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[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - Scandals, Face Offs & Disappointments, Oh my!

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

Oct 2024 Week 3

Ongoing Series - Thai

Jack & Joker (Thai Mon IQIYI) ep 6 of 12 - 3 tiny girls ragging on Jack was possibly the greatest opening sequence ever. Poor Jack. He is so not single anymore - so far as everyone around him is concerned. 

Love Sick 2024 (Thai Sun iQIYI) ep 5 of 15 - Sports day continues. We get a little backstory on the respective crushes on Noh. The jealousy between Phun & Earn is way more extreme in this version. I'm not mad about it. I love a claiming. Although it is so unfair of Phun to claim Noh when they agreed not to go there, AND he’s dating someone else. The byplay with Pete’s ex was fun. I wonder if we’re supposed to suss that Noh knows he’s gay in this version? 

I'm doing a face-off style watch along of this new version versus the original 2014-2015 version. Where I decide with each new ep which one wins. I will render a final judgement at the end. Frankly, I'm warming to this show way more than I thought I would give my extreme affection for the original.

Kidnap (Fri YT) ep 7 of 12 - Oh it’s so cute that he just wants to officially move in. And the necklace claiming thing was darling. Mini boyfriend era. Min being a kept baby girl was kinda fun. The family thing was too sweet. Oh noes my man has been strangled! Oh good he’s okay. Stupid breakup “for the plot” moment, they could have easily been separated by baddies, we didn’t need to go through this. 

Fourever You (Thai Thurs YT) ep 3 of 16 - I don’t care how cute he is or how longing those beautiful eyes, ghosting is a pretty big offense. Especially high school first love. I’m glad Ter is being difficult about it. Still the backstory is getting frustratingly confusing. It seems increasingly convoluted (full of girls) and I’m not sure what happened. So I’m not sure if I should be on Hill’s side or Ter’s. I’m beginning to feel manipulated and I don’t like it. I still like the show, but not as much as I did last week. I’m on a roller coaster here. 

Battle of the Writers (Sun YT) ep 11 of 12 - It remains odd, disjointed, but still modestly entertaining. Ozone using a well placed Phi for manipulation purposes made me happy. Random het wedding is random. 2 drunk horny sunshine babygurls was cute tho. 

Every You Every Me (Thai Mon Gaga) ep 2 of 10 - AKA Just one meet cute after another. Nice queer rep this time. It’s lovely, just not my style BL. 

Addicted Heroin (Thai Tues WeTV) ep 10 fin - Okay so last week half the ep was eng subbed and this week only 3/4. Whatever. Please note my extreme annoyance with everything about this show will color my rating. As it should. Ready for a mini rant?

Conclusion

What to say about this damn show? It wasn’t what I wanted and I didn’t like it. I’m disappointed in myself for having expectations and in it for not living up to them. It starred August for fucks sake! How could they fuck it up so bad? I wanted it to be a Thai reinterpretation of the brilliance that was Addicted giving us the ending that we never got to have but the narrative deserved. I got a resounding nope. The side couple was messed with, rearranged, and then entirely dropped and forgotten. The main romance was weirdly obsessive without any physical payout or emotional resolution, as if this remake were the censored Chinese version. All characters acted irrationally most of the time, and from what I could tell there was no logic to the ending, which seemed to be to minors escaping to a beach, abandoning their schooling, families, and respective futures. It was a hot mess. Without being hot. 4/10 fatally flawed, do not bother

Bad Guy My Boss (Thai Sun Gaga) ep 5 of 10 - it's bad. I don't like it.

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Let Free the Curse of Taekwondo (Korea Thurs Gaga) eps 1-2 of 8 - High school student Do Hoe lives with his violent and brutal father who runs a Taekwondo gym in a rural area. Then cheerful Ju Young arrives who dreams of going to college for Taekwondo. Joy begins to fill Do Hoe's dark life. An unexpected incident forces them apart, they reunite over a decade years later.

Make no mistake this one is dark. And Korea can go many directions when it leans dark. So I’m not entirely sure what to expect. All the triggers: child abuse, corporal punishment, alcoholism, gambling, and a few other things. But also a fantastically awkward kiss. Oh this is VERY good. I’m enjoying it. Tumblr is officially losing its tiny mind about it. What can I say? This hellhole loves it some gritty dark angst with high romance and deep meaning. All hail the return of Queen Hwang Da Seul. 

My Damn Business (Korea Sat YT) eps 3 of 7 - He kinda is the worst boss ever. Now he’s turned into a drinking buddy whether baby likes it or not. I really feel for this kid. I do want more backstory on both of them. Why are they the way they are? All that said….. phenomenal kiss. Thanks boys. 

Teenager Judge (Vietnam Sat YT) ep 4 of ? - I do like the brothers relationship. Even though we know it’s gonna become romantic, it’s nice to see them all teasing and friendly. Meanwhile I’m getting a little exhausted by the bullying and I’m very much ready for the revenge narrative to continue.

Although I understand we have more of a spiral first, could we get on to some actual kissing soon? 

I'm shallow I just wanna see BV kiss the next boy. It's the BL world's version of Pokemon.

Our Golden Times (Hong Kong YT) 6 fin - Okay so this was the last ep! 

Summary

This was an odd disjointed little piece, but the most BL BL we’ve ever seen out of Hong Kong. The optics are good and it’s enjoyable for what it is, which is a circumspect, badly subbed, and slightly odd yet earnest reunion romance. I liked it more for what it could be, and for what it represented, than for what it actually was, but I still liked it.

7/10 recommended with reservations

I would like to nominate Our Golden Times @bengiyo as a candidate for the next "Girl you tried." Because it really did try hard to be the best little BL it could be under the circumstances.

First Note Of Love (Taiwan Mon Gaga) ep 11 of 12 - I do like all the couples, and in classic Taiwan style we’re ending ultra sappy (when they don’t fuck it up, and I don’t think this one will). Mei is the secret power behind the throne - as we all knew - love this for her, and us. 

Love is Like a Poison AKA Doku Koi: Doku mo Sugireba Koi to Naru (Japan Tues Netflix?) 5 of 10 eps - I'm falling beind because my subber is, but sort-of trying to keep up. I don’t know. Just Japan messing with us, I guess.

Eccentric Romance (Korea Weds Viki) eps 3-4 of 12 - It’s oddly erotic with all the gym stuff but also awkward and weird with the jelly plus suspicion. (Hi GeonU, another Thai/Korea BL for you? Is it a thing for you now? Could you recruit Jimin to the cause? I mean you go him into a reality competition. BL is right there. Waiting. Pretty please with a shirtless hottie on top?) Anygay, I keep thinking that this show would actually be better if the Thai character were just a Korean character and this was just a regular KBL. Although, it probably still wouldn’t be very good.

It's airing but...

The Hidden Moon (Sat WeTV) 10 eps - This is a supernatural romance (my ghost boyfriend trope) by Violet Rain (I Feel You Linger). A man is hired to write an article about an old mansion in Chiang Mai being converted into a café. He sees the ghosts of people who died at the mansion, falls in love with one of them. Was substantially recast. I loved IFYLITA except the ending so I think I'll let this one run it's course you can tell me if it's work tracking down... if they managed to land it. I have my doubts.

Next Week Looks Like This:

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

Still Coming:

10/21 Love in the Big City (Korea Mon Viki) ep 1 of - Okay, this is both a movie (already out) and a series. Neither one is likely BL and I can't imagine it will end happily. Here's your synopsis:

Cynical fun loving student Young pinballs from home, to class, to on night stands. He and Jaehee, his female besie and roommate, frequent nearby bars where they push away their worries about life, love, and money with soju and hookups.

Apparently this is causing a homophobic ruckus in SK right now. As is wont to happen when one puts a really big name in the gay lead and your country is, well, pretty damn homophobic. Brokeback mukbang anyone? (Oh yes I am aware I'm a turd, but I'm too old for this crap. I guess that makes me a coprolite.)

10/23 See Your Love (Taiwan Weds Gaga Viki et al) 10 eps? - Zi Xiong, a third-generation heir, attempting to flee from taking over their family business, meets and falls in love with Shao Peng, who works as a hearing-impaired nurse. From the same production house as Kiseki Dear To Me in partnership with Shinehouse Theatre, funded by Taiwan’s BIGART + Japan's Rakuten (Viki). Show includes Lin Chia Yo (Be Loved in House: I Do). Director Chiang Ping Chen’s childhood experiences with his deaf uncle have inspired the drama.

10/27 Perfect 10 Liners (Thai Sun YouTube?) 24 eps! - New directing yet another university BL with engineers + their mentees. Based on a Jittirain novel. with a massive cast and massive run time. We will be watching this until APRIL of 2025!

ForceBook playing the same old characters = enemies to lovers tsunder/sunshine jock/nerd thing.

PerthChimonSanta are doing the cohabitation cool guy/dork trope.

JuniorMark are doing popular sunshine meets lonely sad boy (the only interesting pair IMHO).

Not sure if these will be interwoven (We Are style) or shorter stand alone runs-within-the-run of 8 eps each (Y-Destiny style).

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

You just kissed his brains out, what do you think? (Eh, we all know the aniyo is coming. This uke is made of tsudere and 아니요 ) (Damn Business)

I know, it's not a good show, but just LOOK at his face.

And the uke drunken shenanigans was brilliant. Loved it. (Battle Writers)

I did LOVE the twist on Golf. (Love Sick 2024)

Joke coming for our hearts just like...... it's TOO MUCH. War is SO DAMN GOOD. (J&J)

Calling out the trope HDS?

Gah. So awkward.

(Both from LFTCOT)

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

Sigh, Tumblr in its infinite wisdom doesn't like too many at-ings.

[starlostastronaut]

─ MCTC VOL 2 | MASTERLIST

PAIRING - stray kids x reader feat. a secret guest appearance

GENRE - various, each one shot specified below

WORD COUNT - ?? total

CONTENT WARNINGS - poly pairings in some one shots, suggestive/sexual content, each one shot will be more specified in its post

TAGLIST - comment or send ask to be added (if you're on permanent taglist, you're automatically added - you can check here)

LINKS - main masterlist ~ series playlist

AUTHOR'S NOTE - hiii! welcome to the 2024 advent calendar! if you're new here, mctc stands for moony's countdown to christmas, a series i did last year and because i'm unoriginal we are reusing that title lol. enjoy reading <3

important: order of one shots isn't necessarily posting order. these are a work in progress still, therefore more information will be added as i post them. and i already said it in a different post, but it's exams time in uni and it's a lot. i can't promise all one shots will be posted before christmas, but i will finish them eventually

01 / BED OF ROSES

⤷ idol!chan x reader ; angst, highschool sweethearts, estranged relationship, workaholic chan, happy ending

⤷ chan was the perfect boyfriend, everything you could have wanted. until his work consumed him

02 / ENGLISH LOVE AFFAIR

⤷ idol!minho x backup dancer!reader ; one night stand, exes to lovers

⤷ it was supposed to be just a fling, to release some of that tour stress. but minho didn't account on falling in love

03 / SUPPOSED TO BE

⤷ werewolf!changbin x shadowhunter!reader ; shadowhunters au, victorian era, enemies to lovers

⤷ when you find an illegal werewolf club, it's your duty to shut it down. but what you didn't expect to find was an ally

04 / DREAM STATE

⤷ demon!hyunjin x witch!reader ; magic au

⤷ in your demonology class, you learned about summoning. and it wouldn't be you if you didn't try those skills right away

05 / SKIP THE SMALL TALK

⤷ singer!jisung x barista!reader ; coffee shop au

⤷ per your manager's briliant idea, your coffee shop now has live music. featuring a cute singer and friends who can't stay out of his bussiness

06 / BUTTERFLIES

⤷ idol!felix x actress!reader ; strangers to lovers, meet-cute

⤷ you loved fashion shows, seeing the creative clothes designers spent hours to perfect. what you didn't love were the after parties, until he came along

07 / DANGEROUS GAME

⤷ faerie king!seungmin x half mortal!reader ; cruel prince au, fantasy au, forbidden romance

⤷ scandals, lovers... it's all fun and games to the faerie king. until it comes to his royal advisor

08 / MORNING SUN

⤷ grounder!jeongin x delinquent!reader ; the 100 au, apocalypse au, enemies to lovers, forced proximity

⤷ there wasn't supposed to be life on earth and yet there they were. creatures trying to kill you. or were they really?

09 / STEAL YOUR HEART

⤷ jeongin x reader x seungmin ; college au, established relationship

⤷ what started a stupid bet between your boyfriends, turned into a competition for boyfriend of the year

10 / MOVES LIKE JAGGER

⤷ jock!chan x reader x nerd!hongjoong ; college au, idiots to lovers, friends to lovers

⤷ falling for your best friend was a big deal on its own. and when the popular guy decides to meddle, it's about to become a problem

© starlostastronaut 2024 | do not repost/translate my work without permission

[formylovetodaryldixon]

"Like there was no tomorrow." CH.3—Daryl Dixon.

Chapter Summary: As you try to get back to the home of the elderly couple you took care of, your way to them gets complicated when life puts a sad and lonely 5-year-old girl in your and Daryl's path. Now, you two will try to protect her from everything, even if you can't protect yourself from what you were about to find at Mark & ​​Ellie's house.

PAIRING: Daryl Dixon x reader

WARNING: Death, blood, a lot of bad words hehe (but also romance and even some comedy if I can get it right hehe)

ERA: From prison onwards.

A/N: Hey! I forgot to say this before but I was going to introduce a new character. April is a little girl Daryl and you find along the way, so you two decide to take care of her despite the constant fights between Daryl and April (I must admit I had fun writing their dialogues haha) Hope you like this♥ Thank you!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

During a heavy night, the fallen branches continue to break under the feet of the death, a horde of aimless travelers surrounding the cabin on their way to nowhere, but the sound of their growls mixes with the horrible silence that usually reigned in the forest, preventing you two from sleeping. Lying on the floor next to Daryl, your breathing and his are soft sounds, but somewhat agitated due to the constant danger.

However, on the other side of the place, the young woman and her daughter, who is 5 years old (although she's a little smaller) sleep peacefully, ignoring the world around them after wandering through the woods for days too, lost and scared. It's still strange to find people, because they were always wary of being robbed, kill or worse, but they were so hungry and hurt that they didn't complain about what animal they were eating after Daryl hunted some squirrels, cooking them outside as the sun started to hide.

But as you look to your left to look at Daryl, you can see Aeris too, clinging to the chair at the wooden table, staring out the only window, the little moonlight that filters through the thick branches of the trees illuminating part of her fur.

“You should try to sleep.” You say softly, thinking that night he finally will be able to do it.

But Daryl looks at you, with a deep gaze as he takes a look at your lips before stopping at your eyes. And it's intense, as always, like diving into a new kind of ocean.

“S’okay, peach. Ya sleep.”

And then, Daryl stares at the ceiling again. For a moment, you keep looking: the beautiful color of his eyes is still the same, and you remember his deep gaze on his almost always mocking, condescending expression on his almost stupid but very attractive face. During that time, a few strands of hair, dark blonde, fell over his forehead, framing that deep but accusatory look he had at first. But now his hair is long, darker, and you feel stupid thinking that he turned out to be even more handsome.

But at the same time, it is hard to look at him again. So, with a long sigh, you turn over with your back at him, as if blocking the view of him would stop your feelings from overflowing, and, closing your eyes, you fall sleep. Although it is a superficial sleep, because after a while, you can feel his strong arm around you, his chest against your back, his irregular heartbeats on yours. However, his breathing is calm in that chaotic world, and you stop yourself when the memory of him once saying that you were the reason why he could sleep at night, tries to emerge from the depths of your mind, the place where you sent that life you once lived by his side.

But when Daryl moves, you can feel something pressing against your thigh: and the memory of those mornings next to him come fast and it makes you chuckle.

“What’s so damn funny?” He asks, low so as not to disturb the others, his voice even deeper.

“Can you please tell that monster in your pants that I'm harmless?” You whisper. “I feel like if I move it’s going to try to eat me alive.”

Daryl scoffs but doesn’t move, eyes still closed.

“S’not somethin’ ya haven’t felt ‘fore, against ya… or inside ya.”

“Hey! Asshole.” The audacity in his voice makes you hold back a laugh as you try to pull away, surprised when you should be annoyed, but he doesn’t let you go. “Can you move? You're breathing all my air.”

However, against your wishes, Daryl pulls you even closer.

“S’not somethin’ I haven't done before either. Now be quiet or ya’re gonna wake ‘em up.”

For a second, you consider elbowing him, but instead, you sigh, part of you hating him but closing your eyes again because it is still night, while trying to ignore the tickle of his breath on your exposed neck.

But you don’t know well what time is it when you feel something sharp poking your forehead, a soft but firm blow that makes you open your eyes. The first rays of the sun are fighting against the darkness of the world, and then, you look up to see Aeris next to you, looking impatient. It’s still crazy how she can say a thousand words without being able to speak, but her dark gaze says it all.

She’s telling something is not right.

You sit up, so quickly that you wake Daryl as you turn to look at the opposite side of the small cabin, at an empty space no longer occupied by the young mother and her daughter, feeling suddenly the breeze coming through the half—open door.

“What?” Daryl sits up too, rubbing his eyes with one hand.

“Where are they?”

Daryl looks at the empty place.

“Maybe they went out to take a piss.”

“Leaving the door open?” It is still crazy, you know it as you stand up, your gun in your waist holster, but Aeris seemed to be tied too closely to you now to ignore the signals she sends you in the face of all kinds of danger, not just from the walkers. “Ruby, the woman, she can barely walk with that sprained ankle. Something is wrong.”

Daryl grunts in frustration, but he gets up as well, taking his crossbow from the floor before walking out of the cabin with you. Daryl takes the lead: he is a natural tracker, a hunter, too smart to find the footprints in a second, the different pressure of Ruby's feet against the ground due to the pain and April's small footsteps, and how they left a long path between the dirt, as if her mom was dragging her.

And only a minute or maybe two passes until you two find them, but the fear is so latent, suffocating and dangerous the moment Daryl shoots an arrow into Ruby's arm before she can shoot the little girl in the head. April is crying, terrified, but finally free, she runs to hide behind you, with your arm high as you point your gun at Ruby.

“What the fuck are ya doin’, huh?!” Daryl is angry, his eyes fixed on the woman who, even with all the pain and an arrow stuck in her skin, just squeeze the gun even harder.

