#there's definitely still angst here but there's also some nice fluff sandwiched in between

[seiya-starsniper]

and if I get burned, at least we were electrified - Chapter 3

Link on AO3 [here]

Chapter Summary: Time for a Dreamling reunion! And a guest appearance by Johanna, because I love her to pieces, and someone needs to keep Hob in check while The Corinthian is away.

The Corinthian has been gone for almost a year. 

Hob had taken a week off work after the blond had left to process. He hadn't been able to stay in his flat that whole week, opting instead to crash at Johanna’s. Everything in the flat reminded him of The Corinthian, who hadn't even bothered to pack a bag, just vanished into thin air. Johanna had forced him to start categorizing all her magical artifacts after two days, and Hob was all too happy to have something to take his mind off things.

Afterwards, between travel shutdowns, his university absolutely falling to madness trying to transition to online, and an uptick in supernatural activity (pandemics don’t stop supernatural beings, who knew) so vast that Johanna had asked for his help on a few jobs, Hob hadn’t been able to even go look for The Corinthian even though he had a very good idea of where he was. Or well, at least, what country he was in.

Hob had tried calling, texting, hell he even rang up the witch coven in Edmonton asking if they knew a summoning spell to get him to come back, all to no avail. Johanna didn’t know anything either. She had never even heard of a nightmare walking around the earth prior to The Corinthian. 

“You know mate,” Johanna says now, sympathetic, over their fourth round of drinks. She’d practically had to drag him out of the flat tonight. “I hate to say I told you so but…” she doesn’t finish her sentence. Hob knows what she means. Johanna had not reacted kindly to Hob moving The Corinthian into his flat. She’d cursed him and called him every name under the sun and had told him she wouldn’t come to an idiot’s funeral. She'd said the relationship wouldn't last a year before The Corinthian would get bored, gut him, and leave him.

She had come around, Hob remembered. Eventually. Reluctantly.

Two years after The Corinthian had moved into his flat, Hob and the blond had been tracking a suspected child serial killer. It hadn’t taken long for them to locate the killer’s hiding spot in an old crumbling castle, and on the night they moved to confront him, Hob had been surprised to run into Johanna right outside.

"What the hell, get the fuck off my turf mate," Johanna had said when she spotted them. 

The Corinthian growled in response, and Hob heard it come through all three mouths, which meant he really didn’t like her and that complicated matters.

“Johanna, lovely to see you as always, mind filling me in on why you're here?” Hob asked, trying to lighten the situation.

“Why are you here, I thought the bastard only ate human eyes-,”

“Oh, I like any and all types of eyes, in fact I'll bet the eyes of a Constantine would taste divine,” The Corinthian responded and Hob knew enough about the Corinthian to recognize he was trying discreetly to reach for the knife in his jacket. He stuck out his hand to stop him.

“Ok whoa whoa, Cory, first off, no, Johanna's off limits, not only is she not a criminal, she's also my friend ,” Hob said, gripping the Corinthian’s wrist to show he was serious.

“Your friend who taught you how to blow me up too, if I recall,” The Corinthian noted, a sour tone in his voice, but he didn’t struggle so Hob took that as a good sign.

“Yeah, pity none of it stuck.” Johanna retorted.

“I'll make your death stick you fucking-”

“All right, all right, you're both super scary, that's great,” Hob interrupted before they could get fully off topic with their juvenile antics. “Now, Johanna, there is a child in there that I have been asked to retrieve. His mum's worried sick and the Yard is just spinning their wheels. As much as I'm glad to see you, you being here worries me. Could you tell me why?”

Johanna had softened instantly, then looked utterly miserable at the news.

“The thing in there's an ogre. I'm sorry Hob, I don't think the kid's still alive,” she said sadly.

The reveal broke Hob's heart. Still, he didn't want to give up hope.

“Let us come in with you then," he'd said. Johanna gave them an offended look at the idea she might need help.

"I know, I know." Hob continued. "You're a big girl and you've been doing this for a while, but Cory and I aren't fragile, far from it, so there’s no need to worry about us, even if we do get hurt. Plus, I want to at least find something, if only to bring closure to his mum.” Hob pleaded. He really did not want to return to the woman empty-handed. Johanna looked like she wanted to argue, then decided against it and after a quick rundown, the three of them went inside together.

The resulting fight had been messy. Turns out, there was a whole family of ogres in the crumbling castle. Johanna had been able to take down two before the third had broken her right hand. Hob and The Corinthian had disemboweled it thoroughly in revenge.

In the end, Johanna was right, there was no living child in the castle that they could find, only scattered bones and discarded clothes. Hob would have to break the bad news to the distraught mother. He did manage to locate a jacket that matched the one of the photographs the woman had given him. Proof that her child had been here and gone. There was no need to look for anything else.

The Corinthian easily sensed the dour mood between Johanna and Hob, and had gone off to go eat the three pairs of ogre eyes in private once he’d separated them from their owners. 

He’d come back a short time later in a considerably brighter mood, which Hob found a bit inappropriate, but he reminded himself that The Corinthian was who he was, and he’d probably had a good meal, so at least there was that. They'd have a talk about proper human passing behavior later.

“I know where a whole lot of other ogres are!” The Corinthian bragged. "And a whole lot of children, who are very much, Not Dead. ” Hob could practically hear the capital letters in the blond’s voice, and he raised his head so fast he was pretty sure he gave himself whiplash. He swore he heard Johanna let out a surprised gasp.

Well. The Corinthian now had their full attention.

“Also, I forgot how delicious non-human eyes are, I’ve changed my mind, we should absolutely meet like this more often, Constantine, I would love to get some Fey eyes next time.” The Corinthian continued. “In fact-”

"Cory, where are the damn children?" Hob snarled. The Corinthian's returning feral grin meant he was playing coy on purpose.

"Oh, there’s a hidden dungeon right downstairs.” The blonde shrugged, as if the news didn’t change absolutely everything about the night. “About 30 or so of them. Apparently there’s going to be some sort of family reunion in the next couple of days, so all those kidnappings were prep work for the big feast!" The Corinthian spread his arms wide for emphasis. 

"But you know how ogres are, they like their food fresh so they’ve been trying to plump up the kids with all sorts of garbage to make ‘em taste sweeter." 

“So wait, what you’re saying is-” Hob’s hope is so fragile, but could it be? They didn’t know how many children had been taken, but thirty was quite a lot, so maybe-

"Well, there were definitely some children who were eaten the last few days, just as snacks, mostly homeless orphans, but the one we were looking for is right downstairs Hob!" The Corinthian then turned to Johanna and gave her a conspiratorial grin. "And the rest of the ogres have no idea their hosts are dead so…"

Johanna’s answering devilish grin once she realized the implications had fit right at home with The Corinthian’s. They looked like a pair of naughty children who'd just gotten away with stealing sweets under the adult's noses. Johanna would receive a massive payment for taking out an entire orge's nest and Hob would be able to reunite a single mother with her only child. 

"You've got a little something on your face, love," Hob said later, once they’d left the castle and arranged for the kids to be picked up. He leaned in to swipe the fluid from the blond's face but as soon as he began pulling his hand away, The Corinthian took it instead and licked up Hob’s fingers as if he were licking the blood off one of his own knives. Slowly. With intent. He stared right into Hob’s eyes while doing it too.

"You two are disgusting! " Johanna had yelled before storming off. Hob would’ve thought to chase after her to at least say goodbye, or try to coordinate getting rid of the rest of the ogre nest, but his brain had short-circuited entirely. 

He had never driven home so fast before. The Corinthian had distracted him the whole 25 minute drive.

Hob’s immediately snapped out of his reverie and back to the present by Johanna,“Penny for your thoughts?” 

“Just thinking about the ogre nest,” Hob answers. No need to elaborate past that. Certainly no need to tell Johanna the details of what happened afterwards.

Johanna grimaces like it's a bad memory. It probably was. Even with the happy surprise of finding all those children alive, her hand had taken at least a month to heal. 

“Why are you thinking about- oh you fucking sop. Disgusting, the both of you were that night.” Johanna downs the rest of her beer.

“Look I know the eyeball munching thing takes a bit to get used to but-”

“I wasn't talking about that, although honestly, the eyeball thing is not erotic no matter how many times you try to explain it, you're just a freak.” Johanna interrupts. 

“What was so disgusting then?” Hob asks, curious. He knows his tastes have always been, perhaps, on the other side of eclectic, especially in the last century, but Johanna has had plenty of non-human dalliances herself, he’d have thought she’d have been more open minded about things.  “He made sure he was out of sight when he ate all their eyes, when we thought all those kids were dead. The epitome of politeness, if you ask me.”

“You really don't know? God the thing doesn't even have eyes-”

“He's not a thing Johanna-”

“But anyone could tell he was so far gone for you, it was nauseating. He looked at you like you were the only thing worth looking at in the whole damn universe. And you were doing the exact same thing back at him. Like a goddamn romance novel from Hell.”

As much as she's insulting him, Hob knows she's also trying to reassure him. He's thought about their last night nonstop, turning it over and over in his head. He still doesn’t have any answers for why the blonde left the way he did.

“I just don't know why he left,” Hob groans, frustrated with the line of thought. “Especially after I gave-” Hob stops suddenly, realizing he hasn’t told Johanna what happened that night. He wasn't ready for her judgment on his actions back then, and he’s not sure he’s ready now, but it may be too late to back out now. 

“…after you what Hob?” Yep, no backing out now. She’d been trying to get this story out of him for a while, and now that he thinks about it, the drinks were probably a means to multiple ends. 

“Well I mean….we had this job go terribly pear shaped,” Hob starts, praying that he can focus on the minutiae of the botched job and get Johanna lost in the details.

“ What. Did. You. Do . Hob?” No chance of bullshitting his way out of the conversation now.

“I lost an eye, all right!” Hob admits. “And you know I can grow those things back like grapes, and the eye was still perfectly intact so I just thought…”

“You gave him YOUR EYE?” Johanna practically yells. Well now the whole bar is staring at them, and Hob can tell a few of them are checking to see if he still has both eyes. He really should have just insisted on taking her to the private back room he’d built for his business meetings, but Johanna just plopped down at the bar when they’d come downstairs, wanting to be as close to the beer taps as possible. 

“I didn’t want it to go to waste!” Hob frantically tries to whisper, then tries and fails to put his hand over Johanna's mouth. 

Johanna looks heavenward, as if that will somehow provide answers. Or a pity smiting to escape this conversation, Hob's not entirely sure.

Finally, she sighs.

“Look…” she tries. “Maybe he just got overwhelmed. Has to process things alone before he can come back. You've got a whole lot of memories in that noggin of yours, and he probably got spooked by something,” but Hob knows neither of them believe it. Still.

“It felt like a final goodbye, but you're not wrong,” Hob concedes. “I don't know what he saw, but whatever it was definitely spooked him. I wish he would've just asked me instead of running off. I couldn’t even go after him with all the shutdowns happening right after, and he still won’t pick up my calls. I'd be off there chasing him down now if I could take the time off from classes.”

There's silence for a beat. Then, "S'not just the job keeping you here though, innit?" Johanna slurs.

“What do you mean?”

“Your Stranger. The one who gave you all this,” she gestures at him. “You're still waiting for him, aren't you? It's why you won't leave the UK for anything, travel restrictions be damned. You could do video lectures from anywhere now too, but you’re here waiting for a man who you’re not even sure still wants to see you.”

“Hey now, that’s not fair, I still have other duties to attend to here too! Plus I wouldn’t even know where to start looking for Cory,” Hob tries to defend himself. 

“Yeah, but that's not the point , Hob. The point is you're waiting on some guy to show up to this pub and maybe you stopped waiting every week with your blond man around but now that he’s gone and left you, you're right back at it waiting for a different man who left you like a lovesick fool.” She points at him. “You, my friend, have got a problem. ”

Hob downs the rest of his whiskey instead of answering. 

—

When Hob heads upstairs to his flat, warmed from both the whiskey and Johanna's company, he runs his fingers over the sigil The Corinthian had carved into his bed shortly after he'd begun living with Hob. He smiles ruefully at the memory. It was the first time The Corinthian had opened up to him about what kind of supernatural entity he was.

Hob had spent the better part of the last century living with either restless, dreamless sleep, or with nightmares that shook him so much he'd wake up screaming. It had been a long time since he'd had any other type of dream. His condition started around the time the Sleepy Sickness started, and Hob had been glad he hadn’t fallen prey to some of the more severe conditions, such as no sleep at all, or a perpetual sleep. Hob had made it a habit to avoid doctors and it would’ve been rather hard to explain himself not aging while in either of those states.

It didn’t take long after moving in for The Corinthian to offer up his services to alleviate Hob of his troubles. Turns out, the Quora article was right after all. 

"So, what, you're a nightmare and doing this will help stop me having bad dreams?" Hob had asked as he watched The Corinthian inspect his bed for the perfect spot to carve.

"It'll keep the others of my kind away, yes. I haven't been back in an age, but I know most of the other nightmares have gone absolutely feral in our creator's absence.” The Corinthian grinned, as if the knowledge greatly pleased him. It probably did. 

“The creator who tried to kill you? The one who went missing, and that’s why we have the Sleepy Sickness?” Hob asked and The Corinthian nodded. 

“The one and only. I’m sure the realm’s a bit of a mess, but the other nightmares should still leave you alone once I put my mark here, if they know what's good for them." Hob swears The Corinthian’s grin grew even more feral.

"And what exactly is this mark?" Hob tapped at the symbol The Corinthian had put on paper to show him what he’d be carving. “A protection spell of some kind?”

"It's my name,” The Corinthian replied. “My true name, from when I was first born into existence. It means that I’ve claimed you as my dreamer, and you’re mine."

Hob's breath stuttered in his lungs. He'd wondered if The Corinthian could tell the effect the sentence had on him. It was the closest the blond had come so far to saying what Hob meant to him. Hob already knew at that point that he was falling for the nightmare, and this certainly wasn’t helping his case.

"Go on then," he said, possibly a little (a lot) more breathily than he meant to. "Carve your name into my bedpost. Show everyone that I'm yours."

The Corinthian had also cut his name into Hob’s chest, right beneath his collarbone (for extra insurance, he said) later that night, right after he had sunk his hips down onto Hob’s cock. The twin sensations of pain and pleasure had nearly driven him over the edge, and Hob had needed to grab the base of himself to stop himself from coming too early. The Corinthian, little shit that he was, took that as a challenge.

The wound had healed of course, but Hob still feels the mark there, like a ghost. He had kept the paper drawing in a folder too, because he was sentimental. He wonders, not for the first time, if he’s able to be tattooed, but he’d always been too afraid to go into a shop in the event the tattoo doesn’t take with the way his skin heals, and he’d have to explain himself. For now, the mark on his bed will have to do. 

The nightmares stopped entirely after that night. Hob's still not sure how exactly the whole naming, claiming, thing works, but he's started praying to it at night, wishing for The Corinthian to stay safe wherever he was, but mostly wishing he would just come home.

–

Almost two years after The Corinthian leaves, The Stranger walks into The New Inn and stands in front of Hob's table.

It's the first time in a long time Hob forgets about The Corinthian. All he can do is stare at the ethereal being in front of him and think finally.

"You're late," Hob says, and realizes he's smiling. It's been so long since he last smiled genuinely that it feels both foreign and comforting at once. 

What he doesn’t expect next is to see his own smile returned. Even if he had the most expensive and high quality camera known to man on hand, Hob doesn’t think any piece of mere human technology could capture the brilliance.

“It seems I owe you an apology,” his Stranger says. “I've always heard it impolite to keep one's friends waiting.”

Friends. His Stranger had called him his friend. He's acknowledged their bond, their companionship. Maybe a little bit later than Hob had been hoping for, but it was worth the wait. His friend was worth all the time in the world. 

Hob’s centennial companion pulls out the chair in front of the table and sits down across from him. He hasn’t stopped smiling. Neither has Hob. 

Time passes like that for a while. It’s not awkward, there’s no tension, just pure contentment to look at each other for the first time in 133 years. If Hob didn’t know any better, he’d think he’d think he’d died without his knowledge and gone to heaven. 

“Hi dear, can I get you anything?” The waitress’s sunny question shakes them both out of their trance.

“Anything my friend wants, my treat Anna,” Hob says before the other man can answer. 

“I thank you, Hob,” his friend answers then turns to Anna, his smile more muted now, but not any less dazzling. “A glass of dry red wine please, the oldest vintage you have available.”

“You and your wine.” Hob laughs when Anna leaves. He recalls that wine, usually a red, would be the only thing his friend would ever order at their meetings. Some things just never changed. 

“It is, admittedly, one of my favorite inventions by humans,” the dark haired man replies, then purses his lips. “And I have been without it for quite some time.”

“Have you now?” Hob asks, sensing a story. “Well then, you can have all the red wine we have here, I don’t mind.”

“We?”

“Ah yeah, this place, The New Inn? It’s mine.” Hob admits. “I don’t really get too involved in the operations side of things anymore, but I tend the bar from time to time when there’s no classes. I know you probably saw, but the old White Horse was going to be turned into flats by some reprehensible folks, and I’ve had enough wealth accumulated over the years that I was able to stop the whole operation in its tracks. Couldn’t keep the damn place open though, so I decided to build on the land right by it instead.”

“You…built a pub? So that we could continue to have a place to meet?” The other man asks, astonished.

“Of course! Isn’t that what friends are for?” Hob replies. He really hopes he hadn’t read the whole thing wrong and his friend doesn’t walk out on him again for presuming things. It’s only now just occurring to Hob that building an entire pub for someone, even a not entirely human entity, is a bit much.

Of all the reactions the Stranger could have had though, the absolute last one Hob expects is tears.

“Even after I was forced to miss our last meeting. Without knowing if I had abandoned you or not, you still kept your faith in me? Enough that you built a place so that I may take sanctuary after my imprisonment?” The Stranger's voice is filled with unbridled emotion as more tears freely spill down his cheeks.

Imprisonment? Well now. Hob has a whole lot of questions, but first and foremost, he had a friend to comfort. He reaches across the table and takes the man’s hand in his own. Squeezes it for good measure. It’s the first time they’ve ever touched in 700 years and it feels electric , more so when his friend begins to run a hesitant thumb along his. 

“My friend,” Hob says after a brief silence. “I would build you thousands of sanctuaries across the world, no, across the entire universe, if I meant that I could meet you at each one and offer you a place to rest.”

Hob decides to take a chance. To be bold. He’s already gotten more than he could have ever hoped for, what’s one more risk?

He reaches over with his other hand to wipe the tears from his friend’s face. The other man looks shocked, as if he hadn’t realized he were crying. No, more like he had forgotten. What had filled his friend so full of grief for so long that he could no longer comprehend his own tears? 

“I know it’s customary for me to update you on everything I’ve been up to in the last hundred years.” Hob says. “But I think I’d like to know what’s happened to you instead, if you’re willing to tell me. However much or little,” he adds, reassuringly.

His friend is quiet for a long time, expression contemplative. Anna comes back with the wine, raises her eyebrows, but blessedly, does not mention the emotional moment fraught between them.

“I’ll come back with the rest of the bottle in a little bit, just holler when you’d like it, all right?” she says and in a flash she’s gone, leaving them to their privacy.

The Stranger still hasn’t let go of his hand, and does not appear to want to. He instead uses his free hand to pick up the glass Anna had left so he can sip at his wine. After a few minutes, he sighs and begins to speak.

“Do you remember, in 1789, when we had spoken about how beings such as us could be hurt, or captured?” the Stranger asks solemnly.

Hob remembers. He nods and squeezes their hands together, prompting the man to continue.

“In 1916, a man named Roderick Burgess had sought to capture my sister, Death, in an attempt to resurrect his son lost in battle.” the Stranger says. “His spell entrapped me instead. He then used more magic to bind me within the basement of his estate, and I lay there for more than 100 years. Roderick demanded many things from me, his son alive again, riches, immortality, all of which were not things that I could give, nor would I have wanted to, if I could.”

There is so much in that first bit that Hob doesn’t know where to start. He goes with the most pressing question he has.

“But I thought Roderick died in the 1930s! Why couldn’t you escape then?” Hob remembers now, with a sinking feeling, that there were plenty of rumors about Roderick Burgess having trapped the Devil in his basement. He wishes he’d looked into it more, wishes he could’ve found his friend earlier and broken him out of that awful prison.

“Roderick did die, in 1926 actually, and his son had offered me freedom, if only I would not hurt him and his lover in revenge for my capture.” his friend confirms. “The son was young when his father took me, but he was nearly an adult when he murdered my raven companion, Jessamy, on the order of his father. I could not forgive him for that." His Stranger now grips Hob's hand at the memory, pained anger crossing his face. Hob wants to wipe away that expression too.

"My anger and pride kept me imprisoned for an additional 96 years, until finally, in their old age and near death, his paramour took pity on me and broke the enchantment imprisoning me.”  

“Jesus Christ,” Hob breathes. “Was there no one you could call to for help? What about your sister, did she know you were trapped?” There is absolutely no way someone could defy Death of all things, especially if someone trapped her own brother. Hob makes a mental note to ask about the whole family tree later.

“My siblings all knew of my capture, and yet none of us are allowed to intervene in each other's affairs, unless asked. It is another thing my pride has cost me. I need only ask their help and any one of them would have come for me. Instead, I chose silence.”

“But that’s not fair! I know you’re not human and so you have different rules than me, but amongst us humans, we give help to our families even when it’s not asked for! Sometimes, especially when it’s not asked!” Hob argues.

“It is the way of the Endless, Hob.” the Stranger says with a finality that tells Hob the subject is closed. Hob wants to continue to press, but he asks instead,

“Endless, so that’s what you are then?”

“Yes. There are seven of us in total. And I must apologize once again for keeping you waiting on another thing for the last few hundred years. My name.” 

Hob feels his heart stutter in his chest. 

“I have been called many things over the years. My most recent name in human tongues has been Morpheus.”

Morpheus. It's a regal sounding name, fit for a king. Hob’s just getting used to the idea of it in his head when Morpheus speaks again.

“But as my friend, you may call me by my truest name, Dream.”

Dream. What a beautiful name. All of his names are beautiful, Hob imagines, and he’d like to learn them all. 

“Well, Dream, my friend, can I buy you a drink and a meal then?” Hob asks, squeezing their hands together again. “I'll catch you up on all that you've missed.”

“I would be happy with anything you are willing to offer me, my friend,” Dream replies.

–

They get the rest of the wine, and Hob some food. Dream does not order anything for himself, content to partake in whatever Hob is willing to share, which is everything. He unfortunately has to relinquish his hand from Dream’s to eat, but they freely reach for one another when the moments allow. It is far from the regal meal he had offered to his friend in 1589, and yet, Hob thinks it tastes better. 

Hob is now telling Dream stories about the last hundred years. It’s been quite possibly the most interesting century he’s lived through so far. 

He shies away from anything related to The Corinthian. Hob had been a mercenary in his past life, killing for other people's money, so he knows Dream won't judge him, may even commend him for trying to do some good for people who slip through the flawed justice system. But explaining Cory is a story all on its own, and the memories are still too fresh and painful, especially with how things were left off (Hob still refuses to admit they've ended). Still, the blond was such an integral part of life in the last ten, no, twelve years . Hob is still counting the two years The Corinthian has been gone. 

“Hob?” Dream’s voice snaps him out of his self-pity inner monologue. Hob forgot what he had been talking about, but he knows he needs to get back to more light hearted topics before he ends up crying at the table himself. 

“Sorry about that, don't know what came over me!”

“You've become melancholy despite describing a happy memory,” Dream observes.

“Ah yeah, well.” Hob decides to open up, just a little. "I went through a break up not too long ago. Well it's been almost two years now, but we were together almost ten years before that." It's not much, but even admitting that The Corinthian left him out loud to someone else feels like tearing open a not yet healed scar.

“Ten years is not an insignificant amount of time, especially for mortals. It is understandable why you would be distraught,” Dream says. This time, it is the Endless who squeezes Hob's hand in reassurance.

“Yeah, I still miss him too." Hob says. “Didn't even get a proper goodbye, one day everything's perfect and then he just up and left.” He tries not to choke on those last few words, but it's more difficult than he'd like to admit.

“Him?” Dream asks. Right, Hob's only ever had female partners to speak of whenever they met once a century.

“Oh yeah, another fun 20th century thing I discovered, turns out I'm bisexual!” Hob declared proudly.

It really hadn't been that much of a discovery, nor had it come in the 20th century. Rather, it had been in 1789 when Hob had realized he may have inappropriate feelings for the man sitting across the table from him. 

He had tried to gently bring up the topic in 1889, prefacing things with friendship first so as not to alarm his companion, but Dream had reacted so poorly to being regarded as a friend that Hob hadn't even gotten the chance to be romantically rejected.

And then Dream hadn't shown up in 1989 and had broken Hob's heart.

Hob is glad to know Dream didn’t abandon him on purpose, and he’s even more glad he waited for him and built them a new place to meet. But his heart is still too raw to even think about trying to start something with Dream, not when he's just gotten him back, not when his heart still belongs somewhere in America.

“But enough about me and my poor broken heart, let me tell you about the internet!”

Dream looks like he wants to press, but instead gracefully accepts the subject change and allows Hob to enlighten him about YouTube, memes, and Netflix. 

–

At some point in the night, Hob catches sight of a breaking story on BBC, on one of the pub’s televisions. A British tourist had been found on a beach in Florida. His eyes are missing. The story then goes into the mysterious resurgence of killings by The Corinthian in the United States. It seems like there’s been a murder at least once a month, if not more, in the last two years.

Fucking hell Cory, what are you doing?, Hob thinks despairingly.

“What are you looking at?” Dream asks, curious.

“Terrible news mostly, sorry about that, I’m going to ask them to change the channel.” Hob says. He can’t stomach looking at this. Before he’s able to get up, though, Dream turns to look at the television screen behind him and his entire demeanor changes.

Hob feels as if all the air in the room has suddenly disappeared. If there were ever a reminder for the immortal that his oldest friend is not human, this is it.

"The Corinthian," he hisses, venom dripping on every syllable.

“Wait a minute, you know him?!” Hob asks, and his mind suddenly spins a thousand conclusions.

The Corinthian told Hob that he was a nightmare. His creator, the one who had tried to kill him, was a king, who presided over the realm of dreams and nightmares and he…

Hob suddenly has a flashback to ancient Greek history, the old poems, the name Morpheus…

Morpheus. Dream.

Dream is The Corinthian’s creator. The one who had tried to unmake him…in 1916…almost a hundred years ago.

Fuck.  

Dream continues, unaware of Hob's panic. “The Corinthian is a wayward creation of mine. I was in the middle of unmaking him for some grievous crimes when I was captured by Roderick. I also have my suspicions that he provided advice to Roderick on how to keep me contained.”  

Suspicions that Hob knows to be true. The Corinthian had told him once that he'd gone to visit his creator's captors to make sure he wouldn't get free. Hob feels wretched for not pushing The Corinthian more on who exactly his creator was but the blond had always been so cagey about his origins, and Hob had learned from his 1889 meeting with Dream not to push too many boundaries on supernatural entities. As far as he was concerned, The Corinthian was a survivor of a cruel, uncaring master and Hob was just glad to have him in his life. He's not sure how to reconcile the image The Corinthian painted of his creator with his centennial companion who certainly has a temper, but was anything but cold and unfeeling.

Dream stands suddenly, only barely managing to not knock his chair to the floor.

“I apologize, Hob, for cutting our time short, but I must reign him in before more are cut down by his selfishness.”

“Wait Drea-”

But Morpheus is already gone. It's so sudden, so familiar, that Hob realizes he's an idiot for not noticing it before.

Shit shit shit, Hob thinks.

He pulls out his phone and dials a number he still knows by heart despite not hearing from it in almost two years. 

The number you have dialed has been disconnected. The operator automatically answers.

SHIT!

All Hob can do now is wait, and hope that his lover and his old friend don’t tear themselves apart. He’s not sure whose side he’d even choose.

[poppy-in-the-woods]

My Ride or Die - Part 2

Plot: Noah is your husband. Five years ago, he killed a man that was attacking you. The judge ruled that, since he shot him several times after he already had been stabbed by you, it was no longer self-defense. He got twenty years, and that was two and a half years ago. After the conjugal visit for his birthday, you visit him, bringing food and other presents to help him keep warm on cold nights.

Pairing: Noah x Female Reader

Word Count: 2601

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Tags: fluff, bit of angst, convict!Noah, masturbation, mentions of suggestive pictures.

Author’s note: betaed by the amazing @rottingfern. Sorry for the long wait, but you know, life gets in the way of writing sometimes, and I wanted to polish this one as much as I could. Let me know how I did, and hope you enjoy.

It had been exactly a week since you last saw Noah. You definitely needed a bit more recovery before thinking about having wild sex again, the ache between your legs still dully moaning, but you two were happy to see each other nonetheless.

The room was busy with spouses and kids that came to visit other inmates. Noah sat alone as he waited for you, but he quickly rose up when he saw you approaching. You greeted him with a quick hug and a peck on the lips and sat in front of him, putting the bag you were carrying on the bench beside you.

“How are you, my love?” you asked.

“Not bad. Better than most days now that you are here,” he said.

“I brought you some presents,” you said, taking the items out of the bag. “Here’s your sandwich,” you began, pushing it to him. He unwrapped it with an excited smile and began scarfing it down. “Slow down, honey, or it’s gonna hurt your stomach,” you told him.

“Sorry,” he said, chewing slower.

“I also brought you some extra underwear and socks,” you continued, putting the paper bag on the table.

“Nice!”

“The shampoo and deodorant you like…” you listed, taking them out of the bag too and placing them beside the underwear, “and a belated birthday present!” you announced, handing him the wrapped package.

“They let you bring that without opening it first?” he asked, skeptical.

“I told them it was a present, so they did me a favor” you told him, shrugging it off like it was nothing. You knew the schedule of the guard who had a soft spot for you and you fully took advantage of that, though you’d never tell that to Noah. “They ran it through the X-ray machine, with the rest of the stuff,” you assured him.

“No metal file or spoon hidden, then,” he joked.

“No, sorry,” you replied, chuckling as he finished unwrapping the book: it was a hardback copy of High Magick (A Guide to The Spiritual Practices That Saved My Life on Death Row), by Damien Echols. “Don’t take off the plastic just yet,” you whispered. He nodded. “I am sure you will find it a very interesting reading,” you added, in a normal tone.

“Thank you, baby,” he said, taking your hands and quickly kissing your knuckles.

You smiled at him and he smiled back at you, letting go of your hands before the guard could decide that it was too much physical contact and end the visit early.

“How’s it going with that newbie? Did he bother you again?” you asked, trying to make some small talk.

“Nah. It’s all good now, he learned his place,” he replied, finishing the sandwich. He let you clean his mouth with the paper napkin.

“Good.”

“I received your letter yesterday, by the way” he told you.

“They took their sweet time reading it, didn’t they?” you fumed.

“I’m sure the warden loves your prose, and the poems. I certainly do,” he said. “I especially loved the lines that said ‘My heart is a bird/ that every night takes flight/ to you and guards your sleep’, and ‘I dream of your hands around my waist, / your breath on my neck, / your heat inside mine, / and our hearts beating in sync’”.

“I wasn’t too inspired with the rhymes in that last one,” you said, grimacing.

As much as you didn’t feel any embarrassment for the words you wrote to Noah, you didn’t want them repeated to you. Creative writing was an outlet your therapist recommended, as were the dabbles in poetry, but you didn’t fancy yourself a poet. Noah was the poet and the musician, not you.

“By the way, do you need another notebook?” you asked.

You had given him a pretty notebook when he entered prison so he could annotate whatever he wanted, and you knew he had been using it as a sort of journal and to write his lyrics and compose his music. A month before the anniversary of his first year locked up, he had requested a new one. You had bought one with more pages that time. He was on notebook number three now.

“No, I still haven’t filled the last one. I will tell you when I need a new one, but thanks for asking,” he said, smiling. “How are you, baby? How are things at work?”

“I’m fine. Before I forget, I have a new manager now, a lady in her fifties - the old one was fired because Shelly reported him to HR for attempted grooming,” you explained. Shelly was your only underage coworker, a sixteen-year-old girl who was still in high-school. “Anyway, the new one is very nice, and upon learning about you, she told me she has a son in prison.”

“In here?” he asked.

“No, he’s in another facility. He committed tax evasion and had a money laundering scheme going on. He got mixed with the wrong crowd, apparently,” you informed him. “They don’t see each other that much, but she writes him letters every week. She told the whole team that my visitation days are sacred and that if anyone needs a change of schedule, to try anyone else, because I am not available,” you finished smiling.

“I already like her,” he said, containing a laugh.

“She also said you were very handsome ‘despite all that ink’”, you told him, marking the quotations in the air. “She’s kind of old-fashioned regarding tattoos.”

“Tell her I said thank you for the compliment,” he replied. “And that I don’t take offense to her not liking my tattoos.”

“Will do!”

“I have something for you,” he said, taking a square envelope from under his ass. “I recorded it with the boys. I want you to be the first to listen to it,” he said, as you took the CD out of the envelope. You smiled, looking at the title and all the signatures.

“I feel honored, honestly,” you said, immediately putting it in your purse. “I’ll listen to it tonight, though it might take me a while to write an in-depth review.”

“Don’t worry about that, we can wait. The boys send their regards, by the way,” he said.

“Tell them I said hi back. I’m so happy you made friends here! And Nick… well, I am not happy that he is in prison too, but… at least you already had a friend the day you arrived, you know?” you said.

“I was relieved to see a familiar face the first day, I’m not gonna lie,” Noah admitted.

“By the way, I spoke with the lawyer…” you began.

“No,” he snapped, cutting you off.

“But I would just spend two years, and your sentence would be reduced -” you began.

He grabbed your wrists.

“Look at me: we already talked about this, and I won’t let you spend a single day behind bars. I fired the gun, I take the blame,” he said, holding your gaze intently.

“But…” you tried to argue. While you recognized and were grateful for his sacrifice, you didn’t want him to spend so much time behind bars. You thought you were strong enough to endure two years if that meant he got to be free earlier. Why wouldn’t he let you do that for him? You loved him just as he loved you; why shouldn’t you sacrifice in return?

“No buts,” he said, putting a finger over your lips. “I heard what the guards do to the female inmates in prison and I won’t let you go through that to shave five years off my sentence,” he said, finally releasing your hands. “End of discussion.”

 “Okay. I love you so much, Noah!” you said after a pause, on the verge of tears.

 “I love you too, baby. Now, don’t cry! You know I hate to see that here,” he said, and you knew he was right: the crying was best reserved for when no one could see, because any sign of weakness on your part could reflect badly on him. You took a deep breath and smiled at him. “That’s better. Do you have an appointment with your therapist this week?”

“Yeah, this afternoon,” you nodded. You had taken notes to talk to your therapist about his response to your proposal, whatever his response would be, though you didn’t expect him to agree, honestly.

“Good. Tell her I enjoyed the books she recommended.”

“That one is also a recommendation from her,” you said, lightly tapping the Damien Echols book. “The extra material is all my idea, though,” you whispered. He arched an eyebrow, questioningly. “You’ll see.”

Not long after, you had to end the visit. With another quick hug and light peck on the lips, you said goodbye to him. On the way back home, you put the CD in the player of your car and listened to it. The lyrics were so beautiful and his voice sounded so clear, like he was beside you, that you had to pull over to the side of the road for a couple of minutes while you let the tears finally flow.

“Ma’am, are you okay?” a voice asked. You lifted your gaze to find a police officer standing by the side of your car. You rolled down the window and stopped the music. “Are you injured?”

“No, sir, I am fine. I just got emotional and… I needed a moment.”

“I see. What was that band, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Oh! That was Bad Omens; it’s my husband’s band. They’re on Spotify, I think.”

“They sound good, I’ll give them a listen. If you are better now, I suggest you go on your way,” he said.

“Yes, sir. Thank you for your concern.”

Every lawyer you ever spoke to always told you the same thing: if you’re ever stopped by a police officer, be polite and don’t let them know you have a spouse in prison, because they will look at you differently and there’s a chance they won’t be nice to you upon learning that fact.

You continued your way and arrived home in time to prepare a meal for yourself, feed the cat and go to your therapist appointment.

Meanwhile, Noah was in his cell, unwrapping the book from its plastic. He noticed an envelope taped to the back cover. He opened it to find several pictures. Eight of them were of you, recreating some pin-up posters; hot, but nothing that could be considered pornographic. The ninth, tenth and eleventh were more risqué, something that could be classified as artistic nudes, but the twelfth…

He took the picture number 12 in his hands, looking at it closely. It was a close up of your nude chest, focusing on the tattoo over your sternum. Your nipples were not in frame, but he knew your breasts far too well, so he was able to complete that image mentally.

He carefully picked up the other photographs and put them back in the envelope. He then taped this one to the metal frame of the bunk bed above him and slid a hand in his pants. His mind was already racing, conjuring the image of you naked beside him, kissing him and touching him with light fingers.

“This one’s for you, baby” he muttered, stroking his cock.

Not shortly after he was finished, Nick leaned into the cell.

“Dude, what are you doing? We’re waiting for you in the music room!” he said.

“What?”

“Did you forget we scheduled a rehearsal for today?” Nick asked, entering the cell.

“Yeah, sorry…”

“Were you reading?” Nick asked, seeing the book next to Noah. “Is it any good?” he wanted to know, picking it up.

“Give it back!”

But it was too late: Nick had already seen the envelope and was inspecting its content.

“Oh, I see! You weren’t reading, you were jerking off in her honor” he laughed. “To be fair, I also do it in her honor sometimes,” he joked.

