself burned alive right before your eyes.

And as if watching yourself be scorched alive wasn’t bad enough, there would be this point in the dream where you, no, she, no . . . it . . . would speak to you. Through the flames, it would hiss and whisper that it was your fault. 

It was your fault, and you’d know what it meant. 

But, No! you’d scream back. Because, no, no, no, this couldn’t be your fault. You couldn’t have been the one to ruin yourself. That would just be so, so, so . . . well . . . it would be too much.

(You knew now that it was just one big accident. Sure, trying not to blame yourself for it now was hard, but you’d learned in the past few months. It hadn’t been your fault. It hadn’t been his either.)

But back then . . . back then the incident loomed over your shoulder like a ghost.

You were getting ahead of yourself again, but . . . but the dream, no . . . the nightmare always started and ended the same. You stuck in a burning room, left to watch yourself burn and burn and burn as you, she, it, whatever (!) screamed and screamed, its voice growing louder with each, it was your fault!

And with the last shift of blame, the fire would finally set in. The red, hot flames that had left blisters and boils on your skin would begin to itch, then sting, and then consume you until all you felt was pain, pain, pain.

Then it would be your screams which filled the room.

Only when the pain would begin to shift, your back ripping with agony as this pair of . . . wings (?) split from the wounds, would you think you’d been saved. Because just as those wings had appeared, on the other side of the room, so had a door. And perhaps, perhaps then you could escape the burning room; fly out of there and save yourself. 

That was always your first thought: survive, and you would always head for the door without a second thought. It was only when you’d hear the other you’s screams that this immense amount of guilt would hit you, because there you were, able to save yourself but not without leaving a piece of you behind to burn to ash. 

. . . You never turned around to give yourself one last glance either. Instead, you always counted to three before you stepped off from the ledge, trusting that what was behind the bright light coming from the door would surely save you. And every time as you realized you were falling and falling, the heat would leave your senses and all you’d be able to feel was wind in your hair and the smell of salt water. You were no longer in the burning room. You were free.

With the opening of your eyes, you would be in the sky, your wings carrying you. And for a moment, you would believe that you truly were free; free from the incident, free from your guilt, free from everything.

Until the wind no longer felt refreshing and the vague smell of burning wood could be sensed; until you finally glanced back at what you had left behind, only to realize the wings you had been gifted were not made of feathers and bone at all, but rather wax, and under the Sun’s embrace . . . they had begun to melt . . . 

You’d spare yourself the details of stating what happened next, but the story was simple. Think Icarus. Just like Icarus, every time, your wings would melt and you’d hit the sea below you, shortly drowning but never dying. No, every time you’d get a bit closer to death . . . but you’d wake up just before you succumbed to it.

And every time you’d wake in a fright, sweat coating your body as you panted and panted, trying to figure out if you could still feel the fire on your skin or the water in your lungs. And every time you’d wake wondering if that was why you craved the fire so viscerally; if that was why you felt like you were drowning from time to time.

But . . . that dream, that nightmare . . . well . . . you hadn’t had it for a couple weeks or maybe months (?) now. It used to be something that you just considered part of your routine; something that you just had to deal with. But ever since you and Jungkook had begun this little thing you guys had going on where you’d sleep next to each other almost every night, you hadn’t been having any dreams. 

You didn’t quite understand it. You just knew that the nightmares had stopped . . . and maybe you had him to thank for that (just a little bit).

Slowly, you brought yourself out of your mind, planting yourself in reality once again as you were reminded that you and Jungkook had gone back to his hotel room after you got in a few hours practice after well . . . after your little . . . mishap. You’d showered and washed your hair, brushed your teeth, and blah blah blah. You were already tucked into bed, waiting for Jungkook to finish up brushing his teeth so the two of you could watch something to fall asleep to. (He was slow . . . of course (brushing his teeth while listening to a playlist at max volume)). And you, you were beginning to doze off, lost in your mind as you thought of the peaceful sleep you had awaiting you (partially thanks to him yeah (!) you knew . . . whatever).

Still, you couldn’t help but roll over in bed, your eyes quickly catching a glimpse of him in the mirror just outside the bathroom. And well, you couldn’t help but laugh just a little as you watched him dance to the music playing from his phone, haphazardly brushing his teeth along to the beat. (You couldn’t wait until he hopped into bed next to you and you could finally get close enough to feel his heartbeat against your cheek (not that you would admit that out loud. . . right?)).

“I can see your asscrack,” you called out across the room, laughing slightly because duh you were lying but you couldn’t help but tease him. (Plus . . . maybe a part of you missed him being beside you (you wanted him to hurry up, could you blame yourself?!).)

“Nuh-uh—” he gurgled out through the copious amount of toothpaste in his mouth— “not falling for that again. You’re full of shit.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, falling back against the bed, the back of your head now laying in the center of the pillow. One, two, three, you counted the swirls in the ceiling. It was literally like watching paint dry having to entertain yourself until he was done. It was an odd thing, wasn’t it? Liking someone’s company that much?

God . . . what had you turned into?

“Do you sleep with your eyes open?” you heard Jungkook ask from beside you just as the bed dipped and he crawled under the covers, no shirt and only in his boxers (as usual).

Ignoring the pitter-patter of your heart, you turned to face him, your eyes immediately trailing across his features. “You tell me,” you hummed, quickly rolling onto your side so your entire body was facing him.

“Probably,” he mumbled as he settled into the bed, propping up the pillow to support his head. “Dunno though. I try not to look at you too much.”

Your jaw dropped. Then a scoff. And you didn’t waste any time, reaching forward to twist his nipple . . . hard.

Instantly, he caved in on himself, clutching his chest as he whined, “Ow. Not cool, baby.”

You threatened to do it again, your hand outstretched.

But he waved a metaphorical white flag in surrender. “OK. OK. I’m kidding. I’m kidding,” he all but begged, twisting away from you.

Falling back against the bed once again, you avoided his eyes. “That’s what I thought,” you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you faked your displeasure with him. 

Jungkook only found this amusing, soothing a hand over his chest before he shifted closer to you, his tattooed arm thrown over your waist as he pulled you into him. It took him no time to bury his face into the crook of your neck, nuzzling his nose just under your sweet spot. “Mmm, don’t be mad,” he mumbled against your skin, slowly kissing his way up to your ear. “You really are the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” A kiss to your cheek. Then a squeeze to your side as he brought you closer and closer and closer until you were sure the two of you were intertwined. “You always have been, you know?”

Slowly, as confusion and shock twisted onto your features, you turned your head so you were nose to nose. “Don’t be silly,” you whispered as one of your hands found its way into his long hair. “I know you were kidding, you don’t have to overkill it.”

Listen, listen, listen . . . you knew you weren’t god awful, but every girl feels like they’re not good enough. It’s built into us, so sometimes it comes as a shock when someone is so . . . so forward. It wasn’t like people just went around saying ‘oh, you’re the prettiest girl ever duh!’ like duh! Obviously! So . . . 

But Jungkook always managed to surprise you. Always.

And just as you were about to close your eyes, thinking this was over and the two of you were going to actually get some sleep, he surprised you once more. “You know . . . “ he began, his voice low and quiet, almost as if he were fighting with himself to say his next words . . . “I spent the entirety of the sixth grade learning every flower I could just so I’d have something to tease you about,.”

“What?” you all but snorted as you threw your leg over his hip. “That’s insane.”

“Well, I had to get your attention somehow,” he mused, while his hand had begun to trace letters or random doodles on your back.

Scrunching your brows together, you asked, “What are you talking about?”

“You’re so dense. Pretty, but—” he tapped a finger to your forehead— “hollow.”

Instantly, you shot him a look. “You wanna talk?”

He only laughed.

A beat of warm silence. You traced his bottom lip with your thumb, toying with the piercing. He nipped at your thumb. Another beat. He pressed a kiss to your thumb. One more beat, then . . . 

“I had a crush on you, idiot,” he confessed against your thumb in the dead of night.

This time you actually did snort, moving your thumb to rest on his chin. “What? I was all braces and forehead acne,” you went on, remembering who you were and how you were and all the little things that you wished had been different about yourself back then. “A crush, JK? Be serious.”

“Hey, hey, I’m not a liar,” he quickly rushed over, humorously defending his honor. “I had a crush on you. Seriously. Why do you think I tried to impress you all the time.”

Your smile nearly faded. (And Jimin’s words revisited you (you pushed them away).)

He wasn’t kidding.

But . . . 

“Impress me? You spent our entire childhood showing off how much better you were at everything than I was,” you said, confusion and everything in between laced in your words. Because, truly, what? “That was like our . . . thing as much as it disgusts me to admit.”

His brows raised ever so slightly. “What?”

Oh no.

No, he wasn’t kidding. He actually did have a crush on you. But that meant . . . that meant the whole reason you had hated him growing up was over . . . nothing. He had never meant to start anything. He was just . . . he was trying to impress you and not . . . one-up you. 

He wanted you to like him back . . .

So then you had—oh, no!

“Wait,” you cut your own thoughts off with a gasp. “Oh my fucking god, are you serious? Kook, I thought you were just trying to be an asshole.”

Jungkook pulled back. “No, what the—” his words died on his tongue as it all dawned on him. “Is that why you thought I hated you?”

“Yes! Obviously!”

“Oh, shit . . . “

And then . . . as if this couldn’t get any more on-brand for the two of you, Jungkook had begun to laugh. Quietly at first, then his hand was slapping against his face as he cackled, his shoulders even so much as shaking. He was full-on laughing. Laughing.

“Why are you laughing?” you exclaimed, squeezing his shoulder

“Because! You hated my guts for like fifteen years and it’s all because you took my sixth-grade flirting as an insult!” he bursted out through small laughs. “You—” he embraced you, his hand cupping your cheek as his eyes searched yours— “are something else.”

“Well . . . it’s technically your fault,” you responded with a quick click of your tongue.

His brows twitched upward. “Oh, is it technically my fault?” he asked while trying to fight the half-grin tipping onto his lips.

“Obviously.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, thinking for only a second before: “At least you’re pretty.”

In response, your mouth fell open slightly. “I will bite the tip of your penis off.”

“Mmm, kinky,” he remarked as he nudged your nose with his.

Scrunching your nose, you tsked, “Ew.”

“Come on, baby,” Jungkook mockingly whined, pouting as much as he possibly could. “No cold shoulder. Gives me the chills.”

But you were having too much fun with this to give it up now. “You had a crush on me,” you all but gagged as you turned your nose up (once again ignoring Jimin’s words . . . ). “Disgusting.”

“Is it?” he questioned in amusement, moments before his lips were on your exposed jaw.

“Mmm.”

Jungkook gently bit your cheek. “I think you’re the one with the crush,” he mused, his lips trailing down to your neck again, this time hovering just over your sweet spot.

“Oh, please,” you scoffed, trying your absolute hardest not to show how affected you were by just his lips grazing your skin. But one gentle kiss to your sweet spot, and you could feel your heart skyrocket to your throat as you all but choked in a breath. It was just that . . . he had this effect on you. (Fuck, did he ever . . . )

“Begging now, are you?” he remarked before leaving another kiss here and then there and the oh, you guessed it, just on the corner of your mouth but not on your lips, of course.

And all you could do was admit you were weak when it came to him, and just give in. Which was, of course, what you did as a soft groan escaped your lips and you turned your head to face him once again. “Would you get over your ego and kiss me?” you deadpanned, all but pouting at him.

That almost got him immediately. His eyes flicked to your lips, then your eyes, then to your lips once again before one of those cocky grins plastered across his face. “Yes, ma’am,” he whispered, his voice like silk.

That was the last response you received before his lips grazed yours. Gentle at first was his touch, like a feather on skin, but as he nudged your nose with his, he finally closed the space between you two, pressing his lips against yours in a soft kiss. You leaned closer, pleasantly sighing into the kiss as you nipped at his bottom lip. A grin tipped onto his face before he dipped in for more, running his tongue along the crease of your lips. You complied quickly, hands tangling in his long, dark hair as you pulled him closer and melded his tongue with yours. He inhaled sharply through his nose as his grip tightened on you instantly, his hand sliding up your thigh, squeezing your hip before it snuck under the hem of your shirt (or rather his old college badminton tee that he had grown out of by now (which meant it was yours by default . . . duh).

A soft mix between a gasp and a quiet moan escaped your lips when you felt the coolness of his hand graze the swell of your breast, palming it. He grinned into the kiss, circling his thumb around your nipple, knowing damn well that it would get to you and have your skin blazing in seconds. 

That was just the thing—he knew how your body worked. More . . . he knew how you worked and perhaps that was why he had figured out how to pleasure you.

Still, you tugged on his hair in annoyance, huffing slightly and pouting perhaps just a tad, which you knew he found endearing. That was the thing, too . . . you knew how he worked as well. He snickered against your lips, proving your thoughts to yourself just moments before he pulled you closer and began sucking on your bottom lip as his thumb pressed down on your puckered nipple, tweaking the bud. You hummed softly in response, grinding your underwear-clothed core against his muscular thigh.

He stilled under your touch for a mere second before his hands gripped your waist as he pulled you down onto his thigh, moving with you while you grinded against him. “Making a mess, pretty girl,” he murmured against your lips as he moved to lightly kiss your neck. His hand was at your shirt again in an instant, fisting it and pulling it up over your breasts.

“You’re such a guy,” you nearly moaned out, your hands now on his shoulders as his head dipped to your breasts, catching a nipple in his mouth all the while he flexed his thigh against your core. He didn’t stop there either. He softly hummed against your skin as he released your nipple long enough to kiss it just moments before taking it into his mouth again, swirling his tongue around the bud and sucking hard. And you couldn't help it, you jerked against him, throwing your head into the pillow as a loud moan sounded from the back of your throat.

“So you agree—” he mumbled as he still flicked his tongue over and over again over the abused bud— “you like that about me?”

Before you could even answer, his hand had gone from your waist and now tangled in your hair, holding the back of your neck. That was moments before his lips detached from your puckered bud and reattached to your lips. His other hand worked quickly, too, as he slid his thigh out from underneath you and swung your leg over his hip, his hardened length now pressed against your aching core.

“Maybe I do a little,” you whispered with a small grin playing on your puffy lips as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer.

He grinned back. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured back, kissing you quickly before you could respond.

And his comment was long forgotten as he grinded his bulge into your heat, stimulating both you and him. It was intoxicating. No, he . . . he was.

He was so intoxicating, you couldn’t help but whine out, “Take them off, please.” Your fingers were at his boxers, tracing the elastic band as you all but whimpered against his lips. You just wanted him, him, him. All of him.

“Eager?” he mused as his thumb dug into your hip. (You knew this was eating at him just as much as it was eating at you. It always did.)

“Please, Kookie. Can’t take it,” you whined further, all but straight-up riding him to scratch the ache inside you. “Need it so bad. Killin’ me.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, and he didn’t waste another second either. “Love you like this.” His own whines filled the air as the two of you struggled to tear off his boxers, your underwear quickly following after as both the undergarments eventually became lost under the covers. But neither of you cared.

It was a quick descent after that. You couldn’t help but grind your core over his hard length, the sound of your wet arousal evident even over the hum of the air conditioner. The two of you never did this. You’d always done foreplay after foreplay after foreplay, finding it thrilling to tease each other, but right now . . . right now all you wanted was him inside you. You wanted him as close as possible, and it seemed he wanted the same, the both of you unable to think or do anything other than grind against each other. 

Only then when you couldn’t take the throb between your legs anymore did he press a single kiss to the corner of your mouth before you felt him slowly enter you, inch by inch sinking into your cunt. Your eyes fluttered closed as your mouth parted and your head tilted back while you basked in the fullness which came along with his cock sliding snugly against your tight walls. Your breath hitched in your throat just as you felt him bottom out, your core taking him all the way until the hilt.

The next second, you were wrapping your legs around him, locking them together in an attempt to get him even deeper. Your eyes fluttered open next, meeting his gaze instantly as he stared down at you with his brows pinched in pleasure and those big, round eyes of his blown out . . . but was this lust that he gazed at you with? His gaze appeared different, almost warmer, almost softer, almost too soft to touch . . . to have . . . to hold. He looked too pretty like this. Definitely too pretty for you to handle.

It didn’t help when the following words out of his mouth were: "You're always so fucking tight.”

And then he began to move, not breaking eye contact once. No, his eyes watched yours as his cock pumped in and out of your wet heat. His breath hit your face, and you could almost feel his heartbeat against your chest, syncing with yours as the two of you stared into what you could only describe as each other’s souls.

It was odd, too, because while whatever this feeling was blooming in your chest scared you, you couldn’t look away. You couldn’t turn from him. You just wanted him, him, him. Always him. You feared that if you did turn away, when you glanced back he wouldn’t be there anymore. And that perhaps scared you more than anything: losing him.

But there he was. He was always right there . . . 

Almost as if he could hear your thoughts, his grasp on you tightened, his cock sinking deliciously deeper if it were even possible. The pressure in your lower stomach was becoming too much as it bloomed and bloomed, twisting and turning in a pleasurable ache. You bit your bottom lip, turning your head to the side as your breathing became more uneven by the second, but not once did you dare look away. No, you watched each and every twitch of his brow, every shaky breath, every flutter of his eyelashes, and you relished in it, soaking it all in. 

It became clear to you that you couldn’t look away even if you tried.

And it seemed neither could he . . . 

"Why are you looking at me like that?" you rasped out, trying to swallow your spit.

Jungkook nudged your nose with his. "Like what?"

You swallowed, this time harder (Jimin’s words revisited you once again). “I can’t say . . . “

His brows twitched this time. “How could I not?”

How could I not? And you knew what he meant, just as he had known what was playing on your mind. How could I not?

And then he was kissing you again, taking you by utter surprise. Sure, the two of you had had sex over and over again and each time felt a little different from the other, but this . . . this was like the beginning yet the present all at once. It was like you could feel all of him in just this kiss; like you could see his past and he could see yours and neither of you had thought about running once. 

It was soft. So was his hand as he brushed through your hair as he kissed you, tracing your hairline, your cheek, your jaw, then your neck as if he were trying to map out your features. 

(You couldn’t help but melt under his touch.)

Why was his kiss always the softest thing you had ever known?

Then . . . amidst your soft moans and carnal sounds, he pulled back, his eyes finding yours again. He glanced between the two of you where your bodies met, brows rising in marvel as he released a small sigh before rolling his hips against yours again and again. And then . . . then, he grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers together as his gaze met yours once again and he whispered so quietly, almost too quiet you wouldn’t have heard it if you hadn’t been so close, “I don’t even know where you end and I begin.”

And you knew instantly he didn’t just mean where your body met his. No, this was deeper, and you realized he could feel that this time was different, too.

Swallowing hard, you fluttered your eyes in almost a state of shock as you stayed silent. But you didn’t need to speak. No, you took his words, and you held them close, and then you were holding him. Take my bones and build yourself a home, he’d told you, but no, no, you wouldn’t put him through that. He could take yours. He could take all of you. You would give yourself to him.

Fuck, you would give all of yourself to him. Only him. Him, him, him.

“Wanna see your face, baby,” he murmured as he brushed your hair out of your flushed face. “Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. My pretty girl.”

And you knew that was it.

