#we shall see if anything comes of this expect noting but I’m in the zone rn

[fishyartist]

My mind is a MACHINE that can turn IDEAS into. Into ideas but Drawn I guess.

[jokertrap-ran]

[Gakuen K] Munakata Reisi Route: Good Friends? Translation

*Translator’s note : MC’s name shall remain as my normal (水嶋ラン) *Gakuen K Masterlist / Gakuen K Mobile Masterlist *Spoiler FREE : Translations under cut ! Reblogs appreciated~

Ran: Excuse me. Oh, are you the only one here, Fushimi-kun?

Fushimi: You can see for yourself, can’t you?

Ran: …That’s true.

Fushimi: …

Ran: …

Ran: (This is awkward…)

Ran: (Come to think of it, I haven't really spoken to him before even though he’s my classmate. )

Ran: (Maybe I should try to strike up a conversation now that we’re here together.)

Ran: The puzzle we had to solve back then was really something, don’t you think?

Ran: I wasn’t expecting that puzzle to have that many pieces, and for it to be a puzzle with no picture at that….

Ran: Where do they even sell things like that?

Fushimi: …Don’t remind me.

Ran: Oh, sorry.

Fushimi: You don’t have to apologize for it. You were the only one who lasted till the end, so I’m taking my hat off to you.

Ran: Well, I got immersed in it, and you were already gone by the time I looked up.

Fushimi: I was called away by the Disciplinary Committee. Did you not hear?

Ran: Nope. I noticed that everyone was gone after I’d finished the puzzle…

Fushimi: You were that zoned in on a jigsaw puzzle…?

Munakata: Fushimi-kun, are you here?

Fushimi: Yes.

Munakata: May I have the documents I asked for?

Fushimi: Here you go.

Munakata: Thank you. You work fast.

Fushimi: You’re welcome.

Munakata: Looks like everything’s been taken care of. Your punctilious attention to detail really does come in handy.

Munakata: Oh? There’s a sticky note attached to the document…

Fushimi: There were lots of typos, so I added some corrections of my own while I was at it.

Munakata: Sorry about that. It seems like I will have to put in a stern word with Domyoji-kun.

Fushimi: You probably already knew that they were there before you handed it over to me for processing.

Munakata: Not at all. I’m glad you noticed them.

Fushimi: …

Munakata: I overlooked the typos too. I’ll be sure to be more careful next time.

Fushimi: There’s no way you’d ever overlook a mistake like that.

Ran: (Yeah, he’s definitely not the type to overlook such trivial mistakes…)

Fushimi: Plus, this isn’t the first time either. There have been many careless mistakes appearing in the documents lately, so please tell him to fix them properly.

Munakata: …Fushimi-kun.

Fushimi: What?

Munakata: I wasn’t expecting you to give so much thought about the Club… I’m almost moved.

Fushimi: Huh?

Munakata: I’m proud of the fact that you’re one of us.

Fushimi: …

Munakata: Thank you for always covering up for my shortcomings.

Ran: (I’m sure he’s saying that because he knows that it’s true…)

Ran: (Munakata-senpai trusts Fushimi-kun, and despite what Fushimi-kun says, he still adheres to Munakata-senpai’s instructions.)

Ran: (They actually get along really well, don’t they?)

Ran: Heh.

Fushimi: …What are you laughing about?

Ran: Oh, sorry. I just thought that the both of you got along really well.

Fushimi: Huh? Who’s getting chummy with who now?

Ran: You and Munakata-senpai.

Ran: I enjoyed watching your exchange with each other.

Munakata: My, it sounds like we’ve become quite an entertaining spectacle.

Fushimi: Tch… And whose fault do you think that is?

Munakata: Is it not yours, Fushimi-kun?

Fushimi: No. It’s your fault no matter how you think about it.

Munakata: Hmph. We should live up to her expectations of us, so why don’t we play this game together—

Fushimi: No thanks. You’re only saying that because you want to do it, don’t you?

Munakata: Not at all. If anything, I simply want to entertain Mizushima-kun as well.

Fushimi: Then, why did you come to me with that in the first place?

Fushimi: Besides, if you’re just here to fetch the documents, don’t you have to go back to where you came from?

Munakata: How cold of you, Fushimi-kun.

Ran: (I thought they were both rather unapproachable people at first, but it looks like I was mistaken.)

Ran: (I hope I can get closer to them since we’re all in the same Club.)

»» ━━━━━━━ ∘◦♔◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ««

Next Scene: Reason for Maturity

[pearlsephoni]

Shinkane Week 2022, Day 3: Humility

Can also be read on AO3!

Rating: G

Fandom: Psycho-Pass

Pairing: Shinkane (Kogami/Akane)

Characters: Akane Tsunemori, Shinya Kogami

Word Count: 1,282

Summary: After years of knowing each other, there are still some hidden talents left to be revealed.

A/N: Written for @shinkaneweek! Further author’s notes can be read on AO3.

“Wow, I’m hungry.”

Kogami looked down at her with a small grin and a bemused wrinkle to his eye. “I would hope so, if we’re getting lunch.”

“I know, but it just hit me extra strong.” As though on cue, Akane’s stomach grumbled, bringing a flush to her cheeks and a broader smile to his lips.

“And what are you craving today, Inspector?”

“Don’t call me that.” The response was instinctive more than anything at that point—he’d never stop using the title, even if its meaning had gone from overly-strict observance of work ranking, to a fond tease. “Isn’t it your turn to choose?”

“Mm…a new place just opened with crepes. It’s over by the park.” His smile warmed at her wide, interested eyes. “Shall we?”

Curse him and his knowledge of her sweet tooth. Despite knowing he suggested it because it was something she’d be interested in, Akane couldn’t resist the chance to try some crepes. She could only muster narrowed eyes of suspicion at his mischievous smile and let him lead the way.

The food stalls at the edge of the park were their favorite places to get lunch when the weather was nice enough. With how rarely they could get lunch together, they still hadn’t been able to try all of the new stalls.

But Kogami walked past the ones they’d been wanting to try, including the Thai stall he’d been eyeing for a while, only stopping in front of the crepe stall. The warm scent of chocolate and strawberries made Akane’s mouth water, even as she eyed Kogami doubtfully. “Shinya, are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” He met her skeptical gaze with an easy grin, until she sighed in defeat.

“Alright. But I’m paying.”

“Akane—”

“My treat!” She pulled up her card on her comm before he could stop her. “What do you want?”

With that, she shooed him off to wait for her at their favorite bench while she ordered his savory crepe and her sweet strawberry crepe. The delicious scent of batter being spread over the pan and the fillings being warmed in the freshly-cooked dough made an excited smile spread over her face as she waited in line, and it ended up coaxing a matching smile from the worker taking her order.

By the time she accepted the finished crepes and made her back to Kogami, her mouth was watering, eager and ready for the sweet treat she held.

Then she saw Kogami, and she stumbled to a stop.

She’d been expecting to see him lost in thought, or checking a message, or even just watching her at the food truck.

But he was doing none of those things. His attention was entirely focused on a ginger cat rubbing itself on his leg.

Stray animals were rare in the city, especially outside of the Sibyl black zones. Any that were spotted were usually reported and caught to be put into a rescue. Kogami clearly wasn’t planning on doing anything of the sort. He was perfectly happy offering up his fingers for the cat to sniff and direct under its chin.

“Hey, little one,” Akane could just hear him murmur, “where’d you come from?” The cat let out a croaky meow, before going back to rubbing its cheeks against Kogami’s fingers. Akane couldn’t hear any other sounds from the cat, but Kogami quietly commented, “Oh, someone’s happy. Someone’s purry, hm?”

Shinya Kogami, former Inspector and Enforcer, pursued guerilla warrior, now part of Hanashiro’s most carefully-selected crew of detectives and officers…was baby-talking to a cat. The happiest cat Akane had ever seen, at that.

The cat meowed and sniffed at the air, before sniffing at Kogami’s fingers and giving them a delicate lick. “Hm? Do you smell something? I’m afraid I don’t have anything for you. Not yet, anyway…” With that, he finally looked up and saw Akane, standing stock still with his crepe carefully balanced in one hand and her crepe held over her delighted expression. “…Oh.”

He began pulling his fingers back, only pausing when Akane burst out, “Oh, please don’t stop! Please, Shinya, this is the best thing I’ve seen in weeks!”

His brows furrowed as a small smile tugged at his lips. “You can understand why that’s not appealing to me.”

“You don’t want me happy?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Akane shot him a playful grin before focusing on the cat, who looked distinctly perturbed to have its time with Kogami interrupted. “It’s okay,” she cooed, slowly approaching and holding Kogami’s crepe out for him to take. “I’m friendly, I promise.”

The cat still tensed up with every step she took, only starting to relax when she knelt close to the ground and held out her newly-free hand. It was much less willing to approach her, and she had a feeling it eventually did just because of the smell of Kogami’s chicken crepe still on her fingertips.

“Hey!” she laughed when it nipped at her. “How come you bit me and not Ko?”

“My charm must be irresistible.” His faux-cocky grin faltered under the blithe smile she shot him.

“Must be…though I’m not sure it was your ‘charm’ that got me.”

Those stormy gray eyes, usually so sharp and knowing, seemed almost bashful in the way they skittered away from hers to look at the cat. “Is that so?”

“Mm…it was more your intelligence…your stubbornness…your unshaking focus…”

His ears were turning pinker and pinker with every word she said and every inch she closed between them, until she was sitting next to him on the bench and his ears looked like they could catch on fire. “…Akane.”

“Hm?” She smiled sweetly when he finally met her eyes.

“Eat your crepe. It’s going to get cold.”

She giggled before obeying him, watching fondly as he picked out a small piece of chicken and dropped it to the ground for the cat to leap on. “I didn’t know you were so good with animals.”

“Neither did I,” he chuckled, an ever-so-soft curve to his lips as he watched the cat eat. “At least, not with cats. And Dime took a while to warm up to me.”

“I’m sure that was thanks to Gino-san’s influence more than anything.”

“Awfully rude to say about your superior.” Even if she didn’t already know him so well, the glint in his eye would have told her he was joking.

“Not rude,” she sniffed, “just honest.”

With a scoff, Kogami focused back on the cat, this time balancing a piece of chicken on his fingertips. Sure enough, the ginger critter approached and delicately ate the chicken without a moment’s hesitation. “I think this little guy is just friendly and hungry.”

“Humility’s a strange look on you, Kogami-san.”

He gazed sidelong at her. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were calling me arrogant.”

“But you do know better.”

“I’m still struggling to figure out what you do mean.”

“I mean,” she laughed, taking a chance on their secluded bench and leaning in to rest her chin on his shoulder, “you’re usually more self-assured than this.”

“I think I can be forgiven for being less sure about cats.”

“Well…it’s still sweet.”

“Sweet?” Akane’s chin slid of his shoulder when he leaned away just enough to look at her. “That’s a new one.”

“A bad one?”

“From anyone else, maybe.”

“Really?”

“Mm…I have an image to maintain.”

Oh, that smile. After all this time, it was still rare enough and gentle enough to make her heart squeeze. Who could possibly resist stealing a kiss from those sweet lips? She never could, and she wasn’t going to start now…even with indignant meows piercing through their peaceful veil of solitude.

[blackbat05]

I need a break

Shangqi x Reader (Platonic) 

A/N: I feel like I’m loosing steam towards the end of my placement and wow I have never needed a break this badly before. Perhaps a short Shangqi x Reader imagine where they are both University students. Seriously at this rate I’ll just be solely a Shangqi writer HAHAHA. Doing this on my phone because I don’t want to open my work computer. Let’s see where this impromptu idea takes me to. Hope you enjoy it and as always like and comment if you wish!

Genre: PG-13

Warnings: None really, just friends supporting each other! I guess there’s an inaccurate timeline if you look at the MCU but hey this is an imagine plus if you look at some of the wiki pages, Shangqi is actually born in 1998/1999. So appreciate if you’re kind enough to go with the flow to read this comfort fic! 

‘Y/N!’ Shangqi rushes to catch up with you after class. You made an effort to conceal your tiredness but he saw it right through. ‘Gosh…you alright?’

You think to yourself. Were you really alright? The answer was pretty obvious. You were ten weeks into your placement and your emotions were a jumbled up mess. Having to deal with work responsibilities was one problem, school assignments were another issue all together. At this point, you felt like you were just getting through each week for the sake of it.

At first, you believed that what you were going through was simply a transition to becoming an adult. You thought that naturally, you would be able to persevere through the stressful periods by yourself. But of course, it has been hard.

You were a social work intern at a neighborhood youth centre, thirty minutes away if you took the train and bus. The work was fulfilling in it’s own ways, but recently there were self-doubts filling your brain, if you were really cut out for the job in the future. If you weren’t, what else could you do?

As you sat with Shangqi in the school’s student-ran cafe, you found yourself pouring out the exact same concerns to him. Credit to him, Shangqi never interrupted your monologue, he just simply listened. That’s what best friends were for. That’s what you did for him to when he ran into issues with his family.

Even then, he couldn’t deny that hearing you doubt yourself broke his heart. He had known you since high school. You mostly kept to yourself and one or two close friends. Despite joining the school’s athletic team where you were one of the main athletes, you preferred to stay in the shadows unlike some of your teammates. That didn’t stop you from going out of your way to help other students in need; like helping the girl who was in an arm cast to copy the social studies notes, even if it meant you had to do it twice. Or maybe just talking to a friend who was stressed out about their results.

Basically, you had studied your ass off to get a secured spot at this university who were only one of the few that offered the degree. He remembers you telling him the moment you got your offer, ‘I’m finally good at something. I don’t have to worry anymore!’

Shangqi wasn’t stupid. The pandemic had done some crazy things. And by crazy, it affected the self-esteem that you had been working so hard on by participating in various projects and events, with you being in charge of a drama production that was promoting on mental health. That was a big deal considering that you were a major introvert.

Online engagement was never easy. In fact he has heard some of your struggles that you’ve shared with him regarding this and it only makes him admire you even more. For someone who preferred to keep to themselves, stepping out of one’s comfort zone, to take on a role that wasn’t just simply about helping people - that took guts.

‘I’m sorry I’m just loading you with all this. I just feel…’ You trailed off, suddenly becoming emotional again. Again, Shangqi does not pry. ‘That I can’t do anything right.’ You emphasize that you had ended the statement for you were unsure that you could keep your cool if you had tried to continue on.

‘If I hear you saying sorry another time,’ he chides, ‘you’re paying for our meal later.’ Your lips curved upwards slightly before returning to its somber position. Shangqi decides that a meal won’t cut it. He needs to deploy ‘Operation Y/N’. Standing up with your buzzer to collect the food, Shangqi whips out his phone. There will be a few changes for today.

Food was definitely a cure in this situation, but it was only a part of the solution. After inhaling your ramen at light speed, Shangqi tells you that today will be a different Friday. ‘And you can’t complain! It’ll be a weekend tmr,’ he tells you. So why not? You figured that even if you went back home early, your head wouldn’t be in the right place to complete the essay for your English module.

‘Hold up! The VR studio that Katy was talking about?’ You look at the tickets inside the taxi that was taking you and Shangqi to the location. ‘How did you even, it was so hard to get these tickets!’ From the time Shangqi met you outside the classroom, he had yet to see you so ecstatic. Until now.

‘Well,’ Shangqi gives his best shrug. ‘I called in a favor from a friend. Said that it was for emergency purposes.’ He raised his fingers to make connotations in the air much to your amusement.

‘Wow… just how much do I not know about you Mr Popular?’ You teased. Shangqi decides to leave the fact on him having to persuade the Wakandan Princess in giving him free tickets.

‘Please! I swear whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it! It’s for Y/N!’

‘Ey well why didn’t you say so? If it’s for that nice friend, of course!’ Shuri leaves the entrance of the compound, an exasperated Shangqi trailing behind.

Yeah, the VR studio that Katy told them about was also funded by King T’Challa himself. With stunning life like visuals thanks to Wakandan technology, the VR studio was located in a middle class neighborhood. T’Challa believed that no matter where kids came from, they should have the right to enjoy and to explore the world. For now, he wasn’t ready to share that he was on the way on becoming a full-fledged Avenger yet - you just had too much on your plate. He’ll just have to settle with this white lie.

‘Is Katy coming?’ You were on the verge of vibrating off your seat. ‘She would love this place!’ Even when you were struggling, Y/N still manages to think about other people. Today, Y/N will put her needs first.

As if to answer your previous question, you can see an equally excited Katy waiting for the two of you at the roundabout. ‘HEL-LO EVERYONE! LET’S GET OUR FRIDAY STARTED IN PROPER SHALL WE?’ Her loud voice had attracted stares, some very displeased looks too but at this point in time, you didn’t give a damn. Katy was right, it was time to enjoy!

You wished that you could slow down time, or even replay it continuously when you needed cheering up because the only thing you felt was pure happiness - euphoria even. Your stomach was in knots for laughing hysterically together with Katy when Shangqi jumped in shock from a surprise scare from a zombie. ‘I’m keeping that for leverage,’ she tells you, quietly slipping her phone into her fanny pack. 

The Wakandans had really outdone themselves this time. Your favorite VR was the paradise VR. Slipping the headgear, you say goodbye to the smiles of Katy and Shangqi, whisking away to a beach that oddly reminded you of your dream destination - Hawaii. From where you were standing, you were surrounded by green and majestic islands. Despite their sheer size, you weren’t intimidated. In fact, you were healing. 

Your mind was no longer in the room of the VR studio. How could it when the sun kissed your skin, giving you the much needed energy that you were lacking for so long? In the room, the two sees you kick your shoes to the side, going barefoot. It may have seem strange, but with the monitor beside you, your actions were perfectly logical. 

As a kid, you used to despise the prickly feeling of sand in between your toes. But now, you grew to love the sensation that each grain of sand had on your skin. It made you feel grounded, that everything was going to be ok. You raise your virtual hand to touch your face - were you crying? 

‘She must have been really stressed huh?’ Katy whispers to Shangqi who nods in return. How he hated the fact that you were giving so much to your work but still felt underappreciated. Forget the Avengers with superhuman abilities, you were the true MVP. The VR ends and you remove your headgear. ‘I’m ok,’ you automatically reassure them despite the dry tears left on both cheeks. You step down the platform slowly, trying to regain sense of the real world. 

What you didn’t expect was the two embracing you in a hug, squishing you in between them. Maybe that had set off the waterworks. For someone like Katy, she had sage advice.

‘Life can be pretty shitty right? But I’m so proud of you fighting it Y/N. Just remember that it’s ok to be weak. I mean, I’ve seen worse from Shangqi,’ she jabs her finger towards his direction, earning a glare from him. That’s Katy, always trying to add a bit of humor to this grey world. Calming down, you let go of the both of them. ‘Thanks guys, for everything.’ 

‘Hey,’ Shangqi responds, slinging his arm over your shoulder. ‘We’re friends, so we don’t leave each other behind.’ Phone beeping, he retrieves it to check the message. ‘And look at that, nice timing. Who wants Korean BBQ?’ 

Trailing behind them, you get an amusing view of Shangqi bickering with Katy on how many Soju bottles she’s allowed to order later. As San Francisco welcomed the night, you were just thankful that you had the two of them to walk through this crazy maze called life. 

‘Last one to the shop is paying!’ 

‘Oh you’re on Mister!’  

A/N: I really just think that this was also an imagine for me to cope too. So I can only hope to finish my placement/assignments/exams well! To anyone who does studies and work simultaneously, I fucking respect you (allow me to use expletives for now, these people deserve the respect). If you’re going through a stressful time, I hope this brings the slightest comfort for you and remember… YOU ARE NOT ALONE! Again, thank you for reading! 

[alpacaparkaseok]

The Pact - Date #3

Pairing/Genre: OT7 BTS x reader (not poly), idol!BTS, best friend BTS

Word Count: 7.7k

Premise: The truth about the pact the boys have about you has been revealed. What happens when you agree to go on a single date with each of them?

Warnings: none, BUT THE FLUFF IS COMING DOWN FULL FORCE YA’LL

a/n: don’t forget, I taking your guys’ comments/reactions into account for this series, so please let me know what your thoughts are! of course, at the end we’ll really take a deeper look at all of the dates and what stood out the most, but I would love to hear from you about this one!! love you all, enjoy!

Date #3

series masterlist ∆∆∆ join the taglist

The more time has passed, the more you fully come to realize that if you have been that affected by two dates, you are in no way prepared for the five that remain.

Nope. Not one bit.

It was Thursday when Jungkook finally texted to check that you were free around eleven. Your heart leapt, finally. A date that you wouldn’t have to spend all day moping around waiting for.

So obviously, you were ready by 9. You know, just in case.

You’d been instructed to wear casual clothes, something that you rejoiced in. Donning your sweater with the word Harvard in thick blue letters spanning the front and a pair of skinny jeans, you felt right at home.

The boys never missed a chance to tease you about your Harvard sweatshirt, and for some reason they never believed your lie that you actually went there. Of course, that might be due to the fact that they were very much aware of your current schooling situation and it was most definitely not Harvard.

But hey...attending one of the top universities in South Korea wasn’t bad, either.

Currently you were perched on the end of your bed, partly due to the fact that if you went anywhere else you would most certainly just end up staring out the window at every car that passed by. Not wanting to look like a nosy neighbor, you’d confined yourself to your room to wait out the morning.

In the hours that pass, your thoughts are completely occupied by the two boys you shared the last couple of Saturdays with.

It would be a lie to say that you don’t replay the image of Taehyung standing in your doorway every night as you tried to sleep, his hair a fluffy mess and that cable knit sweater proving to be your doom.

Your thoughts were usually interrupted as you took your bracelet off and stared at it, imagining Hobi delicately placing each individual bead it it’s place. It’s when your hand burns with the memory of his gentle kiss on your palm that you finally set the bracelet down and let out a frustrated sigh.

Yeah...Jimin was wrong when he invited you to just think of these as nice, friendly dates.

He probably knew it, too.

“Ok,” you breathe out, closing your eyes and focusing on the rise and fall of your chest. “Just...enjoy it.”

Enjoy it you shall.

That’s the thing that carries you through the waiting, still just breathing in and out and mentally preparing yourself for all that awaits you today.

You get so carried away in your attempts to calm down that the knock on your front door comes before you realize how much time has passed. Taking one more steadying breath, you get up from your bed and amble down the hallway to the door.

Pausing for a moment, you realize that you truly have no idea who might be on the other side of that door. The thought makes you smile. You’ve always loved a good mystery.

Cracking open the door, you can’t help but smile as the figure before you has their back turned to you. At the sound of your quiet giggle, they turn around, eyes a little wide.

A nervous smile in place, Namjoon leans forward ever so slightly. Almost as though he’s being pulled in by your personal gravity. “Morning,” he says almost as an afterthought, his voice low.

“Good morning,” you respond, throwing the door open the rest of the way. “So you’re lucky number three?”

“Well, you know what they say.”

You busy yourself with grabbing your bag and double checking that you have everything. “What do they say?”

Namjoon shrugs, his nervous smile growing until it’s bordering on giddiness. “Third time’s a charm.”

Indeed.

Once you’ve ascertained that you have everything you’ll need (you made sure to replenish your mint stash earlier this week), you’re stepping out into the slightly brisk air and locking the door behind you.

The sound of keys jingling near your ear has you turning to face Namjoon, who wears an oversized, dark plaid shirt that’s open to reveal his black t-shirt beneath it. The picture of casual coolness, paired with his dark wash jeans and sneakers, the look is complete with the way his dimples poke out as he holds up the keys to your eye level.

“Guess who’s driving?” He teases in a sing-song voice, making you laugh as you swipe the keys from him. As the two of you descend the stairs toward the car, you tilt your head to the side.

“How did you get here?” Then, turning to him with wide eyes, “You didn’t drive yourself, right?”

He’s quick to shake his head, pointing out a car that’s turning around at the end of your street and slowly making its way back toward you two. “The guys dropped me off.”

