#there were eight drabbles in the collection and the one i mentioned was the second drabble

[shiuefha]

As someone who had ever written a drabble collection about the relationship between Yor and Anya in FFn, which one of the drabbles was about their future when Anya became a psychiatrist, I couldn't help but agree with this (my point is that both Loid and Yor don't want to see Anya in danger just because she wanted to become like them). I guess in some of the future chapters of the manga, we'll get to see Anya finding the dark side of her parents' jobs, then she'll understand that her parents just want her to have a better life than theirs.

I personally don’t want Anya to be a spy when she grows up. While she idolizes Loid/Twilight, Bondman and their spy lifestyle, I don’t think she truly understands the dark side of this life yet. I think Loid and Yor wouldn’t want Anya to live this kind of life either. It goes against what they are fighting for. They want her to have a life free from violence and pain.

[soulnottainted]

How about :3c for whichever romantic f/o this fits best: “God. You look adorable/etc. (when you’re blushing).” | AND/OR | A smiles fondly when B starts to blush and draws them closer, allowing them to hide in their embrace. (-dragonsmooch)

@dragonsmooch @jocelynships @featherstiitch

FIRST DRABBLE WITH BORIS! It took me a couple hours to write this and I hope you'll like it! Some dialogue my friend Adam aka featherstiich threw at me last night and I needed to incorperate it somehow too!

tw: slight mentions of alcohol, smoking, death

A heavy sigh escaped the PI as he took a long drag of his cigarette, papers and notes scattered on his desk. If he wasn't an investigator, he would've looked like a maniac: the scattered papers plus the rings under his eyes from lack of sleep would suggest it so easily if he was spotted on the street. For the most part though, he was stuck inside his tiny office which he split for the other half being his living quarters. Five of the eight totems he had collected thus far. Who knows what hell would be unleashed if they were all put together. That wouldn't happen though, as Boris made the decision early on, that once all of them were found, they'd be hidden some place to not fall into the wrong hands.

In the meantime, it was a doozy of a time trying to locate totem number six. A guy name Sly Tony mentioned that he captured something in his basement. Boris though he was off his rocker, but come tomorrow night he would see what was going on over there. If Sly was truly telling the truth, the creature could lead Boris to the next totem perhaps. But tonight however...

A few soft knocks came from the door, which made Shuster almost jump out of his chair.

Damn, take it easy, will ya, you ol' geezer? It's just the door, just loud enough that a baby could've knocked! God, I need sleep.

His lanky form begged him not to get up, but his brain insisted otherwise. It was either a client who was at the door, or one of the employees from Louie's down the street, who liked their regular so much that they offered to deliver his pizza pies to his door whenever he called for one. Not many had that luxury, and Boris didn't have many of 'em, so he would take that luxury any day. Disheveled, he went to answer the door, not even bothering to grab his coat or hat for appearance's sake. That would've been a mistake because of who was on the other end of the wall. Before he could turn the knob, he heard.

"Boris?"

When Boris heard who it was, it snapped him out of his zombie-like state like he had been hit by lightning. He scrambled to grab his trench coat, almost knocking the coat hanger down in the process and threw his hat on. He tried not to turn to cause suspicion by his guest, but Boris hurried over to a small mirror on top of his sink to adjust his tie, to not look like a man who had been up for almost 48 hours trying to get close to a lead, thriving off of coffee alone.

"Just a minute, doll!" he called, "Almost ready!"

"No rush," he heard her insist back through the door.

Dammit, he forgot. Out of all things to forget...

What day of the week even was it? She said it was for Fri...Oh. It was Friday already. Shuster you sonnofa, she's a one-in-a-million gal and you forgot you had a date with 'er! Don't make her wait any longer!

With one last look and pulling down his fedora a tad, he turned and made his way to the door for a second time, this time opening it to reveal her. And oh...she was a beauty!

"Hello Boris," the soft, quiet, but light voice swirled the PI's mind before warming his heart. Kelsey bashfully clasped her gloved hands across her stomach. She wore a dark green coat with brass buttons overtop a hint of a mint dress underneath. Matching earrings adorned her, silver cat eye glasses framing her rounded face.

Being exhausted didn't let a grin differ a centimeter from Boris' lips at the sight of her, "You're prettier than Miss Monroe." A slightly calloused hand made its way to gently cup her cheek, the detective stepping closer to have Kelsey hid in his much taller shadow.

A soft laugh made both her dimples show, as well as a slight blush washing over them as she brushed the compliment off, "I'll never beat the likes of Miss Marylin." Ever since he met her and before that, she had insecurities of her bigger body. Unfortunately, sometimes, it gnawed and ate at her, any compliments passing her by like a taxi ignoring a patron who desperately needed a ride home.

"No?" Boris asked surprisingly taken aback, before the hand that held her cheek went to lift up her small chin to look into his eyes, "You look adorable, stunning, when you blush. You give her a run for her money, Angelcake. Plus, your beautiful figure in front of me? I don't know how you haven't been kissed to death yet, doll. It surprises the hell out of me, that's for damn sure."

There we go. That made her cheeks bright pink!

Shuster chuckled softly. He found out it didn't take much to make her this way, but it was endearing to him. Many women wanted Boris over the years, making themselves known to him so quickly and longingly, but he was never interested. Temptation was something that he didn't mess around with. Sure temptation could overthrow him when it came with a slug of whisky and another cigarette, but when it came to dames, he never bit the bullet.

It was ironic however that Kelsey and Boris had met at the hell hole of temptation, the Kitty Kat Club. A seductive voice insisted from inside the club to Boris who was smoking against the brick wall outside, to come on inside and dance with her. People had been disappearing from the club for awhile at that point, and Boris knew for certain that the lure the woman gave him was one step in the process for never being seen again.

And then Kelsey with a few of her friends could be heard, about to go into the club. Clearly Kelsey didn't want to be there, but she wanted to appease her friends who wanted her to have fun, let loose, and drink. Once the group went inside, the detective watched from afar, sneaking into the club to see what would happen. One of the seductive women who ran the club handed her a drink and Kelsey took the slightest sip.

Then things took a turn, as Kelsey screamed for help before passing out. The drink had been laced with a sleeping agent and the beautiful women around her, including her friends, transformed into she-devils, ready to pounce and devour their newest victim. Luckily Boris took care of the she-devils one by one, also spotting the fifth totem, a vase, on the liquor shelf behind the bar. When it was dead silent, surrounded by the bodies of the supernatural women and also the dead victims that had been the audience for the singer Madame Murie, the detective ran over to the latest victim. He checked her pulse. She was alive. Scooping her up into his arms and then retrieving the totem that belonged to the Strengoit legion, he brought them back to his office. From there, Boris took care of Kelsey until the affects of the poison wore off.

The rest was history, as Kelsey befriended Boris, knowing now that supernatural evil existed. There wasn't any turning back now, and Boris led her into that understanding together. And then he fell for her...oh so quickly. He didn't think it would ever happen. Now the two were on their 6th official date, among the many times Kelsey would stop by his office on the way to the laundromat or the market every week.

"I'm surprised you didn't fall for one of the She-Devils that night," Kelsey said quietly, awkwardly smiling, the insecurity in her voice despite the PI's sickeningly sweet words making her cheeks go into a reddish tone.

"She-Devils?" he responded, putting a hand on his hip, the bottom of trench coat giving a slight sway as he did so, "Angelcake, at least try and say someone possible. They're the farthest thing from ya— "

Then he leaned closer to her face, just near the tip of her ear, hands holding her shoulders so she couldn't hide in his coat just yet, knowing she would try and do so. Shuster's voice became almost whisper in tone, "and that's why I love you so much. You've got a golden soul under that sunshine smile and body. They had nothing. "

He could hear Kelsey's breath hitch, which made him hum in amusement at her sweetness.

"Yeah," she responded, finally remembering to breathe, "Yeah you're right..."

As predicted, Kelsey tried to get closer and hide her face in the crook of Boris' coat, and at a moment's decision, he let her right on in.

"I mean...they tried to drug and kill me," Kelsey continued, murmuring into the fabric, "Those...Those bitches from below never stood a chance."

The sudden swear from her made the PI laugh out loud, making it reverberate and echo as Kelsey had her ear pressed to his chest. His arms wrapped strongly around her figure before he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "See? That's the kinda self talk I wanna hear from now on, hon." Then he opened his coat so he could reach down and peck her cheek, which made her giggle slightly. "Now doll, you ready to take a walk on the town?"

"Mm. But Boris?"

"Yeah doll?"

"When we get back, you're gonna sleep. I can smell the amount of coffee under here. And I'm gonna stay just to make sure that you do."

"Is that a threat?"

"No, but if you don't get any sleep, I won't visit for two weeks."

"Well damn," the lanky detective patted her back as the two huddled together just outside his door, holding her close to him in his embrace, "That would be quite the let down, wouldn't it? Well...alright. I guess I fold my cards."

Not even a second later, his hand cradled the back of her head, lifting it to kiss Kelsey ever so softly.

"Thank you," the petite lady pulled back, smiling up at him, with all the care in the world, her blush in all that time now red as a tomato, "Now lead the way. You know the city better than I do."

Boris kept an arm wrapped both her shoulders as he led her down the stairs and out the front door, and then down the front steps outside. He gave her a wink and another kiss on the head, "You got it, Angelcake, you got it."

The two of them walked into the night, lit by the soft glow of the street lamps. Uncertainty flooded Boris' future, but he knew that if this lovely lady stayed in his life, things would look up. They already have. Whatever happened with the totems, Boris would make sure Kelsey stayed as far away from that whole situation as possible, when the time were to come. For now, his mind had been fully taken off the case for the first time in a long while. It would do him good to do so. He was a good man, but also a mad man for what he had gotten himself into with all the mess of the damn totems. Kelsey offered him sanity, just by her company being alongside him: that was a deal he could never refuse.

[oomisluvr]

the five love language, featuring sakusa kiyoomi (part two!)

as promised, here's part two of 'the five love languages'! the last one was more of sakusa taking care of the reader, but this one is more focused on us taking care of him. i didn't give up on any of these this time, so i'm kinda proud of these lmfao

synopsis: a (second!!) collection of five drabbles showcasing the five love languages with a very soft, very playful, (and mildly horny) sakusa kiyoomi.

warnings: swearing, mentions of sex, kissing, touching, reader is a menace.

quality time (see: working out together... kind of)

"forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty!" you call out, "now hold it!"

"hold it?" he questions. above you, kiyoomi raises an eyebrow, but follows your directions nonetheless. he lowers himself gracefully, arms bending to a perfect ninety-degree angle, "for how long?"

"until i tell you to stop." you quip, your hand reaching up to push a cluster of wild strands from his forehead. he looks at you dubiously, clearly unimpressed with how the situation has unfolded.

"when i said to work out with me," he starts, "i did not mean for you to lay back and boss me around."

"yet here you are," you smirk, looking the very portrait of defiance, "letting me boss you around."

he smiles at your comment; he's always loved how rebellious you are. he shrugs, or at least tries to, given his position, "it's because you're so damn pretty. you make it hard for a man to say no."

something in your chest warms at that and you lift up, just barely, delivering kiyoomi a swift kiss. you don't have to go far, his position places his forehead just a few centimeters above yours, and your hand occupies itself with tucking various strands of curly hair behind his ear, just to make this task a bit harder for him. sakusa basks in all the attention.

"since we're on the topic," your eyes gleam with mischief, "i have another request of you, one that you won't be able to refuse."

"i'm listening," he smiles and you want you roll you eyes at how good he looks. his arms aren't even shaking.

"go out with me tonight." you tell him.

confusion ripples across his face, "but we are going out. i'm your boyfriend."

"i know," you laugh, "i meant go out with me as in let me take you on a date. you take me on dates all the time."

"yeah, but," he lifts his head forward, as if searching for the words. he apparently finds them, angling his head to face you once again, more strands falling out of place, "i'm your boyfriend."

"i know," you say again, exasperated, "but i think it's time i take you on a date. as a treat."

he shakes his head, a dash of pink on his face, "i can't let you do that."

"why not?" giggles muddle your question, "give me one good reason why i'm not allowed to take you out."

"because i'm your boyfriend." he insists, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"kiyoomi!" a hand playfully smacks against his chest, "let me treat you, dammit!"

"not possible, sorry." he shakes his head, the strands you so carefully tucked away having come loose, "but i have a counter offer."

"what's the counter offer?" you ask, voice flat, already knowing the answer.

"what if," he starts, pausing for dramatic effect, "i take you on a date? tonight!" he presents his case with the upmost excitement, exaggerating his words to sound more appealing.

you howl with laughter, shaking your head at his antics.

"i don't see what's so funny," he keeps up his false composure, "it's a win-win situation. i think we should go with my suggestion."

"no, kiyoomi," you jab a finger into his chest, smiling hard, "i am taking you out. my treat."

he narrows his eyes at you in faux suspicion and you resist the urge to roll your eyes. he thinks he's so scary.

"fine." he relents, "under one condition."

"let's hear it, then."

"you let me have a break. my arms are getting tired."

you blink. he was just now started to get tired? you had honestly forgotten he was still technically working out, "deal."

pushing himself up, he rolls onto his back, his hand finding yours and holding it loosely, comfortably.

"be ready by 6," he yawns.

"what?"

"our date. you couldn't have forgotten already."

"that wasn't the agreement!"

"huh," he feins ignorance, "i could have sworn it was."

"kiyoomi for the last time, i am taking you out."

"i'll think about it."

"oh my god. i'm gonna strangle you."

"sexy," he comments, turning his head to look over you, "but we should eat at the new ramen place you've been wanting to try. the one that just opened up not too long ago."

"this isn't about me. this date is for you."

as if he didn't hear you, he continues, "i'll make us reservations, then. i think you'll like it. they serve the little dumplings you like."

you groan, rolling on your stomach to lay your head in your hands, "i can't win this, can i?"

"nope." he grins, sitting up to deliver a swift slap to your now exposed ass, "i guess i can say no to you."

acts of service (see: doing his laundry)

"hey, baby," he greets after setting his bags down by the door. taking the closest possible spot on the couch, he plops down beside you, a long arm stretching over your shoulder and soft kisses pressed to your temple, "how was your day? missed you." he mumbles at the skin there.

"mm, hey oomi," grabbing the side of his jaw, you pull his lips to meet yours, the kiss making the tension from his day physically disintegrate into nothing.

the effect you have on him is unlike any drug in the world, and when you finally pull away, kiyoomi looks back at you with a dazed look in his eye. he sighs, grip tightening around you, wanting to be closer.

"my day was boring, but i'll tell you about it over dinner. go wash up, so we can eat," your hand pats his thigh. blinking rapidly as if coming out of a dream, sakusa registers what you've said.

"you cooked?" he asks, a little confused.

"that's a cute idea," you tap his nose, "but i ordered takeout."

he grins at that, lifting himself off the plush cushions to head to the shower, just as you said.

"and hurry!" you call after him, hoping your words will reach him even as he rounds the corner, "i'm starving over here!"

"okay, okay," you hear his voice respond, "i'm hurrying!"

smiling to yourself, you beeline to the kitchen, moving to begin setting up the table.

"y/n?" a small voice calls.

"yeah?" you respond casually, excitedly tearing through the plastic takeout bag, bringing out plate after plate after plate, "what's up?"

a heavy hand find itself on your shoulder, gently guiding you to turn around. when you do, you're met with a solemn-looking kiyoomi.

"oomi?" worry rushes into you, the distress on his face making your stomach twist up in knots, "what's wrong? did something happen?"

"yes," he whines, "this happened!"

a pair of boxers is thrust right in front of your face, close enough that you can smell the floral detergent ingrained in the threads. you blink, once, twice. confused, you bat the offensive clothing away from your face.

"don't put your underwear in my face! that's rude." you grumble, "and what's your deal anyway? don't bring underwear into the kitchen! it's gross!"

"but they aren't gross!" he insists, "they're clean!"

"well, duh they're clean! i would know, i washed them!" you snap, "i'm speaking more towards the principle of not bringing garments that touch our genitals into the place we prepare and eat food—"

"folded in twice to the center, then once from the bottom."

"what?"

"it's perfect. i couldn't have done it better myself."

"what are we talking about?"

"i'm taking about how you did my laundry," his voice gets soft, "all of it."

"i mean, yeah." you respond, "volleyball season is about to pick up again and i know you've been tired from practice. it's no biggie."

"no biggie?" he presses, "y/n, these smell like a field of roses. you even know which detergents go with what garments."

you tilt your head, still not understanding, "because you have sensitive skin. some detergents are too harsh for you."

"you're missing the point," he shakes his head, trying his best to convey what he's feeling, "you washed my clothes. in the most meticulous of ways. you did that for me."

"ki, i'm still not tracking."

kiyoomi, in the most loving way possible, was a pain in the ass and he is no stranger to this fact. he's strict in his routine and did everything with the highest standard of care. kiyoomi had been told his entire life he was too difficult, only for you to barge into his life and show him the opposite. for you to treat his possessions as if they were your own, so tenderly and flawlessly and with care. kiyoomi would be lying if he said he wasn't getting emotional. it wasn't about the fucking underwear, it was that you care for him, about him. him, in all his annoying specifics and details. him, and his sensitive skin. you love him wholly and without fear, and kiyoomi doesn't think he could every repay you for the kindness you've shown him.

but, he doesn't say that.

instead, he pulls you into his chest, pushing kisses onto the crown of your head, hoping that you can feel his love with every touch of his lips to your skin.

"thank you," he finally says, "just... thank you."

you open your mouth to respond, but your stomach rumbles, replying for you.

laughing, kiyoomi pulls away, and you think you see tears on his waterline, "sorry, let's eat! and i promise not to bring anymore underwear into the kitchen anymore."

physical touch (see: skinny dipping)

"this may have been the best idea you've had in a while."

"what? the hot tub or our honeymoon?"

"both," he grins, the lazy smile overtaking his features, "we should do this every year."

"i have an even better idea," you smirk, sneaky wading over to his side of the tub. predicting your movements, his hands find your wrists, pulling you onto his lap, where he sits on an underwater ledge.

"you're right," he says, palms sliding over your body, finally stopping at the swell of your ass, "this is a better idea. feels right, now that you're here like this."

"this wasn't the idea, silly," you giggle, your hands landing on his shoulders, "i was going to suggest something else."

kiyoomi knows that tone; he could recognize it in a room of people. you're up to something, and he's smart enough to entertain whatever it is you want to do.

"i'm all ears," he offers cooly.

straightening your back, you push yourself up to whisper in his ear, "take off my top," you sing, "let's try skinny dipping."

leaning his head back to look at you, kiyoomi feels himself let a little bit looser, a little more relaxed.

"we might as well be skinny dipping," he chuckles, "with how little you're wearing."

he's entirely right. you had intentionally packed the skimpiest two-piece bathing suit you could find, knowing how easy it would be to rile him up. you're honestly surprised he hadn't tried something sooner.

"but," he begins again, "what my wife wants, she gets." he emphases that word, wife. joined in holy matrimony, you're tied to each other for as long as the fates allow it. he couldn't be more excited.

eyes never leaving yours, thick fingers finds the strings tied behind your neck, slowly undoing the knot there. dropping down to your back, you feel the strings twist and loop to undo itself, kiyoomi's hands falling away with the rest of the fabric.

hungry eyes drink up the newly exposed skin, and his hands find your body once again, feeling you up however he can. pressing kisses to your neck, he smiles when you let a moan slip.

you can't help it, he makes you feel so sexy. truly, you feel like the only women he has eyes for; the only person he sees.

"you're so soft," he mumbles, palming your chest, "you're perfect, baby. the only one for me."

"kiyoomi," you breathe, wanting to go further, "there's more to remove."

pulling back, he finds your gaze, "how could i forget?" he asks, hands traveling to your backside, thumbing at the strings there, "forgive me, i was getting ahead of myself."

simultaneously, he pulls at the strings keeping your bikini bottom together, and the loss of fabric against the area makes you shiver. lifting your slightly, he tucks it from under you and throws it over the edge of the hot tub, sitting you bare on top of him.

"now," he begins, taking a moment to look at you, running his hands up and down the expanse of your thighs, "may i continue where we left off?"

cheekily, you shake your head, "not yet. you have some layers to remove yourself."

his eyes seem to darken at that and you feel excitement flood your stomach.

"up," he taps the curve of your ass, and you obey, lifting yourself from his lap, your knees still placed on either side of his thighs. quickly, he shuffles down his swim trunks, collecting the material along with your still-buoyant bikini top, and tossing them outside the tub. callused hands find your hips, returning you to his lap gently.

"better?" he asks, confidence falling from him in waves. you bite the inside of your cheek at what you feel.

"yes," you respond happily, your arms wrapping around his neck to pull him close, your lips eagerly finding his.

kiyoomi lets you lead, since this was your idea, parting his mouth when your tongue prods against his lips. your hands thread through his hair, tugging at the thick strands on the nape of his neck. he moans at the sensation, enjoying the new memory he'll cherish forever.

"you're right," he manages to say between kisses, "this was a great idea."

"mm," you moan in agreement, desperate for anything that is him, "move your arm. wanna feel you."

pulling back, his dark eyes find yours, chuckling softly, "that's not my arm."

you gasp at the realization.

words of affirmation (see: drunk phone calls)

"kiki~" you sing through the phone, "kiyoomi, i miss you."

"do you now?" he smiles to himself, tucking the phone between his ear and shoulder while he prepares himself a chamomile tea, "what happened to your friend's birthday dinner? you're not having fun?"