With one final kiss, you let him know all this, allowing him to take the lead once more. Everything pulsed as he picked up a sensual pace, hitting your sweet spot over and over again as his thumb snuck between your legs, skillfully working against your swollen clit while you chased the coil. It tightened and tightened, rings of pleasure hissing in your ears. His thumb quickened its pace, and then the coil snapped, your release crashing over you. All you could do was surrender to it, tilting your head back into the pillow as your hips raised while your hands squeezed his toned arms. All the while, Jungkook continued the long drags of his cock against your walls, dragging out your orgasm for as long as he could.

“Wanna stay like this,” he confessed, his thrusts growing slower and slower, unsteadier and unsteadier as he nearly whimpered into your neck. “Love this so fuckin’ much. Being with you—fuck. You make me feel so good, baby. So good.”

“I’d let you,” you mumbled against the shell of his ear, your voice a little too hoarse as you were still coming down from your high. “I’d let you do . . . all the time . . . I want—” you were delirious at this point and you knew it, too— “Want you always.”

Your words barely even registered in your brain as pleasure and that blooming feeling in your chest consumed you. It wasn’t long before you found yourself lifting his head so your lips could slot against his. And he graciously accepted your offer, consuming you just as the feeling had done.

The two of you wasted no time in escalating from gentle kissing, allowing you to further calm down from your high before your cunt was throbbing once more. And . . . before his cock had begun to feel too fucking hard inside you, nearly twitching for release as it begged for your addictive touch. 

You let yourself get wrapped up in him for a little longer, too, never wanting to stop. Your hands were on him again as you tangled your fingers in his hair and pulled. This time a loud, deep groan came from his lips, and you knew you had him. He gave another groan of submission when you tugged again, his thrusts barely cohesive now. He was close, and you reveled in this, wishing to bring him to ecstasy. With that thought on your mind, you devilishly reached over his muscular ass, fingers quickly finding his perineum and pressing into it, massaging the sensitive spot.

He was sheathed deeper inside you before either of you could breathe, the two of you too wrapped up in each other to move positions. You just wanted to feel each other again and again and again, because for some reason . . . this time was different.

Different and yet all the same. That was how it had always been with Jungkook.

And you couldn’t quite put a word to the feeling, until . . . 

“Will you cum inside me?” you whispered, your voice hoarse as you omitted a soft moan under your breath. “Please. I need more.” Swallowing hard, you finally met his gaze, and instantly, you couldn’t look away. There was just . . . something . . . there. “I need you.” Your brows furrowed as you soaked in your own words while you searched his eyes. 

Slowly, with another roll of his hips, he sank lower, his abdomen grazing against yours so he could be close enough to brush his lips with yours but not that close to kiss you. But you . . . you couldn’t be without his touch, and found yourself tilting your head to press your lips against his, finally finding that something you had been searching for in his eyes. 

And then . . . then it hit you.

“I need you,” you heard yourself whisper before you knew the words had left your mouth. “I need you, Koo.”

I need you, you’d whispered, and you began to realize . . . you knew what you felt for him wasn’t what you’d feel for a friend. Because you did need him . . . in more ways than you’d like to admit.

And that scared the shit out of you.

taglist:

@hrts4kook , @taehyungs-chopsticks , @loomipee , @st3ft0n3s , @callmenada , @neg-l3ct , @dawn33 , @illegurlbangtan , @jeonsdetails , @rihabaxl , @yoongipost , @jjk1iscoming , @miumiugurl , @sadgirlroo , @lucwithbangtan , @iamsisuu , @shanelleeex , @beonim , @sherlynxx , @fairy1919 , @purplewhales , @bloopkook , @ggukcanim , @bloodline1632 , @jungkooksseuphoria , @tea4sykes , @mugiwaraelly , @darkuni63 , @jalexad , @lpgirl2324 , @fairy-jaykay , @h0tvillainap0logist , @stuffy16 , @keniicastillo , @yoongukie-ff , @seesawe , @chocolatesublimesoul , @yopjm , @jeonlovescoffee , @xmirvamx , @jk-190811 , @percyjacksonlovesannabethchase , @vminkookgf , @werxyz , @tornparts , @aprilspring , @kswr1d , @jimilter , @02010802 , @sunsetnamjin​ , @lonekittycat , @moonchild1 , @hanamgi , @yoongslast , @heronstairsxd @pointofviewyugyeom

[soapsilly]

Redemption - Roronoa Zoro Imagine

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Spoilers for One Piece (?)

A/N: This is Part 2 for Betrayal, another Zoro imagine I wrote, so if you haven't read that I'd recommend you do that first.

Summary: After (Y/N) confessed to the Straw Hat Pirates that during their two year separation, she betrayed her boyfriend Zoro and had a child back on the island she was stranded on, she had to leave the group. But once her new home was under attack she had no other choice but to once again hope for the crew's help. Will they forgive her?

Part 3

Requests are closed

************************************************************************

Fire... smoke... screams...

She could see the clouds of smoke from miles away. Once she set foot on the island the first things that greeted her weren't the familiar smell of the autumn leaves or the sound of the market place but rather the smell of the burnt down huts and the pleas of the townspeople. Ever since Whitebeard's death two years ago pirates from all over the world set sail in search of the One Piece. It was exactly like after Gol D. Roger's execution all over again. But her little island? This wasn't where the One Piece was hidden. What these pirates wanted was merely to destroy, to pillage and to artificially drive up their bounty...

"We would never do that", the young woman thought to herself, "all our bounties were racked up for far better reasons. Luffy would never allow this" (Y/N) was well aware, that she herself was part of a notorious pirate crew - or rather she had been part of one until recently...

The realization hurt but she didn't have time to keep thinking about her misery. All that mattered right now was the little boy for whom she had given up everything. As fast as her feet would carry her she ran towards the edge of the forrest where the little cabin that she called her home stood.

She breathed a sigh of relief once she arrived and saw that the destruction of the village had not yet reached that part of the island. But she didn't plan to just sit by and wait for that to happen. The people on the island she called her home weren't fighters. If they were lucky there were a few handymen that knew how to handle tools and heavy machinery but that was about it. She knew that she could never take on those pirates on her own - even if she improved her strenght greatly in the span of those last two years. But she knew who could...

************************************************************************

"Are you sure you're okay?", she whispered, not wanting to get caught by the other Straw Hats.

"Pffft.. Never felt better", the swordsman dismissed her worries with a movement of his hand and continued undressing the woman that was lying underneath him. Calloused hands roaming her body, trying to take in as much of her as he could.

"But - But you should rest...", it became increasingly harder to string together coherrent sentences with the way Zoro was kissing down her chest.

"If you insist", with a swift movement he flipped them around and in an instant the witch was now on top her green-haired boyfriend, straddling him firmly.

She started laughing, "You know, that's not what I meant"

Not many people knew Zoro the way (Y/N) knew him. The other Straw Hats would probably describe him as a 'matter of fact' - guy. His playful side wasn't something he kept hidden - not at all. It's just that the stupid jokes were only funny when they left her lips.

"Hey, Zoro. Dinner's ready", Sanji's words pulled the swordsman out of his thoughts. Every since (Y/N)'s confession nobody on the ship acted normal around him anymore - well nobody except Luffy and Robin. Luffy was never the most delicate, which Zoro was grateful for and Robin probably knew that he just wanted to move on. Nami however didn't leave him alone, offered to speak, to be a shoulder to cry on. He appreciated her good intentions but he just wanted to repress the feelings, exercise and drink his pain away. But the thing that annoyed him the most was that shitty cook being so nauseatingly nice to him. Nami told Sanji that she would raise him hell if he even dared to think to start a fight with Zoro. But what she had achieved, was that the only little thing that the swordsman had left of his (Y/N) was now gone too. He remembered how amusing she found the fights he and curly-brows had - so much so that Zoro tried to initiate fights with the cook. But Sanji never took the bait no matter how hard he had to pull himself together. If Nami-swan wanted something from him, he would not disappoint.

************************************************************************

There she was, it was barely a week and a half since (Y/N) left the Thousand Sunny back on Sabaody but yet it felt like a lifetime. The witch took a few deep breaths before slowly making her way over to the ship. She was grateful that Robin told her that the crew would have to make a stop for supplies an island over before heading to Fish-Man Island. On her way over there, she had hoped that she didn't miss them, that they'd still be there and all the hoping seemed to have payed off. But the hardest challenge - convincing her former friends to help her after everything she put them trough - still lay ahead of her.

Much to her dismay the whole group was not only on the ship when she arrived, they were also in the middle of dinner.

"(Y/N), you came back!", Luffy's voice broke the silence. The girl realized that he genuinely sounded happy to see her. She wasn't quite sure if she felt happy that there was at least one person left on this ship that didn't hate her or sad because she had to tell him yet again, that she still wasn't coming back.

But before she (Y/N) could even attempt to say anything, Nami spoke up, "No, Luffy. She's not. What are you doing here?"

Her voice was cold - so much in fact, that (Y/N) needed two attempts to explain the reason for why she was there. Once she finally ended her plea for help there were a solid few seconds where nobody said a word. (Y/N) had mostly spoken to Luffy as the captain of the ship but she knew that it was really the navigator that she would have to convince to help her. She kept her eyes firmly trained on the Straw Hat anticipating his decision. She, of course, noticed Zoro's presence in the room - how could she not? - but right now all that mattered was that the crew agreed to help.

"Please, I wouldn't ask if I had any other choice...", (Y/N) added quietly after a few more seconds of silence.

"Of course, I'm coming to save you, (Y/N)-chan~", Sanji was the first one to speak up in his sing song voice with hearts in his eyes. For him it wasn't even a question at all. All he saw was a damsel in distress and he'd be the knight in shining armour to come and save the day. He could already picture himself as the hero of the battle and all the ladies clinging on to him to show their gratitude. It was Usopp that had to break the flirtatious cook out of his ramble with a slap on the back of his head.

"What are we even debating about? Of course, we're helping, guys! She's one of us", Chopper agreed. The ship's doctor was always a loyal soul. Chopper and (Y/N) both were outsiders before they met the Straw Hats so she knew how important his nakama were to him.

"No, Chopper. That's exactly the case! She's not. Not anymore", Nami objected, "she should've thought about that before betraying the whole crew. We can't always drop everything just because a former acquaintance happens to have a problem"

Nami liked to say that she was only upset for Zoro - and she really was. She knew that the mosshead was utterly in love with the other woman. She could tell from the way he would loosen up around her, she could tell by the way he would look after her to make sure nothing and nobody would ever upset or hurt her, she could tell by the way he was slightly - only slightly - less annoying when he was around her but the truth was also that Nami was hurt for herself too. (Y/N) was her friend, the first girl that joined the group before Robin finally made them a trio. They had talked about their plans and then (Y/N) just chose the domestic life over everything they had dreamed of?

"And what will you do the next time you'll be in trouble? We won't always be around to save the day", the red-head now spoke directly to (Y/N).

"I promise, I won't ever bother you again, but you haven't seen what I've seen. I'm not asking for myself..."

Of course, she wasn't asking for selfish reasons. Zoro knew that. (Y/N) always chastised him for being so stubborn. But the swordsman knew that she was honestly none the better. If he ever told her that, she'd never admit it but it was the truth. And so he also knew that (Y/N) was far to proud to come and ask them for help so soon after leaving the crew - well, except if she had no other choice. But it didn't really matter anyways, if she was in danger or even just in any type of discomfort, he'd always come and save her.

Zoro had heard enough, "We're helping"

It was the first time that (Y/N) looked at him since she entered the ship. She looked like a scared deer with how wide her eyes were. It was clear to him that she didn't expect him to stand up for her at all. Did she really think that lowly of him? Why did that thought sting? If Nami was anything to go by, he should hate her and helping her should be the last thing on his mind but he just couldn't help his feelings. This time it was Zoro that couldn't stand the tension, so he tore his eyes away from his ex-lover.

"Zoro, are you-", Nami seemed unsure.

"Either we all go or I'll go alone, I'm done talking about this", and with those words the swordsman stood up from the table and left the room. When he passed (Y/N) on the way out, he had to side-step as to not bump into her but just that act alone was the closest he's been to her in a long time.

"Guess, it's settled then", Luffy laughed, "(Y/N) lead the way!"

************************************************************************

Zoro and (Y/N) were lying on the deck of the Sunny at the moment talking about anything and eveything. Usually the mosshead would have a afternoon nap but instead (Y/N) and him decided spend some time together soaking up the last sunrays of the day.

"Is there anything else you want out of life?", (Y/N) asked her boyfriend, who had his head comfortable rested on her lap.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... other than becoming the world's greatest swordsman?"

"No, why would I?"

"Well, you made that promise to a friend when you were a child. You're a man now. Isn't there anyhting else that you could wish for? In addition to being the best? I mean what happens once you reach your goal?"

Zoro was quiet for a moment, it was clear to (Y/N) that her lover had truly never ever considered there possibly being more.

"Well, what about you then?", he positioned himself so that he was now looking up at her.

"I guess, I'd like to be married someday", she answered nonchalantly.

"Why?", Zoro's voice dripped with confusion but there was also somehting else... judgement maybe?

"I don't know, I think I just like the thought of having that special bond with a person, you know? Belonging together, having each other's back...", she trailed off towards the end. She could feel her cheeks heat up. Talking about feelings was so much easier when drunk...

"Oi! Everything okay with you?", Zoro sounded amused, "you sound exactly like curly-brows"

"Why? Because I want to belong somewhere?", she was irritated by his reaction.

"Don't be so dramatic", the swordsman rolled his eyes, "you belong to the crew like all of us"

She wiggled her way out from underneath him not wanting him on her anymore.

"Do you really not understand how that's different? I just don't want to be just someone's girlfriend for the rest of my life", she was starting to get frustrated now.

"Just someone's girlfriend? And being someone's wife is better? What kind of goal is that?", (Y/N) could sense that Zoro was not taking her seriously at the moment, which made her even more furious. Unfortunately the witch was an angry-crier, so wasn't long before the tears started to fill her eyes. When he saw her reaction, he added, "Damn, you are so sensitive"

"And you are always so goddamn insensitive! Talking to you is like talking to a brick wall!", (Y/N) knew she shouldn't yell but the way he was talking down to her made her feel so helpless.

"I don´t want to talk to you anyways when you're being so difficult. I should've just taken a nap", he was annoyed by her behavior.

"Fine!", with that she stood up and walked away from her boyfriend but as she was walking inside the Sunny she turned around telling him, "and for your information, the are some things that Sanji actually gets very right, you know..."

She knew that indirectly comparing him to the cook would rub him the wrong way but she really couldn't resist.

"Oi, are you actually trying to start a fight or what?!", Zoro yelled after her, raising his voice for the first time the entire conversation.

Zoro mindlessly sat by the railing sharpening his katanas. Would things be different today had he acted a little more sensitive during their fight? Back then he didn't pay it anymore mind. In fact, he didn't think (Y/N) would've either. They had had far bigger fights - or so he thought - but guess it was more important to her than he anticipated. Maybe he wasn't enough for her... Was she really that unhappy?

"Hey...", Zoro was pulled from his thoughts by (Y/N) herself. It was the first time that she directly spoke to him since her confession on Sabaody, "I just wanted to thank you for speaking up back then. You really saved us"

Us... Zoro felt a sting in his chest. Of course, her new man and their son. Helping her wasn't even a question for him but the thought that she was in that situation to begin with made him angry. What kind of man doesn't protect his family?

"Don't mention it", he grunted, still not looking up from his blades.

"No, I mean it. If it wasn't for you I don't know what I'd do", Zoro couldn't help but notice that the way she was talking to him wasn't as familiar anymore almost like they were strangers. First the crew and now (Y/N) too. All this tiptoeing around made him sick - he wasn't used to being pitied and he didn't like it. One bit. He would almost have preferred it if she had just sad down with him and talked... normally?

As if she had read his mind, she asked him if she could sit with him for a moment. She took the shrug she got in returned as a 'yes' and sat down opposite from him.

"Zoro... I - I really never meant to hurt you", she continued. He wasn't sure if he wanted to have this conversation now but the alternative was her leaving again, so...

"It's my own fault. I should've known better", he answered.

"What? Why would you say that?", the woman opposite of him truly sounded upset with his statement. She was trying to catch his eye but he adjusted himself so that he was now facing the water.

"I wouldn't give you what you wanted. I was too occupied with my goal of becoming the strongest. All the training, the exercising...", he trailed off towards the end. "Logical consequences", he tried to sound unbothered.

The witch furrowed her brows, "No... No, no. Where is that coming from?"

"You told me you wanted to get married someday and I didn't take you seriously"

She remembered the fight but hadn't thought about for ages - especially because - in her mind - it wasn't so big of a deal. But then again, the swordsman also never heard what happened after the fight.

When Sanji entered the dining area the first thing he noticed was a sniffling (Y/N). With the speed of lightning he was kneeling in front of her, tracing soothing cirlces on one of her hands.

"(Y/N)-chan! What happened? Who hurt you?", the cook jumped up from his position on the floor.

"It's nothing, Sanji. Just a little fight", she wiped her tears away and tried to smile up at him.

"Was it that stupid Marimo? I'm going to break his face for making you cry", he was already halfway out of the room before the witch could even react.

"Sanji, no, please don't", she pleaded. Usually she'd be the last person to stop either one of them from starting a fight with the other but this time was different.

When the blond heard how desperate she sounded he stopped in his tracks, instead he turned around and started to prepare some tea for himself and the girl.

Once the tea was served, he sat down with her, so they could talk.

"It's silly...", she tried to dismiss the problem but Sanji wouldn't have it.

"How silly can it be if it makes you cry?", at the mention of her tears she swore there were distinct flames in his irises.

"It's just... Zoro and I were talking about our goals in life and when I told him I'd like to get married someday, he didn't seem to like the idea"

"How could anybody say 'no' to a proposal from you? I would marry you in an instant ~", where the witch had seen flames a moment ago, there were now hearts in his irises.

"Oh yeah? Sanji, no offense but you'd marry any woman that's not on the tree by three", she couldn't help but laugh, "But in fact, I wasn't proposing to him. We were fighting because he's just so... insensitive? You know, sometimes it's like only his thoughts and feelings are what make sense to him and so other thoughts and feelings are irrational and therefore not valid..."

"Stupid.. selfish.. douchebag.. mosshead..", Sanji was talking more to himself than to the girl sitting opposite of him, "why are you even putting up with him? You could easily find a better man that would cherish you and worship the ground you walk on"

The witch was sure the cook was talking about himself but let it slide for the moment.

"I love him", she shrugged, "what you don't understand is, that I'd rather have a thousand fights and never ever get married than to marry somebody else"

In that moment, the cook genuinely could feel how serious the girl was.

" - but don't tell him that. Otherwise, I'll never get him to tie the knot", she quickly added.

"I wouldn't dream of it", the blond confirmed.

"So, and now let's make dinner, yes? I'm starting to get hungry", (Y/N) was nudged Sanji in the side, a bright smile lighting up her face.

To further cheer her up, the cook promised to prepare the witch's favourite meal for dinner and (Y/N) was happy to help and spend some more time with her friend.

(Y/N) was in the midst of stirring one of the many pots, that were cooking on the stove - with Luffy as their captain a single dish would never be enough - when she heard Zoro's voice from outside the kitchen.

"Oi! (Y/N) come quick! There's something I want to show you"

The girl turned to the cook, who by the look of it was busy with adjusting the taste with seasoning so every dish was nothing short of perfect.