The thought of Namjoon in a car with some of the boys and the rest trailing after them in a separate vehicle is endearing, while also hilarious. “All of them?”

“Yep,” he confirms. “Every last one of them.”

As the car draws nearer, you see the windows roll down and someone with familiar black, fluffy hair sticks their head out. Like a dog pile, another head hovers beside them.

Taehyung and Jimin.

Oh, and there’s Jungkook somehow managing to wiggle in between them.

“We apologize in advance, jagiya,” Jimin croons loudly with a teasing smirk. “At least try to enjoy yourself.”

You snort, clicking the button to unlock the car and laughing even harder when Hobi jumps at the sound of the horn. He sits in the passenger seat beside Jin, who drives. The two merely wave before mumbling something to each other that makes them laugh.

“Where’s Yoongi?” You ask, frowning as you do a head count and not finding him anywhere. In response, a pale hand coming from what must be the very back row of the car worms its way forward to the open window. You swear you can almost hear his disgruntled greeting, but it’s drowned out as Taehyung excitedly speaks up.

“Good luck trying to beat me, hyung,” he teases, shooting Namjoon a sweet smile that’s at odds with his teasing comment.

Namjoon just shrugs, utterly unphased as he follows you around the car and opens the drivers side with smooth precision. “Shouldn’t be too hard.”

This encourages a round of ooh-ing that only serves to make you laugh even as you tuck away the momentary competitive side of Namjoon. Calm, calculated, and - if you’re reading that steely look in his eyes correctly - utterly in the zone.

Oh, you’re definitely enjoying this way more than you should.

“Drive safe!” The boys shout out amidst jeering comments directed toward Namjoon and his lack of driving abilities. With a final wave, they’re speeding off down the street. Once they’ve disappeared from sight, you notice the way Namjoon’s shoulders relax. He hurries over to the passenger side, hopping in and buckling up before fiddling with his phone.

“So...where to?” You ask, buckled up and ready to go. You tap the steering wheel excitedly, already feeling hyped up from the short interaction with everyone.

You miss seeing them all together. There’s a reason why you’re friends with the entire group.

“I put the address into the car,” Namjoon explains. “It should give you directions as we go.”

Arching a brow at him, you don’t shift into drive just yet. “So I’m driving us there, but I don’t get to know what the end location is?”

Smiling softly, Namjoon nods. “Exactly. You’re so smart, have I ever told you that?”

Scowling, you press the green button that appears on the screen and a warm female voice instructs you to drive to the stop sign and turn left.

You hum, pondering the slightly sarcastic question. “I’m not sure. But that’s definitely a sign that you should tell me more often.”

“I’ll make note of that.”

With a glance at the screen, you see the estimated driving time. “We’re leaving Seoul?”

From your peripheral, you notice Namjoon’s worried expression. “Is that alright? We can find something to do around here, it’s just-”

“No,” you rush to reassure him. “I was just surprised, that’s all.” It won’t be a particularly long drive, just over an hour, but you certainly weren’t expecting that.

Something tells you that there are plenty more surprises waiting for you today.

It doesn’t take long before the two of you slip into an easy conversation, Namjoon relating his latest experiences in his efforts to add something eye-catching to his studio.

“Like what?” You ask. “I love your studio the way it is.”

Namjoon looks over at you, smiling softly. “Really? I don’t know...I just feel like something’s missing.”

“Well, we’ll keep an eye out for something today,” you promise, relaxing now that you’re on the freeway and in the flow of traffic. “Like, do you want something to hang up? Or something to go on your desk?”

He shrugs, taking a moment to roll his window down and close his eyes as it runs through his hair. “I already have a bunch of stuff on the wall, and if I put anything on my desk-”

“Right, you’ll spill on it.”

“Exactly.” You keep your eyes on the road, entirely missing the fond look he gives you.

“So basically, you don’t need anything.”

He huffs a sigh, rolling the window back up and sinking down into the seat. “No, I do, I just don’t know what.”

“Mmm.”

“Hey,” Namjoon cuts, giving you a dramatic glare. “Don’t mock me.”

Feigning innocence, you peek over at him. “I’m not!”

“Yah, just drive.”

“I am!”

Despite the bickering, you can’t fight the smile edging its way onto your features. A glance over at Namjoon shows that he’s having the same issue, his face turned away from you but failing to hide the silly grin he’s attempting to hide as his fingers curl at his lips. It’s a habit he’s had for as long as you’ve known him, one that often makes its way into many photos.

“Prepare to take exit 14,” the voice instructs, and you make your way over to the far lane, eyeing the looming sign that will announce what exit it’s for. Once the sign comes into view, you give Namjoon a puzzled look.

“We’re going to Anyang?”

It’s not that you have anything against the city, it’s just that...well, what is there in Anyang that isn’t in Seoul?

“See? Super intelligent.” It’s the only response you get from Namjoon, but it has you rolling your eyes in an effort to counter the butterflies that erupt in your stomach at the way he’s looking at you.

In a couple of minutes you’re turning onto a relatively quiet street, only a few random people mulling about, enjoying their weekend. Namjoon points out an entrance to a parking lot that you would have completely missed due to its hidden nature. Once you’re parked and dwarfed between the buildings surrounding the little lot, you jump out of the car and make a show of stretching your legs.

Namjoon mimics you, a loud yet satisfying yawn coming from him. “Hey, are you hungry now or are you good to wait a little while?”

You pause, internally wondering. “I think I’m good for a while.”

“Great.” Rubbing his hands together, he comes to stand beside you. “Let’s go, then.”

You fall into step beside him. “Woah, you still haven’t told me where- oh.”

The two of you have rounded a corner and now stand in front of a nondescript building. Its sage green paint is chipping a bit, giving it a rustic feel that is only accentuated by the gold lettering above the door.

Wanderers & Travelers

However, it’s not the homey feel or the tasteful name that has you stopping in your tracks. It’s what you see inside, through the large windows.

Without a single word, you step forward as though in a daze. The little bell above the door chimes as you walk in, announcing your arrival. And, as though the entire thing couldn’t get better, the scent hits you.

The smell of old and new books, some leather bound and some hard backed, dives into your senses and leaves you whirling.

The walls in here are painted some shade of sky blue, complementing the deep wood shelves. It’s quiet in here, the only sound being that of shuffling feet.

If you blink, you’re afraid it might all vanish.

“Oh! You’re here!”

Turning to your left, you see a woman with flecks of white in her hair, smiling warmly at you and Namjoon. If you’re being completely, honest, you’d nearly forgotten that Namjoon was there.

The woman descends the final few steps of the creaky staircase, keeping a friendly distance as she nods at the two of you. “You were right,” she remarks to Namjoon. Then, to you with a teasing smirk, “You look like you’ve never seen a bookstore before.”

You sputter for the right words. “I- yeah, but this-”

“Is no ordinary bookstore,” Namjoon finishes for you, a hand at your elbow. You can’t help but lean into his touch, momentarily forgetting the rows and rows of shelves just a few steps away as Namjoon involuntarily steps a little closer.

“Ah, right. Well, first thing’s first: I’m Choi Min-jee. And this is my bookstore,” she gestures to the endless rows of bookshelves, and you wonder for a moment how all of these can fit in the building. It looks so much smaller from the outside.

Min-jee motions for you to follow her, and she leads the two of you to the nearest bookshelf. “These books range in languages and age, you never know what you might find. This shop has been in my family for five generations now - we’ve collected our fair share of books and other antique items.” With a little wink, she steps back. “Take your time, and let me know if you have any questions. Oh, and the upstairs is open now.”

Namjoon perks up at this, looking over from where he’d pulled a book off the shelf. “Really? We’ll have to look up there!”

“Please do! I’m off to practice piano.” With that, she whisks away, leaving you to your own devices.

You stare after her in awe, mouth slightly ajar. It makes Namjoon chuckle quietly, he must know the feeling.

“I wanna be her when I grow up,” you whisper, earning a louder chuckle from the man.

“Same.” Namjoon heads deeper into the shelves, and you follow after him. He glances back at you over his shoulder. “This is my favorite place.”

“I take it you’re a regular?” You ask, eyes catching on a bright blue book with frayed binding. Pausing, you ease it from its spot. “Hm… ‘The Cottage by the Sea’.” You run my hand over the shiny inlay, a seashell glinting up at you. “Why do I feel like I just entered the world of ‘Little Women’?”

Namjoon snorts, wandering back over to you and gazing down at the book. He grabs the one that occupied the spot next to it on the shelf, the deep red absorbing in all the surrounding light. “You’re definitely Jo.”

“Really?” You ask, gently flipping through the first few pages and trying to find a publish date. “I always thought that I was more of an Amy.”

Namjoon looks appalled, tearing his eyes away from his book. “What? No. In what world are you Amy?”

“Hey! Don’t act like she’s a bad person,” You whine, bringing the book close to your chest. “She was just...trying to survive.”

Huffing loudly and obnoxiously, Namjoon heads over to the other aisle, peeking at you through the gaps in the shelf. “She got everything she ever wanted, without hardly having to ask for it. Are you telling me that you have everything you ever wanted?”

There’s a skylight above you, allowing the lazy afternoon sun to filter in and play with the lighter tones in Namjoon’s hair. He looks at you with his ferociously focused gaze, something that you had never squirmed under before but now find your cheeks burning as he doesn’t look away.

You sigh contentedly. “More or less. Look at me, I’m surrounded by books.”

Namjoon gets closer to the shelves, leaning down to be eye-level with you through the shelves. “So what’s missing?”

“Hmm?” You hum, getting a little lost as music starts up somewhere. You realize with a start that this must be what Min-jee meant by practicing piano, as the soft sound comes from somewhere hidden.

There’s a little smile on Namjoon’s face, just enough for a dimple to appear. “You said more or less. What are you missing still?”

Edging a little closer and nearly closing your eyes at the smell of leather, you’re tempted to reach through the shelf and poke at the little indent in his cheek. “Just your glasses, I think. I love it when you wear your glasses.”

The statement takes him by surprise, Namjoon’s dragon-like gaze dropping and a flush taking over his features before he steps back. “Hmph.” With that, he continues down the aisle, the red book still in his hands and the blue in yours. “I still think you would be Jo, though.”

“Why?”

The two of you match footsteps, languidly walking along the seemingly endless rows. You catch glimpses of him through the books, a soft dimpled smile on his face as he looks down at his feet. It’s enough to make your coy smile grow, and you clutch the book tighter to your chest.

Finally, Namjoon comes to a stop as another book catches his eye. You take the opportunity to round the corner and enter the aisle he stands in, feet carrying you closer to him. Just as you’re about to reach his side, he speaks.

“Jo is...well, for one, she’s a dreamer. And we both know you’ve got a lot of dreams in that head of yours.” He taps your forehead for emphasis, side-smile growing when you scowl. “But she’s a realistic dreamer. You’ve given up a lot for your dreams, but I believe that you’d leave it all behind if someone you loved was in need of you.”

You blink, unprepared for the genuine compliment.

“And,” Namjoon says breathily, sliding the book back into its place and turning on his heel to walk away. “You two share a tendency to be oblivious to others feelings for you.”

He keeps walking, leaving you to become a sputtering mess before launching yourself after him. “I- we what?!” You all but screech, wincing as you sound twice as loud in the empty shop. “I am not oblivious-”

With a triumphant smirk, Namjoon heads down a little slope that leads toward a sitting area. “Be honest with yourself. You wouldn’t have had any idea about the pact or anything if Jungkook hadn’t spilled it.”

“But that’s not my fault!” You defend, glaring defiantly at his back. “You guys had that under lock and key!”

Diving into another row, Namjoon looks contemplative. “Ok, that may be true. But tell me the truth: did you ever once suspect that...I don’t know, there might be something more going on? Even just once?”

You stand out in the main walkway still, frozen by his question. “Er…” Pausing to think, you squint down at the book still in your hands.

Of course there were moments that had your heart pumping a little faster and a blush rising to your cheeks. Movie nights always meant some form of cuddling, but you quickly just assumed that it was all part of the friendship. Good morning texts that made you sink back into your pillows with a lazy smile, or the little facts that one of the boys would remember about you always made you stop and wonder.

But you never actually entertained the idea. It all seemed too…

“Unrealistic,” you mumble aloud. When Namjoon looks at you quizzically, you walk down a few rows until something catches your eye. You delight in the fact that now he’s following you. “I guess I had little moments where I wondered, but it just seemed like wishful thinking.”

Stopping near the end of the row and looking up at the top shelf, you wiggle on your tip-toes trying to grab a book. Your fingers barely graze the spine of the book before a warm presence overshadows you and Namjoon’s fingers ghost over your own before tugging the brown book from its spot. Still pressed against your back, his light breathing makes the hair on the back of your neck tingle as he lowers the book into your waiting hands.

“Moments like this?” He whispers, hands coming to rest just above your hips.

Suddenly, you recall a moment from months before, when you’d been in a similar situation. The boys had invited you over for some breakfast on one of their rare morning’s off. You’d wanted some cereal, only to find the bowls on the very top shelf. Namjoon had come to your rescue, pulling the exact same move before awkwardly pausing and looking as though he’d wanted to say something. He hadn’t, and instead rushed out of the kitchen before you could even utter a ‘thank you’.

Turning around in his grasp, you can see that he wears a similar expression as before. This time, however, he looks determined to say whatever comes to mind.

With a quiet voice you whisper, “Who in their right mind puts bowls on the top shelf?”

Namjoon’s grip on your hips tightens as he throws his head back and laughs, the kind of laugh that sinks right into your bones. All you can do is watch him, feeling like it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him. Perhaps it’s the first time you’ve ever allowed yourself to look freely.

“Ah, so you did notice,” he whispers back. “You acted like nothing happened, so I figured I was in the clear.”

With a roll of your eyes, you’re stepping out of his grasp and taking a look down at the new book in your hand. “With you, Mr. Kim, we’re never in the clear.”

He lets out a low hiss, but lets you walk away. Not like you realize he’s not following you anymore, you’re idly wandering around while thumbing through the mystery novel. It looks like it might be an original copy from one of your favorite authors. One that passed away in the 1950’s, but still stands out among the countless authors that have come after them.

You’ve made it down to the small sitting area, where a large fireplace is crackling.

“Huh,” you smile. As if this place couldn’t get any better. Plopping down on the couch, you let out a sigh at how the cushions sink and welcome you into their warm embrace. Setting the blue book off to the side, you open up the brown one and begin to read.

You’ve nearly completed the first chapter - knees tucked to your chest as you lean against the arm of the couch - when you hear footsteps approaching.

Expecting it to be Namjoon, you glance over your shoulder with a smile. It’s Min-jee, who returns the smile with a knowing look. You listen closely and realize that her piano practice must be over. Classical music plays over the speakers in the shop instead.

“Namjoon’s gone upstairs,” she explains, coming to adjust something in the fireplace. “He said something about finding an item for his studio.”

You close the book softly, stretching before sitting up straight. “What’s upstairs? More books?”

“No, we’ve expanded our antique selection, there’s an assortment of desks and chairs up there, among other things.”

Making an ‘o’ with your mouth, you get up. “This place is amazing, by the way.” You hold up the brown book with an excited expression. “I found this - I think it’s an original! How much is it?”

Min-jee makes her way over to you, smiling softly as she recognizes the book. “You’re a fan of this author too, huh? My grandad used to read these to me back before I had to start running the shop.” She offers you a fond look. “Oh, and Namjoon told me to put whatever you like on his tab. So don’t worry about it. Take the book.”

She must notice your shock, because she places a comforting hand on your shoulder and squeezes it gently. “He also told me that you might be hesitant to get anything because of that. But honestly, get it. And ‘The Cottage by the Sea’. That’s one of my favorites, actually.” Min-jee nods at the blue book with its golden seashell.

“Ah, he knows me too well,” you sigh. “This might be silly to ask, but...do you think it’s alright? You know, to just get them?”

Min-jee, to your eternal gratitude, doesn’t laugh at your question. Instead, she sees right through you, to the worry in your heart.  The last thing you want is to take advantage of any of the boys. “It would make him happy,” she responds, watching your reaction carefully. You immediately let out a sigh of relief, nodding and picking up the books.

“Alright,” you concede. “I’ll get them, then.”

“Great! I’ll take them up front and hold them for you, if you’d like.”

“That’s perfect.”

While she whisks away your books, you follow after her until you reach the staircase. She nods encouragingly, and you head up.

Clearing the stairs, it doesn’t take long to locate Namjoon. He’s standing in front of a large wardrobe, inspecting every inch of it. The sight makes you smile, enjoying the way he’s chewing on the inside of the cheek.

“Don’t tell me that’s what you’re getting for the studio,” you drawl, making your way toward him. He looks back at you, a wide smile interrupting his cheek chewing.

“I mean...no, but look at it!” He exclaims. “It’s beautiful, isn't it? Honestly, if I moved some things around, I could probably make it fit.”

You reach the wardrobe, marveling at the expert craftsmanship. “It’s gorgeous. But what would you even put in it? It’s not like you take all of your coats to the studio. And you want your trophies to be visible, don’t you?”

This thing must weigh a ton, the wood is thick and the hinges smooth. “Hmm...no, but I can think of something else I could hide away in here.” The way Namjoon glances over at you with a sly grin makes you stumble back, red rushing to your cheeks as you suddenly become preoccupied with a very old typewriter.

“What would that be?” You venture, running your fingers over the keyboard. You’re waiting for his answer, which you’re sure will be a single word - you. However, just as he’s opening his mouth and looking like he’s garnering the courage to say it, the creaky staircase announces someone’s arrival.

At first you think nothing of it, but Min-jee’s voice is loud. Loud enough that you know she’s trying to be heard.

“I told you, we don’t sell anything BTS related in this store.” She says, and you and Namjoon share a puzzled look.

A couple of voices respond, but one in particular stands out as she raises her voice. “I swear, I saw Kim Namjoon walking around in here just a few minutes ago!”

Their footsteps are growing closer, and you suddenly realize that this is Min-jee’s way of warning you two.

Rushing over to Namjoon’s side, you look around frantically. “Is there another way out?” You whisper. Clearly the staircase is blocked at the moment. When he shakes his head, you’re about ready to suggest causing a distraction but he suddenly gasps.

Quickly and quietly, he’s swinging open the wardrobe and nudging you inside, quickly following. You raise your eyebrows, mouth opening to ask him just how this is going to help anything, but he allows the door to swing shut and presses a hand against your mouth.

Back pressed against the back of the wardrobe and Namjoon looming over you, the two of you hardly dare to breathe as you strain to listen to what’s going on outside.

“I’m pretty sure I would know if he was in my shop,” Min-jee is saying, sounding much closer now. “And right now the upstairs is off-limits, so please-”

“Look, I know I must sound crazy, but I’m absolutely positive that I saw him in here. I was just outside and he went up the stairs! And now you expect me to believe what you’re saying?”

You keep your eyes trained on the thin opening where light is streaming in, trying to see what’s going on. Namjoon, however, shuffles a little closer, hand slipping from your mouth and staring down at you. He braces his hands on either side of your head, needing to bend over a little bit due to the small space.

“For the last time,” Min-jee defends, “the upstairs portion of this shop is closed. As you can tell, nobody is up here besides us. If you wish to continue this conversation, I would simply ask that we do it downstairs.”

You bite your lip, looking up at Namjoon and about to whisper something about how Min-jee deserves a raise. The words die on your tongue, however, when you finally catch sight of him.

Namjoon is slouching a bit, and you realize that his hands are on either side of your head. His hair is slightly mussed, from what you’re unsure. However, that’s not what has your breath catching in your throat.

He’s looking down at you in a way that suddenly makes you aware of just how small the wardrobe is, and has you mentally cursing yourself for coming up here in the first place. Namjoon is looking at you, looking at you in a way that you immediately recognize.

Like it’s the first time he’s allowed himself to.

You watch the way his eyes follow the way your throat constricts as you swallow, the way they trace the slope of your nose and the dip above your lip.

The voices fade away as Namjoon’s fingers feather through your hair, light enough to make your heart melt. He does so slowly, eyes reading your own in order to see if he’s somehow crossed a line that he shouldn’t have.

You, however, are sick of all these dumb lines and boundaries that have been set. Somehow, Namjoon must see that, because he’s opening his mouth and whispering out what he’s been thinking this entire time.

“You,” he mumbles as he watches the strand of hair he tucks behind your ear. Almost as though to verify that this is real, that it’s actually happening. “I’d tuck you away in here, and nobody would find us.”

Breathing has become impossible at this point.

“No prying eyes, no invisible lines to make sure I don’t cross,” he’s tracing the line of your jaw now, and you don’t miss the slight tremor in his hand. “Would you like that as much as I would?”

His eyes land on yours, eyebrows coming together as he awaits your answer. You would smile if you could, but you find that you’ve turned to putty at his touch. Instead, you slowly nod before breathing out, “Yes.”

That’s when you realize that Namjoon is just as tired of rules as you are. Namjoon, the dedicated leader that always makes sure everything is in order. Namjoon, who constantly forgets things like his phone and wallet, but never forgets to say please and thank you.

Namjoon, who leans impossibly closer until you’re closing your eyes for fear of going cross-eyed. His breath fans across your nose, acting as your only warning before his lips find yours.

Light as a feather against your mouth, Namjoon kisses you.

As you sigh against his lips, you suddenly understand why kissing was prohibited. Because right now, all that you can think of - every breath, every heartbeat - it’s all saying the same thing.

Namjoon.

Just as your hands find their way to his chest and bunching up the fabric, he’s jumping back with a gasp and stumbling through the door of the wardrobe. You see his wide eyes, but you’re too busy standing there completely frozen and praying that nobody is up here still.

He looks around frantically, but looks at you with utter horror as the same voice as before pipes up from downstairs.

“See! I’m telling you that someone is up there-”

“Oh! Did you see that? I think I just saw him taking the emergency exit!” Min-jee retorts, and you can picture her frantically pointing out the window in an effort to distract the girls. “Hurry! He looked like he was running!”

The bell above the door chimes, excited voices fading as the group exits the shop. However, their timely exit does little to soothe the raging heartbeat pounding against your ribs.

“I- I’m not supposed to do that,” Namjoon reminds himself aloud. “Please, I’m so sorry-”

“They’re gone!” Min-jee calls out, poking her head up as she ascends the stairs. She spots you still standing in the wardrobe. “Oh, so that’s where you were hiding. Anyway, I’ve locked up the front, so we shouldn’t be having any more trouble with that.”

You can only offer her a weak smile, Namjoon still staring at you with that horrible, guilt-ridden expression, which you’re dying to erase.

“Thank you,” you say when Min-jee begins to notice the odd silence. “We’ll be down in a second, I think.”

Namjoon nods along, finally looking away to check the time. “Actually, we’ve got a reservation,” your stomach flips at the thought of sitting through an entire meal with his guilty apologies, “is there a way we can sneak out of here without being seen?”

Min-jee blinks, looking between the two of you but not saying anything. “Ok...um, yeah. The back alleyway should be clear, it’ll lead to the parking lot.”

Finally stepping out of the wardrobe, you look back at it with a glare.

“So much for Narnia,” you mumble, closing the door.

ˆˆˆˆ

Min-jee quickly places your books in a bag - Namjoon ends up getting the red one as well - and offers it to you with a smile. Automatically you reach out for it, but so does Namjoon. The second your hands meet you can���t help but jump, and the bag falls to the floor.

“Oh no,” you whimper out, feeling sorry for the old books. Before you can lean down to get them, Namjoon’s swooping them up and keeping a firm grip on the bag. He mumbles out a soft, “sorry” before following Min-jee toward the back exit.

The two of you thank her profusely for the day, and you promise that you’ll return soon. There’s no way you can leave a place like that alone for very long. Namjoon smiles for a moment, looking pleased that he picked a good place. However, once he catches your eye, he’s back to chewing on the inside of his cheek.

Slyly sneaking down down the alleyway, it’s quiet between the two of you. No matter how hard you pinch yourself, your thoughts keep zoning in on the way Namjoon’s lips felt on yours...the way he looked at you just before he leaned in...how perfect everything had been until he’d come to his senses-

You’ve made it to the car, and you click the unlock button, jumping back as it honks. Man, you’ve got to get out of your head.