"I'm sorry, it's the only way to save April." Ruby looks calm but absent, and even though she looks into your eyes, it's like seeing an empty shell, a broken soul with nothing inside. "I don't want her to go through what I went through."

You gulp before talking, a great wave of terror suddenly covering you.

"Whatever it was, Ruby, we can stick together now. Okay?"

But Ruby shakes her head, firm in her decision, and then, finally, you can see a tear running down her cheek as Ruby holds a broken smile.

"She's your baby now."

The feeling is surreal, like watching a horror movie, like being pulled out of your body, but life happens in a single second, that short time in which Ruby raises the gun and puts it at her temple, pulling the trigger before you can shoot her in any limbs to stop her. And the sound sinks into the silence of the forest, awakening the walkers that apparently still roam the place.

“Fuck.” Daryl curses under his breath, placing the strap of his crossbow around his body before taking April in his arms, settling her small body against his. “We need to go 'fore those things get too close, peach. Call yer rat and let's get the fuck outta here.”

He starts walking, but it takes you a moment before following him.

You lost track of time long ago without the aid of a watch, but when the rays of sunlight fall straight down from the highest part of the sky, you can bet is noon or close to it. Aeris rests on your shoulder now, always aware of the surroundings, but with no walkers or other danger in sight, she looks cam, so you can take a second to catch a glimpse of Daryl, who's still holding April, his naked forearms beneath her.

Her hair is dark brown, like Daryl's, kind of long, too. But it is strange how they even look like father and daughter, perhaps because of the way he carries her. And she looks lost, confused, but April seems calmer than an adult would be when faced with a loss. However, when April looks up and her eyes meet Daryl's, her expression turns serious, as if the depth of her little thoughts is sinking her frown.

“What?” Daryl asks, with his own brow furrowed in confusion.

“It is not okay to say that word.”

For a few seconds, he’s confused.

“What word?”

“The F world.”

When Daryl understands what she means, he scoffs.

“When ya get to be as tall as I am, monkey, ya can tell me what the f to do.”

“I’m not a monkey!” Frustrated, April keeps looking at him with the same expression, but she doesn't seem ready to give in. “And that’s rude. You are rude!”

Daryl has to stop himself from rolling his eyes, but to him, who had never seen a little girl that close, it's almost fascinating how that little monkey as he called her kept staring at him like that even though to people with common sense, he was always intimidating.

“Ya ain’t the first person who tells me that. Ya see that woman over there?” Then, he nods towards you. “Every single day, she told how rude I was.”

April looks at you for a few seconds, as if she's analyzing you, and you have to do your best not to laugh even when she looks back at Daryl.

“Is (Y/N) your sister?”

“No. She was ma damn woman.”

In a second, you slap his exposed arm, causing him to push away from you.

"What?"

“Don’t say that to a kid, you as…” You stop yourself too, exhaling before talking again. “You don’t anything about kids, don’t you?”

“I know they’re annoyin’, jus’ like this monkey.” Daryl scoffs, again, looking back at April. “Now be quiet ‘fore I make ya walk on yer own.”

For a long moment, you all remain quiet. But it is funny to think how Daryl and you spent part of your lives in the woods, because for both of you, the woods had been a way out, an escape from your reality. Daryl spent time away from home to avoid his parents, and you did too, just to avoid the cruel man your dad became when alcohol seemed to replace his blood. And when Daryl and you met, you two continued spending your time among the big trees, but without feeling so alone when you two were together.

“Were you married to (Y/N), Daryl?” April’s voice is low, unsecure, but she looks at Daryl with a sweet interest. He gulps, however, but before Daryl can answer, she's speaking again. “I don’t think Ruby was married to my dad.”

You frown, confused.

“Ruby was not your mom, darling?”

April shakes her head.

“She was, but she didn’t like me to call her mommy when we were alone.”

Daryl looks at you, and you both share an even more confused look.

“Did ya meet yer dad?” He asks, softly this time.

“No.”

After that, as if a great wave of sadness suddenly covered her, April rests her cheek against Daryl's shoulder, closing her eyes. With a final look between Daryl and you, before looking ahead, you both wonder what you two are going to do with a kid. You aren’t going to leave her, of course, but her suddenly present makes you asking yourself what to do next: before, you were going to stay with Ellie and Mark for a few days, making sure to leave everything safe for them to go find Sam and Daryl's people, but now, the most logical thing is for April to stay there, with you.

But about Daryl, you are not so sure about that.

When the world gets dark, so dark it seems like it could swallow you up in a new kind of terror, you all finally reach Elli and Mark's house. The couple's place is close to the woods, and now April is next to Daryl as you open the door of what was once a convenience store, closing it behind you the moment you all step in. It's dark, but the moonlight tries to filter through the small spaces in the wood nailed to the two windows.

"I'm scared." April says softly, her little hand finding Daryl's as they walk behind you.

He squeezes it, gently.

"It's okay, baby…" You say softly. "It'll only take a minute. I promise."

But why does it feel like something is not right for you anymore? It's too quiet, like there's no trace of life there, and the feeling stays in your chest. And suddenly, in a second, you are scared to death, too. The way from the hallway to the door that connects to the house feels eternally long, but when you finally reach it and you opens it, the loneliness of the place takes your breath away. 

The single curtained window lets in a bit of moonlight, but the small room no longer feels like a pretty picture from the last century. You turn around to see April, taking Aeris in your hand to place the falcon on April's shoulder.

“April, stay here with Daryl, okay? And take care of my baby for a moment, will you?”

April nods just like Daryl, and although you can see his insecurity in his eyes, you leave the living room towards the hallway in your way to the main one at the end of it. The windowless hallway is almost like walking blindly, but you know the place too well now to know where to go. 

However, you can't stop a thousand of worries from stabbing your heart like daggers. You feel an unreasonable feeling in your body, like lead in your chest, like a hand around your throat that cuts off your breathing, but sadly, the moment you reach the open door of their room, life just stops making sense. The closed window is covered by a thick white curtain, but it lets in a small light that shines coldly over the lifeless bodies of Ellie and Mark on the bed.

In shock, you cover your mouth with a hand, but nothing comes out of it, not a scream, not a cry, nothing, only the emptiness of your soul.

"Hey, don’ look…" You feel Daryl's arms turning you around, breaking the spell in which you seemed to be immersed, holding you against him. Your fists are on his chest, and you trie to breathe in the air that is suddenly so hot, like boiling. "I'm so sorry, peach."

You rest your forehead on his chest, trying not to give up, but the feeling is so devastating that for you, giving up seems easier than thinking about moving on with your life now.

“And April?”

“She’s okay.” Daryl says softly. “Yer rat is takin’ care of ‘er. That damn bird is a better babysitter than I could ever be.”

But even in the midst of the confusion, you're able to chuckle a little bit as you hear that constant and awful nickname.

"There are some canned peaches in the kitchen, and I'm sure April will like them. Can you give her those, please? I want to take the letter from Mark's hand before I close the door."

Daryl sighs, because he always hated seeing you suffer, in any way: from the time you cut your finger with the knife while cooking to when your mother died.

“I can get it for ya, peach. Ya don’ have to go there.”

You gulp, almost hearing your own heartbeats in your ears in that lonely place that once, it was like a home for you.

“I have to. But I’ll be fine. Don't worry, okay?" You look up, trying to be brave while holding a broken gaze.

Daryl nods, but you can see the fear in his eyes.

“Don’ give up now, peach, please…” He rests his forehead against yours, one of his hands caressing your cheek for a moment. “I can’t lose ya again. Okay?”

His words are overwhelming, and the plea in his small voice is as loud as the shot of a gun, that sound that paralyze you, that makes you think you might go deaf, so you just nod, pulling apart from him. Daryl is scared, feeling lost again like the moment he left you, but he just walks away, taking with him that warmth that he was always able to share with you.

And alone again, you walk in.

Lying both on the bed, Mark is holding Ellie with one loose arm around her body, trying to protect her as he always did since they met when they were 17, until their last breath at 88 years old. And it's sad, so devastating, but at the same time is kind of sweet to think that they both left together, always together. You can see the gun in Ellie’s hand, and the wound in his head and hers.

“I love you both, so much.” Your voice falters and the river of tears starts coming, threatening to fall from the edge of your eyes, but you keep them where they belong as you take the folded paper from Mark's hand. There, written in cursive, it says: To our first and most beloved daughter. "Thank you for everything, but I'm sorry it took me so long to get here. If there is a heaven, I know you two are there right now, so I hope to see you two there someday… if God is generous with me to let me in, too."

With a long sigh, you walk out of there, closing the door forever.

When you finally reach the living room, you can see Daryl and April sitting down around the small table, facing each other while eating the canned peaches, with a small scented candle in the center. The colors of the flame are fluttering softly on the night, but when old terrors try to loom over you like the shadows of the past, like when you lost your mother and your older brother, you try to focus on the almost comical way they are arguing about what cereal is better, and that feels like a peace offering from life to make you forget the pain.

“Froot Loops is better.” April says as you sit down, as determined as a 5-year-old can be.

On the other end, on the chair, Aeris seems to observe everything but without any interest.

“How ya even know?” Daryl asks, with an incredulous expression. “Ya even know what a good cereal is?”

Frustrated, April frowns, but it's like watching an angry puppy try to fight a pit-bull.

“Of course I know! Ruby’s friend got it for me once.”

She basically just said she never ate cereal for breakfast like a regular kid, even before the end of the world.

“Once...” Daryl scoffs. “I ate cereal for years growin’ up, kid, so I know damn well what I'm talkin’ ‘bout.”

April, knowing she’s losing, looks at Daryl straight in the eyes.

“Well, you are old. That’s why you know what you’re talking about.”

Daryl is getting frustrated, (not seriously, but it's like when he was arguing with his brother when they were younger) you can see it in the way he narrows his eyes at the little girl.

“Well, ya are short, monkey. Like a lil’ baby..”

There is a moment of silent around the table, but their behavior makes you roll your eyes.

“Okay. That’s enough. Finish your food, kids, I’m tired and I want to rest.”

"Can the three of us sleep together, (Y/N)? Please?" April's gaze softens as she looks at you, but you can see a new kind of fear in her as she looks at Daryl too. “Please, Daryl?”

She’s sweet and so beautiful that not even Daryl can fight against her, so he just sighs nodding his head.

A moment later and while Aeris is out there hunting her food, finding a place to sleep in the tallest trees as the falcon always does next, the little room, the little bed where you used to sleep alone is full of people now, warm bodies that reminds you that you are still alive. Lying on his right side at the other end of the bed, Daryl is looking at April, who is sleeping in the middle, on her belly and covered by an old but soft blanket, her soft breathing filling the room.

"You seemed very fatherly during the day until you started arguing with a 5-year-old girl." You say softly, laughing a little bit.

But when Daryl's eyes meet yours, he's staring at you so intently that for a moment, you fear what he's going to say.

"When we were together…" He whispers, but Daryl has to gulp the shyness in his voice. "Ya saw me as the father of our children?"

You think about it, wondering if it is okay to share your deep thoughts with him now, but there is something about the night, like a door that opens and allows you to be honest, or vulnerable.

“Yeah, I did. For a while I really thought that at some point in our lives we were going to start a family, perhaps a different one than the ones we had to live in.” You sigh, but you dare to be brave and hold his gaze. “You are a good man, Daryl, you always were, and yeah, you have a short temper but you are a good person, really. I just wish you are able to see yourself the way I always saw you.”

Daryl wants to say something about it, desperately, but he just doesn’t know how.

“What are we gonna do with her?”

“I really don’t know.” You exhale, deeply. “I wanted to go looking for Sam, but I know is not fair to expose April to danger.”

Daryl rubs his face with one hand, too tired to think clearly.

“We figure it out tomorrow. Try to sleep, peach.”

You nod softly, but you know he won’t do it by himself.

“Can you sleep tonight at least? Please, Daryl?” You say, trying to use April’s sweet voice.

And Daryl loves that, but he's too shy to let you know as he scoffs instead.

“Fine.”

You chuckle, closing your eyes too, trying that, at least for a few hours, sleep takes you to a better place, far from that cold world.

I'm tagging the people who commented on the first chapter, but if you don't want it that way, please, just tell me :) thank you!

@fluffy-dixon

@stunkbiggu

@kurogxrix

@ffsjustletmesleep

[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

[ink-perfect]

thinking about... (my first ever work!)

zoro and what a loverboy he truly is despite his rough exterior. in an era that craves "nonchalance" and being "sigma" 😭 - labels he is the literal blueprint for, may i add - he still chooses love.

that man can hold a sword in his mouth and still look mysterious and hot as FUCK. he’s blissfully unaware of his pretty privilege sometimes, ready to actually try and reason with you instead of charming his way out of any argument you two have, even though that route would end it almost immediately. when you’re overthinking things, he’ll sit by your side, taking the time to consider your concerns instead of just shutting them down with a reductive, but very applicable, “that’s stupid,” like most people would.

he wants to experience being with you, live it out in deep, measured breaths. he craves the quiet moments, the in-betweens - like when your hands find each other without thought, or the way your nose scrunches up when you’re deep in thought. he's memorised these moments, storing them away as treasures in little “X”s on the sprawling map that is his mind.

to him, your presence is like the calm after a storm, the gentle lull of the sea at dawn. he feels your love like the sun on his skin, warm and steady, something he didn't realise he needed until it was there, enveloping him in a light soft and unwavering. he wants to hear the sound of your heartbeat against his chest, feel the weight of your head on his shoulder as you drift into sleep. every breath you take beside him is a reminder of everything that is good and worth fighting for in this world. he wants to be with you even for your filler episodes, even in the times where you don't have it in you to show your love to him. he's intuitive that way - he knows how you feel and what you mean; being with him comes to you so naturally it feels like a part of you is missing whenever you have to do something yourself.

the mere thought of each other brings a smile to both of your faces, more than you'll ever realise: nami's noticed and has bet a good few berry that it happens simultaneously at least 3 times a day. she's so confident in her bet that she's even positioned usopp and luffy to follow you at random and report back on the deck to compare when it happened. let me tell you, that girl is making BANK. even pervert sanji's crude remarks about you have stopped out of pure respect for and awe of you guys' relationship.

i KNOW. even sanji's CRUDE REMARKS.

that's just how beautiful you and zoro are together.

── ౨ৎ masterlist

[psylocke142]

Night of fireworks

Jihyo x fem!reader

synopsis: Colorful lights began to erupt into the night sky. You felt as if your heart burst along with each explosion in the sky. Dreading the end of the festival. This is the last summer you will spend with Jihyo before you part ways.

w/c: 1.8k

warnings: none(?); maybe some angst; goodbyes; definitely some angst

a/n: i was surprised with the results of my first fic(?), not sure what to call it. thank you if you read that and left a like or reblog <3.  i was expecting nothing tbh so i was so happy to see it do better than i expected.

i was listening to Night of Fireworks by Xdinary Heroes and was inspired to write this work. i chose jihyo because i've been missing her zone & one spark era lately. DMs and asks are open. i’m still new to writing so any suggestions or comments are appreciated. apologies for any errors.

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

Jihyo looked beautiful today. She always did, but today you felt mesmerized by her. Even with the lack of light outside, as the sun had already set, Jihyo seemed to glow in your eyes.

“Come on y/n, don’t get lost.”

Your hand was grasped by Jihyo’s, pulling you along to make sure you didn’t get lost in the crowd. Jihyo looked back towards you. Blinding smile crossing her features, making her glow even more.

Your mushy thoughts and gazing were suddenly interrupted.

“There you guys are, we’ve been looking for you two everywhere.” Nayeon huffed.

“These two have been running my pockets wanting to play every festival game.” She continued. The culprits, Momo and Sana, happily ate away at a huge bucket of cotton candy. Which was also bought with Nayeon’s money. No remorse in their eyes.

Mina just silently greeted you two with a smile and waved as Nayeon clung to her arm in defeat.

“Please tell them that these games are rigged for you to lose money trying to win stupid stuffed toys!” the eldest whined.

It was the end of summer, which meant that the city’s annual summer festival was in place. The six of you had decided to come to this year’s festival. You were all still adjusting to the adult world; the youngest of your group just finishing university, others securing new jobs, and the rest of you were piled with work. This left little room for your friends to hang out like before. There were still a few of you missing tonight.

Jeongyeon and Tzuyu couldn’t make it, the vet center they’re working at had them stay for the night shift. They explained that some of the animals get jumpy with fireworks, so they were quick to oblige. Chaeyoung and Dahyun volunteered to stay behind with them to help, expressing concern over their friends being left out. Really they just wanted to play with the puppies and kittens all night.

Your group of friends sought a night of enjoyment and unwinding. The girls were all glad to be able to have found time to gather and spend together. Jihyo was particularly delighted that majority of your group could make it. Wanting to see your girlfriend even more happy you had a plan. Tonight every wish Jihyo had was your command.

Jihyo wanted funnel cake?

You bought her some.

Jihyo wanted to go on the bumper carts?

You teamed up to annoy Nayeon by cornering her and continuously crashed into her cart.

Jihyo wanted a ‘stupid stuffed toy’?

You played the festival games until you won her a cute stuffed elephant.

Much to Nayeon’s dismay. Momo and Sana gave her puppy eyes and promised to treat her to dinner if she won them something. She relented of course. Surprisingly, or not, Mina won a medium-sized panda on her second attempt of the ring toss.

Despite being able to enjoy the festival and being with your friends, there was a gnawing feeling eating away at you. It would creep up on you throughout the night. Not letting you stray too far from the reality of tonight. A reminder of the ticking timer in your chest.

This summer festival would be the last you get to spend with Jihyo.

Jihyo had gotten a promotion. Said promotion was a significant milestone in her career, as she was still a rookie in her office, only having worked for her company for two years. This was a chance she couldn’t turn down, it would be unwise to do so.

However, there was a major downside to this promising opportunity. It required her to relocate. Jihyo had to move to the company’s prestigious headquarters — in Paris. She would be moving to a beautiful and alluring city while gaining valuable experience for her work, but it also meant she had to leave her current life behind. Her friends, family, and you.

Jihyo didn’t mind the idea of starting fresh in a new country. Her ambitiousness and work ethic would make that a smooth process. What weighed heavily in both her heart and mind, was what it meant for the two of you.