"Is it okay if I leave you to it now?", she smiled.

"Are you sure? The stupid marimo didn't even apologize"

"Positive", she shrugged, "I'm not angy anymore and I'm sure he isn't either. Why waste time being pissed at each other when you could also just spend the time that you have together being happy?"

And with that she skipped towards the door leading to the deck where her stubborn, stupid marimo headed boyfriend was already waiting for her. But just before she could leave the kitchen she made an abrupt stop, returned to where she left the cook standing and gave him a kiss on the cheek, which almost made the receiver levitate.

"Thank you, Sanji"

"Zoro, no... There's nothing you could've said or done differently that would've changed anything. I'm... so sorry", she hoped that this would convince him that it really wasn't a 'him-issue' and that he shouldn't give up on love all together, but he remained silence. When she realized that he wouldn't answer her she made a move to get up but just before she could leave Zoro spoke up.

"I don't hate you, you know?", it was the first time during their conversation that he had looked at her - really looked her in the face. She could see that he still loved her. He has always been bad at articulating his emotions but that was okay for her because she could always tell how he felt about her. He showed her. Two years of seperations didn't change that.

She didn't expect him to say anything now - least off all that. Of course, she felt glad to hear it but still she couldn't help but to feel guilty... like she didn't deserve forgiveness for all the pain she caused.

"I wouldn't blame you", she sat back down.

"I could never. Three days are one thing. Two years a whole nother", he shrugged, "Besides, Nami hates you enough for the both of us"

The witch sat there shocked but once she saw Zoro's smirk, she let out a relieved laugh.

"I think Nami hates me enough for the whole crew", she giggled.

The two of them started teasing each ofther and for a moment it felt like before. Before Sabaody, before (Y/N)'s confession, before their separation.

"By the way, I like your dress", the woman told Zoro with a deadpan look. It took a few moments for her words to register in his mind before he started yelling.

"Dress?! Are you blind, woman??"

When she saw how frustrated he was with her she couldn't hold back her giggles.

Their laughs could be heard all over the Sunny, much to the bewilderment of a certain navigator.

"Look at that! How could he be laughing with her like that after everything she put him through?", she turned to Robin.

"They love each other. Feelings don't change from one day to another"

"Well, for her they apparently did...", Nami retorted.

The older woman sent the red-head a knowing smile but chose to stay silent.

************************************************************************

The battle was in full effect and (Y/N) was in awe of how strong everybody has become over these last two years. Even the self-proclaimed coward trio of Usopp, Nami and Chopper did a lot of damage to the enemy crew. A lot of parts of town have been destroyed during the fight but the witch knew that this was the lesser of two evils and the townspeople would work together once everything was over to build it up again.

"They're like vermin!", Nami shouted. She was right. The pirates weren't strong - at least not compared to the Straw Hats - but they were many and they were everywhere.

"Doesn't matter. We're stronger", Ruffy laughed.

During the fight (Y/N) felt like she never left the crew, working together like a well maintained machine. For a moment she forgot about the struggles and that all of this would be only temporary - that they would leave once the threat was over - but then a loud explosion pulled her back to reality. A cloud of black and grey smoke rose up from just outside of town where the forrest began.

"My house!", the young witch shouted, "I need to go- I need- I-"

The others could see the genuine fear in her eyes as she was running towards where the flames were blazing up from afar.

"I'm coming with you", Zoro started to follow her.

The girl stopped in her tracks, "Wait, no you can't come"

"Why? Don't be ridiculous. You'll need help"

"Yes, but not from you", she her voice sounded urgent, "Sanji? Can't you come? Or Robin?"

"What the hell is wrong with you? You're wasting time!", the swordsman was getting angry. Why would she rather want the waiter's help before his? He could keep her safer that any body else on the crew but of course she had to be stubborn again.

"Both of you are wasting time. I'm coming", Robin interjected. Zoro tried to object but before he could both of the women already took off.

"What are you hiding, (Y/N)?", the older of the two asked.

"You'll see soon enough"

************************************************************************

Once the fight was over the forrest floor around the hut was littered with pirates. Neither (Y/N) nor Robin believed in taking prisoners. Fortunately, (Y/N)'s little house and garden were unscathed.

"How?", Robin was puzzled.

The younger woman sent her a bright smile, "That's Mim's doing"

"Mim?"

And so (Y/N) told her about her mentor. Mim was an older woman - an old hag to be specific - that took care of (Y/N) when she landed on her island two years ago. She was strict and a little grim but also extremely warm-hearted and as chance would have it, she was known as the island's sorceress. At first (Y/N) believed that it was only hearsay, like it had been in her home village, but she quickly realized that the old lady was an actual witch and better yet - she would teach her.

"I see. So, your mentor protected your home with a spell", Robin concluded as the both of them walked over to the little hut.

As they walked up to the door, an old woman and a little child came up to them. When Robin saw the little boy with the green hair and the outstreched arms, she quickly realized why (Y/N) was so against Zoro accompanying her.

"You need to tell him, (Y/N)"

"I can't, Robin. It wouldn't change a thing"

"You don't know that", she insisted.

But before (Y/N) could give an answer, they heard the voice a certain green-haired swordsman.

"What wouldn't change a thing?"

(Y/N) stiffened up. When Zoro saw the little boy in her arms his eyes immediately grew wide. The whole crew waited in anticipation.

It was the toddler that broke the silence with his babbling, signaling for his mother to be wanting to be let down. Once she set him down the little boy immediately started to wobble his way over to Chooper, where he promptly fell on his behind and happily started to wildy gesture around.

"Is that - ? Why did- ? When-?", Zoro was lost for words and so were the others. It was Nami that spoke up first.

"(Y/N)...", she walked over to the other girl and hugged her tight, "I'm so sorry"

"You didn't know", she assured the navigator, "to be honest? I probably would have reacted the same way". She sent her friend a half-smile.

"Ma-ma?", the toddler demanded his mother's attention, two fists full of Chopper's fur in both of his chubby hands.

"Ah. No, no. Leave the nice Tanuki alone, honey", she walked over to the little boy scooping him up in her arms again, ignoring the ship doctor's protests over the misidentification.

Zoro cleared his throat to get her attention back to him. As much as he enjoyed the moment of reconciliation, he still thought there was some things the two of them had to talk about.

Within seconds the mood switched yet again and all of a sudden everybody was reminded of the reality of the situation they were in.

"Maybe we should give those two a minute or two...", Robin suggested.

"Yeah", (Y/N) answered but didn't take her eyes off of Zoro, "Sanji, why don't you cook something nice for us? The fridge should be stocked...". Her suggestion was met with instant approval from their ever hungry captain.

Sanji just nodded, still not having processed the newly gained information. How could the marimo be a father??

Nami made grabby hands towards the Mini-Zoro in (Y/N)'s arms. Usually she was rather unimpressed with babies. But this was different. This baby belonged to her best friend and... Zoro.

"Come to aunty Nami", (Y/N) didn't hesitate for a moment to hand him over to the red-head. Had it been Luffy or Usopp she'd think twice but she trusted Nami to take care of her baby.

"I'll leave you two to it, so you can talk", the navigator continued, "What's the little man's name by the way?"

"Oh, I decided to name him Sanji", (Y/N) answered seriously.

"Excuse me?!", Zoro was shocked.

"Just joking! I'm sorry", she tried to calm the mosshead down. From behind her, she could see Usopp and Nami snickering behind their hands and Sanji nearly dying of heart palpitations. "It's Sora", she added quietly as the others left her and the swordsman alone.

"Is (Y/N) coming back now?", the witch heard Chopper ask somewhere in the background but she didn't have the mental capacity to think about anything but Zoro at the moment.

"Sora...", he repeated thoughtfully once they were alone, "Does he- does he have my name?"

(Y/N) felt anxious. Would he like that?

"Well...", she started but had to stop because she didn't know what to say, "I mean... yeah?"

"Roronoa Sora...", Zoro didn't know how to properly express his feelings in the moment. Hell - he didn't even know himself. But he knew that he liked the sound of that.

"Why didn't you say anything?", he asked her. It was almost like a plea.

"Would it have changed anything? I didn't want to burden you"

"Burden me?", he was in disbelief, "How could you ever burden me?"

"Don't you understand? I was alone on this island. All alone and I had to make a decision" she was getting emotional - for the first time since her confession. There were no more jokes and funny digs to mask how she really felt.

Zoro felt terrible, he knew how hard it was for her to feel isolated and then to go through something like this without any help? When they first got together he would've never thought that he'd ever grow so attached to the girl but it didn't take long for him to really fall madly and deeply in love with her. Sometimes he'd feel bad that couldn't really express how he truly felt for her but he promised himself he would do anything in his power to protect her. But he couldn't even do that.

"You had your goal... and... and... I never wanted to hold you back", (Y/N) couldn't stop the tears from falling anymore. Being separated from him was the worst feeling in the world but she would give up everything and more for him.

Zoro pulled her into his chest, holding her close and tucking her head underneath his chin. From the way hear hands would immediately grab at his robe, it was noticeable how much she missed his touch.

"I'm so sorry. I'm sorry you had to go through all that. I'm sorry I wasn't there. I'm sorry you felt like you had to lie", he hated that she felt like she had to protect him. The crew - especially Nami - had been so terrible to her, "I love you more than anything..."

She pulled back and looked up at him. Tears still streaming down her face. Even now, he couldn't help but to think how beautiful she was. And for the first time in over two years his lips met hers.

The kiss wasn't hungry or sensual. Zoro could taste the salt from her tears on her lips but it didn't bother him at all.

Once they broke apart she smiled up at him, "I've missed you"

************************************************************************

"Are you sure?", Nami shouted down from the Sunny.

"A pirate ship is no place for a child", (Y/N) answered back.

It's been a week since the fight. The townspeople were already in the process of building up what's been broken and it was time for the Straw Hats to move on. Of course, the offered the witch to join them again but nothing changed for her. She had to think about her son first and foremost - as much as she would miss life on the sea. Most of the crew already boarded the ship. It was only Zoro left on the beach with (Y/N) and their son.

"I guess it's goodbye then, huh?", the witch had a sad smile on her face.

"I promise it's not forever. As soon as Luffy is pirate king I'll come back for you... both of you", the mosshead still wasn't the most secure in his new role as a father but as long as he had (Y/N) he knew that it'd be alright.

(Y/N) went in for what would be the last hug for a long, long time, "Promise me you'll be safe. Who's gonna make you take care of yourself when I'm not there?", she smiled.

The two of them exchanged a few more kisses and 'I love you's before the crew told them it was time to depart. During the last hug, Sora, who was seated in his mothers arm reached, out and grabbed his father's cheek with a happy laugh. Zoro furrowed his brows for a moment but then quickly started grinning.

"And you keep an eye out for your mother, yes?"

The toddler babbled as if to confirm that he understood his father's order.

A loud sob disrupted the family moment. When they turned to the Sunny they saw the whole crew smiling down at them - much to the discomfort of Zoro, who was still not entirely at ease with PDA. It was Franky that the initial sob came from. The cyborg has always been prone to tears but on closer examination it was almost the whole crew that was at least a little teary-eyed. Everyone except Luffy, who had a puzzled look on his face.

"Oi, that baby looks like Zoro..."

That sentenced earned him a hefty slap at the back of the head from nami and a hearty laugh from (Y/N).

"I'm gonna miss you guys so much", she smiled through tears.

"We'll be back before you know it, (Y/N)-chan~", Sanji shouted down to her.

"Oi! Let my girlfriend alone! Nobody's gonna miss you", the swordsman, who had joined the others on the ship by now, yelled at the cook.

(Y/N) stayed on the beach listening to the two of them fight until they were too far away to make out the words anymore. Then she turned to the little mosshead in her arms.

"Guess, it's just us now huh? Roronoa Sora..."

***

Tag List: @ikissnishiki, @multi-writer-personal-blog

[about-faces]

Last night, I was once again struggling to actually write smut for a Harvey/Bruce/Gilda fic, when I noticed a very timely new guest comment on my Gilda fic, Bust. It was the first truly critical response I’ve gotten so far, and while that sort of thing would normally send me into a depressive tizzy, I actually found it really interesting!

So instead of actually writing the ship, as I should have been, I wanted to take this opportunity to think about just why the heck I shipped them in the first place.

Here’s how I responded, with added scans to hopefully better illustrate my point, plus some additions that occurred to me upon drafting this post:

I’m actually glad you raised this point, because I would have felt the exact same as you just a few years ago!

I’m gray-asexual, and I used to be a bit bothered by the rise of Bruce/Harvey shippers, because it was their canonical platonic FRIENDSHIP that mattered so much to me. I gradually warmed up to the shippers, because 1.) I realized I was ace and they probably weren’t, and 2.) they at least understood the importance of Bruce and Harvey’s bond, which is more than I can say for LOTS of official DC media.

Still, something bugged me about the ship, and I realized what it was: the lack of Gilda from the equation. She’s always been deeply important to me, especially her scant older appearances, and erasing her for a Bruce/Harvey ship (even one I’d come to appreciate) didn’t sit right with me.

But like you said, it’s not canon, and I’ve always been deeply invested in canon, even the stuff that’s frustrating and contradictory. So yeah, the throuple would have bugged me too.

Except! It all depends on WHICH canon you’re talking about!

So over the past 15 years, I’ve been obsessed with tracking down the entirety of the obscure, forgotten Batman newspaper comic strip from 1989-1991. I’ve posted the entire thing at @batman-daily, and I strongly encourage you to check it out. A couple years ago, I reread it and noticed something really interesting: the remarkable relationship between Bruce, Harvey, and the latter’s wife, Alice, who is Gilda in every way but name. They are all mutual friends, with Alice even going to visit Bruce alone to help/bully him to take care of himself.

It all reads like a perfect long-game setup for a love triangle, or for Harvey—having become Two-Face—to go after his loved ones in a jealous rage, like he did in Paul Dini’s “Two-Timer,” a story which notably showed that Grace had feelings for Bruce.

With that in mind, consider the final story arc of the newspaper strip, wherein Bruce acknowledges his OWN feelings for Alice and PASSIONATELY KISSES HER, all in a hilariously roundabout way to save her marriage to Harvey! It makes sense in context and is frankly hilarious.

And it works! Because Harvey isn’t jealous! The love triangle conflict you expect NEVER HAPPENS! Because they all love one another! And that love saves Harvey in the very end!

Was it explicitly a throuple? No, but nor have Bruce and Harvey ever canonically touched dicks. And yet the love between Bruce and Harvey in canon is true and real enough that shippers who want to make it sexual are perfectly allowed to do so, because it’s the love that matters. At least, for those of us who aren’t afraid to acknowledge the love between men, platonic or otherwise. And that love is rooted in canon.

So consider this: the mutual three-way-love between Bruce, Harvey, and Alice/Gilda is ALSO canon. That comic strip has been officially accepted as DC multiverse canon in the “Crisis on Infinite Earths: Absolute Edition,” which designated it as Earth-1289.

Furthermore, there’s something else you need to consider: the fact that Harvey HAS been used in love triangles against Bruce in several stories in recent decades. I already mentioned “Two-Timer,” but there’s also Nolan’s “The Dark Knight,” the animated “Gotham By Gaslight” film, and the Telltale game. In various ways, these stories serve to throw a wedge in the friendship between Bruce (the protagonist, whose story serves him) and Harvey (the guy who is going to lose it all, the woman included). I hate that shit. I hate the contrived drama that’s meant to stir up needless added conflict between two men who love each other.

And then, on the other hand, you have Mariko Tamaki’s Gilda story from “Batman: Black and White.” Tamaki depicted Harvey and Gilda being in a distant, loveless marriage, where even on their wedding day, he was constantly ignoring her in favor of work. The only person who could actually get his attention was Bruce.

At the time, this felt an awful lot like that problem I was talking about with the Bruce/Harvey shippers: raising up the gay ship while throwing the woman under the bus. In this case, for the purpose of doing an avenging girlboss take on Gilda. I hated that too, especially when Tamaki didn’t even follow through with the gay subtext in her next, miserable Two-Face comic.

You know that meme of a bride, groom, and best man all kissing one another, while the bride flips off the cameraman in the end? @whipbogard redrew the Tamaki wedding scene as that meme, right around the time I reread the comic strip. And suddenly, everything clicked into place for me.

After a lifetime of never, ever having any serious fandom ships, I fell in love with the idea of Bruce/Harvey/Gilda. Take what the comic strip did and bring it into the mainstream canon I love to spite the canon I hate.

In those great old Gilda stories, she saw through Harvey’s bullshit and knew how to reach him, however temporarily. She could do the same with Bruce. She’d be a valuable third voice for the ongoing toxic relationship between Bruce and Harvey, the one who could love them both while also getting to be frustrated with how fucking stupid and fucked-up both these men are.

Before she was reduced to a ride-or-die killer housewife in "The Long Halloween" (which, I'll grant you, has its own appeal), classic Gilda would actually stand up to Harvey and tell him to cut out his shit or else. I love the idea that she can also see right through Bruce, understanding how very alike he and Harvey are, even if they don't want to admit it.

Writing Gilda this way speaks to me as a longtime fan of both men, while also wanting to try to develop her place, as a woman stuck in the middle of their decades' worth of conflict and angst. She sees these men at their best, worst, and most pathetic/ridiculous, and while she's got the nerve to stand up for herself and call them out as needed, she still loves them nonetheless. For me, Gilda has become the voice for fans just like me, who are helpless to stop Batman and Two-Face from continuing the cycle of violent, toxic friendship, but still loving them nonetheless, and always hoping for the best.

So, at this point, let’s say I’ve at least managed to make you grudgingly accept my reasoning for the relationship. Even if that’s true, I’m gonna guess that the mention of a threesome felt like it came out of left field. I can’t argue with that. I wanted to actually write that as its own smutfic but, being ace, I struggle with that. But I really liked the idea, and as I was writing this, it just really wanted to be mentioned, so I included it.

The response has been positive (until now), which indicated to me that I had been successful in introducing Gilda as a viable third into a slice of fandom which had only shipped Bruce and Harvey. This is fanfic, after all, such things are expected, even encouraged, so I leaned into it.

Now, if I were ever (un?)fortunate enough to write for DC, officially? I doubt I’d have the nerve to go that far. But I’d still want to at least embrace the polycule-coded relationship between those three that we saw in the newspaper comic strip. I think it adds a whole new, refreshing spin on their ongoing dynamics, while being rooted in relationships that were established all the way back in 1942 by Bill Finger.

Finger’s story, at its heart, was all about how love can save a life. How love is the only way to defeat the villain. For Harvey Kent’s part, Gilda’s love was every bit as important as Batman’s unwillingness to give up on his friend. So I’m just taking it one step further within the freedom allowed me by fanfic.

Sorry for the length of the reply, but as you can see, I only came to this shit after several decades of thinking about 80+ years of official material. I hope I have at least been able to lessen your feelings of being jarred out of a story you otherwise seemed to appreciate. For my part, I hope to further develop the potential of this fucked-up polycule in future stories, and maybe—just maybe—I’ll be able to get you on board too. Hope to see you then!