Namjoon hurries to set the bag in the backseat before rushing to the driver’s side, opening the door up for you with significantly less flourish than before.

Knowing Namjoon, it’s eating him up alive. And there’s no way you’re about to let a kiss - something to celebrate, in your opinion - ruin the rest of this date.

Especially when it may very well be the only one you get.

“Namjoon,” you say, walking slowly toward him. His eyes jump up to yours, and you can already see that he’s hard at work trying to pretend like everything is fine.

“We’re going to be about an hour early for our reservation,” Namjoon admits, running a hand through his hair and immediately trying to fix it after. “I’m sorry for rushing you out of there, I wasn’t thinking straight. You can go back in, if you want. I’ll wait out here until you’re ready-”

“Namjoon.” He quits his rambling, red cheeks somehow turning redder as you stop before him. “I wanted you to kiss me.”

At this, he lets the door fall shut. “You...did?”

Wanting nothing more than to dispel the awkward tension, you laugh. “Of course I did! I’d be an idiot if I didn’t! So please...it’s nobody’s fault. So what, you broke a stupid rule-”

“And I’ve hurt the guys in the process of breaking that rule,” Namjoon explains, looking at you with clear, pained eyes. “Don’t get me wrong, this isn’t me regretting kissing you because- w-well, that’s not the point!” Leaning back against the car, you follow suit just as a large stormcloud blocks out the sun. It’s going to rain soon.

“Namjoon, you’ve all found ways to skirt around the rules in some way,” you confess, remember Hobi’s sweet hand kiss and Taehyung’s forehead kiss. “Sure, you actually broke the rule, but nobody is going to hate you for it. Nobody. Least of all me.”

He leans his head back, closing his eyes as he lets out a long breath. “It’s just, we all agreed to give you enough space to make a clear decision if you felt like you wanted to make one at the end of all this,” he confesses, not seeing the way your eyes widen. Oh. “And I’ve completely screwed that up.”

Sighing, you squint as a fat raindrop lands on your nose. “Well, we’re on a date, aren’t we? People sometimes kiss- I mean, honestly, we could have done a lot worse-” Namjoon chokes on his spit at that. “But if you need something to blame, please don’t blame yourself. Because I love this date, and as far as I can tell, the kiss only made it better.”

He peeks one eye open at you. “Really?”

“Really.” You shrug. “And see? I really am Amy! I always get what I want!” You don’t add the fact that that wasn’t quite true with Hoseok or Taehyung. “If anything, blame the wardrobe. Wardrobes are wacky, anyways.”

Namjoon snorts, rolling his eyes. “Blame the wardrobe? Really?”

“Yeah! Sometimes they transport you to Narnia, sometimes they mess with your common sense,” you give him a pointed look, which he avoids. “So if the boys get all upset about it, just tell them it was the wardrobe. I’ll back you up on it.”

Finally, Namjoon laughs. Like, the annoying little hyena laugh that he hates but you secretly love. And when he looks back down at you and opens up the door, he doesn’t look so upset about it.

“Be honest, would you have rather gone to Narnia or been stuck in there with me?”

You feign annoyance. “Ugh, just get in the car.”

From the way your stomachs were rumbling and the rain was pouring, the two of you decided to bag the reservation. It was for some posh outdoor restaurant in Seoul that Namjoon pretended to be excited about.

Which is exactly how you ended up going through the McDonald’s drive thru and bringing it back to your place.

“Aren’t you on a diet or something?” You ask around your fries, eyes not leaving the television screen. The two of you had decided on Gone With the Wind, completely forgetting just how long it was.

Namjoon makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, taking a swig of his drink. “Yeah, something like that. Today’s my cheat day, though.”

“Aw, you decided to spend your cheat day with me?” You tease. Namjoon rolls his eyes, finally deciding that maybe you really are Amy from Little Women. However, he can’t fight the feeling that he’s the Laurie to your Jo.

Not that he’ll be telling you that anytime soon. He’s certainly done enough today.

“More like our date happened to fall on my cheat day,” he bites back. “And I heard that they have really good cheesecake at that restaurant we bailed on.”

You hesitate before taking another bite of your food. “Should we have gone? They probably would’ve given us our food to go if we didn’t want to sit under the umbrellas. I feel bad, you made reservations and everything.”

Namjoon shrugs. “No, this is way better.” He holds up his McFlurry for emphasis. “They even had the cheesecake McFlurry back in season! Coincidence?”

“I think not!”

You both chuckle before falling back into the companionable silence you’d been in before. Over the course of the drive back to Seoul, you’d taken your time, stopping at a handful of little parks along the way. Namjoon had imitated the ducks before realizing how silly he looked, then hiding behind his hands for a solid five minutes before he could look you in the eyes again. Overall, it had been calm and relaxing.

As you watch Scarlett O’Hara flirting it up with different suitors on the screen, you can’t help but wonder if that’s you.

Sure, Gina told you back at the haunted house to just enjoy it. Chances are it was all just a phase, anyways. There was all of this romantic tension between you and the boys that would naturally fade away as their curiosity diminished after their dates.

At least, that’s what you assumed. However you’re quickly coming to realize that you’re a little out of depth here.

“You alright over there?” Namjoon asks, pulling you from your thoughts. “You have your thinking face on.”

You blink. “I have a thinking face?”

“Of course,” Namjoon replies as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You gonna tell me what’s got you so stressed?”

“No,” you say a little too quickly. “I’m just...thinking about the movie.” Not entirely a lie.

You know he won’t push it if you don’t want to talk about it, but you take a little bit of enjoyment in the way his lip pouts out. “Alright, if you say so.”

Only a few more minutes pass before he speaks up again, sounding a little hesitant. “You know that this is a long movie…”

“Oh, should we end it here?” You ask, a little disappointed because you were just getting to one of your favorite parts. “You don’t need to feel like you have to stay-”

“No, not that. I’m gonna finish the movie. It’s just,” he wipes his fingers off on a spare napkin before scooting a little closer to you. “Long movies call for cuddling, don’t you think?”

You nearly choke on your saliva. “You- you, as in Kim Namjoon, want to cuddle? You’re into cuddling?”

He laughs, tugging on your arm until you give in and collapse against his side. You hope that your content sigh isn’t too noticeable when he drapes an arm around your shoulder. “It just depends sometimes. But yes, I am. At the appropriate times.”

“Ah, and long movies-”

“Are the epitome of the appropriate time,” he explains, lightly pinching your arm when you let out a wry laugh.

“Hey!” You cry out, only to be shushed by him.

“Shhh, I’m trying to watch this.”

You just can’t find it in you to be annoyed.

You’re asleep before the film is over, despite the fact that the sun barely went down. Something about having a full stomach and leaning your head on Namjoon’s shoulder just lulled you right to sleep.

You stir a little when Namjoon fidgets, pulling his phone out to call someone. His voice is deep and quiet, trying not to wake you.

“Hey, can you pick me up now?”

Despite your half-asleep state, you crack a smile. It’s quiet, but you can hear a familiar voice on the other side of the phone.

“Yeah, I’m close to there right now. Be there in a couple minutes. You’re at her apartment, right?”

“Thanks. Yeah, she’s conked out on the couch.”

There’s a laugh ringing through the phone. “Cute. Make sure she rests up, she’ll need it for our date next week.”

Namjoon sighs, not quite annoyed but not exactly pleased, either. “Yah, just hurry over.” He pauses for a moment. “Do you think I should wake her up to say goodbye?”

“Your call. But I mean, it’s not like you’re gonna give her a kiss goodbye. If she’s that tired, I’d just let her sleep.”

Your cheeks involuntarily turn red, and you can only imagine the way Namjoon looks right now. It’s his silence that gives him away.

“Hyung...what-”

“Text me when you get here,” Namjoon says, and suddenly the call ends.

Oh, he’s in for it tonight.

Stretching and trying to look like you totally weren’t just eavesdropping, you crack open your eyes to see Namjoon looking down at you with an amused expression.

“I would tell you that you missed the ending, but something tells me you’ve seen it before,” he drawls.

You chuckle breathily, yawning as you stretch your arms over your head. “Yeah, a couple of times.”

“I’m about to head out,” Namjoon begins, back to chewing on the inside of his cheek. “But thank you for going out with me. I seriously...it was just the best.” He smiles softly, and you wish you could have a picture of it.

Instead, you opt for nuzzling back into his side. “Aren’t I supposed to be the one thanking you? It was great, Namjoon-ah. I’ll have to read that book you got some time.”

He hums, returning the sentiment. “Yeah, we’ll do a book swap.” His phone lights up, but before you can see who it’s from, he’s snatching it up and jumping up from the couch. “They’re here.”

It’s tempting to not resort to begging him to stay a little longer - if only for the sake of his warmth which is quickly fading as he retreats to the door. However, you only pad after him, stopping him before he reaches the door.

“Thank you,” you whisper against his chest. “Tell everyone I say hello.”

“I will.” And with a rush of cool air, he’s out the door.

Gone, leaving you to stare blankly and wonder what just happened today.

And worse yet, what’s yet to come.

main masterlist

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[snackhobi]

pairing: jungkook x (gender neutral) reader / word count: 20k / genre: fluff (author!reader, florist!jungkook)

summary: “You’re in love and you didn’t tell me?” Jimin sounds affronted. “Who is it? Are they cute? Where are you hiding them? I knew you were lying about those flowers, you lying liar.” or: the story of how you meet a pretty florist with soft hands and warm eyes, how he mends your broken heart, and how he helps you realise some other things along the way.

warnings: use of a few curse words, reader is self-deprecating and suffering from heartache towards the beginning (v mildly angsty ig? but dw it passes), but otherwise this is a Very Soft fic!

--

“It’s time to get up.”

“It absolutely is not.” Your voice is muffled under a layer of pillows and blankets, material pressing down on your body and head, covering you. A protective cocoon. “I’ve become one with my duvet and we shall never be parted.”

You yelp when the blanket is ruthlessly ripped from you. Your curtains have been thrown open and you can feel how the sun is streaming in through your windows, warming your skin, even if you can’t see it; there’s a particularly fluffy pillow smothering your face right now to keep the world outside at bay.

“This has to be against the Geneva convention,” you whine as your collection of pillows is similarly stripped from the bed, leaving you entirely bereft from their comfort and protection. You curl into a tight ball around your Pusheen cushion and try to protect her from Jimin’s grasping fingers— your final bastion of defence against him. “No! Not Pusheen! Please! Take me instead!”

Jimin rolls his eyes before stealing Pusheen right from your arms, ignoring your dramatic sob as she’s pulled from your desperate hands. He tucks the plush grey cat under his arm before fixing you with a stern gaze. “I said it’s time to get up,” he repeats, ignoring the chaos of pillows and blankets and toys now littered around him. “You know the drill, Y/n.”

You suck in a deep breath, filling your lungs with air before letting out a long, weary sigh. All your theatrics disappear with your escaping breath, strength seeping out of you. “A week of wallowing,” you say in a small voice, eyes squeezing shut. “I know.”

You don’t have to look up at Jimin to know what expression is on his face right now. You feel the mattress dip and then soft fingers are gently stroking the hair out of your face. “A week and then we get up.” His voice is soft as he repeats the mantra.

Your cheek drags across the cotton of your sheets as you open your eyes and turn your head into the hand that Jimin’s still drawing down your face. “You’ve always been better at getting back on your feet than me,” you say, and Jimin affectionately pats your cheek.

“You’re being melodramatic,” he says kindly. “You’ve seen me at my worst and you know that’s not true. I’m only good at getting back on my feet because I have you to lift me up, and I’m here for you too.”

“Can I have Pusheen back?” You sound hopeful as you pout at him, pushing your bottom lip out.

“You can have her back once you’ve showered and had breakfast,” Jimin says. 

Your limbs are leaden weights as you drag yourself out of bed. The cold water of your shower shocks some life back into them, and you’re almost back to your regular self once you pull yourself from the bathroom, thoroughly scrubbed and refreshed. Jimin greets you with a fruit smoothie bowl, the most wholesome meal you’ve had in the past week; it’s infinitely healthier than the ice cream and snacks and junk food you’ve been shovelling into your mouth.

“I didn’t realise I had half this stuff in the fridge.” You use your spoon to swirl the oats and fruit into the yoghurt, muddying the pretty rippled effect Jimin had created with it. “I’m guessing you brought it with you?”

Jimin is eating eagerly from his own bowl and swallows down a spoonful of banana and berries before he responds. “No, it was already in there, actually,” he says. 

“Oh, yeah.” Your free hand goes down to Pusheen, who’s safely in your lap, and you dig your fingers into her soft velvet skin. “Of course.”

Your face is twisted into a wince as you look down and continue to knead the cushion on your knees. Seokjin loves fresh produce, taking you to the farmer’s market for organic strawberries and blueberries and raspberries, lifting them up for you to breathe in their bright scent before laughing at how you go cross eyed at how close he brings them to your face. Your fridge must still be full of these reminders of him, food you’d bought for him, things he’d made for you.

“Well!” Jimin’s voice is loud and bright, cutting through your thoughts with all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop. “You better finish up— we’re going out soon and you’ll need all the energy for today!”

You’re immediately on guard, eyes narrowing at him. “Going out where?”

“Shopping, duh,” he says, raising his eyebrows at you. “You said you’d come with me and Namjoon to pick out stuff for our new apartment, remember?”

“Oh yeah.” It’s only been a week and it’s like you’ve forgotten that the world is still moving on around you, taking no notice of how your own world has been upheaved and irreparably fragmented. You know Jimin is being cheery and upbeat in an attempt to distract you from this, and it’s working, but it’s also highlighting exactly how much you’ve been wallowing. You normally never would have forgotten. “Alright, let me finish up and get my shit together and then we can go.”

Getting your shit together takes longer than it should. You have to wade through the piles of blankets on the floor to get to your wardrobe, and the desk in your office is in similar disarray, notes and stationery strewn across its surface from your week long stint of wallowing and writing about said wallowing. 

You’d never planned on the romance in a novel about magic in the modern world to be so depressing, but hey. They always say write what you know and all you know right now is heartbreak.

(“I’m sorry. I just… don’t feel the same.” Jaerim’s voice is soft and gentle, even now, even as he’s breaking Lily’s heart, so tender as it falls apart in his hands. “You’ll always be my best friend, Lily, but nothing more.”

Lily’s smile is pained. “I know,” she says, her own voice small and weak. “I know. I just couldn’t hold it in any longer. I— I had to tell you or I felt like it was going to burst out of me. I’m sorry.”

“I’ll always love you, Lily.” Jaerim sounds sorrowful. “But not the way you want.”

Why had she ever expected anything different?)

You’ve been feeding all of your sadness and heartbreak into your most recent heroine, using your latest novel as a way of catharsis, but the problem is that your stories always have happy endings. Right now Lily may be heartbroken after a failed confession, but at the end of the story she’s going to be happy. You, however, will still be sad and lonely once the book is finished and for all that you project your hopes and wishes onto your main characters, you know your own story will never go so smoothly— real life is never as neat as that.

You pause when you catch sight of one of the Polaroids scattered on your keyboard. Seokjin’s beautiful skin is washed out and there's a glint of red in his eyes from the bright flash of your camera; it's a terrible photo and the focus is all wrong, but he still looks radiant as he smiles at you, ever beautiful. 

The heroes you write are soft and kind and lovely; fierce and strong and admirable; talented and smart and impressive. You, however, are clownish and sarcastic and nonsensical. Just an absolute mess of rough edges and endlessly tangled thoughts. Unwanted. Undesirable. Unlovable.

(No wonder Jin— bright, brilliant, beautiful Jin— doesn’t love you back.)

You swallow and steel yourself before opening the top drawer of your desk to sweep all the littered bits and pieces of your life into it before slamming it shut, trying to ignore how metaphorically fitting it is, and then grab what you came here for in the first place: your camera. You loop the strap of the Polaroid around your neck so that you’re ready for the day ahead. 

You know that Jimin thinks you should just stick to using your phone, considering the piles of film you get through, but there’s something about the whole instant photo process that just works for you. Maybe it’s just a writer/artist thing. Maybe it’s just a you thing. Either way, you like to take your camera everywhere so that you can take photos of things that inspire you and incorporate them into scenes of your stories.

(You have so many photos of Seokjin, and he’s reflected in so many parts of your books— from the jokes that characters tell, to things they eat, to hobbies they have. You may not have ever been so transparent as to project him directly onto the love interests of your main characters before now, but he’s ever present in other ways. There's a part of him in every thing you’ve ever written, even before you fell for him.)

(Your love for him must have been obvious from the start, and yet he’d never mentioned it at all.)

(What made you think it would be a good idea to confess?)

“Y/n?”

You look up from where you’ve been staring at the same bowl for the past three minutes, the leaf pattern stamped into its edge blurring together into eyes that are staring back at you. “Huh? Yeah? What?”

Over Jimin’s shoulder you can see Namjoon trailing around the small store, staring at some pretty wall-hangings with appreciative eyes. For all that Jimin had claimed to be concerned about his boyfriend’s taste in decor, they’ve asked for very little input from you, so you’ve been left alone to zone out for most of the morning and afternoon. 

“I was saying Joonie has a suit fitting he needs to get to, so we were going to get that done before lunch,” Jimin says. “You’re welcome to come along as well if you want?”

“So I can watch someone ask your boyfriend which side his penis hangs down so they can tailor his slacks accordingly? I think I’m good.”

You sound almost like your usual self which is why you think Jimin lets this pass without comment— you’re very happy being independent but it’s true that you’re somewhat more delicate than usual so you understand Jimin’s worry.

“I’ll drop you a message when we’re done.” Jimin smiles at you. Behind him, Namjoon picks up a large ceramic crab, only to immediately drop it onto an incredibly fluffy shag carpet— which fortunately saves it from breaking. “It shouldn’t take too long.”

“Eh, take your time.” You keep hold of Jimin’s attention as Namjoon sheepishly attempts to pick up the crab, only to immediately drop it back onto the rug. “I haven’t been out for a while so I could do with a walk in the fresh air and sunshine. I’m sort of like a dog. Or a plant, I guess. Just with slightly more complex emotions.”

Namjoon has just put the crab back into place by the time Jimin turns around, though his hand lingers on it. “Baby, can we—?”

“You’ve already filled the quota when it comes to crab-themed decorations, Joonie,” Jimin interrupts.

When Namjoon looks at you with imploring eyes, you raise both your hands and step backwards. “Don’t involve me, I’m just an innocent bystander,” you say, before escaping so that Namjoon can (unsuccessfully) try to persuade Jimin to up the amount of sea-life themed decor allowed in their new home.

This part of the city isn’t one you get to often, but it’s really beautiful. You know Namjoon likes it around here, near the river, because there are a lot more offbeat and avant-garde shops than you’d find more centrally, a warren of curiosities and pretty places around each corner. You pass by shops selling antiques, fabric, jewellery; you pause to take photos of the eye-catching doorways into each of the shops, the mismatched bunting fluttering overhead, the utterly eclectic nature of it all. 

You pass by a tiny baking shop and pause in your tracks, peering into the window at a collection of rolling pins— the wood is embossed with different designs that get pressed into the pastry when it’s rolled out, all sorts of pretty patterns on display.

Jin would love these, you think, and then you tear your eyes away.

Stupid. 

You continue to wander through the maze of shops but now you’ve sunk into your own thoughts. Kim Seokjin. A close friend whom you’d been harbouring feelings for, for so long now; it had been getting so hard to try and keep that love at bay, to try and shove it down inside you, keep it hidden and safe. But it had been bleeding out of you at every turn, in the way you moved and spoke and wrote, every sharp edge of you softened by your tenderness for him, impossible to ignore.

And so you’d finally let go. You’d let it out into the world, spoken the words you’d been holding onto for so long— and for a moment, just a moment, you’d had hope. Jin is bright and kind and lovely to everyone, but surely what the two of you had was a little more, a little different; all those hours spent together, the friendship you’d built, the language you’d created with each other of jokes and references that other people didn't understand. You’d thought it was something more.

You’d thought that maybe you could get your storybook ending. That maybe, for once, rather than having to imagine a mutual love and pouring that quiet desire into your books, it could be real— that the cheesy, embarrassing daydreams you’d always kept to yourself and only expressed through your writing could finally come true. 

But no. Jin only loves you as a friend. You know he still considers you a friend, even now, for all that you’ve ruined things by opening your big dumb stupid idiot mouth; you’ve spent a week wallowing after his gentle rejection but you know he’ll still be waiting for you once you come back to yourself. 

You’re just not sure how long that’ll take.

You’re finally pulled out of your reverie when a burst of colour catches your eye. There’s a soft blue bicycle which has been adorned with flowers and trailing leaves, part of a display in the front of a store that’s brimming with blooms, buckets set up in a cascading rainbow of colours. The windows are similarly full of plants, all enjoying the sunshine of the afternoon. Your eyes trail across the flourishing bouquets and then up to the sign, lovely and pretty, in what seems to be a hand-painted cursive: Spring Day.

You have a single, tiny cactus in your office— the only thing you trust yourself to keep alive— but screw it. You’re itching to buy something for yourself and everything seems so pretty in here. You might just buy yourself a fuck-off huge arrangement of flowers, as a sort of metaphor for the death of the hope you’d held in your chest, that your love for Seokjin might be returned. 

That ship has sailed. You’ve cast it off from the shore and set it ablaze. You’re not sure they had bouquets at Viking burials, but it’s the 21st century now. You think you’re allowed to mix it up a bit.

A bell lets out a tiny, crystalline tinkle as you swing the door open, announcing your presence to anyone inside. The front counter is covered in plants, some larger, some smaller, with a few pots of flowers that you would be hard-pressed to name; there’s a glass bowl of water, too, that has unlit rose shaped candles floating in it. Cute.

You peer behind the large leaves of a ficus plant to see if there’s anyone behind the counter but it looks deserted. The only evidence that someone has been here is the book that’s open and resting face down on the wicker chair there— The Language of Flowers, okay, that makes sense, you guess. You take a sneaky photo of the set-up, something about it resonating in your chest; although there’s no one here right now their presence is still undeniable. It’s poetic, in a way. You love visual poetry.

You wave the photo about in the air to help it develop as you make your way towards the back of the shop. Spring Day seems surprisingly big, extending back farther than you had initially thought. It’s hard to gauge the actual size, with displays of flowers and plants everywhere and even hanging from the ceiling above. You meander through the store and pause to touch a hanging glass planter, which slowly spins and scatters light across you. It’s like every spare inch inside is covered, but somehow it doesn’t feel chaotic. It’s so pretty and peaceful here.

There’s clearly some sort of order to things even if you can’t tell what it is. Each display is labelled with the names of the plants and how to look after them, but just as you’re leaning forwards to read one, a noise catches your attention. You pause and tilt your head. Drifting closer to the source of the sound, you realise that it’s someone singing, a soft melody that you don’t recognise. You find that you step lightly, almost enraptured, not wanting to break the serenity of the moment with heavy footfall as you step into a greenhouse; you round the corner to find who’s singing and stop in your tracks. 

There’s a pretty doe-eyed boy bent over a selection of blooms that he’s watering, white and yellow and purple and pink flowers softly trembling at the touch of the drizzle that runs over them, and it almost seems like they’ve turned towards the lilting tones that slip from his lips. You watch as he draws the watering can in a sweeping arc, the motion causing his earrings to move, catching your attention when the sunlight cascading in through the glass of the greenhouse shines off the glinting silver; his hair hangs a little in his eyes, eyelashes fanned across his cheek as he keeps his attention cast downwards, smiling at the flowers on display near his feet.

His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and you can see the definition of his arms, the flex of his muscles under a tattoo as he moves the heavy watering can without effort— and yet he looks like he belongs here, surrounded by flowers and plants and sunlight, soft and neat in his loose shirt, narrow waist cinched in by the ties of his apron. He turns the watering can a little further and you can see that the tattoo looks like a lily, petals unfurled over the soft skin of his inner arm.