Despite your willingness to move to Paris and follow your girlfriend, she protested. You had just secured a job with your dream company a couple months ago. Following Jihyo meant giving up the job you dedicated your blood, sweat, and tears for. That was something Jihyo couldn’t allow. The memory of you jumping in joy when you landed the job fresh in mind. She couldn’t take that away from you by asking you to leave with her. Hesitantly you obeyed Jihyo, not wanting to further upset her or cause any more turmoil.

Uncertainty filled your hearts. Fear of what the distance, different time zones, and unforeseeable changes would make of your relationship. So you both reluctantly agreed to not let it reach to a point of no return. Not wanting to taint the beautiful relationship you cultivated throughout the years.

To set aside the worries and stress, Jihyo invited the group to the summer festival. Afterall, this would probably be the last time she gets to hang out with everyone for a while.

Jihyo’s main reason for coming to the summer festival was to see the firework show with you. She wanted to spend a memorable night with you before the end.

As you prepared to leave to watch the show, Jihyo said her goodbyes to your friends. Both sides making promises of keeping in touch.

The conversations between Jihyo and the girls made your heart clench, knowing that you were going to have a similar talk later that night. Taking in the fact that you would have a different goodbye than your friends. One more permanent.

Once again Jihyo was leading you, hand in hers, to a vacant park that would have a nice view of the firework show. Once again, you just cherished the sight of her.

As you sat down on the grass, waiting for the firework show to start, you realized that the night was ending. Without thinking you held onto Jihyo’s hand tighter. In response, the shorter girl placed herself between your legs. She wrapped your arms around her as she leaned herself into your front.

The distant crowd began to applaud and cheer as the countdown for the show began.

Colorful lights began to erupt into the night sky. You felt your chest constrict tightly with each explosion that fired into the sky. Dreading the end of the festival.

You looked up into the sky, at the fireworks.

Then you looked at Jihyo.

Her face was tilted upwards looking at the sky. Big round eyes reflecting the colorful lights. Soft black hair cascading down her profile in slight waves. Mouth slightly agape and forming a bright smile. Face expressing momentary awe and joy. You couldn’t help but feel an immense amount of love for the girl in your arms — the girl who held your heart.

Fireworks were nowhere close to shooting stars that you could wish upon. Still, you hoped that they could grant you just one wish. You gazed at the fireworks and you prayed to the explosive colors in the sky. To let you stay here forever, with Jihyo.

As the build up for the grand finale of the firework show began, you felt your heart’s timer begin to run out. The night was over. You held Jihyo tighter. Buried your head onto her shoulder. Trying to ingrain this moment into your brain.

Before the final fireworks went off Jihyo stood up unraveling herself from your warm embrace. Her back towards you.

“y/n…”

“it’s time.”

You hesitated to stand up. Not quite ready for what was to come.

You thought that maybe it was just you who felt devastated to have to say goodbye. Until Jihyo turned around and lifted her head to look at you. There were tears that had already fallen from her eyes and new ones that threatened to fall. She ignored her tears and just smiled at you.

Jihyo grabbed both of your hands to hold in hers. She observed your face intently. Slowly nearing towards you. She closed the small distance between you. Lips meeting in a gentle but desperate need to be together.

Her hands came up to caress your face but stopped when she felt the tears that ran down your cheeks. Tears that you hadn’t realized had fallen. Jihyo pulled back and wiped away your tears.

“This is what’s best, right Jihyo?” you muttered. Suddenly unsure of what you had both agreed upon. Not quite set on letting each other go. Not set on saying goodbye.

“Yes,” Jihyo quietly replied as her hands roamed your shoulders. Her body pushing against your front to be as close as possible. To savor your touch for these last few moments.

“I love you Ji,”

“I always will.” you whispered as you moved a strand of Jihyo’s hair to tuck behind her ear. Your other hand finding her waist to hold.

“So will I, y/n/n. I love you too.”

Jihyo pushed herself even deeper into your hold, enveloping you in a hug. You reciprocated her actions. Filling as many gaps between your bodies as you could.

The remaining fireworks shot upwards into a final explosion. Finally the ticking timer in your heart went off. Heart bursting alongside the lights in the sky.

Without hesitating you brought your lips to your lover’s. You emitted all the love you felt for Jihyo into the kiss. Your last kiss.

As the fireworks began to fade, you both pulled away. Jihyo brought her hands to yours. You stared down at the connected limbs. Tears brimmed at the corner of your eyes. You willed yourself not to cry as you looked up. You wanted these last moments with Jihyo to be as clear as crystal.

The girl before you still glowed in the dark night. She looked stunning, angelic even, despite the tears in her eyes. Those round mesmerizing eyes held something scenic, a view filled with sadness and love. Far more captivating than any shooting star or firework show.

Thousands of unspoken thoughts were behind both of your eyes. Thoughts that you were able to comprehend without either of you having to voice them.

Jihyo gently let go of your hand, her fingers softly lingering for a moment longer than necessary. The inevitable end of the festival has come and so has the conclusion of your time.

You felt yourself wanting to reach out, to hold her hand tighter as her fingers began to slip away, a last attempt at grasping this fleeting moment that you wished could last forever. The look in her eyes pleaded for you to not make this any more difficult than it already was. A mixture of sadness and adoration. Your own gaze reflected Jihyo’s. A shared understanding; this parting, though painful, was necessary.

Jihyo was the first to speak.

“Goodbye, baby” she solemnly drawled.

“Goodbye, love” you returned.

Still rooted in the same spot, you watched the love of your life walk away. Tears now freely falling. Heart in ashes.

The night of fireworks is over.

[crazylittlejester]

Inspired by your answer to an ask about Wars sisters.

Imagine. The Chain gets to Sky's era. Wars tells Sun about his sisters (he spills the beans, all of them). They leave Sky's era. However, the portal after that is golden and when they go through they're like 30 minutes away from Wars' childhood home.

Sun & Hylia said "go talk to your family you absolute bafoon <3 :) "

Wars tries to go into a different direction? Too bad, Hylia sent a dream to his youngest sister telling her her brother is a guilty sad wet cat and she's getting a delivery next day. So she's like, right next to the Chain in the bushes hiding amd waiting. Even better if she's Wind's or Four's age and recruits Wind to her side.

The rest of the Chain wants to go to meet Wars family too and to get as much blackmail as they can on Wars.

STOP THIS IS SO CUTE AND SWEET AND I’M OBSESSED WITH IT.

I love the idea that his youngest sister then wakes up like “Oh my god Link is coming home.” and maybe NONE of the others believe her, but then sure enough Warriors is dropped on their doorstep looking like a drowned cat surrounded by the rest of the chain who are there for support

With the headcanons I have for his sisters, the youngest is closer to Twi’s age, but I like the idea that at this point he’s DEFINITELY an uncle, and now those kids get to meet their uncle for the first time, BUT ALSO now Wind gets to corrupt them with his insanity and crazy energy

I know in my heart Time would probably just sit down with Wars’s mom and the two of them would be trading CRAZY lore to use as blackmail. Time gets to learn about baby Wars, Wars’s mom gets to learn about the stupidity her son’s been getting up to that he doesn’t mention in his letters

[youremyheaven]

pt 2 vedic astro symbols & motifs

serpent yoni folks depicted with their yoni animal

Bella has Ashlesha mars as her atmakaraka, with saturn and ketu in UBP. Gigi has UBP venus and Ashlesha mars amatyakaraka. ive talked about how Ashlesha natives often have a controlling mother, or a severe, abusive and toxic upbringing and anyone who knows about Yolanda Hadid knows how controlling she is as a mother.

there has been some debate about Rihanna's birth time. with her current birth time, she has Revati moon/venus/rising but there is a slight possibility that she potentially has UBP rising.

Ashlesha sun, Rohini mars and Mrigashira ketu Cara Delevingne has a snake tattoo on her hand.

UBP moon and Ashlesha rahu, Kim K in a snakeskin dress (she often wears snakeskin if you guys have noticed)

Rohini moon & rising, mrigashira venus Priyanka Chopra wearing snakeskin

Ashlesha Ketu, Taylor Swift in a snakeskin dress. Her Reputation era heavily featured serpent imagery as well.

2. Vishaka women love headpieces or hair accessories or making their head stand out in some way.

Beyonce (vishaka moon) is known for her over the top head gears.

Lana Del Rey (Vishaka rising) at the met gala, a few years ago. She is also known for her love of old school big beehive hairdos.

Sonam Kapoor (vishaka ketu) closing a Ralph & Russo show. Sonam is also known for her love of extravagant hairdos.

Salma Hayek (vishaka ketu) loves wearing tiaras on the red carpet!!

Vishaka sun & mercury, Lorde at the Met Gala

Katy Perry (vishaka moon & saturn)

3. Mary Sue is a character archetype, which is defined as a "usually a young woman, who is often portrayed as inexplicably competent across all domains, gifted with unique talents or powers, liked or respected by most other characters, unrealistically free of weaknesses, extremely attractive, innately virtuous, and/or generally lacking meaningful character flaws."

i've noticed that a lot of characters who are labelled to be "Mary Sues" are played by women who have deva gana nakshatras. Deva gana natives are said to possess a divine nature and hence, why they're often cast as people who seem to be lacking flaws and sometimes sincere to a point of stupidity.

Rey Skywalker is said to be a classic example of a Mary Sue. She is played by Daisy Ridley who has Revati sun and Punarvasu moon.

Anastasia Steele is another Mary Sue, played by Dakota Johnson who has Hasta sun and Anuradha moon

Bella Swan is probably the most notorious example of a Mary Sue, she is played by Kristen Stewart who has Revati sun and Hasta moon.

4. ive noticed a lot of Ketu girlies playing sex workers in movies, especially a lot of Magha natives

Jennifer Connelly in Requiem for a Dream (she has Ketu in Magha)

Barbra Streisand, Ashwini sun (Nuts, 1987)

Dolly Parton (Magha moon) in The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas

Magha rising, Uma Thurman in Les Mis as Fantine

Magha moon, Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman

Jane Fonda, Mula sun in Klute

Ashwini stellium, Penelope Cruz in To Rome with Love

5. ive noticed that many women who marry into royalty have jupiter nakshatras

Kate Middleton who is married to Prince William has Punarvasu moon.

Kareena Kapoor who is married to the Nawab of Pataudi has her Mars in Vishaka in the 7th house of marriage 👀

Grace Kelly who married Prince Rainier of Monaco, had Vishaka sun/mars and Purvabhadrapada moon

Diane von Furstenberg, the designer was married to Prince Egon and she has Vishaka venus & jupiter (her darakaraka and atmakaraka, respectively)

Rita Hayworth who was briefly married to Prince Aly Khan also had Purvabhadrapada moon.

Olivia Wilde who was married to Prince Tao Ruspoli has Purvabhadrapada sun & mercury

Barbara Hutton who has Vishaka sun & mars was married to 3 different princes.

[alannybunnue]

Ok, Imagine: Muzan Kibutsuji with a Wife

Don't question it, ya'll asked for this

But i doubt you imagine something like this...Anyway, enjoy my nonsense :3

[THERE MIGHT BE TRIGGERS WARNINGS, SO BEWARE]

The Demon Queen

= The Backstory =

(I get it, the title is not original, but it makes more sense than anything)

So Muzan is a arrogant little shit and everyone knows it.

But imagine him being married to a unbreakable sunshine

So everything began 1000 years before the main events, in the Heian Era, when Muzan was still a human.

Political marriages were pretty common back then, so you may be asking "Who in their sane minds would marry their daughter to a man on the brink of death?!" Well, our dear reader's shitty parents :3 (Which technically...her mother is me 0-0)

It obviously wasn't a very enjoyable marriage, especially with Muzan's depressing and negative personality, but his wife never change her demeanor, it didn't matter how many times he would cuss at her, she remained at his side everytime with kind smile on her face.

Muzan honestly saw her as a stupid woman who settled down for a impossible dream (Which was them living a normal married life)

So in his mind, he couldn't understand what made her stay with him day and night, waiting for the moment he somehow would be cured from his disease.

She even kept her mouth shut when he killed that Doctor :|

...But then he began to change

And it wasn't impossible to notice, he seemed more energetic, didn't stayed in bed all day like before.

However, he no longer stayed away for shades, his poor wife only found Muzan where the Sun couldn't touch him.

Which made her confused to the extreme, and the poor thing couldn't handle curiosity for long, even if her bitch of a husband wouldn't say a thing...until that one night.

At first, Muzan was going to kill her, at least he was, until she saw him walking towards her normally and became extremely emotional, and went up to her husband and hugged like her life depended on it. (No, she didn't notice the bodies nor the blood)

And as annoying as that would be to the Demon King, he indulged on it for a while, until his brain began to work and he remembered all the times this woman stayed by his side when he was at his worse.

So he transformed her :)

= Muzan as a Yandere + Some details =

One thing that must be made clear, is the detail that Muzan is not in love, he sees his darling more of a living possession than someone he is infatuated with. Using her ultimate devotion for his mere benefit.

Of course, the other reason is because he is already used to his wife's shiny personality and having to look for another woman to disguise himself among humans is too much work.

And yes, after some centuries, he begins to feel bothered whenever she isn't around him, or whenever someone else is with close to his wife.

But that isn't love! It's more like if another child stole his favorite toy.

Surely enough, he won't punish the poor woman too much, she is naive, he knows that...so giving her the silent treatment is enough to make the bubbly sweetheart cling onto him for attention. It still annoys him? Yes. But does he also finds it endearing? Also yes.

Now, does she sees his cruelty and lack of empathy? Yes, however, she is now a demon, she lived centuries with her husband telling her not to mind what they do to humans, nowadays she just can only focus on how much she loves him (My child, wtf-)

Now with demons...it's another story, you see, since she was a human, she always wanted children, but considering the man she got married to...yeah, that was impossible :D

So in her mind, the demons are her children, so whenever Muzan is agressive with them...she is really upset (Let's not comment about when he killed the Lower Moons...my baby cried all night) However, she doesn't say anything, because she can't.

Whenever Muzan can't stay with his wife, he only trusts two demons to take care of her properly

Yeah that's right, Mister Six Eyes and Basketball Man, Kokushibo and Akaza

Both are the most responsible in the group anyway, so they are more than enough to keep the woman in one place...

...But they don't stop her when she wants to stay with others too, except Akaza when she wants to visit Douma.

And Muzan can't complain much, cuz she is safe and sound when he returns, so why bother? (Or that is what she tells him, so he won't lash out on her kids •-•)

So in resume, Muzan is a bitch to everyone but his sunshine wife, but he is not in love- Or that is what he tells himself? :)

〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓

A/N: This honestly is kinda funny and cute somehow?? Muzan is one of the characters that i most despise and i still gave him a Wife...and i gave the Demons a Mom. Hope y'all enjoyed

[euphoricfilter]

like crazy ~ part one

☆ﾟpart one of four

pairing(s): namjoon x reader, seokjin x reader, yoongi x reader, hoseok x reader, jimin x reader, taehyung x reader, jungkook x reader

genre: fluff || smut || angst || non-idol au || reincarnation au || strangers to lovers || established relationships || regency era au || gang au ||

summary: the story of why you loved to dance in the rain.

word count: 14k

tags/ warnings: duke! taehyung, jimin, fluff, so much love, angst, death(s)/implied murder, mentions of blood, mentioned suicide, mentioned puking, friends to lovers, strangers to lovers, smut in the forms of: implied loss of virginity, unprotected sex (don't be stupid, this is fiction), oral (fem receiving), multiple orgasms, creampie, cum play, talks of pregnancy and babies

notes: this mini series is very loosely inspired by an au idea i wrote a while back about an immortal m/c. i'm going to try and keep updates every other week but i am moving home really soon so if there's any change in the schedule then i'll post about it!! and as always, feedback is always encouraged <3

‘like crazy’ mini series masterlist || my main masterlist

🪐 🌠 ∘₊✧─── *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ───✧₊∘ ✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . 💫

“A lot has happened since we last spoke” You look down at the gravestone, moss and mud having found home over unnerving death, “Sorry it took me so long to visit” Maybe it helped that the sun was out, tears that were meant to fall soaked up in golden rays of light that warm your cheeks rather than wet them. 

You place a bouquet of red chrysanthemums before the thick slab of stone, closing your eyes briefly. Not a thought in your mind as you revel in the peace of what was once a roaring home. 

“Now, where should I begin?” 

The day you remembered your first life, it felt as though your world had tilted off its axis. That everything you thought you’d learnt about yourself was nothing more than a singular star in a galaxy that sat in the vast universe. A mere atom in the formula that builds you as a person. 

It was like a never-ending spiral. Little pockets of a past life you were never supposed to know, hidden between rouge pieces of space rock and black holes of a different time. Where one misstep had you slipping down a rabbit hole of the unknown with nothing to grab onto. Spiralling down like you were Alice, except you were far from Wonderland. 

You weren’t even sure if you were in denial, or if it was all a far-fetched dream crafted by a wild imagination. Perhaps it was something more like guilt, because as much as Jimin was most definitely the love of your life; he was simply the love of this life.

Strange, heart-wrenching emotions had weighed on your shoulders as you remembered a past lover, who had held your heart ever so delicately in soft hands. And you’d held his, cradling it to your chest until your hearts had beaten in unison. Where wild fantasies had painted a forever, that was never going to be forever. 

Your skin had crawled as fingertips that no longer exist had danced over your body, and burning lips, kissing you in places that should only be Jimin’s. A touch not that of your lover’s, digging into sacred places, secret places that you had only ever worked up the courage to show Jimin. 

The sudden force of having to re-live grief when you yourself should also be dead had sent you into a frenzy. With too many sleepless nights, and too many harsh words sent Jimin’s way as you tried to navigate so many new stimuli at once. This love for another man was like a phantom hand latching onto your heart and squeezing, pulling, and sinking you further down. Sinking down, down, down until a whirlwind of emotions had flushed over you. Joy. Excitement. Sorrow. Heart-ache. Hatred. Love. Too much love. So much more love. A different sort of love you had never felt. Love love love. 

There were too many secrets. Secrets you didn’t truly understand, a jumble of words that melt into slush and clog your brain, sparking against neurotransmitters and mingling with more information than you knew what to do with. Secrets that go away when Jimin is stood before you, and you’re reminded of who your heart now belongs to. The world finally silent, and hands stop grabbing you, and you can finally breathe again. It was as if Jimin had become a catalyst for your fraying feelings. 