(art by ofossart)

[sanjisluvbot]

Isekai Yandere Strawhats X Black Fem reader Chapter 19

Masterlist

Previous

It felt like the entirety of the last few months was a dream. Not being able to tell anyone about what you had experienced made you feel as if you were on the brink of insanity. You were back to the old life, not that you were angry, or sad for that matter. Your surroundings were just blurry and so was your mind. 

You didn’t pay attention to most things that were in front of you, that’s why it took you so long to realize that next week was thanksgiving. A part of you, the part that suffered and laughed with these people was still somehow stuck in that universe. You had read online a few years ago that prolonged time in another reality would make you feel every symptom you were feeling now, you ignored it. 

This wave of repressed emotions trampled you, it kept you stuck to the ground drowning in an abyss of confusion. “ Y/n I need you to go to the market adn buy the perishables for thursday and– are you listening to me?” knocking you back into your world you seen your mother looking at you in concern. Poor woman had absolutely no idea what was happening to you. 

Everyone around you noticed the change, they simply thought you were going through teenage angst or something else. You would laugh to yourself at times, imagine if they really knew of the turmoil you were dealing with. You would be dropped off at the hospital with quickness. 

At night you didn’t sleep the same, although you were almost always fighting for your life you were also accustomed to the sounds of the waves and the subtle rocking of the ship which helped you fall asleep. The night before thanksgiving you were forced to relive the events of what happened, as your cousin talked your ear off you slowly tuned out the noise when remembering the bone chilling statements of the strawhats. 

“ Y/n… if you leave you will regret this.”

Law was injured, he had been fighting both Luffy and Zoro to give you more time, the rest of the two crews were fighting amongst themselves while you were below deck of the polar tang trying to drown out the noise. The screams of your name were angry, betrayed, and vicious. Luffy shoved his way through Law stretching his arm to grab onto the ship, Law was quick though and used his ability before Zoro could strike him. You were hiding in his room with the door locked and his desk shoved in front of it, the two of you knew how much of a gamble you were taking. 

After agreeing that he would come with you and finally going through your plan you both silently agreed that maybe, in the future after Wano he would come. You knew that although it was unspoken that would probably never happen, you completely altered this timeline. This version of the one piece world was tainted by you in some of the worst ways, turning the heroes into villains that you seen them go up against and the villains that they’ve never even come face to face with. 

You wish you could have law by your side at this moment, and just as you were about the break down the door began to rattle on it’s hinges. 

“ Y/n! I know you’re in there, just come out. We can fix this, we can be as we used to. Don’t leave us.” Luffy sobbed. 

You quickly rushed under the bed. What a cliche you thought. You had to get serious now, it was time to go home and you weren’t going to let anyone or anything stop you. You were in over your head when you got here but you weren’t to blame. Who would’ve know that the people you admire the most would turn out to be monsters. 

When the door unlocked you were almost a memory, fading from this world and from the strawhast grap. Luffy quickly rushed under the bed trying to grasp at the strans off you, the anger in his body welling up. Law had slowly stalked in behind him with his infamous smirk, and Zoro was not too far behind. Angrily he dragged your feather of a body from beneath the bed, “ Y/n… if you leave you will regret this.”

Ashiver ran down your spine but you wouldn’t give himthe satisfaction of seeng you terrified for the last time. When your eyes fluttered yuou realizied you were back in your room, everything as it was and you decided to do the last thing in order to severe the link between that world nd yours. Without another thought you rushed around your room like a mad woman, scrambling for the bits and pieces you needed and when all was said and done you collapsed. 

When you came to it your mother was calling you and your cousin to run a few errands for her. The chill of the fall weather helped keep you grounded and you finally felt like you could fully enjoy their company without being lost in what should be forgotten memories. 

The next few months were a breath of fresh air. You were becoming whole again and life had more meaning than just escaping. You began speaking to people online about your experience, you put into a story. To others your story was fiction, a thought borne from the imagination plastered into the net for an online audience to enjoy. But to you, this was your life story, and you knew it would be far from over. 

The End… of chapter 1

Authors Note: I would just like to say how grateful I am. When I started this series and this account I was at the lowest point of my life, I thought I would live in a never-ending nightmare forever until I started writing. I am so happy that so many people enjoyed this series and I apologize for stringing you along after maybe like the tenth chapter, I want you to know that although at one point I didn't really know what to do with this story anymore I fully put my all into every chapter. I am not a perfect writer but the comments of you all saying how much you like my story and you want more chapters gave me a breath of life that I desperately needed in order to continue. Thank you all and I hope you continue to watch me grow as a writer. - Symphony

Tags: 🏷️: @chaichaiiskai @mizzhellsingsstuff @herwritingartcowboy @axulaphie @toshirolovebot @futmblr @rhicambo @marim0cha @sasukeswife3 @mitskikinnie100 @alaurannara @angstylittleb1tch

[mixtape-racha]

the drug in me is you | choi beomgyu

words: 3.94k // warnings: rockstar!beomgyu x bandmate!reader, vocalist!beomgyu, bassist!reader, friends to lovers, angst, lots of plot, harboured crush, crying, l-bombs, confessions, emotionally intelligent but stunted beomgyu, mentioned jeongin and heeseung as band members, me not knowing how to end a fic lolz

everytime, without fail, when you came offstage after a gig, you’d be met by the grinning face of beomgyu bouncing around the green room. genuinely, every single time without fail. it became a routine, a reaction you expected. and it was so, so fucking endearing. the way his eyes would shine, running around thanking and congratulating all of the other band members and the backstage team. the way he preened under praise, the way he giggled when he got told he did well.

sometimes it confused you - how was that the same man who was on stage a mere 5 minutes ago, dark and seductive as he sang sweet words to harsh melodies, who had women throwing themselves at his feet for just a second glance? but at the end of it all, he was always your beomie. the same short and skinny kid who was paired with you for a project in 8th grade and you hadn’t been able to get rid of since. the same kid who held you through your first heartbreak, and held you even tighter as you sobbed at your first gig together. the same kid who told you he couldn’t be in a band without you, because there’s no one else he’d rather have beside him on stage, playing bass so beautifully.

yeah, he was your beomie, and nothing could change that. not even all the groupies begging for a moment alone with him, nor the constant shipping of him with random celebrities online. while you weren’t a couple, or even close, those who knew you knew that he would always be yours, and you would always be his.

until he wasn’t. until one of the groupies that had been following your band for a while managed to get beomgyu wrapped around her finger. they weren’t dating - by no means was beomgyu looking for a relationship with her, but he could’ve fooled you. your smoke sessions in the back of the tour bus after a show soon became non-existent, beomgyu opting to take his favorite groupie to a nearby hotel instead, only waltzing back to the bus at the last possible second before you needed to leave to head to your next venue.

for a while you pinned your annoyance down to his unprofessionalism, pissed off that he would put a random girl before the career you had both worked so hard for. but after a while, you began to realize it wasn’t about her at all. it was about you. you felt neglected by your best friend, someone you’d had by your side for so many years. and it stung, especially knowing how much you’d sacrificed for him over the years.

it all came to a head at the final show of your tour - the exceedingly impulsive flirting between all of the band members, the bottles of beer being drunk on stage giving you all that final confidence boost you needed. the screams of fans, the cheering as you finished your set and said your goodbyes. all four of you were ecstatic, but even the other members were sick of beomgyu’s constant abandonment given their reactions. 

“right, well, i guess you’re off for the night now, beom? we’re probably gonna go back to the bus and smoke anyway.” jeongin asked, face hard as he anticipated beomgyu’s reaction.

“actually,” beomgyu sneered, sick of everyone’s disapproval of his actions - it wasn’t like he was the only person in history to fuck a groupie. “was gonna take us all out for drinks, but fuck the lot of you.”

you were mad at beomgyu. you really were, and you shouldn’t fall back into his web so easily. but after knowing him so long, that’s exactly what you did, time and time again.

“i don’t really fancy smoking tonight, i’ll come find a bar with you, beomie.” you smiled, ignoring heeseung rolling his eyes in your peripheral vision. however, beomgyu looked elated, quickly pulling you into a half-hug.

“see? my girl’ll never let me down.”

god you hated the way your body reacted to that. but nonetheless, you wandered out of the venue with beomgyu, fixated on finding a bar nearby that wouldn’t be overrun with people who had left your gig earlier. that was the difficult part - because as much as you loved your fans, you didn’t want to be overrun with people when you were trying to have a chill night. you were real people too.

luckily, it wasn’t hard to find a quiet bar on the outskirts of the area surrounding the venue. you were quick to grab a stool near the bar, fluttering your eyelashes at beomgyu as you told him that if he really loved you, he’d buy you a drink. that was a routine with the pair of you - even though every single time, beomgyu was going to buy your drink anyway.

but this time it was slightly different. it was kind of awkward between the two of you. the first time in a few weeks you’d been alone, not having your best friend torn away from you by an over-excited groupie. and nothing could go your way, could it? because you’d barely started your second drink before lo-and-behold - your least favorite groupie wandered into the bar, eyes instantly fixated on beomgyu.

your heart hammered in your chest, anger overtaking you. had he arranged to meet her here? was he going to leave you to go and fuck her? well, not if you left first. pushing the stool back harshly, the scraping of the feet on the floor making beomgyu wince, you grabbed your bag, fumbling to shove a cigarette in your mouth.

“i’m going for a smoke. let me know when hanging out with me is more important than a cheap fuck.” you sneered, not giving him a moment to respond before you were stomping out of the bar. you knew you were probably being dramatic, but you were beyond caring in that moment.

why else would she be in that bar, of all the bars nearby? was it not enough when beomgyu had her in a new hotel room every night of the tour? was she convinced they were together now? or worse… were they actually together?

you just couldn’t believe the audacity of beomgyu! he hadn’t even followed you out to make sure you were okay, and that realization had you heading back in the direction of the tour bus, cigarette in hand. fuck beomgyu - you’d hang out with jeongin and heeseung instead. they were always fun to get high with - you could get a pizza and watch coraline, like last time you all got stoned together.

you hadn’t got further than twenty feet before you heard a call of your name, turning on your feet to see beomgyu running from the bar to catch up with you, calling out for you to wait. it stung, in all honesty, and you didn’t even want to hear him out. but you knew he wouldn’t give up until you had, so it was probably better to get it over with.

stamping your cigarette out, you folded your arms as he came to a halt in front of you, panting slightly.

“what the fuck was that about?” he wheezed, brows furrowed in confusion. “why are you leaving? we just got here! i don’t get why you’re in a shitty mood all of a sudden!”

you scoffed at his words, a sneer on your face. “aren’t you leaving someone behind, gyuie?” you spat out the nickname you’d heard the infamous groupie giggle at him so many times. “i’m sure she’s waiting for you to drag her to the nearest hotel. can’t fuck her on every tour stop and leave out the last one, can you?”

beomgyu’s face hardened at that, and you couldn’t believe the audacity he had to get annoyed at you.

“is that why you’re throwing a bitch fit? seriously, y/n, we all sleep with fans. i don’t get why its such a big deal— i didn’t complain when you brought that poser back to the tour bus last year!”

you were enraged at his tone. how dare he try and flip this on you? shaking your head at him, you took a step away, ready to leave.

“thats not the problem, gyu. the problem is that you’ve completely abandoned m- us. you’ve abandoned us all tour for some pussy you’ll forget in a month.”

“abandoned?!” he spluttered, your words catching him off-guard. “i haven’t abandoned anyone!”

“when was the last time you hung out with us after a show, beomgyu? the last time you sat with us and told us all we did a good job, that it was a good show and you enjoyed it? when was the last time you hung out with me?” you voice raised in pitch as your feelings came tumbling out. “i’m your best friend. at least i’m supposed to be! we haven’t hung out at all, and i miss it. i miss you. you’re neglecting me, and its not fair for me to put all the effort it. i can’t do it anymore!”

when you were met with stunned silence, you continued walking away, not wanting to see his response or hear his excuses. you just wanted to get back to the bus, sleep and go home in the morning. take a break. maybe go on holiday - spend some time with yourself. if beomgyu wasn’t willing to reciprocate your energy, maybe you weren’t supposed to be best friends for life after all.

you couldn’t help the way tears built in your eyes, beginning to roll down your face. after all these years, all it took was a girl to rip beomgyu away from you. not even a girlfriend, just a girl who he enjoyed keeping around for a few hours and then leaving to come running home. god… you were a mess. you shouldn’t be this upset about it. its not like you were in love with him.

oh… oh god.

you stopped in your tracks, heart thumping in your chest. was that the issue? were you harboring feelings towards beomgyu that you never wanted to admit to yourself? god, why did this have to be happening to you? it was why you’d go to the ends of the earth for him, why you supported all his dreams and bad decisions. why you would drop all your plans for him in a heartbeat. god, you were fucked.

you swore you’d never walked back to the bus faster, waving jeongin and heeseung off when they questioned you on where beomgyu was. you were fast to crawl into your bunk, plugging in your headphones as the other boys began discussing what they believed beomgyu was doing - or, who he was doing.

it was hard to keep your tears silent, but you’d be damned if you let them see you so upset, so you tried your hardest. you didn't know when you fell asleep, or when beomgyu got back to the bus, but you were too emotionally exhausted to care.

you weren’t sure when you fell asleep, or what time it was when you woke up. the bus had pulled into a service station for a rest stop, and you cringed as your joints cracked when you jumped out of your bunk. giving your manager a small wave, you rolled a cigarette, tucking a lighter into your pockets, and stepped off the bus into the sunrise.

“sleep good?”

you jumped, whirling around to see beomgyu perched on the floor next to the bus, rolling his own cigarette.

“guess so…” you mumbled, the lighter becoming more interesting by the second as you sparked up and took a much-needed drag of nicotine. it was hard to avoid beomgyu’s eyes, especially when they were boring into the side of your head, so you took the bait and perched on the floor next to him. “you sleep alright?”

he shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “decent. would’ve slept better if i knew why my favorite girl was mad at me, though.”

the words fell out of his mouth so easily it made you feel nauseous. god, what was wrong with you? suddenly the world felt too loud, too bright. your chest tightened as you shook your head at him. words seemed to fail you, so you opted to rest your head on his shoulder, arms wrapping around one of his.

“not mad, gyu. never mad. just…. disappointed? hurt? i dunno, i just felt a bit neglected.”

he sighed, and you mentally braced yourself for another yelling match, shoulders tense… but surprisingly it never came. instead beomgyu’s hand landed on your shoulder, rubbing it comfortingly as he shook his head.

“i get it… n’i wanna say sorry for making you feel that way. guess i kinda got caught up in the moment, huh? if… if it helps, she knew from the start that as soon as tour was done i’d probably never see her again, and she was okay with it. got what she wanted, i guess.”

your heart ached at his words, even the thought of him seeing her making you feel physically sick. but you needed to push that aside, no matter what - you need beomgyu as a friend, and you couldn’t jeopardize that.

“we just missed you, that’s all. the bus got too quiet without you.”

after your heart-to-heart that day, you and beomgyu never brought up the infamous groupie again - it was irrelevant, because you fell straight back into your regular pattern. no tour, no schedules, so you got to do whatever you wanted. your managers had forced you into a break for the rest of the year - which, much to heeseung’s dismay, meant no studio sessions until the new year. after the year you’d had, you deserved the break, and your team would make sure you got it no matter the cost.

quite early into your careers taking off, you and beomgyu had decided to move in together - it meant less bills, split rent, and not having to worry about 2 homes while you were away touring the world. in hindsight, it wasn’t your best idea, and given how awkward you were in close proximity to him lately, part of you wished you could go back in time and never agree to moving into his house.

unfortunately for you, beomgyu wasn’t entirely stupid and was relatively quick to pick up on your unintentional avoidance of him - at least, it started off unintentionally anyway. the two fo you were supposed to go out tonight, meet a group of high school friends at a restaurant, but a mere 4 hours before you canceled. he didn’t even know at first - seeing your message pop up in the allocated groupchat and scanning it; the words “sorry” and “unwell” catching his eyes. you weren’t unwell in the slightest - he’d just heard you on the phone to your mom and you sounded absolutely fine.

he didn’t get a chance to confront you for about an hour, ambushing you in the kitchen when you finally left your room to grab a bottle of cola.

“unwell, huh? probably shouldn’t be drinking a soda and loading up on salty snacks, then, should you?”

you cringed upon hearing his voice, turning from the fridge to find him leaning against the doorframe, eyes narrowed as he studied your figure. there were two ways you could handle this - genuinely feign being unwell, earning the issue that he might stay at home to look after you if he believed you, or burst into tears on the spot. and being the eloquent person you were, you went for the latter option. not that you had much of a choice, seeing how beomgyu looked at you with a teasing smile on his lips but such care in his eyes.

those eyes widened as a sob suddenly racked your body, rushing over and hands scrambling to pull you into a hug. he didn’t know where this had come from, and he was baffled. had he missed something? all he did was tease you for your awful snacking habits like always.

“hey- hey, are you okay? i’m sorry if it sounded like i was accusing you– you’d just seemed so excited for this dinner lately!” his voice raised in pitch as he tried to comfort you, and it made you feel awful, another cry ringing through the kitchen.

“i’m so sorry, gyu-! just can’t do it, wanna go to bed, m’sorry-”

he shushed you so carefully, as if afraid you might break, and you almost can’t take it. you wrap your arms around him, unable to stop your cries and whimpers. its like all your emotions from the past few weeks have come tumbling out at once, and you have no way to stop them, and it terrifies you. what do you tell him when he asks why you’re upset? what do you tell him when he holds you close and tells you that you can trust him with anything, that he’ll do anything he can to help you?

“d’you want me to stay home? i– i can cancel, i don’t mind! we can just order in some food and watch some shitty movies, that always cheers you up? yeah?”

he sounded so painfully confused, and it sent a shiver down your spine. how much longer could you do this? how much longer could you live with him, work with him, share every aspect of your life with him, without telling him how you felt? deep down, you felt like you were betraying him by keeping it a secret. he cared so much about you, and always told you everything - like your opinion mattered most to him, and that your reactions alone could define how he acted on a daily basis.

“you don’t have to cancel, gyu. you can go, i don’t mind, i just… i can’t sit in a restaurant with all those girls fawning over you while i sit there like an idiot.”

subconsciously, you prayed that he wouldn’t read between the lines, not pick up on the true meaning of your words, but he was more emotionally intelligent than you gave him credit for. he pulled away from the hug, your face cupped between his large hands and his eyes studying you carefully.

“i’m going to cancel,” he said firmly, voice serious as he held you. “i’m going to message and cancel, and we’re going to have a night-in together, and we’re going to talk, okay?”

he planted a soft kiss on your forehead as he walked away, something he always did, but this time it felt different. he stopped when he reached the threshold back into the living room, turning to you with a soft smile on his face.

“go take a shower, okay? get in some comfy clothes, and i’ll meet you back here in about an hour.”

god knows that hour passed too quickly. you were so stressed the entire time that passed, overthinking in the shower, putting too many decisions into what comfy clothes to wear. why were you trying to impress him? there was no need, he was your friend about to sit down and have a serious chat with you. even as you took careful steps towards the living room, greeted by the sight of beomgyu sat on the couch under a blanket - harry potter loaded up onto the tv screen - your heart felt like it was beating so fast it might explode.

he didn’t seem to notice you until you sat, quick to toss you a blanket and gesture for you to sit closer.