“Not funny, bro! Not funny.” Noah replied, snatching the book from him. “It’s my wife you’re talking about.”

“Sorry. Is something wrong between you two?” Nick asked, suddenly serious.

“No. She tried to bring up the appeal, thinks she should take part of the blame,” he said. “I told her she can forget about it, and I hope this time she listens. I understand where she comes from, but I love her far too much to let her do it.”

“And she loves you far too much not to try to convince you,” Nick pointed out.

“I guess so…”

“She does. I mean, she risked flirting with the guy at the entrance to bring you this, didn’t she?” Nick said, pointing at the book.

“What do you mean?”

“Rumor says that if you don’t want something to be too closely inspected, you compliment the guard at the entrance. Works like a charm if you’re a pretty woman, or at least that’s what my cousin said,” Nick told him. “Those pictures? They would probably be considered porn and confiscated. She’s a criminal mastermind, dude.”

“Yeah, sure,” Noah said, amused, but his laughter quickly died on his lips, as the implications of what Nick just told him sank in: you had taken too many risks for him and his pleasure, more than he was comfortable with. He sighed; his beautiful, smart and reckless wife! What was he going to do with you? “You will get out before me. Would you keep an eye on her for me?”

“Sure, dude. She’s my friend too, you know?”

Noah knew you also corresponded with Nick and talked to him on the phone. Past benders aside, you two were close enough for Nick to call you a friend. Knowing his friend, Nick was likely the one to suggest the fiery red lingerie to her as a birthday surprise, and if his suspicion was correct, Noah was very grateful to him.

“Thank you.”

“No need to thank me yet. We’re still both in this shithole, so maybe we could go to the music room now and rehearse?”

“Sure.”

That Saturday, while you were watching a movie, your phone rang. It was a collect call from jail, which you quickly accepted.

“Hey, baby!” Noah’s voice greeted you through the line.

“Hi! How are you? Is everything okay?” you asked, straightening yourself up on the couch. He didn’t seem distraught, but he was in jail after all, you could never be sure.

“Everything is as okay as it can be. I just wanted to hear your voice,” he said. “Oh, I have begun with your present. You were right, it’s a very interesting reading.”

“Did you enjoy the extras?” you asked.

“Oh, yeah! Thank you, baby.”

“By the way, I almost finished analyzing the record,” you told him. “I have the last two songs left and the conclusions, and I will have a full review, song by song.”

“You know you don’t have to do that, right?” he said.

“I know, but I like doing it, and I like to think that my reviews are useful for you guys, you know? To have a listener’s perspective,” you replied.

“Of course they are useful!” he assured you. “I just say it’s not an obligation,” he clarified.

“I know, and it doesn’t feel like it,” you swore.

“Okay. I need to go now, but I love you. Sweet dreams, baby,” he said.

“Sweet dreams, my love! I love you too,” you replied, and he hung up.

The next conjugal visit couldn’t come fast enough.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

If I Fell For You (Part 5) - Date Night

Summary: The reader and Jensen go on their first fancy date together before attending a nanny happy hour the next night. The reader makes a new friend there to Jensen’s dismay but someone from the past will come along and change things between the new couple...

Masterlist

Pairing: Jensen x nanny!reader

Word Count: 4,200ish

Warnings: language, lying, angst, mention of past child abuse/assault, fluff

A/N: This a rough one, not gonna lie. Enjoy!

________

Friday Night

“Y/N, I’m downstairs when you’re ready,” said Jensen through your closed bedroom door.

“I’ll be there in five,” you said.

“See you in fifteen,” he chuckled before he walked away. You walked back into your bathroom, looking over your hair in a bun. It looked like a freaking messy bun actually. You should have done it down and in big flowy waves instead. You pouted and smoothed out your dress. Of course you were bloated and you’d nicked your leg more than once shaving earlier. 

“It’s Jensen,” you said to yourself, taking a deep breath. “He’s never even seen you in makeup before. You’re fine. He’s not gonna say anything.”

You forced yourself out of the bathroom and slipped on your heels, your clutch in your hand. You wobbled for a step or two on the carpet but did better once you were out in the hardwood hall. Ten seconds later you were downstairs, heading over to the foyer area. 

“All set?” you asked, Jensen spinning around. He smiled as he stared, eyes looking you up and down more than once, not even trying to hide it.

“Y/N, you look pretty,” said Arrow as she rushed in from the family room. 

“Yes she does,” said Jensen. “We’ll be home soon, okay?”

“Okie dokie,” she said, wandering off with a little wave.

Half an hour later you were sat at a table in a very nice restaurant, Jensen tugging on his collar. His cheeks were slightly pink but it wasn’t from the cold outside. 

“So...what’s a good wine?” you asked, sliding the drink list over to him. “I’m not really good with the names.”

“You like red or white?” he asked.

“Normally red,” you said. “You?”

“I like a Merlot,” he said. “You like dry?”

“Sure,” you said. 

“We’re not going dutch tonight you know right. This is all on me.”

“We can go dutch, Jensen.”

“I asked you out and this is fancy, even for me. My treat, okay?” he asked.

“Alright,” you said, looking around the restaurant and over in the distance to the bar. “You know I could go for a lemon drop actually.”

He smirked and set the list down, a waiter coming by. He ordered a gin and tonic for himself while you got your cocktail, Jensen breaking off part of a breadstick from the basket. 

“Bread’s good,” he said with his mouth full.

“So. Ackles,” you said, picking up a piece and tearing off a chunk with your teeth. He stared and started to laugh to himself. “Ah, there’s my sweet guy.”

“Thought you were gonna say boyfriend for a second.”

“This is our second official date,” you said. “So. Boyfriend.”

“Yes girlfriend?” he chuckled.

“What’s an appetizer look like in a place like this? Like a tiny cube of cheese with some dressing they’re gonna charge twenty bucks for or something like that?”

“You’re goofy,” he said, a big smile stuck on his face. “Uh, they probably have something like that. There’s normally some kind of bread olive oil bowl option.”

“Fancy people eat like a starving college student apparently,” you said. He tried to hide his laugh as your waiter brought over the drinks and a pair of menus. “Excuse me but can you recommend an appetizer? We’re both new to town and are wondering what you think is a good choice.”

“You can’t go wrong with our sourdough and seasoned oil dipping sauce,” he said. You glanced at Jensen and smiled. “The artichoke spinach dip and tartar crackers are also quite lovely.”

“Do you have anything with a little more substance? We’re quite starving,” said Jensen.

“The fried calamari and crab cake poppers combo is a great option,” he said.

“What’s calamari?” you asked.

“Squid, miss,” said the waiter.

“We’ll have that combo,” said Jensen.

“Perfect. I’ll put that in and be back shortly to get your dinner orders,” he said. He took off and you made a face at Jensen.

“Squid?” you asked.

“It’s fried. Trust me, it’s pretty good,” he said. “I could go for a good steak. You see a filet on here yet?”

“Uh,” you said, eyes scanning the page and seeing most everything was something you’d never heard of. 

“There it is,” he said. “I’m getting that and scalloped potatoes. See anything you want to try?”

“Uh, why does half of this seem like it’s a foreign language to me?” you asked. Jensen looked at his menu and chuckled.

“That would be because it’s in French. We’re in Canada and this is a french restaurant.”

“Oh. Gotcha,” you said. He got up and leaned over the back of your chair, glancing at the page.

“These are soups and salads,” he said, pointing near the top. “Sandwiches. Pasta. Main dishes down here.”

“Uh, maybe pasta?” you said. He knelt down and read off the dishes to you one by one, your waiter returning by the time he was just finishing.

“Anything I can assist you with?” he asked.

“I’ll have the fettuccine alfredo with chicken please,” you said, handing the menu to him, Jensen returning to his seat.

“Face principale?” he asked. You stared at Jensen and he smiled.

“She doesn’t speak French,” said Jensen.

“My apologies miss. What would you like for your main side dish?” asked the waiter. “Steamed vegetables, scalloped potatoes, lobster bisque-”

“I’ll have the vegetables,” you said. Jensen ordered and the waiter went to get your appetizer, a sad smile on his face.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think twice about the French thing.”

“Kinda hot that you know French,” you said. “I should try to learn it if we’re gonna be up here for a few months.”

“I’m an idiot and I learned it so you’ll do just fine picking it up,” he said. 

“So where’d you learn in the first place?”

“I’m stuffed,” you said, plopping your napkin from your lap onto the table awhile later. Jensen took the last bite of the piece of mouse pie, licking his lips as he finished. “This might have been the best alfredo I’ve ever had.”

“I enjoyed it. Mostly I enjoyed listening to you talk,” he said. You blushed and looked away, Jensen letting out a small hum. “It’s funny. Doesn’t really feel like just a second date, does it.”

“No, not really,” you said. “I guess that’s what happens when you’re friends first.”

“Well I definitely like being friends with you,” he said. 

“Me too, Jensen.” 

“Want to get out of here?” he asked. You smiled and nodded, the two of you outside a few minutes later wrapped up in your coats. Your feet were cold in just your heels, Jensen’s arm wrapping around your waist when you almost slipped more than once. It was slow going back to the car, especially when it started to snow lightly.

“You know, that dress would still look hot with winter boots,” he chuckled. 

“Sorry,” you said.

“No apology necessary. I got freaking dress shoes on and my feet are cold. I can’t imagine how you’re holding up,” he said.

“The perils of being a woman,” you said.

“Well, no need to impress me is all I’m saying. I ain’t looking at your feet anyways,” he said.

“Oh well in that case I’ll wear some nice baggy sweats next date.”

“Please do,” he said. 

“You really don’t care, do you.”

“I think you look beautiful tonight. But I think you look beautiful every night. You did your hair and makeup and this is stunning, don’t get me wrong. But she’s not more beautiful than the girl at home with hair tossed up all messy walking around in oversized shirts and leggings. It’s like flowers. Both are pretty but one isn’t more pretty than the other.”

“Where the fuck did I find you?”

“At my house,” he chuckled. You whacked his arm and leaned your head on his shoulder. “Almost back to the car. I’ll blast the heat for us when we’re in there.”

“Thanks Jensen.”

“Thank you for the date, honey. I mean it. We’ll do it again sometime. Promise.”

Saturday Night

“Your boyfriend seems pissed,” said Brandon. You sipped up the last of your beer, glancing over to the bar where Jensen was tapping his finger. 

“He’s fine,” you said. “So any good parks around the west side of town?”

“Center Grove is always my choice. Good playground, nice area, cops routinely are around. Parking can kinda be a bitch sometimes but it’s worth it in my opinion. My kids love it.”

“You’ve been their nanny for five years you said?”

“Mhm,” he said, knocking back the last of his drink. “Shawn’s mom is their mom’s best friend.”

“Oh. So you had an in already.”

“You know long term gigs are the way to go in this job,” he said. “Not too many American girls come up here. Your accent is cute.”

“Is it, eh?” you chuckled.

“Like I’ve never heard that one before,” he said, Jensen walking back with two beers and a clenched jaw. 

“You okay?” you asked as he sat it down in front of you.

“I’m fine,” he said, taking a long sip. Brandon slid off his seat and made a face. 

“I need a refill anyways. Nice meeting you Y/N. We gotta hang some time,” he said as he walked away.

“For sure,” you said, Jensen rolling his eyes behind his back. “Jensen what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” he said.

“Well you obviously have a problem with Brandon.”

“I don’t have a problem with him. I have a problem with my girlfriend flirting with another guy.”

“I was not flirting. I’m trying to make new friends. It was your idea to come to this thing tonight anyways.”

“Whatever,” he scoffed.

“Excuse me?”

“In case I wasn’t clear, I’m not the kind of guy where I’m okay with you dating multiple people at once. I don’t get that not exclusive shit.”

“I’m with you and only you. I was being nice. Geez, let’s just go,” you said. You got up and pulled your coat on, bumping into a guy on the way out. He turned and apologized, staring at you a little long.

“Y/N?” he asked, a big smile on his face. “My Y/N?”

“Dad?” you said, his face much older looking than you remembered but his eyes still the same.

“Dad?” said Jensen. You brushed past your dad and outside, Jensen hot on your heels. 

“Y/N,” your dad said as he left the bar. 

“Stay away from me,” you said. “Jensen I want to go home right now.”

“What-”

“Right fucking now!”

He held up his hands and you walked around the block to the car, getting inside and Jensen taking off.

“So your dad’s alive huh,” he said. You stared out the dark window with crossed arms. “So is everything I know about you bullshit?”

“What?”

“Is literally anything you’ve ever told me true? Your dad obviously didn’t die when you were a kid. All those late night talks about family and shit, you just like to fuck with people or something?”

“I was not flirting with Brandon you asshole. You didn’t need to know my whole life story the second I meet you.”

“Oh. Okay. Just your fake life story then, huh?” he said. You shook your head as he got stuck at a red light. “If I can’t trust you, I can’t employ you let alone date you.”

“Whatever,” you said. He drove in silence until you were out of the city, going along quieter roads. You were close to the house when he suddenly turned right towards the local park and stopped in the lot, putting the car in park. He touched your arm and you turned, Jensen leaning over and kissing you roughly, far more roughly than you thought he was capable of. You blinked when he pulled back, Jensen looking you up and down. 

“He won’t hurt you.”

“What?”

“Did he walk out on you and your mom?” he asked. “You told him to stay away from you. Sort of shouted it at him. Maybe you lied but maybe...I’m sorry I got jealous of Brandon. I’m still scared and I think you’re still scared too and that’s okay. If you lied about your dad, I’m gonna trust you have a good reason for it. I’m sorry for what I said. I trust you and I don’t want to know what my life is like without you in it.”

“It’s okay,” you said quietly. “I forgive you.”

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” he said. “We can just go home, okay?”

“Why’d you pull over?”

“Because I knew I didn’t mean it and I knew I overreacted. I said I’d mess up when we started. It’s been a long time since I’ve done this. I’m 42 with three kids. Brandon is thirty and young and stronger than I am and can go out to the bar whenever he wants. You have options. You don’t have to settle for me.”

“If I’d wanted to settle, I’d have married my ex. What I wanted was the guy that forgives me for not telling him the whole story cause I’m not ready to say it. I want the guy that makes me happy and feel like I have a teenage crush but it’s deeper than that. You’re not the settle for option, Jensen. Why don’t you get that?”

“The last time I felt like this, I married the girl,” he said quietly. “That didn’t turn out so well.”

“You didn’t get the time you deserved with her. It doesn’t mean it ended badly. You loved her and she knew it. She wants you to be happy again, whether it’s me or somebody else.”

“See? That’s the shit that tells me...it tells me to keep falling for you. I’m so sorry for how I acted tonight.”

“I lied about my dad and not a little white one either,” you said with a nod. You turned away and felt his hand on your cheek. “So much of what I told you was a lie.”

“You don’t have to tell me the truth right now, Y/N.” He stroked your cheek and you glanced over, meeting his soft green eyes.

“My mom died giving birth to me,” you said, Jensen nodding. “He hated me for it. Hated me. He would hurt me when I was a toddler. When I was four he started doing...other things.”

“Four?” he breathed out.

“I didn’t know it wasn’t normal. Not until I started school. I was scared though so I never said anything. One of my friends mom’s realized what was going on when I was over playing one day. He went away and lost custody. I went into foster care briefly and got adopted when I was eight. Single mom who’d lost her husband young. That’s my mom. She was a kind person. Ray was always good to her and to me. But I asked him not to adopt me after she was gone and he knew it was because I was still scared of a dad again. Being a nanny, I’ve met fathers that look at me and I just know what was going through their head. I reported him and kinda fucked up their family situation but-”

“That was the right thing to do,” he said.

“I know it was. I’ve just...I’ve had more than one guy and even a woman walk in on me changing or into my bathroom and it’s like, she’s just the help, nobody cares. They don’t touch so it’s like...what can I even do? Then my house before this one, the guy tried getting in my shower with me and I shoved him and he broke his arm and I just don’t understand why so many people think I’m just a piece of meat. Even my ex never got why it bothered me so much. They didn’t touch me so what was wrong with it? He just didn’t get it. He would get mad if I wasn’t in the mood for sex. Nobody ever fucking gets it except you who I lied to and pissed off tonight and without a word of an explanation why, you say you won’t let somebody hurt me. Do you get why you’re the opposite of fucking settling Jensen?”

“I won’t hurt you.”

“I know you won’t Jensen.”

“How?”

“Because you’re a good person. You’re so gentle and kind. I know you’re strong and tough but I see it everyday. You should never be worried about how your kids will turn out. If they are half as good as you are they’ll be fucking great people. Your daughters aren’t gonna put up with shit and your son is gonna be kind to everyone and say fuck you to the toxic guys out there. I can already tell the kind of person you are through them and it’s a good one. A really good one.”

“I’m not the only good person in their lives,” he said. You sniffled and looked down, Jensen’s hand sliding under your chin and tilting it up. “You don’t have to apologize for not telling me all of that. Never apologize for not telling me that. Okay?”

“I never told anyone about…the other stuff,” you said, wanting to look down but Jensen’s hand holding your chin up.

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about. I’m sorry it took you so long to find people that would protect you.”

“You mean…” He nodded and dropped his hand away, running it over your head. “You’re not gonna like, go back and kick his ass are you?”

“Want me to? I’m very tempted at the moment,” he said.

“I just want to go home. I could use one of those hugs right now.”

“Do you want to stay with me tonight? Just to stay, nothing more.” You nodded and he kissed your forehead, a tiny smile crossing your face. Ten minutes later you were home and the babysitter was gone, Jensen pulling you into his room next to yours. You blew your nose in his bathroom and washed off your face, lifting your head to find a pair of your pajama shorts and one of his shirts on the vanity beside you. He smiled as he ducked out, leaving you to change. You let your hair down and took off your bra before you walked out and saw his blanket on the opposite side of the bed. “Warm enough?”

You spun around as he walked inside and you nodded, Jensen pulling you into a hug. 

“I’m sorry for how I was at the bar,” you said.

“I was the one that overreacted, not you,” he said. You felt goosebumps on your arms and he pulled away to turn up the heat, nodding over to the bed. The covers were flung back and you climbed underneath, Jensen getting in on his side. His arm wrapped over your waist and pulled your chest close to his, face only inches away. “You don’t have to worry about him anymore. No one will hurt you again. I promise.”

You moved closer to him, resting your forehead against his.

“Remember last Saturday when we were on the trampoline and you talked about those safety nets,” you said.

“Yes, I do.”

“You’re a really good net,” you said softly.

“So are you,” he murmured. He kissed the tip of your nose and you shut your eyes. “What’d you want to be when you were little?”

“A princess,” you said. He chuckled and you smiled. “I wanted a prince to come take me away and everything would be just fine.”

“Really?”

“Princesses were always happy at the end of the movie,” you said. “They got the boy and they were happy. Then I grew up and prince charming doesn’t exist.”

“Cause you’re not a damsel in distress. You didn’t need the prince to save you.”

“But the prince would have made life so much easier.”

“I’m partial to badass princesses myself,” he said. You opened your eyes and he was smiling.

“I’ve never noticed your freckles before.”

“They come out more when I spend some time in the sun.” You moved a hand up and traced under his eye, Jensen nuzzling into his pillow. “Make you a deal. If the badass princess saves me, the scared prince will save her too.”

“Okay,” you said. You kissed him lazily, Jensen smiling through it. 

“Do you want to be a nanny forever?”

“Not forever. It’s an easy way to feel like you have a family when you don’t.”

“Now you do,” he said.

“Jensen you don’t know if this will work out.”

“I do and you do and we’ll take it slow anyways,” he said. “Which is why I’m asking do you want to be a nanny forever.”

“Why?”

“Because maybe someday I won’t need one,” he said. 

“I thought about being an elementary school teacher when I was eighteen for a hot second.”

“You did? You’d be amazing.”

“Pay in Texas is crap though. I make more as a nanny.”

“If money wasn’t an issue though, would you want to be a teacher still?”

“Anything at all?” you asked, Jensen nodding, nose brushed against yours. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

“You okay?” he asked, reluctantly letting you out of bed.

“I’m good. I want to show you something,” you said. You slipped out of the room and down the hall to the playroom, picking up a book. Jensen was sat up in bed when you returned and crawled under the covers. You handed him the book and he smiled.

“I don’t remember buying this,” he said, flipping it over. “There’s no serial code on it.”

“You can’t buy it. I wrote a children’s book and printed a few copies for myself,” you said.

“You wrote a book?” he asked, flipping through it. “Did you draw this?”

“Yeah,” you said, Jensen staring at you. “I don’t know if it’s any good. I never tried publishing it.”

“You want to write children’s books, don’t you?” he said, starting to read the story.

“I have a number of them written out. I would make up the stories for kids at bedtime and decided to write them down. It’s kinda like whinnie the poo, that age group, you know? Same group of characters but different stories,” you said.

“These are adorable,” he said, turning another page. You were quiet while he read through for a few minutes, Jensen smiling when he shut the book. “I’ve never read a children’s book where they deal with the loss of a parent.”

“The kids really like it,” you said.

“You should publish this. Seriously. It’s cute and I’m a grown ass man and it made me feel better about Dee.”

“It’s just a story,” you said, rubbing the back of your neck.

“I make stories for a living. This whole place would fall apart without stories. This is good. You should consider trying to get it published.”

“Maybe if that nanny job doesn’t work out I will,” you said. 

“Do you mind if I keep this?” he asked.

“Not at all. I gave it to JJ in the first place.”

“Thanks. I want to read this to the twins tomorrow,” he said. He set it on the nightstand and slid back down, pulling you with him. “Why’d the mom fox die in the story? I would have expected the dad wolf considering…”

“Wish fulfillment for a nice father,” you said. “Plus I like drawing the wolf.”

“I like him. He’s fluffy,” chuckled Jensen. “Is that why you asked if I carry a picture of my kids when we met?”

“I’m done with asshole parents. If they treat their kids like shit they sure as hell aren’t gonna treat me any better. You seemed like a good guy. Good guys tend to do that kind of thing.”

“I’m not always good.”

“Yeah, you are,” you said. You shut your eyes and nuzzled close to him, Jensen letting out a soft hum. “You okay? With me being here.”

“Very. Feeling better after everything that happened?”

“Mhm,” you said. “I’m still sorry I lied to you.”

“Did you ever lie about your mom?” he asked. “I mean aside from the fact she adopted you, did you lie about her?”

“No.”

“Then you didn’t lie, not really. I’m sorry it came out like that. You should have been able to tell me in your own time.”

“You still would have been angry,” you said. 

“I still would have come to my senses too. I’m not perfect. I never was.”

“I don’t want someone perfect,” you said. Your head rested against his chest and you let out a soft sigh.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he said. He kissed the top of your head and tucked it under his chin, adjusting the blankets once before he stilled.

“Goodnight, Jensen.”

_______

A/N: Read Part 6 here!

[thefanficmonster]

What's It To You?

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Summary: To some people, relationship labels aren’t important. To some they aren’t important only in theory. Well, Y/N finds out she falls in the later category, leading to a falling out with her boyfriend Corpse.

Requested by Anon. You’ll know who you are when you read the fic 😉 Thank you for the ‘angsty argument’ request. I hope I captured what you had in mind and I hope you enjoy the read. Love, Vy 🥰

The time is nearing 7PM and Corpse has barely eaten anything. I always keep track of his meals and time spent in front of a computer screen, making sure he doesn’t spend too much time exhausting his eyes or starving himself. He never notices he’s hungry until he takes a bite of something and his appetite grows in  matter of seconds. The real battle is to get him to take that first bite.

I get up from the couch, walking into the kitchen. I open the fridge, scanning its contents for any ideas that might pop into my head for dinner. When nothing comes to mind, I resort to my last option - asking him. There’s only a slight chance he’ll be of any help. He’ll most likely say he’s not hungry or that he’ll make himself something late. He never does. I’ve gotten used to him being a man-child when it comes to eating. In the eleven months that we’ve been dating, I’ve force fed him more times than he has eaten on his own terms.

I go upstairs, stopping outside the door to his recording room to see if he’s talking to someone so I don’t walk in and interrupt. When no noises come from the inside I knock. 

“Come in.“ 

Upon opening the door, I’m met with Corpse nonchalantly sitting in his desk chair, leaning as back as he can without tipping over. Arms folded behind his head, legs stretched out in front of him. The whole nine yards, suggesting that he not streaming.

“Hey.“ He greets me as he turns his chair a bit in an attempt to face me

“Hey, what’d you like for dinner?“ He opens his mouth to reply the millisecond after I have spoken my question. I already know what that reply will be so I hurry to prevent it, “And no, ‘later’ and ‘I’m not hungry’ aren’t on the menu.“

He sighs, shaking his head as though he’s disappointed that I caught onto his game. The smile that slowly makes its way to his lips, however, suggests that he appreciates my concern. “Grilled cheese sandwiches? I mean, if you feel like it.”

I smile, relieved that the usual convincing portion of our interaction on this specific matter has been avoided. “Ok. Be down in fifteen then.” I give him a nod before heading back out into the hallway.

Before I am able to close the door, I hear someone else’s voice come from behind me. “Hey Corpse, was that on your end?”

Oh shit, he wasn’t muted

“Yeah man, sorry. Accidentally unmuted myself.“ Corpse sounds unbothered by this, but I am a little uneasy now.

Corpse and I have agreed to keep our relationship by a ‘won’t ask, won’t tell’ rule - if someone asks him if he’s in a relationship, he won’t lie and say no, but we haven’t gone public nor do we plan on doing so without someone asking us about it head-on. Well, not us. Him. His friends don’t know me and neither do his fans. I’m not in the same industry. I don’t stream nor film YouTube videos. The most I do for that platform is help Corpse with some editing when he needs to have a rest. So, if anyone were to reveal our relationship, it’d be him.

“Oooh, who was that?“ A girl’s voice asks teasingly. “Corpse, what are you not telling us?“

By this point, I’m out in the hall but I left my ears in the room. I know I’m not in the right here - eavesdropping is most definitely not nice, but I can’t help myself.

I hear him chuckle, “Nah, it’s just my friend Y/N.”

My heart drops so suddenly for a reason beyond my understanding. I feel like a kid feels when it’s told Santa isn’t real - I can’t believe what I heard. 

I hurry to get back downstairs as soon as possible and also as quietly as I can. It’s tough, running with a pit in your stomach and a knot of I’m pretty sure is tears in your throat. When I’m finally in the kitchen, the aforementioned tears are blurring my vision. I try to blink them away but accidentally send one of them trickling down my cheek.

I’m aware this might be an overreaction and if I stopped to think I could probably find ways to justify what Corpse said. But I’m genuinely hurt, and I hate that I am.

I’ve never cared about what others know about me or think of me. Same goes for my relationships. I don’t put labels on things nor on my connection to people. I am surprised and disturbed by how much the label ‘friends’ bothers me. We’ve been dating for almost a year now, you’d think calling me his girlfriend would be second nature. Guess not.

I swallow the hurt and surprise, deciding to keep myself busy with the preparations for the dinner I was planning to make. However, keeping my hands full and giving my eyes a place to look doesn’t stop my thoughts from eating away at me. 

                                                             * * *

Twenty minutes later the sound of a door opening echoes from upstairs, followed by the sound of footsteps going through the hallway and then down the stairs. 

“It smells so good in here.“ He comments, his eyebrows raising when he takes in the freshly made sandwiches on the kitchen island. “You’re the best, Y/N.“

“Hmm, aren’t you lucky you have a friend who knows their way around the kitchen, huh?“ I reply sharply, not even sparing him a glance.

In the twenty minutes I was left alone with my wilding thoughts I declared that I wouldn’t beat around bush when he comes downstairs. That I would address the issue and tell him exactly how I feel about it. What I didn’t plan was being so harsh. I actually barely contain a wince when I realize how sharp of an edge my words had.

I feel ten times more guilty when I see the regret that flashes on his face, “You heard that.” He grips the edges of the table, leaning down and letting out a sigh, “I’m sorry, I panicked.”

The anger in me evaporates, leaving room for the hurt to keep spreading and take over me. I was never really angry with him, I’m just upset by the fact that his immediate reaction wasn’t to refer to me as his girlfriend. 

“Why would you panic? What’s it to you if they know?“ My voice is barely above a whisper now, the tears I’m fighting back are clogging my throat, not allowing me to sound as clearly as I’d like.

“What’s it to you? I thought you didn’t care.“ He argues back, his gaze travelling from the tabletop to my eyes. I see the guilt in all his features and his body language.

“I thought so too.“ I shake my head, “But hearing you call me a ‘friend’...’just a friend’ stings. I don’t even know why, but it does. It feels almost like you are embarrassed of me. If that’s the case you can just tell me, you know?“

In a blink of an eye he’s crouched down in front of me, one hand holding both of mine while the other cups my cheek. “It’s not. It has never been and it will never be the case. You are one amazing person, Y/N. You deserve the world, not to be stuck with me. I’m just...” He trails off, his eyes not able to focus on mine any longer, “I’m scared of how people knowing about us will affect our relationship.”

My blood starts boiling again. I know I need to get away from him before I reach the point of saying something that’ll hurt him, so I untangle my hands from his grasp, pulling away from him. “Weak excuse, Corpse. You know it will change nothing except make me feel more included in your life. I will no longer feel like I’m a house rat no one knows about.” I stand up, unable to look at him, and start heading for the staircase. 

“Y/N, please! ”I stop dead in my tracks when he calls out my name, his footsteps following behind me. “Don’t be...-”

I turn around, cutting him off in the process, “I need to be alone right now.” I tilt my head in the direction of the dining table, “Sit down and eat dinner. We’ll talk...later.”

                                                             * * *

Now that it’s been almost twelve hours with no contact between us I realize that my reaction was justified only to a certain extent. I understand his concerns and I could’ve expressed mine a little more calmly and in a lot less accusatory manner. But what happened happened and all I can do now is go over to him and apologize, establish a proper communication to resolve the issue that I so stupidly blew out of proportion.

My phone died sometime during the night and has been sitting on the charger but still turned off for a while. I go over to it and press-hold the start button. While it’s powering up I start changing my from my pajamas into my regular clothes, noticing a small stain on my shirt in the process. As I’m examining the stain, my phone starts going crazy with notifications, causing me to jump and drop my shirt.

“Fucking hell.” I mumble, disconnecting my phone from the charger and looking at the huge list of notifications on my lock screen. They are all alerts of new followers, likes and tags, non from people I know. Non except one.

@ corpse_husband tagged you in a post 

Wait what?

I tap the notification which leads me to a picture Corpse posted two hours ago. It’s a picture of me taken in the living room without my knowledge. I’m an oversized sweater and yoga pants, my hair in a messy braid and my attention caught by the book in my hands. My glasses have slipped a bit down my nose, suggesting that I’m too concentrated on the contents of the pages in front of me that I haven’t noticed.

We started off as friends but it didn’t take long for her to become my best friend. And then she stole my heart. I know you’ll read this eventually, Y/N. So...hi. Love you. 

PS - the sandwiches were bomb 🖤

I’m more than caught off guard. Like a surprise hug from behind, warmth spreading all throughout my body. 

Without a second of hesitation I put my phone down and run to the bedroom door. However, I don’t make it very far considering I nearly run straight into Corpse’s chest as I exit the room. He catches me before I knock him straight to the ground, thankfully.

“Aren’t you a rocket this morning. Where are you headed?“ He chuckles, holding onto my upper arms.

One look at his smile, a single word out of his mouth and I’m melting. I walk straight into him, wrapping my arms around his torso, hiding my face in his chest. He comfortably rests his chin on the top of my head, not asking any further questions until I finally answer.

“Right here. I was heading for you.“ I whisper before I pull away enough to be able to look him in the eyes. “I wanted to tell you how sorry I am. I was being childish and overdramatic and I’m sorry about all I said. I was really upset.“

“It’s ok, baby. I’m sorry for making you upset in the first place. I understand now how much it means to you.“ He caresses my cheekbone with the back of his hand. “I...um...tried to make things right by...“

I push up on my toes, pressing my lips against his, putting an end to his timid stuttering. “I saw it.” I mumble in the kiss.

“Did you like it?“ 

“I loved it.“

“Did you read the comments?“

My heart skips a beat when I hear that dreaded term. Just the thought of reading through the comments terrifies me. I tell myself that some strangers’ words aren’t gonna have an impact on me, but I know they will. Especially since these ‘strangers’ mean so much to Corpse.

I shake my head. He pulls away, taking my hand and leading me towards the living room. “You have to. You’re gonna love them.”

I reluctantly follow him, plopping down on the couch next to him as he pulls out his phone and scrolls through the comment section of the picture he posted. He was right. All these people have said such things about me and about our relationship. Some verified names are also there, sharing their support much like the fans. 

“See, this is why I was nervous. I’ll have to do duels for your attention now.“ He glances at me, leaning in and kissing my temple as he sometimes does so impulsively.

“You don’t do duels when you are already sitting at the throne. Right next to me.“ I once again capture his lips with mine, tempted to never pull away, but also tempted to keep reading the comments.

Damn, he might be right about the duels.

He takes his phone from me setting it aside as he slowly lifts me and settles me in his lap, never letting our lips detach.

Nevermind. Fuck the duels

@susceptible-but-siriusexual  @simonsbluee  @save-the-sky  @hacker-ghost  @itsminniekat  @bi-andready-tocry  @imtiredaffff  @jazzkaurtheglorious  @hereforbeebo  @fandomgirl17  @chrysanthykios  @maehemscorpyus  @loraleiix  @letsloveimagines  @annshit  @i-cant-choose-a-username-help  @enigmaticmaze

[mercurygguk]

bleeding for you | jjk

genre; angst, fluff

pairing; EMT!jungkook x female reader

✎ summary; In which it’s just another quiet night at the fire station until there’s an alarmingly serious car accident not far away. Jungkook is the first on the scene along with his partner, Namjoon. What meets Jungkook at the scene of the accident is worse than anything he could ever imagine.

word count; 3,367

based on a request by anon; It's a Jungkook au, where he's a EMT & they get a call for a very serious accident. When he arrives on scene he sees a very familiar car. A hand dangles from the shattered window, the engagement ring he'd slipped on your finger not two months ago mocking him. I envision a happy ending, but if you want, do with it what you will.

warnings; Descriptions of car accidents, mentions of bruises and blood, jungkook’s crying a whole lot, i’m sorry if this is tough on your heart bc it definitely was on mine, phew

a/n; I LOVED THIS IDEA FROM ANON, SO THANK YOU ANON and let’s be honest here, paramedic/EMT!jungkook is lowkey hotttt. Also, I took some inspiration from the tv-show Chicago Fire and some from Grey’s Anatomy because those are the only shows I’ve actually watched with things related to this kind of scenario, lol. I hope you like it, enjoy!

ps. it’s heavily unedited and i wrote this rather quickly, so please ignore if you spot anything hehe

The clock ticks on the wall and there are sounds of cars passing by once in a while outside on the street. Jungkook is staring silently at the TV in the staff room, his eyes focused on the ball that moves around between the football players. He’s bored, sighing deeply to himself as he drops his head back against the back of the couch he’s currently slouching on. Namjoon, Jungkook’s partner, plops down beside him, a sandwich on a plate for him to eat for dinner. He looks happily at his sandwich, more than excited to bite into it and finally getting a chance to continue reading his book for once.

Jungkook hates quiet nights at the firestation. He despises them. It makes him think of all the other things he could be doing instead – an example being at home, in bed with you; his fiancé. A title you recently had gained after Jungkook finally got the courage to get down on one knee for you, asking you to be his for the rest of his life. Just the thought of the happiness he felt that night made butterflies erupt in his stomach, suddenly daydreaming about your smile and the way you always manage to make him feel like he’s floating on a pink cloud. He’s totally whipped, but only for you.

His daydream is quickly interrupted by the sound of Namjoon chewing his sandwich loudly, making Jungkook glare at him with disgust. Namjoon, the charming person that he is, looks back at Jungkook in confusion.

“What?” Namjoon blurts with his mouth filled with a bite of his disgusting sandwich. Jungkook shakes his head at him, turning back to the boring game that’s unfolding on the TV. He really hates quiet nights. 

After half an hour and still nothing, Jungkook groans and gets up from the couch to wander around, causing Namjoon to look at him again with tired eyes. “What’s going on, Jeon?” He asks, flipping a page in his psychology novel.

“Nothing’s going on,” Jungkook grumbles, tired of just sitting around, “absolutely nothing.” 

Namjoon is about to tell Jungkook to sit down and relax for once but the alarm beats him to it, sounding loudly throughout the entire fire station. “Squad 3, truck 81 and 82, ambo 65, 78 and 32 – bigger car crash on the 5th highway, multiple victims,” Taehyung from the alarm center's voice booms throughout the fire station’s rooms. Jungkook’s eyes widen and so do Namjoon’s. They’re quick to move, book, sandwich and football match long forgotten as they run to their unit. Jungkook jumps in the driver’s seat, buckling up faster than ever. His partner is fast to join him and buckling up as Jungkook speeds out of the garage at the fire station and onto the road. Jungkook’s focused, eyebrow knitted together in concentration and the urge to do what he does the best – save some lives.

The highway is chaotic once Jungkook and Namjoon arrive as the first ones at the scene, multiple cars lying around – on the hood, on the side and some crushed to the point of where it’s not even a car anymore. It looks worse than anything they have ever experienced and it’s slightly terrifying but they’re headstrong as they grab their medical bags and run off to a random car each. Squad 3 and the firetrucks pull up not long after Jungkook and Namjoon’s arrival, all of them getting out quickly and getting to work, trying to see if they can save all victims or just the majority of them.

The first car Jungkook reaches is empty, the driver of it luckily managed to get himself out before any sort of rescue arrived. He seems fine, his car almost not even scratched. “Sir, are you alright?” Jungkook asks, doing his job in making sure the man is alright before continuing to another car. The man nods, waving a hand at Jungkook.