The story of Jimin had bloomed in spring. 

When the sky felt as though it were at the tips of your fingers if you were to reach up high enough. And the world smelt of flowers and herbs that sat on window-sills of rundown houses. Where skin was sun-kissed, tender and pink on the back of your neck. And all the evils of the world were taking a nap for the afternoon with the cats that lounged in the shade under trees. 

“Excuse me”

You perk up, squinting when the sun hits your eyes. 

The memory of your first encounter with Jimin will always be one you find yourself going back to. Vivid enough that when you dream of this day, you’re often tempted to reach out and touch him as if he were really there. 

His name on the tip of your tongue, tickling the back of your throat and mind, though nothing comes out as the scene replays itself for the thousandth time. 

It’s like a well-practised play, where you pose as the main cast while simultaneously being the audience. (Maybe it was more of a tragedy, a shame when you know how this one ended.) A little jarring that you have no control over your own body, lips moulding around words so many times you could recite the first conversation the both of you had over and over again. 

Sickly regret holding you in its palms, because there are so many more things you want to tell Jimin, words that he’ll never get to hear. 

It mustn’t have been very long after midday when you’d met. Sweat tickling the back of your neck and untamed grass pocking at your ankles and between bare toes. 

The air smelt of burning wood, crackling fire nothing but a whisper in the wind as footsteps crunch over gravel, and children thump into the tall grass and crush delicate flowers under the weight of their tiny bodies. 

The dress you were sewing is dropped into your lap in favour of cupping your hands around your eyes to see the face of your visitor. Your cheeks dusting the lightest shade of pink when you finally get a look at his face. 

You knew of Jimin, as did most on your estate. The other seamstresses never knew when to close their mouths, always tittering away about everyone and everything that lived in the area. Mindless gossip that you always found yourself turning away from when their giggles would get too loud, or opinions too crude for your liking. 

Jimin had become somewhat of an enigma since turning into an adult. Names were thrown around like he weren’t ever to hear them; though you know his mother works in the building next door. Sure to have heard what her friends had been saying about her son behind her back. How much of a shame it is that he has such a nice face but no money. That no woman would ever want to settle for a man with nothing to his name, even if their babies were to be beautiful. 

Or how their daughters had wandered into the city and found wealthy bachelors, who bought them dresses lined with thread made of gold, and jewellery that weigh down their necks. Who eat like royals, and prance around well-kept gardens into their husbands’ arms. 

Thoughts ever so shallow you never found yourself stooping to their level when they’d nudge you for your opinion. The bitter remark that their children had abandoned them had always clung to your lips, because surely if they cared they would have lifted their parents out of commoner status and housed them in luxury. 

The rumours of Jimin’s beauty were true, that much you now knew. Whatever child-like innocence you had left inside of you dubbing him as something akin to a garden fairy; just as you imagined them when you were young. 

Not quite dainty, yet not thick muscle, something a little softer around the edges. And with his overgrown hair haloed by the sun as he takes a step to the side, blanketing you in shade, you think he looks like a dream. 

“Yes?” your head tilts, gaze flitting to the scarce bouquet that he holds. Tips of his fingers evidence that he’d dug them up himself, wet soil clinging to his skin and boots; just as rough and old as the rest of his clothes. Though really you find you have no place to judge when you, yourself are dressed no better than him. 

“These are for you” He thrusts the flowers into your face, entirely too eager as dirt falls into your lap, though you find yourself laughing. Uncaring that your mother’s dress bears the brunt of his enthusiasm. 

You clear your throat when he avoids your eyes, “From you?” 

And he nods, watching from the corner of his eye as you take them in gentle hands as not to let any of the smaller flowers fall out of place. You lay them delicately over your lap, feeling around the grass for your thread. 

You snap it with your teeth, tying the stems of the flowers together so you wouldn’t lose any of them. A pot already in mind that you keep beside your mattress in the bedroom. Dust had collected around the rim, and lime scale clung to the insides, though you think the flowers would look lovely beside you as you slept. 

“And–” he rubs his hands over his pants, bottom lip tucked between his teeth, “And this” He pulls a piece of paper from his pocket. 

The tips of your fingers brush against one another as you take it from him. Curiosity wins over the heated flush that threatens to dust over your cheeks at the accidental contact. 

‘I think you’re pretty’ 

“Would you like to join me?” you smile, patting the space beside you, Jimin’s own lips curling up at the corners. 

“I’m Jimin” 

And you refrain from telling him you know. Because the Jimin you knew was the one that had been tossed from mouth to mouth, built on flimsy lies and stupid expectations. Entirely built by rotten imaginations and women who had nothing better to do than chatter about other people’s lives when their own was crumbling just as much. 

“Y/n” you giggle, outstretching your hand for him to shake. 

Jimin’s eyes curl into little crescents as he smiles, a laugh bubbling up his throat “Nice to meet you, Y/n” 

“Nice to meet you” You nod, “Oh! And, I think you’re pretty too” 

“Do you think I can take you on a date? Tomorrow?” he turns to you, and you blink up at him. 

“So soon?” 

“Too soon?” he winces. 

The corners of your lips turn upwards, busying yourself with finishing mending your mother’s dress, “No, I quite like how straight to the point you are” 

Jimin’s chest deflates as he sighs, “I thought it might have scared you a little” he admits. 

You hum, “No one’s ever asked me on a date before” you admit. 

A wave of ease falls over the both of you, a unanimous understanding that there weren’t any expectations between the two of you. That as much as love was thrown onto the table, it didn’t have to be what the two of you got out of this. 

Friendship, when you’re alone, is just as precious as a lover. Another human being with very human emotions and morals that match yours is just as special as something a little more than platonic. 

“No way” he laughs, shoulder knocking against yours, you bite back a smile, “A girl as pretty as you?” 

“Mmhmm” 

“Then it’d be an honour to be the first” feeling bold, Jimin’s arm slips across your shoulders, “And hopefully the last”

“Ah is that so?” you drop the dress onto the grass beside you, pushing yourself to sit on your heels as you turn to face Jimin. 

He nods, eyes flicking from your own to your lips, then back up again. Perhaps only mapping out your face into his mind, carving out every little crevice that makes you, and burning it into his brain. Or maybe it’s something a little less innocent. 

You lean forward, a chaste kiss pressed to Jimin’s cheek before you pull back; a shy smile mirroring his, flushed cheeks probably matching his too. Though you find yourself liking the feeling, something ever so foreign yet welcome, you can’t help the airy laugh that spills from your lungs. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

It had been the incessant tapping at your window that had woken you up like a little bird was pecking at the old glass. Understandably, fear had settled in your heart, it wasn’t often you were woken up in the middle of the night like this. 

The floorboards creaked under the weight of your body as you slipped off your mattress, socked feet barely making a sound as you plan an easy escape without your uninvited visitor knowing you were going to find your mother. 

You almost trip over your own feet when the tapping stops, Jimin calling out your name. 

You scuttle over to your window, tugging your curtains open, “What are you doing here so late?” you whisper when you unlatch the window, pushing it open. 

“I forgot to give you this” he raises his arm, a singular sunflower clasped between his fingers. 

“You came all the way here to give me this?” you ask, baffled. 

“Yes, I forgot to pick you a bouquet before our date this afternoon” he nods, “That…and I just missed you” 

“Would you like to come in?” you take a step away from your window. 

You see the unfiltered surprise on his face, “Too soon?” 

He shakes his head, “I just wasn’t expecting it is all” 

You pluck the sunflower from between his fingers, turning to place it in the vase with the other flowers he’d gifted you over the last week. 

You turn back to Jimin as his boots thump against the floor, he kicks them off, shuffling in one spot as you take a seat on your mattress. 

“Come here” you hide your smile, biting your bottom lip. He’s ever so careful as he takes a seat beside you. The both of you fall onto your backs like you often did in the grass at the park. 

Soft silver moonlight spills into the room from the open curtains, cool night air washing over the both of you as you stare at the ceiling. 

“I really like spending time with you” Jimin breaks the silence, though his gaze remains trained on one spot of your roof. 

“I really like spending time with you, too” You tilt your head to look at him, unexplainable happiness filling your body until you felt like bursting. 

He hums, next words barely above a whisper. “I hope we can be together for a long time” 

“I would like that” 

Jimin turns his head to face you, the softest smile on his face, “I’m glad” 

 Love with Jimin was pure. The both of you were young enough that it didn’t matter if it were rough around the edges, imperfect; though you wouldn’t have changed it for the world. It wasn’t hard to fall in love. Not when it was Jimin.

For every date he took you on, he would spend hours in the park picking flowers for you. 

His mother had always adored them and could talk about anything botanical for hours. She knew all their meanings and all their worth. Her love for one of the world’s tiny treasures brushing off on Jimin growing up. Over the years the reason for his love had changed, something special to his mother was now something special to him. 

Because flowers now reminded Jimin of you. Where soft petals between the tips of his fingers felt like your skin under his hands, always reaching out for you, holding any part of you he could. How the world around you smelt of flowers as he braided them into your hair or you made promise rings with wilting stems that needed a little bit of love; a new life, a new purpose. 

And of course, Jimin had heard all about the men in the city who bought acres of land for their lovers. Gardens tended to with warm hands but barely there love. And Jimin’s dream was to spend afternoons in a garden, your knees brushing as he plants flower beds and vegetables. So he could wake you up each morning with a new bouquet and a letter as to why he loves you so much. 

“What’s this one?” you tuck Jimin’s hair behind his ear, pressing a kiss to his nose. 

“A red chrysanthemum” He tilts your face, thumb caressing the skin behind your ear. 

“Yeah?” you breathe, eyelashes brushing against your cheeks as his lips barely brush over your own, and Jimin hums. 

You smile into the kiss, “And what do red chrysanthemums mean?” you whisper, arms wrapping around his shoulders. 

“I love you” 

You pull back, eyes widening a fraction. Three words that felt like they should be whispered, a secret that the two of you shared but never spoke about. You knew you loved Jimin in some capacity, you weren’t stupid. And you knew he liked you back, he’d made that known; and yet those three words had you feeling as though love was the only emotion that mattered. That the only thing you could ever do was love Jimin.

“Too soon?” he smiles, thumb running over your bottom lip. 

You shake your head, “No, not at all” 

“This is for you too then” His free hand slips into his pocket. Piece of paper tucked between two fingers, he drops it into your awaiting palm. 

‘I love you ♡” 

Young love didn’t have to be rushed. You didn’t have to stagger after Jimin as he pulled you along, or him chase after you as you sped ahead. It could be late-night talking about all the seemingly insignificant things in life. How hard growing up was or the insane expectations for success that neither of you had a chance of grasping. 

Marriage didn’t have to be your only reason. Not when Jimin had become many of the reasons you liked waking up in the morning, or making lunch for the both of you to share on scarce breaks at work. 

It could be slow dancing in the moonlight, as Jimin hums and crickets chirp. Or afternoons spent lounging in the sun with pinkies intertwined and breaths in sync. Or, now whispered ‘I love yous’ melting into soft kisses to cheeks and lips and noses. Or pink flushed cheeks and smiles that hurt your face, the good kind of hurt that makes you giggle and want one more gentle press of his lips to your own. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

You dip your fingers into the shallow edge of the lake, “It’s pretty cold” 

You peek over your shoulder as Jimin pulls his shirt over his head, lithe muscles flexing under the motions of his movements. Every sharp line and soft ridge of his body was illuminated by the silver light of the moon. 

“Guess we better warm up then” he grins, eyes raking down your body. They then linger on your face, and it’s not often you wonder what Jimin’s thinking. He usually speaks his mind, clingy shyness about his feeling for you never holding him back when it came to his thoughts. 

You laugh, “Perv” your own shirt haphazardly shucked off your body, thrown into a pile with the rest of Jimin’s clothes. 

His arm slips over your waist as you kick your panties off, goosebumps prickling the skin of your arms as your boyfriend takes a step into the lake. 

His chest opens as the initial shock of the cold crawls up his spine. Jimin watches you fidget, arms wrapped around your bare breasts, “Come on, baby” he reaches a hand out for you, walking further until he’s waist-deep in the water. 

An easy smile is on his face as he beckons you over, wading closer to you when you work up the courage to slink into the water. Your breath hitches as you take Jimin’s hand, legs wrapping around his waist. He throws your arms around his shoulders, murky water rippling around the both of you as he spins you around. Your bare chest pushes up against Jimin’s as you pull him closer, your body easing a little at the extra heat. 

“You’re pretty” he murmurs, fingers digging into the meat of your thighs, hoisting you up a little higher. 

You push his hair from his forehead, lips lingering over warm skin when you lean down to press a kiss over his hairline; your hands cupping his cheeks, eyes flickering across his face. You weren’t sure how to explain how you felt, Jimin had always been better at words than you had been. 

It’s just, Jimin in the moonlight always felt right. Because for once the world fell silent, it felt like it finally belonged to just you and him. He looked ever so pretty dusted in silver, honeyed skin kissed by the wonders of the sky. Blemishes nothing but pretty places to kiss, each moment your lips touch his skin another reason for you to wonder how you even ended up here. 

“I love you” you whisper.

But that never felt like enough. Three frail words that you utter over and over again, that should really lose their meaning over time, are the only words that ever seem to come to mind when it’s Jimin. Nothing fancy. Nothing poetic. Nothing that’s more than an ‘I love you’ because no matter how many times you seemed to say it, the weight of your words is always understood by Jimin.  

And he laughs, “How abrupt of you” 

You bite back a smile, “Sorry, it just came out” 

“I might love you more, you know” His eyes close. 

You press a kiss over his eyelids, “I think that’s impossible”  

He hums, “I don’t” 

He peeks an eye open, smiling when he sees the frown on your face. 

“Every breath I take, and for every beat of my fragile heart, I will love you. Until the day I lay on my deathbed, and we must part ways, my love will be yours.” his eyes meet your own, “Though I know we’ll meet in the sky, and I’ll hand you my heart once more” 

“And I’ll hand you mine” Your eyes search his, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders. 

“I’m glad, my love. And I’ll cherish it for as long as you’ll allow me” 

“Forever.” you say, wondering if his eyes really held galaxies or if they simply reflected the sky, “It’ll be yours forever” 

“Then I have something to tell you” 

Your eyebrows crease, and a strange sense of dread and excitement mixes inside of you. And you aren’t sure if you’re jittery from the cold or nerves or fear. 

“What is it?” you urge. 

Jimin swallows, hands travelling over your bare back and down your waist, “I’ve put down two gold coins for that house we had been talking about” 

Your chest deflates, lungs wringing themselves out of all the air you had until you’re laughing. Almost falling backwards into the water if Jimin hadn’t pulled you closer to his body. 

“Have you really?” you breathe, hand tangling into the hair on the back of his head, “Park Jimin, don’t lie to me” 

He smiles, chest shaking with his own breathy laughter, “Never, my love. Truly it is going to be ours” 

You shake your head, “How did you find the money for it” 

“You know I have been working double shifts as of late” he hums, wet hands pushing your hair from your face, eager to see your blooming happiness. 

“Yes, but I thought it was for your mother” 

“She earns enough to feed herself, and I wanted a place of our own. And I know how much we’ve both dreamed of this moment, I had to do it” 

“You’re perfect, you know that?” your lips mould into his, a moan of appreciation swallowed as you tilt your head; tongue poking at the seam of his lips. 

“I do now” he huffs, pulling you in for another kiss by the back of your neck. 

“We’re really going to have a home” 

“Yes” he laughs, “Forever ours” 

“I can’t believe it” you whisper, “Pinch me so I know it is real” 

A moan gets caught in the back of your throat as Jimin’s teeth nip at the tender skin behind your ear, plush lips kissing over your skin, saliva slicked and heated. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

You think you can find your and Jimin’s love in the little wonders of the world. Because as much as he wanted to hand you the universe, both of you knew that was impossible. That your love was tucked away, safer when hidden in dreams of a shared future. Tucked away in a home that was now yours forever, because neither of you had plans of going anywhere. 

As selfish as it may seem, you’d stolen spring to be your own. You’d met in the spring and found a place for yourselves as flowers bloomed. You were Jimin’s spring flower and he was the sun and the moon and all the pretty things in between. 

It wasn’t hard to fall into a routine, your lives were like clockwork, never stopping. It had always been that way, except now you’d stay within the precious walls of your home, and Jimin would return to you before the sun slipped behind the horizon and dinner was finished cooking on the fire. 

Most mornings the both of you would wake up before sunrise, and you’d eat near-stale bread on the chairs Jimin had made outside the front door. Where once or twice a butterfly had come to kiss your nose in good morning, and then Jimin would kiss the same place over and over until you’re both giggling like it was the first time you’d kissed. 

And for the days he slipped out of the house before you woke, he would leave little letters around the house for you to find throughout the day. 

‘Last night I saw a star as you slept, and it reminded me of your eyes. Briefly, I thought to wake you but after seeing you so at peace, I decided to join you instead ♡’  

He’d always had a secret liking towards poetry and found himself sitting with a quill and paper as the moon sat in the sky, thinking of poems about you. And only the ones that made him smile, and made his heart jump up and down inside his chest did he ever leave on his pillow for you to wake up to the next morning. 

You’d clean the floors between sewing as Jimin worked as a blacksmith, lithe frame bulking up over the last couple of months. And he would make sure to leave you a note before leaving the house, with every little thing he would find that he loved about you. 

‘Today’s reason is your smile ♡’ 

Evenings were your favourite, as were Jimin’s. Both your bodies ease into one another’s as you sit on worn-down cushions while playing checkers that your father had carved for you as a child. 

Or you’d simply lay your head over Jimin’s thigh as he sings for you under the stars. Bellies almost full and hearts the most content as the universe writes your love in shooting stars, its ink the soft glow of the moon. 

“I have a surprise for you next week, so take the day off” Jimin’s fingers rake through your hair, tucking it ever so delicately behind your ear. 

You peel your eyes open, “And what about your own work?” 

“I have already asked for a day away, no problem” He smiles down at you. 

“What sort of surprise is it?” your voice comes out barely above a whisper, carried by the wind to Jimin’s ears, who hums. 

He runs his thumb over his bottom lip, “I mustn’t say, it will ruin it” 

“But I’ll be curious” You jab a finger into his stomach, lips curling into a smile when he leans down to capture your lips. 