"no," you whine, and kiyoomi can already tell you're much too loud for whatever environment you're in, "i went to the bathroom to pee, but then i thought of you!"

he snorts at that, "your pee made you think of me? angel, is there something you want to tell me?" he jokes.

"don't be gross!" you giggle, "i checked my screen and saw your sexy, sexy face. i just had to call you after that!"

he feels himself melt at your comment. he's your lockscreen?

he was silent for barely a second, before you're talking again, "and it's not just your face! everything about you is sooo sexy."

well, this is an interesting development.

"oh, really?" he prods, "what about me is 'soooo sexy'?" he tried to imitate your voice to mess with you, but you don't seem to pick up on it.

"your height!" you squeal, and kiyoomi likes to imagine you swooning, "oomi, you're six foot four inches! did you know that? how hot is that?"

he opens his mouth to retort, but you continue.

"god, you're so," you sigh over the receiver, "big!"

he smirks at that, his tongue proding the inside of his cheek, "big?"

"yes! your muscles, your arms, your legs, your hands, your—," you cut yourself off, bringing the phone right to your mouth to whisper, "your penis! it's so—"

laughter floods your ears, and you knit your brows in confusion, "yoomi! sakusa kiyoomi, are you laughing at me?"

"no, baby, of course not," he tries to steady his voice, a deep warmth blossoming in his chest where his lungs should be, "please, continue. i'm listening. promise."

"okay, fine," you snicker, "only because you're so cute! oh, that reminds me, i love how mean you are!" sakusa has no clue how the two connect, but listens nonetheless.

"mean? i'm not mean. at least, not to you. i try not to be mean to you."

"i know," you sigh, "that's why it's so sexy. i'm like, your little soft spot. kryptonite! i'm like your kryptonite! you can't ever be mean to me."

"unless you ask me to." he adds, a series of images coming into his mind.

"yeah," you giggle, being reminded of the same memories, "yeah, unless i ask you to. you're really good at it then."

"proud to know you're satisfied with my performance."

"ugh, beyond satisfied!" you're quiet on the other end of the line, reapplying your lipstick, "ki, you're, like, daddy as fuck."

where this thought came from, sakusa has no clue, but he'll take it as a compliment.

"i'm honored to be granted such a title."

"it really is an honor," you speak seriously, "not everyone is daddy material."

"i'm happy that i made the cut, then. since the standard is so high, apparently."

"it is. the only other person who could be daddy material is kakashi."

"kakashi?" sakusa blinks, genuinely taken aback, "kakashi hatake? from naruto?" wow, he really is honored.

"yes, him!" you quip, "mm, what a man. you're on the same level as him. in terms of bde."

"bde?"

"big dick energy," you quickly clarify, "but it's not particular to men. women can have bde, too. like you sister."

"my sister?" kiyoomi is at a loss for words; you just keep talking.

"yes, and your mom," you add, "actually your whole family has bde—" screams cut through sakusa's speaker and he has to physically move the phone away from his ear. there's a shuffle on your end, before the call ends entirely.

curiously, and a bit concerned, sakusa moves to call you back, but a certain text message distracts him.

y/n thee stallion [12:06]: hey this is y/n's coworker! pls come pick her up bc she refuses to leave with anyone else!! holy shit

smiling to himself, kiyoomi shakes his head at your antics, abandoning his tea to grab his keys, heading for the door.

giving gifts (see: surprise party)

"i'm sorry i ruined our dinner, kiyoomi." you lean against him as the elevator raises to the tenth floor, arms linked with his.

"it's fine, baby, i know you aren't feeling well right now," the elevator dings, arriving at your floor. keys already in hand, sakusa leads you two to your shared apartment, "you should probably take a tylenol for your headache—"

"SUPRISE!" a choir of voices scream at him as he opens the door. balloons are scattered on the floor, party poppers exploding in a flurry of colorful confetti bits, some getting caught in his hair.

sakusa looks like a deer caught in the headlights, mouth slightly agape and eyes blinking wildly. laughing, you step into the apartment, pulling him in with you, "cmon! let's celebrate!"

allowing himself to be led by you, his brain finally catches up with the situation. all of msby is here, along with a few other friends he's made over the years. pulling back a bit, he catches your attention, stoping you.

"you did this? for me?" he asks, still in disbelief.

"yeah!" you smile, satisfied with his reaction, "it is your birthday, right?"

"yeah," he confirms dumbly, "i thought you were sick." he grumbles, "i was worried."

you shake your head, winking at him as his friends and family tear him away, your apartment crowded far beyond what it should ever be.

"she fuckin got you!" atsumu hollers, clapping sakusa on the back, "i wish you could see your face right now! you look like you just shit yourself!"

"shut up, miya," he spits, but there's no venom in his words. disappearing into the crowd of company occupying the apartment, you laugh again when komori wrestles a 'birthday boy' sash over his head.

sakusa feels like he's floating; his stomach twisting and his eyes burning. everyone is here to celebrate him. a cake is brought out and the singing starts, and sakusa has to cover his face from all the attention on him.

‘happy birthday, oomi!’ it reads, with dicks and hearts messily squeezed on in red icing.

complete, he feels complete. what more could he need?

peeking through his fingers, his eyes meet yours over the flame of the candles, his gaze never leaving yours as he takes a deep breath in. he closes his eyes, and makes a wish.

maybe, he hopes, just maybe, two sakusas can become three.

he opens his eyes to blow out the candles, extinguishing them in one blow. the room erupts in cheers.

kiyoomi laughs.

reblogs appreciated! if you're feeling nice, leave a comment <33

[ephemerlskies]

constant craving 02 | jjk

⇢ pairing: jungkook x reader

⇢ genre: drabble series, unrequited love, even bigger idiot!jungkook, a n g s t with a teeny pinch of fluff, jungkook's lil lisp IS cannon

⇢ word count: 2.3k

⇢ warnings: explicit language, jungkook's undying oblivion syndrome, incessant pining, dysfunctional communication (or lack thereof), most of this is just arguing

⇢ summary: there are countless things to talk about with your significant other. jungkook, however, had yet to realize how often his conversations with his girlfriend were monopolized by none other than you. and he begins to wonder why others didn't see this as normal.

♪ playlist: constant craving - k.d. lang, bad religion - frank ocean, misunderstood - lucky daye, neu roses - daniel caesar ♪

╰ series index: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 (final)

a/n: this picks up right where we left off! but it's in jungkook's pov... enjoy all the frustrating idiocy :)

part two: choices

He didn't tell you the reason why at exactly six o'clock he found himself slouching on your couch, on the side he'd claimed as his own from the sheer number of times he'd been there before, relieved that Irene took him back, yet a hint of bitterness mixed in from a source he couldn't quite locate. Disappointment? Maybe, however, the reasons why were beyond his humble knowledge. Confused? Well, if he is sure of one thing, it's that he is entirely unsure.

So, when he was about to make his way back to where he should have been, Jungkook made a decision which rippled a feeling that would have been better left untouched. He looked back.

He looked back at you, staring off so decisively into the sky with shoulders rising and falling rhythmically and head tilted slightly left which meant you were deep in one of your elusive thoughts, and he considered visiting the doctor for how his stomach was uncharacteristically turning. It was more than discomfort that was paralyzing his body at the moment, and the way his hand urged to reach out to you proved that his body knew something his heart had yet to realize.

Jungkook, with all his twenty-three years of accumulated wisdom, thought it nondescript to mention that the fight, which suddenly transported him into the home of the only person he could possibly trust for thoughtful and unreserved guidance, was over you.

Three days ago

"Do you think ___ will like it?" Jungkook asked, turning the small, engraved music box over in his hand for the thousandth time, inspecting for any dents or divots that would demote it's worthiness as a gift to you.

"Yes, it's a great gift, hun." Her words sounded wrapped around entirely different words that Irene was too afraid to speak out loud. She hoped her tone could have conveyed that, however Jungkook's ears were far too preoccupied to dig past the shell of her statement.

"Maybe I should get that tote bag, I know ___ has been complaining so much about how they don't have room in their bag for everything."

Irene was trying not to notice the way his eyes hadn't once even grazed her, or how Irene's parents were visiting in a week yet Jungkook hasn't mentioned wanting to meet them, or how this was the fifth time today he's brought up the festivities of you and Jungkook's 'friendiversary', which also happened to land on the same day that her parent's planned on meeting him. When she arrived at that dead end, after making great and avoidant strides, it was time she turned around and faced the partially shameful jealousy she had been running from.

"Jungkook, you haven't even asked me how my day was." Even those words encased something much deeper she decidedly did not want to reveal yet. They delivered with the hope he would figure it out on his own.

"Oh, sorry. How was your day?" Of course, he didn't figure it out.

"That's not the point."

"What?" And afternoon about twenty minutes or so, Jungkook leveled his eyes to her for the first time today. It was then when hints of distress were revealed through the subtle redness invading where the whites of her eyes should have been and the thin, yet visible, layer of tears collecting at the base of her eyes made Jungkook realize something was wrong. "What's wrong?"

"Well..." She paused, taking in all the air she needed to get through this next phrase. "Don't you think it's a little odd that you have been talking about ___ this whole time? I mean, I get it, you guys are best friends, but Jungkook, you haven't even looked at me!"

"Sorry, I didn't know my friendship was such an issue with you." Perhaps he seasoned that last response a bit too curtly since it managed to finally spill those tears once kept at bay in her eyes.

Admittedly, he felt bad for snapping at her. In his defense, she should have known how important this was to him. She should have known how many times the image of you reacting to this gift ran through his mind during moments of the day better spent focusing on the things he was presently doing. She should have known that if your reaction to it was anything less than ecstatic then sleep and concentration would become entirely foreign concepts until he got it right.

Why couldn't she just understand that? Or, maybe the problem was she did understand. She understood it all too well.

"Maybe I do, Jungkook. God! You don't think I see the way you look at ___? You don't think I see the way ___ looks at you?" Her eyes were taking turns counting the drops of tears, eight minus the one that had already dried, that dotted the table and eyeing the napkin she'd been nervously tearing into shreds. Though it was beyond frustrating and exhausting to draw out the painfully obvious, it seemed necessary because it was being carefully illustrated for the painfully oblivious.

"What? That's bullshit, we're friends!"

"Oh, please, Jungkook. Friends don't religiously celebrate a fucking anniversary. Couples do that, people who are in love do that."

Jungkook's mouth hung open, though to no avail, since the words he couldn't even articulate in his head came out as a heavy sigh. All he could think of was your voice telling him what an idiot he was because he certainly felt that way right now. In a flash, he heard that voice of yours and more and more bits of you alchemized after that one detail. Your laugh, the soft nudge of your elbow that he swore he could feel in his side, how your eyes rolled in a way only he could identify as another nonverbal way you said you loved him.

These thoughts comforted him, possibly more than it should have. The pieces of you that puzzled together in his mind only took a few seconds for him to form, however it felt like he spent an eternity trying to picture your face. As if constructing a vision of you when you weren't there was something he'd be stuck doing for the rest of his life.

"I don't know what you're even talking about. I love you." It was, pathetically, all he could say.

"And I can't even blame ___. You were the one who made a commitment to me, Jungkook." Irene collected the bits of paper that once made a napkin into a small pile. "I'm losing you, Jungkook. And it's because of ___."

"Are you going to ask me to choose, because you know that's so unfair."

"I'm not asking you to choose one or another! I just want you to choose me, your girlfriend, for once. Because you always seem to be choosing ___!"

"Choosing? What does that even mean? You're being stupid. Why should I have to choose at all?" As senseless as he thought choosing between the two was, he began to internalize exactly what it entailed.

Through the thickly layered denial insolsting his heart, the idea of losing Irene versus losing you was the small puncture in that denial which gave entry for his true feelings seep through and take control.

Realistically, there was never a choice to begin with. There were no decisions to be made or an alternative option or an opt out of what seemed like some prophetic conclusion. The heart is far too decisive to allow space for anything but what it wants. But, the denial sat on a diligently constructed throne of self-assigned 'friendship maintenance protocols' he had taken ever since he met you.

Such as the way he would avoid too much eye contact with you to maintain a steady heart rate.

How he would conveniently favor the same snacks as you did, because he loved the look of excitement you got when he would walk in with your go-to movie snacks. And he convinced himself he actually enjoyed M&Ms, despite hating them up until the moment he learned you loved them.

The amount of times he mistook hours for minutes when you were with him, and mistook minutes for hours whenever you weren't.

The fact that all his candles just so happened to cater towards your preferences because even when you were gone, he would be reminded of you.

Those, to Jungkook, were just things friends did for each other.

"Well then, let me make it easy for you, Jungkook." Irene left. There was a hollowness haunting the space she once populated. There was a desire strong enough to cut through glass that was simmering up a storm in Jungkook's head.

There was someone that he desperately needed, so he picked up his phone and texted.

Jungkook: can i call?

You: ya sure

Present day

"My parents said that they're so excited to meet you! I'm pretty sure they're gonna give you the whole marriage talk but please ignore them." Irene's cheer was a sharp contrast to the dull indifference of Jungkook.

Not for lack of trying, there were occasional gaps in his memory ever since Irene arrived at his place after having you tell him what to say to her. And he didn't know why, but when you were talking about choosing and wanting to be with someone no matter what, it fulfilled a silent, yet perpetual hunger to hear those words that even he didn't know he needed to hear you say until you said them.

"Yeah, I..." You were probably at home right now, partaking in your daily, self-induced mild coma as he liked to call it since you were a heavier sleeper than actual lifeless bodies. "Yeah. Excited to meet them."

"Babe, is something wrong?" You seemed so sad when he left that day.

Why didn't I ask you what was wrong? He thought, as if you would have been able to answer.

"Nothing's wrong"

"Something's definitely wrong. Just tell me." Jungkook would have been honest with Irene, but he felt guilty for bringing you up. There was no reason to feel guilty about once again steering the conversation back to you, his friend — his best friend and nothing more — unless...

"Something’s definitely not wrong. I'm just nervous about meeting your parenths- Parents." The 's' on parents revealed his effortfully suppressed lisp that he'd been insecure of, that is until you heard it and called it cute.

It was one of those throw away comments that he was meant to forget in a day, even an hour, but that memory was tacked into his brain every time his lisp impeded on his speech. Before, his light cheeks would acquire that crimson flush when any word with an 's' came up through his tongue in a way which would betray him and catch on his teeth that made it sound more like a 'th'. That memory of someone who thought his least favorite quality was, of all things, cute.

"Seriou-th-ly..." He said to you, then immediately began composing an apology that would salvage his own embarrassment more so than your assumed judgement. But all he could say was a meek "Sorry."

"Why are you sorry? It was cute." His cheeks burned, but this time for reasons not affiliated with his lisp

"Don't be nervous. I just said they're gonna love you. I'm pretty sure they already love you." Jungkook thought it was edging on sociopathic for not giving a damn about what Irene's parents thought of him, let alone the idea of trying to get them to like him. That didn't matter as much when you looked so upset the day he last saw you, and all he could do was leave you that way.

"Jungkook, did you hear me?"

"What?"

Irene knew that look. She knew what had secured his coveted focus because it happened almost every time they were together. And as much as she wanted to place blame on everyone, on you, and on Jungkook, she couldn't accost anyone but herself for knowingly falling in love with someone whose heart was claimed quite clearly by someone else.

"Jungkook, I love you."

"I love you too." And he meant it. But, despite his unequivocally shallow observational skills, he knew it felt different, deeper, the way he knew it was supposed to feel like when he said those words to you.

"So, I'm sorry I have to do this." This time, she didn't cry. Almost as if she'd been preparing herself for this inevitability.

Her hand rested on his, memorizing the texture of each line, the smooth backside and the course knuckles, and stored it among the things she'd never get to feel again. Eventually, she'd have to redefine it from the things she loves into the things she once loved. And one day, she'd forget the feeling of his hand and she had to be okay with that.

"What-"

"I really hope you get ___ someday." And she meant it. He wanted to thank her, but that would sound more patronizing than grateful, so he figured the only way to avoid the unfortunate casualty of Irene's heartbreak being in vain would be to somehow convince you to love him the way he's loved you.

After she left, he sat there, phone in hand, your phone number ready to be dialed, his ears eager to hear your voice, his mind ready to admit the things his heart had been secretly certain of for a while, and said softly, "Me too."

Jungkook sat alone, his apartment emptied of the person he should have been chasing after, the person who should have been at the top of his list to call, the person who loved him enough to put his needs first, whose arms he should have wanted to feel enveloping him, yet the person who he could never seem to choose. Irene was a 'should' that would never be his 'could'.

And then, there was you.

a/n: but wait, there's more!!!! i will definitely make this a possibly 4 chapter series w a happy ending for all you fluff-addicted fiends. also didn't want to do the crazy, jealous girlfriend trope because we love women in this household and irene deserves better than dummy jungkook!

[oftenderweapons]

Cold Nights — Taehyung

Pairing: Taehyung x reader (nicknamed Lace)

Wordcount: 4.7k words

Genre: (mild) smut, fluff, romance

Rating: suggested 18+

Hi babes! I’m back with the Cold Nights drabbles, and after what happened in Girls’ Night, I think Taehyung’s was the story I wanted to explore the most, since the chemistry between him and Lace felt so natural and the conclusion naturally called for me to pick up the story from there. Although reading Girls’ Night is not necessary (even though I had lots of fun writing it and I selfishly took the liberty to write that before continuing with next prompt), I would highly recommend to read at least the second part, just to get the vibe of these two (you can find it here, btw.).

While Girls’ Night was written with the girls as OCs, in this case we have a classic readerxTaehyung fic.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: this is not explicitly smutty, though there are a few steamy passages (making out, teasing) and heavy flirting (mentions of masturbation). Also, Lace is a domme, as said in Girls’ Night, and the topic is discussed in this drabble too. Reader has pretty much a lot of experience in BDSM (mentions of lessons and club), and has had only one relationship, with a girl. Sexual orientation is discussed. Also, Taehyung shifts from cool kid to cute kid a lot. There’s a sprinkle of sexy driver Taehyung but also soft cuddlebug fluffy Taehyung. You can’t have one without the other, yk.

Wordcount is around 4,7k (I know, a bit long for a drabble BUT I GOT CARRIED AWAY).

Also, here is my masterlist

Enjoy!!!✨

——————————————————

Watching Taehyung drive was something incredible. He looked like a demigod from Hollywood movies from the Sixties. He was so careless, so undoubtedly timeless, so iconic and unbothered. You wanted a picture.

And his driving was excellent. He was attentive, with a soft driving style, cruising down the half empty streets like a ghost, floating, decelerating with care before coming to a stop. He seemed to stop at yellow traffic lights a lot. He took the pauses to observe you, the way light seemed to shimmer on the silver details of your leather jacket. Rummaging in your handbag, you found your lipstick and mirror, deciding to reapply the cherry tint just because you could.

He stared, mesmerised.

You were so charming.

A diva.

A muse.

He was surprised at how such a small gesture unsettled him so much, making his insides flutter with nerves and arousal. He wondered how many of your ordinary actions could turn him on. He was eager to find out. Write a list. Submit it to your scrutiny. Show you how incredibly sexy you were in his eyes even when simply checking your nails or furrowing your brow in disapproval.

“Do you wanna stay in the car or do you want to take a walk?” He asked as he took a turn.

“Oh, I don’t mind. Your choice.” You said tentatively.

“I think it would sound extremely bad if I told you I know a spot.” He chuckled and you followed.

Looking down, you bit your lip. “I think it would sound extremely bad if I told you I’d like to see your spot.” You looked at him as both your faces tinged with a shy blush and two matching mischievous grins.

“Then we’re heading out, darling.” He said, focusing again on the road.

Apparently his spot was somewhere a bit out of the city, a ten minutes drive away. The winding street led you to a small clearing with a parking lot. You had never visited there, but you noticed an octagonal pavilion. Bukak Skyway, a sign read.

“The sky is a bit clearer here,” He said. “I swear I’m not going to kill you.” He laughed. “Namjoon likes to bike all the way here. It’s a famous spot among cyclists. I have a throw in the backseat. Do you wanna go out, sit on the bonnet?” He asked, trying to break the tension.

You thought about it. Staying in the car meant less chances of being seen. And staying warm. But going out meant Taehyung being way less dangerous; the public situation keeping both of you from doing potentially inappropriate things. “Will people see?”

“Does it bother you, being seen with me?” He asked, frowning, his expression dead serious.

“I don’t want you to get in trouble or people seeing you with a girl, starting rumors.” You shrugged and furrowed your brow.

“There’s maybe six or seven people. It’s dark. I’ll be covered. No one will see, sweetie.” Taehyung reassured you. “But we can stay in the car, if you prefer.”

“Let’s go out.” You said, smiling.

“Great choice.” He pulled out his phone and exited the car, grabbing the blanket he kept in the backseat.

You also exited the car, shivering and hugging yourself at the cold bite of the night air. “Wait.” He called, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders. “We can stay in the car if you prefer.”

“Let’s watch the city lights.” You replied, a bit uncomfortable since you felt your hands reaching out for him, but changing your mind at the last minute.

“Let’s do that.” He walked to the front of his car, propping his hip against the hood. As you walked closer, he held out his hands. “May I help you?” He asked, gesturing at your waist.

You blushed and nodded. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit heavy.”

Still he placed his hands on your waist, over the blanket. “Irrelevant. You’re a lady. Let me treat you like one.” He replied, unfazed before helping you jump and sit on his car. It was low enough that a small jump was all you needed. You fixed the blanket around you before he pushed himself up and sat beside you. The front of the car was right before a short wall, delimiting the parking lot from the street winding a few metres down. The quite steep hill allowed a clear view of the skyline, stretching out in front of you without any obstacle to your sight, Seoul and its towers glimmering in a humanly mirror of the night sky above. “How has it been?” He asked.