“Please go see some of the others, I’m fine!” He almost sobs, clearly traumatized by the car accident.

Jungkook nods at that, giving him one last look all over before heading on to the next car. He looks around in his haste to get to the next one, stopping abruptly in his tracks as he spots a familiar looking car. It can’t be, he thinks to himself as he turns to look at the car properly. His chest tightens at the thought, feeling himself hastily moving closer to the car as tears begin to form in his eyes. It doesn’t occur to him until a hand dangling from the window catches his attention as he gets closer, the diamond ring confirming his worst fear.

“No, no, no!” Jungkook shouts in a mix of terror, anger and his heart breaking into a million pieces, tears already falling from his eyes as he runs up to the car, his hands trembling. Pain shoots through him at the sight of you, body limp and unconscious, face battered in bruises and wounds and there’s blood on your beautiful, white shirt and he prays to God that isn’t yours but who is he even trying to fool? Of course, it’s yours. “No, please, no!”

From the other side of the highway, Namjoon spots Jungkook scrambling towards the car that he, too, finds awfully familiar. His eyes widen at the sight as realisation hits him. 

“Shit!” He hisses, making sure the victim he’s treating is okay before running towards Jungkook, heart beating a hundred miles per hour. All he can think about is getting his partner away from the car which is lying on its side. “Kook!”

Namjoon has to pull harder than he expected as he reaches Jungkook. He isn’t willing to let go of the car, hands reaching for your unconscious body that is still, thankfully, buckled up in the driver’s seat. You hear nothing of Jungkook’s cries as he’s pulled away by his partner and best friend. “____! Baby, please wake up, please!”

The sight in front of them is nothing but a real life nightmare, the scene only a fear of Jungkook’s until tonight. Namjoon has no idea how to calm his partner down as he pulls him away. His heart is breaking at the sound of Jungkook’s sobs, his chest heaving for air as he looks at the broken car, which was nicely parked in the parking lot of his and yours apartment building when he left for work this morning. He watches it being pulled apart to reach you, the EMTs of Ambo 78 tending to your wounds and body, trying their best to support you until they get you to the hospital.

They lift you into the ambulance, Jungkook’s body working automatically as he tries to jump into the back of the ambulance and ride with you to make sure that they’re taking care of you the right way. This isn’t just another victim, it’s you, Jeon Jungkook’s fiancé. Namjoon holds him back, using all his strength because a sad, terrified Jungkook is stronger than he ever could’ve imagined.

“Hyung, please, I need to go with her!” Jungkook cries, glancing quickly at the man holding him back, before looking back at the ambulance you’re now in. They close the doors, hurriedly getting in the front and speed off. “For fuck’s sake, Namjoon, let me go!”

Namjoon shakes his head, “I need you to calm down first, Kook. You’re not thinking clearly.”

Jungkook thinks that’s the biggest load of bullshit he’s ever heard. He whirls around, not in the mood for his best friend’s psychology shit. “I swear, I will punch you,” he sneers, eyes watery and cheeks stricken with tears. Namjoon stares back at him, lips in a tight line and eyes wide because he has never seen Jungkook so out of it before. “How am I supposed to calm down when my fucking fiancé is a victim of one of the biggest car crashes we’ve ever witnessed, huh? She’s hurt and unconscious in the back of one of OUR ambulances right now, Joon. Don’t fucking tell me to calm down.”

Despite his harsh words, Namjoon feels sorry for Jungkook. He nods, putting his hands up in surrender. Jungkook breathes out, chest heavy with a feeling he can’t quite describe. He just knows that he doesn’t want to waste another second here, the only place he wants to be is by your side until you wake up and tell him you’re okay.

“At least let me drive you to the hospital?” Namjoon offers, voice hesitant and cautious as he gestures to their ambulance. 

Jungkook sniffs, nodding, “please.”

The ride to the hospital is quiet, tense too. Jungkook is staring straight ahead and not moving, just letting the tears in his eyes fall until he has none left. He’s pretty sure the drive to the hospital usually isn't this long. He feels like he’s been on this ride with Namjoon for hours when really, it has only been at least 15 minutes. 15 minutes too long, he thinks to himself. He could’ve been with you right now, holding your hand while you get sutured up and stitched back to perfection – at least what Jungkook thinks is perfection. However, you’d never agree on that.

Namjoon doesn’t get to say anything before Jungkook’s out of the passenger seat of the ambulance, his body moving almost before Namjoon had parked it. He doesn’t notice anything around him, heading straight for the front desk to ask about your status. The nurse there looks at him with a face that says she’s sorry without even saying the words. Jungkook doesn’t need those words, there’s nothing to be sorry for. People only say they’re sorry when something really bad happens, and as far as Jungkook knows, you’re still alive. You have to be. He hasn’t married you yet.

“My fiancé was brought here not long ago, her name is ____,” Jungkook hurriedly asks, the nurse working quickly to type into her computer. Jungkook taps his foot against the floor in impatience.

“She’s in surgery at the moment,” the nurse says softly, watching as Jungkook’s breath hitches in his throat at the news. Namjoon comes up beside him, laying a hand on his shoulder. “The doctors will find you once they’re done.”

Namjoon nods in appreciation to the nurse, Jungkook stares at nothing in particular, scared he’ll break down in the middle of the entrance of the hospital he so often visits because of his job. “We’ll wait over there,” he tells the nurse, tugging Jungkook along. “Let’s go, Kook.”

Jungkook follows along, sitting down in a seat with Namjoon beside him. He feels like he should be calling his family and yours, yet he can’t think straight and his head is empty for words right now. The only thing on his mind is you and the fact that you’re at risk of dying. He has no idea how serious your injuries are but they’re serious enough to land you on the surgery table. His breathing is short, eyes staring at the floor and ears focusing on the sound of the opening and closing of the doors to the surgery halls. He feels alone even though Namjoon is sitting right beside him, he feels helpless, he feels like he’s been left in the dark. He knows nothing about what’s happening to you and it’s driving him absolutely crazy. The thought of losing you brings a new round of tears to his eyes, lips trembling as he fights to keep his sobs inside and not break down in the middle of other people. It’s like Namjoon senses as he gets up, pulling his phone from his pocket. He moves a bit away from Jungkook, speed dialling the only person he knows will be able to comfort his best friend in the slightest. 

Jungkook’s wandering the waiting area, hands tightly intertwined in front of his lips and eyes closed as he walks back and forth in front of Namjoon. It has been at least three hours and his nerves aren’t exactly becoming less the longer it takes for the surgeons to give him some kind of news – any kind would be appreciated by now. He stills as a hand comes to rest against his back, gentle touch that can only belong to one person on this planet. He turns around to face her, her eyes softening at the sight of his red eyes and wet eyelashes.

“Mom,” he croaks out, a sob raking through his body as he crumbles into her embrace.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she coos, wrapping her arms around his tall frame, hugging her sweet, heartbroken son to her chest in the hopes of comforting him just the tiniest bit. They stay like that for a few minutes until Jungkook’s mother breaks the embrace, holding him at arm's length. “I’m sure she will be fine, Jungkook. She’s a strong woman.”

He sniffles, feeling slightly better at his mother’s words. He offers a small, the tiniest, smile. She smiles softly and comfortingly at him, reaching up to wipe his tears away. “You have to be strong too, sweetheart. She needs you to be strong for her.”

Jungkook nods and whispers lowly: “I know, mom.”

“Mr. Jeon?” A voice calls. Jungkook, his mother, and Namjoon whips around to face the doctor who called Jungkook’s name. “Miss ____ is out of surgery. We were able to fix her injuries and she is up for recovery now.”

Jungkook lets out a sigh of relief, feeling a heavy weight disappearing from his shoulders. The doctor offers him a warm smile. “She will be in the ICU for at least a couple of days until we see some progress. You can go see her, she is in room 248.”

“Thank you so much,” Jungkook says with the utmost gratitude and a smile as he shakes the doctor’s hand before grabbing his things and heading in the direction of the ICU. 

He finds the room without any problems, pausing just outside of the door. His mother and Namjoon both stand behind him, watching him in silence. They’re not pushing him, letting him do this on his own, letting him prepare for whatever he’s about to meet behind this door. He inhales and holds his breath before pushing the door open and heading inside. The sound of the monitor beeping is the first thing that meets him, what meets him next causes him to gasp softly in horror. This must be what it feels like to live out your nightmare and biggest fears, he thinks to himself as he moves closer to your body that’s lying unconsciously on the bed. It seems his tears are never-ending today as he pulls a seat to the side of the bed, sitting down with his eyes trained on you.

He looks you over, wincing lightly at the sight of tubes and IVs attached to you. There are scratches and wounds on your body, your skin beaten up from the harsh car crash you so unluckily ended up in earlier. He’s hesitant as he reaches for your hand, being more than careful as he intertwines his hand with yours. You don’t squeeze his hand like you always do and it makes him realize that you are in fact unconscious and probably not aware of the entire situation right now.

Jungkook scans your face, lips trembling and fingers shaking as he reaches up to move your hair out of your face. There’s scratches on your pretty face too, a big patch on the right side of your forehead where they stitched you up. He’s hurting, not quite as much as you, as he looks at you. You’re still gorgeous, even like this. 

“I love you so much, ____,” Jungkook whispers, bringing your hand up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your ring-clad hand. “Please be okay.”

Days have passed since the accident, and you still haven’t opened your eyes. Jungkook is becoming impatient, sitting here and waiting is killing him slowly. His mother had left in the morning after being with him throughout the first night. Jungkook had called your family while his mother held his hand. He will never forget the way a sob raked through your mother’s body as he told her what had happened. They were here now; your mother, your father and your brother, Yoongi. Your parents sit on either side of you, Jungkook’s resting against the wall at the end of the bed, Yoongi sitting in the chair beside him. The silence is almost unbearable but no one dares speaking, afraid of nothing in particular – perhaps the chances of you crashing right in front of all of them.

Jungkook’s done crying. He doesn’t think he has any tears left in him, only this heavy feeling of regret even though he has nothing to regret. No matter what, he couldn’t have stopped this from happening. Why you were out driving that late is still a mystery to him, but he’s not sure he wants to know. He has a feeling it will tear him apart knowing the reason.

Your dad jerks up from his resting posture causing everyone to widen their eyes at him. “S-she squeezed my hand,” he almost whispers. Jungkook’s breathing quickens, eyes staring at your closed ones. He waits, anticipating the worst. Your eyes flutter, a small crease forming in your forehead as you try to adjust to the lights in the room. He sighs in relief for what feels like the hundredth time, feeling the tears coming back. Okay, he isn’t quite done yet.

“Jungkook?!” You croak out, trying to sit up. Jungkook feels his heart breaking at the tone in your voice. You sound confused, slightly shaken up and sad. He’s quick to be at your side, taking over from your father. His hand grabs yours, fingers intertwining automatically. “Kook,” you whimper, clearly not fully awake from your deep days long slumber.

“I’m here, baby” he softly calls, searching your eyes with his own, “I’m right here.”

You look at him, eyes locking and you feel yourself calm down already. Jungkook notices the unshed tears in your hazy eyes. “Where am I?” You ask, voice small.

“The hospital,” he explains, keeping his voice low and soft for you as you just woke up from a long, long nap. “You were in an accident, ____. Do you remember what happened?”

You shake your head, wincing at the movement. Your entire body is sore, hurting everywhere and you want to cry. You just want to cry and hug Jungkook tightly because that’s the only place you feel safe and happy, in his arms. 

“How long?” You speak a bit louder now, still not registering your entire family standing around the two of you. You’re in your own little world, your focus only aimed at the curly-haired man in front of you. Your mom is watching you closely, letting a small tear slip down her cheek as she takes in the moment of you and Jungkook. Your father is right beside her, rubbing her arms in comfort. Yoongi is watching too, smiling to himself because he doesn’t think his younger sister could’ve found anyone more fit for her than Jeon Jungkook.

“Only a few days,” Jungkook answers, bringing your intertwined hands to his chest. His heart is beating hard and fast causing you to gasp. He smiles at you as you look up at him, eyes wide.

You move to press your other hand to his chest, resting it above his heart. “Are you okay?”

Jungkook can’t help but chuckle. Even when you’re the one hurting, you ask him if he’s okay just because his heart is beating a bit faster than it usually does. He nods, smiling softly at you, eyes twinkling with fresh tears once again. 

“I’m fine,” he whispers, leaning closer to press his lips to your forehead in a lingering kiss. “Just really relieved.”

You smile at his words, only imagining how worried he must’ve been the past few days if you’ve been in this bed and unconscious. “I love you, Kook.”

Jungkook chokes out a laugh, “I love you too baby, more than anything.”

[slightlyrebelliouswriter23]

hey so i'm hoping to get some writing advice about creative burnout? like i seem to write in fits and spurts. some months i can churn out a oneshot or chapter everyday and some months i can do one (1) creative thing only. so i'm wondering how to prevent creative burnout and how to just create more smoothly <3 thank you!

Creative Burnout & How To Ward Against It

First, I’d like to preface this all by saying you’re definitely not alone. You probably already know this, but sometimes it’s nice to be reminded.

I know from personal experience that creative burnout can leave you feeling hopeless, detached from yourself—the kind of identity crisis no one needs in 2020. 

So buckle in, folks. It’s a dosy.

I. The Symptoms

Not to be the local WebMD page here, but signs of burnout can include:

Procrastination (more than usual)

Dreading writing and feeling stuck or overly perfectionistic when you try

Physical tiredness and/or irritability

Feeling like everything is monotonous

It’s more than just writer’s block. It’s a physical and emotional exhaustion response to something that goes deeper than a simple lack of inspiration. In my experience, and from a bit of research, I’ve found that what your brain is really looking for is dopamine.

Dopamine is essentially your brain’s chemical reward system for doing something interesting or exciting to you. As someone who is diagnosed with ADHD, I have chronically low levels of dopamine, so this is a constant struggle for me—but it is absolutely made worse by creative burnout.

II. The Problem

Studies have shown that the more we do A Thing the less that thing will give us dopamine (unless a component of the activity changes regularly). This is because eventually our brains desensitise to the stimuli provided by the activity, and subsequently, we become disengaged.

But it’s not necessarily The Thing (i.e. writing) that becomes boring. Actually, more than a few factors could be at play here, and the first step to finding a solution is to identify the problem.

1. ENVIRONMENT LACKS EXCITEMENT/CHANGE—

Sometimes, the monotony of everyday life can feed creative burnout. This becomes especially applicable in quarantine when you’re not leaving your house.

What we don’t realise is that even something as small as the variables of driving to and from work, or interacting with passing coworkers, gives us dopamine. So if you have the same routine every day that does not involve any added variables, your brain will begin staunching that dopamine supply.

2. EITHER TOO EASY OR TOO CHALLENGING—

In 1975, Hungarian-American psychologist, Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, coined the term “flow”, which refers to a heightened state of creativity and concentration on an activity. Csikszentmihalyi posited that if your skill level is equal to the level of challenge in any given activity, you will experience this state of flow.

The chart below is taken from Csikszentmihalyi’s own study on the subject of flow and motivation. It examines “your skill level” on the x axis in relation to the “challenge level” on the y axis.

Essentially:

Too much challenge + not enough skill = anxiety, worry (which might lead to procrastination and perfectionism)

Too much skill + not enough challenge = boredom, apathy (which might lead to monotony, irritability, and other depression-like symptoms)

Skill level = Challenge level = Flow

3. NOT ENOUGH “ACTIVE” STIMULATION—

When it comes to dopamine seeking, there is a distinct difference between active and passive stimulation in the brain.

Active stimulation is any form of activity that you have to actively engage in. For instance; exercising, doing a crossword puzzle, or reading a book. These kinds of activities not only give you dopamine, they also facilitate critical thinking and problem solving thought processes, which act as catalysts for creativity.

Passive stimulation, on the other hand, comes in the form of television, social media, and YouTube. It’s anything you can consume without having to actively engage. Passive stimulation will indeed give your brain dopamine, however, it won’t activate your creativity.

The problem also lies in the speed at which you receive the dopamine from passive activities. Passive stimulation is so easy to access that the more you consume, the harder it becomes to pick up active stimulation. Your brain expects a hit of dopamine just by picking up a phone or turning on the TV—it becomes addicted to the quick fix of a Netflix binge.

III. The Solutions

Based on the problems mentioned above, I am going to list a few solutions. Keeping in mind that not every solution will work for everyone, these can act as both preventative measures and remedies for someone who is currently burned out.

1. CHANGE UP YOUR ENVIRONMENT/ROUTINE—

Aim to do at least one thing per day that will add “variables” to the monotony. This can be as simple as going on a long walk, dressing up in that bold outfit you always wanted to wear to the office but never did, or sitting at a different workspace in your home.

Anything you can do that’s simple, but might provide an extra variable to your day to spice things up. Note: this shouldn’t be the same thing every day.

2. CHALLENGE YOURSELF MORE—

If you find yourself bored by your work, try challenging yourself more. This could mean setting goals for yourself that go a bit beyond what you’ve been doing. 

For example, if you’ve been writing 500 words per day, see if you can beat your own word count every day for the next week. If you’ve been writing mainly fluff pieces, switch it up and do an angst piece. See if you can write a book in a month, or start a blog where you don’t write fiction at all!

Anything you can do to add a little kick to your workload. Note: Beware of challenging yourself too much! This can lead straight back into burnout.

3. CHALLENGE YOURSELF LESS—

If you’re on the flip side of that coin, and find that you are anxious, procrastinating, and perfectionistic when it comes to writing, fret not. Just because you’re experiencing any of these things, doesn’t mean you’re incapable of doing the job with your skillset.

It just means your perception of the job needs to be shifted.

Procrastination, at its heart, is a fear of failure, which results in actively avoiding the negative emotions associated with the task that causes this fear. Perfectionism is a type of procrastination that is a combination of a fear of failure and a fear of success (or, more accurately, other’s critiques of your success) all at once.

Neither have anything to do with your actual skillset, but they have everything to do with your perception of your skillset. Obviously, this is a harder thing to fix, as it has to do with deeply ingrained levels of self-esteem.

What I can offer you is a tactic to trick your mind into thinking you’re capable.

If you have a task, big or small, and you are feeling overwhelmed by it (like you might go curl up in bed and scroll Tumblr), immediately break that task up into smaller tasks. Keep breaking up the smaller tasks until you have the smallest possible part of the bigger task without doing nothing.

Then do that smallest possible thing.

If your goal is to write a 2000 word one shot, a small part of that task is writing half of it. An even smaller part of that task is breaking the one shot up into “scenes” and writing one scene. For instance:

Jude wakes up to a sore throat, a runny nose, and a fever.

She tries to go to work, but Cardan, being the mother hen that he is, threatens to never make her another grilled cheese sandwich (her favourite food) ever again if she doesn’t stay home.

Jude agrees begrudgingly, and Cardan sits her down in front of the TV with a bottle of Gatorade. He leaves to go get medicine from the store.

When Cardan comes back, Jude is worse than before. He makes her soup and saltine crackers and spoon feeds her.

She complains the whole time and, in her feverish state, threatens to never buy him another bottle of wine (his favourite food) ever again if he doesn’t let her feed herself.

Each bullet point represents one “scene” of about 200-400 words each. Obviously, there will be more details that you work out as you write. But with these five smaller scenes, your goal is no longer writing the 2000 word one shot. Your goal is writing the first of the five scenes.

If you complete the smallest possible task, you can stop, and you’ll still feel like you’ve accomplished something because you can cross off that task from your list. But chances are, by the time you cross off one task, you may have inspiration enough to keep going.

4. ENGAGE IN ACTIVE STIMULATION—

Since active stimulation has been proven to turn on the creative “tap”, try incorporating more of these activities into your daily routine:

Exercise: As the resident couch potato, I hate to say that exercising is good for creativity, but it is. Even if it’s just going on a short walk, so long as you’re moving.

Reading: Sometimes you have plenty of ideas, but no words to fit those ideas. Fill your well of words by carving out an hour or two each day for reading a good book.

The Creative Process: In the writing world, the creative process is a process of about 20-30 minutes that the writer partakes in every day before they start writing. This process should be creative, but also have nothing to do with writing. You can try colouring in a colouring book, painting, organising a page in your bullet journal. Anything that is creative but does not make you think about everything you have to do that day. Think of it as creative meditation.

Listen to music: Having APD, I personally can’t listen to music while I write. However, studies have shown that if you listen to at least ten songs per day, it will significantly benefit your dopamine levels and overall mood. If you’re like me and prefer to work in silence, maybe stick on a couple songs during your creative process. If you can manage music and writing together, get out those headphones!

5. KEEP A REGULAR SCHEDULE—

I know this is the most cliche point in the book, but it’s valid. This doesn’t mean do the same thing at the same time every day over and over, because ultimately we’re looking to avoid monotony. 

But having pillars of structure to bolster the excitement can definitely work to keep you from slipping into burnout. Going to sleep, waking up, and having your meals at relatively the same time every day are good examples of this. 

Feel free to change up the things you do between breakfast and lunch, but make sure you have those pillars of consistency so your brain knows that a break is on the horizon and doesn’t get tired.

6. PACE YOURSELF—

This is particularly difficult for those of us who are coming out of a creative burnout, but I urge you to pay special attention to this one. If we are suddenly hit by inspiration and the writing is flowing and flowing and flowing, eventually we will hit the point of highest dopamine capacity for writing.

Not putting a check on the flood of inspiration coming out of a creative burnout, I’d argue, is actually a guarantee that many of us will experience burnout all over again. It becomes this vicious cycle in which we are trapped.

While it feels great to write non-stop and receive immediate validation for that work, try to limit yourself to how much you’re writing and how immediately you post your writing (if you plan on posting it).

Whenever I finish a one shot or a chapter of something, I like to allow at least one day for editing before I post. This timeframe is important, because it acts as a buffer of rest between writing marathons. 