You love visual poetry. And this man is poetry in motion.

It seems like he’s finished watering the flowers because he straightens up with a smile, song finally coming to an end. “All done,” he says to them in a quiet voice, and then he finally looks up.

He immediately startles when he sees you, water sloshing audibly in the watering can in his hands. You jump too, surprised at his surprise, the two of you like startled rabbits when you spot each other. Skittering around and trying to recatch your balance.

“Sorry, sorry!” You lift your hands in apology, holding them in front of your face as you wince. “I didn’t want to interrupt, you seemed really focused!”

The florist is blushing. He looks absolutely mortified, a pink flush stealing across his cheeks and the tips of his ears, betraying his embarrassment. “I, uh. It’s fine!” He stammers. “I wasn’t busy. Um. Can I help you?”

Your hands fall back to your sides, your heart immediately going out to this poor boy, who looks like he wants the ground to swallow him up. “I was just looking around, actually, when I heard you singing,” you say. “I didn’t mean to be like— a sort of weird voyeur, I guess? Sorry. Your voice is lovely, by the way.”

The flush has crawled down his neck. “Um, thank you?” You get the feeling he’s only saying this because you’re a customer, and if this were any other circumstance, he would have turned tail and bolted by now. Unfortunately he’s trapped by the fact he works in a retail job and he can’t escape. He shuffles a little from foot to foot as he resolutely avoids your gaze.

You take pity on him. What can you ask to change the topic? Hm. “Can you give me some advice about plants, actually?”

This seems to be the right thing to say. He carefully sets the watering can down, fingers plucking at the ties of his apron as he readjusts them, but he seems a bit more comfortable now that you’ve moved away from complimenting him and onto work related talk. “Sure,” he says. “What would you like to know?”

“I was wondering what sort of plant would be good for someone who’s only good with cactuses. I mean cacti,” you correct yourself. “I’d like something different, but I’m worried about killing it if I forget to water it. You know, the bane of every novice gardener’s existence— their own forgetfulness and ignorance. Of which I have a lot. I am spectacularly ignorant.”

The florist blinks but then he gives you a little smile, finally glancing at you. His eyes are so lovely and deep, sunshine refracting from the greenhouse reflected in his eyes, points of brightness against that endless, warm brown. “I think everyone is guilty of under-watering plants,” he says, apparently unperturbed by how unsuitable you are to be a plant parent. “I think a peace lily might suit you. Would you like to come have a look and see if you’d like one?”

A peace lily. Lily. The name of your most recent novel’s heroine. How weirdly apt. “Sure, I’d love to see the lilies.”

As you follow him you notice that there’s still a little tinge of pink on the back of his neck, evidence of how he must feel embarrassed at being caught singing and talking to plants. You find it endearing, actually, but you’re not about to say this to a stranger, especially as he clearly wants this entire interaction over and done with as quickly as possible.

The peace lily turns out to be a pretty white flower, emerald green foliage curling out from the simple unglazed pot the florist hands over to you with an infinite amount of care. He holds it delicately— it looks so small in his careful hands— and makes sure you’re fully supporting its weight before he finally lets it go. Your fingers brush his as he does and you notice how he draws back immediately, shy.

“You don’t have to water her regularly, you can just touch the soil to see if it’s moist and give it a little top up if it’s not. Even if you forget, as long as you water her when she starts to droop a little she’ll be fine. Just make sure she gets a little sunlight and you wipe down her leaves once or twice a year so dust doesn’t stop her from getting enough light, and you’re good to go.” He’s smiling, but you notice he’s still looking away from you, resolutely staring at the plant in your hands instead. “Peace lilies are incredibly forgiving.”

“Oh, that’s good, I’ll probably be asking for a lot of forgiveness,” you say. “I can guarantee I’ll forget to water her so it’s good to know she can take it.”

When you refer to the plant as ‘her’ and ‘she’— just like the florist has been— it seems like he only just notices that he’s been doing that. He looks a little embarrassed, yet again. “She’ll be— I mean, it’ll be fine, I’m sure,” he says.

“I promise I’ll do my best to look after her.” You tighten your grip protectively around your newly adopted plant. “I’d take a bullet for her.”

The florist lets out a little laugh, revealing a slip of his white teeth before his mouth clicks shut. He looks almost surprised at the fact he’d let out a chuckle and tries to cover it up with a cough. “Hopefully you won’t have to.”

You watch as he draws a ribbon around the pot, looping it against the patterned, unglazed ceramic before tying it into a neat bow. His hands are sure and his motions are practiced, fingers deft as he finishes the knot and tucks a business card into the bag alongside your plant. You can’t help but watch him, magnetised— he’s absolutely fascinating. Cute and soft, but with an undeniable strength to him, underlying each of his movements, almost hidden under the clothes that envelop him.

“Is there anything else I could help you with today?”

He’s blinking at you with those large, pretty eyes. His mouth is still a little open and you can’t help but reminded of—

“What song were you singing earlier? It was so lovely, but I didn’t recognise it.” You want to find that song immediately and keep it close forever, listen to it on a loop, even if it won’t be the same if it’s not being sung in the dulcet tones of this pretty florist. It’s such a beautiful song, whatever it is.

His mouth snaps shut again and the blush returns full force. “Nothing,” he squeaks. “It’s nothing.”

You squint at him. “Is ‘Nothing’ the name of the song?”

“No! It’s. Um. I mean, it doesn’t have a name yet.” His voice is so high right now. You pause before you light up, eyes widening.

“Wait, are you saying it’s your own song? You wrote it? Oh, wow! That’s so cool,” you say. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry, I didn’t know. My bad. Totally understand wanting to keep your work private.” You quirk a smile at him. He doesn't know that you're a writer, one who publishes under a pseudonym for privacy; only your close friends know the truth. You totally get it. “Guess you probably want me to pay so I can get out of your hair now, huh?”

“N-no, it’s fine,” the florist stammers. He’s still so polite, even when he’s obviously flustered.

“Ah, you don’t have to be polite just because I’m a paying customer.” You wave your hand dismissively. Before taking off as an author you’d worked back-to-back retail jobs and it had sucked. “I’m being a pain, I know. How much do I owe you?”

He stays silent as you give him money and he hands over the change, dropping the coins into your outstretched hand. You give him one last smile before lifting your bag from the counter and turning to go, finally leaving this poor man in peace. He must be glad to see the back of you.

But then.

“Magic Shop.” His voice is quiet from behind you.

“Hm?” You pause and glance over your shoulder, confused. “Pardon?”

The handsome florist is looking down at the counter, wrapping an offcut of ribbon around one of his fingers, staring down at it as he does. “Magic Shop,” he repeats, a little louder. He tightens the loop of ribbon around his finger. “The song. I was thinking of calling it that.”

“Oh.” You continue to look at him for a few moments longer before a wide smile crosses over your face. “That’s a really beautiful name for a really beautiful song.”

He glances up from where he’s been staring at the end of his finger flush deep red, almost purple; the ribbon goes lax in his loosening hold and blood rushes back into his fingertip. “Thank you,” he says, bashful as he smiles back at you. “I’m glad you liked it.” 

--

The peace lily takes pride of place on your desk once you’ve cleared it of the crap you’ve let pile up over the past week. She watches as you bend over your keyboard and mutter to yourself, pruning back a lot of the raw hopelessness of your most recently written passages before starting a new chapter.

Lily’s escaped to the neighbouring city to get away from Jaerim and her broken heart. She gets lost as she’s wandering through this new, mysterious place, trapped in a maze of alleyways before she stumbles across a mysterious building with roses climbing up the trellis by the door. The front garden is full of flowers and tended by the prettiest woman she’s ever seen, eyes wide and dark as she startles at Lily’s sudden appearance over the small stone wall. Lily might not know it now but she’s just met someone important and special, a future friend: Yunhee, a witch who can speak to plants and sells dried bundles of herbs and flowers and spells to anyone who finds her.

It’s cheesy and cliché and you know it.

“It’s cheesy and cliché but it’s cute!” Your agent, Hoseok, is as upbeat as always, and he seems genuinely onboard with the snippet you’ve just sent him. “Especially after how sad the chapters were before this one. I think it’s a nice change of pace, considering how heavy your last novel was too.”

“Haha, yeah,” you say. 

Hoseok has no idea about your botched confession to Seokjin and how it had fuelled the subsequent heartbreak you’d put Lily through; you’d put your heroine through the wringer to let all your feelings out, because if you have to suffer, she does too. Especially if she’s going to get a happy ending after all of it. Lucky her. 

“Your fans will love it.” Hoseok continues, oblivious. “Where did the inspiration suddenly come from, though? I thought you said you were struggling with where to go with this one.”

“I don’t know really.” You sound absent as you stare at the neatly tied ribbon that’s still affixed around your lily’s pot, Spring Day’s business card still nestled into it. “It just came to me, I guess.”

You have to resist the instinct to take a photo of the peace lily to ask Seokjin what he’d name her. (He’s always so good with names.)

You know you’ll have to see him eventually. That’s the problem when all your friends are friends with each other; it might still be a while off but once Jimin and Namjoon have moved into their apartment and decorated it, they’ll hold a housewarming party and everyone will be invited. You can’t avoid Jin forever. You don’t want to, either, but right now you still feel like your heart is an open wound, and you need to give it time. Seeing him right now will just peel back the bandage you’ve tried to lay across your weeping heart to try and hold it together until it heals.

And you still feel awkward as fuck, too. Rejection hurts but it’s also embarrassing. Struggling through ten layers of repression to be sincere with someone and open yourself to pain, only to be let down? Ugh. Awful. Terrible. Never again. You’re gonna stick with repression from now on and just live vicariously through the stories you write. It might be lonely but at least you can keep your heart safe. (Not that anyone wants your heart, anyway.)

You start to play music to your plants. You can’t sing as well as the florist, but at least your lily and cactus can benefit from the sound of music, even if you’re probably off-key when you sing along to the soft songs you choose for them. 

(“Plants grow better when they’re spoken to.”

“What? Really?”

“Really,” Yunhee says with a small smile, fingers curling tenderly around the petals of the deep red tulip. “They respond to love and affection just like we do.”

Lily stares at the bloom and watches how the witch touches it so gently— with so much love and affection— and for a second she wishes was a flower, too.)

You have very little faith in your abilities to keep a plant alive, but your peace lily seems to flourish under your care. It’s only one plant but alongside your cactus it seems to bring light and life to your office, and there’s a bubbling sense of satisfaction in your chest each time you see them, still alive despite your ineptitude. It’s a brief distraction from the lingering sadness that still dogs your heels, opening up each time you find yourself thinking of Seokjin before having to quiet those thoughts.

The lily and cactus are fine but it doesn’t take long before you find yourself wanting to add more members to your green coterie. Plus, you never did buy that fuck-off huge bouquet, so maybe you’ll treat yourself to one this time around.

When you step into Spring Day you’re greeted by the sight of someone actually behind the counter today, barely visible behind the large leaves of the ficus plant; when the bell rings they pop up and it’s the same florist as before, eyes wide as he peeps over the counter and only growing wider when he spots who it is.

“Hi,” he says. He’s not as squeaky as he was last time but he still seems a little flustered at your appearance, fumbling with The Language of Flowers as he drops the book onto the chair and stands up straight; his hoop earrings have small chains today and they’re jostled by the motion. He looks away from you to brush his apron down. He’s wearing a loose button-up underneath it, sleeves rolled up like before, revealing the thin bracelets he has on each wrist. “You’re back.”

“I am.” You smile widely, surprised he's remembered you and weirdly happy at the sight of him. You’d half expected to see someone else; there’s no way this guy is the only person who works here, but you’re glad it’s him. “I was worried my lily would get lonely so I thought I’d get her a friend. Can I pick your brain for another recommendation?”

He takes you to the succulents. There’s a menagerie of terrariums to choose from, bursting with different shapes and sizes of plants, bright greens and soft teals and muted browns. 

“I think you’ll like this one,” he says, lifting up a dodecahedron of glass, each geometric plane trimmed with metal. He holds it up for you as you peer inside, small succulents nestled in a scattering of pebbles and soil. “They like bright light, but keep them out of direct sunlight because the glass can magnify it and burn them. And water them really sparingly, because there’s no drainage.” He taps the base of the terrarium. “It’s really easy to over-water succulents.”

He’s always so careful when he handles things, even if he lifts them like they’re weightless. No wonder the plants and flowers bloom so prettily here. They know they’re loved and looked after.

“They’re so cute.” You smile at the collection of contrasting plants that somehow live harmoniously together in such a small space. “And there’s more than one! So my lily will have plenty of friends.”

You’re too busy looking down to painstakingly accept the terrarium to notice the small, shy smile that flits across the man’s face as he watches you, your hands so cautious and protective as you accept more members into your growing family. “You’re right,” he says. “She won’t be lonely.”

You have the glass ball hugged against your chest as you trail behind the man, but then you come to a stand still by a selection of floral arrangements and realise that there’s no way you’ll be able to carry both the terrarium and a bouquet; at least, not one the size you’d been planning for. The florist notices the sound of your footsteps disappearing and stops to look over his shoulder. He seems concerned.

“Sorry,” you apologise, staring at one particularly large collection of flowers and foliage all gathered together in brown paper, soft pastel colours surrounded by greenery and smaller pale blooms. “I was just thinking about how nice your bouquets are. They’re so pretty.”

“Would you like one?”

“Of course, but I only have so many hands.” You laugh as you glance down at the terrarium you’re clutching onto. “I wouldn’t trust myself to hold a bunch of flowers at the same time as this. That would be a disaster waiting to happen, honestly.”

The florist pauses. “How about if I make you a boutonniere to pin on your shirt?”

You look up from the terrarium, blinking. There’s that tinge of pink stealing over his cheeks again and you find the sight surprisingly endearing. “You can do that?”

“If you’d like.” He’s looking away from you again, staring intently at a bucket of sunflowers. “So at least you have some flowers to take home.”

Something twinges, deep down in your chest, right at the bottom of your ribcage. Something you can’t put a name to. “That sounds nice. Yes, please? If it wouldn’t be too much trouble?”

You carefully put your succulents down on the counter and lean against it as you watch him select flowers for the corsage, pausing before he chooses each one; he keeps his gaze averted from you the whole time but you think it’s because he feels awkward about the attention you’re giving him. You’re not pretending like you’re not watching him intently, wanting to take everything in, intrigued. He keeps his eyes cast down as he starts to bring everything together but there’s still a flush on his cheeks. It’s… adorable. He’s adorable. 

“Feel free to say no, but can I take a photo?” You point at the camera you have looped around your neck. “Not of you! Well. Not all of you. Just… your hands as you make the corsage? I swear I don’t have a hand fetish, I just like to take photos of things I think are cool. Totally get if you don’t want me to, I—”

“Sure.”

He’s staring down at the tiny floral arrangement in his hands as he interrupts you, but he seems resolute despite the blush on his face. You pause for a second and then smile. You lift the Polaroid camera up to peer through the viewfinder and take the shot, but before you have the chance to take a proper look it seems like the florist is finished.

He only looks up at you now that he’s done and holds his work shyly up for you to inspect, as if it’s not the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen. He’s framed a soft purple rose with small blooms of lilac and white baby’s breath, offset by a burst of greenery, delicate and perfectly balanced. 

“Oh, that’s so beautiful,” you breathe. You reach out to touch it with reverent fingers, lavender petals of the rose so soft against your skin. “You did that so quickly, too! How did you choose everything? Did you just go for things you thought would match?”

“Um.” The florist has turned red. “Yes?”

You decide not to press further, even if you wonder what it is that has him so embarrassed right now. Probably because you complimented him on his floristry skills. “You have a really good eye,” you say, smiling. “It’s so lovely.”

He somehow flushes an even brighter shade of scarlet when you struggle to pin the boutonniere on and ask for his help; he’s so careful as he secures it in place, staring at his hands as he settles the flowers gently against your chest.

“Perfect.” You beam at him and feel triumphant when he gives you a small smile in return despite how shy he seems, but then he seems to realise that he’s still got his hands resting against the fabric of your clothing and rips them away like they’re on fire.

“Um.” He has his head turned away from you but there’s a wide smile on his face, teeth on show as he looks down at the ground. “Thank you. I’m glad you like it.”

You’ve just finished paying when you realise— “I don’t think you’ve charged me for the boutonniere ?”

The florist seems like a rabbit caught in headlights. “It’s a, uh, promotional thing. An incentive to come back and buy a full bouquet or arrangement. You… uh, you actually get a discount on your first bouquet if you get a boutonniere or corsage first. I just— I need your name to make sure you get the discount. Next time you come. If you come back,” the man says in a rush, before sucking his lips in and looking away from you. “If that’s okay?”

Of course you’re going to come back. “Oh! Sure! It’s Y/n,” you say. 

“Y/n,” he repeats. He’s staring at you, lips parted, soft around the shape of your name. You wait for a beat, looking back at him, before one of eyebrows rises.

“Um… do you have a book to write it down in? Or do you just memorise all of your customer’s names straight off the bat?”

The florist blinks and then his eyes go wide and his cheeks flush again. “A book! Of course, um.” He scrabbles around behind the counter, flustered, but seems to come up empty-handed. You watch as he grabs the only book he can find— The Language of Flowers— and cracks it open to the title page to scribble your name down in pencil before shoving the book under the counter and out of sight.

“I feel bad that you’ve just, uh, defaced a book because of me,” you say. “You didn’t have to write it down, I was just kidding? I know not everyone is as forgetful as me.”

“No, no, it’s alright,” he says. “It’s my book. I can write what I want in it. The, um, the logbook seems to have gone missing,” he continues, staring at his hands as he scratches his palm. “Yoongi-hyung must have moved it. I’ll, uh, write your name when he comes back with it. Yeah.”

“Yoongi? Is that your boss?”

“Hyung? Sort of. He owns Spring Day but he basically treats me like a co-owner, I guess.”

“Oh, wow, that sounds so cool, even if it must be a lot of responsibility.” You smile softly at the florist. “He must really trust you.”

He glances up from his hands, eyes warm when he spots the expression on your face. “Yeah,” he says, smiling back. “I owe Yoongi-hyung a lot.”

“Oh!” Your fingers tighten around the handles of your bag, terrarium safely encased inside. “You know my name, and now I know Yoongi’s name, but I don’t know your name…?”

He flushes again, imperceptibly, the tiniest spread of pink on the apples of his cheeks. “I’m Jungkook,” Jungkook says.

“Jungkook,” you repeat. His eyes flicker and he looks away from you. You’ll have to work on that shyness— but you’ve always been good at coaxing people out of their shells. You’re unapologetically yourself, and that helps other people feel comfortable being unapologetically themselves, too. “Alright, Jungkook, thank you for the help again today. And the beautiful boutonniere.” You wiggle your shoulder so the flowers affixed to your chest shift a little. “I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah.” He sounds a little breathless. “Yeah, I’ll see you around.”

Once you get home the terrarium is carefully unpacked and placed on your desk with your other plants; you’ve had to relocate some of your general filing clutter to another table to make space (the plants make you feel better than staring at a rose-gold in tray with letters that you need to get to, so whatever). You finally have a chance to look at that photo you'd taken earlier and fish it out of your pocket.

The background is a little blurry, not the focus of the shot, but you can see the neat pile of offcuts on the table, a small scattering of equipment. Jungkook’s hands, however, are in perfect focus. He has such lovely hands, from the pronounced knuckles to the subtle flex of his tendons to the pale blue veins that are visible as he holds the tiny bunch of flowers together and wraps them in ribbon. You stare at the picture for a little longer than you probably should before resting it against the peace lily’s pot, in eyeline as you begin to write.

(Lily watches, enraptured, as Yunhee prepares the sprigs of herbs and flowers that she hangs from the kitchen’s low ceiling. Her pretty hands are so fast as they bring the dried flora together, encircling each bunch with twine, quick and delicate. Careful. Reverent.

“Would you like a go?” Yunhee has seen her watching and holds up a spray of dried lavender rosemary, colours muted from their usual brightness, but no less pretty. “I can teach you, if you’d like.”

Lily smiles. “I would love that.”)

--

“What do I want in my bouquet? Hmm… that’s a tough one. What’s your favourite flower?”

You’re back at Spring Day the day after buying your terrarium, and once again, Jungkook is there. You’d caught a brief glimpse of another man on your way in, his hair a bleached-blond mess, but he seems to have disappeared— although his apron has been cast haphazardly over the back of the wicker chair behind the counter so you don’t think he’ll be gone too long.

Jungkook pauses. “I don���t know if I could choose just one,” he says. “But if I had to, I’d say the tiger lily.”

“Oh!” You point at his arm. His t-shirt today seems to be as baggy as the rest of his clothing choices but it leaves his lower arms visible. “Is that the tattoo you have?”

Jungkook turns his arm towards you so you can see it properly, the delicate lines of the lily blooming across his skin, and you can see the scratched lines of some words silhouetted behind it, ones you hadn’t spotted before. “Yeah.” He’s smiling. “It’s my birth flower.”

“That’s so pretty,” you say, awed. “What do the words say?”

Jungkook’s been less shy today, but when you ask this, he seems bashful. “Please love me.” He traces the words with his finger, the letters hidden behind the large petals of the flower. “It’s what the tiger lily means.”

He keeps his gaze averted from you, staring at the black and grey lines that bloom across his skin. You’ve barely scratched the surface of Jungkook, but there’s something so… so fascinating about him. Undeniably powerful and masculine, yet still so soft and considerate. Romantic.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, truthfully. “Both the tattoo and its meaning.”

Jungkook smiles shyly. “Thanks,” he says. “I’m glad you like it. I, um, drew it, actually.”

You’ve been staring at his arm but when he says this, you reel back. “You designed that tattoo? Jungkook. Are you telling me you can sing and draw?” When he doesn’t respond, still shy, you giggle. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. I know the truth.”

“So what would you like in your bouquet?” Jungkook’s clearly trying to change the subject and you laugh.

“I have no idea. I’m a dunce and you’re the expert, so I’ll let you do the heavy lifting,” you say. “How about something with some tiger lilies?”

The tiger lilies are beautiful, vivid oranges flecked with brown; Jungkook lets you select the ones you want, accepting the flowers from you carefully as you pluck them from the buckets and then laughing at yourself when you end up with water spattered over your shoes, dripping down the long stems. After that you let him take over and he chooses the other flowers to bulk out your arrangement, mulling over each decision before he seems content with his choices.

“I can recognise the roses and lilies, but what are the others?” You ask, intrigued.

“Roses, hypericum berries, tiger lilies, orange lilies, goldenrods, and some greening for filler.” He lifts each flower up as he lists them off for you, a cascading gradient of red to cerise to orange to yellow. “Do you want me to change them?”

“No.” Your voice is gentle. “It’s perfect. It’s just like a sunrise. I love them.”

Jungkook’s responding smile is wide enough to show his teeth and squeeze his eyes.

There’s something soothing about watching him work. His eyes are entirely focused as he puts everything in its place, uncompromising when it comes to his perfectionism; things will look fine to you but he’ll seem to think differently and shift things around until it passes his rigorous standards. You want to take a photo. Not just of his hands, but of all of him— the little furrow of his brows, the intense look in his eyes, the tiniest pout on his lips; the softness of his hands, the tenderness of his fingers, the relaxation of his shoulders. Someone who’s intent on perfecting his craft but finds joy in its practiced motions.

You're just considering risking it all to ask him if you can take a photo when you're (thankfully) interrupted.

“That’s a pretty bouquet,” someone drawls. “What’s the occasion?”

The other man has appeared out of the back room. His eyes are fox-like but his mouth is soft and his fluffy white jumper seems even softer, fuzzy against the dark apron that he loops back over his head.

“Hi, Yoongi-hyung. Um.” Jungkook glances up at you. “Is it… for… a partner? Or someone else?”

“Nope, just thought I’d treat myself. Is that weird?”

Yoongi looks at you consideringly, clearly thinking something, before he shrugs. “Nah. You should tell your partner to step up their game, though. You shouldn’t have to buy yourself flowers.”