“Good. I’ve received a commission for a wedding so I’ve been busy.” You explained. “Plus spring-summer collection has arrived at the store. We’re studying arrangements.”

“Great.” He replied. “I’ve been working a lot too.”

“The girls mentioned your schedules.” You threw in.

“Yes.” He said simply, scrolling on his phone until a soft acoustic song came on. He placed his phone down. He had a playlist for moments like this. He didn���t have one for moments like this with you, but he aspired to build one together. He simply let his favourites play.

“You’ll be leaving for Japan tomorrow.” You said, half a question.

“Yes.” He replied again, looking at the lights of the city below. “The flight is at ten am. We’re leaving the city at eight.”

“And then the tour.” You commented.

He half saw it coming. “Yes.”

You looked at the sky. It felt like an old blanket thrown over your head, so old that bugs had eaten small holes through which light came in. It felt cosy. Domestic. Confidential.

“Is that why you have been running from me?” He asked, raising an eyebrow, placing his palms together and shoving them between his knees to warm his hands.

The blanket was big enough. You scooted closer to him and tucked him in too.

He looked at you, at your small gesture of affection, your eyes meeting. You simply smiled as your arm pressed against his, shoulder to elbow. “I’ll be very honest, Taehyung.”

One more thing about you that turned him on: the way your lips curled around the second syllable of his name.

“I like you.” He said, direct and shameless, spelling the words with such certainty and determination that your heart lost a beat. Seeing it written on screen was nothing similar to hearing him actually say it.

“I like you too.” You replied.

He smiled and looked down, acting like a coy schoolboy. 

“However, I think there is stuff you need to know.” You took a small pause to gather and organise your thoughts. “This tour thing scares me. I want to build something strong, something long term. I can’t do flings, Taehyung.”

“It’s okay. We can get to know each other and see if it works.” He replied, already trying to convince you to give him just one chance.

“We don’t have the luxury of time, though. You’ll be gone for how long? Two months?”

“Seven weeks.” He replied composedly and efficiently.

“And we have what? Four weeks between Japan and the Asian tour?”

“I’ll be in Korea until mid-May, then we actually start travelling.” He said, like a scolded puppy.

“That’s five weeks. And I doubt you’ll have time when you’re working for the concerts.” You objected. “You see how awful the timing is?”

“We can take it slow, see each other and hang out. No need for fancy, big things. We can do this.” He said, gesturing at your current location and activity. “No dating, no stuff. Simply getting to know each other.”

You bit your lip, frowning. “I’ll grow fond of you.” You said.

“Isn’t that the final goal?” He asked cheekily.

Your voice shook a little. “I don’t want to get used to you and see you leave.”

His eyes were wide and sweet when he met your gaze. “Well, I can promise you I’ll text, and call, and I know it’s not like being there, but we can use the distance to see how we handle stuff when we’re apart.”

“Isn’t it too early to be apart, a few weeks into a… an acquaintance?” You said, searching for the word.

“We’ll see if we miss each other like friends or more.” He said, trying to make everything sound sane and reasonable.

You looked at the city. How many people were out there, alone? How many girls were dreaming of being right here, right now, with him? “You’re dangerous for me, Taehyung.” You said, already feeling how easily he could manipulate you. “I would let you do wrong things to me. Because I like you that much.” You murmured.

“I promise I would never do anything to hurt you.” He said, turning to fully look at you. “I’ll make sure we don’t cross the line.” He said, and in that moment all the passion and the excitement and the arousal suffocated, tamed in his chest and stomach. It felt like turning an inferno into a candlelight. He would keep hormones at bay to grant himself a chance. He knew how fast the tour could go by. “We’ll go out. On walks. We could do this again, or we could go out early, watch the sunrise from Bukhansan. Whatever. I just wanna spend time with you. Give you a chance to know me.” He nuzzled into the blanket, but he was secretly looking for your perfume, trying to take in all the small details that made you you.

You let the conversation slip before trying to direct it on the topic that was worrying you the most. Gathering your courage, you spoke. “You aren’t curious about my bag, in the apartment?” You asked.

“If you were comfortable with it, you would tell. No need to ask you about it.” He shrugged. “I have nothing against it. I think everyone has their reasons. And there’s nothing strange or shameful about it. You like it? Good for you.” He smiled, not a pinch of malice in his voice or expression.

“I took lessons of several techniques of domming in a BDSM club here in Seoul.”

“So you’re a dominatrix?” Taehyung asked, his expression warm, as if he were asking about your hobby or the weather.

“Yes, but I’m not active anymore. If I wanted, I could be one.” You tried to explain yourself,

“What do you mean?”

“It means I have the technical and practical preparation but I haven’t participated in a scene in a while.”

“How long.” He asked, still chatting about it neutrally. 

“About… four months.” You counted them. “Yeah.”

“How did you decide to take lessons?”

You laughed at the memory. “A woman recommended I tried after my yoga classes were disappointing. I started learning and I found out I liked that. Back then I was in a very vulnerable moment. I wanted to enter university and study business, so that I could build a firm out of the atelier, you know. Unfortunately, I didn’t pass. I grew desperate, started eating a lot out of stress and gained a lot of weight. Not only I felt like I was losing my dream but also my reality. I was literally one of those skeletrical models before, and then with all the weight I gained…” You gestured at your body.

“But it helped you, the course I mean.” Taehyung ignored your reference to your body.

“Yes. After a year I was even more confident than when I was skinny and full of dreams. I got healthy again. And with the confidence boost and the new attitude I managed to enter an online university, which was more suitable since I was already working both at the shop and at the club.” You smiled. “Plus I liked the sense of control and peace you need when you’re involved in a scene.”

He nodded. “I’m happy it all worked out.” He nodded some more before his mind produced one more question. “Is domination a non-negotiable aspect of your relationships?” He asked.

“No, I think. My first partner was a girl I had met at the club, but after that I didn’t ever mix the two.”

He didn’t even react to the fact, he simply took it in. He would never judge and he himself was not the type to consider gender a determining factor in terms of sexual attraction. Although he was a bit worried you were attracted to women exclusively. What if you would never like him like that?

You continued. “I had a few dates, never anything serious. And of course, I taught and I took part in scenes at the club, but it never led to sex.” You explained. “Sexual attraction is a tricky concept to me, I think.”

“So you’ve had just one relationship?” He asked, his expression neutral, however his slightly raised eyebrows gave away a bit of surprise.

“Yes.” You replied.

“With a girl?” He asked again.

“Yup.” You confirmed, nodding.

“But you’ve slept with men too, right?” He said.

You grinned. “Are you trying to make sure you’re the first?” You teased.

“I’m just asking. I don’t want to—” He shook his head. “I just need to know that you like me. Sexually speaking.”

You shook your head in disbelief. Little do you know. “I do. I think gender has little to do with actual attraction. I don’t think labels are important.”

“I agree on that.” He said, nodding, biting his lip.

“And I’m really attracted to you.” You took a big breath. “I might say something inappropriate, but—” You laughed embarrassedly. “I don’t mind domming. I like it. I’ve been doing it for a while, I’m familiar and it feels comfortable, but I’ve never felt the kind of attraction that makes me want to bend over backward for someone.” You paused. Took a deep breath. Continued. “Having this thing, with you… It’s something I’m not comfortable with. Because I feel you’re so much stronger than me that I don’t even want to put up a fight.”

He looked at the city. 

He looked at you. You were rubbing your hands together out of embarrassment and the night chill. You placed one around the base of your neck, rubbing your wrist with the other in an attempt to warm yourself. You were so unbelievably beautiful. 

He tsked and smiled. “Stop beating around the bush, sweetheart. It doesn’t suit you. What do you really want to say?”

You frowned. “I’m not comfortable saying it.” You murmured.

A chill piano piece started playing from his phone, a warm, tender voice of a woman mixing up with it.

“Okay. I can’t make you do it.” He pouted and nodded, looking away in the distance. “You know I’ve liked you since I first saw you. And there’s little you can say or do to push me away.”

You exhaled and tried to explain yourself. This was exactly the reason why Taehyung was dangerous. He asked, you delivered. “I have rarely felt attraction for someone because I’ve rarely found someone stronger, bolder, smarter than me. But then I started talking to you.” You shook your head in disbelief at your own confession. “You make me want to do things I’ve never craved before. And you being more powerful than me makes me want to let you take control.” You took a pause. “It makes me want to submit to you.”

He turned. “Is that why you need time? You want to get used to this?”

He is so smart. So attuned to people’s feelings and thoughts. He might as well be a mentalist.

“Yes.” You confirmed.

“And you want to get to know me to see if you can trust me?” He asked.

“Yes.” You confirmed again.

“I get it.” He nodded. “It must be something new, to see things from a new perspective. You said you feel uncomfortable. Does it make you feel bad, this thing with me?” He asked gently.

“I’m afraid of people finding out of the club, bringing it up, using it against you.” You admitted.

He shook his head. “What are the chances?”

“I used a nickname, and we have strict non-disclosure agreements. The place is often dark and sometimes we use masks, but I couldn’t use those when teaching. Anyway, there are pretty famous and powerful people in the club. I think it’s in everyone’s interest to keep mouths shut. Still.” You shrugged. “I want to protect you, Tae.”

His eyes turned into sweet, dark pools. “I don’t care.” He stated. “For now it’s not an issue. I’ll talk to our lawyer, see if there are any potential troubles with this. We both have the duty to protect each other.” He stated with certainty. “And once we’re sure and if this becomes more, then we’ll find a way.”

You felt warm in your chest. It felt good to be protected. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for opening up, darling.” He caressed your cheek tenderly, smiling at you.

You smiled back and looked down, away from his intense gaze.

He moved his hand away. “So you want to sleep with me?”

You laughed. “Sleeping is not the word I would use, no.”

“Which one?” He said.

“Which one would I use?” You asked, trying to clear up his request. Sometimes he spoke so cryptically.

He hummed in confirmation.

“I would say…” You thought about it. “I would say ‘spend the night’.”

“We could spend the night here. Talking until we have no secrets left to say. The night is amazing for secrets.” He mused.

“What about your flight tomorrow?” You asked, suddenly serious.

“Let’s go back to secrets and spending the night.” He said, trying to make his incumbent dark thoughts evaporate.

“What about them?” You were both staring at the city lights. Seoul felt so far away. Like a hologram. Or maybe like for a moment you had been subtracted from that world. Like you were stuck into a mirror, where nothing really, truly happens. Where people could see possibilities and daydreams, an alternative reality in which everyone could have a fragment of fictitious life. You felt like a mirage, ready to turn into dust, sand and smoke, a bizarre refraction of light.

Taehyung turned and stared at you. “I’m dreaming you won’t disappear, once morning comes. That this won’t be just a fantasy.”

It all turned even less real when his phone started playing a ballad about lights and stars.

“I won’t disappear.” You whispered back.

He looked at the city. “I need to tell you a secret.”

You turned with an arched eyebrow and an upturned pout.

Adorable, he thought. He leaned in towards your ear. “I’ve been asking myself if you had a fling with Namjoon and Vixen for the whole night. It feels good to hear that you like me.”

You were so close. Apparently being out in the open air, in a very public space had done little to keep things appropriate.

“I have a secret too.” You whispered, so close to his face. To his lips. You leaned in closer to his ear. “I have no fling with them. I’ve had no one for months. Years, if you exclude the scenes at the club — and I never had sex during those — and I’ve never had a man. I can’t wait to feel ready to give in to you. I promise I just need some time. Be patient and I’ll make it worthy. I swear.” You confessed, so raw with emotion.

He looked at you, inscrutable at first; then his face melted with wonder and joy. “All the time you need, darling.”

You smiled.

You both turned to look at the city. And then you turned to look at him. He was so beautiful. Glowing. Happy. Meditative and cool, like an indifferent god. Like Seoul could suddenly switch off with a general black out, and he wouldn’t even notice. He would just smile and cheer for the stars glowing brighter.

“I have another secret, Taehyung.” You murmured. He simply brought his ear to his lips, his gaze still focused away. You licked your lip and whispered, “I feel like if you kissed me now, I would literally glow in happiness.”

He turned to look at you. “Isn’t it going too fast?” He asked before shaking his head. “I mean, I don’t want you to regret this.”

“I’m sure.”

He looked in the distance again. You frowned and took it as a ‘no’.

And then he turned, cupping your cheek, rubbing his thumb against your cheekbone. His hand could cover half of your face. It was enormous. You didn’t let your brain go that way. “I’m going to be sweet. Stop me whenever.” He murmured, before pecking your lips with his.

It was so short and light you almost didn’t feel it. Still, the tingling on your lips was a living trace of it, like stardust had inadvertently brushed over your skin. His body turned into a furnace beside you, or maybe you had suddenly warmed up when he pressed his lips to yours more insistently. “I’m gonna go harder at this.” He spoke on your lips.

Fuck, it was so sweet of him to tell you. He felt so gentle. Even when he started nibbling on your lower lip, encasing it between his lips, sucking it gently before pecking your mouth with his. The moment you held his upper lip between yours, tugging at it gently with your teeth, he lost control and moaned, letting your tongue tease the tip of his. His hand disappeared into your hair, pulling you close. His mouth forced yours to open as your lips crushed together, your tongues intertwining in a sensual and suasive dance made of twirls and small licks. Your hand flew to his hair, caressing his nape, the other one meeting his waist, turning him towards you.

Your whole body was on fire. The night felt so alight, so filled with possibilities now that even this was happening, too. It felt like the most appropriate time to begin something in the quiet and secrecy that the loving, protecting darkness allowed you.

His right hand appeared on your thigh, placed there gently, not gripping, not exploring. Simply staying, existing in that strange, assertive way Taehyung exists, like he is a totem standing in the middle of time and space, piercing them together, one to the other.

Your breath was laboured once you parted. His hand moved up, to your waist. He couldn’t resist from feeling the fleshy, material reality of this late night daydream, its real consistency. He let you breathe, nudging his lips against yours. “Another.” He whispered, diving in again.

And you let him. If this was the way he intended to do things with you, hell yes, you would let him.

His lips were soft, wet and warm, perfect around yours. He started alternating between your lower and upper lip, his hand finally grabbing the flesh of your waist, tugging you into him.

You pulled at the hair on his nape delicately, trying to part from him. It felt atrocious but it was necessary. Your judgement was beginning to get clouded. You should stop. “Tae, baby. Let’s take a moment.”

He nodded, pressing his forehead to yours and parting from you with a small peck on the corner of your mouth. “Sorry.” He murmured.

“Nothing to be sorry about. It feels amazing.” You smiled, caressing him on his neck. “I’m just cold. And I think it’s better if I head home before I do stuff I could regret.”

He looked a bit lost. “Would you regret getting carried away with me?” He asked, worried.

“No.” You replied without hesitation. “And that’s the problem.” You kissed his lips chastely. “But getting carried away is different from trusting you and willingly, consciously giving you everything I have.” You kissed him again, caressing his hair off his forehead, fixing his beanie. “And that’s the way I want it with you.” You bent to his ear. “I want to say ‘yes, sir’ to your every request. I want you to do to me everything you want. I want you to own me so fully that I’ll beg you to use me for your pleasure.” You whispered in his ear, slowly, the words getting tangled up in a net that you hoped would capture him and convince him.

His deep moan made you chuckle lightly, brushing your mouth against his. At this, his tongue lashed out, the tip curling around your lower lip. “I’m so drunk on you.” He growled. “I want you so much.”

You shook your head faintly, touching his face, the light stubble giving you the strange certainty that he was real, there, in front of you. “I know. I promise I’ll repay your patience in kind.” You looked at him intensely, trying to show him just how much you wanted him too. “I’ll repay generously, too.”

His eyes closed, his face nuzzling into your neck. “I don’t want to let you go just yet. I’m afraid this will turn out to be a one time thing.”

As your earring got caught in his beanie, you had a sudden eureka. “Sit up, Tae.” You said gently.

He got wide eyed and pouty for a second before wearing his poker face and obeying your command. Cupping his face, you smiled at him. “Let me.” You caressed his cheeks as you moved your hands away, bringing them to your earlobe and unlatching one of your earrings. It was a simple pearl surrounded by small rhinestones. Carefully you moved it to his naked ear, delicately pushing the needle through the tiny hole, securing it in the back with the clasp.

Looking at him, you smiled, biting your lip. “You’ll give it back on our next date.” You said, blushing softly, looking at him through your lashes.

Slowly his lips curled up, forming the cutest shy smile you had ever seen.

“My pretty boy.” You said, fixing the small lock of hair coming out of his beanie and framing his face. He wrapped his arms around your middle and hid his face in your neck.

“Thank you.” He said, simply.

“It’s okay, tiger cub.” You quipped back playfully.

Still blushing, he parted from you. “We should go, you’re shivering.” He said, jumping off the bonnet. “Come on.” He grinned at you.

God, you had a crush.

You followed him, still wrapped in his blanket, quickly opening the car and sitting, rubbing your hands together to muster some warmth to them.

He entered next to you and started the car, turning the AC on. He reached across the seats, grabbing your hands and rubbing them in his. “We should have stayed in.” He whispered.

“But the view...” You objected.

He smiled, bringing your joined hands to his lips, placing small kisses all over them. His lips were so hot.

“You’re right.” He smiled, placing your hands on his knee as he looked around, backing the car out of the parking lot and starting your drive back home. “You should insert your address on the GPS.” He murmured, his eyes glued on the road ahead.

“You sure? I can take pub—”

“Don’t you even dare. I’ll be sleeping on the plane. I can drive you.” He rumbled.

You raised your eyebrows and did as he told you.

“It’s just ten minutes from the dorms. Fifteen from my apartment.” He commented, noticing your address.

You shrugged and hid into your shoulders. “Thank you for driving me.”

“I’m being selfish.” He grinned, his eyes still on the road. “This way I’ll have you close for longer.”

Grinning, your sank into the seat. The drive was uneventful. Your left hand moved back onto his knee, his hand joining yours every now and then. 

Seeing your building appear brought a bit of disappointment. You had grown used to the warmth of the car, the low background music, the comfort of the fabric of his jeans under your palm.

“This is yours?” He asked, looking at the small five-floor building with a restaurant down below.

You hummed in approval.

“Any parking spot close?” He asked. “I only want to accompany you to your door. No fancy business.” He promised.

“There’s the alley — wait left now!” You announced hurriedly.

He did so quickly. The neighbourhood was quiet and thankfully the sudden turn didn’t cause any inconvenience.

Still, he managed to drive smoothly, finding a row of parked cars and following the order. “Here we go.”

You grabbed your bag and moved the blanket on the seat as you exited the car.

He quickly moved around the car, grabbing your hand. “I don’t think anyone will see us. Or recognise me.” He said, following your lead.

“Here we are.” You said, awkwardly standing in front of the entrance to your building in a slight penumbra which eased your nerves a little.

“When will I see you again?” He asked eagerly.

“After Japan.” You said, smiling.

“We’ll be back Thursday next week, around midday.” He said. “Would you be free in the afternoon? I have a friend in a gallery who could book us a late private tour.” He explained.

You laughed and tried to recall your shift. You could find an agreement with your colleagues anyway. “Then I’ll see you on Thursday.”

“Good.” He said, with his signature serious look.

Just to give him a sweet goodbye, you leaned forward, pressing your lips to his, without allowing him to deepen the kiss.

“Oh, come on.” He whispered, chasing your mouth with his, eyes closed. “More.” He whined.

You let him. His mouth met yours again, both his and your lips immediately parting to melt in that same scorching desire. Your arms were already wrapping around his frame.

“Let me go.” You murmured.

“You let me go, miss octopus.” He teased. You stayed in each others arms for a few seconds, your bag abandoned at your feet. You stared in silence before he spoke. “I’ll be thinking about this all night.” He said, cupping your nape and pressing a bunch of small kisses on your mouth.

“Me too.” You moved your lips closer to his ear. “My hands will probably be between my legs while I do so.”

He snarled and groaned against your ear. “You’re a tease.” His hand palmed your hip heavily. His voice was husky when he spoke again. “Am I allowed to think of you when I touch myself?” He asked.

You chuckled and exhaled seducingly along the crook of his neck. “As long as you tell me what you were thinking about when you cum.”

He exhaled a breathy laugh. “We’re taking this slow, I see.”

“I can’t go any slower with you.” You looked into his eyes, releasing your arms from around him. “Sweet dreams, tiger.” You said, saluting him and picking up your bag before entering your building.

“Goodnight, nymph.” He replied, shaking his head in disappointment and at the same time smiling at your teasing nature.

You both stayed up all night, thinking about the night you’ll be finally staying up together.

[gukyi]

the courtship chronicles (post-script) | ksj

summary: or, the one where seokjin goes from being your plus-one at a friend’s wedding to the one you’re getting married to at your own. 

{established relationship!au, friends to lovers!au}

pairing: kim seokjin x female reader genre: fluff word count: 2k warnings: alcohol mention (champagne), wedding nerves! a/n: again, major shoutout to @aurawatercolor​ for sticking with me even though it’s taken me months to write this drabble that i promised them. i hope it’s everything you dreamed of!

The plus side of being the person getting married at a wedding, as opposed to being the person who’s going to watch, is that you don’t need to worry about bringing a plus-one. 

Granted, you have not seen Seokjin all day, too busy sitting in your budget bridal suite hotel room getting your hair and makeup done while all of your bridesmaids drink champagne and celebrate, so maybe you should be worrying about him. This wedding couldn’t have been pulled off so smoothly if it weren’t for his uncanny ability to make everything he touches absolutely perfect, and without him, you feel like a fish out of water. 