You can take however long you need for the editing process, but definitely make sure you have a set amount of time in place. Otherwise, your brain might not have enough time to come down from what is essentially a writing high, and you will always need to reach greater heights in order to achieve that same level of dopamine.

~~~~

Overall, the most important things to take away from all of this are: 

Change up your environment

Keep your brain actively stimulated 

Have pillars of structure between which you can run about chaotically to your heart’s content

PACE YOURSELF!

Hope this helped. Happy writing!

-Em 🖤🗡

Writing Tip Masterlist

Fic Masterlist

Celebrate 2K with me!

[btsficsforthehumble]

adj.: 1. Modern, unfamiliar, or different

2. Not based on or conforming to what is generally done or believed

pairing: reader x ot7

genre: college au; angst, fluff, smut, poly, ot7

Summary: You begin your first year at a prestigious university, set out on achieving your academic goals when a series of men step into your life that change the way you view the definition of love.

A/N: Thank you to the glorious minjoonalist for this banner! Everyone give her some love <3

Part One

Warnings: none in this chapter

Word count: 2k

It’s your first day.

First day entering the world of higher education, on the path to betterment (or whatever the dean said in his boring introductory presentation). To tell the truth, you were pretty zoned out as various speakers talked to the thousands of students that would now become your peers. Those hard ass plastic seats were NOT conducive for attentive listening.

Regardless, you pushed through, and here you are, Monday morning, at 8:45 sharp, sitting in yet another hard ass plastic seat. This time however, you had a small wooden desk in front of you, in line with about a couple dozen others. This was your first class --- Calculus.

You were always good at math compared to the average student, however, being placed with the super smart kids all the time made you self conscience and at worst, made you feel stupid. You were too good at math for the standard curriculum, but felt too dumb for the advanced one. It’s no surprise that math quickly became your least favorite subject.

That hadn’t changed. You were dreading this class, even though you took calculus already in high school --- theoretically, it shouldn’t be that difficult. You knew however, that you had absolutely no willpower when it came to studying math. And considering the fact that you are now attending a prestigious university, one known for their STEM programs, you felt adequately nervous.

You glanced around the classroom, baron except for the desks and the large whiteboard covering the expanse of the front wall. A few other students showed up early as well, mostly looking either as nervous as you felt, or tired like they had just enjoyed their first weekend at college perhaps a little too much.

You yourself hadn’t gone too crazy, going to a single party on Saturday where you only had one drink --- lame even by your own standards. However, you were just getting to know your roommates, and felt it best to remain sober enough to keep an eye out on them or manage any situation this new environment would throw you.

You weren’t close with any of your peers from your high school that also attended your university, and it seemed your roommates were in the same boat. So, naturally, you all decided to go out together as new friends. They all seemed to be nice, and you got along well with everyone so far. You hoped that wouldn’t change.

You sigh gently to yourself while reflecting upon your less than thrilling weekend. You hope that one day you’d let yourself experience the wild college parties that you've heard about. You want to know what it felt like to get properly drunk and dance with a cute stranger without any worries in the back of your head.

Speaking of cute strangers, you take a glance around the classroom, steadily filling up with students. You might as well see if there were any hotties in the class that you knew you’d rather daydream about than pay attention to exponent integrations.

You spotted a boy sitting a ways away from you that caught your attention. His legs were stretched out in front of his desk, in a way that screamed “I don’t care if you trip over me, in fact, I dare you.”

His attention was glued to his phone, as he appeared to be taking snapchats --- probably for some obnoxiously beautiful girls, you thought to yourself, eyes rolling slightly. You had to admit though, he was quite attractive. He had dark brown hair, covering his forehead and slightly swept to the side. His eyes were a dark brown to match, and were quite cute. He had a nice nose and clear skin. His most striking feature was his lips however. He had lips that were larger than the average guy and they looked very kissable. And his frame was decently large, his shoulders wide and masculine, juxtaposing his cute eyes and lips.

You blushed at your own thoughts about the stranger across the room, knowing you were getting entirely carried away in your state of boredom. You still had five minutes until class was supposed to begin. You put away your own phone, which you were holding in your hands as some sort of social protection, in your backpack. You then pulled out your fresh new binder with graph paper, lined paper, tabs, dividers, the whole nine yards. You may not enjoy math, but organization always brought you some level of mental tranquility.

You pull out a pen just as you glance up to see a boy standing in front of you, with the brightest, thousand watt smile on his face. His backpack was slung over one shoulder, his hand in his jeans pocket. He had on a loose tee-shirt that somehow flattered his slim frame. You could tell that he wasn’t a meek first year still finding his bearings. He must be at least a second year. You feel your face heat up as you make eye contact, seeing that he’s looking directly at you.

“Hi there! Is this seat taken?” His eyes widen almost comically as he points to the seat directly in front of you.

“Ah no, no it’s empty.” You cringe internally as you notice your less than relaxed delivery.

He gives you another dazzling smile as he plops in the seat in front of you, pulling out his own simple notebook and pencil.

You rub your forehead trying to get yourself to calm down. You need to not turn red every time a cute boy talks to you, let alone look in your direction. This is so not like you.

You manage to calm yourself down, ready to begin your first class so your attention is off the boy sitting in front of you.

Your professor must have walked in as you were mentally reprimanding yourself, because you hear an authoritative man's voice come from the front of the room when 9 o’clock hits. You immediately began trying to pay attention, writing down all of the information he put on the board even though it’s stuff already in the syllabus. The truth was that you simply needed to throw yourself into a task to keep your mind from straying back onto the boy in front of you.

About seven minutes later, the door to the classroom swings open and another boy walks through, giving the prof a quick salute and grin in apology. You, as well as the rest of the class, had naturally turned your eyes towards the distraction. As soon as it was found to just be a straggler, everyone’s attention quickly shifted back to the professor in front. Your curiosity was piqued by his confident, goofy nature, however.

You couldn’t help but keep your eyes on him a moment longer. He had shaggy dark hair, tanned skin, and a smile that was strikingly unique as it was a little bit of a square shape. He was devastatingly handsome, and you had a feeling he knew it too. Your hypothesis was instantly supported as he made eye contact with you, noticing you looking at him longer than your peers. He flashes a smirk your way that you’re pretty sure could knock anyone’s panties off.

You mentally start screaming and feel yourself turning the color of a freaking fire truck. You quickly jerk your head back down to your notes and refuse to look back up to meet his eyes.

It appears he wasn’t going to give you a break though. You felt the air woosh past you as he walks down your aisle and stops immediately behind you, taking the empty seat.

Great.

Now, you were sandwiched between two guys that you're pretty sure were the most attractive you’d seen in a long while. Not to mention the guy several rows over that you were ogling before they even arrived. You quickly realized that there wasn’t a chance in hell your full attention was going to be on the lecture during this class.

Your entire body sagged with relief when your fifty minute class was up and the professor released everyone. Noticing, the boy behind you leaned forward and huskily whispered, “You’re not a morning person either, huh?”

You froze for half a second at the sound of his voice. It was deep and silky, and my god was it sexy. And he was talking to you.

“You could say that.” You were shocked at his attention but somehow managed to pull out a response that didn’t make you look like an idiot. You didn’t bother turning around to look at him as you answered, deciding not to let him see how pink your cheeks were as you returned your items to your bag.

He let out a little chuckle and stood up.

“I’m Taehyung. And you, my little night owl, are?” He drew out the are waiting for your response.

You too stood up, putting your backpack on.

“I, Taehyung, am off to my next class.” You were annoyed that he seemed to take notice of your attention on him in the beginning of the class and thought that you were a fun little target to flirt with. You knew he wasn’t interested, but merely found it fun to take advantage of his good looks. This allowed you to get over your schoolgirl crush behavior and return to your normal self, which you knew had more of a bite than necessary at times. You had developed a tough edge at a young age and you think that it has protected you a lot already in your short life.

He raised an eyebrow at the sudden appearance of sass and gave you another grin. You simply rolled your eyes and turned on your heel to march yourself out of the classroom, joining the other students that were filtering out. By the time you had turned around, the cute guy with the smile that made your heart melt had already left. You were slightly disappointed to your own chagrin. Why on Earth are you paying attention to boys when you knew you had other priorities? It’s not like anything would come of it anyway.

Throughout high school, you steered away from boys in a romantic sense and they more than happily did the same. You knew you were intimidating, as you had a sharp mouth and quick wit. No one messed with you and you liked it that way. You had kept to yourself, and kept your grades high. You just didn’t have any interest in the boys you’ve known since you were a kid.

As you walked to your next class, you silently cursed yourself for not being cool and collected the entire period. Where was that icy exterior that you had curated for years? How did a simple smile from the boy in front of you turn you into a puddle? How did that annoyingly hot guy behind you manage to blindside you at first?

You nearly stopped in your tracks and groaned when you realized that you had that class every. single. day. It was five credits, so that meant Monday through Friday, you’d be there 9 in the morning, attempting to not think about the cute boys around you.

You were giddy deep, deep down that such cute guys were in your class but the more level headed side of you knew it was in vain. It’s not like they’d go for you or anything. And besides, they would only distract you from the class that you already knew was going to be a struggle.

You pinched your eyes shut when you slid into your seat in your next class.

You had a feeling it was going to be a long semester.

[binniesthighs]

hello stranger | reader x changbin |

a/n: we are getting to the “height” of the conflict, therefore the angst is gonna start amping up-just as a reminder! This fic talks about self worth and healing from past trauma so please read what makes you comfy! In this chapter, the majority is implied, but still, please read the warnings ahead of time :) 

Part 4 

Pairing: self insert, female reader x seo changbin, female reader x han jisung 

Genre: strangers to lovers, fluff, smut, angst 

Tags: (of this part) college au, rapper!changbin, rapper!jisung, establishedfwb!jisung, artist!reader, explicit language, fluffy growing feelings, mentions of food, hello yes I just wanna give this changbin a huuuuge hug 

CWs: implications/discussion of past toxic realtionship, implications of negative self-worth and self-sabotage 

Word count: 4.8k 

Chapters: 

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5

Popcorn flew into the air in slow motion and approximately four hundred multicolored skittles scattered the floor like the shattering of glass. 

“Yes...yes...FUCK YES!!” 

Felix launched his small body into the air with a victorious screech, turning his controller into a projectile. The clump of black plastic thumped into the torn up corduroy couch missing Chan’s arm by millimeters. 

“HOW TO YOU LIKE THAT?? WOOOO!!” 

Your friend took a victory lap around the tiny living room that was a mess of winter coats and boots with melted snow dripping to the hardwood floor. 

“Felixxxxx, you made a mess!” Chan sighed out deeply and solemnly at the array of rainbow colored candies on the floor. 

“I never win. You gotta admit the way that I finished that off was extra disrespectful. DID YOU SEE the way that I down-B’d you to pieces??? That was fuckin’ awesome.” 

“Good job ‘lix.” You pulled a Twizzler by your teeth and dished out a little wink for him. 

“Hey! I haven’t been playing for nearly as long as you two have. I see this as a complete win.” 

“Well, Chan and I were at each others throats the whole time, so, we kinda killed ourselves off for you.” 

“I still won!!” 

“Alright, alright, good job.” Both you and Chan took turns patting his poofy blond hair. 

“Ahhh our Lix’ is finally growing up.” Chan sighed, mockingly looking out in the distance to some far away place. “But...now you’ve gotta clean this up. Lucky you’re the one that paid for the Skittles, not me.” 

In his fit of happiness Felix didn’t even care about getting down on his hands and knees to pick up the pieces like Cinderella. 

Chan took a gulp of his electric green Monster. “Feels nice to have you back around here Y/n. It feels like it’s kind of been a while.” 

“Mm, it has. You know how it goes, stuff gets busy and all that.” 

“~And she’s been hanging out with someone else~” Felix’s words came out in a cutesy little song. 

“You have?” 

You slapped Felix right upside the head to which he whimpered out with a much more dramatic “owww” than was warranted. 

It was likely a mistake that the two of you had kept Changbin a secret from Chan. Chan basically idolized him, and you felt that it was best not to...complicate things. Every other hour Chan would bring up one of Changbin’s songs, talking about him as if he was some kind of lyrical genius. He had half a plan to meet him at the last show, but had gotten too shy and pulled you both before he could get second thoughts. 

For it to be so easy for you...it felt somehow unfair. 

It was definitely a mistake. 

“Who? Jisung?” Chan rolled his eyes a bit like he always would when spoke of that boy.

“No...” Your voice became small, then you shot deathly glares at Felix who tucked his tail in between his legs. 

“Chan...”

Felix’s eyes widened to full moons once he had realized what you were about to do. You curled yourself up into a ball slightly, sweaty hands grasping at your controller. 

“Its...Changbin.” 

“CHANGBIN?” Chan shot upright from his seat. “Changbin?? Are we talking about the same Changbin?? Changbin-from-the-show-Changbin??” 

“Yes.” You steadied your thumping chest. 

“When did that happen??” Chan turned his body towards Felix who cowered into the mess of Skittles. “Did you know about this?” 

Felix made a little grunt that could have sounded like either a “yes” or a “no”-- it was likely his safest bet. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Because I knew it would be kinda...like this...” 

Your eldest friend sat back down his his palm firmly slapped against his forehead. “Sorry, I’m just having a hard time piecing this all together.” 

“It happened after the show that one day. I was walking home and I fell and got kind of scraped up, then he took me back to his place...” 

Simply bringing that night back up again sent you spinning into your pool of memories: and they had a particular tendency to make you just as flustered as the night when they had first occurred. There were dozens of little things about him that had stuck with you, even if you wouldn’t admit it out loud. 

There was that stupidly confident smirk of his, that little scar on his chin, how his fingers looked in those silver rings, his hooded grey-black eyes, those faint little stretch marks on the backs of his arms, and the way that his Adam’s apple would bounce when you kissed into his neck. 

“Well? Chan’s voice snapped you back. “Does that mean...you aren’t seeing Jisung anymore?” 

“...Jisung?” 

His name hadn’t occupied your thoughts for weeks, and you hadn’t taken much notice of it. There were unread text messages from him that had fallen to the bottom of you message list, and missed calls that you hadn’t returned. Creeping inside of you was a sick and sticky feeling: the kind that you pushed deep down inside yourself to the place where things would get forgotten. 

You didn’t know what you wanted from Jisung. 

It wasn’t the way that he would kiss you roughly and needily, or how he would take greedy hands to every inch of your body. It wasn’t how he would fill praises into your ears or shake a little when he would finish himself off on your belly.  Months ago, it would be all you could think of, then immediately forget after it had happened. That was what made it easy. 

Changbin wasn’t easy. He wouldn’t give himself up entirely to you just because he could. He made you earn him, and he made you seek him. 

You belonged to neither of them. 

In your lap, your hands trembled with a memory of long ago: snowflakes in your hands burning with the cold and your throat scratched from all the yelling. 

“Y/n?” Chan softened. 

 A sob had caught in your throat which you swallowed down with effort. “I-I’m still seeing Jisung.” 

“Wait, you’re seeing both of them?” Felix popped up from the floor. “You didn’t tell either of them?” 

“I don’t need to. I’m not tied down to either of them.” You had said it as confidently as you could, almost like you needed to convince yourself. 

Both of your best friends eyes carefully held yours. 

“Doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t tell them.” Felix nodded. 

Chan nodded too in agreeance. 

“But we’re just fucking around?? Its not like I’m cheating on anyone.” 

“Y/n, you’re missing the point.” 

“What? Don’t I have the right to sleep with whoever the hell I want to? Don’t you think that it’s kind of backwards that I should keep everyone in the loop when I’m just--why would I--” 

Chan’s hand snuck over to yours which had started shaking even more violently on your leg; you hadn’t even noticed. The sobs that you had held in your chest started to overflow, bubbling and spewing from your surface. They felt choked in your throat, and then burned hot tears in your eyes. Both of your friends got to work, scooting in right next to you and sandwiching you between their arms. 

“You don't have to be afraid.” Felix whispered softly. He smoothed his hand down your back. 

“I-I’m not.” You clenched the words between your teeth. “Why-why are you guys drilling me like this??” You squirmed a bit between them. 

Chan hushed, “We’re not.” 

“Then why does it feel--” 

“--You're doing it again.” Felix simply sighed, and rocked the three of your bodies to the tune of your messy sobs. 

Chan let out little “shhh” sounds. “Stop digging yourself in that hole Y/n. You know that you’re doing it. Its more than just messing around.” 

A tangible and thick silence held the air where your two closest friends held onto you tightly, almost like you would slip away. You fucking hated them for reading you as well as they did, but you also fucking loved them for being as good at it as they were. Being sandwiched like this with them was all too familiar. They had also done it on that same night: the night when your world had collapsed. That night you had been so weak you could barely hold back. 

“It’s not gonna happen again.” Chan said at last. “I know that you must think about it all the time, and I’m so sorry that you do. You’re never gonna be stuck in that alley alone again.” 

Felix quickly added, “We’ll be there--even if it does--which it won’t.” 

“Stop dragging yourself through it okay? I know it’s easier said than done.” Chan took his black sweater sleeve to dab at your tears. 

You were completely engulfed in your friends love, the unconditional kind: the kind that would part the seas and walk through flames for you. You don’t know how you could have forgotten how it had been there. 

“Maybe its one of them or the other, but, I think you should tell them. You don’t deserve to tear yourself up like this over it all. It’s not good for you, or for them.” Felix laughed a little. “We’re not blind you know.” 

Fat, thick sniffles clogged up your nose. Your subconscious and consciousness mudded behind your eyes and those memories of both boys: Changbin and Jisung became indistinguishable. You had sought them out for different reasons, but you hadn’t known why. Now, it was all becoming clearer. 

“You like him don’t you?” Felix took his turn dabbing at your eyes too. “I can tell.” 

“N-no...” 

Felix didn’t even need to say who “he” was for you to understand. 

“No?” 

“I just...go see him sometimes.” 

You would. You would see him, think of him, call all the little things about him to your memory: that scar on his chin and the faint stretch marks on his arms. 

Snot dripped down your nose and over your quivering lips and you didn’t even care. 

That voice rang in your ears just as you had remembered it on that night when he had dragged you out there, alone, furious. You didn’t even know what you had done wrong. 

"I don’t want it to happen again.” 

The words tore from your lips freely, finally. The fear that you had held so deep inside, the fear that would plague your every other thought. The fear that kept you from answering questions or giving answers. The fear that brought your feet to Jisung’s doorstep and the fear that kissed away words on Changbin’s lips. A massive weight like heavy metal chains that had wrapped around your body started to loosen. 

“How are you going to let yourself have a chance at something good if you don’t try, right?” Chan and Felix exchanged hopeful little smiles. 

Felix patted your hair to fix where you had frizzed it between them. “You know what you need to do.” 

╚ ——————————————— ╝

[11:18] 

changbin: this friday? yeah, I don’t think that I have anything else going on. 

its been a little while.

everything okay? 

...

i’m sorry if i overstepped that night

you just looked 

...

fuck 

 you’ve got me thinking of you all the time 

╚ ——————————————— ╝

Snow fell on your walk to class. It was the same early morning one that you shared with Minho. These days, the two of you had seemed to have gotten much closer. Even though you hadn’t been over in nearly a week, Minho still talked to you as if he saw you there every day. He would complain about little things such as how the rest of his roommates would leave dishes in the sink or socks randomly on the floor. 

What the two of you didn’t talk about much was Changbin. There was some unspoken understanding now that the two of you had promised. He didn’t want to know much and you didn’t want to tell him; and it stayed that way. It was odd now considering that you had been quiet before so he couldn’t hear. 

Admittedly, that did give you a chuckle or two from time to time. 

Today, the snowflakes gathered in clumps and hugged each other while they floated down the the ground where they would melt instantly. This was the kind of snow that wouldn’t stick around. For this, you were grateful. In the first week of February, you had just enough of winter and longed for the green grasses that would peek from the melting white. 

The tip of your nose and ears were warm as you marched onward with eyes squinted from the flakes that would get caught in them. In some ways, you were thankful. During the lectures, you would often prefer watching the blanket of white dancing in the windows behind the professors head. 

Something you still had to learn however, was picking the right shoes. Your toes were frozen in the same canvas shoes that Changbin had scolded you for wearing. You pulled out your phone the check the time: eleven minutes early. It was somewhat of a personal best. 

You smiled with a little pride, missing the body mass that was walking right past you and collided with your shoulder. 

“Oh! Sorry, I’m so sorry, I was--Jisung?” 

“Y/n?? Holy shit--” 

Heartbeats rang in your ears and you felt as if you could hear the very blood pumping in your veins. 

“I-I’m late for class, I gotta--” 

“--No wait!” Rather than looking angry as you expected, that wide smile of his spread across his rosy cheeks. “I’m just glad that I ran into you.” 

“Jisung, really, I need to go--” 

His gloved hand reached out for your arm. “I’ve been trying to reach you but I think something must’ve gone wrong with your phone. How are you doing?” 

“How am I doing?” 

“Yeah, I was kinda worried, it was like you dropped off the face of the earth.” 

You clawed your arm away. “I’ve been fine.” 

Jisung sucked at his teeth, “Listen, after your class, can we talk? I borrowed my roommates car--I can drive us back to my place--” 

“--That’s what you want to do? Talk?” The simmering anxiety that washed over you turned into irate heat. 

“Yeah?” 

“No its not.” 

You slung your shoulder bag high up your arm, and walked on. 

“Stop stop stop.” Jisung threw his body in front of your path. “What’s been going on with you? Hm? Did something happen? What is it? Your-uh art or something? You still do that right?” 

Jisung had seen your paintings decorating the walls of your bedroom and the sketches that piled up on your desk next to colored pencils tied up together by rubber bands. He had seen them, but he had never looked. 

“Why the hell do you care so much?” 

“Baby--” He scuffed after your determined steps towards the business building. “Listen, I-I missed you okay?” Jisung yelled into the winter air: “I missed you. Alright?” 

“Jisung, it wasn’t me that you missed.” 

He stammered, and huffed up those puffy cheeks of his. In one final attempt, he approached you carefully with those cute brown eyes that you would often let slip into your daydreams. He reached out for your cold hand and took it in his. Had it been several months ago, you would have killed for him to hold your hand like that. 

“I’ve been doing some thinking lately, especially when I hadn’t heard from you. I just...got this feeling like had done something wrong and I couldn’t figure out what the hell it was. Now, I know that I did. I...don’t like seeing you mad like this. Tell me what it is? I wanna see you at my show next week. I just want things to go back to the way that they were.” 

The way that things were. 

The way that things were was simplier. Easier. Just like he was. Jisung didn’t ask questions and Jisung didn’t take you out to noodle places just because he he felt like it. 

The way that things were would have been easier and his hand did feel pleasantly warm in yours like you had imagined. 

“I have to get to class Jisung.” 

╚ ——————————————— ╝

On that Friday evening when you marched up to the front door of Changbin’s apartment building, he stood hooded under the tin awning turned to rust brown with age. He huffed out a little under the dinky light of the old building, but as far as you could see, his cheeks and nose had blushed with pink. You wouldn’t have pegged him it for it, but he had draped a thick black scarf around his neck in the same place where he would usually display that thick silver chain. As soon as you locked eyes, he gave you a little wave with knees bouncing. 

“Shouldn’t you be inside?” Your breath vaporized into thin, white, visible droplets in the air.  

“I thought that I could meet you out here rather than have you wait in the cold. I realized I did that last time.” 

“Oh. Uh-thank you...I guess.” 

Changbin cracked out a little smile, then announced, “Come on, let’s get going.” 

“Get going? Get going where? Did you want to get noodles again?” 

He chuckled, then stepped out into the lightly falling snow. It tangled up in his curling locks and got caught in the fabric of his scarf. “Hm-no. Not this time.” 

Changbin looked over at you with his stormy grey eyes, something that hadn’t come to you as easily as before. Something in him had changed since you had first met him when he was standing on that stage as if it was the edge of the world. Before, you had felt as if you were drowning in the way that he carried himself, or the way that his gaze would bear down at you as if to test your strength. The aura that you once thought to be crushing had now turned into something much softer. 

“You coming or are you just gonna stand there?” 

One of his hands which he had tucked into his parka coat wiggled out to beckon you behind him. 

“Come on. Take it.” 

“Wh--” 

Changbin made the choice for you then shoved both of your hands into his pocket. “It’ll be warmer this way.” 

You scoffed at the gesture: it was the oldest trick in the book. “Really? Is it?” 

In the cramped pocket filled with lint, his thumb rubbed up against yours. You obliged, and he tugged you close to him with each and every finger interlaced between yours.  

“See? Feels better now doesn’t it?” 

Flecks of salt crunched under both of your shoes when you turned the corner lit by a single streetlight. Both of the fabric of your coats squeaked standing this close to eachother. His scarf was pulled up all the way to his chin, and his hair bopped with each and every step that he took. 

“You’re not going to tell me at all?” 

“Can’t you just let this happen? I’m trying to surprise you, damn...” 

“...Surprise? What...?” 

Changbin lead the two of you past another corner to a much busier street in the nighttime: it was bustling with cars and taxi’s and it was lined with little shops on each side that leaked out tantalizing smells. 

“Are we getting food here?” 

“Quit asking questions.” 

Two more blocks, and Changbin’s hand tugged at you all the way down the stairs to the subway where he used his own card to swipe you both in. Down there the sides of the walls were dirtied with old newspapers and cigarette butts, and the walls were of an aquamarine blue hue. 

“The subway? We can’t be going too far...right?” 

Still, he said nothing while he brought you right over the the waiting area, and the two of you stood amongst the businessmen in their best shirts stained with food smears and beer splatters as well as the nurses still in their scrubs after a long day. 

“I said stop to asking questions.” His sentence trailed with a bit of an edge. “Here, stay close.” 

A group of particularly raucous businessmen fell all over each other in a little pod closest to you and Changbin. It was as if it was instinctual for him the way that he wrapped his arm around your shoulder to pull you in to his chest where you stood on the subway deck. A dank smell of wet coats and the sweating bodies under them wove to the air once you had entered and mingled with the rest of the passengers. It was rush hour, and the capacity of the subway was near limit, so no seats could be found. You had to bury your face partially into that scarf of his as he held onto one of the straps dangling from the ceiling of the car. Both of your arms wrapped around him in a type of hug as you clung to his frame to keep your balance.

“Only a few more stops,” He assured you. 

The lull of the car drew a heavy and sleepy film over your eyes, and you found yourself nuzzling into his warmth and clinging to the fabric of his coat just a bit tighter. You had never guessed, but there was an odd sense of intimacy about holding on to one person on a speeding train in a crowd of people. 

“This one.” Changbin nudged you lightly, then pushed a few bodies out of your way bodyguard-style at the stop. “Watch your step.” 

He swept your hand back up into his, then he led the both of you to the staircase and the sound of the city that was much louder and obvious than it was at the stop by his home. His smug smirk only grew the higher and higher that you ascended. 

“Now are you going to tell me?” 

“You’re horrible with surprises. Changbin nudged you with his elbow. “I’m never surprising you again.” 

The skin of your cheeks were once more assaulted with the bite of the winter, and it took you several moments to figure out where he had taken you. 

“Look over to your left.” 

Just past a hectic intersection, there was the soft glow of lights: the first ones that you could see were yellow-white, and they were all tangled up in the branches of tree branches: making them appear as if the leaves had never fallen, but were instead replaced by these luminescent ones. You looked further past them to the entire park which was illuminated by similar string lights of all kinds of different colors: green and red, blue, pink and orange. Every single tree in the park was decorated with them, and they shone upon the area in a rainbow of colors. 

“Christmas lights?” 

“The last ones that they take down I think.”  

“I mean...I wasn’t expecting...this” You gestured to the sea of lights before you. 

The stoplight across the street blinked on to the little “walk” symbol. 

Confident as ever, Changbin didn’t falter. “Let’s go.” 

╚ ——————————————— ╝

You followed after Changbin under the canopy of spiny winter fingers and the lights that were spotted in between them. The passageway of the park was lined with benches on the side of the path and little groups of families, friends and couples each passed pointing out at the whole display. Christmas had been long gone, but somehow it still existed here in this little corner and the joviality it held with it. 

He motioned for you to sit and brushed off the remnants of snow caked on the wood. 

“I’ve got one more surprise for you.” 

“I thought you said that you weren’t going to surprise me anymore?” 

“Well, you’re in luck because I planned this one already.” 

From his pocket he took out what looked like a thin aluminum container with hinges on the side. The metal was cold in your hands when you popped it open and inside was a small sketchbook with dotted paper and a set of double-sided colored pencils.

“I thought...you said something about colors the other day and how you liked them so I thought you would like it here with all the lights and maybe you could draw it? If you want?” 

“Changbin...” 

The wooden pencils were of a waxy quality; likely the kind that you could get at a corner store but that wasn’t nearly what mattered the most. 

“Thank you. I mean it. I’ll draw something.” 

Your heart always skipped a beat the second that you brought your pencil to the paper, and this was no exception. Across from you, there was another bench, identical to the one you sat on, and behind it, was a tree wrapped in pink lights. You set to work quickly, copying the picture as best as you could, not even caring for the little mistakes you could make. Changbin watched you from your shoulder, but you had barely taken notice. Once you had finished, you scribbled your signature at the bottom habitually. 

“Here, I want you to have it.” You tore out the page. “It’s a thank you.” 

He turned it over in his hand, then lightly brushed his fingertips over the way that you and woven the tree branches together and how it looked like the bench was dipped in the symphony of multi-colored lights. Beyond the tree line, you had drawn a few of the skyscrapers crowning the scene which he traced over too. 

“Wow...um, thank you.” He hid his tiny grin after shoving it in his pocket. 

Together you both sat, saying nothing, but rather taking in the scene together just as you had done at the noodle shop. It was peaceful simply existing next to another human being like this. 

Your knuckles cracked in your lap while you recalled Chan and Felix’s urgings looking over at Changbin while he too wondered around himself. 

Its not good for you. Or for them. 

The man next to you rose, “Do you want to walk around a bit more? Or--”

“--Changbin...I need to tell you something.” 

“What is it?” Under the pink glow of the string lights, his skin appeared softer. 

“There’s something--I haven’t told you something and...you deserve to know.” 

“Know...what?” 

His head titled, examining the way that your face had fallen and became twisted up in the words on your tongue. He reached out to hold both of your cold-bitten cheeks in his hands, rubbing his thumbs to soothe you. You thought to yourself, there was something oddly intimate about standing out in the open with him like this: bearing yourself as such for the whole world to see, and how the tip of your nose rubbed up against his. 

The words stung in your throat with a pain like acid. 

“During this time when we were...there was also-I was also--” 

“--I know what you’re going to stay and I want you to stop.” 

“What?” 

Changbin scoffed. "I should have guessed anyway but, it’s not my place either since we never really said exactly what this is.” 

Your voice wavered, “I’m sorry. I’ll understand--” your arms fell to your sides. “--if you don’t want to--” 

“--I said stop. Do you need me to say it again? I don’t own you or any dumb shit like that, and you don’t owe me anything either. But, I appreciate the honesty though.” Changbin pulled your forehead to rest against his, exhaling out visible breaths. “What are you going to do now?” 

Just as he had done before, he reached down, all the way down your arms to wrap them around his waist. 

“I-I don’t know. But--I do know that, being around you is...different and--” You sniffled, “--I don’t want to give that up yet.” 

“Okay then. 

You held your eyes closed, but you could hear his one and only smirk in his words. 

“I wouldn’t mind sticking around either--but--you know what this means then?” 

“What’s that?” 

“You’re coming to my show next week.” 

“Ugh, fine. I’ll go.” 

Both of your breathless giggles filled the space between you both. 

Your chest shook with a sigh, the kind that had been trapped, or maybe just held in for too long. 

His lips were cold under the array of twinkling lights, and he delved himself into you carefully with his focus on nothing other than you. The way that he kissed you was terrifyingly beautiful: as if you were the way that each of the colors from the lines you sketched intersected and became one with the other. The heat of skin and the tip of his tongue filled your mouth with his promises that he had been composing for you since he had met you, and you could finally hear it for the first time. He had never changed the way in which he had done it from that first night.

He kissed you like he loved you, and maybe he really did.  

[katsulia]

He offends you

featuring : Atsumu, Kageyama 

TW : angst, no fluff, weight insecurity mentioned in Kageyama’s case

a/n : requests are open, also part 2 is here

Atsumu 

Lately Atsumu has been tense and less present at home; indeed an important match was coming up and he spent most of his time training at a more intense rhythm. He would get up at dawn and come home late leaving you with very few opportunities to see each other. You had noticed this and as a good girlfriend you wanted to help him relax. Everything pointed to a perfect evening between the onigris that you had picked up from his brother's place earlier and the bath with essential oils that awaited him. When he finally came home you were on the couch watching TV, but immediately got up to greet him. 

"Tsumu! I've prepared a bath for you so you can take your time before we sit down to eat!" Your voice was cheerful, but he'd hardly deigned to look at you.

"I've already showered in the locker room." As he spoke he threw his shoes in the hallway.

"Oh ok it's fine. Still, can we always eat together? Miya's onigris is on tonight!" You thought that just by pronouncing onigris Atsumu would get his famous smile back, but not at all.

"I've already eaten." And without waiting for any answer from you, he walked to your room.

He was surely tired and you should understand this, that's why you didn't take it too personally; you can always eat onigris later. You followed him to your room to find him removing his clothes to go to bed. Slowly you slipped under the sheets of your bed and waited for him to join you, a session of cuddles was definitely not out of the question. Strangely enough, when Atsumu lay down he turned his back to you whereas he usually liked to be the one holding you in his arms. Yet you didn't mind reversing the roles for once and wrapping your arms around him. At the same time he growled:

"Why are you so clingy?" The tone of his voice wasn't light at all and he even seemed annoyed. Quickly you pulled your arms away from his body and turned to your side.

"I'm sorry." It was a small whisper coming from you in the dark room that he didn't even bother to respond to.

When Atsumu would call you cligny, it was for fun and to tease you, knowing full well that he too loved your affection more than anything else. However, tonight that wasn't the case and there was like a weight on your chest. Maybe you've been misreading all the signals lately and he wasn't just tired from training but just fed up with you? And it is with these thoughts that you hardly fall asleep next to the man who ignored your pain.

Kageyama 

It had been a long week and the classes had been tiring, but when Friday finally arrived you were just looking forward to going home and relaxing with your boyfriend who didn't have any games this weekend. The first thing you did when you got home was to take a long bath. Kageyama was in the living room watching a game on TV when you appeared with a towel rolled up in your hair.

"Tobio, shall we order in tonight? I'm a bit lazy to make food." It's true that you didn't have the energy to cook and you'd rather spend a nice evening in front of the TV with your boyfriend without having anything to do. 

"Hmph" That sound of approval was the only response you got from Kageyama, who was too engrossed in his game to form a complete sentence.

Phone in hand you went into the kitchen, away from the noise of the game on the TV, to order. Once that was done, you headed to the living room to join Kageyama. You had been waiting for this moment all week and it was finally time to enjoy it. It's true that the volleyball match didn't really interest you, but no matter what, you could only take the opportunity to snuggle up against Kageyama. He was lying with only his head up at the end of the couch and you pressed your body against his. You nested your head in the crook of his neck and inhaled his scent. It was perfect, or almost so: 

"Y/N what are you doing ? You're heavy." The moment he uttered those words, you felt your breath being taken away. Quickly you stood up and put as much distance between you and him as possible. Heavy ? It's true that you weren't a professional athlete like Kageyema, but you didn't think he perceived you that way either. Your eyes were burning but quickly before the tears flowed you dried them from the back of your sleeve. Your mind kept repeating that word over and over again and you couldn't focus on anything else. Your weight had never been a problem before, at least he had never pointed it out. But perhaps lately you'd been gaining weight, without realizing it? It was probably because of those lunches at college when you ate the first thing you got, whether it was a sandwich from the supermarket or a big tub of fries. For at least 20 minutes you sat there thinking about what the term "heavy" meant which Kageyama had used before the doorbell pulled you out of your thoughts. 

He didn't move and you went to the front door to get the pizzas you'd ordered earlier, leaving a tip for the delivery man. On the way, you went to the kitchen to get some napkins and dishes and put them on the small table in front of the couch. As you opened the cardboard boxes you couldn't help but notice the cheese spilling over and the glistening oil dripping down. It must contained a lot of calories, a lot of calories that you didn't need at all. You handed a plate with a large slice of pizza to Kageyama before looking at yours, which was much smaller. His comment had totally ruined your appetite and you were even afraid to eat next to him for fear that he would be disgusted by the sight. Yet he didn't notice this, not even your hesitation to bite into that pizza, let alone your empty gaze. 

[scullydubois]

Only the Light Ch. 20

20/? | AU where Melissa moves in with Scully after Scully’s abduction | angst, msr slow-burn, occasional fluff | currently: mid-s3 (canon-divergent) | T | 4.7k | previous chapters | read on ao3 | tagging: @today-in-fic <3

I now present to you a chapter that is filled with more angst than Chris Carter could ever dream of, and for that, I am truly sorry. 

Scully and Mulder's foray into domesticity with Emily is interrupted by the past catching up to them. Faced with despair, they cling even tighter to each other.

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

Scully is granted maternity leave, though it’s only for two weeks, which Missy let her know is “a piss-poor bargain.” And she knows this is true, but she also has more incentive to stay at her job than ever, so she’d like not to lose it. The fact that advocating for herself and her child would mean risking her job is a mess in itself, but one lone woman can’t be expected to take down the patriarchy, and besides, she’s already tried and failed. 

As for she and Mulder, they hide their flirtation in plain sight. Mulder’s perpetually present in body or spirit, but his behavior never reveals anything more than it did before. Every morning he swings by to say hi, brings Scully coffee and a bagel with full-fat cream cheese, and checks if Emily’s picked up any new words. Personally, he’s working on “alien” and if you ask him, she’ll get it soon. She knows that it refers to her UFO stuffie, so sounding out the letters can’t be far behind, much to her mother’s dismay.

On Wednesday of the first week, he shows up at 6pm with takeout carbonara from a local Italian joint. His presence makes every Scully girl happy, but it makes one in particular the happiest, and Melissa realizes that there are definitely things her sister has failed to mention. She doesn’t question it, but watches with glee as the situation unfolds. 

After that first night, Mulder keeps coming back with dinner and refuses to let either sister shoulder the cost. On Friday, he stays for a movie too and gets to participate in Emily’s nightly tucking-in ritual (a tickle on the left foot, a tickle on the right foot, and a big smooch on the forehead). 

Saturday afternoon, he joins them for a stroller push through the park, earning some serious side-eye from Scully when he suggests that they stop at the playground because, according to the mama bear, “Em can only take six steps at a time, Mulder.” So instead they buy hotdogs from a vendor and eat them on a bench, Emily sandwiched between her mother, her aunt, and her...Mulder. They couldn’t ask for more.

That night, Mulder hangs around after dinner because what else is he gonna do? Go home and watch old baseball games until he falls asleep? A new leaf has been offered to him, and he’s gotta turn it. 

He’s baffled when, upon announcing that it’s Emily’s bathtime, Scully goes to the kitchen and switches on the sink. 

Scully raises an eyebrow at him. “What, your mother never washed you in the sink when you were a baby?” 

“Not that I know of...I have a hard time envisioning myself ever fitting in a sink.”

Scully scoffs. “I forget. You were a Vineyard boy.” 

Before he can come up with a smart response to that (as if there actually is one), Missy pipes up. “Oh, I bet you were the kid that took baths with your mother,” she teases. “Care to confirm or deny?”

“If I did I blocked it out of memory, thank god,” he testifies. 

Having spread a towel on the counter, Scully strips Emily down and perches the girl on her hip. She sticks her hand under the faucet. 

“That’s not too hot, do you think?” she asks Missy, who tests it as well.

“That should be fine.”

Mulder joins in too, and immediately regrets it. He shrinks away from the water, shaking droplets all over the room. “Jesus, Scully! Are you trying to boil her?”

“Babies lose heat quickly because of their body surface to weight ratio,” she says matter-of-factly. “They’re more susceptible to the cold.”

“I think the cold will be the least of her worries,” Mulder quips.

“If you really think it’s too hot, I’ll turn it down…” There’s a concerned crease beneath her eyes, and it makes Mulder feel bad about his joking.

“No, no, you know what you’re doing,” he assures her. “You’re her mother.”

As she lowers Em into the sink, Scully’s heart twinges. Her. A mother. How many times will she have to hear this before it stops feeling like news to her? 