“why are you being shy? come sit with me, stupid.” while his voice held its usual teasing tone, there was something else in it - something you didn’t recognize as you scooted across the cushion closer to your best friend.

he didn’t start the movie yet, hand dancing over the remote before pulling away and shifting in his seat to face you.

“you wanna talk? or d’you wanna order food and watch the movie first?”

you sighed softly, knowing no matter how much you wanted to put this off that you couldn’t do that anymore. so instead, you nodded, mimicking his position.

“i can tell you’ve figured it out, gyu. so just get this over with please?”

he hesitated for a second before nodding, fidgeting with his fingers.

“you like me, don’t you? as more than a friend.. and that’s why you’ve been acting so strange lately. i knew something was up when you started avoiding me, but it just took me a while to piece it all together. can i– can i just ask; how long? i wanna make sure i have everything straight in my head.”

“i think i always have, i just never realized it. i kind of,” you sighed again, words difficult to articulate. “i finally started being honest with myself at the end of tour– i just didn’t want to spring it on you and ruin our friendship, so i’ve been trying to force myself out of it. i really do like you, gyu, a lot. more than i’ve ever liked anyone, god, i think i’m in fucking love with you. i just didn’t want to risk our friendship or our careers.”

you teared up slightly as you finished speaking, the silence of the room deafening as beomgyu processed your words.

“i don’t..” he stopped, trying to figure out how to best voice his feelings, not wanting to hurt you at all. “i think i’ve always known we were supposed to be together. i like you - of course i do - and i’d be stupid if i didn’t say i’ve always found you attractive...”

you huffed at that, folding your arms around yourself and effectively cutting off his words.

“you can’t force yourself into reciprocating just for the sake of my feelings, gyu. honestly, i just need closure. i need you to reject me, tell me you only see me as a friend, so i can move on. i can’t keep torturing myself by being in love with you, its not fair.”

“y/n, please, just listen to me.” he pleaded, grasping your hands in his. you looked up at him when you heard the desperation in his voice, and your heart broke at the pain on his features. you didn’t realize by torturing yourself, you’d end up torturing him too in the process. god, you hated human emotions.

“y/n, i– i want to, okay? i want to love you, just as much as you love me. i know i’ve always been particularly inept when it comes to emotions, and healthy relationships, but i want to change. i just– i need time. i’m going to learn to love you, no matter what it takes, i’m going to work on myself and be who you deserve.”

you couldn’t help the tears that rolled down your face again, salty drops falling from your skin onto the material of the couch beneath you. but beomgyu wasn’t finished spilling all of himself, oh no. and what could you do except listen?

“its always been you, and i’ve been too immature to develop that. who else knows me better, hmm? i’ve been too wrapped up in this rock ‘n roll lifestyle, that i haven’t allowed myself to realize that everything meaningful has always been right here. will you… will you wait for me? will you let me learn? teach me how to love?”

“of course i will, gyu,” you sobbed, pulling a hand away from his to wipe away to wetness from your cheeks. “i’d wait forever for you, whether i wanted to or not.”

taglist: @pretty-racha @demetrisscarf @hwangrimi @mari-18s-world @bgomtori @90steele @l0stindigo @banggyu0308 @takemehye @itstrashjustrash @bangtancultsposts @kangfication @breakmyheartlater @be0mgyulovrrr @gr4veb4be @yevene @watariisbestboy @zuzuhasablog @hearts4tubatu

[divinesolas]

request: jacerys x maid!reader | reader has been working for them for a long while and jace has had a little crush on her since then. (also rhaenyra shipping them on the low would be so sweet)

tags: nontarg!reader, implied slightly older reader, mostly jacaerys pov, no use of y/n, not proofread, i think that's it?

w.c | 2.2k

a/n: i am back! so sorry for being inactive i am so happy to be able to write again i have missed you guys, getting through requests now, but it will probably take me awhile to get to the scream requests since im really unmotived to write for it but i missed writing for hotd so here you go, i hope you guys enjoy!

the first time he had ever spotted you was when he was eight. you had been assigned to be helaena personal maid. he had been standing in the courtyard preparing for another sword fighting lesson. he notices out of the corner of his eye aegon lifting his head before aegon mumbled under his breath and curse as he shakes his head bring his head back down. jacaerys looks up to see heleana, knowing of the recent betrothal and aegons distaste at the idea of course he would have a reaction like that. his eyes drifted over to the girl standing besides helaena and he felt a sudden sensation of butterflies flow into his stomach.

Curiously he picks it up and opens, It feels wrong of me to do this. Princess Heleena just recently taught me how to write and the first thing I felt I needed to do was write something to you. I hope you do not laugh. I hope that while I express myself you find it in yourself to listen. My eyes always find their way towards you. I always find myself thinking about you. I feel too embarrassed to write more though my heart yearns too. Forgive me my prince. I shall hope we talk more. With all i have,

He finds himself tracing the sloppy signing of your name at the end of your letter. His head can't make sense of the words you say despite the fact he wants to so badly. He falls back onto his bed and reads over your words over and over again with a fond look on his face, already planning on what he was going to write back. The two of you begin to write more and more letters to each other. It was easier than speaking in person. Things that could not be uttered in person were said over word, the letters grew more and more personal. He felt like he was looking into your soul with every word as you must have felt as well. But then lady Leana had passed and he had to go to driftmark to the funeral though he was more upset about the passing of ser harwin. Before he had left for driftmark you had slipped a letter for him before he had left. He didn't have the energy to open it then, feeling too much grief to read your sweet words. A part of him is glad he didn't because he didn't realize that would be the last he would see of you for many years. They did not return to king's landing which means he did not get to see you. No more letters, no more passing glances, no more you. He stayed in his bed and cried for awhile, he remembers his mother coming in and trying to comfort him but nothing had worked. Even ten years later he still mourned you like you had died, he had managed to get over his sad slump but you still lingered in his mind like a disease he could not cure, an itch he couldn't scratch. He wondered if you thought of him like he had thought of you. Word had come that they had to go back to king's landing. With lucerys position as heir to driftmark being challenged they were expected to return for a trial. While he feels as though he should be sad, he should be angry. His heart leaps with hope that he gets to see the dear maiden that had stolen his heart. He had never opened up your letter from all those years ago, wanting to savor and save what could be your last words to him for a special occasion. He decided that now would be the time, as he sits on his bed with his stuff packed, only minutes until they were set to leave with shaking hands he rips open the letter.

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath he opens the letter and gasps. My prince, It broke my heart to find out you were leaving. I hope that you have not let your grief consume you, that you shall continue to be happy no matter what. He notices some large splotches of ink as if you had been pressing too hard against the paper in thought. I must tell you this though it is improper. When you return you will never speak to me again. You may never write to me again yet I must say this now. From the day we had locked eyes and my eyes saw you smile you hard earned the key to my heart. You are the chosen one. Hand selected as the owner to the place which you and only you will ever belong. I hope that you do not laugh. I hope that you are not repulsed or you are not hateful. From the day we met I have loved you and I shall think of you always for you are all I yearn for. I shall await your return. I know not how long you will be gone but I will be here, my sweet true love. I am but a low maiden yet you are everything to me as you must be to all. When you return you may choose to ignore this letter. I am more than willing to act as if this letter never existed, I will be the one to turn this letter myself if you wish. Just please, do not punish me by never speaking to me again for I fear my heart will never recover. With all my love, Yours.

The letter shakes vigorously in his hands as teardrops fall onto the page. He must see you. He gets up and rushes towards the yard where the rest of his family awaits where they are boarding to leave. With the letter clutched to his chest he runs through the halls, the only thought going through his mind being you. He carefully, or as carefully as he can with the adrenaline pumping through his veins and the nervous shaking of his hands, folds up the letter and stuffs it into his pocket before continuing to rush towards his dragon. An arm grabs him and he whips his head around ready to curse and scream at whoever it had been before his angry face softens. “My queen.” she cups his cheeks as she frantically looks him over. “Has something happened? Why are you crying, my son?”

He feels himself grow overrun with emotions as he stumbles, unable to answer. Instead he grabs the letter and presents it to her. “My.. she wrote to me.. Her letter I must.. I must..” he cannot find himself. He looks down at the ground as rhaenyra glances over the letter and looks at her son with a heartfelt look. “Do you love her, my boy?” his heart begins to hurt as he begins to think more and more about you as he nods. He lets out a strangled noise as he clutches his chest. “I must see her mother, I must.” He never calls her mother. rhaenyra feels herself overcome with an indescribable feeling as she lets him go. “We shall head out right this moment.” They do. He feels himself riding faster than he ever had. A part of him worries you will not be there. Maids are easily dismissed and rid of in kings landing so his heart hurts as he thinks he has missed you

. They arrive and he finds lucerys is stuck to his side. Despite the fact that all he wished to was run off to find you he knows he must take care of lucerys as well. Walking into the courtyard he's taken back to his childhood, with lucerys eyes locked onto the fight happening jacaerys finds his eyes looking around at the viewers watching from above the courtyard. Suddenly his eyes lock onto a very familiar set of eyes. Yours. You look as gorgeous as you did the day he had last shall you if not more. You were standing in the exact same place you were when he first saw you with a look of shock. He finds himself stumbling away from the crowd to get a better look at you as his heart pounds so loud his ears may begin to ring. You were here. Standing in front of him. He gulps and watches as you quickly rush towards the staircase down to the courtyard. His skin begins to burn as his legs begin to shake. Everything in his body telling him he should run to you. Bring you into his arms. Allow your skin to touch him. Suddenly you are standing in front of him, panting slightly while your eyes dart all over him with surprise. “My prince… you have returned.” He grabs one of your hands in a soft grip, he sees you inhale sharply as he brings your hand to his lips and places a kiss to the back of your hand. his lips burning as he aches to kiss your skin once more. “I am sorry to have kept you waiting, my love.” You gasp before a smile graces your lips and tears fill up in your eyes. “Truly?” He places yet another kiss onto your skin, “More than anything.”

[dragon-kazansky]

Spirit of the sea

Izzy Hands x Reader (GN)

You were a member of Blackbeard's crew long ago. Then you became a ghost story. Izzy Hands only sees you in his dreams these days, until he sees you for real when investigating Stede Bonnet. This sets him on a rollercoaster of emotions between you and what his captain is doing.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Warnings: Slight angst. Probably more swearing, this is Izzy here. Longer chapter than the last.

Chapter Three - Can you see me now?

♡♡♡

Izzy had entered his captain's quarters in a slight daze. He was focused on his mission, sure, but the sound of your voice was taking over his mind. It almost felt real.

The way you said his name made his heart skip. Not that he would ever say that out loud. God forbid anyone thought Izzy Hands had gone soft.

He almost believed you had been on that bar.

"Izzy?"

He snaps out of his thoughts at the sound of Blackbeard's voice.

"He's not interested in meeting. I explicitly told him... Blackbeard desired his company."

"But does he know who I am?"

"Seemed to, yeah."

"And still he said no?"

"You can "go suck eggs in hell" was his response, I believe."

"Fascinating."

Once Izzy was dismissed, he walked up onto the deck and looked out to sea. Back on open water where he liked to be. He finds himself pressing his palm against his chest, where the ring sits under his clothes. It feels heavier than normal for some reason.

♡♡♡

Turns out it was the Spanish waiting. Not a private vessel like Stede had thought. You had cursed under your breath as the dingy approached the ship.

It was a set up.

Along with the crew and the Englishman, you were pulled into a line where Stede could see you all being held at sword point.

This was becoming the last straw for you.

"I think there's been a mistake," Stede mutters. He is then promptly stabbed as his crew gasp in shock. Blood soaks his clothes as the sword is pulled out of him. "Did you mean to do that?"

You stand by quietly and watch as Jim is revealed to be a woman in disguise. Apparently Spanish Jackie knew them and wanted their head... or at least nose.

As night draws in the Spanish prepare to hang Stede Bonnet. You look up at him as he stands on the barrel, noose around his neck. You stand there with the notion that you'll never see Blackbeard and Izzy again. This time you'll really be a ghost story to them.

A pain settles in your chest at the thought.

"I'm sorry, guys." Stede says to his crew. "Any last words?"

"Yeah," Jim speaks up. "You are the worst fucking pirate captain in history."

"I deserve that."

The Spanish captain mocks Stede for his last words. As he begins to laugh, he is swiftly swiped off the ship. All hell breaks loose.

Cannon fire. Smoke. Pirates boarding the ship. Yelling. Swords clashing. Several things happen all at once.

In Stede's panic, he knocks the barrel over, hanging from the rope around his neck.

You begin to laugh, tears welling up in your eyes. You know these guys! This crew!

You're cut free from the rope binding your hands and you watch the Spanish die one by one on front of you.

Whether it was fate or luck, you thank your lucky stars. 6 years away from the ship you called home, only to reunite with them on this very night. Your eyes dart from one person to another, looking for the man you missed the most.

As the fog rolls in thicker, Stede is cut down from his hanging, falling limp on the ground. He's looking worse for wear.

You turn at the sound of heavy footsteps. You smile at the sight of your captain.

Blackbeard stands over Stede.

"The Gentlemen Pirate, I presume."

"You've heard of me?"

"Oh yeah, I've heard of you. I've heard all about you."

♡♡♡

"Blackbeard."

He looks up from Stede and sees you standing there in front of his eyes. "No way," he mutters under his breath.

"It's me."

He looks you up and down, taking you in. He has thought Izzy had been a little odd these past few weeks. Now he was connecting the dots.

"No fucking way!"

You smile at him. Blackbeard orders his men to carry Bonnet back onto his ship as he walks toward you and pulls you in close. You finds yourself a little taken off guard, not knowing Blackbeard to be particularly a hugger.

"This is fucking unreal. You're alive?"

"Yeah. Have been all this fucking time!"

He sounds super excited as he holds your by the shoulders and looks you over again.

"Izzy is never going to fucking believe this."

You fall quiet as you look up at your captain.

"How is he?"

"He's, well, ya know, Izzy."

"Captain..."

"I'm sure he will be happy to see you again. We thought you were dead..."

"Almost was," you whisper.

♡♡♡

You climb aboard the Revenge. You had hoped to never set foot on this ship again, hoping you could simply go back to the one you used to call home, but it turns out Blackbeard has a genuine interest in this Gentlemen Pirate.

You go along with him for the sake of returning to your old crew.

"So, I'm allowed back, just like that?"

"You always had a place on my crew. "Dying" isn't going to change that. Just, I need ya to talk to Izzy first. I think that's important. I'm gonna go check in with the Bonnet guy."

"Right..."

Blackbeard leaves your side to go below deck. As you turn around, you see him. Izzy Hands. Just as you remember, though perhaps a few more grey hairs on his head.

He is frozen in place. Eyes set on you, the corner of his lips pulled down, his brows are knitted together. One of his hands rests on his sword at his hip, the other is balled up into a tight fist beside him.

"Izzy," you say his name softly.

You can see his jaw clench, perhaps even his eyes watering. You realise in that moment he doesn't believe what he's seeing. You take a step forward and he takes a step back.

"Izzy..."

"You're not real," he says plainly, trying so hard.

"I am real, Izzy. It's me."

"No. It can't... it can't be you," he nearly loses his composure. "You died. That ship burnt down to nothing and you died."

You take another step closer.

"I jumped off the ship, but got swept up in the ocean. The weather turned bad, do you remember?" He doesn't respond. "I couldn't get back to the ship, and before I knew it you were all gone. You have every right to believe I was dead and that I'm just a figment of your imagination, but I'm here..."

Izzy stares at you for a few moments longer because inhaling sharply and walking off.

You stand there and feel all the shuddering breath escape you. Yeah, he had every right to walk away.

♡♡♡

After sitting with Stede for a while as he recovers, Blackbeard stands up on deck looking out at the horizon. Izzy joins him, his mind busy with thoughts. He has to be going crazy.

"Been lookin' for you everywhere. We need to move quickly before the Spanish realise we massacred all their men."

"Oh, the Spanish. They die quite dramatically, don't they, the Spaniards? Lots of blubbering for their God."

"Yeah, agreed. Now, we really should discuss..."

"Izzy, Izzy, Izzy, Izzy! Did you see them yet?" Blackbeard looks over his shoulder at his first mate. "Our spirit isn't a ghost after all!"

"So I wasn't going mad?" Izzy whispers to himself.

"What's that?"

"Nothin'." Izzy looks out across the sea. His chest feels heavy. So you are real. You really were back from the dead. Where the fuck had you been all this time? Why hadn't you reached out in some way?

"Aren't you glad?" Blackbeard asked.

"Fucking ecstatic."

"Cheer up, Izzy. We're a team again!"

Izzy says nothing as he stares out at the sea. He doesn't know what to feel right now. For the last 6 years he believed you to be dead. You haunted his dreams, his thoughts during the day. He saw you in places he shouldn't. Izzy genuinely thought he was losing his mind at this point.

"Look out there. Those clouds." Blackbeard points out at the sky, trying to change the subject. He could tell the conversation was starting to bother his first mate. "Do they look like frankfurters to you?"

"They look like clouds," Izzy sighs.

"Yes, yes, they look like clouds because they are indeed clouds, but if you just put some fucking imagination into it, man!"

Izzy looks back out at the clouds, completely done with this moment, but humouring his boss nonetheless. "I suppose they do look like sausages."

"Frankfurters, yes! Exactly. It's like pulling teeth with you sometimes, man."

The two of them turn to face the crew of the ship. Most of the crew are milling about, but you're standing against the railing with your arms crossed and bead bowed down. Izzy's gaze is on you for a moment before glancing at the crew.

"What've we got?" Blackbeard asks.

"Well, the ship sustained some damage in the crossfire, and the crew's completely useless, bottom of the barrel."

"Mm, and what about them?" Blackbeard nods over to where you stand.

Izzy bites the inside of his cheek. "Prisoner of Bonnet or something... has been trapped on his ship for weeks according to the others."

"What's the plan?"

"The uszh - make 'em repair the ship, execute 'em." Izzy says this as he avoids looking at you. He is still trying grasp onto the fact you're not dead.

"Right, the uszh."

♡♡♡

Pete looks up from what he is doing to see Blackbeard and Izzy talking quietly to one another. "I bet he's saying something genius. He's history's most brilliant tactician. I wonder if he'll recognise me."

You look up at him. "Recognise you?"

"Yeah. I was on his crew once."

You narrow your eyes at him. "I don't remember you."

"Why would you remember me? Unless you were someone we crossed, but we very rarely left anyone alive."

You push yourself away from the railing and stand in front of him. "You weren't on his crew."

"Oh yeah? How would you know?" He stands up to you.

"Because I was on his crew. Until about 6 years ago I sailed under Blackbeard. I don't ever remember you."

Pete backs down. "You sailed with... him?"

"Yeah. You see those two over there?" You nod toward Blackbeard and Izzy. Pete nods. "They were my friends. My colleagues. My family, if you like. I killed for Blackbeard. Stole for him. Tortured for him."

Pete swallows nervously. Lucius steps between you both. "I thought he would be taller."

You sigh and step back.

Fang and Ivan come over and slap Pete across the head. "Back to work!"

Blackbeard turns back around to see what was happening. "Boys, boys, boys, hey. Let's not brutalise our guests like that."

Blackbeard swings down the steps, even though it was only 4 steps to walk down. The crew applaud him for that anyway.

"Hello everyone. I'm Blackbeard." He greets them.