He’s texting you constantly, if that’s any consolation. Keeping you updated on all of the mishaps happening over in his hotel room. One of his groomsmen does not have any shoes. At all. 

In hindsight, you’re not sure if knowing Seokjin’s whereabouts will make you more or less stressed. 

The fact of the matter is that, like most things in your life, you’re absolutely terrible at planning major events like weddings. House parties you host usually end up with someone pulling out the fire extinguisher and the food going cold, so to place something as paramount to the rest of a couple’s livelihoods as a wedding in your hands would be a trainwreck. The upside is that weddings, unlike house parties, are usually planned by multiple people months in advance. Though you wouldn’t doubt something going horribly wrong today. 

Not getting to see Seokjin is the most ridiculous part of the whole day anyway, because he’s your fiance, and the love of your life, and the only one who can keep both of your heads screwed on straight. This wedding wouldn’t be nearly as good if it weren’t for him. He handled everything from the venue to the photographer to the invitations. You just joined him for the cake tasting. 

“Is it normal to feel sort of weird about this whole thing?” You ask as the makeup artist applies powder onto your face, baking you like the wedding cake sitting at your wedding venue. 

“Weird how?” Cynthia asks from where she’s seated on the bed, fixing the clips in her hair. “Like, an uneasy kind of weird feeling? Or a jittery kind?”

“Like, Seokjin and I have been best friends for years. I don’t know, I feel like us dating was basically us being friends but with kissing,” you say with a shrug. The idea of marrying your best friend still puts an unidentifiable taste into your mouth. It is by no means unpleasant, but it certainly makes you feel something fierce. 

“That’s kind of what dating is,” Cynthia points out unhelpfully, though you suppose she’s right. 

“Is this how you felt when you got married?” You ask. Cynthia’s wedding seems like eons ago, even if it was only a year and a bit. It only feels so far removed because between her wedding and yours, you fell in love with, began dating, and got engaged to your best friend. Time moves fast. 

“Everyone feels different,” Cynthia tells you. “I felt like I was going to throw up the entire time until I said ‘I do.’ But you and Seokjin have been best friends for what, like eight years? You know everything there is to know about each other. Give yourself some credit, Y/N. The history that the two of you share is ridiculous. It’s not like you’re just marrying some rando off of Hinge.”

“I just… I guess I feel like Seokjin and I have sort of always been married, in a way. And that all of this is just a formality. We’re best friends before anything else. Sometimes, it’s still weird for me to think about the fact that we love each other.”

Cynthia grins fondly. She knows better than anybody, having watched the two of you pine after each other for years. “Then don’t think about it like you’re marrying your best friend, or the person you’ve been dating for the past year. Think about it like you’re marrying Seokjin. It’s just Seokjin. You love him.”

It’s just Seokjin. 

It is. 

It always has been. 

 To spare yourselves the drama of revealing yourselves to each other the moment that the bells start playing and you prance down the aisle, you and Seokjin have decided to do a first look, deciding that if you’re going to cry (and you definitely will), it’s better in private than when all of your friends and family are watching you share the most important moment in life. Seokjin’s been waiting at the venue for the past five minutes already, with you running late, as always, but with every turn the Uber driver takes, you feel the thing that Cynthia was talking about. Feel the nerves rushing through your body, the bile rising in your throat. You’re getting married today. You think you’re about to hurl. 

Eventually, you arrive, hopping out of the Uber driver with your massive wedding dress behind you, train dragging along the pavement as you scurry towards the venue, desperate to see him and praying that the minutes go by slower all at once. You miss him. Is that weird? You see him every day, and in a few hours you’ll be promising the rest of your lives to each other, and you miss him. 

The truth is that you don’t think you’ll ever be able to live without him. Not freshman year of college, not after you graduated, and certainly not now. Not ever. 

Even though it’s private, the few people who accompanied you to the venue still want it to be as dramatic as possible, Cynthia reaching up to cover your eyes with her hands as she leads you inside, the air conditioning sending shivers down your spine as you get out of the early summer humidity. All you can do is feel around, hands in front of you for balance as Cynthia slowly guides you towards who you can only assume is Seokjin, with his eyes covered as well. You can’t wait to see him. You already feel yourself sinking whenever he’s not around. 

“Three, two, one!”

Cynthia pulls her hands away and you nearly break down into tears at the sight of him. 

There he is. Standing there in a crisp black suit, tailored to fit his figure perfectly. There’s a white rose wrapped in the boutonniere pinned to the lapel of his jacket, golden arrows interlocked beneath it. You had no idea what Seokjin had ordered for his suit, but it’s perfect, and so is he. He’s standing there, right in front of you, ready to marry you. Ready to be by your side for the rest of time. 

Seokjin doesn’t seem to be faring much better. He immediately bursts into tears when he sees you, overcome with love, with joy, with admiration, as he sees you in your white dress, with the veil tucked neatly into the top of your head, spreading outwards like angel wings. 

“Oh, wow,” Seokjin says, speechless. 

“Wow yourself,” you tell him back. You’ve seen Seokjin in everything from a chef’s apron to a college hoodie and gym shorts, to a police officer costume, but this blows all of those out of the water. He doesn’t look like your best friend, your college confidant, your fiance. He looks like a celebrity, like he should be in a magazine modeling Rolex watches, like he should be standing on a red carpet as cameras flash and paparazzi shout, desperate for him to look their way. 

 “I—I’m,” Seokjin begins as he opens his arms for you. You gladly accept his invitation, walking towards him as if in a trance, letting him pull you in close, the scent of him filling up your senses. “You’re beautiful, did you know that?”

“You’re beautiful,” you tell him. “I’m so lucky.”

He presses a kiss to your lips and it still feels like the very first one, still makes you feel like you’re enveloped in his warmth, like sparks are flaring through your veins. He still makes you feel the way he has always made you feel: loved. Treasured. Cherished. 

“I can’t believe we’re getting married,” you confess, the words a weight off of your chest. 

“I can’t believe it’s taken so long. I would have married you right out of college if I had known,” Seokjin admits. 

You lean down to kiss him again, a soft, sweet one that lasts no more than a second. How many of those you have shared, you’ve lost count. You hope that, when the world comes to an end, it will be something close to infinity. 

“You don’t have to wait any longer,” you promise. “We’re there.”

 The ceremony goes off without a hitch and with more tears than you are personally willing to admit, leaving only the reception for there to be any opportunity for mishaps and mayhem. Luckily, now that Seokjin’s here, you feel as though your bad luck has vanished, like he is all of the good karma you could ever need. 

Neither you nor Seokjin have ever been particularly good at getting down, as evidenced by any time the two of you are presented with an opportunity to show off your collective four left feet, but the good news is that the waltz is terribly easy to learn. 

“Everyone’s watching us,” you whisper as he dances you around the ballroom. This first dance thing is ridiculous, and it’s making you more nervous than you were when you were about to get married to him. 

“They better be,” Seokjin says. “We practiced in our living room for this.”

“I feel like I’ve stepped onto your feet twice already,” you tell him. 

“Three times, actually.”

“Wait, really? I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Seokjin says with a laugh. “You’re so nervous that it doesn’t feel like anything at all.”

“I’m no good at dancing.”

“You said you were no good at love, either, and look where we are,” Seokjin retorts. 

“That’s different, I had help with that,” you defend yourself. Is Seokjin really comparing the weeks-long journey it took you to realize you were in love with your best friend to the fact that you haven’t mastered a stupid ballroom dance?

“And? Who says you can’t have help with this?”

With a flourish, Seokjin spins you around the room, making you gasp as all of the guests cheer at your apparent display of waltz mastery, before pulling you back into him. You don’t have time to chide him before he twirls you once more, then dips you low as the song comes to an end.

“What was that for?” You ask, giving him a lighthearted shove. 

“I was helping you,” Seokjin explains. “Because loving someone is like dancing. You follow each other’s leads, and you trust each other. You just need someone to show you how.”

“You’re an idiot,” you tell him, even if you don’t feel like fighting the smile that’s growing on your face. 

“An idiot who loves you,” Seokjin says, commemorating the end of your first dance as a married couple with a kiss. 

Loving someone is like dancing. You put full faith in each other and tune the rest of the world out. Let the music play in your hearts and guide you along, down a path decorated with flowers and smelling sweetly of your future. You may not know where next to place your feet, or what notes will be played, but you need not worry. So long as you have each other, to have and to hold, so long as you both shall live. 

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget i’m still taking commissions!

[virlath]

The demon underneath Minrathous

After all the theory crafting drabble I wrote yesterday on Minrathous/Arlathan, I realised I forgot to mention a few more things ...😆

In The Streets of Minrathous, eight clay seals were used to bind a demon underneath the city. These seals feature an image of a four-winged dragon:

The clay seal fit in the palm of my hand and was seated in a polished black shell attached to a gold chain. A long, thin dragon with four wings was etched on the front, rising from a dark sea. I’d run into the Venatori before, but never seen anything like this.

The demon is described as a ‘formless’ shadow, possibly hinting at it being the last Forbidden one. We’ve already encountered a forbidden one in each dragon age game so it makes sense that we’ll see the formless one in DA4. 

Below the obelisk, a shadow moved at odds with the lights that cast it. Looking at it caused the buzz in my head to grow louder. Whatever I was looking at, it was the edge of something deeper. If this was a demon at all, it was older and larger and more nameless than any demon I’d ever heard of and so much worse besides. If that thing rose, there wouldn’t be a Minrathous left.

If it is a forbidden one, it certainly seems like it’s way more powerful than the other three forbidden ones we’ve encountered.

“Minrathous has defeated demons before,” I said.

“Not like this,” Flavian said. “I’m not even sure demon’s the right word. It’s something only a god could summon.”

According to Dalish legend, Solas was supposedly allies with both the forgotten ones and the creators. Curiously, Solas doesn’t mention the forgotten ones at all but groups all the elven leaders under the term evanuris. Sooo...what happened to the forgotten ones?

Based on various codex entries and the entire forbidden oasis area, I have a feeling the forbidden ones and forgotten ones can be collectively grouped together. 

If that is the case and the formless one is a four winged dragon... what if Solas actually wants the demon to be freed, to further aid his plans? 

Because honestly, I am already quite suspicious of the fact the Venatori and Solas’ plans have aligned so closely so far. It does make me think their end-goals are similar, which is why Solas gave his orb to the Venatori in the first place.

The other thing that makes me suspicious is that Felassan, Solas’ agent, allowed Imshael to go free so the eluvian network could be activated in the Masked Empire. It makes me wonder, does Solas want the demon under Minrathous free so it can unlock a way into the Black City?

The Venatori seek to restore the Imperium of old and reconquer what was lost. It turned out the Venatori were trying to summon the demon under Minrathous based on Corypheus’ original plans. I have to wonder if Corypheus’ knowledge and plans for ‘restoration’ were originally obtained from Solas’ orb. We already know from DAI that Corypheus was acting on knowledge from it based on Samson’s notes:

Corypheus says the elves call themselves "Sentinels." We were going over the plan for the final assault on their temple, and he told me the elves we're fighting are the last "true" priests of their Old Gods. Before I could stop myself, I asked how he knew. I felt like a damn fool the moment the words left my mouth, but the Master just looked at me, then opened his hand. A second later, that magic orb was floating over it.

The other interesting thing about the demon is that it emits a buzzing sound, thick with a feeling I couldn’t understand and an expansive need for emptiness. This totally reminds me of the void which has been described as a place of nothing, and makes me wonder if these demons are powerful because of void magic.

Interestingly the seal also depicts the four winged dragon rising from a dark sea.

The sea theme seems to be a pretty big part of DA4- we already have the executors, Ghilan’nain, Mythal, and Andraste associated to the sea, the blight, and briney, emerald waters.

I think there is definitely a lot to explore when it comes to the “sea”, something I may go over in a separate post. 

“Minrathous has forgotten its way,” Aelia said. “It falls to us to put it right. To make it rise.”

[5-falsehoods-phonated]

March Ado About Nothing

Series Summary - A series of one-shots and  drabbles written based off of prompts posted in the TSS Fanworks Collective server. The goal is to take traditional whump prompts and fill them in the least-angsty way possible every day through March.

A note that though some of these fills are written bait and switch style (written in a way you think is going in one direction but reveals it to be the opposite towards the end) they are all written in a fluffy or silly style with very little, if any at all, actual angst.

Day 14: Keep Them Safe

Summary: Virgil has three amazing kids he swears to keep safe. Remus often tests his limits.

Prompts: "Pick Who DIes”, *Manhandled*, Defiance

Ships: Familial Dad Virgil with kids Patton, Roman and Remus

Warnings: brief panic, food mention. Let me know if there are more!

General taglist (ask to be added or removed): @janus-is-an-adorable-snek-boi  @im-an-anxious-wreck  @logans-library (If you have asked to be tagged, please reblog)

WC: 1197

As a parent, Virgil had sworn to never let any harm come to any child that may come into his care. He figured having anxiety would help with this since it usually kept him almost annoyingly vigilant towards any threat, potential or not, that may be in the surrounding area at any given time. He considered himself to be rather good at it, especially after raising Patton for a number of years and having nothing traumatic or even bad happen to him at that time. He still had all his limbs, no scarring- mental or physical- and he was generally just a happy go lucky kid as it was and Virgil found he barely had to raise him at, mostly just be there for support and thank whatever gods were around every day that the kid never did anything punishment worthy because Virgil honestly doubted he’d ever have the strength to so much as put him in the corner.

The most Patton had ever done, as far as Virgil was aware and he was inclined to believe, was to steal a second cookie after dinner. The most he had gotten was Virgil asking him if he knew he could just ask and there would be no judgement cast for waiting extra of anything; that the only time he would be denied is if the request for food or otherwise was truly unreasonable or it would be dinner soon and he’d be given a light healthy option instead to tide him over. Since then the ritual had been two cookies after dinner if that was what desert was and honestly they were both very happy with the new development. By any parental standards, Patton was a good child- kind and sweet and Virgil was proud of him for how hard he studied even if he did have to pry him away sometimes to get him to take a break.

But Virgil had three sons, and he loved the other two with all his heart and was just as proud of them as he was of Patton. That being said- they were not as easy to raise as him.

Roman and Remus were twins and that was exactly where their similarities stopped. Roman was a reasonably quiet child, content with creating his own worlds and being immersed with them until he wanted attention- and you always knew when he wanted attention. He liked dressing up and singing in the halls and decorating cookies with him and Patton. He got along well with the older sibling and played nice even if he didn’t always understand all of Patton’s quirks and hang ups. He was decently behaved and Virgil loved him very much. He loved him as much as he loved Patton and as much as he loved Remus. What he didn’t always love was how scrappy Remus could be.

Well behaved in his own right Remus just did things- oddly. Normal everyday tasks were done but just slightly to the left. Who was Virgil to complain if he still got dishes done but stacked them in increasingly creative ways that would make his heart take a rain check if all their dishware wasn’t plastic? And as long as he hosed off before stepping in the house why would he deny him the joy of burying himself in mud like sand at the beach? And why on earth would Virgil ever yell at him for making a Rube Goldberg machine to feed the fish even if it did make fart noises every time the ball fell to set off another reaction? He was loud and eccentric and springy in the way he did things, but none of that was punishable. He sometimes made Patton nervous with the ideas he spewed thoughtlessly from his mouth with nary a filter to be had but after Virgil talked to him about it he took to coming to him instead and that was just fine.

Virgil considered himself to be a decent parent overall, with wonderful kids that he kept as safe and happy as he could. He had sworn no harm would come to any child to ever find themselves in his care- which was why, as he came out of his reminiscing and chanced a look up at the jungle gym where he knew they liked to play, he very nearly passed out from the adrenaline rush that shoved him off the bench and towards the mess of bars so quickly he would swear he teleported.

“Remus Antony Adrews get your feet on the ground right now!”

Remus for his part, had the presence of mind to look at least a little bit sheepish, balanced only on the balls of his feet while crouched on the highest section of the jungle gym with his hands dangling in front of him. Grinning he waved and shifted just a bit, making Virgil’s poor chest constrict with fright. “I’m fine Dad! Look!”

And then he stood up.

Now, Virgil was no child, at six foot two his head was level with the third quarter of the playset. So it was nothing for him to step up two feet with the bottom rung, catch Remus’ waist with one arm and swing him around to land solidly on his shoulder and step down to safety in one fluid motion. The eight year old’s protests were ignored as he was manhandled to his good shoulder, carrying him all the way over to the bench where he was promptly sat on his lap and secured in his arms. 

“Daaa-aaad!”

“Absolutely not. You are a wild child that must be contained and I will keep you here in a hug where I know you aren’t on the ground with your head cracked open until I stop panicking.”

Remus was silent for a minute, watching Patton and Roman climb around oblivious to what had just happened, too caught up in whatever game they were playing to notice Remus kicking his feet in irritation a few feet away.

“Like an egg?”

“What?”

“Cracked open just like an egg?” Remus clarified.

Scrunching his face at the image provided Virgil only hugged him tighter before sighing into his curly hair. “Yes, Remus. Like an egg. So please don’t do that again okay?”

Remus nodded sagely. “I’ll bury myself in the chips next  time.”

“What no, why would you bury yourself in the chips?”

“I was gonna leap down on them from on top but I’ll just trap their legs!” Carefully smoothing his horrified expression Virgil set his son down in front of him.

“No heights and no chips. How bout you hide behind the turtle instead?” Virgil pointed to the giant plastic turtle tunnel a little ways away from them. “They might expect you to be underneath them because that’s what you did last week- and don’t use that as an excuse to get up high. Running from somewhere not very hidden will throw them off since they expect you to hide well.”

“Oh! Okay!” And with that he was off, leaving Virgil exhausted and wary. He would always swear to keep his kids safe, but Remus could really test the limits of parental instincts.

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[ill-skillsgard]

Ugh this Mickey sex worker drabble is sooo good. You can't leave us like this 💦💦

Previous imagines here - [x]

Warning: 18+ BDSM themes, mentions of sex work, bondage, toy-play, teasing and overall mature themes. 

Blindfolded, Mickey counted twenty steps until the balmy night air cooled at his back. The soles of his worn ankle boots crunched gravel, then mounted stone steps, crossed pavement, stepped over a threshold of unknown size, and stopped on a plush runner. The new atmosphere keened with scents of teak and sweet pea, dividing the outside — with all its cricket choruses and damp breezes sighing for the coming heat-storm — from the inside of her home. He knew the area of town but hadn’t wasted a venture through the streets in years. These places were littered with miraculously large homes—the likes of which Mickey never dreamed of visiting. Nothing about this end of town was for him or his kind.

He cycled through her rules in his head as she led him by the elbow down a wide corridor. The clicking of her high heels threw off the walls, and for a moment, sounded as though half a dozen well-dressed women marched alongside him through a tunnel. They turned right, and she cautioned him up the stairs—fourteen steps, a landing, another right turn, then six more to the second floor.

The thought occurred to him several times that she very well could lead him to a violent death, and the wealthy end of town would be the last place anyone might think to look for his body. You never knew with the rich types. All that money and power had twisted ways of moulding people into elusive beasts; their predatory appetites wet for suffering. For all he knew, he could have been hand-selected as some billionaire’s newest flesh-pinata and was none the wiser.

Mickey cursed himself for watching too many horror movies.

“You remember everything I told you?” Her voice tickled his right ear.

With his vision cut, the din carried dizzying potency. Mickey lost his equilibrium and shot his hand out, nearly keeling over. He snickered at himself. How silly he must look wearing a leather blindfold, tripping on thin air, and having to adhere to his mistress like a toddling child.

“My memory isn’t so good, ma’am. I wouldn’t mind a refresher course, so I can better serve you.”

Sometimes he impressed himself with how quickly he snapped into submission. For such a well-paying gig, he figured she and her husband deserved his unadulterated efforts. It was only an acting job. The aroma of money and the promise of mind-blowing sex sweetened the deal. Mickey had no problem fully committing to pleasure the woman leading him deeper into the house.

“No back-talk. I want you to be the most well-behaved boy anyone could ask. Do not toe the line tonight. I need you obedient, respectful and very enthusiastic. Tonight, I am the ultimate authority.”

“Yes, my goddess.”

She smiled. At first, she had been unsure of Mickey’s candidacy, but the farther she led him, the more his attitude subdued. She expected smart comments, platitudes and that downtown grit to make her regret her choice, but Mickey had buttoned his mouth, save for answering her questions, and was off to a good start. Mickey’s engagement pleased her, as she had fantasized of this moment for many nights, and he played his part well.

“Soon, we will enter a room where you must strip down. I’ll then escort you to the playroom. There’s a bed you will lie down on, and then we’ll get started.”

“Will my mistress be the one stripping me tonight?” Mickey asked, the corner of his mouth quirking upward.

“I will be the one to dress and undress you when you’re in this house. And no more questions.”

“I’m sorry, goddess.”

“You’re still happy with the agreement? You remember your word and the number you gave me?” She asked.

“Margarita. Eight.”

“Do you wish to change anything before we begin?”

“No, my goddess,” Mickey’s voice barely breached a whisper.

“Good. Here we are. Watch your step.”

She led the tall man through a set of double doors, into a boudoir that boasted a French rococo vanity mirror and matching armoire, a changing screen, a dusty lilac chaise lounge in the corner and various full-length mirrors for appreciating one’s opulence. Mickey saw none of these things but suspected he was in the company of many possessions exclusive to the super-rich. Something about the proud silence of the room murmured of immaculate furniture, gold and satin.