One week and bathtime has already become routine. Missy fills a plastic cup and pours it gently over her niece, the water cascading down Em like she is nature’s own. Scully soaps her palms, then glides over her daughter’s skin with such care that its memory may blight any future affection Em is graced with. And then another waterfall, and the gentle brush of a wash cloth against eyes and nose. 

Scully squeezes a penny’s worth of baby shampoo into her hand, looks to Mulder. “Come on, get in here. You’re not afraid to get your hands dirty, are you?” she says with a smirk.

He smirks back and shakes his head as she lifts his open palm and shrinks her accumulation to a dime. “Although, technically I am getting my hands cleaner…”

She boops him right on the nose with a shampooed finger. He laughs.

Missy smiles. Oh, to see destiny play out right in front of you. “Someone’s cracking dad jokes,” she points out, unable to resist. This observation is much too on-the-nose for the pair (quite literally for Mulder), who simultaneously blush but say nothing.

Mulder wipes the shampoo from his nose and plants it on Emily’s head, joining his partner in making soapy circles over the girl’s tuft of strawberry hair. Scully’s full attention is directed toward her daughter. As soon as the lather is sufficient, she dons the lifted lilt of motherhood. “Okay, time to rinse! Missy, will you do the honors?”

Missy turns the faucet, fills the cup, and lets it flow over Emily. Mulder and Scully wash their hands off in the stream. 

And as Scully leans for the towel, a splash of red dirties its fresh white surface. Mulder notices it first. He points at his partner’s porcelain face. “Scully, you’re bleeding.”

Her hand shoots to her nose. Sure enough, it stains her fingers. “Shit.” She turns away, goes for a tissue. “I haven’t had nosebleeds since I was fourteen,” she tells them, as if that invalidates this one. She wipes away a glob of blood, her stomach turning. “Missy--” her voice shakes involuntarily, “--will you dry Em off?”

“Uh-huh.” She nudges Mulder. “Will you grab a new towel from the linen closet?” she whispers, not wanting to further upset her sister.

Mulder goes off without a word, and Missy squeezes out Em’s hair as best she can. “What a pretty girl!” she gushes. “All clean!”

“Yee!” Emily throws her little fists in the air, injecting joy back into the room. 

“Time to put your PJs on, and get a tickle, tickle, smooch.”

Mulder scrambles back in with a new towel, skirting around Scully, who remains occupied with her own situation. He slides the soiled towel away and helps Missy swaddle Em. Mulder ruffles the little girl’s hair, and she laughs like a music box. 

“Mol-dy.” She spits it out in halves, as if she’s been rehearsing. 

Mulder’s eyes water with recognition. “Mulder? Mul-der? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

“Moldy,” the girl declares again, certain of herself.

Missy adjusts Em on her hip, smiles at Mulder. “Looks like you’re Moldy now.”

Mulder bites his lip to hide his overwhelming delight. “Yeah, I...I never thought I'd be so happy to be called moldy.”

Next thing he knows, Scully is at his shoulder with a tissue stuffed up her nostrils. “Wait, what’s going on?”

“Em called me Moldy,” he tells her, full of satisfaction.

“Oh.” It comes out relatively unimpressed, but really, she’s just distracted. “Missy, will you get a diaper on her before there’s an accident? I would but I’m still--” She gestures to her nose. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Missy smiles at the baby in her arms. “PJ time, Em!” They go off toward the bedroom, a happy pair.

As soon as Em is out of sight, Mulder spirals toward his partner, panic-stricken. The glee of moments ago has evaporated. 

“Are you okay?” He touches her hair, shoulders, and the familiar small of her back, unsure of where he should land. 

“I’m fine, it’s fine.” Her grip on his elbows--keeping his hands firmly placed on her waistline--suggests otherwise. 

“You’ve got to see a doctor,” he pleads. “This could be...”

“This could be what, Mulder?” The steel in her blue eyes is a death grip. She’s never liked being told the obvious. 

“Scully…” He sighs, rubs his neck, wills her to say what they both know. When she doesn’t, he takes his hands off her and wrings them together. “The Mufon women...they said it would happen to all of them eventually.” He’s careful not to lump Scully in with their group. 

“And what do they know?” she retorts. “One of them was sick. One.”

“Okay, well, don’t you think it’s better to be safe than sorry?” he reasons. “You have Emily to look out for now.”

Scully rolls her eyes. “Don’t guilt trip me. It’s a nosebleed. Those happen all the time for completely benign reasons.”

“Yeah, but they don’t happen to you. You just said--you haven’t had one since you were fourteen.”

She clenches her jaw. He’s right, and she’s playing the fool. His position is the one she would take if this were anyone other than herself. She’s gonna have to lose this fight with as much grace as possible.

“Fine. I’ll get it checked out, but they’re gonna think I’m insane for coming in because of one nosebleed.”

“That’s a nice change of pace--you being the insane one for once.”

“Well, you’re the one who wants me to go, so you’re not out of the woods.”

“Good, I’ve finally got some company!”

Scully smiles in spite of herself. “Yes, yes you do.”

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

It happens very quickly, as most calamities of life can be said to. This gives it the unreal quality of a nightmare that might soon be woken up from, if there is any justice in the world.

Scully snags a doctor’s appointment for three days after the initial nosebleed. By the time she walks into the waiting room, one nosebleed has quadrupled into four, and her minor concern has snowballed into abject terror. 

Margaret Scully drove into the city to watch Emily so Missy could join her sister. Scully insisted that she would go alone, but Missy wouldn’t accept this. She threatened to tell Mulder the details of the appointment if Dana didn’t let her go, and that was enough to earn her a spot in the passenger seat. Scully can’t take the thought of Mulder witnessing the worst--let alone her reaction to the worst. 

And so it goes something like this: they are taken to an exam room, at which point Scully explains her situation to a nurse, including that she has recently learned she is at high risk for cancer. The nurse assures her that such a diagnosis is highly unlikely, but makes a note for the doctor. The doctor comes in with knitted eyebrows and listens to Scully describe the aftermath of her abduction experience with a heavy emphasis on the convoluted but substantial claims of the Mufon women. She asks if Scully has had any other symptoms, to which Scully replies that it’s hard to tell because she has an infant in the house and thus, a marked lack of sleep. 

The doctor laughs, but it’s not a haha laugh, more of an I feel your pain. She agrees that the women’s claims are concerning, but tells her patient not to fret. They’ll take all the precautions, run any test that might assuage her worries. There’s a quip about how it’ll be on the government’s dime since it covers Scully’s insurance, and then the doctor leaves to order an MRI. 

A full body MRI, which Scully has never had, and which she hoped she would never require. There’s no deeper sickness than one that cannot be pinpointed, and no greater fear than of the unknown turning into the worst case scenario. 

The MRI is completed that same day. As she slides into the machine, Scully thinks of Betsy Hagopian and wonders how she’s doing. It has been many months since she stood outside an exam room and watched Betsy enter one of these. Has fate been kind to her?

For a few minutes, her world is limited to the mere inches between her face and this life-saving yet life-ruining contraption. It is noisy and sometimes bright and altogether disorientating. She is glad when it’s over. 

The images return almost immediately, and maybe it would all have been okay if Scully weren’t trained in radiology herself, if she wasn’t able to recognize the glaring speck of light in her nasal cavity for what it is. But that one glance is all she needs to know that waiting by the phone isn’t an option. 

“It’s a tumor, isn’t it?” she blurts as the radiologist tries to escort her and Melissa from the room. “In the nasal cavity. I have a M.D. I saw.”

“Your doctor will call with the results,” the radiologist insists, standing by the open doorway.

“No, no, you can’t do this to me,” Scully sputters. “I know what I saw, and I don’t have any time to waste.” Her eye twitches in a combination of stress and anger. “I have an infant daughter.”

The radiologist sighs, pity on top of pity. “Perhaps your doctor will talk it through with you now.”

“Yes. Please.”

And it is talked through, though there’s no need to make it complicated: nasopharyngeal carcinoma. Inoperable, and just barely in the realm of treatable. That’s the kicker, the coyote in the pasture, the cloud covering the sun. In the words of Scully’s doctor, it is auspiciously rare. And in Scully’s brain, it is the bottom she’s been expecting to drop out from under since she held her daughter in her arms.

Melissa drives home. The sisters cannot fathom how they will tell their mother. Cannot fathom ruining her blissful time with the granddaughter she’s just met. When they turn onto their street, Scully swallows hard and coughs on her own spit. “Will you do something for me?” 

Missy looks over, eager to do anything she can, yet terrified by the possibility of the request.

“Will you take me to Mulder’s?” Scully mumbles. “I would just take the car but...I can’t face mom right now. I don’t want to risk it.”

Missy bites her lip. “And what am I supposed to tell mom when she asks where you are?”

“The truth,” Scully says curtly. “She doesn’t need the backstory.”

Missy drives past their building, though she’s not completely sold on her sister’s reasoning. “Don’t you think she might wonder why you aren’t coming home to your daughter?”

“I know she’ll wonder, Melissa, I know all of this,” Scully snaps because she needs to. “I don’t care.”

“Okay.” Missy’s voice is barely perceptible. I don’t care; she knows how low her sister has to be to say those words. 

They complete the drive in silence, Scully biting her nails--a habit which she has never possessed, and perhaps just acquired. The car idles as Missy pulls up to the curb of Mulder’s building. 

“I can pick you up when you need it,” she tells her sister as she pulls herself out of the car. “I’ll bring Em.”

“I’ll figure it out,” Scully says, closing the passenger door and edging toward the building. Missy hears a thanks float toward the car, then her sister is gone like a teenage girl embarrassed by her mother.

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

They sit on Mulder’s couch, muted. Words cannot fathom the injustice of this situation, nor can they suffice as empathy. Their hands are clasped together, a throughline of strength between them. This is what they need now; the most primitive language of all.

Scully’s watery eyes brush Mulder’s face. His own eyes, more pained than usual, look into hers. Without a word, she drapes an arm around her partner’s shoulders and scoots into his lap. He is surprised but not distressed. What else is left for them, now?

She is tiny, so tiny. And she is his. 

Their eyes meet once again, speaking in tongues. Scully nods, and then Mulder does too. This is it. This is it.

Permission granted at last, Scully’s lips travel to her partner’s jawline. The first time her lips have touched his body, and this is where they go. She is a constant box of wonders, a fortune he can never predict. Her lips are much like he has fantasized they would be: wondrously soft and silky, stroking him like they have always meant to be there. Yet he couldn’t have imagined the urgency with which they burrow into his skin. As if she’s making a mental map of his bone structure. He never expected that she would want him this much. 

His hands find her hips and grip the cotton of her shirt between his fingers. It is enough to tear her away from his flesh. Mission accomplished. His breath travels past her ear, hitting her neck. It is shallow and warm as he breathes her name. Her real name, the one her family calls her. She breathes his own back to him, like a bird responding to a mating call.

She feels his lips on her neck, wet and aching. It feels like God. This is the most blasphemous thought she has ever had. She throws her head back, exposing the whole of her skin to him. What is holiness, if not this moment?

He showers her in tattoo kisses, and she lets him, she lets him, she lets him. This is not just what she wants, but what she needs. No one will save her now, she knows this. So she has decided not to be saved. 

Her shirt ripples as he clutches it. “May I?” He is breathy, awe-struck. 

“Only if I can do the same.” Always about equality, his Scully is. He lifts his arms, lets her strip him first. He is fraught with the temptation to feel insecure, inadequate, but this is not about him--this is all for her. There is no time to dwell on this anyway. Scully takes in the sight, then puts her own arms up with a hint of impatience. He pulls her shirt over her head, and goosebumps adorn her as the air hits her bare stomach. 

It is unimaginable, the significance of this moment. All Mulder can do is keep going, lest the emotion hit him and he find himself blubbering all over her. His hands travel her body...it is slender and white, but so solid, so strong. Cartilage forming ligaments forming joints connecting bones. And her skin, stretching over her hips and framing it all. The masterpiece that is Dana Katherine Scully. 

He fears for the day she will cave in on herself. Already, one of his hands covers her whole rib cage. Right now he can cradle her body comfortably against his own, but the day will come when a single cautious touch will crush her, and his heart along with it. He wants her as she is now forever.

Seeing that he wants to pamper her, Scully lets herself be pampered. He showers the taut length of her collar bone in kisses. The vibration resonates throughout her bone structure, and already she can feel him in places she’s only fantasized about having him. He is going to heal me, she thinks. If anyone could heal her in any way, it would be him doing this. 

She shows her gratitude by kneading circles into his soft tissues, so tense from all their days chasing ghosts. The sinew relaxes beneath the pads of her fingers, and she feels like she has solved the most important X-File of all. 

Mulder traces his way along her spine. He has never touched her here, nor ever even fantasized about it, and there is an erotic tension--like a needle about to drop on a record--that neither one of them could have seen coming. Inevitably, his hands converge at the hooks of her bra. She arches her back in approval. He slides the hooks away from each other, and both of them feel the release. She shimmies off the garment before he can pull it out of the way. No secrets, not anymore.

Mulder didn’t expect to cry and is aware that most women wouldn’t take that as a positive sign, but seeing her, like this, knowing what they both know, tears feel like the least he could offer up. She is...beautiful is too weak a word to describe it. He needs to invent a new word to capture the essence of his emotions, the reverence with which he views her. He is not a religious man, but he will worship her until the end of time. 

He has known this, intuitively, for a while, and now he’s putting it into practice. He wants to do everything he can for her, give her everything she wants. Yet he doesn’t know how to, and this scares him. She has always slipped through his fingers, always turned on a dime just when he thought he figured her out. Tonight is no exception. How was he to know that he’d be on his couch with a half-naked Scully in his lap?

He fears the tears will offend her, so he nuzzles into her heartspace, his nose pressed against the heart that is--by the grace of that God she worships--still beating. His lips meet the plush of her left breast. 

Where does he go from here? The dusty routine he’s used with other women--the few who have given themselves to him or let him hand himself over--is not worthy enough for Scully. He could never touch Scully in the ways he’s touched the women before because she is not like the women before. There is no mere giving or taking here, no detached exchange of commodities or pleasure for the sake of pleasure. This is survival. They are symbiotically keeping each other alive.

A drop of water hits Scully’s skin, slides down the curvature of her breast. She shudders. A tear. That’s what it is, she realizes. Mulder is crying. It’s a baptism of unfortunate proportions. 

She cups her hand against his chin, tilts it up so his bleary eyes meet hers. She rests her forehead against his. “Shh, shh, it’s okay.” She kisses each eye closed, his lids fluttering beneath her lips. “It’s okay.” 

His breathing steadies. He is quite certain that it is not okay, that it never will be, but he listens to her, lets himself pretend. 

Hands still on his chin, she careens their lips together. His mouth on hers; a godsend. They caress each other for a moment, then Scully opens wide, and Mulder does too. They are reflecting. 

If Scully could compress herself, pushing every particle of air out of her lungs and into his, she would. As a sort of thank you, for everything. For what he has done, what is doing, what he will do...She will never have to live without him. She knows this now, and it makes this easier. But he will have to live without her, and so she must make sure he gets the memories he needs to carry on. This is how grief works, she’s acquainted with it. These moments, these feelings, these bated breaths and tender touches, will be his survival mechanism for awhile. Until the day when he can throw them off and go on without her ghost. It will happen one day, and she will be glad that he made it. 

She feels him pressing against her stomach, which is certainly not where she wants him. “Fox…” Her hands hover above his belt. She unzips his fly first, her hand warm against him. He is dizzy with want as her fingers curl against his belt buckle, loosening it with confidence. In a sweeping gesture,  she pushes his jeans off his hips, exposing him. The thrill she feels, seeing him big and bare in front of her, is a new kind of livelihood. She’s overcome with the desire to take him in her mouth--and that has never, never been her first instinct. She ducks down, but he stops her.

“Dana, no. You.”

She doesn’t need to hear it twice. She sucks in a breath, arches her back, and slides onto him. Slowly, gasping as they go. 

“Am I hurting you?”

Scully shakes her head, lips parted. It has been nothing like this before...nothing so fulfilling. She crosses her ankles, binding them completely together at last. 

Unity triumphs against the self, their union abolishing the world’s insistence on the solitude of the individual. This is what it’s about, isn’t it? Being joined, not only in spirit, but in body? Knowing that whatever horrors are to come, he will feel them as she does. Her dwindling will be his too, her losses an equally empty space within him. 

She is teetering on the edge of something she can never come back from. She is not afraid. 

She careens her fingernails into his back as the pressure builds. If it doesn’t come to a head, she’ll die right here, she thinks. 

She barely registers the cathartic noises coming out of her, though they give Mulder great delight. He thought she would be quiet, and the fact that she’s not trying to hold anything in--after holding everything in for so goddamn long--is the most moving part of the experience. 

And they want this to go on forever, but they want the release. Mulder swivels his hips into her, bringing them both closer to climax. Scully curls against him. 

“I’m sorry,” she cries into his ear.

“What?” He nearly pulls out of her, fearing that she’s hurt. 

“No, no--” She scrambles to stay with him. “This--” she pants “--is so good.” She lowers her lips onto his as confirmation, then speaks into his open mouth. “I’m just sorry to be the one to go.”

He frames her ribcage, thumbs arching toward her belly button. “Fuck, honey...don’t say that, don’t even think that…”

They won’t linger on the choice of pet name, the tenderness with which it settles over her, nor the absolute devastation of her words. There is simply no time. 

Scully hides her face in his neck as the wave breaks over both of them. There is no world anymore, only the two of them on this couch. They have forsaken the physical realm, ascending to heaven in time with their heartbeats. 

Mulder understands then what his reciprocal means when she says she needs proof to believe. Now that he’s been there and felt it, he knows that heaven exists, and holy shit, what does that mean for the life he has lived and the time he has left? What did it mean for Samantha?...What will it mean for Scully?

They collapse into each other, a melted mass of skin and bone. Two becoming one, becoming two again. Mulder strokes the back of his partner’s head, presses his lips to her temple. Her chest rises against him in jagged breaths.

“You are the only proof I’ll ever need that this life is worth it,” he murmurs. “Just you.”

Scully looks up at him, tears running down her cheeks. He kisses them away and wraps his arms around her. “I don’t know if you got the memo, but I love you, Dana Scully.”

She rests her cheek against his. “I love you too, F--Mulder.”

Mulder chuckles, his amusement shaking both of them. Scully closes her eyes and snuggles into him. He puts his hand over her heart, feels it beating steadily into his palm, and longs for it to stay like that forever.

[wydguk]

play date — jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: angst, fluff, FWB!au, college!au

warnings: mentions of sex, kinda toxic relationship?

word count: 4k

summary: You never understood how it was so easy for Jungkook to make people like him. It was so easy to love him — the way his nose scrunched up and his bunny teeth were on display. He had the prettiest heart, and words always failed you when you tried to describe how much you loved him.

note: this is based off of Melanie Martinez’s “Play Date”! I do not own the lyrics in any way, shape or form.

♡ 

If there’s one thing you’ve always known, it’s that you are hopelessly in love with Jeon Jungkook.

It’s always been easy to love Jungkook. You fell in love with him when he showed up to your first lecture half an hour late, his hair dishevelled and his clothes out of place. He just sent a sheepish smile to your professor, who sent him a pointed glare, before taking his seat next to you.

“Hey, I’m Jungkook. What are we doing?” He set his backpack onto the floor and took out his textbook, and you decided right then and there that you liked him. He was the epitome of a classic college boy, with the nicest smile and wide eyes.

“I’m Y/N. We’re just doing the introduction,” you hesitated before pushing your notebook toward him. “You could copy my notes if you want to?” 

Jungkook beams at you, bunny teeth on display. “Thanks!

He sits next to you at every lecture after that.

♡

You loved him when he invited you to your very first college party. Always invested in your studies, and never one to party, it was already February by the time you decided to loosen up a little.

“Y/N! Wanna come to my party this weekend? It’s going to be at my frat house,” Pouting, he tugged your arm, eyes begging you to come. “Please! You don’t even have to drink any alcohol. I just want you to be there! It’s the first time I’m hosting the party, so it’s definitely going to be the best one you’ve ever been to.”

“It’s also going to be the first one I’ve ever been to, Kook. How can I trust your party hosting skills?” You grinned at him, and his eyes narrow, pouting even harder. “Come on! You know how cool I can be, therefore, the party will be cool.”

He wasn’t very good at promoting his “very cool party”, but you had to give him credit for trying. Anything for a friend, right? “Fine, I’ll go.”

That night, you ended up in bed with Jeon Jungkook. You woke up the next morning with bruises on your hips and a pounding headache — and a very naked Jungkook next to you. Later in the afternoon, you and Jungkook established that you were now friends with benefits.

“Okay, so we probably need to set some rules.” you mused, pen already in hand, both of you sitting at your kitchen island. “You have any in mind?” You already know what the rules will be. You can’t catch feelings — but Jungkook doesn’t have to know, does he?

“None of us can catch feelings. If we do, we tell the other person before the situation gets any worse. Also, we have to get tested. You don’t have to write that down, I just wanna make sure we’re clean.” Jungkook said, lazily making his sandwich. “Do you wanna see other people?”

Of course, you don’t. Who else are you supposed to see? The teddy bear in your room? The posters of actors on the street? But you know Jungkook’s popular among the ladies, and you can’t force him to stop seeing them just because you’re sad, lonely and in love with him. “I don’t see people at all. But you can, I don’t mind. Use protection, yeah?”

Jungkook chuckled and handed you a sandwich, happily munching his own. “Are we done? I wanna watch Netflix while you suck my-!”

“Shut up!” You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, and you’re sure the blush wouldn’t go unnoticed by Jungkook. “We are not done! You still need to sign it or else this contract is useless and you might just fall in love with me.”

Jungkook just grinned at you, stealing your pen and signing haphazardly onto the sheet of paper.

You’d be perfectly fine with it if he fell in love with you.

Too bad your friendship seems to crumble as the years pass you by. You’re both in your third year, and you’re still in love with him, more than you thought was possible.

You wonder if you’re even friends anymore. He stopped hanging out with you, stopped inviting you to his parties, and only called you when he was drunk or horny. The agreement stopped being “Friends with Benefits” and turned into “Booty Call”. But you still come over every time, even though you know he’s not interested in going any further than this and you know you’re in love with him.

The house is always empty when you come over, so it’s always you and him, him and you alone. There’s never much talking, never any conversation, but if this is the only way you can have Jungkook, you’ll take it. You’re always leaving the house as quick as possible, and no matter how much you want to talk to Jungkook, you throw your clothes on when he goes to the bathroom, and by the time he gets out, you’re already on your way home. Whenever you do try, he never really listens, too busy exploring your body to pay attention to what you’re saying.

You’re sick of playing games with him, and only God knows how much you want to be more than just friends. But Jungkook doesn’t know that — so are you chasing after someone who isn’t even running?

It’s two in the morning when Jungkook texts you, asking if he can come over. You agree, and he shows up at your door thirty minutes later with a box of pizza in his hands. It reminds you of your first year in college, when you were really friends, and Jungkook would binge-watch Disney shows with you on Netflix until it was well past midnight. You would wake up to grease stains all over your coffee table and a snoring Jungkook by your side, close to falling off the couch.

“What’s up, Kook? Did you wanna do a re-enactment of us in first year?” There’s hurt in your voice, but over the past few years, Jungkook’s gotten too full of himself to notice how he makes other people feel.

“Nope, Chaeyeon bailed on movie night, so then I asked Soyeon, and then I asked Mina but they weren’t free. Good thing you were! The pizza is still kinda hot, unless you want to heat it up?” Jungkook struts into your apartment like he owns it and flops onto the couch. “Missed your couch. Best place to do things, you know? We can watch TV, play video games, and I can fuck you here!”

Of course, you’re not Jungkook’s first choice. You’re not even his second or third choice. You have never been a priority in Jungkook’s life — this would’ve hurt you two years ago, but you’re not even fazed this time. You’re surprised you’re even a choice in the first place.

“I’m honestly shocked you even considered me. Where would you go if I said no? I bet you have a long, long list of girls who would wanna do this with you.” You’re being childish and you know it, but loving Jungkook is getting tiring. You want to tell him, but if you do, he’ll never speak to you again. This way, you can still have Jungkook, but not in the ways you want to.

“Jealous, baby?” Jungkook laughs, taking a slice of pizza out of the box. “I missed you. We haven’t actually talked in months. You don’t even reply to the memes I send you anymore!”

Is he serious? He must be playing a joke on you. “Jungkook, you basically cut me out of your life. It would be weird for us to talk again.” Did he not ghost you on purpose? Jungkook’s appearance makes you more confused than you should be.

“Cut you out? You mean me not inviting you to my parties? Baby, we’ve known each other so long, you’re practically a VIP,” He sits up, eyebrows furrowed. “Why do you care so much? Our deal not enough for you?”

Will you ever get enough of Jungkook? You can tell he’s hinting at something, and the thought of him knowing how much you feel for him scares you. So you lie, lie like you’ve been doing for the past few years.

“I don’t care, Jungkook. I really don’t give a fuck. Did anyone tell you I gave a shit about you?” You declare this with no expression, hoping he doesn’t see right through you. Apparently it works, because he just reaches for your hand, pulls you onto the couch and stuffs a slice of pizza into your mouth.

He sends you that stupid smirk he uses on all his flings, and you remember that you’re just a fling too, you’re just a toy to him, and the communication between you is little to none.

You’re just a toy to him, and all you’ll ever have with him are play dates.

When Jungkook asks you to stay over, it’s always the best feeling to you. This only happens when he’s feeling particularly drunk and clingy, hands never leaving your waist, even when he’s sleeping deeply, nose buried in your neck. You get to wake up next to him, and since he’s the heaviest sleeper you know, you get to watch the slow rise of his chest and the way his eyelashes rest against his cheeks for the shortest while until his friends start banging their fists on his bedroom door. 

“Wake up, lovebirds! Seokjin made pancakes!” Hoseok hollers, fists heavy against the door. You shake Jungkook awake, smiling softly at the way he throws his arm over his face, eyes trying to adjust to the morning light.

“Pancakes, Kook! I’ll eat yours if you don’t get up.” At this, Jungkook bolts up, pinching your side then grabbing a shirt from his closet. “Kook, do you maybe wanna-” Before you can continue, he grabs your hand and pulls you down the stairs, looking like a five-year-old on Christmas morning.

Jungkook’s friends have always been nice to you, even before you and Jungkook started the benefits, so you wonder if they eat breakfast with Jungkook’s other flings. Too shy to really make conversation with anyone, you focus on your plate, missing the way Taehyung and Namjoon motion toward you every so often.

That afternoon, you’re in Jungkook’s room again, the two of you watching another episode of a shitty teen drama on his laptop. Jungkook insists he only watches it to make fun of the characters, but you know he tends to get so immersed in the episodes he actually starts laughing at the cringy jokes and tries to figure out the puzzles.

“I’m bored.” Jungkook pauses the episode and shuts his laptop. “Also, I wanted to try something new. I saw this thing online, it was a list of kinks? Do you wanna try?” He wiggles his brows while trying to wink, and your heart is so full of love for him, especially now that’s he’s talking to you and hanging out with you. You could really get used to this again.

“Let’s play Monopoly first, yeah? Then we can look at that list,” you smile, hoping he agrees. He pulls the box from under his bed, and it’s really dusty. Your heart swoons at the thought of him only playing the game with you, but you remind yourself that you’re just friends who mess around, and nothing more.

You’re curious to know if Jungkook knows what monopoly could mean — how you wish you could make him love you back. Do you care too much about Jungkook? He obviously couldn’t care less about you, but you’re always falling at his feet to please him. You wish it wasn’t this way.

♡

You love Jungkook even when you’re arguing over the dumbest reasons.

Of course, you really have no reason to argue when you’re nothing more than friends with benefits, but your feelings always tend to get the best of you, and you forget he only wants your body and not you.

From the get-go, you knew this agreement between you was doomed. You were in love with him before it even started, and you’re still in love with him now. But why did you stay, knowing all he could give you was friendship, the benefits, and nothing more? How many times has he hurt you, but you still choose to stay? All the empty words you exchanged with him could have been affectionate with someone else if you chose to back out of the agreement — but when it comes down to it, you would always go back to Jungkook.

You entered your apartment an hour ago only to see Jungkook curled up into a ball on your couch, staring blankly at your TV screen, which was playing another episode of Jungkook’s shitty teen drama. He doesn’t notice your presence until you sit down next to him with a glass of water in your hands.

“Did you not leave this morning? I thought you had a lecture at one,” you ask, heart aching at the sight of Jungkook looking so unlike himself. You were used to seeing him prancing around campus and causing chaos with his friends, or at a restaurant with another one of his conquests. It was unlikely for Jungkook to be in your apartment, or to look so distressed and empty, so the fact that he was doing both of these things concerned you, to say the very least.

“Are you seeing someone else?” Jungkook finally looks at you, and his eyes pierce your soul, his glare cold. You’re not seeing anyone, but why does it mean anything to him? He’s with a different girl every night, and he’s never committed to a relationship in the two years you’ve known him. “Jimin told me he saw you on a date with someone at the library.”

Scoffing in disbelief, you try to analyze Jungkook’s expression for any hints of a joke, or amusement, but he’s completely serious. “What is it to you if I am seeing someone else? We’re barely friends, Jungkook.” you mutter, feeling accused. As if you could ever get over him. All you could do was get under him, and there was never any escape.

“When we started this, you said you didn’t see people. Now you’re going around with other guys?” Jungkook huffs, running a hand through his hair. “Way to commit to the contract, Y/N.”

“Are you fucking with me? You’re out with different girls every single night!  And we never said I wasn’t allowed to see other people. I just haven’t been seeing anyone! Is it really that hard for you to believe that I can have a love life too?” You really want to know where this is coming from. Could this be a dare from one of the boys?

“I just don’t like seeing you with other guys! I’m used to calling you my girl around my friends, they practically think we’re dating at this point.” Jungkook stands up, fingers tugging at his hair. It was a stark contrast to the Jungkook you were used to seeing, and his words only messed with your mind as you struggled to piece his anger.

“That’s just it, isn’t it? We’re not dating, Jungkook. And we both know I’m not your girl! Where is this coming from? This isn’t like you,” you’re standing up too, arms crossed with a frown on your face.

“You know what? You’re right. We’re not dating. I’m sorry for wasting your time. Forget about this, I’m leaving.” Jungkook quickly shoves on his jacket, eyes still angry. This is the most confusing argument you’ve ever had with him, and it’s sad to think that this could be one of your longest conversations in the past few months.

“What the hell, Jungkook! You lash out at me for doing something you don’t understand, and when I try to solve it, you try to back out! I never fucking know what you need, or what you want, and yet I still try to satisfy your every whim!” Jungkook already has his shoes on, and he only sends you a heart-wrenching glare before slamming the door shut.

Jungkook doesn’t talk to you after that.

♡

In the silence of your heart and mind, the love you feel for Jungkook is still echoing against the walls, and no matter how many times you tell yourself that you and Jungkook’s deal is essentially over after weeks of no contact, your soul aches to see Jungkook again, to let him hold you in his arms and trash your living room with popcorn and grease stains.

You have come to the conclusion that learning to love Jungkook is so easy, but loving him is the hardest thing you’ve ever done in your life. Loving Jungkook wasn’t dancing on clouds or cuddling under blankets. Loving Jungkook is walking miles in the rain on the cold and slippery streets or drowning in the deepest parts of the sea with weights pulling you down, but it would always be with his hand in yours. You would do anything the world had to offer if it meant Jungkook would be by your side all the way.

The sudden revelation drops your heart to your stomach and you suddenly feel the need to find Jungkook and finally tell him the truth. You realise having Jungkook only on occasional weeknights will never be enough for you, when you want to sleep and wake up in his arms, and hold his hand as you walk around mindlessly, and meet his parents and charm them into letting you marry their son.

You jump up from your place on the couch, where you’ve gathered all your stuffed toys and blankets to bask in your shame and rush into your room, frantically looking for something presentable to wear. Contemplating on whether you should wear makeup or not, you decide against it. After all, all you’re going to do is tell Jungkook how you feel, right?

You’re about to open the door when the realization of what you’re about to do dawns on you. How can you be sure Jungkook won’t reject you? What if after you confess, Jungkook cuts you out of his life completely, and the only memories you’ll have of him are hazy nights with all the lights turned out, and the last you’ll remember of him is the argument you had? What if you tell him only to find out that he’s met someone else, and he thinks he’s already in love?

Even so, your heart yearns to tell Jungkook how much you love him, and the possibilities of what could happen after are endless. Maybe you might lose Jungkook, but there was a chance you could have him in every way you wanted. You’ll never know if you never try.

Before you can reach for the door handle, there’s a knock on your door, and you rack your brain trying to remember if you ordered anything for delivery. Already in a rush, you pull the door open all the way, expecting to see someone dressed in an Uber Eats uniform, only to be met with a wide-eyed Jungkook.

“Y/N,” Jungkook breathes, as if he’s scared that if he doesn’t tread carefully you’ll disappear. “Are you going somewhere? I just wanted to talk,” His eyes are pleading and hopeful, and you have to force yourself to look away before you get lost in them.

“No, I was just about to see you,” you murmur, stepping aside to let him in. Hands shaking, you close the door and turn around to face Jungkook. “I actually have something I want to tell you.”

“Can I ask you something first?” When you nod, Jungkook lets out a shaky sigh, scratching the nape of his neck. “That night, when I came over with pizza and I asked you why you cared so much about me excluding you from my life. Did you mean it?”

“You mean me not caring at all?”

“Tell me you didn’t mean it,” Jungkook begs. “Please tell me you care.”

“Kook, you know I care. I always care about you and whatever it is you want to have to do with me. Listen, I know we said we wouldn’t bring feelings into this but I have to be honest with you,” Jungkook’s looking at you with that unreadable expression he uses all the time, and your heart starts racing faster, hands slippery with sweat. “I already had feelings for you before we started the whole ‘friends with benefits��� thing. I know you don’t want to commit to anything, but I just really had to tell you because it was eating me up inside,”

Jungkook’s silent for a few moments until he beams at you, nose scrunched and bunny teeth on display. “What are you trying to say, baby? You have feelings for me?” He pulls you closer to him, wrapping his hands around your waist. “Because I’ve been in love with you since first year,”

You raise an eyebrow at this, obviously not believing him. “Yea, you were so in love with me that you went around fucking other girls,” You can’t help but snicker — Jungkook was known for his track record with girls.

“Hey! I’m not kidding! They were all just friends.” he whines, stomping his foot. He looks like an overgrown child, but it really just adds to his cuteness factor.

“Okay, then you were so in love with me that you stopped hanging out with me for your friends,” You still weren’t convinced. “You were so distant, Kook. That’s not love,”

“I didn’t admit I was in love with you until the end of our second year — you were always a constant in my life, and I got so used to having you with me that I didn’t realise how whipped I was for you. So I tried to get over you by ignoring you, which obviously didn’t work. You can ask the boys! I would never stop talking about you so they locked me out of the house for hours.” Jungkook’s pouting again, and you have to remind yourself that this could all be a cruel joke.

Pulling yourself out of his arms, you fold your own arms across your chest, sending him a scowl. “You’re a grade-A asshole, Jeon Jungkook. For months you cut me out of your life and made me think it was my fault. Now you’re saying you’re in love with me? I haven’t forgotten about our argument either.”

“I may have gotten overly jealous?” Jungkook smiles sheepishly. “I promise I’ll make it up to you. Just listen to what I have to say.”

Sticking your tongue out at him, you say, “Maybe I should take back my feelings for you,”

“Nope, I’m not letting you. How about we re-introduce ourselves? We can start from the beginning and not have the whole ‘friends with benefits’ agreement,” Jungkook suggests, and you wonder how long he’s thought about doing this.

“Fine. Hi, I’m Y/N and I think you’re really cute.” Jungkook’s cheeks flush the very slightest at this and he cups his face, trying to hide it.

“Hey, I’m Jungkook, and I really want to kiss you,” Before you can say anything, he tugs your hand and kisses you, and the kiss is different from all the kisses you’ve had before. It’s short and sweet, and nothing like the lust-fuelled, messy kisses you used to share. “Let’s go on a date! Right now!”

Laughing, you intertwine your fingers with his and squeeze as hard you can. “You have a whole lot of apologising to do, Jeon.”

“Anything for you, baby.”

♡

You love Jungkook when he’s smashing cake into your face on your first date, then he takes you to play laser tag only to gang up on you with the strangers you’re playing with. And six months later when you meet his parents for the first time, they approve of the engagement and the marriage that you’ve yet to discuss, already coming up with names for their grandchildren. Jungkook’s face looks like a tomato as he’s profusely trying to apologize for his parents, but you’re okay with it, because you have him by your side.

♡

a/n: another jungkook fic arghh i have so many drafts with the other members but i wanted to type this out real quick. by real quick i mean like 3 days and now it is currently 4:26 AM where i am so that is fun

the relationship is kinda toxic hmmm would u guys wanna see mini drabbles of jungkook and y/n healing their relationship together? you can send any asks if u want :)

anyway, thank you very much for reading!! like or reblog if you enjoyed it and feel free to tell me what you think! my dms are always open <3

[jamaisjoons]

intro: her VII ⤑ knj | m

⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦:〝 you enter namjoon’s life in the most unexpected of ways, but will you be able to stay, especially when he comes with three adorable but chaotic children, even more chaotic best friends and a bitch of an ex-wife? not to mention your own emotional baggage. 〞single dad au.

❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: single dad!namjoon x marine vet!reader

❥ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: angst (yikes i warned you it was coming) ⋆ fluff

❥ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 5k

⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: like none,,, kissing? the big angst whoopee

➵ 𝑎/𝑛: helLLO CHILDREN! LOOK! its here!! chapter seven and some ANGST hehehee, honestly this is kinda tame for what i have planned big yikes,,, no one yell at me i warned u

⏤ Previous || Masterlist || Next

Namjoon’s lips, all of a sudden on yours, causes your eyes to widen for a fraction of a second before almost instantly slipping shut. His hand moves to loosely grip your neck, lifting your chin higher as your own hand's fist his shirt, pulling him closer. Namjoon’s tongue swipes along your bottom lip, your lips parting in response as his tongue slips into your mouth, curling around yours. Though soft and pillowy, his lips are slightly chapped, increasing the friction between your mouths. Namjoon’s other arm winds around your waist, pulling you closer into his body and eliciting a gasp from you, giving him further access to your mouth.

Hands winding up his chest, your fingers carded in his hair, losing yourself in the way his body was pressed against yours and the way his tongue tasted. Tongues languidly gliding against each other, you lose track of time, consumed by the feeling of him. You both stand on Namjoon’s porch, lost in your own world as you feel nothing but each other, the rest of the world fading into the background.

Eventually, when your lungs began to burn from the lack of oxygen, Namjoon pulls away. Both your eyes stay closed and you feel the way he lingers around your lips, barely a hair’s breadth away. Gradually, your eyes flutter open, his warm breath fanning against your lips as you stare into his eyes. He smiles gently, brushing his nose against yours before repeatedly peppering soft kisses on your lips.

“DADDY’S KISSING NOONA!” Taehyung suddenly screams. You both break out of your daze, bodies seizing in shock. Your face heats and you immediately bury yourself in Namjoon’s chest, mortified at being caught making out by his sons. Namjoon chuckles, hand on the back of your head as he holds you close, letting you hide in his chest.

“Daddy no fair! You have to share! Noona was mine first,” Jungkook whines, running up before trying to squeeze in between you both as he attempts to break you up. Despite the situation, you find yourself laughing into Namjoon’s chest as Jungkook tries his best to get in between your bodies. You let go of Namjoon, grabbing Jungkook before picking him up so he’s sandwiched between you and Namjoon. He grins brightly at you, his bunny smile on display as you attack him with a barrage of kisses all over his face that has him giggling and squealing. Namjoon watches you with soft eyes, a tender smile on his face as he takes in this sight of you and Jungkook.

“Me too! Me too! I want kisses from noona too!” Taehyung says, running up to you and jumping up and down to get your attention. You laugh as you place Jungkook back down on the ground, the youngest pouting as you lavish Taehyung with kisses. Moments later, you feel a slight tug on your arm and turn around, noticing Jimin standing there, a prominent blush on his face as he looks at the ground shyly. Your face crumples and you’re immediately grabbing him, kissing his plump cheeks until he’s smiling brightly. Namjoon stares at the four of you in complete astonishment. He’s conflicted as to how he should be feeling. On one hand, he loves the easiness between you and the boys and just how motherly you really are. But on the other, he feels marginally rejected by his own sons.

“Alright. Alright, come on. We can’t stand out here forever,” Namjoon finally says. You blush, standing up straight as the boys run back into the house. You move to follow them but are halted when Namjoon grabs your arm. You turn to him in surprise, brows furrowing in question.

“I- Um… I was wondering if uh… date. I mean, would-. What I’m trying to ask is-” Namjoon begins, stuttering and stumbling over his own words as his ears burn in embarrassment. No matter how much you try, you simply can’t suppress the grin that breaks out on your face over how flustered he is. Standing on your tiptoes, your hands brace themselves on his strong chest as you press a light kiss to the corner of his mouth. Namjoon immediately clamps his mouth shut, staring down at you as he blinks in surprise. You giggle before placing your heels back on the ground, the distance between your faces increasing once again.