“Poor thing” he whispers, stealing another kiss. 

‘A clue to your surprise: It reminds me of you ♡’ 

“I still don’t know what it is” You slide Jimin’s most recent note across the table, and he shrugs. 

“Your final clue” He hands you another piece of paper. 

‘Think of when we first met’  

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this excited” Jimin laughs, arm slung over your shoulders. 

You skip ahead a little, walking backwards as you smile over at Jimin who takes one of your hands, helping you twirl as if you were a princess and he was the prince. You’d spent every night sewing a new dress with leftover fabric from the tavern; a special occasion called for a special outfit.  

And Jimin had smiled and laughed so much he’d almost fallen off the back of his chair as you’d spun for him. He’d called you utterly beautiful and then tugged you over his lap for a kiss, maybe two. 

“Of course, I’m excited. I’ve been eager to know what your surprise is” 

“Happiness looks good on you, my love” Jimin stops walking, pulling you to his chest. 

“Then I must look good all the time, with you around” 

“Where do you learn these things” His hand covers his mouth, a lame attempt at covering his smile. 

“You” 

Jimin raises his eyebrows, astounded, “When have I ever been cheesy?” 

“All the time. I’ll show you when we get home, I have all those letters you’ve left me” 

“You kept all those?” he gapes, footsteps falling in time with your own as you both start wandering back down the gravel path. 

“Of course. I still have the first ever one you gave me, and then all the ones that came after that” 

You bite your bottom lip, willing yourself not to laugh when you catch sight of Jimin’s rose-dusted cheeks. 

“Then you may think I’m extra cheesy today” he announces, fingers interlacing with your own. 

“Is that so?” you hum, shoulder knocking against his arm. 

Jimin turns to you, “Do you trust me?” 

You blink. 

“Of course” 

“Then please close your eyes” 

“Right now?” your head tilts, eyes squinting to gauge how far away the end of the pathway is, “It doesn’t seem like we’re anywhere that a surprise could be” 

“We are” he turns to you, “It won’t be a surprise if you keep looking though” 

You nod, eyes narrowing; sceptical. 

“If this is where you secretly murder me then I swear on my grave I will come back from the dead Park Jimin” 

He laughs, “It would be impossible to live in a world without you, I wouldn’t dare lay a hand on you if it weren’t for your own pleasure” 

You bring your hands to cover your eyes, back straightening when Jimin takes hold of your arm, turning you in the direction of the forest. 

“Careful, the path is uneven this way” He pulls you further under the blanket of trees. 

“Are we almost there” you stumble, amused laugh shaking your shoulders as Jimin’s other hand falls onto your waist to keep you steady. 

“Almost” 

The both of you stumble to a stop, your eyes squeezing shut behind your hands as you wander into the sun, out of the shade. 

“Are you ready?” 

And you hear the unease in his voice, a week of pressure building up. Bubbling until it’s now fizzling out of him in nervous rivulets, hands clammy as they run up and down your arms. His feet shuffle against crunchy grass, and this might be the most jittery you’ve ever seen Jimin. 

“Yes,” you tell him, keeping your eyes closed as you take hold of his hands, squeezing his fingers between your own. Jimin swallows, Adams's apple bobbing under the weight of it. 

His eyes wander over your face, “May I kiss you?” 

The corner of your lips curl up at that, “Yes” you nod, leaning into his touch when he cups your cheeks. 

The tension in both your shoulders releases as your lips mould together, ever so slowly, neither of you rushing as Jimin’s tongue teases into your mouth. He laps up every little noise that slips off your tongue, sweet like nectar. 

Your eyes slip open, entirely focused on Jimin’s. “I really hope you like it” He keeps your focus on him, foreheads still touching, noses knocking against one another. 

“May I be honest with you?” 

And he hums, “Yes, of course” 

“If it’s from you, then I will always love it” 

“That seems a little extreme” he laughs, though unease still chews away at his mind. 

“I don’t think so. Surely you would like anything I gifted you” 

He nods, “Of course, I would” 

“Then it’s no different for me, so please don’t worry” you whisper, eyes slipping closed once more as you press a featherlight kiss to his plush lips. 

“Keep your eyes closed for a moment” he whispers back, and you hum. 

Jimin’s hands fall away from your body, shadow slipping away from behind your eyelids as he steps away from you. 

“Open them” 

And you do. 

“Oh Jimin” you whisper, a twitch of your lip the first sign of a smile. 

As far as you can see, there are just flowers. The most vibrant you have ever seen, almost glowing under the warm light of the sun. For all the flowers Jimin had given you over the years, you think there must be every colour he’d ever thought to bring you; all swaying in tandem as if it were the most beautiful ocean. 

The field stretches until it meets the sky, land completely hidden by a blanket of wildflowers. 

You don’t know where to look, so many places to look but only two eyes. Your head is pulled in every which direction, mouth falling open in awe. 

“Where did you find this place?” your voice comes out breathless, gaze only briefly meeting Jimin’s before you’re drawn back to acres of untouched land. A whole ecosystem thriving on its own, untampered with by human life. 

“On the way back from a job. It reminded me of you, and I knew I had to bring you here” he steps closer to you, fingers brushing against your own. 

You turn to face Jimin, “It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. Thank you for sharing it with me” 

You slip your fingers through Jimin’s, “Would you like to dance with me?” 

“Right here?” his eyes widen. 

You nod, tugging him towards the sea of flowers, “Yes” 

“But we have no music” his resistance nothing more than a show as he makes no move to stop you. 

Wild grass tickles both your ankles, delicate petals of smaller flowers caressing your bare legs as you hike your dress up. 

“That doesn’t matter” you laugh, pulling him further and further until overgrown flowers dust over your waist like gentle fingers, and a butterflies’ wings tickle your cheek. 

Jimin watches as you twirl, hands outstretched for him to come closer. Your body knocks into his as he pulls you into his chest. Both of you fall in sync, as curious hands wander over arms and backs, down to waists and hips. 

You flinch when something wet hits your nose, Jimin turning his face to the sky. 

“It looks like it’s about to rain,” he says, and you tilt your head to look, “Perhaps we should go home” 

You shake your head, “But we only just got here” 

“But the rain, my love” he takes your hands, taking a step back, though your feet stay planted in their spot. 

“A little bit of rain never hurt anyone” You pull him back into your body, eyes squeezing shut as a raindrop collides with your lashes. 

The both of you are washed in a gust of shade, the sun hidden behind dark clouds that bleed into the horizon. 

“Won’t you dance with me?” you look up at Jimin, clothes starting to mould into your skin as the sky rains more unshed tears. 

“I suppose” he grins, arm falling around your waist. 

Your hair clings to your foreheads, sodden leaves wetly slapping against your arms and legs. Rouge petals that had plans of rotting on the soil now hanging on to your dress and Jimin’s pants. 

Your dress doesn’t fan out like a royal’s would when Jimin spins you, neither is he really dressed like a prince but the both of you feel as though you could be of that status in that moment. 

Your eyes fall shut, smile never leaving your face. It’s as though your body evaporates, that the world around you fizzles upwards in little bubbles and you follow their lead. Chasing after the light that shines down on you like a beacon. 

Something strange tugs at your heart, sinking you further and further into the darkness as you kick upwards until you’re spinning and the world is spinning with you. And the darkness feels all too familiar, your footsteps practised perfectly as if a routine. 

Hands roam your body. Both yours and his laughter muffled underwater, a whisp of a soul slipping through your fingers when you turn towards the deep timbre of another voice, a voice far deeper than Jimin’s. His laugh vibrates in your chest as phantom hands graze against your naked skin. And he’s calling your name, your mouth opening to call back except nothing but air puffs past your lips; air bubbles caressing your cheeks as they float upwards. 

Your feet move on their own without much thought as you turn in every which direction, only to ever be met by darkness; feet caught in quicksand that has you sinking further away from the light. 

There’s something on the tips of your fingers as you reach out and an awful pressure squeezes at your chest and the echo– the echo of a voice you’ve heard before. Everything is awfully jumbled, words shoved down your throat, acidic in your stomach– poison as it absorbs into your bloodstream. 

You stumble over your feet chasing after where the stranger’s voice had come from and suddenly your eyes are open as you collide with the floor. Brain rattling within the confines of your skull and your whole world shakes a along with you. 

Jimin’s arms cage your head, chest heaving as he holds himself up over your body. 

You feel puddles of water and sodden soil soak into the back of your dress as you sink further into the ground. 

“Sorry” he whispers, droplets of water from his hair falling onto your cheeks. 

“It’s okay, I forgot where I was for a moment” you admit, a smile pulling at the corner of your lips. 

“I could tell” he laughs, falling back onto his heels. 

Jimin tugs you up by your arms, pushing your wet hair out of your face. 

“Maybe we should go home” he murmurs, “I’d hate to have another accident” 

You nod,  “I think that’s a good idea”

“Let’s go home, my love” he pushes himself to stand, and you glance down at your hands. 

“Did you hear another man’s voice?” you blink away the rain from your lashes, Jimin’s eyebrows furrowing. 

“No? It’s only the two of us here” he takes your hands, helping you up, “Did you hear someone?” 

You shake your head, “No, it must have been something else” 

“You know” Jimin starts as you trek out of the flowers, “I’ve never met anyone that loves dancing in the rain as much as you” 

“I can’t explain the feeling” You turn to him, the smallest of smiles on your face. 

“Then should we dance every time it rains?” 

“I always dance when it rains” You pull him closer to your side, a futile attempt to steal some of his body heat. 

“Yes, but I always watch. Maybe I’ll join you from now on” 

“I would like that” you hum. 

And that should have been the end of it. A conversation left in the past where its only leeway into your future is Jimin joining you the next time it decides to rain. Except, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

It was rotten how for those few moments the world hadn’t been yours, and Jimin hadn’t been Jimin, and you hadn’t been you. Or that the other voice that had definitely been in your head, a whisper in your ear, an echo on the other side of the dark plane. A siren’s song pulling you further into your own demise, forbidden land you should have never passed over. 

It shouldn’t have been anything more than how much you truly loved dancing in the rain, where it was just something you had always loved and always done without thinking much about it. 

You turn your head to look at Jimin who lay beside you, finally asleep after the both of you had taken a bath. So at peace with himself and the world, as the weight of emotions, you’re unfamiliar with breathe down the back of your neck and you lay awake. 

It’s when you close your eyes, you start to fall. And the eyes that meet yours when you open them aren’t Jimin’s. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

For every life you lived after this one, the love you had here will cling onto you forever, sticky like you’d dipped your fingers in molasses. And maybe it’s because this had been the first time you’d learnt what love truly was, or maybe Taehyung had carved such a large hole in your heart that only he could ever truly fill. So even in life after him, he continues to burrow inside of you as his soul finally rests. 

Pure love was an addicting feeling. And maybe Taehyung had made you greedy, grabbing onto such a wonderful feeling over and over until it destroyed you. It wasn’t fair to blame him, but surely your greed had stemmed from somewhere.

And love could only ever be as magical as you’d imagined it if it begins with Taehyung. 

And so, the story of your first life, and therefore your first love starts with Kim Taehyung. 

Taehyung and Jimin had been the most similar of your loves. Both of them had always liked the more delicate things in life. 

Taehyung liked to read how whimsical the ocean was, white seafoam as gentle as clouds, and waves that caressed ankles that wandered the shore. Or how the stars always seemed that little bit brighter when you were in love, the universe shining its approval of something so perfect. He liked the idea of faeries that danced under the light of the moon, or reading forbidden love stories and poems that hurt his heart. Only to be mended with stories of truer love and lifetimes dedicated to another being. 

Taehyung’s sole purpose in life was to become a duke and run the estate after his father passed. Except he had never liked to be shoved into a mould, crafted by hands that had no care, rough as they shaped him. He despised the fact his life was gifted to him just so he could be chained to a role he had no purpose of fulfilling. 

His spirit had always been that of a wild bird, curious about things he had no business knowing, and wanting to wander where forbidden. 

He loved the freedom that birds had, how beautiful their feathers were, gliding through the sky without a care in the world. They had something he didn’t, and maybe his admiration had stemmed from some weird sense of jealousy. But, that never stopped the look of pure joy on his face whenever he caught a glimpse of a dove dancing on the waves of the wind. 

One of Taehyung’s hobbies had become complaining about his classes. The both of you giggled under one of the trees outside his window, shoulders knocking against each other’s as he told you stories of how his politics tutor was surely a witch, and there was no doubt in his mind that his literature teacher was a ghoul. 

The world felt as though it were crumbling at his feet on the days the two of you couldn’t meet. And so, he’d send you letters in secret, asking to meet at the front gate of the estate; where he’d hand you flowers through the bars, or kiss the back of your hand, only to beckon you closer when that doesn’t feel like enough. His plush lips warming your cheeks until he finds your lips and the both of you are melting into cold metal bars, the shyest smiles on both your faces when a maid catches the both of you. 

Most days were spent in the garden, or the drawing room where the both of you could talk for hours. You liked flicking through catalogues of dresses for the coming seasons, always asking Taehyung what he thought. Wondering if he’d like a new broach for his jackets, or if a new waistcoat would suit him. How wonderful the both of you would look matching, with a handkerchief you’d embroidered for him sat in his breast pocket– every gentle prick of the needle through fabric and each delicate line of tread, laced with love that lays beside his gently beating heart. 

Taehyung liked to recount all the things he adored about love, reciting poems and lines of novels he’d read before bed, and then telling you everything he adored about you. Because ‘love’ and ‘you’ should always fall in the same sentence in his eyes. Love would never truly be ‘love’ if you weren’t in the picture. Your silhouette was painted within each frame of his life, tucked in corners of the canvas or slipped far within his heart and mind. 

Taehyung and love were perhaps a synonym of one another. 

He was the epitome of love. 

All things romance and passion, and all things special between two people that have you shy and kicking your feet. Every moment feels like the long-awaited kiss after chapters of build-up and tension, where you have to look away from the book for a brief moment to recollect your thoughts and then bite your nails to hide a smile. 

If you had to describe Taehyung in one word, you think you’ll always gravitate towards eccentric. 

“I think the reason I was born, was to love you” he’d told you one evening, the stars like a halo around his head as he’d taken your hands into his own. 

You hadn’t known what to say, the corners of your lips quirking up at the sides because, of course, he’d utter such sweet words while the both of you laze in the gardens. Not quite ready to part ways just yet. Even if your carriage had been sat outside the house for over an hour, and your supper was probably sat on the table at home. 

“What a sorry reason to be born” you’d whispered back. 

“I don’t think so. The opposite, in fact” he tugs you a little across the grass, closer between his legs, “What is the point of life if it isn’t for unconditional love? And a mind that functions with the sole purpose of loving another?” 

Maybe it was that moment that you realised you loved love. That you loved loving Taehyung and you loved that he loved you just as much as you loved him, if not more. 

“Then, you’re my reason for living” It had fallen off your tongue quicker than you had thought to catch it. Though the smile that had stretched onto Taehyung’s face is one that will forever be etched into your mind, it had been innocent, content. 

You’d seen him smile so many times and yet, something had shifted in your mind, any qualms you had about letting go and succumbing to the purest form of adoration had fizzled out in both your hands. 

Because life wasn’t so bad when you had someone to love. 

“Just as you are my reason to live” he says. 

“I hope the both of us live forever so I never forget this feeling” you’d interlaced your fingers, cheeks flushing the lightest pink that’s veiled by the silver moonlight. Though he probably feels how warm you are when he cups your face, pressing a kiss over the tip of your nose. 

“Forever?” he hums, “Even if you were to forget, I would remind you over and over for as long as we’re together, and every life after that” 

“I’ll remind you too then” you promise, though Taehyung laughs, chest vibrating under the weight of his voice. 

“I could never forget, not when it comes to you, my love” 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

You don’t remember when you’d met Taehyung, you think he’d always just been there. 

Perhaps the both of you had snuck out of a ball back in the day, two rowdy children giggling on the balcony as you whispered about guests. Which ones you liked, or the ones your mothers’ would mutter about under their breath. The both of you had done it so many times that it would be fitting for your first encounter. A habit the both of you would keep up as you grew older as well. 

Or maybe the both of you had camped out under the tables while your mothers flitted from group to group, and you’d stolen cakes from plates and perfectly cut sandwiches from unattended trays. Where you’d exchange slices of tomato for his pieces of cucumber, and you’d both share squares of cake from one fork. 

Friends from childhood had started bleeding into something a little more as the two of you grew and realized that maybe friendship wasn’t enough for either of you. And maybe that had been the little seedling from where your never-ending greed stemmed from. A constant feral need for constant love that was depicted in careful strokes of paintings and well-thought-out words bled onto a page with dark ink. 

Taehyung had known early on that it was always going to be you he married. There was no doubt in his mind that you were going to wed. It was not often he put his foot down when it came to the choices made for him in life, and making it a point he had no interest in any other woman than you, had always been a point he’d made extremely clear. 

Marriage hadn’t been something you’d put much thought into until Taehyung would bring it up as you drank tea together of an afternoon. And after the little seed of possibility had been planted in your mind, you knew you wanted to marry Taehyung. 

And you’d never second-guessed yourself, because if it was going to be anyone, then it was going to be your best friend. 

“If I were to wear a white dress, would you wear a white suit?” you lay the magazine over your chest. Taehyung pushes his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose when he tilts his head down to look at you; head resting over his thigh. 

“If that is what you want” he hums, “White flowers may be too much, so let’s add colour” 

You run a finger over your bottom lip, “Purple?” 

“Of course” he nods, “I’ll braid them into your hair too” his fingers tickle over your hairline. 

You push yourself to sit up on your elbows, “I think it’s bad luck if the groom sees the bride in her dress on the morning of the wedding” 

Taehyung runs his thumb over his bottom lip, “To hell with tradition” 

“Your mother isn’t going to be very happy” you smile, “All she ever talks about is the perfect wedding” 

Taehyung smiles, “Yes, but it isn’t her wedding. I think I’d be beyond miserable if we weren’t to see each other, I must tell you how beautiful you look before we meet at the end of the alter” 

“It would only be a few hours” you press, eyebrows raising. 

“A few hours too many. Who is supposed to help me with my tie if not you?” 

You fully sit up now, “You’d have a maid or two aiding you” 

Taehyung frowns, whatever paperwork he was reading long forgotten on the couch as he tugs your legs over his thighs, fingers dancing over the bare skin covered by your skirt. 