They worked together to rid Mickey of his clothing. First, he kicked off his boots and socks, then waited for her to undo his belt buckle. He stepped out of his pants and let her work his shirt up over his head without skewing the blackout mask shielding his eyes. Even if he wanted to look around, circles of fine leather prevented this. Tilting his chin did nothing to reveal even a sliver of his surroundings, but he decided, back in her car as they pulled up to the estate, that he didn’t want to spoil the fun by peeking. All the mystery had his skin prickling, the fine hairs standing on the back of his neck. And they paid him for these thrills. Looking would only cheapen the experience, so he maintained a ninety-degree angle between his chin and throat.

A furious rush of nerves came over him while he stood naked, the blindfold his only cover, and waited for his mistress to change into her evening attire. She noticed his gooseflesh when she came to collect him and ran her fingertips up and down his right arm.

“It will be fun, trust me.”

“I trust you,” said Mickey.

He followed her by the hand from the boudoir into the next room. His soles sank into the plush fibres of a rug as the heady scent of oiled leather aroused his palate.

Guided by his goddess, Mickey climbed onto a vast bed draped with silky sheets and laid on his back, spreading his limbs to each corner. She fastened his wrists and ankles with tough leather cuffs — no beginner ropes or slippery sashes out of which he could worm. Constructed of a thick material like the leather eye mask, the bindings had one aim: to hold him in place, whether he liked it or not.

“He’s on his back, naked, hands and feet tied down, eyes covered,” said his mistress.

Unsure if she spoke to him, he maintained silence.

“Tall... Very tall. Brown hair, green eyes. Several small tattoos on his arms and fingers. One red rose tattooed on his groin. Uncircumcised. Large feet and hands. Long, long limbs. Full lips. Small pink nipples. Underarms are unshaven.”

Mickey listened to her description of his body, a lustful inflection in her voice whenever she exalted his stature. It became clear at that moment she had chosen him for a reason. His mistress had an affinity for height. It caused him to smirk, imagining what she might say once he became hard.

“Hello, pet. You may greet me,” her voice floated on sweetened air.

“Hello, goddess.”

“Tonight, we begin with a riding crop. Cherry wood handle. Black tip, of course. Italian leather.”

The cool material first met his right thigh, dragging down his leg to the tip of his big toe. Then the leather foot of her instrument graced his other leg. Mickey quivered.

“The pet shivers from having his thighs stroked. His cock bounces as his blood churns. He’s eager.”

Confused by her narration, Mickey tried to relax and let the tension from his muscles until he remembered what she had told him of her husband. Another presence was in the room. She was describing the scene for this third party.

Mickey held his breath as the leather tip of her riding crop coasted up and down his legs and arms. Only when it met his pubic bone did his body twinge in surprise. But the material lifted, and he was alone. Now he prickled and waited for the next stroke of her leather, his anticipation thickening with every second that passed.

It continued for what felt like hours to Mickey. Whenever she neared his cock, she jumped to another point of his body — his feet, the column of his throat, the deep ridge of his collarbone. Anywhere but his groin.

“Do you grow impatient, pet?” She asked.

“No, mistress.”

“Your hardness tells me otherwise. Hm?”

“My patience knows no limit, goddess.”

Mickey thought he heard a slight chuckle under her breath or a chafe of movement from somewhere else in the room. In the infinite blackness, it was impossible to know. He hoped the sound came from her lips and that his obedience pleased her.

“The pet has become fully erect from ulterior touch alone.”

He hoped that whoever watched from afar appreciated his size. Mickey had been praised for his endowment plenty of times before, but the approval of his mistress and her superior held more weight than the clients whose compliments came standard and frequent.

“Enormous cock on this one,” she stated. “Symmetrical... Supple tip. Teardrop-shaped slit. The left testicle hangs lower than the right, but they’re tight and shorn. The pet has trimmed pubic hair leading up to a trail below his navel.”

Mickey bit his lip. She pressed the leather tag against one testicle, and then the other, hefting them both with the crop. The veins in his shaft swelled.

“Does the pet enjoy my leather?”

“Yes, goddess.”

She batted the underside of his shaft gently with the flat tip, causing him to jostle and open his mouth.

“How about now?”

“Yes, goddess,” whispered Mickey.

“Pardon me?”

He cleared his throat and repeated himself. It pleased her, but it didn’t stop her from fluttering the loop against his frenulum until it came away with a clear web of liquid, temporarily connecting the bat to his manhood. She smacked him a few times around his groin, measuring her force not to cause anything worse than a warm sting. Mickey was grateful and sighed when she lifted the crop away.

“I’ve grown bored with the crop. The pet’s prick is leaking and swollen red. I’ll now ring him and use the stroker—”

Her voice cut off, the abrupt silence punctuating a change of plan. She abandoned Mickey on the bed. He listened to the footsteps and strained his ears to take in any voice from someone other than his mistress. The curiosity was inescapable. Mickey wanted to know who else was watching him have his cock tortured. Before he grew too inquisitive, she returned to the side of the bed and leaned in close.

“Next comes a cock ring. Metal. Titanium, to be exact. Around the shaft and balls.”

This was no amateur set up, Mickey decided then. Perhaps another night, in an area of town not well-known for its poshness, he’d have plenty to say. Even now, Mickey reeled comments in from bouncing off his tongue. If he wanted to get paid and invited back, he had to keep quiet. And he wanted her to ask him back, so he chewed his bottom lip while she affixed the hilt of his cock with a cold metal ring.

The circle was heavy, tight, and held all the blood inside him until his length betrayed his pulse. A gust of air over his groin then made him blush. Would she touch him? Or would she beat him with a fresh instrument? He recalled her saying something about a stroker, but the buzz of something else caught his attention—a vibrator.

A jarring bolt of electricity shot through his pelvis when she held the tip against his balls.

“Oh!” Mickey cried out.

“You weren’t expecting that, were you?”

“No, mistress. No.”

She nudged the metal supporting his manhood with the vibrator, a rumbling echo engulfing him, tickling every nerve.

“Oh, ma’am. That...” He trailed off in fear of punishment for speaking out of turn.

“I’m teasing his cock with a vibrator. He can hardly keep still.”

It was true, Mickey tugged at his restraints, not for want of escape, but for the need to curl into himself, away from the excruciating tingle fizzling through his limbs. He regretted boasting about his stamina, fearing his new master might take it to heart and torment him for the entire night.

The woman controlling his pleasure was not merciless, but she was thorough. She put on a stunning show and brought him to climax using a well-lubricated silicone sleeve to jerk his shaft until he shot his first and most potent load of the night. The contractions wrang him of several impressive bouts of cum, more than he was used to producing. He blamed the hours of teasing.

Never had he experienced such a mixture of conflicting sensations. He had wanted his mistress’ cunt badly, and for her to allow him inside as he was used to doing, but the toys gave him new gratitude for unconventional methods of stimulation. And she had wielded them so professionally. He tasted her appreciation for her armaments in the air between them. It made her subtle groping that much more delicious.

As she had promised, she released Mickey from his bonds and escorted him from the room. They veered down a hallway, the air so fresh compared to the playroom it chilled his bare skin. His feet slapped against polished marble while her heels clicked next to him. A door opened, and she ushered him through, closing it and locking the handle behind them. There was carpet under his feet again, and a bright, feminine aroma about his head.

Finally, she took off the blindfold. The light scorched Mickey’s pinhole pupils, and he rubbed his eyes until they adjusted to sight. There was no time to take in his surroundings before she grabbed his cock and kissed him. Mickey kissed her back only until her grip reminded him of the shuddering orgasm she’d just stolen. He winced, and she stepped back.

“I thought you said you could go again,” she said.

“Yeah, I can. I can. It’s just... That was intense. Can’t I take five?”

She shook her head, and all the excitement snuffed from her eyes in a blink. “There isn’t enough time. I told you twenty minutes is all I have, and we’ve already wasted a quarter of that already.”

“Hang on, now. Why don’t I eat you out? Or I can finger you, or both. Whatever you like. Work you up a bit while my nuts get a refill.”

“Just kiss me. Shut your mouth and kiss me now, Mickey.”

[kpopaeipathy]

Christmas Inn Love (Jimin Oneshot)

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Genre: Angst / Fluff

Prompt: This is always the worst part of the year for me, except now I’ll spend the holidays with you.

Summary: After your parents died, you ran away from everything that reminded you of them, including Park Jimin. However, going back to your childhood home and seeing that everything remained the same, including the man you love, can change everything one more time. This time for the better.

Word Count: 4,096

Warnings: Mentions of death

A/N: This is the last story for the Winter Drabble Collection. It’s much bigger than the others. It’s a special gift to y’all, so I really hope you like it. Idk what I’ll write next year, but I’m thinking of continuing this story. If you agree and want more of this, let me know ^^

---

You didn't want to go in. As much as that was your duty, and as much as you promised your brother Jungkook that you would do that, you did not want to enter the inn. Just looking at the rustic facade, beautifully decorated for the festivities, made your heart clench and you relive the cries of that fateful night.

When Jungkook asked you to do that inspection, you listed all the reasons you remembered and didn't remember to see if he changed his mind and sent someone else in your place. But it was Christmas Eve and everyone was home, celebrating the date with their families, including Jungkook. You even tried to make the inspection after Christmas, but even you knew it wouldn't work since you were postponing that inspection for 3 years.

So here you were standing in front of the only place in the world you were not ready to enter.

"Miss Jeon?" You heard someone call beside you and turned to see who it was.

The man standing with a shovel in his hand opened his eyes wide, showing that he was surprised by your presence. But you were also surprised to recognize the man, even after 8 years.

"Mr. Kim?" You asked, approaching the man and removing your glove to shake his bare hand. You smiled as you remembered Mr. Kim's habit of always removing snow from the inn passage without the gloves, which slowed him down because he didn't feel the tool right in his hands. "I didn't think you were still working here," you said.

Grinning, he reached out and took your hand, his grip as strong and firm as eight years ago.

"You will find that little has changed since you left," he replied.

"The facade is still the same," you agreed, returning back to the entrance of the inn that had once been your home.

"Let's go in, kid," he called, stepping forward and up the front steps of the inn. "You'll freeze if you stay out here for too long."

You did what he said. You had to do that even if you weren't ready to go back to that place. So it was better to pull the bandage at once and hope that the wound wouldn't bleed again.

Mr. Kim opened the door for you, and as soon as you set foot inside the inn, you felt as if you were traveling back in time. It wasn't just the outside that remained the same, the inside as well. Even the ornaments you thought would be worn and discarded were in place, just as when you and Jungkook lived there with your parents.

Trying not to think about that memory, you swallowed hard and headed for the reception desk along with Mr. Kim, who put the shovel behind the counter and told you he would look for the manager, leaving you alone.

You couldn't resist looking around. That inn had been your home in childhood and adolescence, and also for a year after you became an adult. You might be expected to feel bad about entering, mainly because of the memory responsible for your absence from that place, but you were actually feeling at home, as you had never felt in Seoul.

“Y/N?”

You tensed your spine at that voice. Suddenly all memories of the house, the tragedy, and the years after that disappeared, leaving only one memory instead. A warm, loving smile that reached into the brown eyes, making them smile along with the thick-lipped mouth.

You turned slowly back to the counter and found the owner of the smile that flooded your mind. But this time, Jimin wasn't smiling. He was watching you with his head bowed slightly, his expression neutral, showing no emotion at seeing you.

"Hello," was all you could say.

You didn't realize Jimin had become the new manager of the inn. If you had known, that would have been one more reason why you would try to postpone the inspection. Even so, nothing could be done now, since you were standing there facing him in the place you had so badly wanted to avoid.

"Jungkook said someone would come to do the inspection," he continued, still showing no emotion at seeing you again. That made you more disappointed than sad. You could expect anger, resentment, disdain, but you could never expect indifference.

That's what you get for abandoning a love for so long, a voice in your head accused you.

"But I didn't think it was going to be you," he added. Then he smiled. That smile you remembered, and even though you had only just discovered it, the smile you missed so much. As before, the smile easily reached the eyes. "Good to see you again."

You blinked, trying to reorder the thoughts that had turned to smoke when you saw that smile. You cleared your throat and then said, "It's good to see you too."

At that moment you noticed. Quickly, in a brief second, when Jimin tilted his head again and looked into your eyes, you could see the sorrow.

"Is it?" He asked, still smiling.

Taking a deep breath, you simply nodded. Then you looked around, trying to ignore what Jimin was doing to you.

"I see you left everything as before," you said, trying to change the subject to what had brought you there. Jimin was one more reason for you to do that inspection quickly and get out of there.

"Yes," he replied, even though he knew you had not asked a question, but made an observation. “The old manager told me it should be like this and Jungkook specifically asked me that. But even if no one had asked me, I would have done so. I like the look and the traditions.”

"I didn't know you were the new manager," you commented, still trying not to look at him, but couldn't help but do so when he fell silent.

Jimin agreed as soon as you turned back to look at him, then said, "I hear you haven't heard anything about this place since you went to Seoul."

“I still heard some news,” you felt you needed to defend yourself, but the truth was he wasn't wrong, you really didn't want to know anything about the inn your parents left for you and your brother.

"Only that management had changed," he added for you.

You were responsible for all inspections of your brother's property, including the inn. You had a partner, someone who did the inspections with you and who was responsible for the inn inspections since you moved. But this partner of yours had resigned, leaving that responsibility to you. Even though you had postponed doing that for so long, you knew this day would come.

"And that everything is still working very well," you reinforced. You wanted Jimin to know that you knew he was doing a good job.

“So we were without inspection for three years?” He asked, and the cheerful smile distorted a little, showing that his sense of humor hadn't changed either. You thanked God for that, because it made the mood lighter among you.

"I wanted to give you some time before you face a slightly roughneck inspector," you replied, joking too.

"Then I should strive to make everything look perfect," he replied, stepping out from behind the counter. Where would you like to start?"

"How about the kitchen?"

Jimin narrowed his eyes and came very close to you. 

"Your stomach always spoke louder," he whispered. And as if it'd been called into the conversation, your stomach made a loud noise. That made Jimin laugh before walking away from you and heading toward the kitchen.

Before you followed him, you grimaced at your own belly, wishing Jimin wasn't around so you could reprimand your stomach. Weren't butterflies enough? Did it still have to talk to Jimin? Hadn't any part of your body missed him?

It was the smell that changed the course of your thoughts. If the sight of the inn with the same decorations as when you were younger or the sight of Mr. Kim doing his usual chores hadn't made you feel at home, the smell of Mrs. Jung's delicacies certainly did the job.

Looking around the kitchen, you could see the finely decorated gingerbreads, the appetizing cakes and pies, the jars of natural juice and the oven-ready Christmas turkey. That sight brought tears to your eyes and a smile to your face.

"Oh my God," the exclamation caught your eye and you turned to look at Mrs. Jung, who was pulling another batch of gingerbread out of the oven. “When Mr. Kim told me you were here, I couldn't believe it. I thought it was another joke of that old fool. But it's true. Our little Y/N has come home!”

Dropping the tray on the counter, Mrs. Jung ran to you and wrapped you in a tight hug. It had been so long since you had been hugged with such enthusiasm that the tears accumulated by the memory of that lady's smell of food eventually spilled.

"Oh my dear," Mrs. Jung said as she pulled back to look at you closely, then wiped the tears from your cheeks as she continued to speak as if you were never gone and were still the little platter stealing her candy. "I'm very happy to see you too."

“I missed you, Mrs. Jung,” you confessed, knowing deeply that missing them had been the worst part of leaving.

"You're here now," the woman said, hugging you again. "There's no reason to cry."

When you walked away, your gaze went straight to Jimin, who was watching you with that neutral expression again, as if he didn't want you to know what he thought of all that.

Wasting no time and also wanting to relive the memories, Mrs. Jung took a portion of gingerbreads and placed them on a plate so you could taste them. That was becoming the best inspection you had ever done.

After half an hour, you and Jimin finally managed to get rid of Mrs. Jung and you two went to the second floor. Not without her leaving another plate in your hand, this time with a piece of every pie she'd made.

“You're not going into this room with a plate of food in your hands,” once again the voice that caught your attention startled you and made you nostalgic. "Even though you own the place."

As you turned to the bedroom door in front of the one you were ready to enter with Jimin, you smiled. Lisa hadn't changed a thing in the eight years you didn't see her. She was still the same red-haired, easy-smiling girl you called a friend.

Of all the people in that place, she was the only one you had been in contact with. It was at her urging, of course, as she nearly shot Jungkook for him to give her your new phone number. Still, it was great to still have her as a friend, even at a distance.

“The good daughter makes it home,” Lisa said as she walked with open arms to you. Without thinking twice, you forgot the pie you were tasting and hugged your friend you haven't seen for so long. "Just so you know, he knows we kept in touch," she whispered in your ear, making your eyes go straight to Jimin, who continued with the neutral expression you didn't like.

You walked away and you looked back at Lisa, who you smiled at. You hoped Lisa would fill you with questions about your trip and help you keep the mood light even with Jimin's presence, but all she did was send Jimin back to work and say she could take care of you.

As much as his presence was making you nervous, you felt your heart tighten as he simply nodded and left you alone with Lisa to look around the rooms.

“Where are the guests?” You asked when you and Lisa entered the third empty room.

“Jimin knew the inspector would come today, so he arranged a trip to the village with all the guests. That would make it easier for you to do the inspection.” Lisa answered.

"Did he know I was the inspector?" You couldn't hold back the question as you watched the spotlessly clean and tidy room.

"Jungkook also kept him in the dark, you know," Lisa replied, drawing your attention to her, who was removing invisible dirt from one of the pillows. "As much as you didn't know anything about the inn and Jimin, Jimin knew nothing about you and Seoul."

"How is that possible? They are still friends.”

“The best, from what I hear. But your brother always wanted to stay true to your wishes. That's also why he never asked you to come back here until today.”

"Then why did he insist that I come?"

Lisa stopped inspecting the room with you and looked into your eyes. Then she came over and took your hands.

"I think he saw the same thing I always heard in your voice when talking to you over the phone," she replied. "Jungkook saw how much you needed to find the Christmas spirit within you."

"I don't want the Christmas spirit and I certainly don't want it here," you snapped.

But that was not true. You really thought you didn't want to remember Christmas more than you needed, but when you arrived at that inn and relived many things from your childhood, you realized that finding the Christmas spirit might not be that bad.

"Maybe you should finish the inspection and go back to Seoul then." It wasn't Lisa who answered, as you expected. It was Jimin, who was standing in the bedroom door with the same neutral expression on his face. But once again you saw the sorrow in the brown eyes for a second.

You didn't want to admit it, but hearing that from Jimin hurt you too. However, you should not expect him to ask you to stay. In eight years, he had never tried to convince you to come back. Even when you decided to leave, Jimin didn't insist that you stay. And when you left, you promised yourself that you would not look back, for that would only bring sadness.

"I think you can see that the rooms are spotless," he added.

"I hear she makes a point of inspecting every room of the places she goes," Lisa said, trying to help you through that awkward moment. But you also wanted to get it over with.

"I know everyone is doing their best, so I think I can accept these three rooms as an example of your good work," you said, leaving the room with Jimin.

"Will you at least stay for lunch?" Lisa asked as she watched you and Jimin return to the stairs.

"I have to be in Seoul early tomorrow, so I should leave as soon as I'm done."

"She doesn't want to stay, Lisa," Jimin said, but didn't look at you, just at your friend. “She didn't even want to come. So let's let her do her job and say goodbye.”

Lisa didn't answer, just sighed and nodded before looking at you and raising her eyebrows in a silent question. You didn't want to answer either, though. You knew everyone was wondering if you and Jimin would end up talking about everything. But you didn't want that to happen, you just wanted to end that visit to the past right away.

The rest of the inspection went pretty fast, with Jimin taking you through the inn's rooms and you just watching everything and writing down what you needed to put in the report. But you weren't really taking notes. You were so aware of Jimin's presence in every room of this inn that you couldn't think of work.

It was only when you arrived at the stable that you decided it was time to kick the elephant out of the room.

"Jimin," you called, stopping him from opening the door for you to look at the place.

He turned to you with raised eyebrows and neutral expression from before. It wasn't making you sad anymore, it was pissing you off. How could he be so indifferent to your presence?

"Aren't you bothered that I'm here?" The question came out before you could think of asking it.

Jimin frowned and watched you for another minute before opening the door behind him and entering the stable without answering you. That made you even angrier.

"Don't you mind that I came to do this work?" You asked as you walked behind him.

Inside, everything was very hot, as if it wasn't starting to snow outside. This was the only place that had changed in the entire inn. What was once a stable was now a storehouse, mostly of firewood and coal.

“As you can see, only this place has changed,” he said, answered your surprise but not your question. “The horses got old and needed to be sacrificed. Money was short and horse values were high, so we need to save money and forget about this little detail of the inn. But we made good use of the place, storing the wood so no one would have to brave the cold to keep the house warm.”

"Yes, I can see it," you agreed as you looked around.

When you turned to Jimin again, he was standing behind the closed door, looking at you.

"You didn't answer me," you insisted, stopping in front of Jimin. If you needed to work it out, it better be done sooner than later.

"I'm not bothered that you are here," he finally answered. “And I don't mind that you came. Like I said when we met earlier, it's good to see you again.”

You stood there waiting for him to continue, for him to tell you what he was thinking and feeling, as he used to do when you were younger and together. But Jimin said nothing more, just stared at you.

"That’s it?" You whispered, then cleared your throat and repeated the question. You didn't want to admit it, but Jimin's lack of eloquence was bothering you more than his neutral expression.