Izzy comes down the steps you notice him avoiding your gaze. You know you've hurt him by suddenly reappearing in his life.

Blackbeard makes the rounds of the crew. They're fans of him. He seems pretty stoked by the reactions he's getting from them. He turns to find Buttons standing beside you with a seagull on his head.

It dawns on you how little you knew of this crew due to being locked in the brig for weeks. You realise how weird this all is.

"Sorry, sir, Blackbeard, sir, I was just wonderin' if we're going to be able to live or die..." Franchie says.

"Right, come on!" Izzy cuts him off. "Blackbeard has business to attend to! Fang!"

Fang hisses and orders them all to go back to work. You remain standing as Blackbeard and Izzy pass by you. Blackbeard smiled at you, but Izzy pretends not to see you as he steps last you.

You sigh and walk in the other direction.

♡♡♡

"This place is amazing. Izzy, look, look at this shit." Blackbeard gets all excited as he opens a cabinet to find a model of the ship they're on. He's never seen anything like this before.

Izzy sighs as he watches his boss. He was annoyed by the fact that Blackbeard wasn't taking things seriously right now, and it didn't help to know you were basically haunting him even though you were no longer a ghost. He supposed in a sense you still were, to him anyway, a ghost.

Blackbeard holds up the model of the ship. "It's a teeny-tiny version of this ship."

"It appears so, yeah." Izzy takes it from Blackbeard when he hands it over. "So, Edward..."

"He's got all sorts of knick knacks and trinkets."

"Edward?"

"This guy's fucking fascinating!"

"Edward, focus. We need a plan."

"I AM focusing. I'm focusing on all of this brilliant stuff."

"Edward, we really need a plan." Izzy insists.

"Crazy little trinkets."

"Come on, a plan."

"Yes! We always need a fuckin' plan, all right?! And then what? Then we fuckin' execute the plan, then we get another plan, then what do we do? We execute that, and so on and so on, and again, and again, and again, and again! It's all so fucking boring!" Edward shouts.

"Why aren't you focusing on them? Huh? Our friend who came back from the dead and crossed our paths again! Who we thought was dead, but really they were out there all this time probably doing some way more fucking interesting than the same thing over and over again!"

Izzy bites his tongue at that.

"I'm bored outta my skull man. Is this all there is?" Ed asks Izzy, turning to face him. "I shouldn't be bored. I'm fucking Blackbeard."

Izzy stares at his captain.

"Well, as board as you might be, if you don't make a decision soon, we're going to fuckin' die."

Blackbeard looks at his first mate.

"You're doing it again."

"Doin' what?"

"Avoiding talking about them. All you wanna do is talk about what I plan to do. You won't even say their name."

"Edward-"

"Do you hate them, Izzy?"

"Ed-"

"No, Izzy. Do you hate them? Do you despise them for dying?"

"They're not dead though, are they? Never were. They just made us believe they were."

Edward stares at Izzy.

"Huh..."

"What?"

"Now, there's an idea. I haven't done that yet." Edward says curiously. "I haven't died yet, have I? Maybe we should try that." He says, standing right in front of Izzy with a look of excitement in his eyes. He then walks past his first mate to go back outside.

Izzy stands there with the ship model in his hands. "Yeah, cos that make sense."

He puts the model back in the cabinet.

♡♡♡

You sit on the deck with your head leaning back against the railing. The crew are still fixing the ship, but you're lost in your thoughts about Izzy.

Israel Hands was always a hard man. From the moment you net him, he was tough, direct, took shit from no one. He took pride in being Blackbeard's first mate. Being first mate was no joke, it was a huge responsibility to the ship and to the captain. Izzy Hands was perfect for Edward's right hand man.

He was always the same, but it took months of sticking to his side to make him soften up, if only a little bit. Izzy would find himself drawing closer to you. He would always come to stand beside you. Always found himself sharing thoughts and ideas with you. Sometimes he just liked to sit in silence with you.

You became a safe space for him.

Izzy Hands is human, despite what some might think of him. You know deep down he has thoughts and feelings too, he just does a good job of keeping them hidden. You've seen the way he looks at Blackbeard, like he's the most important man in the world. Izzy would do anything Blackbeard asked him. Even bend the fucking knee if he had to.

You liked Izzy. As much of a bastard as he was. There was a connection there, it might be hard to see, but you knew it was there. It was the things Izzy did that proved it's existence.

Now he hated you.

You should have made more of an effort to contact hi somehow, but even then you don't know how you would have managed that.

"Shit..." You sigh.

In the corner of your eye you see Izzy comes outside. You keeps your eyes away from him. If he was going to ignore you, you would ignore him too.

Izzy joins Buttons where they see ships approaching on the Horizon.

"These wee black dots look a bit Spanish to me. What do you think?" Buttons says.

Izzy looks through his telescope. "Fuck!" He hurries down the steps muttering to himself as he goes to find Edward.

You watch him go, immediately breaking your ignoring him attempt.

♡♡♡

Izzy can't find Ed. He's not on deck by looks of it, and he wasn't in the captain's quarters when he went in to check. Izzy is losing his patience right now. He sighs and heads back outside to make sure the crew are still working, and to see if Edward has appeared in the time he was gone.

Instead Izzy just finds himself staring at you. You've been sitting in the same position for the last hour. He would yell at you for being lazy, but that would mean talking to you, and that was the last thing he wanted to do.

However, as your eyes rise from the wooden deck to meet his, Izzy finds himself frozen once again. Those are the same eyes he used to look into back then. You're right there in front of him.

In his state of being thrown back to the past, he had failed to notice the crew of this lousy ship had gone from deck. He blinks and realises how quiet it is. He takes note of you looking at him. You open your mouth to say something, but he walks away immediately.

He won't talk to you.

♡♡♡

The crew are below deck eating and arguing over Jim. They seem to believe Jim is a mermaid, but they stands up and yell at the crew, stating they are not, in fact, a mermaid. Neither are they bad luck.

Izzy is not impressed.

"You don't get food when you're being invaded." He states to them, unhappy with how things are going. "You live at my pleasure! Back to work! Useless fuckin' fuckers!"

He storms off again.

When he returns to deck be finds you fixing the ship. You've picked up where they have left off. You haven't noticed him standing there silently watching you as you work away.

Izzy hates the way he feels right now, seeing you there in front of him. You're behaving like you haven't been gone for 6 fucking years of his life.

"You don't have to do that," he says, trying to remain neutral.

You don't look up from what you're doing, continuing to hammer the nail.

"As I gather, you were their prisoner. They ain't your crew."

You shrug. "Ed said I always had a place on his crew, but right now I don't feel like I belong on either. This weirdos, well, I don't know much about them. I know they're not very good pirates, that's for sure. As far Blackbeard... it's been 6 years. A lot has changed. I've probably changed."

Izzy watches you. You refuse to look at him.

"You haven't changed... much."

You stop hammering the nail, but you keep your eyes focused on the deck as you tilt your head in his direction slightly.

"Thought you were dead."

"Yeah..." You say softly. "Figured as much. Heard the stories. Ya know, pirates believe I'm some ghost who died on that ship that day, seeking revenge on anyone who gets close to the wreck. I apparently haunt the water waiting for the day Blackbeard returns so I can rest in peace. I mean, who the fuck made that story up?"

Izzy doesn't laugh, but he is mildly amused by the tale. "Some arsehole, probably."

You chuckle. "Probably."

At last you bring your eyes to meet his as you stand. You look at him with a sigh. "I'm sorry you thought I was dead. But I had no way to contact you or let you know I got off that ship that day."

Izzy says nothing.

"I thought about you every day," you confess. "You and the guys. I wondered if you ever looked for me."

"Uh..." Izzy drops his gaze.

"I get it... you thought I was dead. No point in looking for a dead person at sea."

Izzy looks back up at you. "Did you ever once look for us?" He asks.

"Every fucking day. For the record, Blackbeard isn't easy to find."

Izzy almost smiles, but the sound of the door opening behind him has him frowning again and turning around. The crew of the Revenge are coming back to finish their work.

Izzy doesn't look at you again as he watches them, making sure they don't slack off again. You decide to finish the job you started.

Izzy only glances your way when he knows you've stopped looking.

♡♡♡

You knew what you were seeing, but you weren't sure what to make of it. Right in front of everyone was Blackbeard in a white frilly shirt, sleeves covering his hands. He was waving his arms about in some strange dancing motion. His expression was very serious though.

You thought perhaps you had hit your head and were imagining things, but when Stede Bonnet comes out wearing Blackbeard's iconic leather outfit, you decided you must have been drugged instead.

Izzy has to walk off and you don't blame him. The man has put up with a lot from Blackbeard over the years, and this had to be taking the cake.

While the crew play along with this strange charade, minus you who wanted nothing to do with any of this weird cosplaying thing, Izzy pulled Ed to the side to have a word with him.

You see them standing in the door. Izzy is obviously irritated with Ed. When you see Izzy giving Ed two middle fingers, you know that he has reached his tether.

Izzy marches out and grabs Stede by the collar. He drags Stede down below deck. No longer able to stand by, you follow him.

"How quickly can we move this vessel?" Izzy asks Stede.

"I'm not sure. That's really the crew's thing."

"How are you stocked for munitions?" Izzy asks him, grabbing him by the jacket again.

As you and Ed enter, Stede looks up. "Ed! Do you know this guy? He's a complete asshole!"

"Ivan! Fang! Prepare the guns. Execute anyone who won't fight." Izzy orders.

"Well, Blackbeard... what do you think?" Ed asks Stede, getting closer. You dare to move closer to where Izzy stands.

"Do you concur?"

"Me?" Stede asks him.

Realisation sinks in for you.

"You wanted to be Blackbeard. This is what it's like." Ed tells him.

"We could just talk to them."

"OK, yes, and do you speak Spanish?" Ed asks.

"No."

You sigh softly. Stede was about to learn what it meant to be an actual pirate.

Lucius comes in counting down from 20. You looked at him in slight confusion, but the look he gives Ed means this is something they understand. It dawns you he was counting down the time before the Spanish grew closer.

"Time is almost up. What are you going to do?"

"What?" Stede panics.

"They're on us now. Time for a new idea, Stede. The crew's going to die."

"I don't have an idea!"

"Hurry, you're going to lose all your men. It's all going to be your fault. All of the men who trusted you..."

"I don't know!"

"Their blood's going to be on your hands. It's going to be your fault!"

"I don't know!" Stede says again.

All you can do is stand there and hope someone has a fucking plan. You did not plan on actually dying today. You glance at Izzy, but he's just watching this back and forth interaction between the two men.

You'd never get to apologise properly to him.

"Time's up!" Lucius screams.

"I don't know what to do!" Stede yells.

"Death it is," Blackbeard says. "But wait..."

"You're a genius, Blackbeard!" Pete comes in grinning.

You let out the breath you were holding. You should have known there was a plan all along. You feel your muscles relax. You don't see the way Izzy looks over at you discreetly from where he stands.

Upon returning to deck you see the ship is surrounded by heavy fog. You could hardly see a thing outside the deck.

"I don't believe it," Izzy says.

"No one will see us in this," Fang speaks up.

"This is why you do not doubt Captain Blackbeard!" Ivan calls out.

"You knew this would happen?" Stede asks. "How?"

Ed takes a seat. "Quite simple, really. The colour of this morning's sky coupled with the brisk westerly wind made me think we'd be safe. And then the shape of the clouds confirmed it."

"Frankfurters," Izzy mutters. "Fuck me."

"Izzy, I figured the fog would set in once the sea cooled around dusk."

"'Cept we're right in their path. They'll run snack into us," Buttons says.

"Correct! On any other day, for it's September 2nd and tonight's a full moon. So life anchor, and let the ocean current drift us into the warm embrace of safety."

You can't deny that was clever thinking, but the way Izzy glances you makes you realise something is wrong. You ask him with a silent tilt of your head what the matter is, bit he just looks back up at Edward.

"Ed, Ed, it's September 1st, boss."

"What's that, mate?"

"It's September 1st."

"Dickfuck, no, it's not."

"He's right. It's the first," Lucius conform. "The full moon's tomorrow."

"It's a leap year." Ed sighs.

"Does that change things much?" Stede asks.

"Yeah. We're goners. Those of you who can swim would be wise to do it now."

The crew start asking questions, worried.

"Where are you going?" Stede asks.

"The Captain goes down with the ship. I'm going to get pissed."

Stede goes to follow Edward.

All you can do is look at Izzy. He's not looking at you, once again. You want to say something to him, but he walks away before you can utter a word. You sigh.

Fang comes over to you. "He missed you, ya know."

You look up at him. "Izzy?"

"Yeah. He probably won't appreciate me tellin' ya this, but I'm sure I'd heard him crying in his cabin most nights after the incident..."

You turn to look at where Izzy stands, staring out into the foggy sea.

"I can never make it up to him for making him believe I was dead..."

Fang places a hand on your shoudler. "Sure, you can."

Fang leaves you alone with your thoughts. You keep your eyes on Izzy and take a shake breath. That bastard will never understand how much you missed him.

♡♡♡

@grippleback-galaxy - @askmarinaandothers - @godlikegallagher - @for-fuck-sake-im-alive - @whiskeyswriting - @lxsm2 - @bloody-bunni666 -

[stephaniebrownslover]

Hİİİİ YET ANOTHER ANON

Can I ask about Creepypasta ages headcanons in your main AU??

THANK YOU FROM NOW <333

HIIIIIIII NEW ANON, YOU'RE SO SWEET<3333

Okay thank you so much for asking, you guys are literally spoiling me, like I'm having a little heart attack whenever someone asks me something.

I don't want this post just be numbers so I'll give a random fact about main characters' most important birthday day and something about non-human characters, hope you don't mind. It's mostly angst and I'm so sorry about that.

YOU'RE WELCOME AND I REALLY HOPE YOU LIKE IT<333

I know most of the ages sound ridiculous but it's really hard to attach them all together :(

Characters' Ages And Facts About Main Characters' Most Important Birthday

Au's ships: TicciWork, NinaKate, MaryJane and Bloody Angel(probably should've said this earlier)

Current year: 2014

Main characters

-Jeff The Killer: 20

Jeff got burned at the age of 15, at his most important birthday. His parents were seeing a therapist while Liu was still in prison, and his therapist made a suggestion to Jeff's parents to organize a birthday party for cheering Jeff up. Jeff can never forget the day he was burned alive because his whole life was shaped by it. That's why he hates his own birthday and attacks if anyone tries to celebrate besides Liu.

- Clockwork: 20

Clockwork's most important birthday is the 18th age. Because that was the first year she wasn't on her own. Jeff, Toby, Nina were close friends of Clockwork at the time and each had their own small-scale celebration. For the first time, Clockwork didn't hate her own birthday. That's how she got into the habit of celebrating other people's birthdays, if she felt good about something stupid like that, the people who cared about her might also deserve to feel good in a stupid way, or something like that.

- Hoodie: 25

According to Brian, the most important birthday is the one he celebrated at the age of 10. His family had taken him to see a theater as a gift, and little Brian was so impressed that he was literally obsessed with theater performances and musicals after that show. Even though 10-year-old Brian is the reason why he is where he is right now, Hoodie never blames him for following his dream.

- Masky: 26

His most important birthday is the 20th, when he started working under Slenderman's orders. The year he realized that his life would be like this and that he would have to spend more than he hoped in this job, that fighting would only cause him to die sooner. Obviously, he didn't care about himself, he'd rather die than live this way, but he didn't want to leave Brian alone.

- Ticci Toby: 19

15th birthday. The last year he celebrated with Lyra and his mother since he was a proxy at the age of 16, he celebrated rest of his birthdays as a proxy. Toby doesn't remember all of his memories, and although most of the time his memories are more like pieces, he knows that two women named Lyra and Connie are worth worlds to him. And every time the fragments of that birthday come in front of him, he feels nothing but happiness.

-Eyeless Jack: 21

↺Actually, if he was still alive, he would have been 34. Because he was 21 when he died during the ritual in 1980.

The most important birthday is the year he received the letter of admission to medical school at the age of 18. He had received this a letter a few days ago, and he and his family had thrown a big party to celebrate it. Although he spent his 19th birthday, his first year of studying med, with his family, the most important thing for him is his 18th age.

-Jane The Killer: 22

21, when Mary proposed to her on her birthday. Jane was in a very emotionally repressed state after all her trauma, and Mary could no longer control her feelings for her. While Jane and her lover Mary were sitting in a fashionable restaurant, Mary proposed to Jane. And when there was a lot of opposition because the age group was generally old due to the cost of the restaurant, Jane kissed her on the lips so as not to discourage Mary. The best birthday of her life.

-X-Virus: 17

7th age. That year, he had gone to the zoo on a school trip and celebrated his birthday with the animals there instead of people. This is the biggest proof that he prefer animals' existence to humans. Of course, he might have been happier if a monkey hadn't stolen his food, but little Cody wasn't mad at the monkey then. And when the monkey saw that Cody was upset later, he gave him some of his food anyway.

-Nina The Killer: 19

16th birthday. She and Jeff hadn't made up yet and it was a day when she was really hurt emotionally by him. Her close friend Kate, who saw this, tried to kill Jeff. Although Nina could hardly stop her, Kate was convinced later and they went to hang out at Kate's special place together. Kate was a really special friend to Nina, and she liked that she knew that Kate opened herself up so much. And when Kate dropped her home in the evening, she found Toby and Clockwork were clumsily trying to celebrate her birthday, she cried because of cuteness.

-Kate The Chaser: 20

The first year she spent with Nina as a lover, 20th age. They had become lovers a few months ago, and unlike other proxies, Kate did not remember anything about her past, so she had no memories to miss. Nina had known her since she found Jeff at the age of 15 and was after him. They became close friends when Kate was 17 and Nina was 16, and they started dating when Nina was 19 and Kate was 20. Their relationship began when Kate took pity on Nina and helped her, and Nina helped her during difficult times where Kate tried to expertize in proxy work. The year they became lovers, Nina organized a special day just for the two of them, knowing that she wouldn't want a big party, and Kate's favorite moment was when they watched the sunset with one head phone.

Main supporting characters

-Homicidal Liu: 18

-Sally: 13

↺If she was still alive, she would have been 55 years old. She died in 1972.

-Ben Drowned: 12

↺If he had continued to live, he would have been 32 years old. He died in 1994.

- Puppeteer: 23

↺ If his heart was still beating, he would have been 37 years old. He died in 2000.

-Zero: 24

-Nurse Ann: 27

↺If her heart had been alive, she would have been 33 years old. She died in 2008.

-Bloody Painter: 17

-Judge Angels: 17

-Mary Vaughn: 22

Supporting characters

-Lulu: 16

-Laughing Jack: 214

↺He was produced in 1800.

-Nightmare Ally: 15

↺If she was still human, she would have been 55 years old. She died in 1974.

- Kagekao: 29

↺If he was still a human, he would have been 34 years old. He died in 2009.

-Rouge: 32

-Jason The Toymaker: 134

↺He was produced in 1880.

-Laughing Jill: 114

↺She was produced in 1900.

Background characters

-Slenderman: 2500+(?)

↺It is not known exactly when he was born, some say that there are drawings of him even in ancient Egypt.

- Emra: 25

↺If she was still alive, she would have been 37 years old. She died in 2002.

-Dr. Smiley: 33

-Cat Hunter: 30

-Zalgo: ?