“But they don’t do it as you do, and I have to look my best the day we tie souls and vow to be lovers for the rest of our time alive. It’s an important day” 

“I suppose you’re right” you hum, brushing his hair from his forehead, “I too, would be lonely if we were to part on such a joyous day” 

It hadn’t been long after the both of you had entered adulthood that Taehyung’s father had died, and only a few months after that the two of you had gotten married. 

You’d worried for Taehyung, knowing that even though his relationship with his father had never been the best, at least a small part of him should have been sad that his soul had left to rest. But no matter how much you lightly prodded, and made sure to ask if he were okay, Taehyung never shed a tear. 

He never truly found a way to articulate his feelings; losing someone he never saw as a father left the smallest hole in his heart. A pinprick, because Taehyung wasn’t heartless and knew the old man had brought him into this world, something he will forever be grateful for– but that was it. 

For the thousands of days you and Taehyung had spent together, the day he had proposed would be your second favourite of them all. He hadn’t made it extravagant, nor did he make it a huge point by proposing at a large gathering. He knew you despised those sorts of events, so he had asked you to be his bride at your favourite spot. 

The pond in Taehyung’s gardens had always been your favourite. It felt as though the world only belonged to the two of you when you spent evenings alone, sat on the bench, where fireflies danced over the water, their reflection like little stars scattered across the pond, the moon so much larger in its reflection than it looked in the sky. 

The day of your wedding, and all the days after that would forever take the top spot.

Taehyung had always loved your soul. He knew you were pretty, of course, you were; you were the most ethereal being he had ever come across. 

The faeries and pretty little wonders he read about, he always pictured you in their place. But it wasn’t always about the way you looked that had Taehyung coming back for more, or his heart thumping ever so hard against the skin of his chest whenever you were around. 

He thought you had the most wonderful soul that he liked to dip his fingers into, gentle like the softest waves, or cradle it to his chest. The most delicate part of you, ever so precious, the rawest form of yourself that he’d hold on to for as long as he was allowed. Because if one day the two of you were to ever part, he’d find the path of your soul, trace his fingers through every dip and curve he’d memorized, and make his way back to your side. 

The night of your wedding, the night the both of you had given yourself to one another fully, was never a moment Taehyung thought he’d be ready for. It’s not that he was second-guessing his choice– sometimes in life the moments we’ve been waiting for feel like a lifetime away. So many hours and even more minutes between now and then, that when the day stumbles before you in all its joyous glory, no amount of falling into your mind in silent preparation had ever truly prepared you for this. 

Taehyung had worshipped your body like you were his only goddess, you were his religion, his reason for life and death and everything he breathed and consumed in his fragile mortal body. Your souls knotting as your lips pressed so gently against one another, their pinkies forever intertwined as they melted like candle wax and hardened as one lifeform. 

Taehyung particularly loved the feeling of your nails digging into the delicate skin of his shoulders. A feeling forever ingrained into his mind, sending a shiver up his spine when his mind wanders to how you looked in candlelight, spread bare for him to defile. 

The both of you felt as though the honeymoon phase was nothing but lies, an easy scare for those who fell too fast, drowning in acidic love that dragged two people away from one another in harsh waves. Because for you and Taehyung, it never ended. 

Every day that you woke up to Taehyung beside you, had you burying your face in your pillow, smile so hard to contain you covered it up with a kiss to Taehyung’s lips as he slowly woke up. 

“I love you” he’d murmur, eyes barely open. 

“I love you more” a hand cupping his cheek, you’d press a kiss to his jaw; sometimes tickled by the stubble that had grown in. 

Something ever so mundane, yet it always seemed to bring you so much happiness. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

For a week during the summer, Taehyung would hand his duties over to his assistant and take you away for a short vacation. 

You liked the little house the both of you owned on the other side of town, secluded from the rest of the world. 

It had been one summer when your love for rain had started. You often found yourself reading by the window when the summer showers would pay you a visit, dousing the garden in muddy puddles and the gentle pitter-patter of the world’s tears hitting the ground easy white noise as you danced across pages of books. Or simply watched Taehyung sits on the piano bench, only so he could sit in your company.

Taehyung had always loved playing the piano, one of his many loves that he’d buried with the immense amount of work that had piled on to him since taking the seat as head of the household. The grand piano that sat in the far room of the house was his secret door of salvation. 

“Will you play me a piece?” you motion towards the piano, doors to the garden hooked open. Sure to slam shut with the wind picking up. The air was a little sweeter that afternoon, a gentle breeze raking through your hair, licking at the tops of the pages of your book. 

“I haven’t played for a while” Taehyung closes his own book, “But if it’s for you, I could never say no” 

You take a seat beside Taehyung as he flexes his fingers, gently running his hand over the ivory keys. 

“Would you like me to get your music book?” you lay your head on his shoulder. 

He shakes his head, “No, it’s alright. I doubt I’d remember how to read much of it anyways” 

“Do you remember my favourite piece?” 

Taehyung’s tongue wets his bottom lip, “I should hope so” 

Your eyes close as the first note penetrates the air, your head jostling slightly as Taehyung reaches the other end of the keys, his cheek knocking against the top of your head. The tips of his fingers dance elegantly, gentle with each deep hum of the piano’s song. 

You perk up at the first sound of rain, barely there, almost concealed by Taehyung as his movements become bolder, each thick note more pronounced, each deep hum vibrating through your skin. 

You lift your head from his shoulder, “I didn’t think it would rain today” 

You take one look at Taehyung, the smallest smile teasing at his lips when you stand. You kick your slippers off by the open door, toes curling into the damp grass as you step outside. 

You blink as a raindrop falls on your nose, slipping until it’s wetting your lips. You turn back to look at Taehyung, waving when he lifts his head to look at you; and he winces when he presses the wrong note. 

You wander further into the garden, hiking your skirt up so it won’t drag across the wet soil. 

As the rain gets heavier the sound of the piano is slowly drowned out, the world yours for the moment before you’re turning back to Taehyung. 

“Tae” you call back inside, beckoning him over when he turns towards you, “Come dance with me” 

The piano is left and forgotten as Taehyung pushes himself to stand, shoes piled with your slippers as Taehyung steps into the garden. He slinks towards you, hair starting to cling to his forehead as the rain gets heavier. 

“You’ll catch a cold” he takes your hand, tugging you into his chest. 

“But the world is so beautiful when it rains” 

“Just this once I’ll indulge you” he presses a kiss to your forehead. 

As much as the world looks wonderful in that moment, Taehyung outshined it all. Your clothes stuck to the both of you like a second skin, your hair tickling the side of your face, clinging to you like sticky wet vines down the back of your neck.

Taehyung’s hands wander your body, pulling you closer when you start to drift away– your hips finally falling in sync. All those hours of classes on how to dance are washed away by the rain as the both of you stumble, almost falling over each other’s feet. 

“Look” you point towards the back of the estate, “there’s a rainbow” you laugh. 

Taehyung follows your line of sight, “How pretty” he hums, his hands falling to your waist. 

Your fingers tease over his chest, heart hammering under his skin, mere seconds away from jumping out of his skin. Taehyung’s hands wander further down, a surprised moan catching in the back of your throat when he grabs the meat of your ass; tugging you into his body. And you can feel his growing erection against your stomach.  

“Not in the garden” you whisper, fingers trailing lower until you’re gently tugging at his belt. 

Taehyung leans down, warm breath fanning the side of your neck. He presses a wet kiss to the unblemished skin, “I wouldn’t give the serving staff the pleasure of seeing you fall apart for me” he whispers, sodden hair falling over your shoulder.

You take his hands from where they’re teasing over the top of your thighs, “Let’s go” you take long strides back towards the house. 

“Where to, my love?” he trails after you, the most giddy smile on his face. 

You look at him over your shoulder, “Our bedroom” 

Your feet slap wetly against the tile floors, muddy footprints trailing behind the both of you. Youthful joy thrums throughout your body, giggles hard to keep down as the both of you stagger through the hallway towards the bedroom. 

Taehyung’s overzealous in the way he opens the door, and you both wince when it bangs against the wall. The briefest clarity grazes your mind before lust sets back in, and all you can focus on is the incessant throbbing between your legs, and the man stood before you. 

You kick the door closed, Taehyung pulling his wet shirt over his head when you turn back to him– your dress is soon to follow. 

“Would you mind helping me?” you turn your back to Taehyung, shoulders curling inwards as his fingers trace over the intricate ribbing of your corset. 

He’s gentle as he tugs at the ribbons, and you heave a sigh of relief, muscles finally easing a little. Dull throb sinks out of your ribs as you heave a deep breath. 

You turn around, Taehyung’s eyes trailing to your bare chest, curving down the slope, fingers itching at his sides to sink and dig his nails into the plush flesh. He swallows, Adams's apple bobbing under the weight of desire. 

“My beautiful wife” he whispers, hands running up the length of your arms before he’s teasing the edge of your breasts. You trace over his belt, tugging impatiently as he pulls you towards the bed. 

You fall backwards onto the mattress, air momentarily punched from your lungs. Taehyung’s arms cage your head, thigh nudging your legs open for him. 

Your wet hair sticks to your neck, small droplets of water falling over your cheeks from Taehyung’s own hair as his eyes wander over your face. Windows to his soul wide open as sickly sweet love dances within his eyes, adoration you know you’ll never get from another man bared naked, yours for the taking. 

You rut up against his knee, damp cotton panties dragging deliciously against your clit. 

Taehyung’s arms flex as he leans down, plush lips trailing down your jaw, gently plucking soft moans from the back of your throat with every mean nip of his teeth over delicate skin. 

Your thighs clamp around Tae’s leg, arms slithering around his shoulders as you use him for your own pleasure, short bursts of pure arousal wracking up your body with every purposeful tense of his muscles. 

“Good girl” he groans, falling to hold himself up by his elbows as his lips map out the rest of your body– kissing over your neck, the underside of your breasts, down towards your stomach. You whine as he kneels before you, hips bucking upwards to try and chase the slowly fizzling pleasure. 

He kisses your mound over your underwear, tips of his fingers barely brushing over your clit as he trails them down towards your covered folds. Thumb splitting your labia, guttural groan rumbling from his chest as he feels your slick heat.

He can’t seem to stifle the chuckle that slips past his lips either as you whine, the most pitiful pout tugging onto your face as he teases you. 

“How needy” he croons, adding a little more pressure over your entrance, “I’ll make sure to make you feel good” 

You lift your hips, a silent invitation for him to tug your panties off, and he does, dropping them beside him; forgotten as he looks at your slick soaked pussy. 

“Tae” you whisper, impatient as your fingers tangle into his wet hair, careful as you try and tug him closer to where you needed him most without hurting him.

“Hm?” he hums, fingers digging into the meat of your thighs as he pushes them open a little wider, making it easier for him to slip closer to his favourite place. 

Your toes curl as he bends, placing the lightest kiss over your clit, “Want you” 

“Want you too, my love” he murmurs, hot breath fanning over your folds. 

He licks a bold stripe from your entrance to your clit, tongue dipping past your walls before he’s pulling back, wad of spit dribbling over your already sodden cunt.

Your thighs threaten to twitch closed, and when Taehyung notices this he tugs them over his shoulders, dragging you a little further to the edge of the bed. 

His thumb teases over your clit, thrumming at the sensitive little bud as he pushes his tongue back inside of you. The moan you let out is sure to have echoed down the halls, your embarrassment only amplified when you feel another dribble of slick gush past your walls, sure to coat Taehyung’s chin shiny. 

“M’ gonna cum” you hiccup, hips frantically bucking upwards as Taehyung further smothers his face into your pussy. 

He hums, a new wave of arousal coursing through your body at the unexpected vibrations. 

It’s a haphazard flick of your clit that has you tumbling head first into your orgasm, thighs quivering as they clamp around Taehyung’s head, though that doesn’t seem to deter him as he licks into your cunt, swallowing down your release. 

“S’ too much” you sob, hands pushing your lover from between your thighs. He kisses your knee, head flopping across your leg as he looks up at you. 

Your stomach clenches at the dopey smile on his face, thumb running over his bottom lip, still shiny with your arousal. 

“Are you tired, my love?” he asks, fingers curling around your wrists, kissing your palm, then the tips of each finger. 

You shake your head, “I can still go if you’d like” 

“This isn’t about me, it’s about you”

You swallow, unexplainable love swelling inside your chest. 

“Please make love to me” you whisper, pink hue deepening in shade on your cheeks as Taehyung stands at full height, shucking off whatever clothes he still had on. 

You can’t help but wet your lips, watching as he runs a gentle hand over his length, slicking his cock up with pearly beads of precome. 

You push yourself up further on the bed, legs falling open as Taehyung kneels before you. 

He runs a finger through your folds, barely dipping a fingertip inside of you before he’s pulling out, pushing your thighs further apart. 

He guides his cock to your entrance, slicking the head with your cum before he’s gently pushing into you. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan, cunt clenching around Taehyung’s length as he gently rocks into you. 

He groans, barely pulling out before feeding you another inch. His hands roam up the length of your body as he finally bottoms out, hips rutting into you by habit. 

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him down for a kiss which he melts into, eyes fluttering shut as he tilts his head, tongue teasing over the seam of your lips. 

He licks up into your mouth, concoction of your saliva clinging to his tongue when he pulls back. 

“Ready?” he murmurs against your lips. 

“Mmhmm” you hum, muscles falling lax as Taehyung pushes your thighs up to your chest. He almost pulls out, the air punched from your lungs as he snaps back into you. 

Unabashed, you moan, Taehyung’s name tumbling from your lips like it were the only word you knew as he thrusts into you. 

It’s wet when Taehyung’s thighs meet your ass, sticky with arousal that clings to both your skin and moans a harmony with one another. 

Your hand snakes down the length of your body, between your thighs, teasing over your clit as Taehyung throws his head back, utterly consumed by unadulterated pleasure. 

“Together” he groans, hips losing their calculated pace. 

His cockhead nudges over your sweet spot, a whine dripping off your lips that Taehyung catches, kiss messy, teeth clashing. 

You pick up the pace on your clit, fizzling pleasure slipping down your spine, slick gushing from your hole, so many feelings, so many emotions– all amplified as endorphins buzz at your brain, a shockwave of dopamine setting you alight.   

You feel Taehyung twitch between your walls, your pussy clenching sporadically around his length as he nears his orgasm. 

Taehyung tips over the edge before you do, creamy white cum painting your walls in thick ropes. Your own orgasm following as you feel another wave of Taehyung’s seed flood your cunt. 

His hips twitch as you continue to clench around him, pushing his release further into you. 

Your chest stutters as you try and catch your breath, fingers splayed over your mound as you fall back into reality. 

Your moan as Taehyung pulls out, a hiccup following as he presses a kiss to your cheek. His fingers gather up the dribble of cum that follows his cock, pushing it back inside of you. And you twitch at that, overstimulated. 

He reaches behind your head for a pillow, your thighs falling to the bed, to which Taehyung tuts. 

“Lift your hips up for me, darling” he soothes, singular hand gathering both your ankles, pulling the lower half of your body from the mattress so he can slip the pillow underneath you. 

“You’d look awfully pretty baring my child” his hand trails down your stomach, over your womb. 

“I hope this time we are lucky” you tell him, finger interlacing with the ones over your stomach. 

“Me too, my love. Our child would be the most precious little thing” 

You smile, eyes slipping shut as you paint the image of what your baby would look like, “I hope they look like you” 

“I’d always wished they’d look like you. Their mother holds all the beauty of this cruel world” 

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles from your chest, “Then how about they look like the both of us, as their father shares all of that beauty” 

“That would be wonderful” Taehyung pushes himself off the bed, slipping on a robe that had been forgotten on one of the chairs that morning. 

“What if they aren’t a boy?” your hands fall over your chest, watching Taehyung as he gathers the bowl of water and towels. 

He turns to look at you, “What would it matter if they were a girl?” his eyebrows furrow. 

“Wouldn’t you need an heir” 

He wets his bottom lip, “Boy or girl, I’m not bothered, my love. If we were to have a son then I would never subject them to the horrors of becoming heir. And if we have a precious little daughter, I would love her all the same, and if one day she decides she wants to take over the estate then I would let her” 

The corners of your lips tug up into a smile, “Then I am glad” Your hand finds his as he takes a seat beside you on the bed, dipping the towel into water, gently dragging it over your sweat-slicked skin. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Falling in love with Taehyung had made you a lot of things. 

Juvenile had never been on top of that list, though when you think about it, it really should have been. Or that somewhere written in the fine print of your story, neither of you would die, that you’d both freeze in time and continue your lives for the rest of eternity. 

Some days when you’d sit alone, you wish Monet had been around during your life with Taehyung. His paintings as beautiful as the love you shared. Paintings full of purpose, the world through the eyes of a man– impressionist paintings that had so much raw colour, so much more vibrance than the real world. 

You wish he’d have been able to put paint to canvas, where every gentle stroke of his brush was a piece of stupid, young naivety put into breath-taking art. Meaningful, purposeful, and beautiful. Because your ignorance would have made a beautiful collection, a series of a time when the future wasn’t as perfect as his art. Bringing both you and your lover to downfall. 

Your life was not the art of Monet, nor was it as mesmerising as Van Gogh’s Starry Night. You weren’t frozen in time like you were part of history, forever documented on paper and hung for the world to see. 

You were naive enough to think that with Taehyung’s new rise to power, somewhat unexpected in high society, he wouldn’t have one or two enemies. 

The end of your first life hadn’t been what you had wanted it to be. 

As much as you remember the day you had gotten married or all the afternoons you and Taehyung had spent in the garden, dancing in the rain, under rainbows and the sun that peeked through the clouds, there to celebrate your love just as much as the both of you were; what was supposed to be the perfect ending like all the far-fetched stories Taehyung read, this was more of a tragedy. 

Because that’s what it was– farfetched. 

You remember the afternoon that the perfect life you had, had crumbled. Sand slipping through your fingers, falling to the bottom of the hourglass. 

You lay on the couch, your foot tapping against the arm, Taehyung’s quil tinking against the bottle of ink. In recent months you’d found yourself reading Taehyung’s favourite books, all of their spines worn down, loved and read over and over. 

“Do you smell that?” you push yourself up onto your elbows, the book laid over your lap. 