But suddenly everything changed. Jimin frowned and took a step toward you. You were so surprised you stepped back.

"What did you expect me to say?" He asked, this time advancing more than one step and backing you to the point of nearly knocking over a pile of freshly cut wood. Even so, jimin didn't stop until he was inches away from you. “What did you expect me to say, Y/N? Did you expect me to be upset? That I'd scream and kick you out? Or did you expect me to cry and get on my knees so you won't leave again?”

"I..." You couldn't finish it, you were too focused on the thick lips that formed the words spoken to make you feel bad. You were more focused on the mouth than the words, in fact.

"What do you want me to say?” He continued, “Want me to ask you what life was like in Seoul? Want me to show interest in the girl who left me or in the woman who came back for just a second? Do you think you were the only one who tried to forget? Do you think you were the only one who suffered from everything that happened?”

“No. I…” Once again you couldn't finish it. The words didn't hurt you but puzzled you. You had never really thought about the suffering of others, only yours and Jungkook's. You just wanted the pain to pass.

But it was never gone. You had never forgotten or felt better. Being away from that place hadn't changed a thing. But being there, with all the people you loved (or nearly all of them since Jungkook had stayed in Seoul with his girlfriend), was changing everything. You needed to tell Jimin that, but he didn't seem too willing to hear you.

"You weren't the only one who suffered, Y/N," he said. Then he put his hands on your face, framing it delicately. “Your parents were very important to me too. Jungkook was my best friend. And you were… Your are..."

Jimin swallowed hard as you saw the accumulated sorrow in his eyes that used to smile as much as his lips. Without thinking, you put one hand over his hand on your cheek and put your other hand over his chest, feeling the throbbing beat. As soon as you realized that Jimin was as affected by the reunion as you were, the words came out easily.

"I’m so sorry. I just wanted to get away and think and try to feel something again. When the accident happened… When my parents died, I felt like I had gone numb. It was as if no feeling could reach me. So I needed to try to forget what had happened to feel something, anything, again.”

That made Jimin back off, ending any physical contact between you.

“I went to Seoul with the intention of running away from what I wasn't feeling,” you continued, because you needed to explain to him why you had abandoned him… And why you still missed him. "But it didn't work. I spent eight years away from here, away from everyone, away from you. But it did not work. I tried to run away to feel something again, but all I could feel was longing. So when I noticed that, I was afraid. If I came back, what would happen? Would I be numb again? Would I even stop missing you? But I was wrong, Jimin. It was just getting here for me to realize that. And I'm so sorry it took so long.”

Jimin stared at you in silence, without interrupting or expressing any reaction. Then, suddenly, he advanced toward you again. Nonstop a few inches this time, Jimin held your face in his hands and sticked your mouths in a deep, hungry kiss. Eight years of longing and torment were laid in that kiss, as if one could never be satisfied with the other.

"Stay with me," Jimin said then, when you managed to stop kissing for a second. He kept his forehead to yours and looked into your eyes, where you could see everything you had ever loved and that you still loved. “Stay here today, at least tonight. Spend Christmas with me... with us. Let me show you how much we miss you too.”

"I..."

When you couldn't finish what you were going to say, Jimin kissed you again, but greedily this time. He had already lost you once, he wouldn't lose you again.

"I couldn't come looking for you," he confessed, surprising you. “Jungkook said you needed time, so I gave you all the time you needed. When I was giving up, when I was about to go to Seoul to look for you, the manager retired and Jungkook asked me to keep the inn. I was going to say no, but he said I needed to keep the inn running as usual for when you come, for when you come back. I don't think he's ever played so dirty in his life, but it worked out great, and I stayed and gave you more time. When you showed up here today, I knew I needed to let you go fast or I would never let you go again.” He kissed you for the third time. A kiss that was so much more than the first two. He didn't just want to stop missing your kisses or to beg you to stay, Jimin wanted to dry your tears and erase all your sadness. "If you want to leave, you have to go now, or I won't be able to give you more time."

You didn't need to think anymore. Since you saw him that morning and all the time you spent with him going around the place you loved and missed the most, you threw your arms around Jimin's neck and kissed him too. You didn't want to leave. As much as you didn't think you were ready for that, living there with him was all you wanted most.

"I don't need more time," you answered. "Don't let me go again."

Smiling, Jimin dropped his hands from your face and grabbed your waist, pulling you against his body.

"No need to ask again, my love."

[solastia]

Faith | Epilogue

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader 

Word Count: 1,421

Warnings: Childbirth (not really that graphic), epic amounts of fluff

Note: Here it is, the end. I hope everyone enjoyed this story. I know I did. This is one of my favorite Namjoon’s that I’ve ever worked on because it basically just felt like him being himself. I may do drabbles for certain scenes in the future if people wanted them. Happy reading! 

You groaned as another contraction rippled through you, banging your head against the lumpy hospital pillow in frustration. You were trying your best to hold on since Namjoon would be here any moment, but it was getting harder to do. Small hands wrapped themselves around one of yours, squeezing them comfortingly. 

“This is why you should have married my daughter instead. She would never have made you wait this long.” Namjoon’s mother says playfully, though her eyes are filled with concern. 

“He’ll be here, Mom. You know how New York traffic is. How’s Faith?” 

“She’s fine. Keeps asking about you, but Kyungmin is keeping her well occupied in the waiting room. She’s watching cartoons on her tablet and one of the nurses gave her some “paperwork” to fill out for you because she wanted to help.” 

“That’s my girl.”

The doctor at your feet snaps her gloves off and writes a few things down on her chart before turning to you with a smile. 

“Alright, we are at a nine. Just about showtime. How are you feeling?” 

“Like I’m going to beat my giant husband to death for putting his giant child inside of me.” 

“Is now a good time to mention Namjoon was ten pounds when he was born?” Mom chuckles dryly, patting your hand in comfort. 

Oh, Jesus Christ. Of course he was. 

“The epidural still working for you?” The doctor asked as a nurse took your vitals. 

“For the most part. It’s not as painful as it was, but it’s still no walk in the park.” 

“That sounds okay then. I don’t want you so out of it pushing is difficult. I’ll give you about five more minutes until I check again. Once we’re at ten, it’s time to push.” 

You nod, deciding not to tell her that you felt like you could probably push at any moment. You needed to wait for your husband. 

You stroke your massive stomach comfortingly as you wait, feeling little ripples as your body prepared itself. You were so much bigger with this one than you were with Faith. Frankly, you were terrified to see what your stomach was going to look like after this one was out. Still, it was worth it. It was all worth it. 

You and Namjoon had married in the courthouse as soon as the paperwork was finished, with his family and your brother Alan as witnesses. The both of you had decided that although he could afford it, you didn’t want some huge event and have to wait to get married, so a quick thing like that was perfect. So naturally, when he had to go back to New York, you and Faith had gone with him. He sold the fancy apartment he’d been using and got you guys an actual house. You were a little frightened by what was going on in that head of his that made him think you guys needed eight bedrooms, however. 

His parents followed soon after, deciding that New York was too far away when they had Faith to spoil and soon another one on the way. Namjoon’s sister was still in California, but she was talking about moving here too. 

You had enjoyed your time working in daycare enough that you were now taking online classes to get an education degree. You were thinking that maybe you’d teach elementary school or something. Whatever you ended up doing, it was still more than you’d ever hoped to be able to do before. 

Namjoon’s career continued to skyrocket, leading him to have an office full of awards and several number one hits. While you would, and have, loved Namjoon regardless of how much money he has, you had to admit it was nice. You no longer had to worry about rent or food, and you loved that your children were never going to have to want for anything. 

Speaking of children, the moment that Namjoon had discovered you were pregnant he’d gone insane. You now had the most opulent nursery that you’d ever seen, with new items being purchased constantly. You didn’t even know what the baby was yet as you both had wanted it to be a surprise, but he still bought everything, saying you could save it for the next one if it didn’t get used. If he had his way, you would have been on bedrest from the moment he found out, but you’d gotten him to settle for carrying you around a little bit more than usual. Every day he was reading a new book, and you swore if you heard the phrase, “Hey, baby, did you know that...” one more time, you were going to strangle him in his sleep. 

Suddenly, the door to your room banged open so hard you were afraid it might have broken, and your husband came barreling into the room looking freakily similar to an angry gorilla you once saw on tv. He rushed to your bed and inspected you from head to toe with wild eyes, leaning over to kiss you. 

“Hey, baby. You okay? Are you hurting? What do you need?” 

And just like that, your body relaxed (as much as it was able) and you directed him to sit on the bed near you, leaving the chair for Mom. You smiled gently, secretly amused over his panic. His Mom looked like she was fighting off laughter herself. 

“I’m fine, now that you’re here. And you’re just in time because they’re coming out now.” 

You hadn’t thought it possible, but his already wide and panicked eyes grew even more. “Right now?”

“Yup. Doctor, it’s time.” 

She raised an eyebrow at you and sat at the foot of the bed. 

“Alright, let’s see how it looks. Oh yeah, it’s go time. Nurse, if you please.” 

After that, it was a flurry of movement at the bottom of your bed as they worked. Namjoon was still cradled against you on the bed, letting you squeeze the everloving hell out of his hand. 

“You’re doing great, baby. So good. I love you so fucking much,” he murmured into your ear as he wiped your hair away from your gross sweaty head. His mom reached over to pat your shoulder a few times as a reminder that she was here to support you. 

The labor was going so much faster than it had with Faith, just a few orders to push was all it took for you to feel that baby nearly out. 

“And we have a head out, one more push guys!” 

You clamped down on Namjoon’s hand as you pushed as hard as you could, breathing with relief as you felt it being pulled the rest of the way. Seconds later, the room was filled with angry crying as your child entered the world. 

“It’s a boy! Congratulations,” the nurse smiled and handed him to you, letting you cradle him to your chest as you and Namjoon looked him over. 

Your son was ugly as hell. Huge, wrinkled, covered in goop, but you still thought he was perfect. You could already see some of Namjoon’s features, but who he looked like more would clear up in a few days. You glance up at Namjoon and absolutely melt at the way he’s staring at his son with pure adoration and wonder. 

“Hold him, daddy. The deal was you got to name him if it was a boy.” 

You gently hand Namjoon your son, and the poor man cradles him with frightened eyes like he’s terrified of dropping him. After a few moments of observing the baby, like he didn’t have a list of names he’d been working on for months, he finally nods. 

“Taeyoung.” 

“That sounds good,” you grin, leaning over to boop your son’s nose. “Hi, Taeyoung. Mommy is going to call you Tae a lot because I’m not screaming ‘Taeyoung’ whenever I need you to clean your room.” 

The nurse collects the baby to clean and take his vitals as the doctor completes her work on your downstairs. 

“I love you. And I love our children. Thank you for my family,” Namjoon nuzzles into your neck, trying to hide the fact that he was crying. You and his mother share a look over his shoulder, smiling at how cute he was. 

“I love you too, Joonie.” 

You notice a nurse finally finishing up weighing your son and you just have to know. 

“So, how much did he weigh?” 

Namjoon’s head shoots up and he stares at the nurse, knowing his doom his upon him. 

“Baby boy weighed eleven pounds, two ounces. Big boy.” 

“Goddammit, Namjoon!” 

“I’m sorry, I love you!” 

- The End -

[blakedawson76]

Your eyes are like starlight now (Day 1)

I found the cutest prompt list on @fluffcember2019's blog, and since I've wanted to do one of these challenges for so long, here we go.

*****

Summary: This will be their first Christmas holiday as new parents and as a family. Their lives may be different now that Colin and Carter are around, but the differences are wonderful, and there's no one else they'd rather share this part of their lives with. Aka Kondick collection (hopefully) of drabbles for the Fluffcember prompts.

*****

Day 1: Hold Me

*****

He’s missed the burn and strain his muscles get whenever he does these types of exercises. Light stretching and jogging were good ways to get him back on track, but no other type of physical activity brings him this type of relaxation. No other activity feels so his either.

With a grunt, Dick presses his legs together, grasps the rings tighter and extends his arms. He holds the position a few seconds, sweat rolling down face, his body already tired from his usual, tame routine. Sure, he’s out of practice, but the eight/nine months he didn’t get to use the rings won't surpass the fifteen plus years of experience he has.

Taking a deep breath and filling himself with steely resolve, he swings his legs backwards until he's in a fully vertical position, all his weight in his hands. Letting out the same breath, he lets his body fall, and he proceeds to execute three perfect loops forward and three backward before ending fully vertical once more. There. This is more than he managed yesterday, and the day before, and that had been only because he was interrupted those two other times.

Speaking of which, how come he wasn’t interrupted today?

Curiosity taking over him, Dick swings off the rings and stretches out properly. He downs his water, grabs his towel and ambles out of their new training room. Well, to be fair, the whole house is new. They had only moved into the house in Happy Harbor about two months ago, not that long after they came back from Kansas. The place still feels foreign and puzzling sometimes, although it certainly has many perks. They have a nursery, a training room and a mini-Cave at the house, not to mention a huge backyard. Bruce had certainly outdone himself with this “gift for the twins”, but it’s not like Dick even wants to complain.

Smiling at the memory of Bruce handing him the keys with a grunt and a few monosyllables, Dick checks Carter and Colin’s room first. He finds the nursery empty, and when he peeks into the master bedroom, there’s no one there either.

The beginning of a frown appearing on his forehead, he hops down the stairs and heads to the living room, mouth open in a half-formed sentence. “Hey, Conner, where—?”

Conner glances up from one of the armchair, lowers his tablet and presses his finger to his lips. Dick closes his mouth, and Conner points at the sofa. When Dick is close enough, he can see his baby boys, now almost four shocking months old, deeply asleep, nestled between blankets and pillows to keep them from falling. Carter’s pacifier has fallen out of his mouth, but Colin’s still got his thumb in his mouth.

“Have they been asleep long?” Dick whispers.

“Colin was fussy when you first went into the training room, but as soon as Carter settled in with his pacifier, Colin followed suit with his thumb and they fell asleep quickly. They’re probably exhausted after their stroll.”

“Huh. I knew there had to be a reason as to why I managed to finish without any interruptions.

Conner rolls his eyes. His expression then shifts into one of thoughtfulness. “I guess we haven´t had a lot of silent afternoons lately, have we?”

“We haven´t had a lot of silent anythings lately,” Dick corrects, amused.

“… Good point.”

Shaking his head, Dick wipes at his forehead with his towel, then drops it on top a pillow. “Hold me,” he says.

Conner sets the tablet aside and opens his arms without any protest. Dick hums his approval, then settles on Conner’s lap. He picks up the tablet, lets out a pleased sigh when Conner’s arms wrap around his waist.

“Are you looking at ugly Christmas sweaters already?” he asks after he’s gotten a chance to glance at the screen.

Conner presses his cheek against Dick’s shoulder. “Clark sent me a few links. He said we should get matching ones for us and the boys. The idea is not bad, but there’s some silly ones out there, and I am so not wearing a sweater with ‘Papa Bear’ on the front.”

"How about ‘Mama Bear?’”

Conner wrinkles his nose. Dick chuckles. “It might not be a bad idea to look at some of these, you’re right about that,” he murmurs, and glances out the closest window. It’s not snowing yet, but the days are already shorter, and the weather is dropping. “’Tis the season, after all.”

[nyeusigrube-haven]

Inbox of Diana Smoke: Thanksgiving Drabble

12 pm: Rosemary

Rosemary Marinitch ran her "to-do" list through her mind as she looked around the sprawling kitchen of the Briar Patch farm. Butcher-block counters were piled high with sweet potatoes, beets, carrots, mushrooms, cranberries, and assorted other fruits, vegetables and tubers.

The venison mince pie was almost ready to come out of the oven; the dessert pies and the bread pudding had all been done for hours. The sweets-and-beets could share the oven with the turkeys, Casper and Nixon... both named by Mare's youngest brother, Jay, who had apparently been in a whimsical mood that spring and was now hiding somewhere in the back yard in order to avoid any semblance of "helping." Now headless, plucked and brined, Casper and Nixon were patiently awaiting their apple-pecan cornbread stuffing.

The acorn squash, stuffed mushrooms and au gratin potatoes were all done, ready to be put in the oven and re-warmed shortly before serving...

She paused to take a deep breath.

Since Mare had taken over cooking from her father, Thanksgiving had always been a wonderfully frantic day. Including several local family friends, they normally had about a dozen people, but this year the number would be higher. Most of the Vida family had accepted her invitation, shocking her to the core, and some of them had asked whether it was all right to bring guests. Even her cousin Nathan had promised to show up.

On the other hand, Mare knew all her guests well enough to know that a good half-dozen of them were at risk of cancelling at the last minute.

The doorbell rang.

She took a deep breath and braced herself.

4:00 pm: Sarah Vida

Sarah woke, groggy, at four in the afternoon. Christine was gently shaking her shoulder, and reminding her, "Sarah, you asked me to get you up. It's Thanksgiving."

The reminder probably wouldn't have been sufficient motivation if she hadn't known that the family had pushed Thanksgiving dinner to five in deference to their newly-vampiric niece's solar challenges. In previous years, they had eaten at about one in the afternoon, an hour Sarah suspected she wouldn't comfortably see for quite a while.

People kept saying things like, We'll see. It's different for everyone, when she asked how long it would take her to adjust so she could be awake during the day, but she had figured out that they meant, No one really gets over it, but if you're powerful enough, you can endure.

"Thanks," she said to Christine, as she rolled out of bed and shook out her hair. Being undead had a few- only a few- unexpected advantages. Vampires didn't sweat, or secret oils, or shed skin cells, or perform any other messy mortal processes. This made showers unnecessary unless one spilled something on oneself, or wanted to bathe purely for the comfort value. It also greatly lessened travel time. All that combined, and meant that Sarah had time to get dressed, feed, and make it to dinner in time.

With her feet still bare, she padded downstairs to see who else was around.

She found Nikolas in the dining room, but it wasn't Kristopher seated at the rarely-used formal table with him.

By this point, Sarah was getting used to seeing individuals whose faces she had memorized from pictures in the Vida's collection of targets. She tried to avoid staring, and was almost always able to avoid saying the first thing that came to her mind. Sometimes she chose to be tactful, and just backed away slowly.

In this case, she spoke the instant she thought. "What the fu-"

"Sarah," Nikolas said, rising with enough of a guilty start that she was sure he knew exactly why she was upset. "I'm sorry, our meeting ran late."

"Sarah Vida," the other vampire said, standing with a smile and an offered hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm-"

"I know who you are." There wasn't a cell in her body that wanted to shake that hand, so she ignored it until it lowered. She had spent a month learning to play nice with other vampires, but there were lines. This was a line.

"Excuse us," Nikolas said to his guest, before stepping forward, catching Sarah by the arm, and guiding her to the next room. It wouldn't give them privacy- vampiric hearing was too good. He just wanted to get them out of each other's sights.

"I have been nice to Kendra," Sarah hissed, "and I have been polite to Kaleo. I love you and Kristopher despite what I know of your history, which you have to admit cuts pretty damn close to home. But if you try to convince me to dissemble and shake the hand of one of Midnight's trainers, by the goddess I will do it with a blade in my hand and I don't care what you say about consequences."

Jaguar stepped into the doorway, but wisely chose not to acknowledge Sarah before saying to Nikolas, "I left the documentation on the table. Good luck."

He disappeared. At Sarah's glare, Nikolas said, "He's changed, Sarah."

"I. Don't. Care," she bit out. "He worked for an empire that tried to make my entire species extinct, Nikolas. For centuries, he deliberately tortured and enslaved innocent humans... not to mention shapeshifters and witches whenever he could get them. If he's changed, great. Maybe he can keep walking the Earth. But I will not associate with one of Midnight's power-players. I can't."

She recognized the expression on his face, which meant he was trying to decide between handling her to avoid an argument, or going with tough-love.

She decided first. Nikolas couldn't back out of this argument, but she didn't have time for it now.

"I'm going to feed, then head over to the Briar Patch. I'll see you and Kristopher later tonight."

"Should-"

"Later," she snapped, interrupting him before he could shove his foot further into his mouth.

4:08 pm: Kyla Cobriana-Vida

"Vemke'tasa," Kyla swore, as she raced for the showers. She had overslept. If she didn't seriously hustle, she was going to be late for the first family holiday she had ever been invited to... and it wasn't easy to hustle here.

She had to climb over three other people to get out of the sleeping area and into the common room. It wasn't that they were all normally nocturnal, but they had been up all night working on a particularly tricky intre'marl with Stefan, and then a few hours more partying. They had all crashed sometime around eight in the morning.

Good judgment? Maybe not. Worth it? She hoped so.

Most serpiente didn't celebrate Thanksgiving, so her nest-mates were going about their daily routines like always, which meant the showers were busy at this time of day.

As long as she didn't try to claim a crown, something she had no desire to do, the serpiente didn't care that she wasn't legitimate. The vast majority of serpents weren't. That meant she got all the advantages of cobra blood without any of the responsibilities, which meant people got out of the way and let her duck under one of the shower heads without objecting.

Normally, there was some fooling around here- you couldn't have a communal shower without people playing tricks like hiding each other's clothes- which meant Kyla didn't keep her street clothes in the dressing room. Buck naked except for a towel wrapped around her long black hair, she went back to her cohorts' den. They had been warned about how important this day was to her, and threatened with skinning and dismemberment if they dared do anything that could mess it up.

When she got there, they were all awake. Stefan had her street clothes laid out for her, and Alicia was readying a hair-dryer and clips. Luke was blinking sleep from his eyes, but greeted her with an encouraging smile.

They didn't understand, but that didn't matter. They wanted to help.