You laugh, trying to cover up your sudden awkwardness as Seokjin’s face flashes in your mind. Partner? You? Haha. “I’m single, so this is the only way I’ll be getting flowers, I’m afraid.”

Jungkook drops a handful of goldenrods. Yoongi’s eyes flicker over to him, watching as the younger man scrabbles to pick the yellow flowers back up. “Huh,” Yoongi says. “I see. Well, as long as you’re paying, I’m not complaining.”

You already like Yoongi, as forthright and blunt as he is, an utter juxtaposition to Jungkook’s unassuming shyness; he plops himself down and watches Jungkook finish putting the arrangement together, arms crossed as he leans back in the wicker chair. He looks a little lazy and a little sleepy. A cat reclining in the sun.

Jungkook finishes the bouquet by wrapping it in layers of brown and white paper, layering orange and yellow and white ribbons around the stems, pulling the sunrise of plants together with more bursts of bright colour.

“It’s so beautiful,” you say. 

Yoongi makes a small grunting noise of agreement. “Good work, Kookie.”

Jungkook seems almost overwhelmed by the praise and holds a hand over his face, a shy curve of his fingers over his nose and mouth as he coughs and pretends he’s fine. “It’s alright, I guess,” he says. “Do you want anything else?”

“No, that’s everything for today, thanks.” You beam at Jungkook, who smiles back; he’s so cute. “How much is that?”

Yoongi’s mouth opens but Jungkook speaks over him to tell you the price, which is lower than you thought, but— “That must be from the boutonniere discount, right?”

Yoongi squints at you. “Boutonniere discount?”

“You know, hyung, the boutonniere discount.” Jungkook’s voice is a little high. “The promotion.”

Yoongi stares at him. Jungkook stares back. You think Jungkook’s about to break in the face of Yoongi’s blank pokerface, but then he nods. “Oh, yeah, that one,” Yoongi says, slowly. “I forgot. The boutonniere discount. Absolutely.”

Yoongi lapses into silence during the rest of the transaction, and though he looks sleepy, his eyes are sharp as he watches the two of you. Not that you notice, too busy carefully accepting the flowers from Jungkook and hefting the huge bouquet in your arms, mindful not to jostle them too much.

“Thank you so much, Jungkook!” You tilt your head forward to breathe in the soft floral scent, smiling. “It’s so lovely. And it was nice to meet you, Yoongi.”

“Likewise,” Yoongi says. “We’ll see you again?”

“Of course!” On your way out you go to take a hand off the bouquet to give them a jaunty wave, but unlike Jungkook you can’t keep the whole thing steady with just one hand and settle with giving them a nod instead. “I’ll see you again!”

As the door settles shut behind you, bell tinkling as you go, Yoongi raises an eyebrow at Jungkook. “Boutonniere discount?”

“Shut up, hyung,” Jungkook mutters, embarrassed. 

Once you get home you unearth the vase Namjoon made you in his last ceramics class, unwrapping the bouquet and easing it into the water. You watch as the flowers come a little loose from the tight presentation and jostle lightly against each other as they settle into the vase. It’s a bright burst of colour on your breakfast bar, eye-catching and beautiful. 

These flowers should last longer than the corsage from yesterday, which had already started to wilt; you know practically nothing about preserving flowers but you’ve sandwiched the purple rose and lilac and baby’s breath between layers of tissue and squashed them between some books on advice from the internet, wanting to press them and keep them close. (Maybe you’ll frame them or something. That would be cute.)

You pause. You pluck out a tiger lily, disrupting the careful balance Jungkook had strived to create, spinning the flower slowly between your fingers. Your friends send you congratulatory flowers after each new book publication, but this is the first bouquet that’s ever been made specifically for you— not the you that’s hidden behind a pseudonym. You. Even if you’d asked for this yourself, Jungkook had been the one to choose everything for you. He'd been the one to put the thought and time and effort into it.

You stare at the tiger lily for a few moments longer before slipping it back into the arrangement, turning it so it rests just as it had before you’d pulled it out.

(Spring is turning to summer and everything is starting to bloom, the garden alive with a riot of colour, full of the buzzing of bees and other insects— drawn here just as Lily had been. But Yunhee finds Lily in the greenhouse, away from the noise and activity, quiet and contemplative as she stares around her.

“What are they?” Lily points at a plot of flowers that have yet to bloom. The yellow and orange buds are long and heavy, weighted towards the ground. 

“Tiger lilies.” Yunhee squats down and touches one of the furled flowers. “They’re shy to start with, but once they start to blossom, they’ll be some of the prettiest things here. Yes, that means you,” Yunhee laughs as the plant in her fingers seems to twitch. “They’re always so bold once they’re in full bloom. You just have to wait until you can coax them out.”)

--

“You seem to be doing better.” Jimin puts his coffee down. “Have you spoken to Jin yet?”

“Good god, Jimin,” you laugh. “Straight in there, aren’t you?”

Jimin fixes you with a stern gaze and you wince a little.

“Sheesh. No, not yet.” You fiddle with your napkin, curling it around the end of your teaspoon. “I’m starting to feel… like… kind of okay about it, I guess, but I’m worried that it’s going to be weird when I see Jin again.”

It’s been over a month since your confession, and it’s the longest you’ve gone without talking to Jin since you’ve met him. It’s… weird. You miss him so much. But you don’t know if it’s too soon to try and reintroduce him into your life, even if Jimin clearly disagrees.

“It’s only going to get weirder the longer you go without talking to him,” Jimin says, and you hate that you know he’s right. “You keep asking how he is, and he keeps asking how you are, and it’s obvious you both miss each other. I’m not saying you have to jump back to how things were straight away, but you can ease back into it, you know?”

You sigh. “I know,” you say. “It’s just hard, Minnie.”

Jimin, your oldest friend, had been the first person you’d called after your failed confession. You’d been tearful and honest when you’d said that it felt like you were going to hurt forever. But it’s weird how quickly that’s ebbed away, even if you still regret opening your mouth in the first place; most of the hurt you feel right now is from missing Jin, not from lingering pain about unreciprocated feelings. You miss your-friend-Jin, not your-crush-Jin. 

“You seem to be doing okay, though.” Jimin raises his eyebrows at you over his latte. “Anything to do with whoever’s sending you those pretty bouquets that’re all over your apartment, hmm?”

You splutter into your coffee. “What? No, don’t be ridiculous, I’m buying those for myself,” you say once you’ve wiped the coffee off your chin. “Me? Getting sent bouquets? Pfft.”

You never planned on becoming some sort of manic flower hoarder, but Jimin isn’t exaggerating when he says that they’re all over your apartment. You’ve even had to buy extra vases to hold all the bouquets and arrangements you have, every hue and shape and size of flora imaginable on almost every flat surface— only your desk remains untouched, sacred ground for your potted plants. You’d bought a rubber plant a few days ago, but beyond that, nothing new has been set on your desk recently.

It’s just… whenever you’re in Spring Day it’s like there’s no space in your brain or heart to think about Seokjin. It’s a place of respite for you, now. Somewhere you can go that’s untouched by the outside world. Somewhere you can go to be surrounded by beauty and life. Somewhere you can go to talk to Jungkook, the sweet, soft florist who’s slowly opening up to you, a blossoming flower, petals unfurling further with each visit.

He’s not always there. Sometimes it’s just Yoongi, and you like Yoongi and enjoy his company, but… it’s different with Jungkook. He’s growing bolder, less shy, and every conversation with him is so riveting; you eagerly gobble up every tidbit of information he feeds you. He sings. He draws. He paints. He takes photos. He dances. Everything he finds interesting, he tries, and everything he tries, he tries voraciously— he never settles for anything less than 100%. He puts himself entirely into everything he does.

He’s incredible.

Anyway. You can’t come away from Spring Day empty-handed, hence all the flowers that are filling your apartment. Even though Jungkook says it’s okay for you not to buy things, you’d be a supremely awful customer if you just distracted him by talking and then leaving again, so you always make sure to buy something. Even if it’s just a tiny flower themed bookmark that you don't need.

“I’m all for retail therapy, but why not buy stuff for yourself that doesn’t eventually die and wilt?” Jimin seems mystified. “That many flowers can’t be cheap.”

“I’m a relatively successful author, I can afford to blow money on flowers if I want.” You wave your hand dismissively. “Besides, my latest novel involves a lot of flower and plant related stuff, so I’m basically investing in my writing. I’m killing two birds with one stone: research for my novel, as well as filling the gaping hole in my chest by buying flowers for myself because I’m destined to die alone and no one else is ever going to buy them for me.” You finish brightly.

Jimin looks equal parts frustrated and sad. “You know that’s not true, Y/n. Just because Jin—”

“It’s fine, Jimin, I’m kidding! I’m kidding,” you insist. “The reason I’ve been single for the past billion years is because I’m just too much of a catch and people find it intimidating, I know.”

You’ve used fake, inflated narcissism and mocking self-deprecation as ways of protection for years. Most people take your confidence at face value. However, Jimin knows you too well to be fooled by it; not to mention he’s one of the few people who knows about your books and has read every single one so he’s well aware of all the schmoopy daydreams you keep close to your chest.

Ugh. This is why you write under a pseudonym. Autumn Lovett is allowed to enjoy clichés and have unrealistic and dumb romantic fantasies. A lot of their platform is built around it. Meanwhile the real version of you tries to pretend that you’re not obsessed with the idea of true love and yearn for it almost every waking moment despite how utterly impossible it is that you’ll ever find it. Because it’s embarrassing.

“I’m going to kick you,” Jimin says lovingly. “Right in the shins.”

“God, please don’t.” Jimin’s kicks are lethal. “If I say I don’t genuinely think I’m some sort of unlovable cave troll, will you promise not to hurt me?”

Jimin takes longer to think about his answer than you’d like. “Okay,” he says eventually. “You have to really mean it.”

“Alright, I don’t genuinely think I’m some sort of unlovable cave troll. I just haven’t met the right person yet.” Your words seem to pacify Jimin, even if they ring a little hollow in your own ears.

The truth is that, on a deep level, you do feel unlovable. It’s maybe a bit self-pitying, because you have friends who adore you and you know you’re worthy of love, but… it’s kind of hard to really believe that when you have yet to have your feelings genuinely reciprocated. There have been a few moments in the past, a few brief, fleeting connections, but never anything wholesome and real. You feel like you’ve been waiting for something that’s never going to happen. 

Besides, if it does happen, it’s never going to be as soft and loving as the relationships you write into your books, right? You’re a sucker for clichés. You love the idea of someone bringing you flowers, watching the sunset with you, dancing together in your kitchen to a song on the radio— every overdone and overused formula that’s shoved into every romantic film ever. You want all of it. (You’ve never been on a ferris wheel but god do you want to have a date that involves one.)

Maybe you’re still alone because you’ve been asking for too much. Not everyone is as lucky as Jimin and Namjoon; you doubt you’d ever be so fortunate to find someone who loves you as much as they love each other and express that love, too.

You’re still brooding over these feelings when you visit Spring Day later. Jungkook’s singing again, something smooth and lovely and mellow, and when he sees you he brightens— he cuts himself off, but not because he’s embarrassed, but because he’s happy to see you. 

Something inside you goes soft and warm at the sight. He’s so nice.

Still, despite Jungkook’s soothing presence you’re far more distracted than you usually are and he seems to notice this; you end up sitting cross legged on the floor of the greenhouse under the leaves of a monstera while Jungkook keeps flicking you looks between watering plants.

A few weeks ago, he would be too timid to say anything, but by now he’s grown far more bold. You’ve been encouraging him to speak his mind. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” You’ve had your head tilted back to watch the fluttering leaves of the monstera plant but you look down to turn your attention to Jungkook. He’s wearing a dark plaid shirt today, loose sleeves rolled up past his elbow as he hefts his blue watering can; he looks soft and approachable, eyes warm with concern. “Yeah, I just have some stuff on my mind, I guess. Sorry. I’m not exactly a great conversational partner at the best of times, so I’m being even worse right now.”

“It’s fine, you don’t have to apologise.” Jungkook hesitates. “Do you… want to talk about it?”

You let out a light chuckle. “Ah, you don’t want to hear about the nonsense I’ve got in my brain, but thank you. It’s very sweet of you to offer.”

“No.” Jungkook’s voice is surprisingly firm and you internally startle. “If there’s something on your mind, it’s not nonsense. I’m not saying you have to tell me if you don’t want to, but— please don’t think I don’t want to listen to you.”

You blink. He’s not looking away from you like he normally does— there’s a hard set to the line of his mouth, like he really, really means what he says and he wants you to know that.

“Oh.” For once you’re the one who breaks eye contact, glancing down at your lap. You’d found a lone daisy on the floor and you’ve been cradling it in your hands, rolling the stem between your fingers, and you watch as the petals fan out and shiver at the motion. “Okay. Thanks, Jungkook.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says. His voice is gentle. You keep your eyes fixed on the daisy, and you can hear the slosh and drizzle of the watering can as he goes back to the plants. You take in a deep breath.

“What’s your opinion on romance, Jungkook?”

There’s a splashing noise as Jungkook fumbles with the can and drops it. Luckily it stays upright and doesn’t spill over the floor. “I, um, what?”

You look away from your daisy and stare at him earnestly, as embarrassingly open and raw as you feel right now. “What’s your opinion on romance? You know, love and all that.”

Jungkook pauses. 

“I know it’s a weird question.” You wince. “You don’t have to answer it. I’ve just been thinking about it.”

Jungkook stares at the watering can by his feet before he stoops over and picks it back up. He’s not looking at you. “How come?” His voice is a little strained, but you don’t notice.

“Ah, I don’t know,” you sigh. “I think about it a lot, honestly. Sometimes I just wonder if it’s realistic? Like, of all the people in the world, what’s the likelihood you’re going to meet someone that you really… really resonate with? And they’re going to feel the same for you? Part of me has always believed in fate, or like… serendipity, I suppose. Bumping into someone that turns out to be so much more important than either of you could imagine. A soulmate? In a way? But as time goes on I… I guess I’m worried I’ll never actually find that and it’s all a ridiculous pipe dream.”

You feel small and defenceless after admitting this. You might be a loudmouthed sarcastic clown, but underneath all your theatrical buffoonery and snark, the truth is that you’re an utterly hopeless romantic. It’s the world’s worst kept secret, sure, but you’ve never laid it out so plainly to anyone before. 

The longer Jungkook stays silent, the more awkward you feel, and you desperately need to break the tension.

“Bweh.” You make a little noise. “I get nauseous whenever I express real emotions. I didn’t mean to word vomit all of that at you, sorry—”

“I believe in soulmates.” Jungkook’s back is to you as he stands in front of a collection of osteospermums, but he’s stopped watering them. “And romance. And true love. I don’t think it’s always going to be easy, and it might hurt along the way, but… I think there’s love and happiness waiting for us at the end of it. Yoongi-hyung always calls me a hopeless romantic.” He laughs a little and glances over his shoulder at you, his expression warm and sincere. “I always cry at sad scenes in romantic films and books and he likes to tease me about it.”

He doesn’t seem ashamed about being open and vulnerable with you. It’s terrifying and yet Jungkook seems unafraid. Honestly, you admire it. “Me too,” you admit, your voice a quiet hush. “Everyone keeps arguing about if Rose could have let Jack onto the door with her but I’m always too busy crying to pay attention to how big the piece of wood is.”

Jungkook lets out a breath of laughter, nose scrunching as he smiles at you. He’s not judging your sappiness at all. “Titanic is such a sad film,” he says. “It makes my heart ache every time I watch it.”

You hit your knee with a fist. “I know! Why couldn’t they just be happy? Ouch,” you say. “Wow. I punched myself harder than I thought. I just get very passionate about happy endings. Sad endings— well, they make me sad, especially if the rest of the story has been sad too. What was it Guy Fieri said? I can bear any pain as long as it has meaning.”

Jungkook blinks. “Guy Fieri said that?”

“Now that I think about it, I think it was actually Haruki Murakami.” You rub a soothing hand over your knee. “But yeah. I’m not saying sad endings don’t have a place, and sometimes it’s right for the story that’s being told, but… I’m more of a happy ending person. If I were James Cameron I’d have to let Rose and Jack end up together. I’d be too soft to write the ending he did, even if it was appropriate. You know?”

Jungkook turns away from the osteospermums, his eyes as soft as he looks at you. “Yeah, me too,” he agrees. “I think everyone deserves a happy ending.”

The monstera plant above you patiently listens as you and Jungkook have a long, quiet conversation about love and romance, and it’s… weird. You never thought you could have a conversation like that without wanting to cringe so hard you collapsed in on yourself and imploded into a black hole. Submitting to the mortifying ordeal of being known is usually a lot more… well… mortifying, but somehow with Jungkook, it isn’t.

Maybe it’s because he’s so open himself. Maybe it’s because you can tell he’s not judging you at all. He doesn’t think your desperate yearning for love and romance is anything to be embarrassed about— and he clearly feels the same yearning. You find it baffling that someone as lovely as Jungkook doesn’t have someone special in his life, though. Wild.

“Monsteras are actually nicknamed Swiss cheese plants,” Jungkook informs you, running a hand over one of the leaves and trailing a finger over one of the holes in it. You're adding it to your steadily growing plant collection. “Because of these. They look like the holes you find in Swiss cheese.”

You laugh. “Oh, that’s so cute! I love that.”

Jungkook smiles. “I knew you would.”

He’s just finished tying a ribbon around the plant’s pot when he pauses. “Oh,” he says. “If you like happy endings, can I recommend something?”

He stoops down to get something from behind the counter and you can tell when he’s found what he’s looking for by how his face lights up. You’re hyped to see what it is, what’s gotten Jungkook so excited— but then he flips the book over to hand to you and you nearly choke on your own spit. 

Jamais Vu. Your most recent novel.

“I really love this author,” he says as you try to swallow down your coughs, eyes watering with the effort. Luckily he’s looking down at the book and doesn’t seem to notice. “No matter how difficult things get, or how awful things seem, the endings are always happy. Or at worst, bittersweet. They’re never completely sad? Watch out for the plot twist in the middle, though, that’s a rough one.”

“Hahahaha, alright, I will!” It was the first time you’d incorporated a murder mystery in one of your books, but damn, it had gone over really well with the critics. And Jungkook too, apparently, judging from the excited look in his eyes. “This looks, um. Interesting.”

He beams at you. “If you like it, I have the rest of their books at home. You can borrow those as well. I, uh, I've been reading them from the very beginning,” he admits, with a tiny, shy laugh. “The earlier books are skewed mainly towards romance, but the plots are always good too. If, um, you like that sort of thing.”

You feel faint. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Jungkook.”

Once you get home, you very carefully and delicately place the monstera on your desk, turning it a few times until you’re entirely happy with the position of it.

Then you lie face down on your bed.

Your breaths are fuggy against your pillow but you keep your face buried in it, even if it’s getting progressively harder to breathe. Jungkook reads your books. Jungkook reads all of your books. Jungkook is apparently an avid fan of your books— the copy of Jamais Vu he’s lent you is a hardback copy and the design on it is one you recognise as a pre-order exclusive. 

Oh, shit. Is it a signed copy?

You scramble out of bed to grab the book and flip to the title page. There it is, staring up at you: your own signature. Well, Autumn Lovett’s signature, complete with a tiny scribbled leaf. 

To Jungkook, you’d written. Thank you so much for all your support! you’d written. Autumn Lovett, you’d written.

You muffle a scream into your hands.

Even if Jungkook doesn’t know who Autumn really is, there’s no way he’s going to read your next book and not realise the truth. The tiger lilies. Yunhee’s dark eyes and dark hair and swift hands. Her strength and softness. Lily, magnetised by her, drawn in by her gravity.

(You haven't realised until now just how much meeting Jungkook has changed the development of your novel. Why?)

You’re at a loss for words. You honestly don’t know what to feel. Part of you feels flattered that Jungkook loves your writing so much. Another part of you feels like you’ve been lying to him the whole time you’ve been talking— pretending to be someone you’re not. Somehow. Autumn has lied to him by not being real, and you’ve lied to him by not letting him know the truth. Sure, you’ve only found out today, but.

The one person you’d talk to— the one person who’d help you muddle through your emotions on something as complex as this, as flippant and blasé as he might seem to people who don’t know him like you do— is someone you haven’t spoken to in over a month. 

Your eyes slide over to your phone. After your conversation with Jimin earlier you’d genuinely been planning on messaging Seokjin tonight; nothing major or big, just a dipping of your toe back into the waters of your friendship. But you need to hear his voice. You’re not going to offload on him, of course. You’re not going to make the first conversation you have after your confession to be all about you. But you just need that familiarity right now.

He picks up after one ring. 

“Hi, Y/n,” he says, and you feel like you could fold in two.

“Hi, Jin.” The sound of his voice fills you with warmth and tender affection, and you love him so, so much— but you know in an instant that it’s platonic. This cresting wave of tenderness crashing through you and making your knees want to buckle is for one of your best friends, Kim Seokjin. Your friend. “Hey. I hope you’re doing okay. Been up to anything interesting?”

You end up curled in your computer chair as you talk, your hand resting on the book that Jungkook has entrusted you with. It’s funny how talking to Seokjin comes so naturally; a month feels so long, especially after such a huge revelation from you to him, but it’s also like no time has passed at all. You think maybe you could go years without talking but the moment you came back together again, it would feel the same way. 

It’s like you exist on the same level. Like there’s some sort of unbreakable, connective membrane between the two of you. It’s why you’d fallen in love with him. It’s only now that you realise that you’d mistaken that closeness for romantic love, when it isn’t really, at all. It’s just different to your other friendships; deeply and emotionally intimate, but not romantic. 

“It sounds like you’ve been doing well,” Jin says. There’s the sound of sizzling in the background and you glance at the clock; he’ll be cooking dinner. He always cooks around now. “How’s the novel coming along?” Are you still in love with me? Are you writing about me?

You pause. Your flip Jungkook’s book open again, staring at his name written in your handwriting— months before you’d known who he was. Some tenuous, inexplicable connection before you’d even met. 

“It’s good,” you say, truthfully. “It’s not what I’d been planning, but it’s really good.” I love you, but I’m not in love with you. I’m writing, but not about you. Not really.

“I’m glad.” Jin’s voice is so warm. “You’ll have to send me what you've got so far at some point.”

“So you can point out all the inconsistencies whenever characters are cooking or baking anything? No thanks, already fallen into that trap too many times,” you say, and Jin laughs.

“If you’re going to write a character who’s a baker, you need to do your research batter,” he says, and you laugh in return.

“Did you say batter instead of better? That’s terrible. I love it, even if I wasn’t bready for it.”

“Your puns are so crumby,” Jin replies.

“Are you trying to get a rise out of me?”

You both end up dissolving into laughter at your increasingly nonsensical and awful baking puns. The puns are weak and not even good in a bad way (as in, so bad that they’re good), but they don’t need to be. Jin takes longer to finish laughing than you. His squeaky wiper noises are a familiar sound through your phone speaker and you’re still smiling once it eventually trails off.

“I missed you,” you say suddenly. “I’m sorry. Not sorry about the confession, but— sorry it took me so long to come back around afterwards. I was just worried it would be weird.”

“I understand. It’s okay. I missed you too. You know I love you, right?”

“I love you too. Not romantically. Don’t get it twisted. I realise now that I’m way out of your league, anyway, so it’s a good thing you turned me down.”

“It was for your own good,” Jin says. “As the two most beautiful human beings alive we’d been too powerful if we were together, so it’s for the good of humanity.”

“We’re just so altruistic,” you sigh dramatically, and then you both giggle. “Can the world’s two most beautiful human beings get together for lunch? That wouldn’t cause a vortex in the space time continuum, right?”

“I think the fabric of the universe can handle it.” You hear the sound of Jin taking his pan off the stove, the clunk of metal. “Let me check when I’m free, sweetheart.”

(“You seem happy.” Jaerim’s smile is a soft, hesitant thing, but Lily’s responding smile is bright and wide.