“I’d love to go on a date with you,” You say, taking pity on him. Namjoon groans, throwing his head back.

“Sorry, it’s just been so long since I’ve asked someone out or even been on a date that it was… nerve-racking,” Namjoon says, refusing you meet your eyes.

“But you had no qualms about walking up to me and kissing me like that?” You laugh, unable to resist teasing him. Namjoon’s head whips around, staring at you in disbelief, taking in the cheeky smile on your face. He draws up to his full height, eyes darkening before towering over you. Your eyes widen at the change in his demeanour, nervously shifting when he leans above you, lips almost brushing.

“You didn’t have any issues with me kissing you,” Namjoon replies huskily, eyes flicking to your lips. Your own eyes widen slightly, swallowing thickly. This was the Namjoon you were used to, the confident rapper with a cool, sexual demeanour. However, seeing him this up close had you feeling more wired than you had anticipated.

“I- I think we should go in! Before the boys destroy your house,” You quickly blurted out, voice slightly high pitched. You turn and run inside, needing distance between you and him, ignoring Namjoon’s deep chuckle as he follows you into his home. Running into the bathroom, you shut the door with a loud slam before pressing your back against the dark wood. You exhaled deeply, your hand pressed against your chest as you attempted to still the rapidly beating heart under your palms. You walked to the sink, turning the faucet on and splashing your face with cool water.

“Get a grip of yourself!” You hiss, reprimanding your reflection. A couple of moments later, you finally manage to calm yourself down, exiting the bathroom sheepishly. You find Namjoon in the living room, sitting on the sofa while the boys lay on the floor, playing with Monie and their toys. He turns to you with a cute smile, dimples prominent on either of his cheeks and you almost drop your jaw over the complete personality change. How was he so calm and cool one moment and then adorably dorky the next? It made no sense. Patting the space next to him, he beckons you towards the sofa. Your feet move automatically, joining him on the sofa, the TV playing the news in the background.

“So… about that date,” Namjoon begins and you smile shyly, nodding at him to continue.

“I was just wondering when you’d be free,” Namjoon continues. You bite your lip, thinking of your schedule. You and Namjoon were usually pretty busy, you as a veterinarian and Namjoon as a world-class rapper. Would it be hard to find time for each other? He also had the boys to think about, and he’d have to find someone to look after them. Suddenly, an idea pops into your mind.

“How about today?” You suggest, turning your body to look at him.

“Today? That’s short notice. And we can’t go anywhere because of the boys,” Namjoon points out, a befuddled look on his face. Giggling, you nod your head.

“Exactly! We’re both off for the rest of the day, so this is an ideal opportunity yes? But Jimin is sick and you need someone to look after the boys. So how about, as our first date, we just stay in and have a nice dinner,” You suggest. Namjoon cocks a brow at you.

“Is that okay? Are you sure you don’t want to go somewhere?” He asks. This was definitely a first. Didn’t girls usually want to get dressed and go out?

“Really, would we be able to go anywhere fancy in the first place? You’re a famous rapper, you can’t just wander the streets of Seoul with another woman. But also I don’t really care about going out. First dates are to spend time and get to know each other. There’s no reason we can’t do that here. Besides, you have three kids to think about. It makes the most sense to do it this way,” You point out. Namjoon’s face turns passive, his eyes turning guarded.

He can’t help but duck down and capture your lips with his again. Your eyes widen in surprise before kissing him back just as vigorously. Namjoon leans forward, pushing you back until your back is pressed to the couch. He really couldn’t believe you were real. Half the time he assumed he was imagining you, because really, what were the chances he’d find someone so accepting of not only his children but mindful of his career too. He can’t help but think that you really could be the one.

Pulling away from his lips, you strain your neck and kiss the tip of his nose, smiling brightly at him. Namjoon moves off of you, reaching over for his phone before pulling you into his side. Your eyes widen at the sudden movement, feeling him wrap his arm around your back until you’re pressed into his side, head on his chest. The act comes easy for him, your body fitting perfectly against his as his sons continue playing on the floor, their giggles paired with Monie’s bark filling the room.

“What do you want for dinner?” Namjoon asks, showing you his phone as he scrolls through the different delivery places.

“I don’t mind! You can pick whatever you want,” You suggest, looking up at him from your spot on his chest. Namjoon hums, nodding.

“Okay, let’s keep it simple and go with pizza?” He asks, looking down at you. From this angle, he somehow looks even cuter than he usually did, with his full cheeks, irresistible lips and button nose. You can’t help but lean up, pressing a kiss just over his dimple.

“If ordering pizza gets me kisses then I may just have to order pizza for the rest of my life,” Namjoon jokes causing you to roll your eyes and smack his chest lightly.

“Shut up, I couldn’t help it. But pizza sounds great. Margherita works great for me,” You agree. Namjoon hums, already placing the order. Once done, he throws his phone onto the other side of the sofa, pulling you even closer. It’s strange, this is technically your first date and yet there’s no nervousness in your abdomen. In fact, everything flows with relative ease. When he places a kiss on your shoulder, you can’t help but melt into his embrace, body relaxing even further into his own, much harder one.

“So, what do you want to do?” He asks. Humming in thought, your eyes light up.

“We could watch a film?” You ask, eyes lighting up as Namjoon’s brow quirks.

“Pizza and a film? This couldn’t be any more further from a first date but okay. What do you want to watch?” Namjoon asks. You bounce slightly, eyes twinkling.

“Little mermaid! I haven’t watched it in so long,” You say, hope brimming within you. Namjoon lets out a low laugh, finding your excitement completely endearing. He nods, kissing your forehead before shifting you off of him. You watch as he gets up, walking towards his large collection of children and Disney films before picking out the DVD and putting it into his player. The boys watched him curiously, and when they realise what’s happening they quickly abandon their toys, jumping onto the sofa with you.

“Little mermaid!” Jimin squeals, legs kicking in excitement. Namjoon grins, picking Jimin up from the sofa easily before plopping himself down so Jimin ends up sitting on his father’s lap. Namjoon once again pulls you into his side, one hand casually resting on the sofa behind you. You blush slightly at how domestic it is. Taehyung sits contentedly on your other side; however, Jungkook looks between you and his father with a pout. Before you can ask him what’s wrong, however, he’s crawling into your lap, pointedly looking at his father. Namjoon chuckles at the jealous pout on Jungkook’s face while you giggle at how endearingly possessive he was.

You hear the first notes of the film, snuggling further into Namjoon’s body. You’re pleasantly surprised when Namjoon joins you in singing all the songs, word for word, his eyes sparkling. When ‘Part of Your World’ comes on you cannot help but giggle at the high pitched, tone-deaf, voice that emits from Namjoon’s mouth. However, he remains unfazed, practically belting out the lyrics at the top of his voice, your mixture of laughter and singing drowned out by him. The boys giggle at the both of you, cheering you on with clapping hands. Mentally, you can’t help but think that perhaps he was enjoying this film even more than his sons.

Halfway through the film, you’re interrupted by the pizza delivery guy. Namjoon pauses the film as he pays the guy before grabbing cups for the drink as well as napkins considering how messy his sons were. Pressing play, the five of you sit and happily munch on the pizza, as you continue singing despite having your mouths full of food. Namjoon even attempts to talk with Sebastian’s accent, wiggling his eyebrows and dancing exaggeratedly when ‘Under the Sea’ comes on, his face contorting into various expressions.

He calms down slightly after that, content to sing along with a lower voice through the rest of the film. When ‘Kiss the Girl’ begins playing, you can’t help watching Namjoon from the corner of your eyes, relishing in how easy every interaction comes with him. Namjoon turns around to look at you, his eyes dark and hidden with a different emotion. You blink up at him, losing yourself in his dark, twinkling eyes. He smiles softly at you before bending over and kissing you. You can’t help smiling into the kiss, almost rolling your eyes over how cheesy he was being. Namjoon shrugs, placing another kiss on your lips that has you laughing into his mouth and wrapping your arms around him. When you both break off, the boys jump onto you, causing you to tumble over as they press kisses all over your face.

“Well, this looks cosy. What is going on here?” A voice calls out, all your heads snap towards the entrance of the living room, Yoongi, Hoseok and Seokjin looking at the scene with amused smiles. You freeze, looking at Namjoon in fear at being caught.

“What are you doing here?” Namjoon splutters, sitting up straight and attempting to distance himself from you subtly. However, his movement only causes Yoongi to quirk an eyebrow.

“We came here because we were worried about the boys being sick and to help you if you needed it. But you already have help it seems,” Hoseok says, eyeing you with sparkling eyes, his tone teasing. You let out a small groan, knowing that you were not about to live this down.

“We’re just having dinner,” Namjoon says shortly, not wanting to admit you were both on a date only to have Hoseok and Seokjin tease you both.

“Just dinner?” Seokjin sing songs, his voice taking on a happier lilt.

“Daddy and noona are on a date!” Taehyung rats you both out, his voice filled with childlike innocence. You choke, throwing yourself into a coughing fit while Namjoon hisses Taehyung’ name, the latter looking at his father in confusion, wondering what he did wrong.

“A date?” Yoongi mumbles, looking at the empty pizza boxes before turning to the film that was still being played in the background.

“Absolutely not,” Hoseok quickly interrupts, looking positively aghast.

“Yeah, this is not happening,” Seokjin follows and your stomach immediately drops. Did they not want this? Perhaps they didn’t think you were good enough for Namjoon.

“This is nota first date! You can’t just sit in watching a film and eating pizza with children on a date. Especially not the first,” Seokjin continues, berating you both. Your shoulders immediately slump in relief, glad that they were more unhappy with the nature of the date rather than the date itself.

“Well, there’s not much we could do. Besides, ____ suggested this,” Namjoon quickly interjects. Hoseok turns to you, narrowing his eyes before tutting, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Honestly, it’s fine. I don’t mind,” You try to placate them both, but neither Hoseok nor Seokjin heed your words.

“It doesn’t matter. We’re not letting this be your first date. Do you have any idea how long Hoseok and I have been waiting for this? Months! MONTHS! Namjoon, go get dressed. Something nice. I don’t care where you go, just go somewhere date like. We’ll watch the boys,” Seokjin rants. You try to interject and tell him you really were fine with this as a first date, but Seokjin pointedly ignores you.

“Leave it ____, they’re not going to listen to us. Just give me a few minutes to change and then we can go somewhere,” Namjoon finally exhales, standing up and dusting pizza crumbs off of himself before disappearing out of the living room. Hoseok and Seokjin turn to you, mischievous smiles on their lips as Yoongi looks at you apologetically. You swallow thickly, not liking the predatory grins on both Hoseok and Seokjin’s faces.

“So ____, guess your dreams are finally coming true,” Hoseok teases. You narrow your eyes at him, throwing an empty dipping sauce pot at his head. On instinct, Hoseok ducks out of the way, laughing at the scowl on your face.

“Has he kissed you yet?” Seokjin asks and you let out a little gasp, face burning as you look away. Seokjin laughs, his high pitched chuckle filling your ears as you try your hardest to ignore him.

“If you don’t want to answer that’s fine, I can ask Taehyung,” Seokjin teases and your eyes widen, knowing that Taehyung couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Just as Seokjin opens his mouth, you whip around. Throwing yourself against Seokjin, you tackle him to the ground, covering his mouth and glaring at him. Hoseok lets out a loud, raucous laugh as you struggle to keep Seokjin pinned down and his mouth shut.

“What is happening?” Namjoon asks, glaring at the way you were practically straddling Seokjin. You let out a little yelp, scrambling off him before smiling sheepishly at Namjoon.

“No need to get jealous Namjoon, ____ here was just trying to stop me asking Taehyung if you had kissed,” Seokjin sing songs, causing you to scowl at him. Namjoon blushes slightly before rolling his eyes at Seokjin’s waggling eyebrows.

“Come on ____, let’s go,” Namjoon says, smiling softly at you. You nod, getting up and gathering your things.

“Have fun! But not too much fun, if you know what I mean,” Hoseok calls out, him and Seokjin both snickering at you. Namjoon shakes his head in exasperation, turning to look at Yoongi.

“They still need their bath. Jimin’s antibiotics are on his table. We’ll probably be back after their bedtime,” Namjoon says, Yoongi nodding.

“I know how to look after your sons Namjoon, I’ve been doing it since they were born,” Yoongi drawls, Namjoon nodding.

“Yes, yes I know! Okay boys, daddy and noona are going out now. Be good for hyungs okay?” Namjoon says, squatting down and pressing kisses to their heads. You move to wave goodbye to them, only making the boys whine instead.

“Noona! Kisses!” Jungkook pouts, stomping one of his little feet. Hoseok and Seokjin snicker, causing you to glower at them briefly before bending and copying Namjoon, placing soft kisses on their heads.

“Do we get kisses too?” Hoseok asks, his face a picture of innocence but his eyes twinkling with mischief. Rolling your eyes, you turn to join Namjoon, smacking the back of Hoseok’s head as you leave.

“Hey!” Hoseok whines. Namjoon chuckles as he wraps an arm around you.

“That’s what you get,” Namjoon laughs before guiding you out of the house, leaving a pouting Hoseok behind.

Leaving Namjoon’s house, you both walk down the street. The night is quiet, the air crisp against your warm skin causing you to pull your jacket around you tighter. Neither of you says anything, more than happy to quietly walk beside each other. Namjon looks at you from the corner of his eyes, brows furrowing when he notices your huddled form and frosted breath. Stepping closer to you, he takes your hand in his.

“Sorry, it’s kind of cold, isn’t it? I don’t really drive and it’s late. Plus we’ve already had dinner,” Namjoon says softly, trying to warm you up with his body heat. Shaking your head, you look up at him.

“It’s really not that cold, I think I’m just feeling it because your house was warm. I’m sure I’ll get used to it,” You say as Namjoon nods but grips your hand tighter. He pulls you down a different, much more secluded road and you look around, wondering where he’s taking you.

“So, do you know where you’re going? Or is this where you murder me and steal all my money. Although, you already have a lot more money than me,” You joke. Namjoon looks at you in surprise before laughing.

“It looks shady I know, but there’s a park near here. I thought we could go there?” Namjoon replies. You giggle, nodding and gripping his hand tighter.

A couple of minutes later, your both arrive at a gated off park. Namjoon walks to the entrance, pulling you into the park before walking towards a large tree. It’s almost completely dark and you practically have to squint to see where you’re both going, the only light source available to you the crescent moon and the few stars you could see in the sky. You cling closer to Namjoon; the darkness was daunting but you felt completely safe with his presence. He had that off, comforting effect on you.

Moments later, Namjoon comes to an abrupt stop. You cannot see much, so you can only assume that Namjoon’s brought you somewhere to the middle of the park. Squinting harder, you can make the outline of his large figure bending down before laying on the grass, almost blending into the ground. He tugs your hand and you calm your nerves, knowing you were safe with Namjoon. You join him in laying on the ground, Namjoon pulling you closer to him. You’re both staring at the sky, the dark grey clouds passing over and obstructing the moon every now and then.

“So this was your big plan?” You finally ask, your voice cutting the eerie silence of the night.

“I didn’t have time to come up with a big plan! Why? Are you not enjoying yourself?” Namjoon asks and you can hear the slight worry in his voice. You quickly shake your head, turning to where you think his head should be but only coming face to face with a dark, faceless outline.

“No, it’s oddly calming. It would be nicer if the stars were out and it wasn’t cloudy,” You say, turning back to the sky. You feel Namjoon nod, shifting closer to you. You can almost feel the waves of nervousness wash over him.

“What’s wrong?” You ask and Namjoon sighs.

“There’s a song I wrote… do… you want to hear it?” Namjoon asks and you blink before nodding. You feel Namjoon shift and the rustling of fabric before a bright light fills the dark night. You squint at the blinding light as Namjoon scrolls through his media before finding the song. Clicking play, you hear a soft beat fill the silence then Namjoon’s soft voice starts to play through his phone. You fidget nervously, the lyrics filling your head.

“I say this could be something. This is something,” his voice comes across the phone, as the song ends. You feel Namjoon’s nervousness spike and hear the way he swallows thickly.

“Do… do you like it?” Namjoon asks but you’re a bit lost for words. Was the song about you? You didn’t want to be presumptuous but surely it was about you?

“You’re not saying something. Do you hate it? Oh my god. I knew it was stupid to write you a song,” Namjoon begins blurting out but your body stills at his word, head snapping to look at him.

“So it is about me?” You finally say and Namjoon stops his panicked rant.

“Um… yes. I wrote it around when we first met. That’s not weird right?” He asks and you quickly shake your head, heart soaring at the gesture. He’d written you a song!

“It’s… beautiful. I really like it,” You finally say, hearing Namjoon’s relieved sigh.

“Thank god. I’m glad! I wasn’t sure if it would come out as creepy or not,” Namjoon confesses, causing you to giggle.

“It was definitely adorable. Not creepy at all in this very dark park or anything,” You tease, Namjoon poking your side.

“Ah yes, definitely not creepy to drag a girl into a deserted park and play her a song you wrote for her when you first met,” Namjoon replies, a teasing inclination in his tone. Silence falls between you two again as you both stare up at the night sky, watching the dark clouds slowly pass by.

“I’m not going to lie, as far as first dates go, I think this is my favourite.” Namjoon breaks the silence, his voice low and calming. You hum in agreement.

“Well, if we’re not lying then, this is my first date in a long while too,” You confess. Namjoon shifts, looking at you in surprise. Not that you could really see his face.

“Really? Why is that?” He asks curiously and you sigh, biting your lip nervously.

“I got out of a really bad relationship a year and a half ago,” You whisper, Namjoon tightening his hold on you.

“How bad?”

“Bad enough that I moved halfway across the country. I don’t really want to talk about it,” You finally say and Namjoon nods, more than happy to change the subject as he presses a kiss to your temple.

“If it helps, this is my first date in a long time too. I had wanted to ask you out before but I didn’t know whether I should or not,” Namjoon confesses. Your brows furrow and you shift to your side, looking up at where the outline of his face was.

“Why?”

“I wasn’t sure if you were in it for the long run or not. I have three children I need to think about. I can’t do casual anymore. I can’t just introduce someone into their lives who isn’t going to stay you know?” Namjoon asks.

His words shouldn’t come as a shock. They really, really shouldn’t. Because it made complete sense. He had three young children to think about and introducing a woman to them only for them to grow attached and have her leave was decidedly a very bad idea. So no, it shouldn’t come as a surprise. And yet his words have your heart racing. And not in a good way. You feel your breath quicken, hands turning clammy as you begin to feel flustered and overwhelmed.

You had known this when saying yes. You had known that Namjoon would have thought through everything and then thought it over once again before even trying anything. But you hadn’t. You should have. You should have known that Namjoon was in this for the long run and maybe you could be. But this was happening too soon. You loved the boys and yes you could hang out with them for a few hours… but being a mother?! You had no idea how to do that.

The weight of what it means to be with Namjoon and be in his life romantically hits you like a tonne of bricks and suddenly you’re left feeling more overwhelmed than you had in a long time. Panic grips your every being. You hadn’t planned for this. You didn’t know if you could do this. Did you even want to do this? You’d known Namjoon for over half a year now, sure, but even then it felt like you were potentially rushing into things. You lost yourself in Namjoon and playing house with him that you hadn’t even really considered what it meant to really be with him and what it meant to be with the boys.

“____? Are you okay?” Namjoon asks, sensing something is wrong. You sit up immediately, trying to calm your rapidly beating heart, ignoring the part of you that is yearning for Namjoon’s warmth and calming presence.

“I… I don’t know if I can do this,” You finally manage to whisper and Namjoon feels as if someone had drenched him in ice-cold water.

“What do you mean?” He whispers, fear gripping him.

“I don’t… Namjoon I don’t know if I can be a mother. I don’t know the first thing about being a mother,” You say. Namjoon hears the complete terror and anxiousness dripping in your voice and he feels his stomach drop. This is the exact thing he had been afraid of.

“____… what are you trying to say?” Namjoon asks, voice thick with emotion. You’re both glad each other’s faces are obstructed by the darkness of the night. You don't want to see the heartbreak on his face that is clearly dripping in his voice and Namjoon doesn’t want to see the fear and apprehension on yours.

“I don’t know,” You whisper, because honestly, you didn’t. Namjoon takes a deep breath, steeling his nerves. Feeling himself shift away from you, your mind screams amidst the panic. Yelling at you to throw yourself into him. But you can’t seem to move past the overwhelming trepidation that courses through your bloodstream.

“Well… I need you to know. I can’t be doing this anymore ____. I’m not getting younger and the boys definitely aren’t getting younger. I can’t be doing this second-guessing thing. I need you to be sure. They love you. Like they love a mother. But if you’re not up for that, I can’t… I won’t break their hearts like that. So I need you to be sure. Because I’m in this for the long run and I need you to be too.” Namjoon finally says, his voice level despite the crushing ache in his chest.

“I… I don’t know…” You reply, struggling to get the words out. You and Namjoon sit in silence; though once comfortable, now it’s devastatingly thick with tension.

“So what now?” You finally gather the courage to ask. You hear Namjoon take in a deep breath, drawing in closer to yourself, head almost buried in your knees.

“It seems we’re at an impasse.”

A/N: i know i told everyone not to yell at me, but  I also know you will definitely yell at me so,,,, go ahead ksksksksksksk. Also, the song that Namjoon plays is called Something by,,, well him hehe

▷ Masterlist | Chapter 8

[soobiniebaby]

Angels & Devils Part VIII : I Don’t Wanna Be Just Friends

Tomorrow x Together Fanfiction

~ p a r t s : main post || prologue || part 1 || part 2 || part 3 || part 4 || part 5 || part 6 || part 7 || part 8 || part 9 || part 10 || part 11 || part 12 || part 13 || part 14 || part 15 || part 16 || part 17 ~ p a i r i n g : love triangle involving choi soobin and choi yeonjun ~ g e n r e : high school au | some social media au | some fluff & angst | childhood friends | love triangle ~ l a n g u a g e : English ~ w a r n i n g : contains swearing, alcohol, kissing (?) and may contain mature themes (angst, etc.) ~ a / n : This will be my first fanfic (go easy on me pls) and i’m just writing this as I go along, so bear with me juseyo The setting (place/country) of the story is up to the reader’s interpretation ~ s u m m a r y : What should she choose? Han Baby: the new girl with a troubled past MO Academy: her new high school Choi Soobin: student council president, member of the Ecosave club, volunteer at the Humane Treatment of Animals, member of the Honor Society, a vocalist in the Jazzed club, the school’s all around golden boy Choi Yeonjun: leader of the Dance club, star of the Jazzed club, the school’s it boy with a bad rep 5 best friends, 1 new girl, 1 childhood friendship, 1 epic love triangle? What will this school year bring?

It had been 13 days now since Kai’s birthday party. 13 days since Yeonjun had asked her out, and so far she’s done a good job at making sure that things between them wouldn’t change. All it took was to avoid being alone with him.

At first, she was convinced that both of them would move on from Kai’s party as if nothing had happened between them, that is, until he made it a point to keep his eyes on her while he was performing onstage, even giving her a wink or two. That simple gesture flustered her so much that she made sure to never find herself alone with the blue haired boy again. Ryujin’s “Looks like Choi Yeonjun’s got his eye on you” remark didn’t help either. And it definitely didn’t help that she often caught Yeonjun looking at her, though she could never bring herself to meet her gaze, afraid that she might get even more confused than she already was.

During their daily lunches at the gazebo and their trips to Kang’s Kafe after school, she made sure that she always had Kai by her side. During the one class that she shared with Yeonjun, she made sure that Soobin was seated between them. On Saturday, 7 days after Kai’s party, the boys had invited her to hang out at Soobin’s house and still she was able to avoid being alone with Yeonjun, gluing herself to Kai’s side the whole time. She wasn’t avoiding Yeonjun per se, she still talked to him when necessary. She just wanted to make sure that no line would be crossed between them, that there would be no opportunities for him to leave her any more flustered than she already was. She wanted to wait until thinking back to the moment he winked at her onstage didn’t make her heart race or her cheeks heat up anymore.

She had managed to maintain her daily routine of walking to school with Taehyun, attending classes, going to Kang’s Kafe with the gang, and walking home perfectly fine until today.

Friday.

Friday was quickly becoming her favorite school day. First of all, it was their washday, so she could get dressed up and look pretty if she wanted to instead of having to wear the same uniform everyday. Second, ever since she joined the HTA club, she’s been able to spend most of the afternoon surrounded by the cats and dogs within the campus grounds. It wasn’t all cuddles and pets, since the club was responsible for caring for the animals, they also had to clean up after them, made sure their feeding stations were never empty, and ensure that all the animals were in good shape. Luckily the workload wasn’t too bad since Soobin and the rest of the club members were all very attached to the animals under their care.

She had also gotten much closer with the rest of the boys, especially with Soobin since they spent a lot of time at the HTA together, and they were constantly taking pictures of each other so they’d have content to post for their creative writing class project. Unsurprisingly, their social media posts for the week both included cats under the care of the HTA club.

This Friday morning, 13 days after Kai’s birthday party, B woke up as usual to the sound of her phone alarming. What was unusual, however, was how heavy her body felt when she turned over in bed to shut the alarm off, and how chilly she felt even though her body was drenched in sweat. She came down with a bit of a cold the night before and she figured a night of good sleep would make it disappear, but clearly she was wrong.

She dragged herself out her bed and started getting ready for school, taking a cool shower and getting dressed. Due to how out of sync her body felt, she didn’t have the appetite to eat breakfast or the energy to care about how she looked, so she quickly swiped some tint on her lips and cheeks. She saw a couple of red spots on her chin and thought about whether or not she should cover them up with concealer, but she noticed that the spots felt itchy and she was afraid that covering them up with makeup would irritate them more so she left them alone. She threw on a sweater and jeans before willing herself to step out of her apartment and meet Taehyun downstairs.

“Wow, B.” Taehyun says as she meets him outside, staring at her with a strange look on his face. “And I don’t mean that in a good way.” he says, concerned now. Last Friday, she had made an effort to look nice. Her face was vibrant and her outfit choice was stylish. Now, she looked a little worse for wear, and she looked tired, as she stood slouched over with her arms folded across her chest. “Are you…okay?”

B nods. “I’m fine. I just skipped breakfast, I’ll get something to eat after homeroom.” she said, thankful that they didn’t have any classes for the day. She told herself that she just had to survive homeroom, get some food to energize herself, and then she’d be able to power through the rest of the day.

“Are you sure?” Taehyun asks, taking a step closer towards her so he could examine her properly. “You look kind of pale.”

B gives him a look. “It’s just cause I didn’t put on makeup.” she says dismissively. “And I didn’t eat breakfast, but I promise I’m good. Let’s go.”

Taehyun gives her one last look of concern before turning away. “Alright, let’s go.”

•°•

Homeroom was a drag. Attendance was required, but the whole thing felt like a waste of time. It was supposed to be used by the class advisers to discuss school policies or events, but their teacher didn’t seem to have anything to discuss. B spent the first 30 minutes of the period with her head buried in her arms, lying down on her desk.

“Hey Tyun,” Kai whispers. “What happened to Baba? Is she okay?”

“She seemed a bit off when we were walking to school. She was quiet, and she looked really tired. I asked her if she was okay before we left, and all she told me is that she didn’t have breakfast and that she was fine.” Taehyun confesses. “You got any food with you right now?”

Kai shakes his head. “I always have breakfast before I go, no matter how late I’m running. Do you have anything?”

Taehyun reaches into his bag and pulls out a brown paper bag. “My mom always packs me a couple of sandwiches, just in case.”

The 2 boys smile at each other and nod before each laying a hand on B’s shoulders.

“Baba, hey, wake up.” Kai says, gently squeezing her shoulder.

B turns her head in her arms to face the boys, not sitting up. “Hm?” she mumbles.

“You said you skipped breakfast, right? Are you hungry?” Kai asks.

“I have a couple of sandwiches here, you can eat them right now if you want to.” Taehyun says soothingly, gently squeezing her shoulder.

“No, it’s fine, you should eat them. But thanks, Tyun.” B says, giving him a weak smile.

“Baba, c’mon, you should at least eat something.” Kai says. “No offense, but you kinda look like a corpse.”

“Gee, thanks.” she responds dryly. “You know what, it’s cause I didn’t wear makeup. I’ll just go to the restroom and freshen up real quick.” she says, reaching into her bag and pulling out a small makeup bag. She stands up and glares at Kai before saying “I’ll be back.”

She walks up to the class adviser’s table and asks for permission to go to the bathroom before exiting the room.

“Dude. Seriously.” Taehyun says, turning to Kai and whacking his arm. “Did you really have to tell her that she looked like a corpse? All I wanted was for her to take the sandwiches.”

Kai just shrugs. “Hey I was just stating facts. I thought it would motivate her to eat, I didn’t think she’d bring out her makeup bag.”

“You’re an idiot. You better apologize to her when she gets back.” Taehyun says, shaking his head at the boy.

Except B never returned to class.

•°•

Yeonjun walked down the hall, his hands in his pockets and his head full of thoughts.

Fridays were one of the busiest days of the week for him. First, as president of the dance club, he had to finalize club activities before the end of homeroom, and since they had new members, they would be focusing more on introductions. Next, he had to consider his role in the Jazzed club. They were impressed with the rapping he did during the showcase on club recruitment day and they wanted him to assemble a small group of members and start a rap line within the club, so he had to figure out which members had potential and how to develop the skills needed to be a rapper. Lastly, there would be the weekly family dinner he’d be having with his parents for the night.

It was going to be a long day. He decided to take a break from planning out his day during homeroom and walk around the hall to stretch his legs for a bit. He was on his way back to his classroom when he saw a familiar face coming out of the women’s restrooms.

He smiled as he saw Baby step out, her arms folded across her chest cradling a small makeup bag, her eyes on the ground. She was wearing an oversized sweater and a plain pair of jeans, but he noticed her face was done up really nicely. Without even thinking about it, he found his feet begin to change direction, walking towards her now. It was the first time he’d seen her alone in the past few days, so he figured he’d grab the chance.

“Hey, Baby.” he called, as he was about 10 feet away from her now. She didn’t seem to hear him, cause she still had her eyes on the ground as she took slow steps. He decided to call her again.

“Baby?” he says a little bit louder as he comes closer. She looks up at him then, and he notices how blank her eyes looked. She looked dazed, as if she were lost and confused.

As her blank eyes meet his, she opens her mouth and says “Yeonjun?” before her vision goes blurry and she stumbles backwards.

Yeonjun manages to rush to her side and gets a grip on her shoulders before she loses her footing and her body crashes against his.

“Whoa there, are you okay?” he asks, as his hand brushes against her neck, he notices that she was burning up. “Baby? You’re burning up.” he says, looking at her with concern. She had her eyes closed and was breathing heavily. “I’m taking you to the clinic.” he says, positioning her properly, cradling her in his arms before lifting her off the ground.

“Hold on, Baby. I’ve got you.” he says, securing her on his back before making his way to the clinic.

•°•

Yeonjun puts his phone back in his pocket and runs a hand through his hair. He sat in silence, counting the number of tiles on the floor, before the school nurse called for him.

“Mr. Choi?” the nurse calls.

He stands up immediately and enters the room that the nurse had put Baby in, knocking on the door before stepping in.

“Yes, nurse Sunwoo?” he says, standing by the door. Baby was asleep on the bed, and the school nurse was standing beside her with a clipboard in his hands.

“Is Ms. Han a friend of yours? It looks like she’ll have to be sent home. She has a high fever, her temperature’s 38.9 degrees Celsius, so it’s standard protocol that we send home students with fevers.” nurse Sunwoo explains.

Yeonjun nods. “Alright, sir, will you fill up a form? I’d gladly take it to her adviser, and I can also take her things from her classroom and get her a ride home.”

“Yes, I’ve already filled up a form for Ms. Han, and I’ll fill up a form that will explain your absence from homeroom so you can get her a ride home. You’re still expected to return to school afterwards, though.” nurse Sunwoo says. “But first, I have to ask, have you ever had the chicken pox before?”

Yeonjun’s eyes widen and his mind goes blank. The chicken pox? He takes a moment to think about it before answering “Yes, I had it when I was 3 years old.”

“That’s good.” nurse Sunwoo says, sighing in relief. “I’ve noticed that Ms. Han appears to have some rashes spreading across her face and neck. The school doctor isn’t in today so I can’t be too sure, but I looks like she might have Varicella, so it’s best that she avoids contact with other students just in case there might be someone who hasn’t had the chicken pox before. It’s a highly contagious disease, so it could spread quickly. Judging by her symptoms now, she probably contracted the disease about 2 weeks ago.”

Oh no, could it be? “We had a social gathering about 2 weeks ago. Do you think she could have picked it up from someone there?” Yeonjun asks.

“Again, I’m not a doctor so I can’t officially diagnose her. But if it is Varicella, then yes, it’s highly possible that someone at that party had it or at least came in contact with someone who had it and became a carrier.” nurse Sunwoo explains. “If other students were present at that gathering, then we’re likely to see more cases of this soon.”

Yeonjun nods. “I understand, Sir, and I’ll warn my friends about it too.”

“I suggest Ms. Han contact her family doctor so that she can be properly diagnosed as well.” Nurse Sunwoo says before handing Yeonjun the forms. “Submit this to Ms. Han’s class adviser and collect her things. Come back here and I’ll help you with transporting Ms. Han to her ride home. Once you’ve secured her safely in her home, come back to school and present this form to your class adviser.”

“Will do, thank you, Sir Sunwoo.” Yeonjun says, taking the forms. “Oh, a friend of ours says he’ll be stopping by the clinic to visit her, if it’s okay.”

Nurse Sunwoo shakes his head. “She may be highly contagious, so before any of your friends plan any visits, please make sure that they’ve already contracted the chicken pox before. Otherwise, they have a high risk of getting infected as well.”

Yeonjun nods and thanks the nurse once again before leaving, whipping out his phone to text the guys while he walked to her classroom.

After texting the guys, he sends a quick text to his driver as well.

Once he reaches her classroom, he knocks twice before entering the room and walking straight to the adviser’s desk. He could already hear the whispers from the class as he informed the adviser of Baby’s condition and gave him the clinic form. The adviser simply says “I hope Ms. Han recovers soon.” and signs the form before handing it back to Yeonjun. “You’ll find her things over there, she was seated in between Mr. Kang and Mr. Huening.”

Yeonjun thanks the adviser before making his way to her seat and collecting her things.

“Pst, Yeonjun.” Kai whispers. “Is it really chicken pox? How is she?”

“Nurse Sunwoo said he suspects it’s chicken pox, but he couldn’t be too sure since the school doctor isn’t in today, so it would be best if Baby contacts her family doctor.” Yeonjun says quietly, making sure no one else but Kai and Taehyun could hear him. “She fainted when I saw her, and when I left she was asleep in the clinic.”

“I hope she’s okay. I really should’ve known she wasn’t okay before we left this morning.” Taehyun said, a frown on his face.

Kai puts a hand on Taehyun’s back. “Tyun, seriously, this isn’t your fault. Thanks to you, she made it to school safely.” he says comfortingly.

“Thanks, Hyuka. I wish we could visit her though, make sure she’s okay.” Taehyun says wistfully.

“If you want the chicken pox, feel free to visit her then.” Yeonjun says, trying to lighten the mood. “I’ll just take her things then I’ll bring her home. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of her for now.” he says, clapping the 2 boys on their backs before excusing himself from the room.

Yeonjun heads back to the clinic and Nurse Sunwoo helps him bring Baby in a wheelchair to the north quadrangle, where sure enough, his driver was waiting for him. His driver opens the backseat and helps Yeonjun with loading the girl into the car. Yeonjun thanks the school nurse once again before entering the vehicle himself.

“Where to, sir Yeonjun?” the driver asks as they pull out of the campus.

“You know Kang’s Kafe, right Hwall? We’re taking her home to her apartment, it’s in the building across the café.” Yeonjun says. “This is Han Baby, by the way. She’s a friend of mine.”

“Alright, Sir Yeonjun.” Hwall simply says. “Will you be staying at her apartment for the rest of the day?”

Yeonjun shakes his head. “We’ll just be dropping her off, I have to be back at school for the afternoon.”

“Seems a bit dangerous to leave her alone in this state, sir.” Hwall comments. “Your friend doesn’t look like she’s in the best condition. Is she sick?”

Yeonjun nods. “She fainted and has a high fever. I wish I could stay and make sure she’ll be okay, but I have no choice. If I don’t go back and submit this form, then I’ll have an unexcused absence, which my father might hear about.” he says with a hint of bitterness. Yeonjun’s personal driver, Hwall, was one of the few staff members hired by his family that he trusted, so he felt safe confiding in Hwall about his problems.

“Whatever the situation, I’m sure you’ll handle it well, sir.” Hwall simply says, knowing Yeonjun.

Just then, the car takes a sharp turn, and Baby’s position shifts, somehow ending up with her head on Yeonjun’s lap. He tries to inch away from her so that her head would land on the car seat instead, but he was surprised when she reached out and grabbed the fabric of his jeans, causing him to freeze in place. He looks down at her and sees that she’s still fast asleep. He lets out a small smile and rests a hand on the top of her head, caressing her hair carefully. He snaps a quick picture before sending an update to the boys.

He ignores Taehyun’s message and locks his phone, tilting his head back, thinking carefully about what he should do for the rest of the day.

His gut told him that he shouldn’t leave her alone, at least not in her current condition, and he felt like simply making sure she got home safe wouldn’t be enough. He wanted to spend the afternoon watching over her, to contact her family doctor and have him come over to examine her, to stay by her side and make sure she wouldn’t wake up alone.

On the other hand, if he did skip school for the rest of the day, he’d fail to submit his excuse slip, and that would be another unexcused absence in his record.

He sighed, looking down at the girl sleeping on his lap, wondering if he should choose his head over his heart.

•°•

When B wakes up and opens her eyes, she’s surprised when she sees nothing, her view obstructed by something covering her face. She lifts a hand up to reach over her face, removing whatever was obstructing her view. She grabs it and realizes that it’s a face towel, and it was slightly damp. Why did she have a towel on her head?

She turns over in her bed, blindly reaching over the sheets in search of her phone, but she’s surprised when her hand comes in contact with hair. Human hair.

Was there someone else in her bed?

Her eyes immediately widen as she pulls her hand away and attempts to scramble away, but instead she ends up rolling over until she falls over the side of the bed, hitting the floor with a thud.

“Ouch.” she says out loud, rubbing her the spot on her head that met the heaviest impact with the floor. Once she realizes that no one else had made a sound, she starts to sit up, slowly peeking over the sheets to catch a glimpse of whoever might be on the other side of the bed.

She’s surprised when she sees a head of blue hair, and she immediately stands up to get a better look.

It was Yeonjun. He was sitting on the floor at the other side of the bed, but he seemed to have fallen asleep, his head resting in his arms, which were folded across the bed.

B could feel her heartbeat start to quicken as she started to panic. Why wasn’t she at school? When and how did she get home? Why was Yeonjun here? Why was she alone with Yeonjun in her apartment?

She weighed her options. She could either wake him up and get the answers to all her questions, or she could simply sneak out of her apartment and continue to avoid him like she had been the past 2 weeks.

She sighed, knowing what she had to do. She got back on the bed and started to slowly crawl towards him, carefully putting a hand on his arm and gently shaking it.

“Yeonjun?” she says. “Yeonjun, wake up.”

To her surprise, the blue-haired boy stretches his arms out on the bed, gripping the sheets tightly for a second before he relaxes and lifts his head up, and for what felt like the first time in 2 weeks, their eyes meet.

And just like that, she could feel the butterflies in her stomach start to flutter about again.

“Hey Baby, sorry I fell asleep.” Yeonjun says casually, sitting up on the floor. “Oh god, what time is it? I hope I wasn’t asleep for too long.” he says, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“It’s fine, no need to apologize. It’s 4pm right now.” she says kindly, checking her watch. “Um, Yeonjun?”

“Yes?” he asks innocently, his mouth quirked up in a smirk.

“How did we end up here exactly?” she asks. “What happened?”

Then Yeonjun filled her in. He told her about how she passed out in the hallway and he brought her to the school clinic, how the school nurse said she might have the chicken pox and she had to be sent home cause of her high fever, how Yeonjun brought her home, how Yeonjun found the number for her family doctor and had him come for a home visit, how the doctor confirmed that she did indeed have chicken pox and she would have to stay home for at least a week, and how Yeonjun watched over her the whole time.

How he carried her from his car all the way up to her apartment, how he removed her shoes before tucking her into bed, how he put a damp face towel over her forehead and replaced it every hour, how he checked her temperature every 30 minutes to see if her fever had died down yet and how relieved he was when it finally did, how he had constantly sent the other guys updates on how she was doing, how he had ordered food to be delivered to her apartment just in case she woke up hungry, and how he had fallen asleep while sitting on the floor.

How he had taken care of her the whole time, yet B pushed the thought of Yeonjun doing all that for her to the back of her mind.

“I have the chicken pox? Oh god oh god, I’m gonna have to miss school for a week?” B says, her head drowning from the sudden heavy load of information. “Why are you here, though? Did you skip school? Where are the other guys?” she asks.

“Yes, you have the chicken pox and yes, your doctor says you can’t leave your house for at least a week, depending on how fast you recover, so he’ll be checking up on you again in a couple of days. Lucky for me, I had chicken pox when I was 3 years old so now I’m immune, and unlucky for them, none of the other guys have had chicken pox before so they can’t really be here right now.” Yeonjun says, skipping over her question about him skipping school. “So it’s just you and me.”

B bites her lip, overwhelmed by the whole situation. It wasn’t even the fact that she had chicken pox that was made her nervous or the fact that she’d be missing a week of school, it was the fact that she was now alone with the boy she had been trying to avoid for the past 2 weeks, and the fact that she couldn’t have Kai or the rest of the guys come over so she could keep distancing herself from Yeonjun. It was the fact that she knew that she couldn’t keep avoiding him any longer. “So it’s just you and me.” she repeats.

Yeonjun smiles. “Lucky for me, unlucky for you, isn’t it?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks suspiciously.

“Baby, come on. You’ve been avoiding me for the past 2 weeks, right?” Yeonjun asks point blank. “And let’s face it, I’ve been waiting to get a moment alone with you for the past 2 weeks. So this situation right now is lucky for me, and unlucky for you.”

“I haven’t been avoiding you.” she says weakly, caught off guard by how direct he was being.