The thought brought tears to her eyes- followed immediately by rolling nausea.

I can't do this, she thought.

"Sit down, girl," Alicia commanded, as Kyla froze in the doorway, fighting panic. "We'll get you all primped to go have a fancy dinner with your mother's folks. Just remember, no matter what, you're one of us. You're beautiful, you're talented, you're proud. Got it?"

4:28 pm: Michael Arun

It took Michael Arun quite a while to remember where he was when he woke up.

Patchy carpet under him. Thin blanket half over him. Knife digging into his side- just the handle, thankfully, since it was still sheathed at his waist. No bruises, though he'd had those before going to bed, too.

He was in a slightly run-down motel. He was on the floor because Rant and Rave, two crow shapeshifter sisters whose real names were never uttered, had taken the bed and this rat-trap didn't have a cot or even a couch.

It did have a television, on which he vaguely remembered watching a ten-hour marathon of Supernatural. He was pretty sure there had been a drinking game associated with it, but in the glaring light of day sneaking around the edges of the closed curtains, he couldn't remember what rules they had been following or even what they had been drinking.

He put his head back down.

It had been a good party, anyway, celebrating the conclusion of a multi-day hunt in which they had been stalking a nest of vamps that had managed to make themselves the feudal lords of this tiny town. Vamps were gone now, and the town of wherever-they-were was marginally safer. Michael couldn't wait to see what SingleEarth told the terrified populace.

On second thought, yes he could.

He didn't know what day of the week it was, never mind the date. He considered checking his phone, but if he turned it on he knew he would probably have messages, and he didn't feel like answering any more distress calls yet. He wasn't even sure if it was November or December.

December would be better. November had been the month from hell.

Putting his head back down on a makeshift pillow made of a rolled-up sweatshirt, he closed his eyes again. Another eight hours of sleep seemed like a good idea.

4:30 pm: Nathan Marinitch

Won't be able to make it to dinner this year. Love you all. Happy Thanksgiving. Don't reply.

Nathan Marinitch sent the text to his cousin Mare, and then deleted any evidence of sending it and tucked the ultra-slim phone into the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

A bird fluttered to his side, sharing images of the local landscape. The American kestrel Nathan was honored to have as a companion could see vivid colors that had no words in human language. It refrained from perching on Nathan's shoulder because its talons had a tendency to leave noticeable marks in his suit jackets. He couldn't afford that at the moment.

By the time he approached the stronghold, he knew the exact location of every guard, every gun, every hostage, every door and window and bolt-hold.

He cast Kestrel back into the air. Her fierce cry was silent, purely mental, so it would not draw attention. Nathan focused his power, seeking out threads of energy from every living creature around him.

He checked his watch. He had twenty-seven minutes.

4:39 pm: Zachary Vida

In the past, Zachary had always followed Dominique's lead when it came to holidays, which meant that like her he had put the hunt first. Thanksgiving usually meant camping out with a container of Chinese food and a few other hunters while they discussed the upcoming season.

Some people loved the holidays. Some people dreaded them. Hunters knew that the days between Halloween and Valentine's Day tended to be bloody. Few vampires celebrated the birth of Christ or the triumph of the Maccabees, but they enjoyed revelry and over-indulgence just as much as any human.

This year, Olivia had convinced him to take a break and relax for the holiday- though she had not convinced him to join her and her friends. Instead, he had accepted an invitation to the Briar Patch, the Marinitch family home. The invitation had been extended every year for as long as he could remember; sometimes he had remembered to decline, but just as often he had forgotten. He almost hadn't had the courage to say yes this time.

When he had, though, Rosemary Marinitch hadn't even paused. She had continued the phone conversation as if he had been a figure at their Thanksgiving table every year of her life.

Now he was in the car with Diana Smoke, another witch he had rarely given the time of day previously. Rosemary had arranged for Diana to give him a ride; conspiratorially, she had explained to Zachary, "I know Diana. If she isn't responsible for someone else, she'll get pulled into work and won't get to the house before Christmas." He wondered if she had told Diana the exact same thing. I know Zachary. If he has to drive himself, he'll chicken out half-way here.

She would have been right.

It made for an awkward car ride, however. Their occasional attempts at small-talk failed. Zachary's life might have taken a strange turn a while back, but he still didn't have a lot in common with the woman considered the heart and soul of SingleEarth.

Well, no, there was the fact that they were both trying to hold together the shattered wreckage of everything they had ever cared about. If they had wanted to, they could probably have had a lengthy conversation about that.

It was a long, silent drive.

4:44 pm: Jeremy Francisco

Oh, to be a fly on the wall... and feel like, at any moment, the swatter might come down.

Jeremy Francisco stepped into the Briar Patch feeling like he was on the verge of explosion, or implosion, or something along those lines. He had certainly never been happier not to be a witch, since he knew perfectly well what such powers could do when combined with high emotions.

With his brother's hissing voice still lingering in his mind, he was certainly experiencing high emotions. "It's all about you, isn't it? It always has to be all about Jeremy!"

He had wanted to reply, "Yes, Dave, my wedding is all about me," but he knew better.

SingleEarth had pamphlets titled things like, How do I tell my family? He could vividly recall reading one specific piece of advice, echoed by numerous others: Telling your family about the paranormal probably means challenging a deep-seated world-view. Even in the best of circumstances, you may face anxiety and denial, which can come out as anger.

We advise against announcing your status to a group. Talk to your family members one-on-one, so you can appeal to their reason and offer the support they need to cope with new and often frightening information. Save big holidays for announcements of weddings, graduations and promotions. Announcing that humans are not alone and you are now a shapeshifter at the Christmas dinner table is more likely to make people remember "the year you ruined Christmas" than it is to inspire good will and tolerance.

Jeremy had followed half of that advice.

He had pulled his brother aside an hour or so before the Thanksgiving turkey was due to be served. They hadn't been as close since high school, since they had followed different paths, but at least Dave wasn't a vampire hunter. If Jeremy could win him over, he would be an ally.

It didn't work that way.

"I've proposed and she said yes," went very well.

"There's something I need to tell you..." didn't go quite as well.

Jeremy left before dinner, with Dave's parting shot- "I'll tell Mom you had some kind of emergency at that stupid clinic where you work"- echoing in his ears.

He tried to shake off the strain of the confrontation as he pulled onto the dirt driveway of the Marinitch family home, a large ranch set at the edge of several acres of farmland that had long ago mostly gone fallow. Some had been reclaimed by neighboring woods, and other parts had been deliberately filled with native plants. Only one acre was still cultivated, with a combination of herbs, fruits and vegetables.

4:45 pm: Jay Marinitch

From three acres away, Jay could hear his sister Mare fuming. At this distance, he should have been able to tune her out, but she would have known and that would have made her even angrier.

Nathan had just bailed at the last minute... again. Caryn, who was supposed to be helping Mare cook, was as nervous as a fly on a griddle because Jeremy hadn't arrived yet or called to say how late he would be. Zachary and Diana were supposedly on their way, though Zachary's voice had sounded strained when he had called Mare to say they had hit some traffic. Sarah should be there any moment.

Should he wander in and offer assistance?

Or would that just frustrate her more?

He wasn't much help with-

JAY! I know you're hiding out there!

Strictly speaking, Mare was not telepathic, but she had always had a unique way of communicating clearly within her own family.

Wincing, and wishing he'd had the sense to be out of range, Jay trudged through knee- and waist-high brush and grasses before traveling carefully between rows of actual tended plants and then slipping discretely inside. A glance at the clock he passed revealed it to be 4:49 pm.

"How can I help?" he asked, as he found his sister frantically trying to remain calm as she attempted to add final touches to four different dishes in the vast kitchen.

"You're not dressed," she snapped.

He glanced down. Shirt. Pants. Even shoes. Seemed sufficient. Mare's glare made it clear that this was not acceptable for Thanksgiving, however, so he wordlessly retreated to his room.

"Your cat is sleeping on your clothes," his brother, Vireo, remarked as they passed on the stairs. "Mare left one of those sticky tape rolls in the guest bathroom. Use it before you come back down. And brush your hair!"

And here Jay had been so proud of his forethought in setting out his Thanksgiving clothes ahead of time, to make sure he had all the pieces and they all still fit.

Jerk, he thought to the Canadian lynx, who was indeed curled up on top of Jay's amber-green dress shirt and tie. Both items had been picked out and personally approved by Mare, which meant he couldn't switch them for something else even if he'd had anything else.

Cat's faces were not made for grinning, but Lynx pulled it off somehow anyway.

I'm going to get some turkey, Lynx announced, as he jumped up and rubbed against Jay on his way out the door.

Jay heard the cars and other ruckus downstairs as he dressed and diligently de-furred himself, but there was no way to prepare for this confrontation. He had to force himself to walk downstairs, where he stepped into a fog of anxiety, frustration, and fury concealed behind strained but smiling faces.

Across the room, Vireo met his gaze with his own apologetic one. Why hadn't Jay taken Michael up on his invitation to go hunting this week, instead?

5:45 pm: Rosemary Marinitch

Vidas were nothing if not prompt, but other guests straggled in late, as if five in the evening was an absurdly early hour to have a Thanksgiving dinner. Finally, though, all of them were gathered around the tables... including Jay's Canadian lynx, who had insisted on having his own chair at the table.

Two large mice, having been granted a reprieve by Nathan's last-minute cancellation and Kestrel's resultant absence, were now enjoying a feast of carrot greens, apples and cranberries before they were due to be released back into the wild... unless Lynx got bored of turkey before he was as stuffed as Casper. Mare's bond, a female Hanoverian, was keeping company with her father's greyhound; both were happy to avoid the stressed-out crowds of people, and to indulge in their Thanksgiving gifts. Vireo's fox was delightedly pigging out on a mouse-berry pie that Mare had assembled and set out on a mat for the fox, who had no intention of placing himself in a chair. Two barn-cats, though not bonded to any particular witch, had nevertheless also been invited and were happily sharing in scraps.

In deference to the sensibilities of both the people and the poultry, none of the turkeys had been invited.

Except Casper and Nixon, of course.

Mare had given up on socializing with the other people as soon as everyone had been introduced to each other and dinner had been served. Vireo did the work of engaging people in conversation, breaking the ice and the tension both, until Jay finally stopped looking like he was going to faint and actually started to eat.

Now that everyone was talking, occasionally laughing, and smiling in a way that didn't need to be faked, Rosemary's job was done.

At least until the dishes needed to be washed.

[thewardlowcollection]

Lest We Forget

In 1915, around 4.30 am on the 25th of April, the 3rd Australian Brigade made their way onto boats to begin the invasion of Gallipoli. It was the beginning of eight long months of fighting - and dying - and the first time both Australia and New Zealand fought under their own flags with the Australian Imperial Force (AIF) and New Zealand Expeditionary Force (NZEF) joining together to form the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps (ANZAC).

The attack on Gallipoli was the brainchild of Winston Churchill, then First Lord of the Admiralty. His idea was to take Turkey out of the war, opening a clear sea route for the allies to Russia. It might have worked, it might have provided an early end to the war saving millions of lives - if the weather had been better, if he had been given all the troops he asked for, if the British navy had been able to make the most of its initial advantage, if the landing parties had not drifted two kilometres off target… but instead 130,000 men died from both sides with no real impact on the fighting in Europe.

In Australia and New Zealand however the combined loss of over 8,000 men was deep and far-reaching which is why, all across the world, at around 5.00 am every 25th of April ten of thousands of Aussies and Kiwis rise to attend a Dawn Service.

The world of Miss Fisher is interwoven with the experiences of the great war so it is no surprise that there are many fics which explore the hardships endured by both those who fought and those that were left behind. Below is a small selection of these: some focus on those involved in actual conflicts, others on those who kept the home fires burning, many on the ongoing impact of the war but hopefully you will find them all thought provoking.

Boer War

500 Words You Should Know: #150 Encomium (2015) by Shamashe. Mr. Butler is decorated with a Medal of Honor from the Boer War - willed to him from an Army comrade and old friend.

World War One

What a difference a day made (2015) by cosmogyral. "You're sure someone will come to rescue us," she said. Her eyes went wide and sympathetic. "That is sweet of you to say. But very unhelpful, because actually we're going to be shot by German soldiers unless we think of something.” Warning: This is an incomplete fic but so well written it would be a shame not to include it and really I think it can be read as a stand alone piece.

Money Meta, Chapter 2 The Victoria Police at War (2018) by Scratch_Pad. Excellent research and links to resources.

Passchendaele (2014) by FiBeeN is a recommendation by @bellairian. Jack Robinson went to war and he was never the same again.

The Soldier (2018) by Allison_Wonderland.  Even now, more than a decade on, Jack had to forcibly hold himself in at the sound of gunfire.

See also our Remembrance Day post 11.11 Lest We Forget

The Inter-War Years

Fragile (2018) by marlen. A video about Phryne's and Jack`s memories about the Great War.

Smile the while (2016) by Meldanya. 1919. Rosie Robinson is preparing their home for her husband's return.

Homecoming (2015) by @flashofthefuse.  A short story about the early days after Jack returns home from the war.

500 Words You Should Know: 264. Kudos (2015)  by RakishAngle (afterdinnerminx). Tobias Butler makes Anzac biscuits every April on Anzac Day and every November on Armistice Day to commemorate his unlikely homecoming from the great war.

Comrades in Arms (2017) by @scruggzi.  Having saved a bank full of people from a machine gun wielding anarchist, Phryne returns to Wardlow with Jack. On the way they discuss death, justice and their experience of war.

War Stories (2016 - ongoing) by RositaLG. A series of one shots surrounding the war's effects on Jack and Phryne in their current lives.

Ivy’s Birthday (2018) / Time Passes (2018) by @rithebard are part of a series (She did make defect, perfect) that shows how Phryne and Jack’s love lives and personal lives entwine. The two chapters mentioned above consider the impact of the approaching war.

World War Two

One Night In Berlin (2017) by @firesign23. Part of The World War II Tales series.

Then the Sky will Seem More Blue (2016) by Meldanya.  During World War II, Dot and her family start a new project.

When the Clouds Roll By (2016) by Meldanya. 1942. Occupied France. Phryne Fisher is working as a British intelligence officer, focused on surviving. Her heart stops when she meets another agent: she would give anything to keep him out of danger.

The Home Fires Burning (2016) by @firesign23 is a short collection of Phrack drabbles set in Melbourne during WW2.

Fourteen Years and a Second Time Around (2016) by RakishAngle (afterdinnerminx). It's Jack's birthday and Phryne is stationed in the Pacific Theatre thinking of him, wherever he is.

Modern AU

ANZAC Day 2015 (2015) by @aljohnsonwrites. Jack is working on ANZAC Day.

At the going down of the sun, and in the morning,

We will remember them.

[ilovemygaydad]

40 prinxiety or 1 logince for the drabble and pairing

so, i’m sure you wanted romance, but.... it didn’t happen... YET

long story short, i only finished writing the first prompt, and i do want to write the second eventually, but i felt like it would be rude to leave you hanging for even longer so i could finish the second one, so you get one now.

anyway, your prompt was “Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?” enjoy!

Summary: (kind of a Crazy Rich Asians!au so don’t read if you don’t want spoilers...? i guess???) Roman is a billionaire fashionista, but he’s struggling to find time to spend with his five-year-old son.

Pairings: past romantic roman/other, familial prinxiety, and (background) familial LMP, romantic logicality (Logan is Roman’s older brother and Patton is Logan’s fiance)

Warnings: guilt, anxiety, nightmares, divorce, food mentions, and possibly something else?

@adultmorelikeadolt @fluidityandgiggles @royallyanxious (since i know you love a good roman)

Roman quietly slipped through the door of his apartment, keeping sure to not wake up the sleeping child just a few rooms away. As he made his way down the front hall, his belongings were gently discarded on the ornate cabinet. It didn’t really matter where they were placed; the maid would pass by soon enough and organize everything. With a heavy sigh, Roman pushed the door open to his sleek bedroom. Item by item, Roman’s multi-million dollar personality was shed like snake skin.

Earrings, necklaces, rings, and bracelets were placed in small ceramic bowls that cost more than a house each. Roman tossed a hair clip that he’d bought for 3.2 million into an antique jewelry box valued at eight million. Louboutin pumps were kicked into the corner as he shrugged off the Versace dress that he’d picked up just last week. He rummaged around one of the drawers in his walk-in closet and pulled out a soft pair of Target brand pajamas that he’d gotten as a gift from Patton after… well, after Roman and Michael’s divorce.

While Roman buttoned up his nightshirt, the guilt of his own actions began to settle in. It had been over two weeks since he’d been home before Virgil had gone to sleep. Being glamorous and rich wasn’t as fun as it seemed. He was constantly being dragged away to events or meetings that he barely cared about, slowly but surely sucking away all of the time he had to spend with his child. And he felt so guilty about it. He placed responsibility on his almost-brother-in-law even though Patton had his own issues to deal with. Patton had his job and Logan and a social life outside of being a billionaire’s boyfriend, yet Roman was selfishly taking time away from him. He wasn’t even a good--

“Daddy!” Virgil cried out from his bedroom.

Roman barely took the time to put on his slippers before he ran into Virgil’s room, feeling sickening dread bubbling up in his stomach. Why was he calling out? Was Virgil hurt? He swung the door open, revealing the little five-year-old sitting curled up on his bed. “Oh, Starlight, what’s wrong?”

Virgil lifted his head, and Roman noticed the hair plastered to the little boy’s face from sweat. “Nigh’mare…”

“I’ll be right back, darling. Two seconds.” Entering “Dad Mode,” as Patton called it, Roman hurried around the apartment to grab a towel, blanket, and a juice box before making his way back to Virgil. “Hey, kiddo. I’ve got you.”

Gently, Roman unbuttoned Virgil’s nightshirt and removed it, wrapping him in the towel and swiping the sweat from his face. Virgil shuddered into the touch, and Roman’s heart broke. Could he have prevented this if he hadn’t been so busy? Was he doing something wrong?

As soon as Virgil was dry, he was wrapped up in the thick, fuzzy blanket that Roman had brought. “Do you want to talk about it?” Virgil shook his head, but his lip quivered as if he was trying to hold back tears. “Was it sad?” A nod. “Oh, honey…” Roman sighed, trying to collect his thoughts. “Virgil, sometimes knights don’t feel very good, and that’s okay! Everyone gets feelings, whether they’re good or bad. Even Lo and Pat get sad sometimes, my star.

“Your feelings are okay, and you shouldn’t hide them to be ‘strong.’ Strength isn’t determined by hiding what you’re feeling; it shows so much more strength to be open and honest about it. I will still love you, sweetheart. Always.”

By the end of the speech, Virgil’s tough exterior had dissolved into a tearful fit, but he looked up at his dad with wide eyes. “Really?”

“Of course. Now, I know that you’re supposed to have school tomorrow, but what do you say that we spend some times watching movies before we try to get you down for bed again? Big Hero 6 sounds extremely good, don’t you think?” Roman asked as he swept his son into his arms.

A little giggle escaped Virgil. “Okay, Daddy!”

“Oh my goodness! Have I entered an alternate universe, or did you just smile at me?” teased Roman.

“Don’t be mean, or I’m not gonna watch movies with you!”

“Mi amor, I’m truly hurt by your threat! Alas, I have one more trick up my sleeve!” without a semblance of grace, Roman dumped Virgil onto the living room couch, eliciting more giggles out of the small child.

“I give up! I give up, Daddy!”

“I accept your surrender,” Roman said. “Now, would you like popcorn or ice cream with your movie?”

[gukyi]

raspberry truffles | ksj

summary: how to fake date your best friend: step one: don’t fall in love with them. failed step one.

[friends to lovers!au, fake dating!au}

pairing: seokjin x female reader word count: 5k genre: fluff warnings: obscene amounts of lindor truffle consumption, holiday mischief, seokjin being lovably obnoxious, the usual. a/n: hi. i know it’s been over a month since i last posted a fic. i hope this trashy fake dating drabble makes up for my absence. based on a true story. yes, this happened to me. well, most of it. please enjoy!

“Are you sure Taehyung’s gonna like it?” You ask, holding up the shirt in your hand with a look of skepticism. Seokjin had insisted that it was right up Taehyung’s alley—an obnoxious red heart pattern covering the entire article—but you’re not sure if he’s actually being genuine or duping you into getting a terrible gift for your mutual friend for his birthday. You’re not going to say it’s not Taehyung’s style, but you’re also not going say he’ll totally love it. It’s kind of a garish, kitsch shirt.

“Believe me, he will,” Seokjin says with the confidence of a talk show host. As if he is the all-knowing god of mutual friend’s birthday gifts. You know fully well that he had completely forgotten about Taehyung’s birthday until you texted him a couple of days ago to ask if he would come out shopping with you. “He’s into shit like that.”

You hold the shirt out in front of you to inspect it. “I don’t know, Taehyung seems more like an Urban Outfitters trinkets kind of guy to me. I feel like we should get him a giant Gudetama plushie or something instead,” you say hesitantly.

“That’s Namjoon,” Seokjin informs you pointedly, and automatically you have to agree. Namjoon looks like he’s waltzed out of the Urban Outfitter’s men’s section on the daily.

You feel around for your phone. “Should I text Jungkook and ask him what he thinks?”

“What? No way,” Seokjin says, hand already going to block you from getting your phone from your back pocket. You attempt to ignore the feeling of Seokjin’s large palm on your ass, but he hasn’t seemed to notice the compromising placement of his hand. Probably for the better. “Don’t ask Jungkook. He doesn’t know Taehyung like I do.”

“They’re dating,” you remind him.