↺It is estimated that his existence endured back even before the earliest times of humanity.

-Weeping Forest: 16

↺If she had not undergone this change, she would have been 56 years old. She died in 1974.

[etinceelle]

CW : animal death

I don't really know how to talk about it but I lost my baby cat this weekend. I grew up with him, everything happened so suddenly, it was brutal and I still don't realize how fast everything happened. He was suffering and I had to choose to help him go in peace. It's probably one of the worst feeling in the world that to know you're being a part of helping a being you love go, and at the same time I had no other choice because he was suffering and barely being able to breath. I just have everything on loop in my head and I can't get the images out of my brain, the moment I saw him go and his last moments, I feel so numb but I just couldn't leave him alone that was NOT an option.

A few days ago only he was there purring on my lap, playing like a baby, eating a lot... It feels a lot. I don't even know what to say more, I need time to process, I don't want to work or go at uni, I feel anxious at night, I struggle to eat, I just sleep and cuddle with my other cats and I'm probably being overprotective and just staying with them to be sure they're okay.

I just don't care about wasting my time with any drama, with anything, I'm just tired of fighting, I'm tired of debates about fandom or fictional ships or whatever. It feels weird one year ago I was completely obssessed with RWBY V9 at that time, right now it's the last thing I could care about. I just wanted my baby cat to stay for a bit longer, I wish I could have helped him, I wish I could have been there more, I don't know if I did enough when I was there to help him go, I don't know if I talked to him enough, if he felt more at peace that I was there, I don't know if he understood what was happening before he fell asleep, I just hope he knew that I wasn't gonna abandon him, I wish uni wasn't taking so much of my time so I could have stayed with him more

I knew he was old, I knew he wasn't gonna stay forever, but I just thought the way he left would be less scary, more peaceful, less painful, more calm... No matter how much you prepare yourself, you're never ready when it really happens

I remember how tiny he was when we found him, he was 4 months old and I was 10, I was waking up 1h before my usual time to spend time with him before school. It's the first time I tamed a cat and learned how to earn his trust, he was my baby cat

I just miss him

Love you Fripon ♥ 2010/2024

[misspearly1]

Day Eighteen: Accidental Stimulation - Din D'jarin

Kinktober22 List

WC: 4.4k Warnings: 18+ Content. Minors DNI. Talk of Dehydration. Mutual Pining. Accidental Stimulation. Female Masturbation + Getting caught. Unprotected PIV sex. Desperate Sex. Fluff. AN: Oof, this took me a solid minute to write my loves. Kinktober is taking its toll out on me but thankfully I only have eleven more to write after this. I hope you enjoy.

-

You look at Mando incredulously, fearing that all hope is lost, or fear that he has completely lost the plot with heat stroke, as he points to a sad and pathetic looking speeder bike sitting at the bottom of a small canyon in the desert. 

Two hours ago, a devious bounty managed to lure you and the Mandalorian out into the desert where he then tricked you to abandon your healthy, fully functioning, speeder bike to give chase on foot instead. Mando was so close to capturing him too, he was literally just an arm’s reach away before the target hopped onto the speeder and took off, leaving you both to the dust.

You raised your gun ready to shoot at the time, but Mando stopped you and you were understanding as to why, but now you wish you didn’t listen and just pulled the trigger. Your aim isn’t great at all, but you might have been able to hit the target, regardless of the fact he is wanted alive, and you’d have the speeder bike to travel back to the ship where the water supply is. 

Now after two hours have passed since then, you can see that Mando regrets not shooting the target himself. It’s a mistake and you don’t blame him for the judgement call in the heat of the moment considering the bounty is worth ten thousand credits, however the man is currently pointing to another speeder bike like it’s a miracle and you really do think that heat exhaustion is clouding his mind. 

“It probably doesn’t even work, Mando.” You shake your head with a huff, “And we shouldn’t waste our energy checking it out.” You explain, hoping that he could see common sense, but of course, just like Mando does all the time, he insists. “Worth a try.” 

You’ve been working with him for the last year, and you know there’s no use trying to protest when he gets determined. Watching the back of his cape swish side to side with each step he takes down the steep slope, you sigh frustratedly and wipe the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand. Getting down into the canyon isn’t your biggest worry, it’s coming back out, but you follow his steps and make your way down regardless of the worry. There’s no way you’re letting him go alone. 

Climbing down ledge from ledge then sliding down the slippery slopes and, in some areas, even sliding down on your ass until you reached the bottom, you immediately felt some relief from the big star in the sky when standing inside the shade. You damn bear wanted to moan from the relief it felt that good. Your clothes were damp, clinging onto your skin with sweat and your exposed skin would surely be sunburnt by now, but the dehydration is most worrisome. You can feel it starting to take effect. Your mouth is dry, lips too, and you have an insatiable thirst. 

“Here,” Mando gestures as he walks towards you, holding his canteen. “Finish this off, cyar’ika. It’ll keep you hydrated til we get back to the ship.” Apparently taking notice of your relief in the shade and seeing that you're clearly dehydrated, he couldn’t not offer up the last of the water supply for you to finish off. “But Mando, what about yo-” You tried to protest, but the man cut you off with his hand held out and a curt shake of his head. “Drink.” He says flatly, no ifs or buts - adamant as always. 

You reluctantly lift the canteen and take two sips, watching him pull off his cape and lay the item of clothing over his arm instead. It was harrowing to watch, painful even. No matter how hot you are right now, Mando is a thousand times worse inside all of that armour and you can’t drink all of this water for yourself. It would be wrong. You can’t do that to him, can’t allow him to suffer so you will be okay. 

“Mando, please.” You plead with him. Even reaching out for his gloved hands, you place the canteen in his palm then squeeze his fingers around the object reassuringly. “We both know that you need this more than I do. I will be okay, I had a drink, but you finish it off.” Nodding once, you walk away from him quickly before he could try to argue about it and now that your back is turned, you hope that he will use this moment of privacy to lift his helmet and finish off the water. You hope that he gets the message that you, too, can insist and be adamant. No ifs or buts. 

You care for Mando, and he cares for you too; this is just one of the many examples that show how you both have each other's backs, although sometimes you can argue when there is a disagreement, you both mean well and only have the best interest in mind. While he hydrates, you approach the speeder bike and hold back a groan from the sun beating down on your exposed once again as you look the vehicle over. I’ll gladly take the cold over the heat any day, you thought. 

Luckily, there are no loose parts laying around on the ground so that’s a good sign, but you still have no hope simply because it was left out here at the bottom of a canyon. No one would leave a working speeder bike. It’s just absurd…. Or is it? You ask yourself while looking it over. Nothing at first glance looks seriously wrong with it, the power cell is intact and it’s showing half full on the gauge. The outriggers are a little rusty and one of the back thrust flaps is cracked but held together with tape. She isn’t perfect, but she’s all you’ve got. 

You wait for Mando to join you again before trying the ignition switch, not wanting to turn around to break the trust you have built with the man thus far in case he still has his helmet off. There wasn’t a whole lot you knew about Mandalorian's to begin with before meeting him, but one thing that pretty much the whole galaxy knows is that he mustn't ever reveal his identity, therefore you’ll do everything in your power to uphold that. 

Even when you hear his boots dragging across the sand towards you, you still don’t turn around to face him. Admittedly, sometimes you worry too much about stumbling across the man without his helmet, though you can never be too safe, right? You relax a little when hearing his modulated sigh from over your shoulder, knowing that his helmet is definitely back on now, however when he approaches, your body becomes stiff from the delicate touch of his gloved hand on your lower back, burning through your clothes. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N. It’s my fault we’re in this mess.” He apologises sincerely, then promises. “I’ll make it up to you one day, somehow.” You still remain shocked and confused, stiffer than a nail from his harmless comforting gesture. His words fall on deaf ears as all you can think about is how good his hand feels. You couldn’t tell whether or not you were burning up from the sun or burning up from his touch. Choosing the latter when he pulls away, you miss his touch and yearn to feel it again, which is really quite bizarre that you even miss his touch to begin with. 

Mando isn’t a physical touch kind of guy, he’s never really touched you like this. Sure, there have been little accidents before where he bumps into you, but to actually reach out and hold you in some way, reassuringly, is new for him and new for you to feel. And now that you have felt it, you want more. It makes your legs squeeze together with the dirty minded thoughts racing around your head then makes your cheeks blush with shame for even thinking about him in that manner. 

Miraculously, you even begin to feel the desire flooding your core. You’re dehydrated, you didn’t even think you’d be able to feel wet when dehydrated, let alone feel wet in the first place by the simple act of feeling a hand on your back. Stars! I need to get laid. You reprimand yourself, blaming the fact that you’ve gone too many months without intimacy for the sudden surge of arousal. That has to be the only reason for your sexual confusion right now; has to be the reason why you yearn to feel Mando’s gloved hands between your legs. 

Focus! You snap with your inner voice, directing your attention back to the task at hand and not your thoughts. The speeder bike. That’s more important right now, you can deal with whatever you were just thinking about later. “Ready to see if she’s alive or not?” You ask Mando in a small voice, still feeling the effects of your own dirty imagination. 

The man only nods in return and with that, you lean over for the ignition switch. She backfires loudly three times, rattling and clattering thunderously that makes you and Mando take a step back, fearing that she’s about to blow. After a few moments, she calms down and settles to an excessively loud hum, though still shaking violently. Always too good to be true. No one would leave a perfectly good working speeder back. You agree with your thoughts. 

It didn’t sound promising, so you kneeled to the floor and looked over the engine while Mando walked around the bike, no doubt to check if there were any problems on that side. One of your many skills is knowing a thing or two in mechanics. You know enough to get by, but any major problems are lost on you. A nasty smell was flooding your nostrils and the catalytic converter looked damaged - that’s your problem. 

“Hey, do you smell that?!” You yell to Mando over the loud racket coming from the engine, but when there is no answer, you look up for him. “Shit!” You gasp, not expecting him to be so close. He was leaning over the bike, the T shape of his visor directly above your face giving you a fight, but his proximity to you was most tantalising, even a little intimidating. And if you didn’t know any better, you would say that he was smirking inside the helmet simply from the way he was tilting his head to the side, as if amused from your reaction. 

He jerks his chin outwards, a wordless way of asking you to repeat what you said, but you gulped as your eyes roamed the broad expanse of his shoulders and wide chest towering over you in this position. It made you think of him laying over your naked body instead. “Um, I think it’s going to be okay,” You rise from the floor, explaining loud enough for him to hear this time. “She’s spewing fumes, that’s what the noise and smell is, but she’ll get us back to the ship if we take it easy and don’t overpower the engine.” 

“Okay, mesh’la.” Mando yells back over the noise, nodding, “Let's go back home.” He swings a leg over the bike and moves up the seat as much as he could for you to sit on the back, but you froze with surprise, thinking about the fact he has just called the razor crest home. You feel a concoction of different thoughts whirling around your brain, even though the ship is where you both reside day and night on your travels through the galaxy, he’s never called it home before. It makes you feel warm and fuzzy on the inside. 

“What’s wrong?” He tilts his head to ask, worried. You snap out of it then, shaking off your emotions while replying. “N-nothing just… Nothing, don’t worry about it.” Upon looking at the backseat and seeing only one set of foot pegs, you ask. “Where do you want me to put my legs, speeders aren’t made for two carriers?” 

Jerking his head to the side, another wordless gesture telling you to just hop on, you reach out and hold his shoulder, then sigh breathily when feeling his brute strength under your fingertips. Has he always been this big and strong under his clothes? You ask, wishing to explore his bare skin without the clothing barrier in the way. 

You swing your leg over and sit down, now gripping his shoulder with the urge to moan out from the vibrations below caused by the engine. You clenched around nothing, feeling your clit pulse from the contact of the seat against your core. It was buzzing so loud and strong, that you already knew this journey back to the ship was going to be euphoric. 

“Just relax.” Mando yells, mistaking the fact that you are clearly turned on right now for discomfort as he reaches for your legs to wrap around his waist. “I’m sorry, it’s just for a little while, cyar’ika.” He justifies himself, and you immediately lean in close to reassure. “It’s okay, it’s okay. I promise.” It’s actually more than okay, Mando… 

He nods after you get comfortable then hands his cape to you. “Keep this safe for me.” He asks, and you know how much his cape means to him, so you handle it with care. Taking it from him then putting it behind his back, you move up the seat and keep it secured between your bodies. Quickly growing tired of the yelling, you just threw him a thumbs up instead and he then returned the gesture by taking both of your hands with a firm squeeze before placing them over his chest plate. You wanted to feel that again, something so simple as holding his hands was electric. 

As he accelerates, getting you both out of the canyon to make your way back home, as he newly calls it, you rest your cheek to his back and immediately close your eyes, picturing him pleasuring you instead of the vibrations from the bike. You couldn’t help it. You were just so turned on from his touch and now with the vibrations below, you were imagining it was his fingers working their magic. Although you felt so dirty and wrong for thinking about Mando in this sexual manner, you loved how good it felt to be pressed against his body like this. It felt like you were hugging him from behind, but it wasn’t a real hug. As much as you wished it to be, it wasn’t real.

Truthfully, you wished you could be sitting up front instead; up front and facing him with your legs wrapped around his waist. And that wishful thought makes you clench around nothing again, just imagining your burning heat sitting above his crotch while he rides the speeder back to the ship. There was no use trying to fight the inevitable. You were quite literally sitting on top of a vibrator and the sensations it was providing were too pleasing to ignore. 

Besides, would it really be all that bad to make the most of it? To make the most of this journey and get yourself off a couple times before you reach the Razor Crest and continue your hunt for the target? Who knows when your next moment of privacy will be as you can barely pleasure yourself these days with how cramped the ship is and how busy your workload has been. 

You’re always with Mando. He, as well as yourself, doesn’t have any real privacy. You’re always together, not that you mind it, but moments like this where you can release some of your pent-up sexual frustrations are sparse. Perhaps this is a blessing in disguise, you ponder in thought. You’re clearly having mixed emotions about your employer and that’s because you are so deprived of intimacy. 

You need this release; need this sexual release so you can be able to think straight and get back to normal. After justifying your actions, you quit fighting your own needs and just relax, letting the vibrations pleasure you. Small gasps and whimpers slipped past your lips and your cheeks burned at the thought of Mando hearing you. 

Hope had you thinking that the man would love it, that he’d love the fact you were quite literally getting yourself off behind him, but thinking realistically, he would probably find it weird and disrespectful. Find you weird and disrespectful. You still thought about him though. Even after you justified that feeding your sexual hunger would make you think clearly, it didn’t stop you from thinking about Mando pleasuring you instead. 

You wanted him so badly and even thought about his leather gloved fingers sliding inside of you. The vibrations ramp up a notch as he speeds up the bike, thus causing you to bury your face between his shoulder blades and muffle your throaty mewls. Your head floats off into the clouds as you lose all sense of control. It’s like everything around you fades out into nothing and all you can focus on is Mando, as if holding onto him kept you tethered to reality. 

Panting heavily through your release, you feel another one rising again and ride it out, basking in the magnificence of over-stimulation. Your hands unintentionally grip Mando’s chest plate, the muscles in your legs tensing up with a fiery burn and your thighs squeezing together around his hips. You thank the stars above for the speeder being so loud, otherwise he would be able to hear you literally falling apart and whining through the aftershocks. 

It’s too much; too pleasurable that it’s becoming painful, but you don’t want it to stop. You want to be reduced to a quivering mess, to be soaked in your own desire as your eyes haze over with bliss. “Oh f-fuck.” You moan disgracefully, succumbing to your wants and needs; your need to tell him how you really feel about him. Even though he can’t hear it, you need to speak your truth and say the words out outloud. “Stars! I want you so bad, Mando.” You cry to yourself, “I want your fingers inside of me.” 

Minutes passed by like an eternity before the bike slowed down and you no longer felt the sun beating down on your back anymore, just the coolness of the shade blessing you with a break from the heat. “We’re home, mesh’la.” You hear Mando say but could barely form a reply and just nodded into his back. 

However, instead of getting off the speeder, he firmly held onto your thigh and hip, then pulled you around to the front. “M-Mando?” You gasp with surprise. You were now sitting on his crotch, gazing up into the T shape of his visor as he placed his thumb and forefinger to your chin, looking back down at you. “I heard you moaning, sweet girl,” He growls, hand on your hip squeezing the flesh hard as your cheeks begin to burn with embarrassment. He heard you, heard you moaning therefore he must have heard what you said. 

“I’m sorry.” You blurted, lowering your head in shame, but the man slipped his hand around the base of your neck and tilted your head back before pressing his helmet to your forehead. “I want it too…” He exhaled shakily, “I want you so badly, cyar’ika, I always have.” 

“You have?” You ask, disbelieving the words exiting his mouth. “B-but I don’t understand. How have I not noticed before?” 

“Because I do well with hiding my emotions.” The man explains, both hands now firmly holding your hips, his fingers slip under your shirt with request. “But not anymore cyar’ika. I won’t hide how I feel anymore, if you won’t hide anymore either.” 

“I won’t. Not ever again, Mando.” You moan, brows pulling together with bliss under his gaze. You can feel the warm leather on your skin, feel the burn of his fingers inside desperate to touch you without the barrier of clothing. Looking down briefly and whimpering at the sight of his gloved hands straining against the fabric, you look back up into his visor with a nod. “Touch me. Please touch me, I need you so bad.” 

Laying down and arching your back for him as he makes quick work on removing your pants, you moan falling on his ears audibly this time, you feel the desperation from the man during his bid to remove all barriers of clothing preventing him from pleasuring you. Mando hikes up your shirt, exposing your breasts to the warm breeze blowing over your skin before pawing at your booms with one hand. He tears your panties down your legs, the hurriedness of his actions making you blush. 

“M-Mando.” You whine; whine and beg without actually saying what you need from him. He heard you loud and clear anyways, he heard it from the way you moaned his name. Mando knew how much you wanted him; knew from the moment he laid his hand on your lower back earlier and your heart rate kicked up suddenly. “I know, sweet girl.” He breathes reassurance, telling you exactly what you need to hear. “I know and it’s okay. I will take care of you.” 

“Oh fuck!” You cry upon feeling two bare fingers sliding into your sex. When did he take them off? You don’t even know, but you don’t care either. His fingers are so big and fulfilling, bending into a come hither motion to caress your g-spot. “So wet, mesh’la.” He groans heavy and wanton, admiring the slick coating his fingers. There was so much in fact, it was drooling down his digits and making a mess inside the palm of his hands. “So tight too.” His modulated exhale reaches your ears, shaky and breathless. 

You clench around him, the muscles in your cunt aching with dire need to be stroked and stretched. “M-More.” You whimper. Hands trailing down your body to pull down your bra, exposing your nipples, you hold them between your fingers and plead with him shamelessly. “Please Mando. I want mo-yes! Like that, just like that.” You yell out, rewarding his actions with your words as he buries three fingers to the hilt beautifully. 

You don’t even feel Mando removing his hand from your breast, nor do you feel him fighting to open his slacks and free himself. All you can focus on is the way he grunts. Your eyes closed, lost within the bliss of his fingers pleasuring you, only when he removes them, you open your eyes with a needy whine. “N-no, don’t stop.” You look up just in time to see the man reaching for you, grabbing you by the sides and pulling you flush to his chest. 