Yeonjun shakes his head. “It’s okay, Baby. I guess I put pressure on you. If anything, it’s my fault that you felt so uncomfortable that you had to start avoiding me.”

“It’s not that, Yeonjun.” she protests. Upon seeing the confused look on his face, she bit her lip. Time to face the truth head on. “I’ll admit that I have been avoiding you, but it wasn’t cause I was uncomfortable with you.”

“Oh? Why then?” Yeonjun asks. “You know it hurts, right? It hurt to see that you never wanted to sit beside me, that you were purposefully avoiding talking to me, that you didn’t want to be alone with me, that you wouldn’t even look at me. I thought I lost a friend. I thought I lost you.” he admits, looking at her intently. “The past 2 weeks hurt.”

B felt an ache in her chest. She was so caught up in her own feelings and so engrossed in avoiding him that she didn’t realize what it might’ve been like for him. “Yeonjun, I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” B says, climbing off the bed and sitting down beside him on the floor. “And it wasn’t your fault. It was just me, avoiding you and blocking you out like I did, it was all just me being stupid. I got so caught up in my own thoughts that I didn’t even think about how it might have affected you or our friendship.” She puts her hand on his comfortingly. “I hope you know that I really don’t want to lose you, and I didn’t want to lose our friendship.”

He takes her hand, intertwining their fingers, and gives her a small smile. “And you know I really don’t want to lose you either. So why? Why have you been avoiding me?”

B takes a deep breath, bracing herself for what might happen once she told him the truth. “It’s because I was confused. To be honest, when you performed on club recruitment day and winked at me onstage, it felt like butterflies were born in my stomach that day, and I’ve been trying to keep them from fluttering around but they just seem to keep multiplying.”

Yeonjun smiles. “So I gave you butterflies.” he states.

B nods. “Yes, but after turning you down, those butterflies were very confusing. I told myself that it was nothing, and I figured that as long as I didn’t see you or talk you or even sit beside you, the butterflies would die out and our friendship would be saved. But I guess I was so afraid of losing our friendship that I ended up slowly destroying it, pushing you away and hurting you in the process.”

“But why were you so afraid? I get that you wanted to keep our friendship above all else, that’s the main reason why you turned me down in the first place, right?” Yeonjun asks. “But why were you so afraid? Why did you feel the need to stay away from me?”

“I was afraid that if I were to have a moment alone with you, I wouldn’t be able to handle it. I was afraid that if I looked at you for too long, the butterflies in my stomach would consume me completely. I was afraid that if I talked to you, I’d turn into a blubbering mess because you get me so flustered. I was afraid that if I sat beside you, my heart would start to pound so loud that you’d be able to hear it.” B takes a deep breath before continuing, her voice starting to shake. “I guess I was afraid because deep down, I knew I wasn’t confused. I was just too chickenshit to admit it, even to myself, but I think I was really afraid because a part of me knew that I had feelings for you.”

There’s a moment of silence as B’s words come pouring out. Yeonjun stays quiet, comfortingly tracing circles on her hand with his thumb while she collects her thoughts, putting them together and letting them pour out.

“I was afraid because I had feelings for you, and I was afraid that being alone with you would drive me crazy. But I feel like I’ve been going crazy anyway, ever since that night in the shed, I can’t seem to think straight anymore.” B confesses.

“You were afraid because you had feelings for me?” Yeonjun asks. “Had?”

B shakes her head. “Have. I’m afraid because I have feelings for you.” she clarifies.

“You know since then, I had the next 2 weeks planned out, right?” Yeonjun starts. “I told myself I had 2 weeks to change your mind, and I had it all planned out, starting with dazzling you during our performance on club recruitment day. But damn it, you never gave me a chance.”

“What do you mean?” B asks, confused.

“You started avoiding me, remember?” Yeonjun laughs, the mood feeling lighter after B finally unloaded all her thoughts. “This” he says, holding up their hands, which were still intertwined, “is the closest I’ve been to you these past 2 weeks. At first, I thought I’d fucked up, and I was ready to give up. But then I told myself that I’d try it one more time, give it one more shot, before I leave it alone forever.”

“What are you talking about? Give what one more shot?” B asks again. After finally letting go of the thoughts swirling around in her for the past 2 weeks, she was a little overwhelmed.

Yeonjun turns to face her then, looking right at her. He sighs as he says, “Let me make this perfectly clear. I have not been able to stop thinking about you since that night in the shed. Those 7 minutes kept replaying in my mind, and it killed me that I never got to spend another minute alone with you again. If I had known that those 7 minutes would’ve haunted me for the next 2 weeks of my life, I would’ve...” he says, trailing off when his eyes quickly dart to her lips. “Well, let’s just say I would’ve made those 7 minutes something worth remembering.”

B lets out an “Oh.” and starts blushing profusely.

Upon seeing her reaction, he laughs and squeezes his eyes shut. She was too god damn cute. After shaking his head and telling himself to focus, he continues. “Anyway, after you turned me down, I promised myself that I would try harder. I gave myself 2 weeks to do anything to change your mind, I was ready to fully turn on my charm, to show you that I was someone worth dating, and to show you that our friendship is just as important to me as it is to you. But then you started to ignore me, and I was about to give up and accept that you’d never be interested in going out with me, but then I told myself that if I didn’t try at least one more time, if I didn’t give it one more shot, I would’ve regretted it for the rest of my life.” he says sincerely.

B stays quiet, trying to absorb everything she was hearing. Yeonjun continues, moving even closer, her hand still grasped tightly in his.

“To be completely honest here, I have not enjoyed a conversation with any girl as much as I enjoyed those 7 minutes with you, and I want so much more than those 7 minutes. I want to take you out, I want to give you all the good things I know you deserve, I want to get to know you as much as I can. Yes, I want to be your friend, but God Baby, I don’t know if I can go on like this for much longer because being friends means staying platonic and I want you so much more than that.” he says intensely, lifting her hand up to his chest, right to where he could feel his heartbeat. “I want to show you who I am, I want to know who you are, and I want to be what you deserve. If you’ll let me.”

He hadn’t taken his eyes off her the whole time, but B took a moment to close her eyes and try to clear her thoughts. She didn’t know what to expect when she woke up this morning, but this definitely wasn’t it. As hard as it was, she was glad to finally express her feelings, like a heavy weight had been lifted off her shoulders. But after hearing everything Yeonjun just said, she could feel her heartbeat speeding up once again.

“Baby?” Yeonjun whispers after a moment of silence, looking at her intently. He was so close to her that she could clearly see the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, her own breathing getting heavier the more he inched closer.

“Yes?” she finally asks, her heart pounding out of her chest as she kept her eyes downward. She couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye, because if she did, she felt like she would combust in front of him, like the butterflies she felt in her stomach would suddenly explode all at once.

“Baby.” he says again. Only this time, he bravely puts a finger under her chin and lifts her face up so that he could get a better look at her.

B lets out a deep breath and braces herself, knowing there was nowhere to hide now. She let her eyes slowly trail upwards from his chin, her heart skipping a beat when her eyes caught sight of his lips, up to his nose, and finally to his eyes. She was so struck by the intensity when her gaze finally met his that she felt her breath hitch once their eyes met.

He shifted his hand, sliding it further into her neck, from one finger under her chin to his whole palm against her skin, his fingers cradling the back of her neck as his thumb traced slow circles along her jaw. “Look at me.” he says softly.

“Yes?” she finally manages to say out loud, though it came out as a whisper.

The corners of Yeonjun’s mouth tip upwards in a small smile. He leans in closer again, his eyes never leaving hers, until he was so close that their noses were almost touching.

“Will you go out with me?” he whispers, his warmth breath mingling with hers, the tips of their noses gently brushing against each other with every word spoken. “Please?”

B lets out a deep breath, unable to keep her voice steady as she says “Yeonjun…” not really knowing what else to say.

Feeling her breath so close to his mouth, Yeonjun’s eyes flutter downwards, catching a glimpse of her lips, before he says “Fuck it” and pulls her face towards his, their lips finally crashing together.

B could feel a thousand butterflies in her stomach collectively combust as his lips meet hers. Her eyes close as she immediately responds and kisses him back, giving in to him. Her hands reach up to his chest, and she gently grabs his shirt in her fists.

Yeonjun takes it well, and he brings his other hand up to cup her face, holding it in place as his fingers entwined themselves in her hair, further tilting her head back for better access.

B could feel her whole body weaken, as if she were melting in his hands. Her hands relax as she lets go of his shirt and simply lays her palms against his chest, sliding them up to his shoulders and finally to his neck, her fingers tracing his sharp jaw.

Yeonjun pulls away then, separating their mouths. To his surprise, he was breathing heavily, his own heart pounding so loud he could hear it roaring in his ears. He looked at her with a mixture of confusion and wonder, his hands still cupping her face. What was this girl doing to him?

There’s a moment of silence as they simply stare at each other, the sounds of their heavy breathing filling the room. Yeonjun’s eyes earnestly search hers for any sign of how she was feeling, hoping he didn’t overstep his boundaries or make her feel uncomfortable. He didn’t mean to kiss her so suddenly, but after pouring his heart out, he couldn’t hold himself back any longer.

Meanwhile, her eyes were fixated on his, her thumbs absentmindedly tracing circles on his jaw, her fingers tickling the hair on the back of his neck. It took her a moment to realize that Yeonjun really kissed her and that she kissed him back, and she was starting to become lightheaded, as if she were intoxicated.

“Yeonjun?” she says, finally breaking the silence.

“Yes, Baby?” he asks softly, his gaze never leaving hers.

She offers him a small smile before saying, “Yes. I’ll go out with you.”

Upon finally hearing her say yes, Yeonjun lets out a big smile, unable to stop himself. “Really?” He asks as he savors the moment, staring at her eyes and her lips trying to memorize every little detail, reveling in how small and fragile she felt as he cradled her face in his hands, marveling at the heat of her skin under his palms, and once again going breathless at the memory of their kiss.

She laughs a little as he smiles, noticing how his whole face lit up as soon as she said yes. “You happy now?” she asks.

“You know I’m always happy when I’m with you, right?” he says, smiling at her cheekily.

“And you know I have chicken pox, right?” she says teasingly.

“And you know I’ve had them before, right? I’m immune for life.” he reminds her.

“Okay, quick question then, how will you take me out if I’m sick and can’t leave my house for at least a week?” B asks. “Both of us have been struggling for the past 2 weeks and now that we’re finally here, I can’t even go out.” she laughs sheepishly.

“Funny though, if you never got the chicken pox, I don’t think we’d get to where we are now. You and me, dating.” he says sweetly. “Well, dates don’t always mean going to the movies or fancy restaurants.” Yeonjun begins. “I mean, we can always just stay here, hang out, maybe get a repeat of that kiss earlier.” he says, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

She smacks his arm, suddenly flustered again, her cheeks going red.

“I’m serious! How will we be dating if I can’t even leave my apartment?” B asks.

Yeonjun just smiles at her then. “Don’t worry, I’ve already got something in mind. You’ll see.” he says with a glint in his eye.

When she gives him a confused look, he laughs and pulls her in closer again, brushing the hair away from her face before planting a gentle kiss on her forehead. He keeps her close, resting his chin on the top of her head, her scent making him wish he’d never have to leave.

“Thanks for saying yes, Baby.” he whispers, his lips moving against her hair.

B reaches up and takes on of his hands in hers, letting out a sigh. “I don’t think I could ever say no to you again, Yeonjun.” she says, smiling.

Yeonjun smiles, pulling away for a second, only to put a finger under her chin and tilt her head backwards, leaning in so he could kiss her once again.

“Uh, Yeonjun?” B starts again. “Quick question. Should we tell the guys that we’re dating now?”

Yeonjun leans back, thinking it over. “Well, I guess it’s something they should know about since they’re our friends.” he says rationally. “Do you want to tell them?”

As much as she wanted to believe that their friendship wouldn’t end up crashing and burning if things between them didn’t work out, she was still very worried about it. “How about we wait until I’ve recovered and I’m medically cleared to go back to school and see the guys again?” she suggests. “Let’s see how things turn out by the end of the week.”

Yeonjun nods, smiling at her. “Deal.” he says, once again planting a kiss on her forehead.

And to him, it didn’t matter that he skipped school for the afternoon just to look after her, it didn’t matter that he’d have an unexcused absent in his school records, it didn’t matter that he had to constantly text and call different club officers from the Dance club and Jazzed that day to give them instructions while he was away, it didn’t matter that he’d have to sit through another family dinner with his parents later that night. If going through all that meant he’d get to spend this one moment with her in his arms, he knew he’d do it all again in a heartbeat.

°•°

Author’s note: Quick question, dear readers... How do you feel about kissing scenes? I hope no one here is uncomfortable with graphic/detailed kissing scenes because there may be more coming up soon, especially since the characters in the fic are highschool students. Thank you for the likes and especially the comments! Reading comments motivates me to write more because it feels nice to know that people are enjoying my work. :)

[lideria]

Second Nature. | Doyoung

Request: Ahah, this was not a request I just really like to make myself suffer sometimes. This is about a childhood best friend who returns after a long time.

Author’s Note: I have kind of had this storyline already and whenever I looked at Doyoung I thought he would fit into it so well. This is a scenario rather than an imagine, so it might not be fully relatable. Plus, I’m sorry if this hurts you.

Warnings: THIS IS SAD, not proofread bc I suck at it, very downbeat pov, mentions of alcohol consumption/intoxication, mentions of divorce, mentions of injury, lots of emphasis on loneliness, plus there is a dog in this story so if you’re scared of doggies/you’re a cat person, I apologize. English is my second language so there might be errors! Let me know if there is more please!

Word Count: 11664 too many words for my own good really

Genre: ANGST, fluff, childhoodfriends!au, bestfriends!au, friendstolovers!au (???), two surprise AUs that I cannot say for the sake of the story.

I hope you all enjoy! If that’s even possible! Because I felt emotionally drained just by writing it!

“Catch me if you can!”

You let out a loud laugh as you start sprinting at full speed. Your friend and neighbor Doyoung lets out a shriek before picking up his pace, both of you running through and inevitably, over the green grass of your shared garden that is scattered with white and yellow flowers all around. Parents look at your way as they take a sip of their coffee, smiling under the mug. “Don’t sweat too much, it gets chilly in the evening!” His mother shouts when the two of you run close by them. One of you answers okay, but you both cannot make out who it is because the caution only falls on deaf ears.

He catches you when you are running close to the fence, catching you by your shoulders and accidentally pulling your hair. “Ow!” He hisses along with you as you turn back. You are very clearly pissed of, which only alarms him a little further. “Doyoung! I told you to be careful with my hair— it’s longer than yours.”

“I didn’t do it intentionally! I’m sorry. You can pinch my arm so we’re even.” He sticks his arm out, his blue and grey bracelet hanging off loosely from his wrist. “No, but I want a cookie.”

He audibly gasps. “I only have 3 left!”

When you shrug, he sighs and heads inside their vacation home. It takes him a few minutes to go to the front of the house where their kitchen is and come back and by the time he’s back, he finds you sitting at the bottom of the fence. Your face brightens up when you see him and his mother’s cookies, inarguably the best dessert to come after your mother’s. He sits next to you and hands the treasure. You still notice the frown on his face. And you hate seeing him upset.

So, you break the cookie in half— an imperfect half. You get the smaller piece to yourself and hold out the bigger half for Doyoung to take. He smiles the Doyoung smile and takes it before stuffing it in his mouth.

It was a bright, sunny day. You had been at the beach ever since the morning, now late in the afternoon, with Doyoung and his family and yours. Having a sandwich for breakfast and a picnic for lunch and snacks, swimming every other second in between. Both Doyoung and you loved swimming in the aqua blue waters that would occasionally change colors to a deeper blue. More specifically jumping from the pier in what you claimed to be “athletic poses” that were, in reality, sad yet funny excuses for superhero jumps.

“I’m sorry to disappoint, honey, but I think Doyoung had that one.” Your father says when both of you climb up to the pier after your 7th jump, for the votes of your parents on who jumped better. “Yeah, I can’t jump quite as high. It’s because he plays volleyball,”  Doyoung snickers beside you with good intentions, but you still feel a little defeated. “It’s okay, you dive better than me.”

“That’s true, you suck at diving.” The realization of having said a bad word hits you both sooner than ever, and you both cover your mouths in surprise. He is smiling under his hand. You can tell because his eyes are squinting. His parents start laughing and Doyoung too lets go of the laughter he has been holding in. But of course, your parents do not look all that amused. “That’s another month before you get a pet.”

You switch to protest mode in an instant. “But it slipped from my mouth, I didn’t mean it!”

“Just because it slipped doesn’t mean it’s okay,” Your mother claims calmly, and you jump a little with frustration. “But—“

“Whining won’t get you closer to getting one.” Your father sternly adds. You stop immediately, rightfully kind of really upset. Everyone is silent until Doyoung pulls a little on your arm. You know what he means, so you let him drag you back towards the pier. Frustration stings at your eyes and Doyoung can sense it, so he nudges you a little. “Come on, don’t be sad. I’m sure a month will fly by.”

He does not receive any response, even though you argued there’s still at least a year internally. He kind of knew he would not be getting a response, because that is what you act like when you are upset. Seeing as you were, he crossed off the possibility of jumping off the pier with you for the time being. Instead he sat down at the end, dangling his legs, patting the spot next to him for you to sit. You follow his actions.

“Doyoung?” Your voice sounds like you were frowning. “Hm?” He does not look at you, because he does not like seeing people upset. “How is middle school? Is it fun?”

You were just going to be starting middle school, whereas he was going to begin his second year. As always he wanted to tell you the truth. Considering your mood, though, that might have not been the best idea. So he did not. “It is! Plenty of good friends,” Which was not necessarily a lie, but it definitely was not how it went for a lot of people. He feared you would be one of them, as you had a tendency to make friends with everyone and that was not how socializing went in middle school. But for all he knew, everything could be different and you could have an amazing middle school experience. “After school activities are really fun as well.” That definitely was not a lie. Doyoung loved volleyball. “I can’t wait to go back.”

“I’ll swim. That makes me happy.” And it must for real, because he hears the excitement in your voice.

He grins. “Then go for it.”

With that, Doyoung pushes you off the edge. Although surprised, you suspected he would do that subconsciously as he had a habit of pushing people into the water when they have just dried off to entertain himself— a rather evil habit that everyone hates. For payback you splash him with water. He splashes you back as if it would do anything, and you splash him again while calling him another bad word that your parents luckily would not be able to hear and soon enough, it turns into a splash fight.

It was the first day of Doyoung and his family’s arrival that year. You woke up feeling excited, because your best friend was finally here after a whole 5 days of waiting after your own arrival to the summer house. So you ran out to the garden right after breakfast, more than ready to see your friend.

Instead, you were not ready to see him all that much. At least not with his arm in a cast.

You go up to hug him as usual, and he mutters a low, disappointed “Hi.” In return, you give him a much brighter greeting in hopes of bringing his mood up. It does not work.

The day goes on. Both your families and you have a shared lunch, catching up on the previous 9 months they had not seen each other. Their moods are much higher than Doyoung’s and yours. His mood had made you inevitably moody as well. He was not up to play, he was not up to go to the beach, he was not up to go to the grove… It felt like he did not want to do anything. But it was summer. Not the time to be sulking around, even if his arm was in a cast.

Then came an idea.

There was a patch of young olive trees planted near your houses. They were only around the same height as you were, though it varied from tree to tree. You loved how the trees looked when they were passing through the road in between the patches a few days ago. So you only suspected Doyoung would like seeing them as well.

You run up to the parents and ask them if you could take him there. They agree without much hesitation, only warning you to make sure to stay off the road and to wear proper shoes to protect from the bugs and thorns.

Taking Doyoung there was a struggle. Making him agree to go was harder, but he also kept complaining how hot the weather was (as if it had never been that hot before) and how he was too tired (which he should not have been, because you knew he tended to sleep on car rides, and it was an overnight drive for them to get here).

But the second you arrive at the patch, something changes.

He smiles in awe at seeing just how small the trees are and how they shine under the sunlight. You both sit under one of the trees, both of your heads touching some leaves, and it leaves a funny feeling on your heads. You both giggle for quite some time until it just starts feeling nice.

“What happened to your arm?” The question was impossible to hold back, and you thought talking about it would make him feel better. The tone in his voice makes you not so confident about that. “I was dipping to hit the ball, and the arm I wasn’t using— I wasn’t paying attention to it. It twisted and snapped when I landed on it, and now I don’t know if I can play volleyball anymore.” Doyoung lets a sigh out then and it is full of feelings you cannot make out the heavinesses of, because you lacked the experience.

You hiss with attempted empathy. “What are you gonna do instead?”

He sighs again but you can make the feeling behind it out this time, it is annoyance. “My music teacher wrote my name down for a conservatoire, and both mom and dad really wants me to go. Even my brother wants me to go. Weird.”

“Singing sounds nice.” But Doyoung does not look too keen on the idea. In spite of it you smile, hopeful. “If he’s saying you should go, then you have to sing for me sometime.”

He chuckles at that and looks at you as if you suggested something out-of-worldly crazy. “Yeah. Sure. Don’t depend on it.” Then he looks down and whines upon seeing his arm and the sun hitting it— the black cover on his cast. “Ugh, it’s so hot and itchy. I can’t even swim this summer and it’s only the start,” His mouth twitches and wobbles a bit the moment he is done complaining, and you frown, even though the fact that he only realized his arm was making him feel uncomfortable when he looked at it still makes you want to laugh a little. “I’m sorry.”

Doyoung throws you the crazy look again. “I was the idiot, why would you be sorry?” There was genuine curiosity in his voice before he chuckles breathily, in what might be disbelief. You pull on his blue and grey bracelet. The beads looked okay, but the strings were a bit worn off. “We’re best friends?” You suggest, to ring a bell more than anything.

He nods just once, agreeing, examining his bracelet when he notices your gaze on it. “We should really change the strings. Yours look terrible too.”

You look down at your bracelet, green and red like a watermelon as 8-year-old Doyoung had said, and mumble. “Yeah, we really should.”

The idea comes that very second. You just seemed to beam with ideas today. “We can put the beads in your pocket and tie the strings onto the branch. A friendship tree, yes?”

He looks up and smiles. “Okay. I guess to keep in peace as well.”

You had to help him every step of the way because he lacked an arm and through the experience you come to learn that an arm is a very serious lack of a thing. Through the summer he could not do much functioning until they had to leave to get his cast off around a month and a half later, and in turn you chose not to swim when he was at the beach reading books while accompanying his parents and yours. Instead you chatted with him and put handfuls of sand in his t-shirt (being careful not to get any in his cast, of course, partly for your own safety as well) every time he told you to just go and swim, until he was too pissed off at you.

And you stayed with him and offered a piece of your mother’s tiramisu as he cried for the first time ever since the first year you met, after he got the news that his arm was in too fragile of a condition to play volleyball again. Because that was all you could do.

A chilly night, sitting on top of one of the low branches of a random tree close to your shared backyard. It would be scary if you couldn’t see the lights coming off from your houses. Or if birds were not still chirping through the calm silence. But as you sat there, blueberry muffins in your hands, it was almost comfortable. If not for the bumpy bark you had been sitting on, of course.

It was the last days of summer. More and more people were leaving, closing off their summer houses for the duration of off-season. Doyoung and his family would be leaving tomorrow, whereas you and your family would stay for just a few days longer simply because everybody loved this place with its variety of trees and its beach.

“Are you excited you’ll get to compete this year?” Doyoung asks suddenly. You nod immediately and with eager. “I’m gonna win gold.” The sheer ambition in your claim makes Doyoung chuckle, which annoys you a little. He had started doing that a lot this summer, laughing at the stuff you would claim. You look at him as if to ask why he laughed even though you know he was going through the weird phase and lucky for him, he gets the signal. Then he shrugs. “I don’t know. Winning seems important for everyone and it’s silly. Just enjoy what you’re do—“

His voice cracks. “—ing.”

You try your best not to laugh, honestly. But he breaks first, so it is only fair that you start laughing too. His voice had been doing that for almost half of this summer, which was apparently a sign of growing up.

Puberty, being a preteen and all that. You had your fair share of experiences. It was funnier when it was not happening to you.

You mock his voice when you give him an answer. “I’ll just enjoy what I’m doing!” His eyes widen a little at that and he turns a little further towards you in surprise. “Hey, that sounds like how I sound in my head!”

Both of you lose it at the silliness of the sentence, it hurts your stomach after a while. It also takes a lot of effort to not slip from the branch and fall down onto the ground. What cuts through your laugh sooner than expected was his mother calling him back, shouting quite loudly that they would be leaving before sunrise and that he needed his sleep so he should better come back before she locks the door and goes to sleep.

The way down is faster and easier than the way up had been. Doyoung stuffs the remainder of his blueberry muffin in his mouth before clapping his hands together a couple of times to clean them of crumbs. He turns to tell you that the two of you better hurry up, but the way your face looks stops him. “I’m gonna miss you,” These exact words would always leave your mouths when it was someone’s time to leave this place and the reality of not being able to see each other for another 9 months set in.

Doyoung visibly relaxes, knowing nothing was wrong. “I’m gonna miss you too. But it’s okay, it’s just 9 months— we always wait that much. Plus,” He smiles widely. “You’ll finally have a pet next summer.”

“And you’ll sing.” He shakes his head immediately. “Please?” You press your chances because it was annoying what he was doing to you. He had never played volleyball with you when he used to play (even though it was rightfully so, as you were terrible at it) and now that he was actually really good at singing (proof being that he had taken part in several shows his conservatoire organized) he would deny you the chance to hear. You were best friends. That basically gives you the right to hear his singing.

Something changes in him, as his eyes widen slightly. “You know what? If you actually manage to get a pet, I will. Deal?” You know he thinks you cannot manage to do it. But you can. So you take it.

“Deal.”

Doyoung and his family do not come next summer.

Or, rather, for several next summers.

You ask your mother the first summer he is not there, your arms on the counter and your head resting on top as you watched her cook. “Mom, Doyoung’s not coming?”

She was washing off some produce from your garden to make a salad before they went bad when you hit her with the question. You do not get an answer, and she does not slow down, so you ask again after a few seconds when she takes out a knife and the chopping board. “Oh, his father has a different work schedule now,” She answers, slicing the cucumber. “They can only use the house on spring breaks.”

Heartbroken, you turn back around to go back into the living room to play with your puppy along with your father.

On the third summer, you hear various tumbling sounds coming from outside and the faint voices of your parents through the glass. The sun is barely up, the sky a pretty pink. You hear voices of a couple of old people. Maybe more, but you cannot make it out, as sleep was fighting with you to rest just a bit longer.

There is darkness for a while. Second time you wake up the sky looks more peachy with hues of yellow. The tumbling sounds have left their place to the sound of slamming metal doors and old engines that you think can only belong to trucks, but the noise is okay, because within less than five minutes the vehicles leave.

You ask about it at breakfast. Your father takes your hand in his as he drops his cutlery, and tells you he is sorry, before revealing that Doyoung and his parents had sold the summer house. Betrayal (lighthearted betrayal which only has place in your heart during your teenage years) slowly washes over you and you stand up abruptly before mumbling something about finishing your breakfast in your room. With unshed tears in your eyes, you gather your plate and leave.

Both of your parents’ sighs are audible when you are climbing up the stairs.

By the fourth year, their house already starts to get the old, rustic, sultry look any abandoned house would get.

You grow every year, that much is sure. Your puppy does so at a much faster rate as well. Your parents get deeper wrinkles on their face. Spots on their hands. The trees get taller, thicker and older. The summer house starts smelling of nostalgia rather than just of sea salt and rarely used furniture. The beach gets even emptier than how it used to be. The grove gets lonelier and scarier. The produce of your garden loses its taste at some point. You slowly start to abandon the idea of going out to the backyard, except for the times you went out with your dog. Jumping off the pier gradually gets less fun than it once was. Your swimming partner has four legs instead of just two.

When you get your first phone, excitement washes over you with hope as company. You ask your mother if you can get Doyoung’s phone number if he has one, but she says that they have lost touch with his parents and that they do not speak to each other anymore.

Excitement leaves your body, and your smile falls.

Some couples of other years pass as time has no intention of stopping, and on one of them your father moves out. With one less person in your summer house, the emptiness grows bigger. With one less person in your summer house, the environment loses its golden glow. The leaves, even under the bright sunlight, only look a sad variety of greens. Rooms feel so much bigger. Memories start off as sweet remembrances, but they surely turn into hauntings when every single thing reminds you of one.

After your father leaves, the only person you have left in your summer house is your mother. The only things you have left is cooking and baking with her, walking around aimlessly, and sitting in the quiet at the pier with your only four-legged companion.

You slowly realize that childhood is gone. Never to come back. Growing up turns out to be loss of great people and great things, and it slowly starts to make sense why your parents kept telling you growing up and being a grown person is not as exciting as you were making them out to be when you were younger.

Summer loses its magic and grows weary. Yet, despite it all, the summer house remains as your safe space.

Because there is only the struggle of loneliness, unlike what the longer part of the years throw at you.

Yet loneliness does not prove to be much easier.

Growing up and going to college, moving out of the house took a toll on your relationship with your mother. It was not noticeable until the first time you came back for the summer break, when it started to seem like you ran out of things to talk about easily. Movie nights grew more frequent. Cooking and baking still were the fun things to do, at least.

It was not that you could not get along with her, or you had too many fights. Being around her was still comfortable. It was just that your mother could never be your friend, let alone your best friend. There were a fair amount of things you would not talk about with her. Even though she must know this, she would try to fill the gap Doyoung had left.

It was not possible. You suspected it never would be. Because he felt like second nature to you and he was gone. How could anyone replace second nature?

Her trying to fill the gap your father had left was one thing. The other was not all the same.

Summers got quiet and lonely after Doyoung left, yes. More so after your father left. But as you kept growing up and sharing less with your mother, the dimension of your loneliness shifted. It started feeling more like isolation.

And it was then, that you felt like true happiness started shifting away from you.

Your favorite time to hang out at the pier is around sunset hours.

The beach was the emptiest around that time and the night, because the general population was old and dinner preparation would keep them from going out from late afternoon and onwards. After sunset— the usual dinner time for most of the neighbors— porch lights would get turned on immediately. And when dark blue paints over the sky while the moon slowly comes out, the sounds of old neighbors visiting each other and chatting, sometimes playing games on their porch and laughing along would travel to the wooden pier where you would be laying down, listening to the wavering sea. It had quickly grown to be one of your fondest things about the summer.

That afternoon is no different. It is almost the golden hour on a hot day, and your dog is absolutely spent after a long walk so you both deserve to get a breather, really.

You move towards the end of the pier and sit down, alerting your dog gently to do the same. Her tail thumps repeatedly against the boards as she sits down looking at your hand. You cannot help but smile at her cuteness. Opening up the water bottle you had brought along, you place your palm under it curled like a bowl. Letting the water flow down carefully, you let her drink the water from your palm.

She ends up drinking most of the water in the bottle but still sweats afterwards. Happy and content despite sweating, she looks around and at the water, watching the few fishes that were swimming towards the seaweed bunched around the pier’s legs, wagging her tail in curiosity. You look at the water as well, but your mind is elsewhere. Wondering about your father.

He had promised you to come and visit before summer ended and here you were. Halfway through the summer— almost more than halfway.

Something in you started wondering if he would keep his promise a while ago. The hope that held onto the promise started dimming as the days went on.

You let a huff out in an effort to lighten the tightness in your chest. It works ever so slightly, and your companion turns her head to you. She has always had a talent in understanding when you were upset— maybe an instinct, and this time was no exception. She lies down next to you and nags at your hand. Giving in was too easy when it was her. You start petting her and letting her lick your hand and arm.

Perhaps it is magic, because her efforts of cheering you up works without any exceptions. Not giggling is impossible.

Her and you lay down, playing around for a while as her attempts of licking your face gets more frequent and although you adore her, you do not want to be licked on your face. It turns into a wrestle rather quickly. Her paws press on your stomach sometimes which is far from a pleasing experience and it is when she really just makes you nauseous that you force her down to a hug. It takes too much time huffing and puffing and annoyed-sneezing for her to calm down and stop wagging her tail but she stops eventually.

Literally seconds later there is the slightest creak on the boards and she picks her head up. The tail starts wagging and thumping again. You ignore it, wanting to cherish the moment.

“Hey! I’ve been looking for a certain someone, can you help?”

The familiarity of the upbeat voice pulls a weak string at your heart automatically. The string sends waves of electric all throughout your body and it surprises you how much it can burn still, after years of no contact, and it is only a familiarity.

Breathing deeply, you answer. “Unless you’re looking for your grandparents, I don’t think so.” The creaks get louder, nearer. Then they stop. The wagging tail is way too excited for its own good as the thumps get faster and harsher, and she starts getting excited again, trying to look at and smell whoever it is that stands near you.

A face hovers far above yours with a smile. “I don’t think I’m looking for my grandparents.”

Your breath hitches and you let your companion loose without meaning to. She wastes no time in jumping up and become acquainted with the intruder.

Except he is not. He is not an intruder. He is a familiar face. Hell, he is more than a familiar face. He is second nature.

And just one glance at his not changed but grown face takes all the betrayal, the disappointment, the feeling of having fallen out of place away. And it takes everything in you to not start crying on the spot. Instead you smile big, spring up onto your feet and throw your arms around his middle to hold him close, so close that he does not have the opportunity to leave, not now. His shoulder welcomes your face to nuzzle itself in and you take the advantage fully— shocked, even though it was an obvious fact, that he had grown so much. His arms find their places around your back comfortably. Hugging felt natural and safe but still weird to some extent, because it was not like how it was 8 years ago.

“Do you have any idea how much I’ve missed you?” Your voice still shakes even though you keep the tears inside. He places his chin on top of your head as you nuzzle closer and lets out a breath himself. “I think I do.”

After many minutes of hugging and letting the emotions out in the form of squeezes and nuzzles, both of you sit down where you were stationed before Doyoung appeared. One of his hands keep petting your four-legged best friend while he keeps his mouth occupied, talking to you to catch up in any way.

You could not stop looking at him. Taking it all in. Just how taller he had gotten— though not a giant like he had sometimes hoped he would turn out as, but you do not tell him that— and how sharper his facial features had gotten. Yet it comforted you how he had not changed. You could go back in time and look at him, and compare the two looks you had seen, and you could easily tell that this person in front of you was Doyoung.

His jet black hair, even, had not changed much at all. It was still in his face in some way. It was as if he had just physically grown up, and nothing had changed other than him growing taller and his features setting in place.

That comforted you, although you were not sure why.

Curiosity took over you as you kept chatting in the comfortable silence. There was so much to learn about him. It almost felt like you were meeting with a new person. Almost.

“Where are you even staying?” The question feels kind of uncomfortably intimate for you to ask after so much time, but you do not want to lose anything that you had with him. So it would only make sense for you to act as if it is still there. He does not seem to mind the question too much as the answer comes sooner than you would expect, without the awaited stare. “I’m crashing at a friend’s couch. He lives near here.”

“Who lives here all year?” You mumble in disbelief. But you trust him in telling the truth. He smiles back, looking around as if to check the environment. “Everything looks the same. This place aged well,” His gaze shifts back to you, warm and gentle. “I can’t say the same about you, though.”

There is nothing harsh about his words, but you cannot help but feel taken aback. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs, not even bothered about your dog sweating over his leg as he keeps petting her. “A lot of things feel different about you. You look different too.”

“Is that to say I haven’t aged well?” You joke, making light of the situation. It would be a lie if you did not admit that his words did not hurt you in the slightest. Even though you knew that they held some truth value. He huffs, letting his head fall to the side, annoyed. Like the olden days. It makes you too happy to see it. “That wasn’t what I meant and you know it. There is just, something off about you, it hits you in the face.” He stops for a second to look at you properly again. You do not look offended, so he continues. “But I don’t think everyone would be able to notice it enough to make a deal about it, you know?”

It is your turn to shrug with one shoulder, and click your tongue a little, shaking your head as if this whole thing did not bother you. “Mm, I grew up,” He throws a look as if to say I know, but you keep on talking. “And I changed. Nothing too crazy.”

“You’re sweeping it under the rug, but I’m gonna let that go this once.” He says as your dog’s attention span on him expires, and she goes to lay down at the corner of the pier, a spot where she can have her own space and a rather okay view of the fish living down there. “This once?” You ask, unable to stop the hope from surfacing.

“Well,” Doyoung turns his body to face yours. He sits criss cross. “I’ll be around until the end of summer. I just assumed we can keep seeing each other?”

A laugh breaks through years of quiet summers as your heart flutters. “Of course, yeah.” Doyoung smiles back his smile, his one of a kind smile, and you have to pinch yourself to know this is not a dream.

It is not, and night had never come faster in years.

Getting to know your best friend for the second time was a weird experience. You had to ask him what he was studying since he was going to begin his senior year of university, to which he answers musical theatre. Upon that you smile a witty smile, pointing at your companion who picks her head up after she realizes she was being pointed at, and tell him that you had gotten a pet so he would have to sing to keep his promise.

He laughs and answers okay. But not now.

Within minutes, he updates you on almost everything. He tells you stories of this band he was part of where he formed his friend group, and how he had been picked up as the male lead for Tick, Tick… Boom! at the end of his sophomore year so he actually had to learn how to dance. Doyoung claims to not having been the greatest in it, so you ask with all the curiosity in your heart if he managed to get a date out of the musical. You get an answer of an overly confident of course, which tells you more than you need. Despite not having heard his singing, or having seen him dance, you tell him that he must have been amazing at it. When the argument comes you simply shut him up with the fact that he was picked as the lead.

Doyoung mentions not seeing his family for that summer because of the fact that school had ended only fairly recently, and because he could not not see this place anymore. He adds that he never even mentioned coming here to his family to eliminate any chances of them insisting he would go see them, and that he would really appreciate if you kept his presence here a secret from your parents as well. You agree to it, partly because he is still someone you could do anything for, and partly because the selfish feeling of wanting him to yourself only for a while.

The mood kind of goes down when he asks “So, uh, what was life like after I left?”

The question makes the smile fall off your face involuntarily for just a second before you push through and fight it off, smiling once again. “High school was hard, first of all.”

One of his eyebrows rise in surprise. “Oh yeah? What was it like?”

Without even stopping to think, you answer truthfully. “Like you ate shit, and tried to throw up the shit you ate, but it took you 4 years to do so.” There is a wince of disgust before he answers. “Ew. That sounds miserable.”

“Was in fact miserable.” You admit. The shits-and-giggles attitude breaks faster than you intend to. “My parents got divorced in junior year, and my father had to move out, so that was a big contribution.”

Doyoung does not look surprised, but upset. He looks down at his hands before looking back up at you. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Again, a shrug, as your lips waver. “It’s whatever.”

Silence. Uncomfortable silence maybe for the first time ever since you met him.

So you break it. “You know what? This is a reunion, and I really don’t wanna talk about how a break up that’s not my own affected me. There are lots of happier things to talk about,”

The two of you keep talking with each other for hours and hours on end. You are sure he misses the dinner at some point unlike you who were used to having early dinners. Naturally you have to take a break every once in a while to help your dog do her business, but you hold your own business inside to have all the time you can with him. It still felt as if he would leave again and never come back.

But at some point he has to leave, so you let him go. Not without a “Let’s exchange numbers?” though.

However, the answer you get is not all that satisfactory. “Sorry, I can’t. I’ve a foreign number since I study abroad and— yeah. I didn’t activate my local one this time. And you know how internet connection is here.”