“That’s exactly my point,” Seokjin says matter-of-factly. “Jungkook sees all things Taehyung-related through love goggles. Everything about Taehyung’s perfect to him. He’d be the worst person to ask. Trust me, I’m the best one. You’re in good hands. Don’t you have faith in me?”

“I almost never have faith in you, Jin,” you say as you approach one of the many checkout stands scattered around the Macy’s. True to the holiday season, the line is a good seven other patrons long. “You better be right. Hey, gimme one.”

You reach over into the bag hanging from Seokjin’s wrist, fingers rustling around for a chocolate.

For some unknown reason, the two of you consciously, willingly, and sober-ly bought two whole pounds worth of Lindt truffles from the store in the mall, and now you’re walking around gorging on them. You spent over twenty minutes picking out each individual flavor, taking your sweet time to inspect and select which ones would be the most vital to your growing collection. It may just be the worst purchase the two of you have ever made, and once Seokjin (under your supervision) spent actual money on a bicycle without any wheels from a garage sale in your neighborhood.

“The guy checking us out at the Lindt store probably thought we were insane,” you continue, pulling out a regular milk chocolate one and stuffing the entire thing into your mouth. You crumple up the wrapper and stuff it back into the back, to be dealt with later.

“He probably thought we had excellent taste in chocolate,” Seokjin corrects you proudly over a mouthful of chocolate. There’s a smudge of brown at the corner of his lips you’re dying to wipe off but because you enjoy when your best friend walks around like a fool, you make no mention of it. “Here, try a raspberry one.”

You reach out to grab the magenta-wrapped candy but he moves it out of your grasp in the blink of an eye, dangling it above your head like a demon with a couple of inches on you. He’s not that much taller than you, he’s just insufferable.

“Hey, fuck you,” you declare indignantly, reaching up to grab it. Seokjin goes so far as to stand on his tiptoes in the middle of the checkout line at Macy’s, unwrapping the chocolate with gentle fingers as he towers over you. “Fuckin’ Christ, Seokjin.”

“Open up,” Seokjin singsongs as he returns to his normal height, moving it back and forth over your lips like a mother bird feeding her babies worms as you angrily wrestle him for it.

“I’m not a two-year-old,” you grumble, but Seokjin is relentless and you can’t really do anything except indulge him. He seems so intent on feeding you and you want the chocolate enough for you to not wish to fight him for it.

“Come on, please?” Seokjin begs, puffing out his bottom lip as he slowly begins to lower the chocolate to your mouth. You roll your eyes, make a mental note to get him back for this later, and open your mouth obediently, letting your best friend smile contentedly as he drops the truffle onto your tongue.

“I hate you,” you inform him politely over a mouthful of chocolate.

“Yeah, yeah, I hate you too,” Seokjin says with a grin, his laughter warm and bright.

You and Seokjin pass the rest of the time waiting in the checkout line by going through his camera roll. At your most recent friend gathering, Jimin and Hoseok had snatched up Seokjin’s precious iPhone X and proceeded to spam his photos with various action shots all taken in quick succession. The joke’s on them, though, because Seokjin’s phone has 512 gigabytes worth of storage and now he’s got some prime blackmail material.

Eventually you reach the front of the checkout line, a kind-looking middle-aged woman standing there with the red Macy’s nametag pinned onto her shirt. Seokjin lingers back since it’s not his purchase, a couple of steps behind you as he fingers through the two-pound bag of chocolate the two of you bought together (why did you do that).

“Did he tell you to get this?” The lady asks you, motioning to Seokjin.

You sigh. “Unfortunately, yes. But it’s for a friend’s birthday,” you clarify, still a bit unsure as to whether or not Taehyung will actually like what you’ve gotten for him. It’s too late now. “Can I get a gift receipt with that?”

She nods, pressing on the computer screen in front of her before scanning the item. Behind you, you can hear the rustle of plastic, and you turn around to find Seokjin stuffing not one, but two whole Lindor truffles into his mouth at once.

“Hey! Hands off, Kim! We paid for those together, you know,” you scold, catching your best friend red-handed. Or, red-lipped would be the better term. He smiles sheepishly before chewing the chocolates already in his mouth, quickly swallowing down the offending food with a guilty grin.

“Men,” the clerk comments. At least she understands you.

“I know, right?” You say in response as she hands you your shopping bag and sends you on your merry way. You’re busy stuffing the receipt in your hands into your coat pocket as Seokjin links arms with you, leading you towards one of the many exits in this oversized department store.

“Hey, want another?” Seokjin asks, holding out a stracciatella truffle—your personal favorite—your way. You nod, letting Seokjin unwrap the chocolate and place it on your tongue as you head outside.

King Seokjin™ (7:47PM): Y/N King Seokjin™ (7:47PM): YOU’RE NEVER GONNA BELIEVE WHAT JUST HAPPENED King Seokjin™ (7:47PM): I’M FUCKING SPEECHLESS King Seokjin™ (7:47PM): FUCK IT I’M CALLING YOU

As you pick up your phone from the table beside you, the screen already alight from notifications, the device begins to vibrate in your hands as Seokjin’s contact photo—a picture you sniped of him mid-burrito bite—appears on screen.

“Hello?”

“Y/N!” Seokjin wails into the phone, making you jump slightly. Not that you’ve never picked up one of his calls and been met with just a shriek before, because you have. They just catch you off guard. You have the loudest best friend. “You’re never gonna believe what just happened to me!”

“Let me guess,” you interrupt. “You found a stray cat and now you’ve taken it into your house and named it Guacamole. Or you bought a Fender guitar at a yard sale for like, fifteen dollars and now you’re going to become a rock star. You invented a new cake recipe. Saw a twenty dollar bill on the sidewalk. Got signed to a modeling agency.”

Seokjin laughs, hearty and warm into the phone. “All good things, but no. This is better! Wilder! Crazier!”

“What could be crazier than you getting signed to a modeling agency?”

“First of all, fuck you,” Seokjin declares. “Gigi Hadid wants what I have. Second of all, no. I went back to Macy’s because my mom needed me to return one of those fancy expensive coats she bought because she said that the color makes her skin look green. Which, it does, so I’m glad she returned it.”

“Can you get on with this? Jungkook wants me to play him in Mariokart at eight,” you whine, knowing how long-winded Seokjin gets with his stories. He would make a fantastic stand-up comedian.

“Tell Jungkook he owes me two dollars and seven cents for eating three of the Lindt truffles that we got a couple of days ago,” Seokjin adds on. You are wholly unsurprised he calculated the exact amount. “Anyway, let me finish my story. Okay, so I went to Macy’s, right? And the same lady that checked you out for Tae’s shirt helped me return my mom’s coat. And I don’t know, maybe I looked sad or something, because she took one look at me and said, to my gorgeous face, mind you, ‘Oh, did she break up with you? You should have treated her better!’”

It feels like your mouth drops open in shock. Thank God this isn’t a video call.

“Wait, what?” You ask, sufficiently speechless. Did the Macy’s checkout lady really think the two of you were dating? It seems kind of laughable. Sure, Seokjin’s your best friend but you don’t know if the way you behave around him is similar to the way a couple would act. If at all.

“I know!” Seokjin exclaims. “And I didn’t know what the fuck to do so I just stood there awkwardly and nodded. This is slander.”

Before you’re about to ask why, your best friend barrels on.

“Like, how dare she think I make an inferior boyfriend? Excuse me? I would make the best boyfriend in the entire world,” Seokjin declares, as if he has any sort of scientific evidence to back up his claim. In all of his years of living, Seokjin has never been a boyfriend. A fact that shocks you most of the time when you think about it, because Seokjin is incredibly attractive and funny and kind and quite frankly, top-notch boyfriend material. “If we were dating I would treat you so fuckin’ well. Take you on dates to amusement parks and sacrifice my wellbeing by getting on the biggest rollercoasters with you. I’d buy you funnel cake and then I’d tell you that I can make it better. Then I’d make you better funnel cake. And I would pay for your meals only when you wanted me to, like when we split the cost for our two-pounds of Lindt chocolate. And I’d laugh at all of your jokes even though mine are superior in every way. I’d go to stores and see dumbass things that remind me of you and then I’d buy them and give them to you. I’d—”

“You sound really intent on proving this lady wrong, Jin,” you interrupt, Seokjin’s voice getting progressively more determined with every sentence. Like he’s going to change this lady’s mind. Like he’s going to just up and become the best boyfriend you could ever ask for all so he can tell the Macy’s checkout lady to suck it.

“Yeah, I am. I’ve been slandered against,” Seokjin says. You can practically see the furrow of his brows, the resolution lacing his features. “Don’t you agree, Y/N? If we were dating, I would be the best boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

Your mouth opens to respond to him with some witty comment like you do with everything else he says, but your tongue is dry. Red alarms blare in your brain. Even if only for a second, you don’t like thinking about what it would be like to date Seokjin. Because you know—of course you fucking know, he’s your best friend, he’s been your best friend for so long, it’s as if you’re already—

“Christ,” you say, resting your head against your hands.

“You know what?” Seokjin keeps going, paying no attention to the resignation in your voice, the subdued tone of your words. “I’m gonna prove this lady wrong. Tomorrow, you’re coming to Macy’s with me and we’re gonna hold hands and I’m gonna be the best fake boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

“Tomorrow’s Tae’s birthday bash,” you remind him, the only thing you feel confident saying without your words betraying you.

“Cool. Even better. We’ll drop by Macy’s, tell that lady to suck it, and then we’ll just drive straight to Tae’s. Sound good?”

You don’t think you’d have the heart to say no to him even if you tried. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Good. Good plan.” You think the conversation will end there when, “Be prepared to be swept off of your fucking feet tomorrow, Y/N. I’m gonna be the best boyfriend you’ve ever had. The best boyfriend the world has ever seen. I’m gonna be so in love with you tomorrow, Y/N, you won’t know what’s hit you.”

The line goes dead.

The very first stop that you make when you and Seokjin return to the mall as part of his ridiculous, convoluted scheme to prove the Macy’s lady wrong is the Lindt store. It’s only natural—all roads lead to chocolate. That’s just how life works.

“Two pounds or one pound?” Seokjin asks as he plucks one of the plastic serve yourself bags from the shelf.

“Who do you take me for?” You respond with your eyebrows raised, as if to challenge him. Like you’d ever settle for anything less than the absolute most. “Two. Pour up, bitch.”

You and Seokjin slowly begin to pick out your desired chocolates, two of this one and four of those and ten of these—”Seokjin, what the fuck?”—as you make your way around the section of the Lindt store meant for losers like yourselves to waste away their day looking at truffle flavors. It’s a good thing that you and Seokjin have similar tastes when it comes to chocolates, because every time Seokjin motions for you to choose the next flavor you end up selecting one that you know he’ll like just as much as you.

“This didn’t seem as heavy the first time around,” Seokjin comments with his hands full as you march up to the register.

“Maybe you’ve gotten weaker,” you tease softly as you fumble for your wallet, operating under the assumption that you’ll split the cost like last time.

“No, it’s alright,” Seokjin says with a hand on top of yours, blocking you from opening your wallet.

“What? Seokjin—”

“Please? Come on, I gotta get in the boyfriend mood. Just this once, alright?” He pleads, puffing out his lower lip. Maybe you’d argue more if it weren’t for the way he asks you with such gentle eyes, or how he’s already gotten out his own wallet, or how he’s been swearing up and down that he’s going to be the best fake boyfriend you’ve ever had. You won’t take that away from him.

Besides, you’ve always been weak for him.

“Fine,” you huff out as Seokjin happily hands over his card to the guy behind the register, who looks like he doesn’t get paid enough to watch gross, overly-romantic couples be gross and overly romantic in front of him. Seokjin gives you the greasiest wink you think you’ve ever beared witness to, and with that the cashier hands you your purchase and bids you farewell.

By the time you’re rounding the corner into Macy’s, Seokjin’s expression has changed from that of chocolate-made satisfaction to pure, unadulterated determination, brows set and eyes hard. It sort of makes you laugh, the look on his face, because never have you seen him look so driven just to prove somebody wrong. The lady might not even be working today.

It’s weird, because even though the lady was last seen working in the men’s section on the first floor, as you enter through the second-floor entrance by the shoes, he grabs your hand. It is by no means romantic, not gentle or soft or delicate, but he grips your palm tightly and interlaces his fingers with yours purposely and it makes your breath hitch in your throat all the same. It’s not as though the two of you aren’t touchy with each other anyway, because you definitely are, but you’ve never held hands before. Not like this. Not in the dating way. Not in the way that feels like if Seokjin lets you go you’ll drift away, out of his reach.

Suddenly your hand is held tightly in his and for some reason, you aren’t looking forward to when he’ll let go. In fact, you’re rather dreading it.

You’re passing by the women’s sections, steps slow but meaningful, and Seokjin leans over to tell you to pick out something that you like and something that you’ll wear often.

“What, why?” You sputter out as he guides you through the racks of clothing, sections disheveled from the holiday season. Seokjin’s always had a good eye for style and particularly great taste, even if he does toe the line between fashionable and questionable every now and then.

“Well, first of all, it can be your Christmas gift,” he reasons jokingly, a finger gun accompanied by a wink pointed your way. “Second of all, we’ll need to buy something to have a valid excuse to approach the checkout line.”

“But I don’t—Seokjin, we stopped getting each other Christmas gifts a long time ago,” you remind him, the memory of the two of you deciding that buying material objects for each other wasn’t up to snuff for your relationship playing in your mind. And then, softly, “You know that your company is enough of a gift to me.”

He shrugs, pulling a soft pink sweater from a clothing rack, one that looks to be about his size rather than yours. “Well, then consider this one of those things that reminds me of you that I just had to buy you, alright?”

You end up in the same line you stood in several days ago with a pink sweater hanging from your arm. Seokjin makes sure that every time he pulls out a Lindor truffle from the bag he offers you one as well, unwrapping it with long, nimble fingers before placing it on your tongue.

“We should have just gotten Taehyung some chocolate,” you realize belatedly, staring down at the packet hanging from Seokjin’s wrist. It’s half-empty. Have you already eaten that many? “We wouldn’t even be in this predicament in the first place.”

“If we had gotten Taehyung some chocolate, Jungkook would eat it all,” Seokjin tells you, making you laugh. “And besides, I don’t really mind this. Being your boyfriend, or whatever. It’s fun.”

His words stun you into enough of a silence to last the rest of the journey up the line, up until there’s a single patron in front of you.

“This is a team effort, alright?” Seokjin says to you, grin spread wide on his face. “I know that you’re going to pale in comparison to my incredible talent and flawless boyfriend abilities—,” a laugh, “—but you gotta have your head in the game too, okay? I can’t do this without you.”

“This isn’t a soap opera, Jin,” you remind him softly.

“Yeah, well, it’s about to become one. And just in case you forgot, I love you, Y/N.” Your eyes widen at the sound of his voice, the words on the tip of his tongue—they are words you have heard leave his lips plenty of times before, but never in the way that they do now—but before you can react any further, the customer in front of you is moving out of the way and Seokjin is pressing his hot, wet lips to your cheek in a crushing side kiss.

The lady behind the checkout desk probably looks as shocked as you do.

“Just this?” She asks as you place the sweater down on the counter, too afraid to turn around to look at the expression on Seokjin’s face.

“Great taste, right?” Seokjin asks the lady, forcing you to look up at him. He’s got the biggest smile on his face, proud of his choice, your hand still held tightly in his. You’re almost positive the lady can’t see it from her position behind the counter. “Picked it out myself.”

“Don’t flatter yourself too much, it’s not that exciting,” you reprimand lightly, hoping the comment is enough to warrant girlfriend behavior. Whatever that is.

“You wound me, Y/N,” Seokjin says with a hand to his heart, feigning injury. “Move over, I need to get to the card scanner.”

You scoot over complacently, allowing Seokjin to purchase the item with a swipe of his card. When the price appears on the little screen on the card reader, your eyes nearly pop out of your head, having failed to realize how expensive the sweater was as Seokjin stuffed it into your hands. Surely he must have known, or he wouldn’t have picked it up.

“Seokjin, what on Earth—” You immediately say, making to fight with him.

“Just let me, Y/N,” he pleads. “Please? I just want to treat you.”

“But—”

“You deserve it, you know?” Seokjin asks, turning you so that you face him directly. He’s got the same look in his eye, determination and focus lacing his features. Like he’s daring you to challenge him. “You’re so wonderful, all of the time. And you treat others with so much kindness and respect. You’re funny without having to try super hard like me, and you’ve been dealing with my shit for so long that I’m surprised you haven’t up and left.”

He gives your hand a firm squeeze from under the checkout counter. A reminder not to argue with him, even if only for a couple of minutes.

“And I love you,” Seokjin finishes, too firm and secure to be an afterthought. Too easily said for it to be something he felt obligated to add on.

The lady looks sufficiently endeared as she hands you the plastic Macy’s bag, giving the both of you a smile as you turn to leave. Seokjin looks incredibly pleased with himself and pulls you into a side-hug, crushing your ribs in the process.

“You never let me down, Y/N,” he declares successfully, releasing you from his limb prison. “Thanks for letting me be your boyfriend for an afternoon. I’m ready to go raid Taehyung and Jungkook’s apartment.”

You hum in response, letting Seokjin ramble on about how he was worried he wouldn’t be a good enough actor to fool her and how he really thought she would see through the whole thing without any interruptions from yourself. If he’s noticed how resigned you are, he’s made no comment.

“You know I hate it when you buy me things,” you tell him softly as you’re walking out of the store, fingers fiddling with each other as you stare down into the bag in your hands. There’s a sweater in there that you wish Seokjin hadn’t bought you and a feeling in your heart that you can’t get rid of.

“Pay me back later if it bothers you that much,” Seokjin tells you.

You stay silent.

Christmas lights decorate Taehyung and Jungkook’s apartment, taped up along the walls and windows and wrapped around their grossly millennial white Christmas tree, radiating a soft, warm glow that seems to make everything more romantic than it should be.

You’ve been sitting on the couch the entire night, nursing a cup of kombucha in your hands as everyone around you celebrates, shouting and cheering and screaming. Seokjin disappeared from your sight the moment you walked through the door, always the life of the party.

There’s a sweater in the trunk of his car and a nagging voice at the back of your head.

Taehyung loved the gift you got him, if it’s any consolation. He had opened all of them right after Jungkook wiped most of the icing off of Taehyung’s birthday cake and onto his face, using it as perfect leverage to kiss it off of him, much to everyone’s minor disgust. As he gave you a hug of thanks, Seokjin winked at you, as if to say, “Don’t you trust me?”

You worry that you trust him too much.

Seokjin bought Taehyung Super Smash Brothers for his birthday, and immediately the video game became the object of everyone’s attention as Taehyung rushed to plug the game into his Nintendo Switch. As you swirl around your kombucha, Taehyung and company are furiously shouting at each other, aggressively mashing the buttons on the controllers in their hands.

“Hey,” a soft voice says next to you. You turn your head to see Seokjin, his soft palm placed against your back to get your attention. “Wanna go outside? It’s loud in here.”

It’s loud in here, too, your brain supplies unhelpfully.

Your best friend pulls you up from where you’re seated, leading you to the balcony outside Taehyung and Jungkook’s kitchen, overlooking a rather dinky part of town. It’s not the greatest view, and by no means is it peaceful or quiet, but it’s enough. He seems to be nursing a cup of kombucha as well. Taehyung and Jungkook never really did alcohol.

You stand in silence for a few moments, letting the fresh air wash over you like waves on the shore, the tide pulling you in before pushing you back.

Then, “Thanks for helping me pick out Taehyung’s gift. He really liked it.”

“I knew he would,” Seokjin responds. “You should have more faith in me.”

“I have enough faith in you, Seokjin.” You sigh.

Car honks. Police sirens. Chatter. Wind.

“If you really don’t like that sweater, I’ll return it. It’s no big deal,” Seokjin speaks up. “I know you don’t like it when I buy you things.”

“It’s not that, it’s just—”

“I wanted to tell you that everything I said in Macy’s today, that’s true,” Seokjin continues. Your breath hitches in your throat. Boyfriend or not, you’re the greatest person that I’ve ever met. That I think I’ll ever meet.” You feel him as he comes up next to you. “There’s nobody like you, Y/N.”

“You don’t mean that,” you say, more to yourself than to him.

“Of course I do,” Seokjin says. “I’d do anything for you.”

“Then would you kiss me?” You whisper softly, hoping that the sounds of the traffic below will drown out your voice. Hoping that the words will just fade into the air around you without Seokjin even realizing.

“What?”

He places a hand on your arm before pulling you into him, large palms tracing up and down your figure. Seokjin reaches up, brushes away a stray strand of hair. Lets the soft pad of his thumb gently press on your cheek.

“Don’t make me say it again,” you mutter to yourself, eyes tracing the laces of your boots.

“Y/N,” Seokjin says, tilting your head up so that your eyes meet his dark brown ones, the Christmas lights decorating the apartment reflected in his irises, like golden stars in a sea of black. “Do you even need to ask?”

Before your mind can catch up to your racing heart, you feel his lips pressing against yours, warm and soft and perfect. He pulls you in closer, leans in further, holds you tighter. It’s not a deep kiss, no tongue, no biting. Just lips. Just lips and the feeling of him, of your best friend, of Seokjin in everything that he can be.

He pulls away softly, standing up tall once more. His cheeks are tinged pink. His smile has never been brighter.

“You know,” Seokjin says. “When I said I loved you, I meant that, too.”

There’s a sweater in a Macy’s bag in the trunk of a car, and another kiss on your best friend-turned-boyfriend’s lips that you fully intend on stealing.

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