“I am,” she says. Pinned to her breast pocket is a corsage of sweet pea, soft purple and pink and white, its gentle fragrance filling her senses. A reminder of Yunhee even when she’s not here. “I’m really, really happy. But I’m always happier when I can share things with you.”

Jaerim reaches out for her hands. His touch is familiar and warm, and Lily feels as loved as she always has— the way she loves him, too. 

As a friend.)

--

“You know, at this point I’m pretty sure you’re bankrolling the entire shop,” Yoongi says, and you laugh.

“I can always go somewhere else if you’d like?”

“Please.” Yoongi snorts. “I’m not complaining. Besides, Jungkook would be heartbroken if his favourite customer stopped coming.”

The way Yoongi assembles bouquets is different to Jungkook. He’s no less skilled and lavishes the same amount of attention on each one, but his arrangements always seem a little wilder, freer— not in a bad way, just different. He’s surrounded by an increasing collection of carnations and dusty miller, the silver leaves curling around the immaculately white blooms; simple and elegant arrangements for a small bridal shower.

“That’s good to know,” you say, ignoring the warm flush that spreads through your chest at the idea of being Jungkook’s favourite customer. Sometimes you worry that you’re overbearing, actually, with how often you visit, even if Jungkook never seems to mind. “I do buy a lot, though, so that’s probably why I’m his favourite.”

Yoongi’s just finished tying a trail of silver and white ribbon around the collection of flowers in his hands, eyes flicking up at you as he eases it into a small vase. “You shouldn’t feel obligated to keep throwing money at this place,” he says. “You’re welcome to come whenever you like. Without needing to buy something.”

You feel weirdly chastened. “Um, okay.” You laugh lightly. “Kind of a weird business you’ve got running if you’re not telling customers to buy things, though?”

Yoongi snorts again. “You’ve spent more money in the past few months than most customers might spend in a year.” He reaches for another bunch of carnations. “I think we’re good.”

The bell tinkles above the door. You glance over your shoulder to see who it is and your face lights up when you see it’s Jungkook, clutching a small cardboard tray of coffees. He looks boyish and cute today, his hair is a little windswept from the breeze outside, and there’s a smile on his face that only grows wider when he spots you. You smile back. You’re always so happy to see him.

“Is that my coffee?” Yoongi says, without looking up from the bundle of flowers he's holding. “Bring it here.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes and you stifle a laugh behind your hand. Any shyness Jungkook might have had originally seems entirely gone now, and he’s unabashed when he pretends to disrespect his hyung, even if you know there’s a lot of love there.

Jungkook puts the cardboard cup out of the way of Yoongi’s work so there’s no chance it might accidentally get knocked over. “Here’s the decaf caramel cappuccino with extra sweetener and whipped cream that you asked for, hyung.” Jungkook gives you a conspiring smile and you stifle another laugh at the expression that flits across Yoongi’s face at the word decaf.

“Die,” Yoongi says mildly, before taking a sip of his bitter and untouched black coffee. “Perfect. Now, shoo, I’m busy. Go check on the herb display, I think they could do with some fertiliser.”

You keep hold of Jungkook’s cup as he mists the herbs, a tiny spritzer in his hands that he carefully aims at the stem of each plant. Unlike Yoongi’s black coffee, Jungkook’s opted for something iced, a creamy yellow blend with shavings of chocolate on top.

“If I’d known you were here, I would have gotten you something as well,” he says. You glance up to see Jungkook’s paused in his motions, hands engulfed in bright green basil leaves. It seems like he’s noticed you peering at the drink.

“Don’t be silly, I don’t expect you to buy me coffee! I’m just trying to work out what this is. It looks really tasty.”

“It’s a banana frappe. You can try some, if you want?”

You beam. “Can I?” You take a sip before Jungkook changes his mind, pursing your lips around the straw as the coldness hits your tongue and nearly gives you brain freeze— but then you register the sweetness on your tongue, the flavour of banana and vanilla and honey, delicious. “Oh, this is so good,” you breathe. “Where did you get this? I need this in my life.” You take another cheeky sip, eyes on Jungkook’s reaction, but he seems unfazed at the fact that you’re greedily slurping up his drink before he’s even had a chance to have any.

“There’s a small café a few streets away from here,” he says. “I, um.” He looks away from you, back towards the basil, before he pulls his hands out of the leaves and starts to mist the soil of the mint plants. “I could take you there, if you’d like.”

You haven’t seen him blush for a while, but that familiar tinge of pink is starting to steal over his cheeks as he looks away from you. Something churns low in your stomach, something almost like butterflies; a shifting of their wings, ready to take flight. “Oh,” you say. “That would, um. That would be nice.”

For the first time since you’ve stepped foot into Spring Day, you leave without buying anything. Instead, you leave with a day and time, hastily typed into your phone so you don’t forget. (Not that you would. How could you forget anything about Jungkook?)

You still haven’t told Jungkook who you are. Well— who Autumn is. He’d been so excited when you’d ‘finished’ Jamais Vu and had accepted another book from him, wanting eagerly to hear your opinion on it; it’s hard to not blurt out the truth to him, but you don’t know how to broach that topic. You’re worried that it’ll change this friendship you’ve built up with him and you don’t want to lose Jungkook. Even if you haven’t known him that long, he’s already so, so important to you, and you don’t want to let go of that.

But if you’re starting to become real friends, the kind of friends who get coffee together, who spend time together outside of Jungkook’s work— he deserves to know, right? You just need to find the right time to tell him.

When the day rolls around, you’re early. You’re always early for things. You skulk around the front of Spring Day, where you’d agreed to meet; you make sure to keep just out of Yoongi's eye line, ducking out of sight when it seems like he might spot you through the front window. You’re staring at a bucket of coral-coloured blooms when you hear Jungkook calling your name and you glance up, lifting your hand in a wave.

You almost choke on a breath. You’ve never seen Jungkook out of uniform, his plethora of loose, oversized shirts under a dark apron, nondescript trousers and plain shoes.

“Hi, Y/n.” The smile on his face is bright and wide, eyes squeezing into crescents. “I hope you haven’t been waiting too long?”

He’s in such a simple outfit, but it’s devastating. His hair is arranged neatly under a cap, a leather jacket over the dark, tight shirt tucked into his jeans, blue denim nipped in by a plain black belt; there’s large rips at the knees, flashes of skin visible as he walks forwards, feet steady in black boots. It’s undeniably Jungkook, but it’s so different from the version of him you’ve gotten used to over the past two months, catching you completely off guard.

“Y/n?” He repeats, concerned at your silence, and you snap to attention.

“Oh, sorry! I was just thinking about, uh,” you glance at the flowers you’d been looking at, “peonies. No, I haven’t been waiting long at all, don’t worry. You, um, look really nice today,” you add lamely, unsure what else to say. 

“You do too.” Jungkook sounds like he genuinely means it, even if you’re just wearing a pretty regular outfit, similar to the sort of thing you usually wear when you visit him at work. “Peonies only flower for about a week, actually, if you wanted to get some?”

“No, no, that’s fine! Today’s not about flowers, today is about coffee,” you say. Your heart is hammering in your chest for some reason. A single butterfly lifts off in your stomach, taking flight with a flutter of its wings, flitting to and fro. “Take me to the coffee?”

He takes you to the coffee. He leads you confidently through the maze of alleyways, past more places you haven’t seen; he waits patiently whenever you ask to stop and take photos, watching as you stare in awe at an arch built out of precariously balanced tomes that leads into an old bookshop.

“It’s just so pretty around here,” you say, flapping your hand about to try and speed up the development process of a photo. “I’m sorry I’m taking so long.”

“It’s okay.” Jungkook’s voice is soft. “We’re not in a rush.”

He’s not just saying that to be nice, either. At one point, after you’ve apologised yet again, he steals your Polaroid from you and runs; you laugh at him when he refuses to give it back, taking shots of you while he dances just out of your reach, a cascade of photos that somehow turn out distinct and unblurred. Curse his photography abilities. 

You slap him lightly on the arm when he eventually surrenders the camera back to you and he just chuckles. It’s a long, looping detour on your way to the café, but you’re having so much fun that you don’t mind— in fact you end up having to be the one to get you back on track, tugging Jungkook’s elbow when it seems like he’s about to take you down another alleyway and towards the river, which you know is the wrong direction for the café.

“Coffee, Jungkook.” You try to sound stern but you end up dissolving into giggles when he pouts at you. “Okay, how about a compromise? We can get coffee to go and then come back this way so you can show me that market you were talking about.”

He brightens. “Okay,” he says. “We can do that.”

You almost regret saying this when you eventually turn up at the café; it’s actually a few stories up a building, a narrow set of rickety steps that opens into a light, airy room, naked lightbulbs hanging in constellations overhead, the entire wall behind the counter a massive chalkboard that’s covered in art of different styles and designs. The wall facing out onto the road outside is glass— the perfect place to unwind and people watch.

“Oh, wow,” you breathe. “Jungkook, this is so cool.”

“I know,” he says, smug and cheeky, and he laughs when you huff out a little breath at him. “The drinks are good, too.”

He’s not lying. He opts for another banana frappe, and after much deliberation, you decide to try the iced honeycomb latte. He refuses to let you pay and hands his card over to the barista before you even get a chance to reach for your bag, which has you narrowing your eyes at him.

“I feel like you prepared that in advance,” you say.

“Not telling.” He taps the side of his nose, which is scrunched from his smile. Inside you another handful of butterflies take flight.

More and more take wing as the afternoon goes on, each time Jungkook laughs or smiles or looks at you; he leads you through the market and shows you his favourite stalls, excited each time he gets to show you something he likes and enjoys, stealing sips of your drink when you’re distracted— but you laugh in his face and do the same to him, so it’s okay. 

Time flows by as easy as quicksilver, liquid and bright, and before you know it it’s turned from afternoon to evening, sky softening in deepening shades of blue and purple, the smattering of clouds a pastel palette of pink; you come to a stop by the edge of the river, Jungkook a few steps ahead of you by the time he realises you’re not walking beside him. He smiles at you as you lift your camera and take a shot of him surrounded by the sunset.

“I didn’t realise how late it was getting,” you say, and Jungkook blinks. It’s like he’s coming around to himself, like he didn’t realise either; he glances around and notices the shade of the sky before he pulls his sleeve back to look at the watch on his wrist.

“Wow, me neither.” He sounds surprised, and then he looks guilty. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you busy for so long.”

“Oh my gosh, Jungkook, don’t apologise.” You tuck your latest photo into your pocket to look at later. “I’m having so much fun, I just didn’t notice the time go by. It’s not like you’re forcing me to be here,” you laugh. “I like spending time with you.”

The lampposts have yet to turn on and it’s hard to make out Jungkook’s features when he’s turned away from the soft light of the sunset like this. But you can hear the sincerity in his voice when he speaks. “Me too,” he says. “I’m really glad you found Spring Day.”

Your heart squeezes in your chest. Jungkook looks towards the river just as the first lights switch on, finally dark enough that the streetlights come to life; there're trailing bulbs between each lamppost that flicker on moments after, points of brightness that flood the path below them. Jungkook’s face is shaded by the brim of his cap but he takes it off and shakes his head, running his hand through his hair now that it’s freed. Another breath catches in your throat at how utterly mesmerising he is. 

The sound of his voice breaks you out of your trance. “I was wondering,” he says, staring at the rippling mirror of lights on the water, the fading colours of the sky overhead cast in undulating reflections that shift from moment to moment. “You like photography, right?”

“I do,” you say. “Even if I’m not that great at it myself.” 

“I have a friend who’s a photographer and some of his work’s been accepted in a local gallery.” Jungkook’s running his fingers over the hard brim of his cap, running them along its edge. “The opening night is in a few days, and, um. I was wondering if you’d like to go with me?”

He finally turns away from the river to look at you. Jungkook’s eyes are so big and dark. For once you’re the deer caught in headlights, and you don’t even know why; it’s like this simple, innocuous question has reached inside you and stolen all the air out of your lungs. 

Even so, your answer is immediate. “I’d really, really love that,” you answer honestly, and Jungkook’s responding smile is so, so wide.

You forget about that final photo until you get home. It falls out of your pocket as you shrug your coat off to hang it up, and you stoop down to pick it up, fingers stuttering and going still against its white edges as you take it in.

Jungkook’s silhouetted by the evening sky behind him, in stark contrast to the gentle colours and yet just as soft. The shadows are a little blurred, and the colours are a little muted— but Jungkook’s face is clear, his eyes warm and his smile gentle as he looks at you. 

No one’s ever looked at you like that before.

At last the final butterfly flaps its wings and joins the others, your stomach full of fluttering.

--

Your friendship with Jin has miraculously gone back to normal. If anything, it’s even better than it was before your confession— you don’t feel the need to think twice about your actions, like you’re tiptoeing around him, desperate to keep your love a secret. It’s as easy as it used to be and you’re glad.

But you still remember how much it hurt when he’d looked at you and turned you down. You’ve moved past it, sure, but it had just cemented something you’ve known your whole life: how utterly unlovable you are. How wrong you’d been at reading signs, how you’d been in over your head. How every crush you’ve ever had has come to nothing.

You’ve kept that picture of Jungkook resting against your peace lily. His lovely eyes watch as you struggle at your computer, hours of typing stilted words and phrases that you read back and furiously delete. You bury your head in your hands, frustrated. 

Why can’t you write?

By the time Friday night rolls around, you’ve added a grand total of one (1) sentence to your novel. But right now you have more important things to worry about; it’s almost time for you to meet Jungkook at the gallery downtown and the maps app on your phone has been playing up. It’s not that you’re going to be late— you don’t actually live that far away— but you’re not going to be early, and you hate that.

You can see the small groups of people trickling into the gallery, the lights shining out by the entrance cutting across them as they step inside, but your eyes are immediately drawn to Jungkook. He’s been looking down at his phone but as soon as you start to approach it’s like he can sense that you’re there, eyes rising from his screen and zoning in on you immediately. 

You stop in your tracks. His face lifts and splits into a wide smile and you smile helplessly back. He’d said the dress code for tonight was smart-casual, and he looks so good dressed like this. You love his turtleneck jumper.

“Hi,” he says. “Wow, you look good.”

“Hi,” you respond, breathless. You feel winded from his compliment and from the blush that’s rising on his face, even if he’s keeping his gaze locked on yours. “You do too.”

You stare at each other for what feels like eons when someone brushes past you and it snaps the two of you out of the moment, and Jungkook coughs. “Um. Should we go in?”

It’s busier inside than you thought. The gallery isn’t exactly small but the layout isn’t entirely straightforward and people keep clustering in certain areas and getting in the way, distracted by the photos on display. You have to wade through one particularly large group of people to get back to Jungkook, who’s been waiting for you on the other side; he looks concerned on your behalf, and when someone makes a move to walk between the two of you he reaches out for your hand, cutting off their path. Your hand feels so small in his, so warm in his grasp.

“I didn’t realise there’d be so many people here,” he mutters, looking around. You entwine your fingers with his and he startles, glancing at where your hands are joined, like he hadn’t noticed that he’d reached out for you. 

You abruptly feel embarrassed and you’re about to let go when Jungkook squeezes your hand. You glance up and he’s looking away from you, back of his neck red, but he’s not letting go.

“I think Tae’s stuff is a bit further in,” he says. “Let’s go.”

You trail after Jungkook, who keeps his pace matched to yours. It’s a little quieter back here so it’s easy to find who you’re looking for; when you spot a man with bright blue hair he waves wildly in your direction and Jungkook brightens.

“Kookie! Hi!” 

Jungkook lets go of your hand when he’s swept into a hug, and before you can introduce yourself, you’re swept into a hug, too.

“I’m Vante,” the blue-haired man says once he lets you go. “But you can call me Taehyung. Vante is my photographer name. I think it sounds cooler. Don’t you?”

“I think Taehyung is a lovely name,” you say, unphased by how full on Taehyung seems to be. “But Vante sounds really cool, too.”

Taehyung beams at you. “I like you,” he announces. “Y/n, right? Jungkook mentioned you.”

You cough into your palm, trying to act like you’re not supremely flustered right now; when you’re not looking, Jungkook hits Taehyung on the shoulder. “Yeah, that’s right,” you say, looking up. Both boys have innocent expressions on their faces. “Can I have a look at your photos?”

Taehyung is an incredibly talented photographer. You don’t need to be an expert to know that. He has a series of scenic and nature shots, some in colour, some in black and white; he enthusiastically answers your questions about each one, about the background of them and why he takes photos of what he does. Jungkook walks quietly behind you and is content to watch as the two of you talk, chest warmed by how well you’re getting on with each other.

You round a corner to another wall, and Taehyung gestures dramatically at the collection lined across it. “And these are my portrait photos,” he says. “There’s even one of Kookie up here, even if he gets embarrassed whenever I mention it.”

Sure enough, Jungkook is blushing. 

“Take me to it,” you say firmly, and Taehyung laughs out loud before he does just that. It’s a black and white shot, Jungkook in profile as he looks towards the camera, endless ocean waves and sky behind him. “Jungkook, you’re such a good model,” you say, smiling softly at it. 

Jungkook’s gone bright red, and you’ve honestly missed this sight, even if you’re glad that he’s not shy with you any more. “Taehyung’s just good at taking photos,” he says, voice high with embarrassment.

“I have a lot more photos of Jungkookie that aren’t on display,” Taehyung pipes up, and Jungkook looks like he wants the ground to open up and swallow him. “You’ll have to visit my studio some time so I can show them to you.”

You have Taehyung’s business card carefully stowed away in your bag as you walk home, arms swinging by your sides; you unintentionally brush your hand against Jungkook’s, but before you can say sorry he’s taken it as an invitation to hold your hand again. The apology dies on your lips as he slots his fingers between yours and you smile at him instead.

“Taehyung is so cool,” you say. “And talented, too. I love his photos.”

“I’m glad you both get on so well,” Jungkook says. “Sometimes people seem to think Taehyung is… I don’t know. He can come on a bit strong, I guess.”

“He’s great.” You frown. “I’m going to fistfight anyone who’s mean to him.”

Jungkook laughs and squeezes your hand.

He insists on walking you up to your door, keeping hold of your hand as he follows you inside your apartment building. You feel somewhat abashed at how wide his eyes go at how nice it is inside here. You’re not on the same level as, say, Stephen King or George R.R. Martin, but you make a pretty decent amount of money from your books and it shows.

Jungkook doesn’t actually know what you do. You’ve vaguely alluded to the fact that you’re a writer, but that could mean any number of things; for all he knows you could pen the agony aunt column in a magazine (you imagine that would be pretty fun, actually). You keep waiting for the right opportunity to come clean about your pseudonym but nothing’s presented itself yet.

“Do you want to come in? My friend Seokjin makes killer brownies and I’ve got a box of them still in the fridge,” you say. “He always makes way more than I can eat myself.”

Jungkook seems torn. He wants to see inside your apartment, you can tell, but he also probably doesn’t want to seem intrusive— even if you’re offering.

“I hate wasting food so you’d be doing me a real favour,” you add, and Jungkook relents.

“Alright,” he says, and you smile to yourself as you unlock your door.

You’ve been giving flowers to other people, too— Seokjin and Jimin and Namjoon and even Hoseok have been receiving the gifts of your bounty— but only the premade bouquets. The ones that Jungkook puts together are ones that you keep for yourself. It’s far less overwhelming now than it had been a while ago, only a few floral arrangements here and there, but it’s obvious from Jungkook’s expression that he recognises each bouquet.

He ends up sitting at your breakfast bar as you dig the brownies out of your fridge, and he smiles in delight as you warm up some milk. It’s getting late, and you know Jungkook doesn’t like coffee, anyway.

(You’ve learned a lot about Jungkook in the past few months.)

“Which one is Seokjin?” He asks around a mouthful of brownie. You’ve retired to your living room and Jungkook is peering at the strings of fairy lights you have on the wall, Polaroids of your friends and family clipped along its wire. “This one?”

“No, that’s Namjoon,” you say. You stand up from the couch and scooch next to Jungkook so you can point. “He’s Jimin’s boyfriend— which is this guy here. That’s Seokjin,” you point. “All my favourite people. Ah, don’t look at this one, it’s me and Jimin when we were back in school. We look like such dorks. Look at our hair.”

“You look cute,” Jungkook says, and you try not to blush. “Wait, is that me?”

Your collection of Jungkook photos has been growing exponentially over time. The one he’s looking at is a picture of himself in Spring Day, bent over a bucket of roses, fingers cupping the pink flowers as he smiles at them; he’s said he’s okay with you taking photos, but maybe he meant when he was actually aware of you taking them.

“Um, yeah,” you say. You feel weirdly embarrassed. “I can take it down if you want? Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.” Jungkook’s staring at the glowing light next to the photo, avoiding your eyes. “I just didn’t think I’d be on the wall with the rest of your, uh, favourite people.”

Your mouth falls open. You don’t know what to say. Normally you’d scoff at him and say duh, of course you are, but for some reason you can’t summon the courage right now. The words catch in your throat.

Luckily, Jungkook seems to notice another photo. “Oh, is that from your school prom? Wait. Are you on crutches?”

You laugh, glad for the distraction. “Oh, yeah! Jimin persuaded me to sneak out of my house a few weeks before that because I was under curfew but there was a party we were both desperate to go to. Needless to say, climbing out of my window didn’t go so well. I was on crutches for ages after that. It wasn’t so bad, honestly. People felt sorry that I couldn’t dance so they kept sitting with me and feeding me cupcakes out of pity. They were delicious,” you say with a smile. “Never did get to do that end of school dance I’d planned with Jimin, though. That’s the only thing that was bad about it.”

Jungkook’s face twists. You’re too busy looking at the photo and reminiscing to notice, but you do notice when he steps back. You turn, confused as Jungkook holds his hand out and looks at you expectantly.

“What?”

“I know it’s a bit late, and I’m not Jimin, but you can have that end of school dance.” Jungkook wiggles his eyebrows at you. “I promise I won’t step on your feet.”

You giggle, but you can feel a blush threatening to fight its way onto your cheeks. There’s a storm of butterflies in your stomach. “But there’s no music,” you say. “How can we dance without music?”

Jungkook shrugs. “I’ll sing for us,” he says. He steps forward, hand still proffered, and you slide your hand into his, unable to deny him. 

It’s been years since Jimin’s taught you the basic waltz, and you’re a little stiff because of it, but your body seems to remember the steps as Jungkook slowly leads you. You’re staring at your feet while Jungkook hums, but once you have the rhythm down he opens his mouth and starts to sing; you look up from the floor, your eyes helplessly drawn to his. 

His voice is soft and honeyed, words sweet as they hang in the air. You’re so entranced by the deep, warm brown of his eyes that it takes you longer than it should to recognise the lyrics of the song: 10,000 hours, transformed by Jungkook’s mellifluous voice.

He leads you into a turn, and when you come back together it’s a little clumsy and you giggle. Jungkook smiles at you as he continues to sing. The laughter leaves you feeling light and sparkling, like there’s a fountain bubbling inside you, and all the stiffness finally falls away from your limbs. The waltz becomes more of a swaying dance as you let your arms drop, Jungkook’s arm sliding around your waist as you step closer to him, and you end up turning in small circles in the middle of your living room as Jungkook murmurs a love song into your ear.

You suddenly realise that you’ve never been happier than you are right now: dancing in your living room in the circle of Jungkook’s arms as he sings to you, a romantic cliché that’s somehow become true for you. For you. With someone as incredible as Jungkook.

You’re never happier than when you’re with Jungkook.

Holy shit.

You’re in love with Jungkook.

The final note of the song lingers in the air as he comes to an end, the resonance of a bell that slowly fades. He smiles at you as you slowly come to a stop, still nestled in each other’s embrace as your feet finally become still.

“I’m so glad I broke my leg,” you say suddenly, and Jungkook laughs outright, face squeezing up in the way that you love so much.

You’re in love with him.