“Smell what, my darling?” he takes off his glasses, hand running over his tired eyes. 

Your eyes meet Tae’s, “Something smells as though it’s burning” 

The both of you sit in silence for a moment before Taehyung pushes his chair back, peering out the window. His fingers try and pull at the latch, finding it stuck, and he turns back to you. 

“Maybe I’m imagining it” you tell him when you see his eyebrows furrow. 

“I can definitely smell something” he turns back to you, “I can’t tell what. Go and call someone to open this window, it’s jammed”

Your book is dropped onto the couch as you push yourself up, you go to open the door to Taehyung’s office, only for the door not to open. You push a little harder, shoulder knocking uncomfortably against the hardwood. 

You press an ear to the door. 

“What’s wrong?” Taehyung asks, stalking towards you. 

“It won’t open” 

Taehyung makes a noise from the back of his throat, and you step out of the way when he takes hold of the door handle. 

He mirrors your earlier action, shoulder knocking against the door. 

“It won’t open” he turns to you. 

“I know, my love” A gentle smile moulds onto your lips. 

You press your ear to the door again, “Do you hear that?” 

Taehyung follows; ear pressed to the door, “Burning?” 

“Burning?” you stand straight. 

You crouch down, fingers feeling over the gap between the floor and door, “Hello?” you call out, hand flinching away as heat licks over your fingers. 

“Is anyone there?” Taehyung shouts, fist banging against the door. 

“Taehyung” you tug at his shirt, trying to pull him away from the door. He relents, taking a step forwards, “Taehyung, it’s a fire” You take his hand. 

“What?” 

“It’s a fire” You show him your fingertips, hands shaking slightly as the reality of what was happening settles in. 

“You’re hurt” he murmurs, “If one of the staff would just answer we could treat your wounds” his lips barely brush over the burn. 

“Taehyung it’s barely an injury, not when we’re locked in here with a fire right outside that door” 

He swallows, “We’ll find a way out” 

“How?” you dare ask, “We can’t go out the window, that’s suicide from this high up” 

His foot taps against the floor, hand running over his jaw in thought. 

Your focus is snatched away from your lover when something creaks, burning flames slithering under the crack under the door, molten snakes with no goal in mind. 

Taehyung pulls you further into his office, the door crackling as the flames start to chew it up, an onslaught of heat spilling into the room. You can smell the gasoline, splintered wood glistening in it as the door creaks off its hinges, flinging the fire further into the office, and you watch as it singes over the carpet. 

The flames dance before you, a mesmerising dance, crawling up the walls, heated footsteps stalking across the rug, heady puffs of carbon monoxide smoking into the air. 

Your hand flies to cover your mouth when a thin wisp of smoke slips down your windpipe, tickling your throat and searing at the inside of your lungs. 

Taehyung pulls you into his chest as you back into the wall furthest away from the fire, “It’s going to be okay” he heaves, his own hand covering his nose and mouth, dry cough spluttering past his lips. 

Your eyes squeeze shut as the fire slinks closer to the both of you, dangerously close, teasing as it flicks at your ankles, its amble arms chewing up the bookcases, rage only amplifying with each novel it consumes. 

You catch sight of a silhouette standing outside the office, body veiled by thick flames that continue to slink into the office. Another splash of gasoline only makes it burn brighter, sweat tickling the back of your neck. 

Your arms slip around Taehyung’s waist, and he helps you both sit on the ground, arms now holding your shoulders. A lame attempt at holding you away from the blazing fire that creeps closer. 

Your lungs can’t seem to get enough oxygen, panic setting into your bones as you heave for a full breath. Your eyes water as you choke on what should have been a rush of oxygen, only your lungs burn with the ash that settles inside of you, clinging to your windpipe– coating the inside of your mouth. 

“Try not to–” Taehyung coughs, hand lifting to clasp around his throat, cheeks flushing a deep red “-breathe it in too much– cyanide” 

A yelp gets caught in your throat as the flames flicker too close to you, singing the hem of your dress. You try and kick it away, hand flapping down to make sure the fire doesn’t chew at any more of your clothing. You try to ignore the prickly burn to your bare skin, eyes squeezing shut as you try and curl in on yourself to make you smaller. 

You tug on Taehyung’s shirt, dry cough lurching your body forward that Taehyung tries to catch only to heave. 

“I love you” you whisper, the both of you cornered. Nowhere to run. 

The figure stood outside the office long gone, fire now out of their control. A wild beast that had no plans of stopping until it had chewed and gnawed at your home, until it had nothing to fuel it anymore, leaving behind piles of ash and broken dreams– charred bodies and guilty minds to the ones who had started this. 

You flinch backwards when Taehyung’s desk folds in on itself, flames spitting out its joy as the planks of wood slowly char under the heat; a warning for your own destiny. 

His fingers lace into the hair on the back of your head, pulling you into him, “And I love you. When the both of us are reborn, I will find you, and we can fall in love all over again” he manages, the flames looking like hellish wings behind his back, slowly licking at his shirt, sizzling the fabric– more chemicals sifting through the air and into your fragile lungs. 

Taehyung curls further into you when the fire licks at his shoes, easily chewing through the leather, deft fingertips tracing up his legs, and over his body.

“Don’t say that” Your fingers loosen their grasp on his shirt as you heave for another breath, mind entirely gone as you spin, the world spinning with you. Your brain felt as though it were being flushed out with helium, pressure so much you think it might explode. 

Your eyes squeeze shut.

And when you open again, Jimin’s there. 

His eyes still wide with shock. 

You feel bile rise up your throat at the sight of him, blood smeared across his perfect face, puncture still oozing red from his neck soaking through his shirt fully. Your floor is in no better shape, though you think there's as much of your own blood as there is his. 

“Jimin?” you whisper, vision momentarily veiled by salty tears that fall down your cheeks like pitiful pearls, mixing with the crimson the drips from a gash in your head, dull ache migrating to behind your eyes. 

“Jimin you have to wake up now. Please” 

He doesn’t move, not when you hear footsteps from the other room– heavy boots that clatter against old wood– not when you call his name. Not when the front door creaks closed and the world is silent once more, or when your chest stutters out another breath and you feel another wave of blood gush out of your stomach, adding to the puddle below the both of you. 

“Jimin” you call again, choking on your own sob, fists balling up, “Jimin, please don’t leave me. I’m scared” 

You look into his eyes. Nothing. All signs of life spilt onto the floor. 

In a sick and twisted way, you’re glad Jimin had gone before you. 

You’d have hated it if he had to watch you dead on the bedroom floor while he slowly follows you. At least now you could be with him a little longer, even if you couldn’t tell him goodbye for the last time. Or tell him how much you love him, or how happy he’d made you, or how grateful you are. 

So many words left unsaid, that you swallow back down with a sob. And they mix with the bile that singes your throat, so close to spilling onto the puddle of red as you make eye contact with your dead lover. 

You drag your body through the blood on the floor, closer until your chest is pressed against Jimin’s and your body falls lax against him, arm slung over his side. 

You press the palm of your hand against your open wound, what little hope you had left inside of you, the smallest voice whispering that maybe you could survive. Though somewhere deeper down you know that your soul will soon follow Taehyung’s, and now Jimin's too. 

You push your head into the curve where his neck meets his shoulder, tangy, metallic blood staining your lips as you kiss over the tainted skin. 

He was still warm, skin still very much his as your fingers skim over his back. Ever so gentle as though he would crack if you weren’t careful. And you would have gathered him up in your arms if you’d had the strength. 

And at that final moment when it settles within your mind and your heart that your body can no longer hold onto the slither of life still inside of you– the easing thump of your heart mellowing inside your chest. You remember the little note Jimin left on his pillow for you to wake up to that morning. 

“When you and I hug, our hearts are locked behind our ribcages and touch through our skin. Always beating in sync. And for as long as my heart beats beside yours, it will belong to you. For those moments we part, perhaps it falls out of sync, and when we reunite, my heart may just be reminded who it beats for. And we will be in sync once more ♡’

☆ﾟ thank you for reading!! reblogs are always appreciated, and please let me know what you think!!

permanent taglist: @m1sss1mp @supernoonanyc

[permanentreverie]

tagged by @deadpoets, thank you bestie <3

favourite movie: choosing one is so hard . . . howl's moving castle in honour of my new icon <3

favourite tv show: saying atla is always a safe bet

favourite musical artists: bts, sabrina carpenter, taylor swift, noah kahan, hozier

favourite colour: lavender and sage blue

favourite season: lowkey summer, i love the smell of sun on my skin. autumn is damn close though!

favourite book: oooohh. the book thief, jane eyre, if we were villains, and so many more

do you have any funko pops? i have all three schuyler sisters <3 i *did* have a dynamite era hobi, but he broke </3 would looove to collect all of the tannies ngl

do you play any instruments? i played piano when i was younger, but unfortunately i am musically stupid

do you have any pets? not personally, but my roommate has two dogs and a cat

do you read or write fanfiction? both! but not nearly enough.

what song(s) have you had on repeat lately? bmf by sza, call your mom by noah kahan, not strong enough by boygenius

tagging @smoothoperador @ohwarnette @courageisneverforgotten @dallaswinstons @nordstars @gobarbie @duncantashi

[greentrickster]

So, I recently got into Lego Monkie Kid properly (aka: I finally watched it after almost a year of having read your AA-LMK cross)

I adore it even more now? And I'm wondering like. how did Sun Wukong even find him? Because I can't remember if you ever mentioned it.

Was he just like, wandering the city in disguise, did he see Phoenix in the news for one of his Shenanigan Cases, was he actively looking for a lawyer for some reason?

(also! Does Macaque acquire a lawyer as well after he starts getting roped into the 'Save-the-world' shenanigans?)

- ^_^ anon

'eyo! Welcome! And yay, thanks! Isn't it a fun show?!? I'm so behind (because it keeps ending on devestating cliffhangers and ah-haha, my heart, this is not good for the anxiety!!!!) but I love what I've seen and heard so much. Just... so so much. I love Mr. Tang, he's very Life Goals to me. <3

As for how Monkey King found Phoenix, hmmm... I think- wait, wait, nope, hold on, first thought was wrong, second, proper thought is that Monkey King got his fuzzy butt arrested while he was sneaking around the city in a human disguise and got himself arrested for causing problems on purpose. Probably loitering. Loitering seems like the kind of crime he'd commit just for kicks. Except he did it in the wrong place, and now he's being accused of a bunch of stuff that he totally would do but didn't actually do this time. And instead of just leaving like he usually would, he decided to play along for awhile, because Boredom, Literally Nothing Better To Do, Might As Well.

Cue Phoenix getting a tip that there's some guy in need of a lawyer (it's not from Edgeworth, we're still in early-stage Phoenix for this, he's all shiny and new and stupid, precious child), and down he goes, offering to help. He knows this poor man in innocent and he's going to prove it.

What he actually proves is that he's the most interesting person Monkey King's seen in forty years and hey, is that a li'l bitty bit of actual phoenix he senses in there...? Say, can I hire you on for my day-to-day lawyering, so I can actually do more stuff in this weird modern era?

Phoenix, in his ignorance and innocence, agrees.

Ends up avoiding a lot of troubles in regards to Kristoph over it and ensuring a steady flow of income for the Agency for the rest of his life, but at what cost?

As for Macaque, of course he gets a lawyer! Wukong has one, obviously he has to have one too!

And obviously it has to be Wukong's lawyer. Because it's Macaque, and, while I do enjoy the expanding of his character and connection to Wukong, I've also watched his segment in the OSP Journey to the West series, and am fully aware that he was planning to up and co-opt not only Wukong's role, but the entire Journey so he could do it instead, and I'm not letting go of that tidbit until canon forces me to at knife point. Because these are two petty, petty immortal frienemies, and I love that for them.

And the great part is, it's perfectly natural for lawyers to have multiple clients, so it's not like taking on another demon monkey is going to cause issues down the road!

Spoilers: it caused issues down the road, because Phoenix can have them both as clients, but can't represent both of them in court against each other at once. Well- I mean, he probably legally could, given the mixing of AA nonsense with LMK nonsense, but, physically and mentally speaking, no, he really can't.

Honestly, finally officially meeting the LMK gang and learning that they're in the same boat he's in is a huge relief, and finding out Tang's a JttW expert is just... Phoenix could cry, an expert, he finally has an expert he can turn to when new crap pops up, thank everything.

And also thanks for the ask! ^U^

[genshin-squabbles-and-wobbles]

The Enraged Inferno || Part 3

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Character: Diluc

Type: Angst, tragedy, Revenge and Reader in her villian era

Tags: Fem!Reader

About being Taglisted in my stories: Here

Requester: @sailorstar9

Content: You traveled to Mondstadt to deliver a medicine order for Baizhu. You decided to stay in Mondstadt and expand his buisness there. You just met with Jean and treated her like the way she treated you but worse, but then...you met Diluc, he was all over the place, as his facade fell apart immediately once he saw you. It was like the light of his life was brighten again, only that...you were...different.

Trigger Warning: I might be a little violent in this story to stress the Villain Era the reader is in, and also, dealing with trauma so please proceed with caution. I might add cursing a bit, please let me know if you can feel the idea of the reader without the cursing. I might've also like included something about the idea of lobotomy in there so please, be careful.

Part 1: Here Part 2: Here

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[ 9 Years ago, 12 year old ]

"Aha Luc! Look! Look! I found wild grapes!" You smiled as you showed him healthy fully grown grapes.

Diluc smiled and blushed at you. "Those look pretty...would you want to maybe...grow a large grape farm together...?"

You widen your eyes and jumped happily. "Yes! That is sooo cool! Imagine all the grape juice we can give to everyone!?" You hugged Diluc. "You keep being so smart, Luc!"

Diluc smiled and blushed more. He hugged you back, as he imagined a future where you and him would grow grapes together, and sunbathed under the sun together. Then drink grape juice, laying in the grass under the moon.

Kaeya then joined in on the hug. "Hey guys, why not do wine? Dad says it cost money and we can have a lot fo money!"

You looked at him. "Oh wow. That is so true!"

You three laughed together, in ignorant bliss.

[ 5 Years ago, 17 year old ]

"Hey Luc." You slumped down next to him and handed him a grape juice box. You poked a hole in yours and took a sip.

Diluc looked at you. "Something wrong?" He did the same, as he took a bigger sip.

"Nah, I am okay." You smiled at him, kindly.

"I know you better then that, don’t lie to me now." Diluc leaned back and stared straight. He didn’t need to try and guess your emotions. You became second hand nature for him to read.

You chuckled. "What gave it away?"

He shrugged. "I just know...what's wrong..?"

You smiled and sighed. "I..."

Diluc interrupted. "You saw adventures and the monsters fought brutally and you feel troubled. You want everyone to get along and live in peace?"

You looked at him shocked. "H-How did you...!!"

Diluc laughed. "Haha you are too cute, of course I'll know. You are such a gentle soul, with a kind heart. I could never get over that. I can indulge you in that forever." He smiled at you.

You blushed and looked away.

[ Current ]

Diluc was looking down at you, at your dead face. You pushed his away from your chin, and sighed. "Diluc, please sign the receipt so I can leave, I have things to do." You spoke coldy to him.

He looked at you, dumbstrucked once more. "Diluc...? You won't call me Luc anymore??". However, as a defense mechanism of his he will pretend this didn’t bother him, despite the mess he was right now. He sighed and nodded slowly and turned, pulled a pen from his desk and sighed the receipt. He then turned to you, and handed you the receipt.

You then turned and walked away, no goodbye, no nothing. Diluc tried to watch you walk away, however this was too much for him, he immediately put his head in his hand, desperate once more. He immediately ran ahead of you and came in front of you, preventing you from leaving his office.

"I-I love you!" Diluc said desperately. "I have always loved you! I left that stupid arrange marriage for you, I left Jean for you, I love you! Please just listen to me! I've always loved you, since we were young! Your smile, your playful natu-"

"Diluc move." You spoke sternly with a red glint in your eyes. You pushed him aside, and opened the door, left. You had no time for some dumb romantic shit. You had no space in your heart for it, anyways. But at the moment, you didn’t care.

Diluc obediently let you pushed him aside and he stood, watching you leave his vicinity. He slowly clenched his fist, with trembling jaw. Small tears streaming down his face. Perhaps...it was still the same tragedies in his life, nothing changed.

You walked out, and sighed. You had one goal in mind, revenge. You walked back to your new home in Mondstadt, and mailed the letter to Baizhu. You began cleaning up your new home, and throwing things away. Keeping somethings. You began turning the living room into a pharmacy with shelves and turning some rooms into patient rooms. After all, you were a dendro healer like your uncle. Just, without that cursed snake.

You were success, you made the place look homey and decent. You made one room your office, and kept the upstairs part as your home. A kitchen, a bedroom, and a smaller living room. You didn’t need much. You didn’t have much anyways. Not anymore. That version of you was lost long ago.

Next week, you stocked shelves and made proper arrangement for patient rooms, with tools and necessary items, thanks to Baizhu. He approved, and everything was shipped. You now deal with orders coming from Mondstatd, and anyone who needs assistance. You created a partnership with the church, specifically Barbara, who was happy to be in a partnership with you.

As she can bring her patience over, or be the doctor in charge if she liked, while you handle pharmaceutical things. You can send your customers to her, if you notice something serious within their health. This was perfect, as now that you had two sponsors, that were certified healers and doctors, you felt confident enough to open.

You were about to start a new life, on your own. This was a first step towards healing, as you never knew it at first. That was until you saw that face. The one you wanted to strangle. Immediately, you had eyes on her. This was the first servant, the phase one servant you called it, that one that lured you. She lured you to the area of the supposed accident. You lifted your sleeve up looking at the scars and back at her through the window.

Your face darken immediately, you walked to the window, and used your nails to scratch at the window.

The noise caught the servant's attention and turns towards you, as her blood ran cold. All she saw was your darken angry face, with scratch marks at the window. At first, she assumed she was being haunted, but once she realize you were real...you were alive...immediately, she turned and walked away. Running away.

Immediately you followed after her, you had a dog collar, a syringe and other medicinals on you. Pondering what to do to this little shit stain here. Strangle her? Comatose her? Keep her as a pet in the basement? Naked or rotten clothed? Poison? You wanted to give this women hell like no other, worse than death even. Maybe you can lobotomize her, make her bedridden, see how she likes it if her family relied on your pharmacy to get medicine for her.