“Basically nonexistent,” You agree. “But how do we meet up if we can’t—“

He smiles. “I can just come here every night after dinner.”

Your breath hitches again. Happiness beats in your heart. You could certainly do with that. “Sure. If it’s alright with you, I mean.”

“It’s why I’m here.”

In all honesty, the fact that Doyoung is back does not hit you until around the end of the first week.

The week in itself is fairly uneventful if you overlook the excitement his presence gives you. You mostly just speak to each other, to catch up on all that lost time. One thing you notice is how affectionate and all over each other both of you seemed to get, and on your part, it was still about making sure he was truly there. Hugs quickly grew to be the default state you would hang out together. If his arm was not around your shoulders, your arm would be stationed at the small of his back as you sat at the beach or the pier, and if neither was happening your legs would be sprawled across and over his lap.

Nothing about the affection you two seemed to gain felt awkward. It came so naturally.

The only weird thing about Doyoung was how he managed to be so punctual. You would show up at the pier as soon as it got dark, basically— and often he would already be there waiting. If not, he would only be late for around a few minutes. You could not tell if it was intuition the both of you shared, or a silent agreement. Whatever it was, it was a great thing, and you were thankful for it, because it gave you the time you so badly needed with your best friend.

Keeping Doyoung a secret from your mother proved to be harder than you initially thought. The fact that you were almost a fully grown adult about to start junior year of college seemed to be an irrelevant fact as soon as you started staying outside for too long in the night, and you had to swear to your mother several times that everything was okay. You excused yourself saying it was too hot when sun was out, and the beach was breezy and enjoyable in the night, so you would rather hang out with your dog then.

Which was not all a lie. She seemed to enjoy herself a lot more then, as well, and sweat a lot less. Not to mention her liking of Doyoung.

Randomly on one night you notice the bracelet still on Doyoung’s wrist. It makes you smile silly. “You still have it on.” Your finger goes and pulls on it, reminding Doyoung of the fact. He smiles fondly. “Why wouldn’t I? Don’t you?”

You pull your leg out of the water and show him. “I do, just not on my wrist.” The green and red beads shine on your ankle with the moonlight, and your leg goes chilly when the breeze hits. Doyoung’s reaction looks questionable at best so it only prompts you to further explain yourself. “Motivates me to hold my ground. It’s easier to remember who I am this way.” The words awaken something you would rather not feel ever again. Your chest hurts with the rush of the stinging feeling, but you hold yourself to endure it.

He stops as another wave hits both of your legs and furrows his brows. “What does that mean?” You turn back around to face him better— he looks hurt, somehow. As if he can feel what you are feeling inside. You take a breath. “I was very lonely, you know,” The tone of your voice reflects the hurt you kept dearly inside, and you have to physically squeeze your hands within themselves to not let the cracks reach the bottom of your feet where they would break you in half. It is the first time you ever admit it and the words sound harsher in your ear than how they used to sound inside your thoughts. “I still am, in a way. And it’s hard to not want to run away from everything when the world basically gives you all the reasons to. So I had to stand my ground.”

When his mouth opens to say whatever he had on his mind you turn your back to him. “I don’t want to talk about it.” Your dog passes by you two, running along the shore and playing in the water, blind to the atmosphere.

Doyoung respects what you say.

Although thankful for his silence, it eats away at you for days. Some part of you keeps saying that you are not letting Doyoung get as close to you as he has been letting and is letting. Because he lets you know how his biggest dream is to really debut in a Broadway show, and how singing means so much to him now. You know he studies in one of the best schools for musical theatre. You know about how he is lifelong companions with his brother now, instead of enemies like how they had been when you were children. You know he is still very afraid of anything remotely creepy. You know his biggest insecurity is his dancing and his biggest fear is being involved in anything violent and getting hurt. You just know so many things about him. And he keeps telling you even more with excitement beaming off of his eyes.

And it makes you feel bad. Because you cannot bring yourself to talk about everything like he does.

For one night, you let the attitude fall, though.

You decide he can get to know something if he wants to, because that night you had promised each other to meet at a later hour than you normally would have. You had promised your mother a proper dinner and chat, inarguably a nice way to spend your evening, and there were a bit too many glasses of drinks in your system. Luckily you were still highly functional— treading on the fine line between tipsy and fully drunk. It was more or less an open invitation to an interrogation with how talkative you were.

Doyoung notices the slight sway in your steps before a second even passes. He chuckles a bit, giggling as you throw yourself into his open arms. His giggling prompts a sluggish laugh from you because it is just so cute. And he helps you to your station of just a bit over two weeks. He helps you sit down without slipping, and helps your dog to calm down a little by petting her head.

He is still a very good friend.

You do not bother to open your mouth, because the sky is dark, the pier is dimly lit, the breeze is soft and chilly, the smell of sea salt is intoxicating, your old love bug of a dog is wagging her tail looking at you, and Doyoung is sitting right beside you. Your head is on his shoulder.

It feels so perfect. Why would you want to talk?

But he has other plans.

“Do you want to talk about last week? The night when we were walking along the shore, I mean?” His voice is gentle as ever. Even though the question is highly expected, you huff. Yet your head acts on autopilot as it nods. “Sure.”

He clears his throat. “Why do you feel lonely?” The question is blurted out and not cautiously asked, as if had he tried to ask it with caution he would not have been able to.

Still, it feels like he has to ask the hardest questions. But, you jump into an answer without any preparation. “First, you left. Every single summer I waited for you to come back. Along those summers I kind of,” The act of jumping into an answer does not seem to be all that easier than working through the painful thoughts, so you trail off a bit before you pick your words back up again. “I guess I kind of felt betrayed and, um, lost trust? I never tried to be friends with anyone and the amount of people that take the first step towards someone who clearly won’t try is fairly low, you know?” You look up at him, and he is already looking down at you. Gently but without a smile.

“So I didn’t have friends, really. Not like you. Then, like I told you— dad left. Was the icing on the cake. I was too used to his presence, like yours. Both of you were with me for more than half my life and suddenly you weren’t.” You scoot closer to him as an instinct and he welcomes you, like he always does. “I guess that hurt the most.”

“Was too big of an emptiness to handle?” It sounds so lighthearted, yet is so spot on. So you can only nod as you hold onto his arm. “Yeah, but I handled it.” Plus, it had payed off— he was here and soon, your father would be too.

Your father calls you a few days later on a sunny but breezy afternoon when you are in the backyard playing with your dog. His voice sounds tired and old— a fact you could only realize when you were not face to face with him. Tired maybe because of his work schedule. Old because you were not the only one growing up.

But his voice is not only tired and old, it also sounds genuinely apologetic. “Hey, honey, I don’t think I’ll be able to visit you there this summer. I’m so sorry. Maybe we can spend time next summer, you could even get an internship here before senior year starts?”

Yet it still sounds just like a mix of made up excuses. “You can’t or you won’t visit me?” The question is bitter with every sound that leaves you, and your father certainly seems to get the point as a sigh echoes in your ear soon after. “I don’t think your mother would enjoy me being there, so how about we just see each other in winter break, hm? It’s sooner than summer break, and a few months will fly by with school. I’m sure.”

“Making truce for a week shouldn’t be so hard after that many years of marriage.” Your argument is intended to reflect the disappointment in your voice and it does, but there is also a very obvious hint of hope in there that goes unnoticed. “That’s not how relationships work, honey. I’m sorry. Please don’t get mad at your mom, okay? Tell her I said hi, and call me back when you feel better.”

And he ends the call.

It takes everything in you to not throw the phone hard to the ground. Instead you call your dog to come sit next to you on the grass, and cuddle her in hopes of getting better. By ways of magic, perhaps, she can tell your heart is broken and that you need the company. So she calms down in lightning speed and just nuzzles into you, and you stay there like that, her sweating and looking around and rarely whining and hugging you closer, until your mother calls you in for dinner.

Dinner is uneventful save for your mother asking you if you would be going out again, which you would be. She talks to you about these new recipes that she has found in this new recipe book she bought and you pretend to be interested in the matter. In all honesty you could not care less but it would not be justifiable to say that since you knew you would be devouring the sweets if they came to existence in that instant.

You finish your food in silence before grabbing your denim jacket and making your way out of the door with only a stern and noticeable “Dad says hi.”

Doyoung is luckily already at the pier that evening even though it is slightly earlier than your usual meeting time. He is sat down at the end, looking down and watching the small waves hitting the legs of the pier. He must hear your feet on the boards because he immediately turns around and lifts himself up to his feet, but his smile falters when he is able to make your face out in the dim light. “Why are you alone? Something wrong?”

It is only his question that reminds you that you had rushed to the pier with one less friend because you forgot to bring her. That had never happened before, and the fact that you had the ability to forget weighs heavy on your shoulders— to the extent that you only look down at your feet in shame and break down when the tears invade your eyes without any signal.

Nothing happens for a few seconds as you weep. He takes the first step towards you after the initial shock and slowly brings you into a hug as you mumble shaky apologies with trembling hands. You are enclosed in such a hug that you cannot even hug him back, and he keeps reassuring you that it’s fine, that you don’t need to apologize for crying, and that you’re so strong. He keeps combing through your hair with his fingers, and at some point he helps you sit down before pulling you back into a hug.

Calming down is hard because of too many things hitting you at once, and perhaps because your newly-built happiness had taken another blow to it. “Dad’s not coming.” You manage out after a while, and he listens as you ramble. “There’s only a couple of weeks until I have to go back and—“

You sob. “I just want childhood back. Everything was better back then. He was here, you were here, we were happy. I’d give everything up to be kids again if I knew we could.”

His eyes are brimmed with tears too, but he would never tell you that. Instead he pulls you in closer if it even is possible, and takes a deep breath before speaking up. “What can I do for you?”

“Can you sing?” The low mumble vibrating into his chest reaches his heart, and he cannot bring himself to say no. It takes mere seconds before he takes in another breath and jumps into a song.

You are just so young at this very moment, my dearest Life ahead has hopes and joys Promises of happy days For you, for an eternity Neither loneliness nor any lies may ever bring tears to your eyes You've wept enough when you were born, Let that be the final, the last

Doyoung’s singing is beautiful. His airy voice that carries so much emotion with it only makes you cry harder initially, which makes him panic slightly as he keeps trying to check up on you, but you just shake your head and bury your face deeper into his chest. The song touches every living cell in your body and gives you a strength you would never expect a song to give you, and it makes you feel hopeful.

Just a bit, but it is a start of something that blooms in your chest.

And you do feel better afterwards, though it takes you some time to quiet down properly. Doyoung asks if you are actually feeling better when the sniffles subside, and you nod.

Then an idea strikes you, and you smile.

You shove Doyoung with your hand. “Ow! What was that for?”

Slowly rising up to your feet, you look at him. “Catch me if you can!”

And you bolt away from him.

It takes more time than strictly necessary for him to realize what you mean. His words only reach your ears when you have already made your way to the beach. “I thought we outgrew this!” And he starts running to catch you.

Playing tag on sand is more difficult than you remember. Maybe because you really outgrew this game, or maybe because it is dark, possibly both, but you could not care. You were too busy with running away from him, who by the way, was much better at tag than you would expect. He still had the speed he once did while you were kids and playing the game in your shared backyard, and the fact that you two were playing on sand does not seem to be phasing him too much.

You have to resort to running along the shore with your feet in the water to slow him down, but he still comes dangerously close to catching you. So it is really your only resort to run back onto the pier.

Except the pier is not wide enough to fit two adults circling the width of it with that much speed. It would only grant a chance for Doyoung to catch you. But, the adult you was crazy enough to do something the child you would never have the bravery to.

You do not know how you manage to take off your denim jacket that fast, but you do, and you let out a scream of adrenaline just as he shouts at you to stop— and you jump into the water when you reach the end.

The water is definitely colder than how it had been in the morning when you were swimming, but you still laugh as you make your way to the surface. Doyoung looks at you with wide eyes and a smile. “Come on!” You manage out. “A little water shouldn’t scare you from catching me.”

He laughs at the invitation, takes a few big steps back, and runs forward to jump into the water himself.

Your mother scolds you in the morning about the fact when she asks you why you have got a minor cold all of the sudden, but it certainly is worth it.

“You want to sleep over at ours tonight?”

You ask him the question as summer’s last days quickly approach on a night (basically almost a morning) where you have stayed up for too long. There was not much reason to let him go back to his friend’s house. Especially when you did not trust him with traveling in the dead of the night.

It freaks him out a bit, you can tell, because he physically gets a bit smaller and fidgets. “You know I can’t, what if your mom—“

“She’s sleeping, I swear. She never stays up this late. You can just sleep for a few hours and leave when the sun comes out.”

He cannot protest the idea much after that, because he knows you would not let him go.

Together, you leave the pier and start walking back to your house which takes quite some time, but it is nice. Walking back towards that direction with him again flutters your heart. It makes you want to squeal in excitement. But at the same time it is not exactly like how it was when the two of you were kids. There was something different.

You could not put a finger on it.

Your dog trails behind you, trotting contently as you walk arm in arm. Walking that way had started off as a joke around two weeks ago when the both of you walked through the streets neighboring the beach. You two played a game of two elites roaming through the streets of the commonwealth as you told him what the neighbors had been up to in the years that he had not come. And then, it just stayed as a habit.

Because it was comfortable. And because you liked being close to him.

When you reached the backyard, you opened the gate and let him and your dog in. The bugs were still playing a symphony of various different screeching, and your summer house was pitch dark as you had expected it to be.

You make your way towards the back door and slide it to the side, and one friend of yours makes her way inside and onto her bed immediately. The other friend is not so quick. You turn around to tell him to hurry up before mosquitoes make their way inside, but you find him stuck in place with no intention of moving as he looks at what used to be their house.

You slide the door back and walk back to him.

“It looks so.. run down,” He sounds so genuinely sad for the first time ever since he came back. It hurts you to see it. “And old. I wish I could help it somehow.” The second half of his words only come out as a whisper as he inspects the place that holds his better part of childhood memories.

“Nobody’s bought it. Your parents could buy it back if they wanted to, but it does require a lot of work inside.” You suggest calmly, and with hope that is supposed to be ironic yet quite the opposite of it. Doyoung looks so confused at what you say. It takes him a good moment before it clicks. “Yeah, yeah, true. I don’t think they’d do it, though.” He sighs, thoroughly considering whether to stay there and look at the house, or to go back in. He chooses the better option even though it is hard. “Let’s go inside.”

It takes too much effort to coerce him into sleeping with you on your bed rather than having him sleep on the very uncomfortable couch. You tell him more than enough times that his back would be broken if he ever attempted even taking a nap on the couch— speaking from experience— and he just ends up giggling shyly when you tell him it does not have to be weird if you two sleep together.

So you two go to your room. As the furnitures never really needed to change, your bed was still a twin bed, which only prompted Doyoung to get that much shier.

You two get in the bed and under the covers, you on the side against the wall to give him the chance to leave comfortably when he has to. To make him feel better about it, you take your phone and set an alarm to the exact minute of sunrise, and he laughs when you tell him he is too much of a scaredy cat.

As your twin bed’s width commanded, you had to cuddle to have a chance at sleeping comfortably. Your head on his chest feels better than ever, his breathing hitting the top of your head slightly funny. He giggles when you giggle at the feeling. You can imagine him smiling crystal clear in your head and surely, when you look up at him, he is.

It is just a shame that you do not hear his heartbeat when you turn back to sleep, because you really wonder if it is beating as fast as yours do.

Just a few days before you have to leave.

You ask Doyoung to come in the afternoon that day because you want to have a picnic, which he agrees to. Both of you meet at the pier around an hour before sun would start to set, and share a hug before he starts to make his way to the end of the pier. But you stop him this once. “I wanna take you somewhere else.” He agrees to it without much questioning.

The trails seem to be a bit more overtaken by thorns and wild flowers, so it takes you a bit longer than it should have to get to the patch of olive trees. You look at him expectantly when you arrive and, surely enough, he has one of the most beautiful smiles on his face. The happiest, too, if you recall right.

You lead him to your tree and set the bag of snacks down, preparing the place— laying down the old table cloth to sit on, taking out the packed sandwiches and olives and the blueberry muffins. He is too entranced looking at the tree to notice, but he throws an apologetic glance when he realizes.

“Where are the strings? I can’t see them,” He claims. You point to one of the higher end of the branches, a place where they definitely were not initially placed. “I had to change their location as it grew,” You explain. “They were too tight to stay where we’d tied them when we were midgets.”

Doyoung laughs and its remainder stays on his face as he finally spots the strings on the tree. He looks at it for a minute or two in adoration, but his eyes hold something a bit sadder inside.

Maybe he misses childhood, too; you never stopped to think about it before.

Soon enough he sits down. You unwrap your sandwich and suggest he does the same, but he tells you he is not that hungry though he would make sure to eat it.

A warm chatter starts between you two. He asks you what you would be doing for junior year, which was pretty set already— you would be looking for internships left and right, and trying to survive the mountains worth of assignments. Midterms and finals would surely be getting more difficult as well, but that did not matter all that much. An internship would help you find a job, so that would be your focus.

You ask the same to him, what he would do that year before he graduates. It must be exciting to graduate, and Doyoung tells you he would have to start looking for places to live and extend his immigration status in one way or another while he auditions maybe hundreds of times before he manages to land himself in a good musical and hopefully a good position.

He can do it, you know. There is no way he cannot with that voice. You tell him that, and he gets a bit flattered before telling you his concerns do not have too much to do with singing but rather with dancing.

You tell him he still can.

That ends up being the finish line for that conversation and you finish your sandwich in silence, only looking at your phone sometimes to see if you have any texts or calls from your mother, since she is the one that has to take care of your dog.

He watches the leaves wave in the constant breeze this summer offered this place, and picks up an olive from the cup you had brought. He holds it up and lines it with the branches that are decorated with unripe olives, and squints his eyes before asking. “Did these come from here?”

You nod your head enthusiastically. “Mhm,” Your hand lands itself on the trunk behind your back. “From this tree itself. My dad collected them when he came here in October last year.”

Doyoung smiles and pops the olive into his mouth. He looks genuinely delighted to be eating it, which makes you happy.

The two of you continue chatting and bickering and relaxing until sun starts setting, which signals that you have to get going. The summer house still had to get cleaned and tidied up to get ready for being locked up for the off-season, and the amount of work you and your mother had to do was a bigger deal than it needed to be. Not to mention the fact that you had to carry so many stuff to and from this place every year, so there was even some packing to do, which you hated. University experience really brought too much of it.

And then there is the fact that somehow, you would have to say goodbye. Having to say goodbye to Doyoung gave you a nostalgic feeling, but mostly it made you feel sad and scared. The day you would have to tell him goodbye for who knows how long was approaching without any mercy, which did not make it any easier to plan what to do next or how to say it before going to sleep at night.

So maybe it is only fair to say what is going through your mind. Which is that you do not want him to leave again. “Doyoung,” You start off. He looks into your eyes with full attention. “Don’t leave again. Not for long.”

The request prompts the start of silence. But it is only for a short while before he gulps, and answers with determination. “I won’t.” He shakes his head. “Not again.”

The untold promise makes you so happy you can cry, and what he happens next is really not something that had a thought behind it.

You place your hands on his jaw and bring him closer, so much closer to you until your lips meet, and his hand springs to hold yours on his face with shock. What you seem to be doing shocks you as well, but you cannot exactly stop yourself. You did not want to. And you certainly are sure you would not stop unless he wants to.

Yet, he also does not seem to want to stop. Because after the initial shock that lasts for what must be only a second, he holds your hand tight and places his other hand on the small of your back. His lips are so soft and airy, and the way he kisses you is so endearing. It feels like he is repeating his promise without words, telling you he is here now, and he would be here when you come back. You stop and pull away from him just for a second, looking into his eyes that shimmer before leaning back in and pecking his lips again and again— kissing him thank you, thank you, thank you. He holds you in place and kisses you for what you know is going to be the last time, and he kisses you so forcefully it screams I love you; I don’t know how it happened but I love you and I want to keep loving you.

You push back against his lips in an attempt to say I love you yourself, but you have to pull away and hug him tight to make any sense.

It takes a moment for him to start speaking, and when he does, he sounds absolutely horrified. “We need to talk.”

You pull away from him again and look at his stressed figure. It makes your heart drop. “About this?”

He shakes his head at first but then nods. “I need to tell you something. We really need to talk.”

The happiness in you dares to falter, but you will not let it. Not this once. Not when you are this happy. So you lift yourself up onto your feet and shake your head, because you will not let him bulldoze something he had built himself. “You know what? No. Let me live with this just for a night.” Doyoung tries to protest, opening his mouth, but you cut him off before he can even start. “Just one night, Doyoung. We can talk about it tomorrow.”

He only nods slightly, and you mutter an “I’ll leave now, and I’ll see you tomorrow.” Before packing everything back up and handing him his sandwich, and rushing back to your house.

It takes you only a short while to get there because of how fast you were walking, and you do your best to get into the backyard and into the house without making much noise, because your mother was not expecting you. She might have been sleeping.

And granted, the house is silent and calm when you first walk in. But then you spot the figure of your mother hunched over the island counter in the kitchen, on the phone. You are about to go ahead and hug her from the back as a surprise when her barely audible sob stops you. It is impossible to go unnoticed just how hard she is crying, because she cannot even let it out fully. It makes you wonder why, what was wrong, but then she speaks—

“I’m serious. Our child was speaking into pure emptiness and it’s.. I don’t know what to do. I’m so scared.”

[kutemouse]

Becoming His (Part Two, Smut-Free Version)

Disclaimer: The images from my header belong to BigHit and BTS, but I edited them together. 

This is the smut-free version of Becoming His Part Two. Enjoy 💜

Age Recommendation: 18+

Warnings: Swears, kissing, SOMEONE coming in and being a total ASS, Joon being possessive af.

Word Count: 2,495

Summary: A bit after moving to a new neighborhood, you happen to meet your sexy new neighbor completely by coincidence. Or was it?

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Becoming His (Namjoon One-Shot, Yandere, Angst, Fluff) Part Two

You didn’t see Namjoon after that day. You were hoping to catch him jogging, or shooting baskets in his backyard again, but he didn’t come outside. Or, if he did, he didn’t during the times you were out and about. You were hoping to apologize, at least. He didn’t have to give you another shot, but at night when your fantasies seemed more vivid, you imagined he was as eager as you were to smooth things over with a quick conversation and a long fuck.

Namjoon, however, saw you. He watched from partially closed blinds as you went about your routine, seemingly unbothered by the fact that you completely blew him off. Each night, he waited until you turned off your lights for the night, watching the clock slowly tick until exactly twenty minutes went by, then slipped outside. He quietly climbed the fence between your yards and sat beneath your window, trying to get as close to you as possible.

Namjoon wanted to make things right, he just couldn’t concoct a scenario that wouldn’t come off badly to you. After all, you already rejected him. What could he do to make you love him the way he loved you? He couldn’t force you… or could he? While he toyed with that idea, the best Namjoon could currently hope for was that you would coincidentally bump into him, realize what you were missing out on, and come back to him.

One night, you cracked your window to try and relieve some of the oppressing summer heat swarming your home before you went to bed. As you slept, you dreamt of him, holding you, kissing you, loving you. “Namjoon,” you murmured, still totally asleep.

Back in reality, Namjoon perked up when he heard you say his name. He didn’t realize your window was open, and at first it made him freeze with fear. Had you possibly seen or heard him sneak into your backyard?

He stood, making as little movement as possible, and peeked into your window. Your eyes were closed, and he could hear soft snores coming from you. Were you… dreaming about him? Namjoon smiled at the thought. So you did want him, you did care about him, and you would love him. It was all he could do not to go around to the front of your house and knock on your door. But it was the middle of the night, and you weren’t supposed to know he was there.

Still, Namjoon needed a plan, and fast. Not being able to be near you was becoming too much to bear. The next day, as he lounged on his couch staring at the ceiling, trying to come up with some way to get you to talk to him again. He could follow you to the grocery store, bump into you there? No, too obvious. He also didn’t want to try something he already tried, knowing he’d just come off as pathetic.

A knock on his door made him sit up straight. Who could that be? He opened the door to see you there, of all people. “Hey,” you said, giving him a tentative smile.

“Hey.”

“I just came to give you this,” you said, handing him a piece of paper. It was a flyer for… a neighborhood party? At your place?

“I just wanted to get to know everyone on the block,” you explained. It was lame, you knew that, but you needed an excuse to see him and talk to him and this was the best you could come up with. You figured a party with other people around would ease some of the pressure, and maybe you would find a chance to apologize.

Namjoon smiled, showing off his signature dimples and making your stomach flip over itself. “Wow, this sounds great, Y/n.”

Ugh, you loved the way he said your name. If you could take a recording of just that sound, you’d listen to it for the rest of your life.

“Great, so I’ll see you there?” you said hopefully.

His dark eyes bore into you with a gaze so intense you just had to glance away. “Of course you will,” he said. The words dripped from his lips like honey, and although they had no sensual connotation whatsoever, they awoke something in your middle that went straight to your core.  Namjoon bit his lip, slowly releasing it from between his teeth, and you swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure even as your panties grew damp.

“Awesome, well, I’ll see you Friday,” you muttered before turning away and stumbling across his lawn back to your safe haven.

Namjoon’s smirk didn’t diminish, even after you ran away once more. This time, though, he knew you weren’t running because you were rejecting him… you were running because you were holding yourself back. Namjoon had no idea why, but he didn’t care. He would break you.

Friday arrived, and you made yourself stay busy in order to keep your thoughts away from Namjoon. It worked for a while, but then he began drifting into your mind as you started getting ready and setting up. Would he like the catered sandwiches you ordered? Would he appreciate the short-yet-sensible polka-dot dress you spent hours shopping for?

Finally, 5:30 arrived, and the first set of neighbors showed up. It was the elderly couple who lived around the corner. You welcomed them in and thought it was so sweet when they told you they brought a salad to share.

You whipped open the door each time the doorbell rang, your hopes soaring then falling when you realized it wasn’t him. The family with three little ones came, the young just-married couple came, and even the three rowdy college boys who lived behind you came. Free food could really draw in a crowd, but still, he didn’t show up.

An hour later, you nearly gave up on the thought of seeing him. You guessed you imagined the electric attraction between the two of you. Either way, you were majorly disappointed. You were setting dishes in the sink when you heard a voice behind you. “Hey there.”

You spun, nearly dropping the glass you were holding. “Namjoon!” you gasped.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” he chuckled, holding his hands up. “I knew you’d probably be busy and just let myself in. Hope that’s okay.”

“Of course it is.”

It definitely was if he was walking around looking like that. He sported a light blue collared shirt, casually unbuttoned low enough to show off some chest, and dark trousers. He looked like he just got back from the office, pulled off his tie, and came over. Your fingers twitched, wishing it was you who pulled off that tie.

He stepped towards you, getting so close you could smell his cologne. It was so light, you wouldn’t know he was wearing it unless you were in tight proximity… just like now. You cleared your throat and moved away, but he moved with you as if chasing you. “Y/n,” he murmured, his eyes flicking down to your lips.

“Y-Yes Namjoon?”

You backed up all the way to the counter, gasping as you felt the edge of it press into your skin. Just then, your neighbor Sunhee, the mother of the three kids currently screaming and running around your backyard, popped her head into the kitchen. “Oh, hello Mr. Kim,” she said brightly. “Y/n, I was just coming in here to see if you needed any help.”

“Oh, that would be great, thanks.”

The rest of the party went without a hitch, and you found yourself bright and cheery as you talked with and got to know your new neighbors. Everyone was so damn nice, but secretly, you were anticipating the moment they would all leave you alone with the one person you actually wanted to be with. As the evening wore on, people began to make their good-byes, thanking you for such a great time. “We really need to do this more often,” Sunhee said, hugging you tight. “It’s so good to see everyone.”

“Agreed,” you said, hugging her back.

Over her shoulder, you saw a familiar figure open and close your door, and your heart completely stopped. He brushed his long, dark hair out of his eyes and looked around, smirking when his eyes finally found yours. Your legs turned to jelly as that smirk crashed into you. Damn. Even after all this time, he still affected you, no matter how much you tried to shove it down.

You thanked Sunhee for coming one last time and made sure everyone else was out before stopping that asshole in his tracks. “What are you doing here, Jungkook?” you muttered, placing a hand on his chest.

“What do you mean?” he asked, poking his tongue between his teeth and quickly withdrawing it. “I came to see you.”

“Yeah, right,” you snapped. “You have no right, coming in here like you own the place.”

“I might not own this place, but I own you,” he said, his cocky tone setting your teeth on edge.

“No you don’t.”

He stepped close, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “Are you sure about that?”

You shoved him backwards. “Get out.”

The corners of his perfect, pink mouth turned up in a menacing smirk. “No.”

“I thought I made myself clear,” you hissed. “I’m no longer going to be your fuck-buddy, Jungkook. I wanted something more, but you made it clear you didn’t.”

“I don’t recall saying anything of the sort.”

You scoffed. “You didn’t have to use words. Finding you in bed with another girl the day after you told me you had feelings for me was plenty.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes. “Please. We weren’t exclusive.”

“Maybe not, but you don’t just go and fuck another girl right after telling another you care for them!”

“Everything okay, Y/n?” a voice asked. You turned to see Namjoon standing there, his chin raised as he defiantly stared Jungkook down, large hands shoved in his pockets.

Jungkook scoffed. “Are you kidding me, Y/n? Look at you, the complete hypocrite. We’re apart for less than a month, and you already have another boy toy.”

“He’s nothing of the sort,” you muttered, folding your arms and turning away from him. “I said I didn’t want you here. Now please leave.”

“No chance in hell,” he growled. “I came back here to see you, and I’m not leaving until I get what I came for.”

Something inside of you snapped. “Which is what?! Another booty call?! I said I was done with you, Jungkook, so either get the fuck out or I’ll call the police.”

Jungkook started towards you, but before you could react, Namjoon stepped in front of him. “She said leave,” he said. His eyes flashed with a dark anger that turned the tension from smoldering ash up to a roaring flame. You took a step back, suddenly afraid. You had never seen this side of him before.

“This doesn’t concern you,” Jungkook snarled, attempting to push Namjoon out of the way.

“Actually, it does,” Namjoon growled. “She’s mine.”

“She just said–”

“And I’m saying she’s mine.”

Rage roiled off Namjoon in tidal waves, threatening to break everything that stood in his way. Jungkook snorted. “Unbelievable,” he muttered.

“Call me when you’re ready to be fucked properly again, bitch,” he spat at you as he turned and walked out the door.

Your legs gave out underneath you, and you sank to the floor. This was definitely not how you wanted tonight to go. Namjoon instantly came to you, concern written all over his face. “Are you alright?” he asked, gently reaching out.

“Don’t touch me!” you snapped. “What the hell was that? Why did you say I was yours?”

Namjoon drew back, shocked. “What?”

“That phrase you kept saying. ‘She’s mine.’ Why would you say that?”

“Well, because… because…”

“Because what?!”

“Because I care about you, Y/n!”

You stared at Namjoon, searching for any signs of untruthfulness or deceit that you had commonly found in Jungkook’s eyes, but there was nothing but pure sincerity in his eyes. Breathing hard, you stood up from the floor, still trembling from the confrontation. Namjoon reached out to help you, but withdrew his hands quickly.

“No, it’s okay,” you said, your tone more gentle now.

You tentatively placed your hands on his chest, fingers lightly stroking the collar of his shirt. “I… I care about you too,” you whispered.

Relief flooded through Namjoon, putting out the roaring fire of anger he felt earlier. He stepped close enough for you to catch a whiff of his cologne again, enticing the rest of your senses to dive in. He was only centimeters away, close enough to feel the heat radiating between his body and yours, but not close enough to feel the hard, broad muscles of his shoulders. You looked up into his eyes, his pupils blowing wide as you studied each other, waiting for someone to make the next move.

After longing after each other for so long, you thought he wouldn’t wait a single second to be with you, but it turns out you were both vulnerable, both afraid of messing this up, so you took it slow. Each small movement drew you closer together, no matter how minute. The way his eyes roamed your face. The way you slowly slid your hands up to rest on his shoulders. The way his lips hovered tantalizingly over yours.

Finally, as if on cue, you both lunged towards each other, crashing your lips together to meld into one, perfect kiss. It stayed sweet and innocent for longer than you would’ve liked, with Namjoon being careful to keep his tongue inside his own mouth no matter how much he was yearning to taste you. You separated from each other, both breathless, and Namjoon continued peppering kisses down your cheek to your jaw. You sighed and tightened your grip on him. “Say you’re mine,” he murmured.

You opened your eyes. “Wh-What?”

“Say you’ll be mine.” He drew back and smiled, nothing but sincere tenderness in his eyes.

“Are… Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?” you whispered.

He hesitated, then nodded. Your mouth parted open. No, this was too quick. Much too fast. You barely knew the guy, hadn’t even been on a date with him yet, and yet here he was, asking for the commitment you’d been craving.

His gaze grew apprehensive as he waited for your answer, but you continued looking into those dark, beautiful eyes. He felt so warm on top of you. You liked him, there was no doubt about that, and the spark of attraction was definitely there. Fuck it, what did you have to lose? You wanted to become his.

“Okay,” you murmured.

“What?”

“Okay. Yes. I’ll be yours.”

Namjoon let out a relieved sigh. “Really?”

“Really.”

If only you knew just what you had agreed to.

[spnfanficpond]

November Angel Fish Awards

Every month all of you fantastic writers work your asses off to post some truly incredible stories. Our Angel Fish Awards are the way for all of us, as a community of writers and readers, to lift each other up and give praise to those who have captured our attention and deserve a few kind words.

The monthly Angel Fish Awards are peer-nominated, meaning ANYONE IN THE POND CAN NOMINATE ANY POND MEMBER’S FIC. While the Pond was founded to support the Guppies, everyone in this community deserves to be showered with love and feedback, and we hope that by opening this up as a Pond wide system, we’ll be able to share the love as far as it can go.

NOTE: WE’VE BEEN HAVING OCCASIONAL PROBLEMS WITH ASKS GOING MISSING. Please use the Submit button when submitting your nominations and make sure you’re signed into Tumblr or your URL won’t show. (If the form asks for your name and email address, then you’re not signed in.) If you like, you can also send a message to Michelle or Mana to check and make sure we got your submission.

WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, HERE ARE NOVEMBER’S ANGEL FISH AWARDS!

Nominated by @deanwinchesterswitch​

One And One Make Three (series) by @supernatural-jackles​

This series was absolutely stunning, beautifully written, and an amazing rollercoaster of emotion. Jen handled some very sensitive subject matters with grace and wit. It has ALL the feels; I cried, laughed, and loved right along with the characters.

Nominated by @manawhaat​

Heart Of A Killer (series) by @wi-deangirl77

I love, love, LOVE, this series! The storytelling is done so simply but so effectively. Things come together beautifully and the dialogue throughout the series (and largely in ch.3) has an incredible flow and easiness to it. This tells you the story without all the bullshit but definitely with all the juicy drama and Ketch-i-ness that an Arthur Ketch lover could want.

The Right Kind Of Wrong (oneshot) @kittenofdoomage

I’m a slut for a Winchester sandwich and this one delivers. It’s Rhi. Just fucking read it and thank her for existing, okay?

Castiel Imagine (oneshot) by @webcricket

I don’t read too much Castiel because, even though I love him, I have a hard time finding authors who nail his character the way I want to read him but Cricket always gets him spot on! This is light-hearted, flirty, sweet, and hints at sexy. Plus, a flustered Dean is never not funny.

Nominated by @lovetusk​

It All Started With Some Itching Powder (series) by @iflostreturntosteverogers​

You’ve got to love brotherly banter and prank war aftermath.

When You Fall (series) by @flamencodiva​

I stumbled across this bad boy by accident and totally forgot I was suppose to be writing / editing because it sucked me in so good and I ended up binging all the chapters.

Nominated by @princessmisery666​

Sam’s Holiday Fluff (oneshot) by @crispychrissy​

This one made my heart smile. It was sweet and the characters were on point. It was nice to read Sam getting a happy moment ;)

Just Friends (oneshot) by @crashdevlin​

This one was painful but I still want more. I need part 2. Which is a testament to the awesome writing and the awesomely wicked idea ;-)

Like Art, Like Fire (series) by @fangirlxwritesx67​

I loved this. Love me some Sam anyway, but this was perfect. There were so many lines that had me swooning but one of my favs was - “Your bodies looked like art, lascivious art. In his grasp you were comfortable and beautiful and utterly shameless.”

Love it!!

Nominated by @thoughtslikeaminefield​

I Believe That Strippers Are The Future (oneshot) by @cherry3point14​

Everything Cherry Pie writes is so funny until it’s suddenly hot. This one’s particularly hilarious and then scorching.

The Crumbling Difference Between Wrong and Right by @stusbunker​

I joked that I was no longer talking to Stuart Marie (not her name, but that’s what I call her) after she wrote this and sent it to me, but I kid. That said it’s fucking heartbreaking, and her words and arrangement thereof are so beautiful I wanna cry.

Not All Mutants Are Monsters (oneshot) by @negans-lucille-tblr​

I sent this prompt to Bethany Elizabeth (not her name, but that’s what I call her) and never thought she’d take it. Alas, it is written and it is DIVINE. I lovvvvvvve Wanda + Dean + Natasha. Ugh, so much.

Rambling (series) by @crispychrissy​

The characterizations, the goddess, Dean. LOL I love this fic. It’s sassy (I was actually picturing the latest incarnation of Lillith as the goddess) and suspenseful and just balls out fun.

Need (oneshot) by @rockhoochie

This is cozy and sexy and so gratifying. This is exactly what Dean (and we all) needed after the Michael debacle.

Nominated by @mrswhozeewhatsis​

Anything You Can Do (oneshot) by @kittenofdoomage

Just good old-fashioned smut with both brothers that just hits the spot. It’s like Thanksgiving dinner. This is comfort food for the fangirl libido!

Dad Gets Awkward About These Things (oneshot) by @fictionalabyss

This is so adorable! Awkward Dad!Dean, suave and all-knowing Uncle Sam, this is perfect!

You’ve Got Me Begging (series) by @negans-lucille-tblr

Holy SHIT this shit is the SHIT, man. It’s got everything! Smut with all three Winchesters, plus tender moments with Sam, F/F for those who are into that, kinks galore, and intrigue, to boot! The plot twist in the most recent chapter has me completely flabbergasted. I really didn’t see that one coming!! Just, you know, HOLY SHIT!!!

Start of Something Good (series) by @tricia-16

It took me a while to narrow this down to just one fic of Tricia’s to nominate now that she’s a member of the Pond, but I finally settled on this one. It’s got Dad!Cas, toddler Claire being adorable as hell, lots of delicious angst for Dean and Cas to work through, and all the pining! I love to hate it when they just need to accept that it’s all good, but they can’t quite, yet, so they PINE. Tricia’s stories are so REAL, and it’s so refreshing. There’s some violence in this one you might not like, so check the tags!

Crash Into Me (series) by @crashdevlin

Some folks don’t like OFCs, but I love them, and this series is definitely worth reading, even if you don’t! I’m rooting for a happy ending for Crash! And Dean’s trying so hard. This one hurts so good!

Nominated by @littlehotmess26​

Dear Santa (oneshot) by @sorenmarie87​

She did a great job on this fic after taking a little break and I am so proud of her! This fic is so cute with Dean writing a letter to the big man in red!

The Mobster’s Girl (series) by @fictionalabyss​

Mel has worked extremely hard on this set of series and it shows. It’s well thought out and executed. Her writing grabs you and takes you along for an incredible ride!

Nominated by @wingedcatninja​

Hark And Hush (oneshot) by @thoughtslikeaminefield​

I’m not usually that much into purgatory!Dean, but this fic is a hauntingly dark delve into Dean’s mind. It made me feel emotions, and that’s what a good fic is supposed to do.

Thank you all for the awesome work and great feedback!

As with the BFAs, these are not actual awards! This system is set up so everyone in the pond has a chance to share the love and promote a fic/author that has grabbed your attention. The more people that participate, and the more everyone remembers to submit their own fics after posting, the better this will be :D

THANK YOU ALL AGAIN, KEEP UP THE AMAZING WORK, AND AS ALWAYS, HAPPY WRITING!