You watch as he slips his shoes back on. You feel helpless and untethered in a lot of ways, but at the same time, you’ve never felt more sure about anything. When he flashes you a smile, you can’t help but smile back— but that’s always been the case, hasn’t it?

“Hey,” you say suddenly, just after Jungkook’s finished shrugging his coat on. “I know you’ve just, um, gotten ready to go and everything, but can I quickly show you something?” Your heart is thudding in your chest. 

Jungkook blinks. “Sure.”

You give him a jerky nod before turning on your heel and walking down the corridor to swing the door open to your office. Jungkook follows behind you, waiting in the doorway as you flick the light on; he makes a noise when he notices the frame hanging on your wall, the flowers of the corsage that you’d dried and pressed safe behind the glass.

You don’t respond. You’re too busy taking a moment to suck in a deep breath and steel yourself before you open your filing cabinet to pull out a stack of papers, sheaves of writing that are stapled together— the very first, unedited drafts of each of your novels, kept for posterity.

“I, um, don’t really know how to say this.” You stare at your hands as you shuffle through the booklets. “I haven’t told anyone new in a long time, so I guess I’m out of practice, but, uh.” You’re so nervous that you’re light-headed. “Autumn Lovett is actually my pen name. These are drafts of my novels if you think I’m lying,” you say, shoving the paper at Jungkook’s chest; he grabs them before they fall to the ground. “Um. So. Yeah. Taa-daa?”

You feel like you’ve run a marathon. Your heart is racing and your lungs are struggling to take in air. You can’t look at Jungkook. You’re staring at the ceiling instead, dreading his reaction.

When he makes a noise, however, your head snaps down. He’s crouched in the middle of your office with your drafts held over his face.

“Jungkook?” You say, panicked, and he makes the same noise again.

“Oh my God,” he whines, muffled behind the paper. You squat down to grip his hands and pull them away from his face, worried; when it’s finally revealed he’s bright red and he looks mortified. “I can’t believe I recommended your own books to you,” he all but wails. “And I gushed like a fanboy in front of you about them too. Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”

You don’t mean to but you laugh. Jungkook tries to hide his face again but you pull the drafts out of his hands and send them scattering to the floor. “Oh, Jungkook,” you say, overflowing with affection. “You don’t have to apologise. I found it flattering, actually.”

He doesn’t seem bothered that you hadn’t told him sooner. He doesn’t care that you’ve been keeping it a secret. He’s just embarrassed. He stays embarrassed as he helps you gather up the papers, and he stays embarrassed as you return your own book that he’d let you borrow, and he stays embarrassed as he heads towards your front door for the second time that night. 

“I do, um, really like your work,” he says, shy as he fiddles with your door handle. “I’m really looking forward to your next novel. I’m not just saying that to be nice because I know who you are now.” His eyes are wide as he looks up at you. “I mean it.”

Your heart feels full to the brim with fondness. “I know,” you say. “I believe you. I— you can have a read through it before it’s published, actually, as long as you promise not to leak it.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen even further before he holds his hand out. “Pinky promise.”

You giggle as you hook your finger with his. “Pinky promise.”

Once Jungkook’s left you immediately sit down at your computer and write and write and write— it’s like the words just won’t stop. They come pouring out of you, and endless torrent that you don’t try to rein in. You write for so long you end up crashing at your desk, face smooshed against your keyboard as you drool in your sleep.

(“I don’t know how to dance,” Yunhee says, and Lily just smiles.

“Me neither,” she says. “We can learn together.”

They keep stepping on each other’s feet. It’s clumsy and messy and they keep dissolving into laughter between apologies to each other, but it’s perfect, because it’s Yunhee. 

It’s perfect, because it’s Yunhee, with Lily: because it’s them, together.)

--

“I’ve finished my novel,” you announce, and all the men at the table sit up.

“Wow.” Namjoon blinks at you. “I thought you weren’t due to publish for, what, another six months?”

“What can I say? I’ve been inspired.” You smile down into your glass before taking a drink of your orange juice.

Seokjin stares at you before he leans back in his chair. He’s always been able to read you through and through, and that perceptiveness doesn’t leave him now. “Ah,” he says. “You’re in love.”

You’re in the middle of swallowing your juice and nearly choke, spluttering. Namjoon pats your back with concern while his boyfriend looks askance.

“You’re in love and you didn’t tell me?” Jimin sounds affronted. “Who is it? Are they cute? Where are you hiding them? I knew you were lying about those flowers, you lying liar.”

“I wasn’t lying,” you wheeze, finally coughing the last remnants of orange juice out of your windpipe. “Well, I guess it was kind of a half lie? I was buying them, but, uh, he made them.” You fiddle with the napkin in your lap as Seokjin coos at you.

“You fell in love with a florist,” he says. “You’re literally living in an AO3 fanfic. That’s adorable.”

“Shut up,” you hiss, and Jin just laughs when you try to kick him under the table and nearly hit Namjoon instead.

“It sounds romantic,” Namjoon agrees, apparently unphased by how close he was to getting nailed in the shins.

Jimin slaps his small hand against the table. “You haven’t answered any of my questions, snake. I know what you’re like, Y/n— get the Polaroid out of your bag. We need to judge your new beau.”

Jimin’s right. He knows exactly what you’re like, the helpless romantic that you are; the three men shuffle their heads together to peer at the photo of Jungkook, the one where he’s surrounded by the sunset.

“He’s fucking cute,” Jimin decides immediately. “I’m almost offended you haven’t introduced him to us yet. You should invite him to our house-warming party. Namjoon agrees.”

You look at Namjoon, who nods despite not being consulted. “You’re so whipped,” you mutter at him. He just shrugs. “Anyway,” you continue, raising your voice over Jimin’s and Jin’s muttered conversation as they continue to stare at your photo of Jungkook. “I’m going to hold fire on the house-warming party invitation for now, because, um, I haven’t actually said anything to him yet.”

Your eyes are cast down as you say this, affixed to the sight of your hands in your lap. You’ve still been visiting Spring Day, of course, and you’ve started to see Jungkook more and more outside of work as well; each time you meet him you fall a little bit more in love. It’s almost terrifying how easy it is to fall for him.

“Y/n.” Jimin’s voice is sober and you glance up from your lap to take in the worried look on his face. “I know it must be scary—”

“Oh gosh, Minnie, I love you, but it’s okay, you don’t need to give me a pep-talk on how I’m a 10/10 and anyone would be blessed to have me,” you interrupt. “I haven’t been putting off confessing because I think he’s going to pull a Jin and turn me down—”

“Hey,” Jin says mildly. He knows you’re joking. You got over that ages ago.

“—but I, um, emailed him my book yesterday, actually,” you finish. “What he does once he’s finished reading it is up to him.”

Jimin is right. It is scary. But Jungkook is worth the potential pain and heartache. He is. He’s always so lovely to you, always so considerate; he sings for you and dances with you and he’s even painted for you, a small canvas covered in favourite flowers, ones that won’t die. Last week when he’d dropped you off at your apartment, he’d brushed his lips across your cheek before practically sprinting away, and your heart had exploded in your chest. 

You have no idea how someone as amazing as Jungkook sees something worthwhile in you, so it's hard to come to grips with, but there’s no way you’re reading this wrong. There’s no way.

The table goes quiet and then Jin leans forward and takes your hands in his. “I can’t believe you’re confessing to him with your book,” he says. “This really is an AO3 fanfic. Hashtag slow burn.”

This time, when you kick him, you don’t miss.

You spend the rest of the day with your coterie of doofuses and by the time you get home you’re ready to relax. You’ve just finished getting into your pyjamas, flopping down onto your sofa when there’s suddenly a hammering at your door. You sit up, startled at the noise. The knocking doesn’t let up as you approach the door and you’re wary, but once you look through the peephole you immediately swing it open.

“Jungkook? Are you okay?”

He’s wild-eyed and windswept and his chest is heaving as he sucks in air. You stare at him with concern as he catches his breath.

“Yoongi let me have the day off,” he says. You blink at him.

“Okay? Did you want to go out somewhere? Now? You’ll have to let me change, though, my pyjamas aren’t exactly great evening wear.”

“I’ve spent the whole day reading your book,” Jungkook says, and your heart goes still in your chest before it starts beating at double time.

“Oh,” you say. “Um. What, uh. What did you think?”

Jungkook’s face has taken on an expression that you’ve become intimately familiar with, a similar look to the one he’d been giving you that night by the river, soft and open and warm and— you can see it now, as time has gone by— full of love. He cups your face in his hands and rests his forehead against yours, dark eyes drinking you in, the smile on his lips so lovely and sweet. Just for you.

“I love you,” he says, and then he kisses you.

He keeps cradling your face in his hands, his lips moving against yours in a way that’s so tender that it makes you want to cry; you’ve never felt so wrapped up in someone’s touch like this, like you can feel exactly how precious you are to him just from the touch of his lips against yours. You know it’s a cliché to say that it feels like fireworks going off in your chest, but it does, every single one of the butterflies that have been nestled in your ribcage exploding into flames and brightness, sparkling heat that shines out of you every second Jungkook keeps kissing and kissing and kissing you.

Kissing Jungkook feels like every romantic fantasy you’ve ever written into your books is coming true all at once. You’re not unwanted, undesirable, unlovable: he wants you, he desires you, he loves you. 

(He loves you.)

It feels like every flower he’s ever given you is flushing to full bloom all at once, spilling out of your chest, brightness and colour and life curling around your heart. All those years spent quietly hoping, culminating in this moment: Jeon Jungkook pressing his lips against yours, keeping you steady as you lean into him, and you feel like all that waiting and yearning and wanting was worth it if you got to meet him at the end of it all. You’ve finally got your storybook ending.

No, actually— it’s just the beginning. 

You’re still standing in your doorway when you part, Jungkook’s hands splayed across your jaw as you give him a smile so wide it almost hurts. 

“I love you too,” you say. “If that wasn’t already obvious.”

Jungkook chuckles and you can’t help but lean into the sound, eyes slipping shut as you turn your head and rest your forehead against his jaw. “I had to reread some parts because I didn’t think I was reading it right,” he admits, and you keep smiling. “I thought there was no way it could be real.”

How could Jungkook ever have any doubts? How could Jungkook think that there was no way that you could love him? Does he not realise how amazing he is? How wildly lucky you feel that somehow— with all your flaws and blemishes and imperfections— he loves you back?

“What made you come around?”

“Yoongi-hyung took one look at the last page and threw a roll of ribbon at my head,” Jungkook says, and you laugh, and Jungkook laughs, and the two of you are laughing and laughing and laughing. You feel like you could float away, buoyant with happiness; only Jungkook’s presence is keeping your feet on the ground. “I hope you don’t mind that I let him read it.”

“It’s okay.” You tilt your head back to look at Jungkook. He’s staring at you like you’re the sun and he’s turning towards you, a fierce and beautiful tiger lily blooming in your light. “I wouldn’t mind if you sent free copies of the book to everyone in the world if it meant I’d have you at the end of it.”

Jungkook smiles at you. It’s bright and wide and his eyes are crescents as his nose scrunches and he flashes his teeth, and you love him. “Purple rose, lilac, baby’s breath,” he says, and you recognise the flowers of the corsage he’d given you, all those months ago. “Love at first sight, first love, everlasting love.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “Shut up,” you breathe. He'd seen you as worth loving, even then? “Shut up. You did not— you did not confess that you had a crush on me with flowers? After we’d only met twice?” 

“Maybe I did.” Jungkook’s smile turns cheeky and you love him.

“I can’t believe you. I can’t believe me. You were literally reading a book about flower language, how did I not— god. I love you,” you say helplessly, and he laughs before he kisses you again.

(“I love you.”

Yunhee freezes in place and looks up at Lily with wide eyes. Lily is terrified of being hurt again, terrified of Yunhee not returning all this endless love that she has in her heart— but Yunhee is worth that terror. She’s worth that pain. Even if she doesn’t feel the same, she needs to know how loved she is. How brilliant and lovely and wonderful she is, her Yunhee, her love.

Yunhee opens her mouth to reply, and says:

-

How this story ends is up to you, Jungkook. I’ll be waiting. - Y/n)

[limitlessgojo]

Blood Bound: Red Strings of Fate (Ch 10)

Warnings: Action, Coarse Language, Fighting, Descriptions of Blood

Previous Chapter: Wait For Me

Next Chapter: Kyoto-Tokyo Goodwill Event

Tags: Soulmates AU, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Fem!Reader

Taglist: @lessie-oxj @rizzo-nero @whoreuc @fkngkumiko @isl3t @gojoussunglasses @onepotatostand-blog @s-t-f-u-b-i-t-c-h @sunaswife

Notes: If you want to be tagged for every update, please mention it in the comments below ty <3

We are halfway through the story~ I never planned for this to be over 40k😅 but I've added some integral scenes in the later chapters. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 10: Invisible Ties

You couldn't sleep at all the few nights that followed. Mai and the others noticed your fatigue. They worriedly asked about you and let you cuddle into them and nap when you had some free time.

Miwa even let's you stay with her in her room at times, and it does help for a bit, but you don't want to bother them. And something was telling you it wasn't just regular fatigue.

You sometimes zone out in class and could barely stay awake during physical training. Eventually, you consulted Utahime about your possible insomnia.

You had a feeling it was tied to your feeling of unrest over your soulmate bond. It didn't help that your soulmark was stinging and all your heart wanted was to be with Noritoshi. There was a strong sense of unease over this bond.

You pulled down your sleeve to reveal the mark on your wrist flashing madly like a broken stoplight. You groaned and shoved your face into your pillow.

You've taken to wrapping a black velvet ribbon on it during the day, to not attract attention. If this light flashing keeps up, you might have to use a thicker fabric.

◇◇◇

Noritoshi was feeling the same uneasiness you did. He tried to shake it off and act as natural as he could around you, but even he was still shook at how quickly your negative emotions transmitted over the bond.

He was in his room and it was past 11. He tried to get to sleep, but found that he couldn’t so he tried studying. He was actually distracted for once, looking over his desk at the soulmate record and diaries of Hotaru and found himself reading them.

◇◇◇

On the other hand, you were restless in your room.

"I shouldn't bother Noritoshi senpai but..." You glanced over at your clock. 12:06am. Just past midnight, he was surely asleep. And yet you found yourself grabbing your pillow and blankets, and quietly making your way to his dorm room.

It was as if your body was moving under the command of your red strings. Pulling you back to the man who was responsible for messing you up like this.

You stood outside for a good 5 minutes, contemplating on whether or not you should knock. You haven't had a proper sleep in nights and it is starting to show in your studies.

Finally, you decided to quietly knock a few times. A beat passed and there was no response. You were about to walk away when the door opened. He was awake to your surprise.

He was in his dark navy Kimono, hair wrappings undone. Some strands of his hair fell over his eyes. At that moment, you thought to yourself that he was the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

“Can I help you y/n?” He was staring at your pillows and blankets.

Ah right. All of the sudden you feel so small and dumb for coming all the way here for no good reason. “Ah, Noritoshi senpai. Um, good evening.” You scrambled for words.

“I, uhm, I’m sorry I can’t really sleep- Ah what I mean to say is that I haven’t been sleeping well lately and I was wondering if I-” a cold gust of air blew past you and you shivered.

Noritoshi’s eyes widened at this and he pulled you into his room and closed the door behind you. He was so close, your face turned bright red. Way too close for comfort.

He seemed to get the hint and took a step back from you. “So you want to stay the night with me, is that what you’re getting at?”

You stayed still before slowly nodding, then looked up to see his reaction. His face was like stone, nothing was giving anything away. He didn’t look so happy to see you in your opinion.

“I’m sorry to disturb you…. I was gonna…. ask… if I ….. could … sleep …. on … your floor…, “ your voice was getting smaller and softer with each word, heart clenching painfully. Your fists tightly scrunched up in your blankets.

Suddenly he leaned down close to bring his face to yours and raised his hand. You flinched and closed your eyes tightly, expecting a “no.”

He cupped your cheeks gently and touched the bags of your eyes with his fingers. “You’ve been looking so exhausted lately, I was actually going to bring it up to you, but I wasn’t able to catch you earlier today. Just share the bed with me.”

You blinked. What. Did you hear that right?

You looked at him with wide eyes. His face was red too. “Is this okay with you? I really don’t want to overstep my boundaries… Last time….” you opened your mouth then realized you didn’t come here to dump all the shit that’s troubling your mind onto Noritoshi.

‘I’m sure he also has it hard on his end’. “Ah, never mind. Thank you so much senpai.” you smiled up at him.

Noritoshi’s chest hurts to see you fake a smile towards him. Time and time again, he’s loved watching how expressive and honest you are with your emotions.

He’s seen your genuine smiles more often than not. Seeing you like this just felt wrong.

“Tell me.” He said.

“Ah- it’s really nothing, I know you’ve been dealing with so much on your end, you’re also stressed, I’m just thankful that you’re letting me stay here in your room-” you were rambling without realizing it.

“Tell me. Don’t hold back. I can feel your unease through the soulmate bond.” he said sternly.

Noritoshi was starting to understand that you both had to work through the negative emotions each one feels together. That’s the reason for the soulmate bond. Ignoring it would be like dragging yourselves through mud.

You got the gist of his line of thought, having the same realization at the same time. You spoke cautiously so as not to offend him, "This has been bothering me. Last time in your room, it just felt like you were treating me as an outsider and it hurt. Like I thought that we were more than that, but maybe it's just me. Also, you once said I didn't know who you are. So I just…. Wanted to understand you better..."

Noritoshi’s eyes softened, and he just couldn’t resist you anymore. He pulled you towards his bed and set down your blankets and pillows. Then turned back to you, “Can I hug you?”

“Of course.” It was fun to see him blush and awkwardly hold his arms out towards you. You stepped into his space, grabbed one arm to throw around your shoulder, and the other around your waist. As he didn’t seem to know where to hold you.

"I do admit I have my secrets and I’m not ready to tell you about them yet. For that I apologize, you have to wait a bit longer until I’m more comfortable with you. But you're not an outsider to me my dear. You could never be. I also believe that we are more than friends, like I said before. I need you to trust me a little more. And I’ll do the same with you, I’ll trust you a bit more. I want it all and this soulbond, as long as it's you."

Your eyes widened and sparkled upon hearing his words. Your bond finally settled into something of a quiet hum underneath your veins. You hugged him tighter, which he smiled at.

"I'm sorry, I should have explained to you how I felt senpai." You whispered sadly. But he just hushed you and held your hand. "It's okay, next time we can do better. Let’s start anew shall we?"

You spoke out a soft yes in response. It was honestly still a disjointed relationship. Like you’re both just two parts of a whole trying to find their way to each other.

"Let's face the truth. This is really an unconventional relationship. We can't really abide by the normal fall in love then confess situation can we?" You said.

"Why can't we?" Noritoshi asked, looking a bit surprised. "It's unconventional and gives us a fair share of problems, that's true. But we can still fall in love and confess the normal way. With time." He added.

You just hummed and nodded.

You pulled back from him, “Anywayss, Why are you still awake at this hour anyways senpai? It's bedtime.”

“Reading the diary of a man who was my past life.” Your eyes widened at that. “Let’s read a bit of it together, then we can sleep?” You nodded.

He set up the pillows so both of you could lean side by side in bed while reading the diary entries. The story was not a nice one. Hotaru eloping with his lover, on the run from their families, curses and curse users. Constantly taking odd jobs to get money, and hiding in old inns. It sounded so exhausting.

You found yourself looking over at Noritoshi every now and then, wanting to lean closer, your eyelids getting heavier.

He turned to you then looked at the clock. 12:47am.

No classes tomorrow, since it's the weekend but you looked terribly sleepy. So he closed the book, set it aside. Closed the lights before climbing in beside you.

You stretched out like a cat before tucking yourself under the sheets. "Sleep time??"

He smiled at you. "Yeah." He laid down beside you, and you were both lying on your sides, facing each other.

"Good night darling." He whispered. Your face heated up but you thanked the darkness that he couldn't see your blush at the pet name.

"Good night Nori- ah senpai." You whispered back.

He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Drop the Senpai, just call me Noritoshi."

"Okay…. Noritoshi."

"Mmmm."

2 minutes passed, but you're both still staring at each other.

"Noritoshi."

"What is it?"

"Nothing much… Just saying your name feels nice. Can we hold hands while we sleep?"

He chuckled and reached to clasp both your hands in his. Your mark has long stopped flashing wildly. It's now a warm dark red glow.

You smiled at your marks.

"Can I kiss you? Properly?" He asked hesitantly.

Oh. You would like that very much. Your heart is literally in your throat, beating so furiously Noritoshi could probably feel it.

You could feel some of his stronger emotions through the bond. He really wants to hold you in his arms, you realized. You never felt so bare with another person before. He could probably feel your emotions too, so no point in hiding it.

As you nodded, he slowly crawled over you, caging you in with his arms. Slow, he was too slow.

You grabbed the front of his Kimono and pulled his lips down to yours. His eyes widened, but soon closed shut as he finally finally got to taste you. He was careful not to crush you as he pressed you into the sheets for a deeper kiss.

You both found yourselves running your hands over the other's body. His tongue entered your mouth and played with yours. Dangerous. Your hands tugging at his hair. It was getting dangerous.

Noritoshi quickly pulled back, chest heaving against yours, and tucked you under his chin. His heartbeat was beating furiously before quickly calming down.

"Darling I'm-" how could he tell you that he wants you right now. This wasn’t good, he had to hold himself back. He kissed you on the forehead.

"Shhhh, I'm right here." he whispered sweet nothings into your ears as you whined out at the loss of his lips on yours. "Time for bed as you said. Good night." He kissed you once more on the cheek.

You pouted and looked up to see him cuddle you with such a soft expression. So you relented, "Okay. Good night Noritoshi." And fell into a deep sleep in his arms.

◇◇◇

"Nnnghhh…."

"Mmnghhh…."

…. You opened your eyes to see Noritoshi groaning above you. It's like 3am, in the middle of the night, and you accidentally shoved your knee in his gut.

He was still asleep, but he could feel the pain. You hurriedly retracted your knee, reaching over to pat him on the back. Then moving to stroke him gently on the head.

As he finally settled back into sleep, you subconsciously moved forward to tuck your head under his neck. He is feverishly warm and comfortable. It’s gonna be hard going to bed without him.

And as you fell back into a deep sleep in his arms, Noritoshi, still asleep, wrapped his arms tighter around you and then continued dozing off.

◇◇◇

You felt yourself wake up with the best night’s sleep you’ve had in years. And that was saying something.

Noritoshi was still sleeping. He looked like he was having a rather nice dream. You traced the outline of his features with your fingers until his eyes snapped open.

You jumped back, shrieking and almost falling off the edge of the bed. But Noritoshi had fast reflexes, hand reaching out to grab your waist and pull you close to him. Your face smacked into his chest.

"Morning." His voice was so deep and raspy, you shivered at the sound. His eyes darkened.

"Morning senpai." You whispered, feeling so small.

"Do you make it a habit to play with other people’s faces while they’re asleep?" He whispered.

Goosebumps prickled along your skin as he stroked your arms slowly. "Ahh, I didn’t know you were awake, I’m sorry." You blushed.

Both of your stomachs were kind enough to growl and save your sorry ass. Noritoshi laughed at this.

"My darling needs some breakfast. I'll have the Kamo household prepare and deliver some for us." He said as he reached for his phone.

"Noritoshi, you don't have to, I don't want to be a bother really." You tugged at his sleeves.

“I already said you're never a bother to me haven't I?” He slumped over you as he typed out a text.

You groaned from underneath, "You're heavy Noritoshi."

"That's to stop you from leaving my room without breakfast." He deadpanned.

Blood Bound: Table of Contents

[xsarcasticwriterx]

Au Volant-part 1

Summary: You were free, you had control until bucky and Steve showed up at your door.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: Angst, swearing, minor tfawts ep 2 spoilers.

Notes: This is a series btw and I'm not sure how long it'll be (not like I do for any of my series) and yea that's all just know it will be pretty....dark pfft. Also, this does NOT fit in the marvel timeline even if references are made to such.