All of a sudden you bumped into someone.

"My My...it has been a while, and it looks like you are on your way to d some..."business"..."

You looked up and widen your eyes. "Kaeya.." You muttered and slowly backed away.

"It has been quite a while...I knew you weren’t dead but I am actually glad to see you in the flesh again, old friend." Kaeya had a teasing smile, but you know it was genuine. He placed his hand on your back.

"I don’t know what is going on in that head of yours...but everyone has been telling me how scary you have become...what happened to you?"

"What happened to you? And your eye?" You made a rebuttal, as you remember Kaeya as a shy cry baby, who would always ask you or Diluc for help. But this man is entirely independent and ferocious. Manipulative and sly. He smelled like he drinks alcohol on a daily basis and...he was a knight.

Kaeya chuckled. "I guess we both have some explaining to do...let's have a drink. On me. We can do it at your place, since you have it empty right now." You looked at him and sighed. For some reason, Kaeya brings out a different side of you, a more vulnerable side, as if, he see right through you. He wasn’t like this before, however, it seems he can tell, or you are just showing your emotions too much and he can read them like a book.

As you Kaeya walked in your new home, and pharmacy, Diluc watched you both from a distance, as he was in the middle of entering Angel Share for his Shift. He tightened his grip on the door knob, as he was jealous. Why did he get such a cold treatment but you welcomed Kaeya with open arms...has he brainwashed you? He had an angry glare as he watched the door shut with the two of you in there, alone.

One thing for sure, you two were getting closer while he was in the sidelines watching.

[gren-arlio]

Rewriting this sucks, but we ball. Welcome to Episode 13 of Waku Puyo Extras.

(...If you saw the post before I deleted it, no you didn't. I hate my internet.)

Heya everyone, Gren here, rewriting this for a second time because I accidently clicked post and lost everything because my internet decided to be a dickhead. Welcome to Episode 13 of this wonderful show I've made, where I discuss random Puyo things and hope they make sense to an audience. They usually do.

Today we'll be focusing on our favorite idiot out there, Ms. Draco Centauros. It's wild how she's been with us since day one and we haven't made anything for and about her. This one might seem more summarized and less "Gren's rambling again," because man. Retyping sucks.

Uploads have been scarce due to school, we're hitting the toughest parts by far, I plan to change it sometime.

Let's begin, shall we? I hope you enjoy.

Oh, and please play Persona 3 Reload. Amazing game.

----

So Who IS Draco in Puyo?

I have to specify Puyo so we can mention Madou stuff later, since it's how I wanna roll this time around.

She's been with us with a personality since what, 1992? And she's had two wonderful traits.

She loves beauty contests.

And she may be stupid.

We'll come to love and hate those traits later on down the line. Believe me on that. That's how she began in Tsu, after all.

However, everything changed when it came to Puyo SUN, where something very unique happened. She's now a protagonist, and I believe the first one to do so, a massive accomplishment. She's the protagonist of the Easy Mode Course, the shortest one, but that's fine.

She finds Skeleton-T heating up tea while she basically dying of heat, and she burns the tea, making the man (skeleton?) PISSED, and a fight happens, classic Puyo. After that, Draco encounters Harpy, who collapsed on the ground due to dehydration, so Draco saves her life via a water bottle. Sadly, it results in Harpy singing, and Draco to slowly die inside because...it's Harpy's singing for God's sake.

And finally, she runs into Choppun (remember that guy?) He's land surfing on a rock... before he gets properly swept away by the water, thankfully. With that, Draco tries to relax, and uh, that doesn't end well. The sun's too hot, and she goes flying, not by her free will, of course, but because sunburn does that to someone...leading to her being the first fight of Arle's story, basically in severe pain due to that.

The fact that she got a protagonist role is something to behold, and it's very interesting to know that a common Mook like her was able to secure such a spot. Later on, other side characters like Witch and Lagnus would get the role in other games (Comet Summoner, Madou Saturn, etc,) but no, Draco is the first one to do that, a very big accomplishment in of itself. Nice one Draco.

And hey, she returns in Puyo~N too, being one of the first fights in the game.

(Just want an excuse to show the artstyle. MAN, it's so good.)

Here, Arle asks if she knows who stole Carbuncle, as that's basically the plot of the entire game, but Draco has reverted back into her good old "Is she stupid?" personality, assumes she's there for a beauty contest and fights her, and loses, go figure. After that, she actually joins Arle for the search for her missing Carbuncle, alongside Witch, Serilly, and Chico.

She even says Gao. It's perfect.

But after that, it kinda went all over the place. It was her last real major/semi-prevelent role for a good bit. She's there in Minna, but she doesn't exactly do a ton. She's part of a long fetch quest where mail has been messed up, and her mail got lost 3 years ago because Witch accidently got it instead, but that's really about it. And then, like everyone in Compile besides Arle, she vanishes for The Fever Era. She doesn't even appear in 15th, when Nasu Grave and Zoh Daimoh made it. But hey, jokes on them, they haven't appeared since.

But after so long, Draco makes her grand return in Puyo 7.

(Wonder who you saw first in this image. For me it was Raffine.)

Here, she's in the Bermuda Triangle because Dark Arle told her that there's a beauty contest there, and she just believes it. Ringo and Amitie go there for plot reasons, and Draco assumes they're there for the same reasons as her. Sadly, they're not, and Draco has been HOODWINKED. And as we know, if you play as Amitie, Witch and Harpy make their cameo appearance, new designs as all... just to not use them ever again. Makes me sad every time.

Draco reappears in 20th Anniversary, where Witch also makes her real debut back. Harpy died sadly. She got smacked to the Land of Chronicles instead. Back to Draco, she wants to find a really cool swimsuit Arle mentioned, but it's Draco, life hates her. After a slew of mishaps and ruining people's day, she finally finds it... and finds out it's from Suketoudara. Rip.

And hey, she reappears in Chronicle, where she's just minding her own business until she gets yoinked by the book that took everyone else to Ally's world. And in Draco Fashion... she assumes Ally and crew are there for a beauty pageant and won't be usurped. Wonder how many times I've mentioned her and beauty pageants, gotta keep count sometime.

She's in Tetris 1 and uh. She tries to eat O.

And uh...she does a talent show with Witch in the DLC. That's it.

TETRIS 2 TIME

She's one of the many people who got corrupted by Marle, but had Ringo fooled for a good bit on accident, and apologized for her odd behavior. Not her fault Marle is uh... quite the character.

And in side story stuff, she's just playing around with Mini Puyos since she finds them interesting. Unfortunately, Witch also finds them interesting and makes Draco her test subject for studying Mini Puyos, saying it'd at least be a good workout for her. And since we're playing as Draco, she does just that...for science, we swear. After that, Witch notes that due to their smaller size, much higher chains and such, before Draco says she's just there for a good time, much to Witch's annoyance.

So That's Puyo. How About Madou?

(One guy out there just decided to make the coolest Draco art out there. Thanks man.)

Draco began in the series like many other characters, a Mook, a random encounter, a person Arle ran into during dungeon crawling adventures, the sort. It's simple enough, it's her beginnings.

However, I won't exactly be going in chronological order for this, rather, I want to mention some things here and there as I go.

Draco began to get fairly popular due to her design and appearances in Puyo, ala Witch, so she began to make a lot of appearances in side stuff, such as Disc Station games. She appears in a few off memory:

Tower of the Magician, where she's a random encounter Schezo can fight. Here though, she has a little more personality since it's been more established.

PuyoLympics, where she makes a cameo appearance in the swimming section of the game. She's not playable, like Rulue and Schezo, but she makes an appearance.

Rulue's Spring Break of Fists, where like many other characters, she talks a lot... because it's a visual novel. She only appears in one story route, like almost every other character in the game.

Arle Man'Yuki, where she's uh. There.

Madou Saturn, where she's a playable ally, but a temporary one.

Waku Puyo Dungeon and it's manga, where in the manga, she fights against and alongside Rulue.

So let's talk about her role in Saturn first. She's been chained up alongside Witch due to Incubus being Incubus, and you're given a choice to save her or Witch first. Today, it's Draco.

Arle and Rulue save Draco, and Draco's first thing to do is go to a beauty pageant...to find out that she's late and it's already over.

And it leads to this. She's gone, bros. To the point where she doesn't help fight Schezo 3 minutes later. However, after said fight, she regains her senses and enters a whole other contest since the reward is a key that opens literally anything. You know, so they can save Witch.

Unfortunately, Yog Smoke is appearing, and it's not looking so good for our heroes, but we skim some smaller details, some fights later, it's honestly quite similar to Witch's route, down to the Schezo Refight and Jaan appearance, I guess to give players similar experiences. It's honestly a very nice role Draco has at least, where she's able to kinda bounce off Arle and Rulue decently well, and she's no slouch in combat either.

After saving Witch, she does leave you, but reappears at the end of the game at the very least. And that's mostly her role, she has her own quirks and her personality, while a little one dimensional as always, still leaves room up for some unique conversations with Arle and Rulue.

And even then, her role in Waku Waku Puyo Puyo Dungeon and its manga are at least more than that, to an extent. It depends on the Route.

In Arle's Route (yeah, sorry for not translating in a hot minute. School work over that, sorry.) she relies more on her stupid self and assumes Arle is there for a beauty- basically the usual. However, at the very least, she does canonically say she can make 5 chains, before realizing they her and Arle are gonna PROPERLY fight rather than Puyo battle, which is neat. And even after defeat, she just trains to become even better, which is honestly a nice change of pace.

And in Schezo's route, it relies on Schezo also being partially a Grade A dunce, since the boss dialog is him misunderstanding Draco completely about "Something," before she says it's a Battle, leaving him to feel stupid for not thinking that. And after defeat and near the end of the game, Schezo runs into her again, and he says that he's not really interested in appealing to women or anyone, leading to Draco assuming he's gay, much to his annoyance. And on another talk, Draco mentions if he was more in touch with how people feel and watched his wording, Schezo would be even more popular with the ladies, before he's shocked that he's popular in general.

Notice how I haven't spoken about Rulue yet, and it's because...I dunno how she acts there. But I do somewhat know how she acts in the manga.

(This requires context. Believe me.)

Like in the game, Draco is the boss of Fire Mountain, and since Rulue and Minotauros are there...to put it bluntly, the three fight. Draco's no slouch though, as she's able to actually fight Rulue competently and WIN round one, so to speak, which is the top image of the entire post.

When knocked out, Rulue begins to dream about Arle...and Satan. The rest is history. Round two happens, and it's a real back and forth, honestly. Draco lands good hits, Rulue gets good hits, before out of nowhere, steals the Naruto Handbook and Shadow Clone Justu's, shocking Draco and ending the fight there.

It's worth noting that it appears Draco might (or definitely does,) like or even crush on Rulue herself. Since this stupid 10 image limit it kicking my ass, you can probably find many pages online of those moments. Draco even tags along in fighting... these guys, who are basically traumatized from fighting Rulue.

(They're in Saturn, that's for sure.)

And as such, ends our talk about Draco. She's a very fascinating character, since she hasn't changed a whole lot throughout the decades.

She's been fairly two-note for years now, but it doesn't really stop her from being a good and fun character, especially when Compile/SEGA decide to give her a little more than "Is she stupid?" and beauty pageants.

That'd be all from me. Adios.

[machiroads]

Fic Year in Review 2024!

Not the most productive year writing-wise, but here's a snapshot of what did go out the door!

NEW FIC

waiting on the seasons to change, waiting for the curtain to fall

The fic I wrote when I actually should have been writing my zine fic. Probably for the best that it's not in the zine because it ended up being pretty dark!

Sometimes you get possessed by an idea and write 12k of the most batshit worldbuilding

I love urban fantasy, the FFXII AU also somewhat counts as urban fantasy and I really want to get back onto that one at some point

Consistent with the theme of the fic, I inadvertently prophesized Taisho-era Aizawa in official art, and while I did not imagine him having a hat he still looks bangin

When the Battle's Lost and Won

Part 3 of Lullabies for Insomniacs (aka the Nine Lives Extended Universe)

I genuinely did not expect Kuroboro to die in the finale so I had to rewrite LITERALLY EVERYTHING I had drafted

It was originally going to be a 4-parter with rotating perspective (Aizawa > Mic > Shirakumo > Aizawa) (Moon > Sun > Cloud > Stars) but on the rewrite it just made sense to go back to Aizawa's perspective only.

Still trucking through this into 2025, I had hoped to get this one out faster but Life Happens. I made a big post about it. We'll see if work gets any less stupid into the new year (not optimistic but eh)

Overcooked

Gets an honourable mention because I did finish it, it's just not publicly available yet

This is my erasermic zine fic, and I sure as shit hope you all get to see it in 2025 but production is. slow. No comment.

The boys go to a cooking class for kids. It's cute.

MORE ART

I am still flabbergasted that people make art of my fics, and I have been blessed with two new beautiful pieces this year:

From the wonderful @obsessed-dragon, the boys taking a snooze at the end of the Fortuneteller AU

BlackSpiderEyes also spruced up their art from the MerPirates AU

I KNOW YOU LIKE STATS

This chart is still in comic sans because I think it's funny

I wrote a blurb about this in last year's post, but TL;DR the bookmark-to-kudos ratio is my metric of how many people loved a fic vs how many people just liked it.

9L is still lapping the rest of the pack, and also was still pretty well-read this year! That's a long-ass line between the 2023 and 2024 kudos datapoints. Was it S7? Was it the manga finale? Some secret third thing? I shant speculate but I do have to hand it to myself: it is still, 2 years later, The big damn Eraserhead recovery fic.

Nutstang's bookmarks:kudos ratio decreased this year, but it's still firmly in "cult classic" territory, with the 3rd highest ratio of all my fic

Legitimately surprised to see the Fortuneteller AU's ratio so high (0.39), which is noticeably higher than 9L's ratio even (0.32). It's middling as far as kudos goes (it is an Extremely Specific AU after all), but for those that did like it enough to leave a kudos, almost 40% loved it enough to bookmark.

WTBL&W is trending middle of the pack right now, though it's still very much in progress. When 9L finished, it got a pretty noticeable bump because sometimes people don't like reading WIPs! It's also billed explicitly as a sequel, so that might also be deterring some folks, but I cannot possibly divorce the two. IT IS WHAT IT IS.

STILL COOKING

I WILL FINISH LULLABIES FOR INSOMNIACS IN 2025 she says. There are maybe 2 chapters left of L&W (though they will be Large Boys), and then Kintsugi which is kind of partially written? It seems like an achievable goal, though when I started posting L&W over the summer, finishing that before the end of 2024 seemed achievable and we are still trucking our way through chapter 4 of 5ish, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I am forking The Way of the House Hero off into its own miniseries because it's techincally? canon divergent now so who tf knows about that one

The Pilot/ATC AU and the FFXII AU are still on the backburner but they still hold a special place in my heart

ANYWAYS

Thanks for reading my self-indulgent nonsense. I hope to continue creating more self-indulgent nonsense next year.

[ladysomething]

GOOD FUCKING LORD MADDIE WHAT

hot. that's it.

1. I'm going insane knowing that the weirdly nice way they treated each other in Charles dream world is going to hell. the softness of it had me crawling up my walls. "You’re being crazy, he thinks to himself, closing his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at Max looking at him." uhm, sir, *I'M* going crazy. I'm BEING crazy about that.

2. gotta love Charles and Max in their Bonnie and Clyde era. it was also kinda giving Harley Quinn and the Joker. and I'm here for it.

3. Charles being a little menance is deserved for him, (my man has had a rough life lately let him be) and asked by us thank you very much. the fact that he had zero to little patience is hilarious. I love it. that's mainly why I stated that he's kind of giving Harley Quinn.

4. but you know what I love even more??? JEALOUS AND POSSESIVE CHARLES. and fuck that other bitch who do he thinks he is like???? your feelings stopped being valid after you decided to be stupid like that. cry about it. next time why don't you do it to show your love then. my brother says: asshole. HA. literally. c'mon it was funny

5. I agree with Charles. Max planning everything beforehand was hot. sun-like hot. I melted. I was set in fire.

+1. HE WAS LET NEAR THE THROAT. THIS IS NOT A DRILL . whaaaaaaaaat. the moment Charles kissed Max *there* I actually started jumping and running through my living room.

+2. THE CAR SCENE?!?! EXCUSE ME!?!? let them have more sex where Charles is the "mean" one yes please. have you seen that twit that goes like "women that want to see a man moan and whimper are sick"? WELL DAMN CAUSE THAT'S MEEEEW. I guess I'm sick. LET THE MAN MOAN AND WHINE AND WHIMPER ‼️‼️‼️this might come across as confusing taking into account I'm a bottom Charles truther but y'all wouldn't get it.

+3. I love it when they match each others freaky vibes. alsooo. why delete the kiss part Charlie? WHY? that would've hurt more than the sex part. don't you see the bitch craves intimacy and love? or perhaps, you don't want other people to see your intimacy? what is it Charlie. what. is. it.

+4. I still want to see Matthew's limbs slowly being cut off his body. and I wanna see the bitch suffering more. irl he's being insufferable and here too and I'm done with him. I said what I said.

+5. brother says: every day chapter 16 now 17 gets closer I fear it more. but I fear more my anxiety of not knowing what I should be afraid of exactly. therefore I need it to be closer so I can live at peace.

thank you so much for this piece of perfect madness that I live for every wednesday. 💗

when I was writing those lines of Charles leaning into the breeding kink I was like .... go for gold Maddie. don't hold back.

I'm glad it landed well!!!

the dichotomy of how they treat each other in the dream world vs how they do in real life ...... crazy.

Max and Charles against the world is STARTING. I'm feral for it.

Charles has had it very rough, and it's nice to see him directly his angry energy to somebody that isn't Max hahaha

what goes around comes around, right?

Charles has yet to see it but his competency kink is strong. he's just like me fr

+1. I KNOOWWWWWW. I loved writing that so much!!

+2. no ok I totally get it, because it's bottom Charles but it's overwhelmed with desire Max.

+3. hahahaha they're so funny because they're like this with their kinks I swear

+4. oop. maybe ...... adjust your expectations a little there ...

+5. hahahah everyone being so scared of 17/18 has been very funny to watch but I think also that ya'll probably are thinking it's worse than it is? but maybe not, who's to say