“Cyar’ika!” He growls deep and low, cock thrusting inside of you and bottoming out in one swift motion. You mewl from the stretch, pulsing around his girth and grip onto his biceps from the burn his size was causing. It was phenomenal. You wanted it again, to feel him stretch you open again and again with each snap of his hips into yours. “Mando move!” You choke on the words, burying your face into the nook of his neck and rolling your eyes back with the scent of him flooding your senses. He smells so good, so heavenly. 

The man makes quick work of rutting into you, using your own body as leverage to pull you into his thrusts and meet him halfway. You could hear your desire squelching around him, could feel the damp spot it was leaving on his clothes, making a mess. Though it wasn’t enough for him. Mando apparently had his own sexual frustrations to release too. He needed more and he took more. 

“Hold on.” He grunts an order, hooking both arms behind your knees and using your ass to lift you up and down. The man even leaned back, getting himself comfy as he uses your cunt like his own personal fuck toy to get himself off. You don’t care for the romantics right now, you need raw primal sex, and Mando was giving it to you in the best way. 

Little squeaks and moans slipped into his neck as he grabbed the globes of your ass and began slamming you down onto his hips. His cock was bruising your insides, filling you up completely each time. “C-cum, I’m cumming.” You manage to utter before falling limp, just letting him take over and fuck you into oblivion. 

“Tell me when to stop.” He moans brokenly, still thrusting hard and deep. “I’m nowhere near done sweet girl but tell me when to stop and I will.” Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you nod into his neck. Falling apart on his cock, your high was intensified as he surges through your vice-like grip and continues to fuck you from below. “Inside me.” You moan softly, tiredly, “Come inside of me, Mando. Fuck me until you're satisfied.” 

You blew past the stages of over-stimulation and entered the realms of sexual exhaustion. You couldn’t move even if you wanted to, so instead you just held onto Mando like he was a lifeline and let him use your pussy for his own pleasure. The man had stamina for days. Stamina like you’ve never seen before as he comes multiple times, filling you up with his warm creamy seed. Even when he paused for a break, gathering some energy while allowing you a break, he started again with a slow grind, relishing in the pretty little sounds escaping you. 

“Tell me to stop, mesh’la.” He says, almost begging you at this point to give yourself mercy. Mando wasn’t lying, he is nowhere near done and can last for hours - for you. He’s dreamt of his for months, fisted his cock many nights thinking it was your heat instead and now that he has your cunt wrapped around his cock, he doesn’t want to stop, can’t stop until he has emptied his sac. “Do you want to stop?” You lift your head to ask, gazing into the T shape of his visor and picturing what beautiful eyes he must have behind it. 

“No, not at all.” He groans and gasps in reply, feeling you clench around him. A smile tugs on your lips, sweet and innocent like at first, but then it becomes devilish and naughty. You don’t want to stop and neither does he. You both want more. “Well keep fucking me Mando.” You sigh breathily, resting your cheek to his shoulder with a request;

“And don’t stop until we’re both completely spent.” 

-

Perma Taglist (Everything): @marydjarin @kirsteng42 @supernaturalgirl @supernaturalgirl20 @harriedandharassed @joelmillerscoffee @joelsrifle @swtaura @alexxavicry @boliv-jenta @dragonsondragons @practicalghost @janebby @faceache111 @sleepylunarwolf @tusk89 @anismaria @graciexmarvel

All Mandalorian Content: @pale-gingerale @mandalorian-dindjarin @michele131 @chxpsi @burninggracesandbridges @wordsfromshona @lavenderbxnny

All Pedro Pascal Character Content: @joelsflannel @mswarriorbabe80 @readsalot73 @allthe-ships @avengersftspn @hb8301 @scorpio-marionette @squidwell @sunnshineeexoxo @trickstersp8 @tanzthompson @bbyanarchist  

[snek-panini]

Happy Halloween! Have a book:

This is Siren's Song by @kedreeva (Hi! I asked to bind your fic months ago, sorry it took so long XD). It's an incredible Good Omens siren AU, which needs no introduction from me but it gets one anyway. It's one of the most in-character fics I've ever read, tackles a lot of the most resonant themes of the original (love in the context of aromanticism and asexuality, human labels in the context of non-human perspective), and has incredible world-building. Later parts of the fic always make me cry but they're good tears. You'll see. When I first learned that fanbinding was a thing and started looking into how to do it, this was one of the first fics I thought of. It just took me a while to learn the skills I needed before I could do it.

More pics and process talk under the cut!

So the cover up there is black faux leather and momi paper that I bought...about two years ago? And just kept on hand till I was ready to do this project. This is the first time I've worked with it and it was fairly nice, though harder to get a nice crease into than lokta or chiyogami. It felt very fragile when I was handling it but I didn't have any issues with tearing or glue bleed-through like I thought I might. It did bleed some color when I got it damp with the glue, and it took way longer to dry than normal, but once that was done it's been fine. Which is nice because I have a lot left over, so it'll probably be making many future appearances in my binds.

Look! It's rounded! I got a backing setup recently and this is my first time using it. It was Very Hard and I am not very good at it yet. But I think it looks pretty good for a first attempt, and there was really no other way to mitigate the spine swell on this one. I used a thick paper so I've got a thick book. I also tried something new with the case, though it isn't visible. Usually I make the text block and the case separately and then attach them as the last step, but for this one I actually built the case around the text. Like, boards attached to mull/tapes (sandwiched between thinner boards, with grooves cut for them so there are no bulges), then covered with momi, then leather corners and spine, then paste down the endpaper. It's got an oxford hollow, too! The tapes and mull actually wrap around the outside of the boards instead of the inside like I've done before. Endpapers are my favorite feather chiyogami. Combined with the marbled momi they make for a very opulent look, and I had just barely enough to do this. Like, down to the millimeter. I had to trim the edges and then glue the endpapers after to be sure they were right. I'm glad they were, because I didn't have a backup plan. Handmade endbands, colors picked to match the cover. Also, last note, I got the corner bits right for the first time. Measured properly, with no weird pointy bits that come out at funny angles. Very proud.

Title page and bookmark/interior shot. Did you know that some basic fonts in MS Word look different when you use a huge font size? Because I didn't until I made this title page. That's Parchment for the title, and it only gets those swirly bits around the capital letters if you take it to 26pt or higher (I used 72 here). Now I wonder if any of the other fonts have easter eggs in them like that. The ribbon is very fancy, to go along with the rich endpaper/cover combo. I think it's pretty appropriate for a mythological golden age of piracy story, as are the text ornaments:

Chapter header image, chapter end image, and section break image. It was a very image-heavy typeset. I was originally planning to only have a header and a section break, but I couldn't decide whether I liked the ships or the book/shell/feather better, and they both suited the story so well that I just went with both. Again, opulent, but I think it fits. All the images came from rawpixel, all I did was resize them.

There was a small error in the trimming process. Comes of having to calculate so closely the exact amount you can trim off, that you have to trim off so your slightly-too-small endpapers fit. I think something got misaligned when I poked the sewing holes because only the first signature is like this. The rest of the book has a more appropriately-sized margin between the page number and the edge. I got very lucky here, and I know it, and I'm never cutting it this close (lol) again. Next time we just order another sheet of chiyogami.

And that's it! I have one author's copy and one new bind in progress right now (that's taking a while because I'm learning more new stuff for it), and then I have two Christmas gift books to do, so it might be a bit before I have another book to share.

[bellamer]

Didn’t care for the Maxley ship because like I haven’t consumed An Extremely Goofy Movie in some years and it’s probably my least favorite one so I don’t watch it a lot but the people who complain about the ship all the time and pull out several reasons as to why it’s “problematic” and constantly bring up Roxanne are more annoying than the shippers I swear to god (and the shippers haven’t really been annoying they just make their lil doodles and keep trucking). Especially the ones who constantly bring up Roxanne because Max obviously didn’t stay with his high school sweetheart and moved on a long time ago. If you want to bring up a more recent movie bring up Mona from Mickey’s Twice Upon a Christmas or don’t because I liked Mona and I don’t wanna high key hate her like I do Roxanne just because yall wanna run her into the ground because you don’t want Max to be in a mlm relationship.

Also the way people always bring up Roxanne or Max being interested in girls feels like bisexual erasure. Like Max could have just had a bisexual awakening in college or something. Like so many possibilities but yall choose borderline biphobia.

Idk. I just wanted to say my two cents since i keep popping up on anti-maxley posts and videos and most of them are just annoying bisexual erasure who bring up Roxanne at every given moment even though she hasn’t been relevant or brought up in some twenty odd years but whatevs. It just made me feel how I felt as a Punkflower shipper last year when people tried every which way to paint that ship problematic or brung up Gwen every five seconds.

[yaut-jaknowit]

BRO I LOVED THE SIZE KINK YOU WROTE BASED OFF OF MY POST😩🙏🙏 literally been constantly reading it i’m so obsessed. I literally have so many mlm ideas from angst to nsfw so I can spam your inbox if you want (or dm’s if you wanna be moots)💀✋

BUT LIKE- imagine male reader soldier x male yautja where the reader had been off radar for a few months with their mate worrying only for the reader to return with new scars and a mechanical arm because he lost his real one during war😩

And then on god the yautja would be pissed asf because he was worried the reader was dead 😭✋

Return to Him

Pairing: Mai'tuiudh (Male Yautja) x Male Reader

Word Count: 2063

Summary: Four months isn't a long time to be away from home. Yet, everything that has occured during that time made it seem like years. Years since you last saw Mai, your beloved. You wished to see him, to ensure to him you were alright. Just a bit beaten up and newly scarred. This Yautja isn't liking the unfamiliar feeling of worry. That doesn't stop him from feeling that way. Nothing would.

Author Note: This one made me think a bit. I'm not used to these kinds of requests or prompts, not complaining though! Loving the prompts! Also, to those who requested something. It's going to take a little bit to get to those. Christmas time is very busy. I have three families to visit and my brother came into town after moving away four months ago.

I'm so glad you enjoyed that! I was a little worried since it was out of my knowledge. You can do whatever you want. I don't mind being mutuals. I will let you know that I'm bad a responding though, lol. I'm up to anything you want within reason, of course! Throw them at me.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

Masterlist

Ao3

A ding behind him made the Yautja whip around in his chair to find a disappointing screen. Mai snarled lowly to himself and banged a fist against the armrest. He had set up a diagnostic to search through your government’s database for anything on you. It came up empty handed, nothing new about your location.

He felt his spine bristle at the thought. Where were you? A few buttons were harshly pressed on his dashboard. The ship you sometimes called home hummed louder before changing directions. Mai abruptly stood up and marched out of the room.

If your government doesn’t know where you were then, he was going to search for you personally. Earth may be large, though not as massive as Yautja Prime, that wouldn’t stop him. This Yautja wasn’t going to coward away at a challenge. It was in his blood to hunt. That’s what made him, well, him. He was a fighter and would never think about backing down from a challenge.

Though, it would take time to reach earth without eating up his low fuel reserves. To hide away from detection from your government’s space program, he flew into Neptune’s gravitational pull. His ship was pulled in and forced to orbit. Mai had to play smart, be a hunter without distraction. That’s the only way he would be able to find you without getting caught. That would ruin the double life you live. One Mai’tuiudh will never understand. The Yautja shook his head, tresses swaying as he passed through the short hall to the sparing room.

To pass the time, Mai’s going to work off some pent-up steam. Your time away from the brute has caused some unnecessary stress on his weary bones. He needed to relieve himself of it.

His muscles rippled, fist meeting reenforced leather. Mai’s mandibles pulled close. A hunter’s focus craved into his face. Eyes keen and moves precise. The hit was probably harsher than it needed to be against an unalive object. Yet, Mai’tuiudh didn’t care. If that’s what helped relieve the stress within his bones. Then, that’s what needed to be done. He needs to a take stop at his mother ship anyhow for supplies and whatnot. Check in so no one thinks he’s dead.

That would mean he’ll have to leave for about two weeks. Space travel wasn’t always the quickest, especially with low reserves. Plus, Mai will be forced to make rounds around the ship. He may not be an important figure; it was customary to check in hunting brothers and sisters. Find out who’s dead and who lives. Everything that make’s living as a Yautja, Yautja.

.

When your feet hit dry, dusty soil, you cringed. Dust from the vehicles stopping behind you blew over to you. It forced you to close your eyes and hope for its quick pass.

Once it had left, you carefully made your way to the back of the unsuspecting black SUV. The driver was swift to hop out, scrambling after you. “Sir! I can-can get th-hat for you,” the rookie stated and attempted to move past you. Your uninjured arm shot out and stopped him taking another step.

Without a single sound, you stepped up to the tailgate and simply opened it. The rookie shifted his weight frequently and arms straight at his side. His eyes were on you though, flickering all over the place on the view before him.

On the other hand, you slung the mildly heavy bag on your shoulder. It pulled at the muscles on your other… arm. Your face scrunched up at the sudden pain but not a noise made it past your lips. Years of training and all make a fine soldier. You just got to beat the human out of him.

The rookie stood there, eyes watching as your tired, used body limbed past him. One of his arms hesitantly reached to grasp at you but one side stepped easily dodged the rookie. He just stared at your leaving form, gaze dipping down at the unmatched color on your right hand. Then they were locked onto the back of your camouflaged jacket molded to your shape.

Your apartment’s door slammed heavy behind you, the noise causing you no disturbance. Even the headache swallowing you barely increased at the sound. Instead, you let your bag slide off of your shoulder and on the ground. It made a soft noise, the only one in your quiet apartment.

It hadn’t been that long since you’ve last stepped foot in here. Not longer than four months. Yet, with all that has occurred within that time frame, it felt like years.

One thing after another happened out there, facing the enemies your country makes you fight. The demons. All for what? Losing amazing people or causing unnecessary trauma and bodily harm on the soldiers that defend this nation. You sighed, shoulders sagging before shuffling into your room and flicked on the light.

Nothing had been moved. Light dust had settled on everything you owned. The room was still in the state as long before. Clothes thrown haphazardly on the floor; bed unmade; empty glass of water on your nightstand; one curtain open will the other was drawn to the halfway point.

Wait a minute. You rubbed at your eyes with an uninjured fist. The bed. It was in a different position than you last remember. What you remembered was the long body pillow was across the top of the bed, against the headboard. It had been moved to be parallel with the long part of the bed. At first, you were on verge of freaking out. Your brain taking a few extra seconds to realize what that could mean.

One: someone broke into his apartment, acted like a complete fool, and slept in your bed. Or two: Mai slept in your bed, to probably smell your scent. You did leave without much of an explanation. The base called and you were shipped off that same day. A single message of you being safe was all you could get out to him. Mai’s probably searching for you or waiting close by. It all depends on if he found out what you were doing and where you were.

With a heavy sigh, you stripped yourself down to just your underwear. A chilling breeze washed over your skin, causing you to shiver. You simple tipped over and landed face first on the bed. The sheets were cool to the touch. A deep breath brought a faint scent of Mai to your noise. Your body relaxed completely at the scent. Next, you were out like a light bulb.

Through deadened sleep, the slamming of your porch sliding glass door snapped you groggily away. Your head shook to rid away some of the tiredness still within your bones. The blankets that once covered you had been kicked off sometime during sleep. You were on the verge of getting to check what had made that noise. That something had different plans.

The door to your bedroom was forced open, crashing into the wall. It probably left a mark that you could worry about later. Military or not, you were exhausted and currently in pain. You just stared through the darkness at what had made that noise.

Heavy, familiar pants could be heard before you. It took a long moment for you brain to realize what that could mean. In the meantime, the blob form standing in your doorway launched at you.

Large, calloused hands wrapped around your wrist from what you could feel. The heavy frame pinned you on your back, arms pinned above your head. Heat rolled over you. The calming smell of him filled your lungs. Something warm and felt like fingertips grazed over the naked skin of your chest. You didn’t fight, not just because of the exhaustion. No, it was due to the fact you knew who it was.

As you longed to bring the Yautja into a kiss, your arms were trapped. That’s when you finally noticed the pain burning in your right shoulder. “Mai, let go please. You’re hurting me,” you demanded and started to wiggle underneath the fully armored male. An extra added fifty pounds from his armor and biomask.

The Yautja reeled back his mighty head, tresses slapping against his armored chest. Then, Mai quickly lifted his body weight off of you. The air around you tasted strange. Not in a bad way. It unnerved him nevertheless though. Mai tilted his head, biomask scanning over your frame.

Multiple new injures, most fully healed. Where had you gone?! Then, Mai caught sight of something that wasn’t normal, that wasn’t there before. His hand grasped at the metal attached to your right arm.

It was cool in hold. The gears inside pitched a high noise as they moved within. Mai brought his face close and took in its smell. The skin on upper, inner mouth crinkled at the horrible smell. Not that you could see though with his biomask.

Since he had released you, you brought a hand up to his face and shivered at cold metal. “Take it off,” you ordered of him. Mai listened without hesitancy. The tubes connected to his biomask hissed as they were disconnected. It was ripped from his alien face thrown off to the side on the bed.

Without another second apart, you wrapped both of your arms around him. All of your strength was used to keep him like that. Not that Mai’tuiudh was complaining. Not with you in his arms. Instead, he buried his mandibles in the crook of your neck and licked. Mai groaned at your missed taste. Your last message to him had him… worried. A feeling that wasn’t very Yautja. That didn’t stop him from feeling that way without you being at his side.

To be honest, it felt like the fullest of hunting grounds with you in his arms. Your warmth against him; hearing your heartbeat; smelling you. He wouldn’t let you go, even if this position was making his back due to the strange angle and added weight.

Mai pulled his head back to stare you in the eye through the darkness. “What happened to you?” You knew immediately what he was reference towards and turned on the light on your nightstand. This lit up your newly marred skin to him. The scars were a fresh pink. Mai’s pupils narrowed down and scanned over them, hands coming up to stroke them.

“Careful, they’re still sensitive,” you said, sounding distant. The memories were still fresh but you didn’t want to think about them. Your hand carefully caressed a tress as a distraction.

Next, he motioned with his head towards your metal right arm. Before he could ask about that one, you beat him to it. “I’d rather not go into detail. Let’s just say I lost a fight,” is what you told him. You still couldn’t believe what had happened. Your arm gone. Missing. Replaced by metal.

Anger dribbled into Mai’s system as he stared down at you. “Why did you leave?” he hissed out and forced himself all the closer. You sighed, head falling to the side.

“I was summoned for an operation. It was sudden. I had little time to get ready, let alone send that message to you,” you explained and relaxed your sore arms. Mai changed his position. He forced your legs apart and shuffle closer, bottom of your thighs resting on top of his. His chest to yours, face reburied into the crook of your neck. A growl vibrated your ribcage.

Sharp claws bit into the flesh of your skin. The pain barely noticeable over the already existing one. “Worry isn’t something a Yautja feels.” Mai paused to somehow shift even closer into your body. “You made me worry if you were dead or alive. Don’t do that again.” He stopped again, the gears inside of his mind working. “You know what, you won’t be given an opportunity. You’re staying with me, all the time.”

“What?!” you shouted and wiggled against him, but unable to escape. “You can’t do that Mai! I have a life here, a job, all that stuff.”

It was like he wasn’t listening to you. “Mine,” he snarled into your skin and tightened his hold. There was a chance of freedom at the moment. You were stuck for better or worse.