Steve knew when he was out-matched, hell even before the serum he knew when he'd lose he just didn't know when to stop. Bucky did though and nothing about that had changed in 100 years. Not even now when steves ass was being handed to him. after getting bucky back steve and bucky had gone off on their own mission to find other super-soldiers who may still be alive. of course they expected this to be easier than it was.

Of course, bucky could've just brought steve to Isaiah Bradley but he still knew steve would be pissed after finding out what had been done to him and he just wanted to leave Isaiah to his own thing still.

Then there was you. Bucky met you back when he was first becoming the winter soldier. you were their first test into becoming one of them. of course, your trigger words hadn't been finished before you killed those who were working on you and escaping. it s why they advanced buckys mechanism. You'd had tried to free him but they were already in the works of triggering buckys words.

Bucky knew you were free but only by self-discipline and no one knowing the words aside from hydra who, by this point, you'd spent the last century running from. He wanted you to stay out even if he knew where you were at.

That was until now, they needed another super soldier to win. Sure he could call Isaiah but as far as triggers go you were more likely to not only survive this but even join it. So with that process bucky grabbed steve ignoring his words and ran to your house.

you were 95 years old, despite how you looked. you had managed to escape hydra. Ever since hydra fell you ere truly free for the first time in a long time. you had enrolled in college majoring in history, ironic yes but you figured with your overextended life maybe you could use it and become a history professor.

This was your plan until there was a knock at your door. you figured it was the pizza you had ordered until you opened it seeing a bloody avenger and the weapon that hydra used over and over again to kill people. So with that you slammed the door, locked it, and walked back to your living room. "y/n come on" you heard bucky say. "nope" you yelled back.

"I thought you said shed be willing to help?" you heard steve groan. "I never said willing I said she could help" bucky replied. steve sighed "look y/n I know-" steve started to say "you don't know shit about shit star-spangled man with a plan," you said back.

"I spent the last 70 years running from this man ok. Now I know he is back to Sargent Barnes or whatever crap he was before but guesses what it does mean I am willing to just jump back in the man who was on my ass trying to kill me just yesterday, and it sure as fuck doesn't mean that I am willing to jump back into war" you wished they just go away. You were finally free safe. "steve go" "huh?" "go ill be back with you in a few minutes" and so steve walked away out of hearing distance. bucky said down but your door.

"look y/n I know what you've been through ok. I know they hurt you because they hurt me too. See this difference is I was a soldier before this...you were just someone in the wrong place wrong time. Me and steve here are looking for the others those who were like us, set them free too. Though they seem to either be like you, Isiah, or are still trying to fight. now I'm here because most are trying to fight and they're gathering together and fighting. I don't blame you for not trusting me I get it, some days even I don't trust me but know that I never wanted to hurt you." bucky cleared his throat "I am James 'bucky' Barnes and you are part of my amends" bucky said before the door opened and he fell back.

You stuck your hand out "give it" you said which bucky only looked up at you confused. "come on there's only so many therapists for brainwashed murderes give it" you said again. bucky handed you the tiny book. you opened it and crossed out your name handing it back to him. "get up and get your boy toy over there to come inside. I need to get ready if we're going to war." you said walking upstairs. "so you'll come?" bucky asked. "sure James why the fuck not but be aware you may be fixed but I'm only free out of pure will, soon as someone says the words I'm no longer free" you said walking to your room.

Bucky opened his notebook writing down ten words. he handed the paper to steve. "what's this?" he asked looking down at the words in both Russian and English. "her trigger words. just know as soon as there said she's one of them" bucky knew the words. hydras orders were if he found you to trigger you. "so she's not...." steve trailed off "nope she's only free out of self will" bucky shrugged sometimes he wished he had been able to be like you. "is it safe to bring her?" steve asked fearing what would happen if you became like bucky. "ill be fine" you said from the top of the stairs. you were wearing your gear which consisted of a black long sleeve made out of bulletproof gear that you stole from the police, black leggings for movement, black boots, and a hoodie. your hair was out of your face and you had your daggers on one side of your belt and your guns on the other.

"don't be a moron and say those words and everything will be fine," you said walking down. "now what's the game plan what do I need?" "what you have and spare clothes and weapons," Steve said. you nodded walking to your garage where the rest of your knives and guns were at along with your disguised clothes. "so you said that the soldiers are grouping up and fighting. know why?" "There are only rumors some say they want new hydra, others say they're scared some say they are forming a 'better' hydra," bucky said following you.

you grabbed a bag stuffing clothes in and ammo along with some daggers. "so are we staying with the rest of the little einstens?" you asked turning to steve. you were met with two confused faces. you blinked, how on earth are you, a person on the run, more educated on pop culture than these two "its....its a kids show" you said clearing your throat "im asking if were staying at the avengers headquarters" you said awkwardly. "oh no were tracking the group and certain people, those suspicious and then we just stay in hotels" steve said. you nodded and walked to the front door. "lets go then shall we"

you two got into steves car. "so how come no ones ever heard of you if you were on of them?" steve asked. "got out before i become one fully they never were able to trigger me" you shrugged. "she tried getting me out but...she was too late" bucky looked down. steve shut up from that point on. you all drove to a motel close to where they had seen a few people hiding out at from the sights of it.

the motel was kind of well really bad, not quite what you expected when rolling with the avengers. they said it was to stay undercover, large purchases and such could trigger that someone famous is rolling in. So here you were sat on a rigidy bed in the motel. there was 2 beds but 3 of you so someone had to share. "not it" steve said flopping back onto a bed. you and bucky looked at each other. "come on you two have known each other for almost as long as buck and I" steve said sitting up.

you grumbled sitting on the bed before sighing. not like you slept much so maybe you wouldn't have to actually share the bed. "for tonight we will fill you in" steve said. you 3 sat at a table and they told you the information they have and what they're plan is.

They said how they have a few places where they think people are hiding out based on the hours of activity and a few spots look like people are hiding out there. They said their plan was talk until people started noticing bucky and then chose to fight, then they came to you. Now their plan was talk but with back up incase shit takes a turn again.

Bucky and steve had gone to sleep but you were still up sat at a table. you were sharpening your daggers. you were zoned out for a while at this point. you didn't sleep often due to fear that if you let your guard down you wouldn't be able to hold back the soldier part of you. you really only slept when you were on the verge of passing out. This started when one night you had a dream, not long after you escaped, of the man saying the words. you felt your whole brain shift, luckily you woke up and were able to push back before anything happened. since then it was too close of a call to risk anything ever again.

You saw movement and looked up seeing bucky look around in almost a panic before he saw you. his breathing steadied "hey" he whispered out of breath. you nodded to him "you ok there?" "hmm? yea why are you up isnt it late?" you looked at the clock. last you looked it was 12am. you shrugged "same reason your up" "guess being brainwashed has its cons" you huffed "ysupposeou could say that"

"you sleep at all" bucky asked standing and walking to you. "i sleep when i feel like im going to pass out" you returned back to sharpening your daggers "last time i casually slept the world almost had another winter soldier" you scoffed "never doing that shit again" you looked up at bucky. his hair was a mess and a thin layer of sweat covered his chest. he was definitely muscly and you'd be lying if you said he wasn't hot.

"you should rest ill watch over you make sure you don't change" he said looking at you. "no its fine got another" you looked down at your watch looking at the date "few days before i pass out" you shrugged. "y/n. sleep" he stated. you shook your head. bucky groaned, walked to you and threw you over his shoulder "come on sleep time" he said putting you on the bed. you groaned but soon as you were laying down you felt your eyes insticntly close. "stupid body" you grumbled

soon slumber took over. bucky smirked down at you. you two were one in the same except while he was forever free you, you were free on pure will and keeping your guard up. "ill keep you safe doll, no one will change you even yourself" he said brushing the hair from your face. soon he felt as peace seeing you so calm and he laid next to you. the bed reminded him of the ones in the military. sleep took him over not too longer after.

[jaskierswolf]

hi wolfie it is i, the ramen man, i was wondering if you could write a prompt based on a baking competition tv show ? maybe even christmas themed if you want ?? no stress if you can't/don't wanna write it, i love u 🥺

This got... long? So you can also find on AO3

__________

Jaskier wasn’t stressed. He’d made this recipe a thousand times. It was his speciality!  No one made better chocolate brownies than he did but his presentation let him down. They were messy, gooey and delicious but this was a competition. They needed to look good too. He whined as he sat in front of his oven. Who made chocolate brownies for a cooking competition? Oh god he was an idiot.

He glanced around the room. Valdo Marx was busy finishing up his winter spiced cake and it smelled absolutely divine; the bastard. Plus he’d brought along some holly sprigs to make the whole thing look a bunch more christmassy. Jaskier had baked some orange slices to decorate his brownies. He also had some edible golden glitter for the top and a few spun sugar decoration for good luck. His secret ingredient though was Cointreau. The orange liqueur kept the brownies extra gooey in the centre without them being too rich.

He stared into the oven, chewing his bottom lip anxiously as he ran a hand through his hair. They were almost done. There was a shiny film over the top that would give the brownies a nice crunch. If he did well with these he would get into the next round; the final round. In that round they hand to create gingerbread houses, well more palaces. They had to absolute architectural masterpieces and he was shitting himself. Like his brownies, his gingerbread tasted amazing but it wasn’t always pretty. They were delicious and wonderful but not much to look at on the surface.

He’d only gotten so far because they tasted good.

“Come on, come on, come on!” He muttered and pressed his face against the glass.

He really needed to at least get to the final. There were smaller cash prizes for all finalists and the publicity from the competition would do wonders for his little bakery.

“How’s it going?” Triss Merigold, one of the presenters asked.

He shrugged. “Not much I can do until it’s finished baking. It always goes much faster when you’re watching this at home.”

Triss laughed. “Clever editing.”

“I just hope I’ve done enough,” he sighed. “Maybe I can charm the judges with my guitar skills instead…”

“Ah yes, they said you play. Is that a hobby?” Triss asked with forced politeness.

Jaskier scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah. Well, I wanted to play as a kid. I was going to be the next John Lennon but you know how it is. My gran taught me how to bake and I became addicted. I still write my own songs for my YouTube channel though.”

“Wow! That’s amazing!” Triss made it sound like the least amazing hobby on the planet.

Luckily the oven timer went off at that moment and Jaskier was able to crack on. He pricked the brownies to make sure they were cooked through before setting it aside to cool. Whilst they were cooling he grabbed his tray of sugar decorations and the orange slicer.

“Bakers! You have five minutes!” Triss called out.

“Oh bollocks!” He groaned. He wasn’t going to have enough time to let it cool before decorating. Luckily the brownies tasted better warm but they were also harder to get out of the tin in one piece. He whined pitifully but dug a knife around the edge of the tin before slicing the brownies into the neatest rectangles he could manage. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

The camera man glared at him for swearing but he just stuck his tongue out. He was stressed, he was allowed to fucking swear! They were crumbling in his hands as he moved them to the plates. He cleaned up the crumbs as best as he could before showering them with edible glitter. He arranged the baked orange decorations as best he could so they looked slightly less terrible and then finally delicately placed the spun sugar on the top, only breaking two of the little shits in his hands.

“And stop!” Triss yelled and all the bakers stood back from their stations.

Valdo Marx was smiling smugly. His winter spiced cake looked fucking fantastic. On his other side stood Priscilla. She’d made cupcakes that were elegantly decorated to look like snowflakes, each one slightly different and beautiful. Next to Priscilla was Essi Daven. Her chocolate Yule Log looked amazing, Jaskier almost believed it was a real log.

Oh he was so going out.

He sighed and plastered a fake smile on his face as Yennefer Vengerberg re-entered the room.

“Time’s up bakers. You are apparently the best of the best but only three of you will make the final round. My expectations are high. I’m sure you’ll disappoint.” She smirked at them, violet eyes flashing dangerously. “Sadly, it is not only me that you must impress with these bakes.”

Jaskier felt his eyes widen. Shit, he’d forgotten that they brought in a second judge in this round. The bakers never knew who would be until they were introduced but it was always a famous chef and Jaskier suddenly felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“Please welcome, my ex-husband… Geralt.”

Jaskier let out a pitiful whimper as Geralt fucking Rivia entered the room. The man was only his celebrity crush. He would be fine. It was going to be fine and holy shit he was even more gorgeous in real life.

Fuck.

“Now, as I am sure you are all away, Geralt and I have never once agreed on anything except our daughter. So this promises to be fun.” Yen drawled sarcastically.

Geralt chuckled and crossed his arms in front on his chest. He was wearing a tight black t-shirt and Jaskier’s entirely life was suddenly just Geralt’s arms.

They were so big.

“That is precisely why I was invited, Yen,” Geralt muttered with a fond smile. “Evens out the vote.”

“My vote is fine on its own.”

“Hmm. We’ll see.”

Jaskier zoned out the rest of the conversation as the other bakers made their way to the front to be judged. He was too entranced by the god stood before him. The long silver hair that was pulled up into a bun, revealing the oh so sexy undercut. Jaskier watched Geralt’s lips part as he tasted one of Priscilla’s cupcakes. He got some frosting stuck on the corner of his lips and Jaskier desperately wanted to help him lick it off, but instead Geralt’s tongue flicked out to catch it. Jaskier was weak.

He zoned back in long enough to notice with great satisfaction that Valdo’s cake was under-baked and a little bit shit, not even holly could save it. So Jaskier was still in with a chance, and then it was his turn. He was hoping the brownies would still be warm. If they’d cooled down too much then his presentation would probably fuck him over.

“Buttercup?” Yennefer raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “If you could stop drooling over my ex for two seconds, tell us about your… brownies?”

Jaskier’s fingers flexed and he tugged nervously at the edge of his shirt. “Ah yes. Umm. Hi,” He stammered and blushed as Geralt winked at him. “Brownies, orange. Chocolate orange brownies,” he swallowed and ran a hand through his hair. “I used dark chocolate mostly but there are chocolate orange chunks in there too, any orange flavoured chocolate is good. Orange zest, orange juice and umm.. oh ah, orange liqueur.”

“Aren’t you concerned the orange will overpower the chocolate?” Yen asked sharply.

Jaskier shrugged. “I make these every year. They sell well at the bakery.”

“Smells good,” Geralt noted.

“The presentation is shocking,” Yennefer countered.

“Yeah,” Jaskier admitted with a sheepish smile “but I can do better. If you give me a chance.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re running out of chances.”

“Yeah but I’m cute.” The words fell from his lips before he could stop them. He clapped his hand over his mouth and blush furiously. “I am so sorry!”

“Hmm.”

“Let’s just taste them shall we?” Yen suggested.

Jaskier nodded, still hiding behind his hands. “Please.” He felt a hand on his shoulder and he yelped.

“Relax, Jaskier,” Geralt murmured in a low voice.

Jaskier’s blush deepened and he smiled up at Geralt. Oh those eyes were like honey, so warm and inviting. There was still a small smudge of frosting on his lips that Jaskier hadn’t noticed before but now he couldn’t stop staring. He wondered if Geralt tasted as sweet as he looked. “Thanks, Geralt.”

“Geralt, stop flirting and taste the freaking brownie.”

“Yes, dear,” Geralt sighed.

Geralt took a bite of his brownie and fucking moaned. A quiet whimper escaped Jaskier’s lips. God he was going to melt on national television but he didn’t care. He’d had a chance to meet his favourite celebrity and Geralt had liked his baking! It was honestly life goals. The only thing he had left to tick off was his wedding to Geralt by the coast. That had always seemed like an unreachable fantasy that helped him sleep at night but now Geralt was right in front of him… it didn’t seem quite so far away.

“Fuck,” Geralt moaned. Jaskier chuckled, that would have to be beeped out in the final cut. “This is amazing!”

Yennefer looked surprised as she tried her own forkful of brownie. “Not bad, buttercup. Not bad at all. It melts in your mouth.”

“And the orange is actually subtler than I expected.” Geralt gave him a fond smile and Jaskier had to remind himself how to breathe.

“Ah, umm. Thanks, Thank you, Geralt.”

“It looks like dirt,” Yennefer said cooly “but it tastes heavenly. Presentation has always been your weakness, Jaskier.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened. Yennefer hadn’t called him ‘Jaskier’ since the first round when Triss had mentioned it was Polish for buttercup. “I know. I know!” He whined.

“If you get through to the final then you will fail miserably unless you can change that,” she added with a raised eyebrow.

“Taste won’t save you, no matter how cute you are,” Geralt smirked.

“I know. Wait hang on what?!” Jaskier stammered at Geralt’s words.

“You did good, buttercup. Well done.” Yennefer said firmly and rolled her eyes. “We’re done here.”

“Thank you, Yennefer, Geralt,” He nodded, definitely not still blushing as his gaze landed back on Geralt. “Thank you.”

____________

Jaskier screamed into the cushions as he threw himself down on the sofa. He’d fucking done it! He was in the final! He’d never imagined in a million years! Not to mention that Geralt Rivia thought he was cute. He wondered if he would be able to get Geralt’s autograph or whether that was just weird considering he was one of the judges.

“Jaskier?”

Jaskier rolled over so he could see Geralt, forgetting that the sofa wasn’t that wide and falling onto the floor. “Oh fuck!”

“Are you alright?” Geralt asked as he came over to help him stand up. Jaskier gripped Geralt’s forearm as he was pulled to his feet.

All other thoughts left his mind as he stared at the muscles in Geralt’s arms.

“Arms…” He blurted out. “I mean! Shit. Umm, oh god.”

Geralt just laughed and steadied him on his feet. “Look, I wanted to ask…. once the show is over and I’m no longer a judge. Did you want to get dinner?”

Jaskier gaped at Geralt. “I’m sorry what?”

“Unless I’ve completely misread the situation. Fuck. Sorry. Look you can say no, I won’t score you worse because of it,” Geralt paled and crossed his arms in front of his  chest. “We’ll pretend this never happened.”

“No, Geralt wait!” Jaskier grabbed his arm. “Yes, ask me again after the final but yes. Dinner sounds great.”

Geralt smiled faintly and nodded. “Great.”

“Great,” Jaskier repeated. “It’s a date!”

Geralt nodded again. “I have to go. We shouldn’t be seen alone together until after the final.”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course.”

“Good luck, Jaskier.”

Jaskier grinned dopily as he watched Geralt walk away. It looked like Christmas magic was a real thing after all. “Yeah, you too.”

Wait. You too? Oh fuck it. _____________ Tag list: @alwenarin @slythnerd @davidtennan-t @flippinfricks @innocentcinnamonpun @marvagon @elliestormfound @geraskier-trashh @panerato @moonysourenza @artistsfuneral @victorieschild @hailhailsatan @wherethewordsare @havenoffandoms @bitchy-witchy-post-mortem @electricrituals @geralt-of-riviass @00qtee @kittynannygaming @stinastar @scribblesonmapleleaves @thecomfortofoldstorries @fontegagrilledcheese @anythinggoesfandoms @veritasrose @trickstermoose67 @nonegenderleftpain @ohheytheremiss @kueble @love-more-today-than-yesterday @kozkaboi

[emilyplaysotome]

Queen’s Choice: Part 4

This is the fourth chapter to a multi-part smutty fic with the MLQC boys. 

Catch up:

 part 1 part 2 part 3

I don’t feel nervous until I’m in the elevator, on my way up to see him. 

You’d think I’d be used to seeing Victor by now, and even more used to him giving me grief about my presentations but I’m never prepared enough when it comes to him. 

I realize it’s because I owe him in more ways than I feel comfortable admitting. 

I owe him for helping my company and for saving me. 

Again and again and again. 

I know that they all care about me, but Victor has this uncanny ability to appear and whisk me out of harm’s way. I shudder when I think about what might have come to pass had it not been for him. 

Goldman is the one who breaks me away from my thoughts and I make small talk with him as he leads me to Victor’s office. I’m dressed slightly different, with a tight pencil skirt that’s flirting with being a bit too skimpy for me and a conservative blouse so it looks like a mistake. 

I’m not wearing underwear and I can feel my heart racing as I interact with a man outside of my target, worried that he can tell and I’ve accidentally exposed myself.

That doesn’t seem to be the case though, thanks to my blazer that covers my chest and I take a deep breath as I enter Victor’s office, the door shutting behind me. 

He looks even more handsome than I remember and I remind myself that my intention for today is to tease, not necessarily seduce - though I’m open to the latter. His eyes are glued to his computer screen, and he doesn’t so much as glance up in my direction as I take off my blazer and sit in front of him. 

The fabric of my blouse rubbing against me combined with the chill of the offices has made my nipples erect, and I resist the urge to cover up, instead arching my back to give the illusion of a fuller bosom despite barely filling out an A cup. 

When he does finally look at me I see a flash of irritation in his face before he says, “Your presentation was filled with errors.”

“What!? Really?”

I’m genuinely shocked because I spent so much time checking and rechecking my work and without thinking I run beside him, behind the desk and bend over to see the computer screen. As a result I can feel my skirt riding up and I wonder if I’m as exposed as I think I am. 

Victor doesn’t seem to notice this though, exasperated he walks me through what I need to do better and I end up forgetting about teasing him and take notes diligently. It’s because of this that when he finally asks, “Are you trying something funny with me?” I don’t understand what he’s talking about at first. 

“What?”

“You really are a dummy, you know that?”

With that he pulls at the back of my pencil skirt, his fingers accidentally brushing against the top of my thighs. I blush uncontrollably and nervously scuttle back to my chair. 

“I didn’t want panty lines,” I whisper so softly it’s barely audible but he hears me and sighs again. 

“I’m driving you home and you’re changing so no one else sees you like this.”

“Is it that bad? You don’t...like it?”

It’s then that he pauses and with an eyebrow raised asks, “Is this for me?”

“Maybe.”

He grins now and I’m worried about what will come next. 

“Have you dumped those other 3 and come here to confess?”

“What other -“

“Let’s not act like I don’t know and you don’t know. Call me when you’re done with them and then I’ll fuck you silly right on my desk if you want.” 

He goes back to work and I’m stunned by his the straightforwardness of his response. 

“I...”

“Was there something else?”

He’s smirking when he looks at me and I can’t help but feel like he’s enjoying playing with me like this. 

“I want to negotiate.”

I can tell that this intrigues him. He puts down his pen and sits back in his chair, crossing his legs and waiting for more information. 

“I agree to stop seeing one of them and we see what we are like together.”

He laughs and my face instantly feels hot. 

“Why is that funny? Aren’t you curious too?” I say a little too loud and with an indignant expression I can’t help but have. 

“Dummy.”

He leans forward in his chair, putting his weight on his elbows as his closes the distance despite his grand mahogany desk between us. 

“I’m not curious because I already know.”

My face burns but I don’t back down. 

“Well I don’t. Offer stands.”

He considers this and with a smirk says,

“Three.”

“That’s basically confessing! I’m not ready!”

“I thought we were negotiating? I have the upper hand you know....”

“Two! And that’s my final offer.”

“I’ll consider it. But for now, let me take you home.”

—

I feel rejected as I sit in the passenger seat and far more disappointed than I expected to feel. 

None of them have denied me, and I can’t stop fantasizing about what it would have felt like to have him capitalize while I was next to him, bending over. I think about how his fingers could have entered me and how exhilarating it would have been to fuck on that grandiose desk of his. 

But it looks like I won’t find out. 

The car pulls up in front of my building and he says, “I’ll be in touch. Cover up in the meantime if this was really for me...”

“Huh?”

He sighs but he doesn’t look exasperated. He looks gentle and tender and loving and he says, “I’m trying to tell you that I love you as you are.”

He drives off before I can reply. 

—

My head is filled with fantasies of Victor beyond the ones in his office after he denies me. I check my phone to see if he has agreed to my terms but I don’t see anything from him. 

I feel frustrated but I also don’t know who I would pick. 

I really don’t want to choose. 

In the days that follow the intensity of the fantasies increase and I find myself alone in bed touching myself to the thoughts of being with him. I get messages from the others but I’ve got tunnel vision. 

I’m a woman obsessed and whose curiosity needs to be satiated. 

I eventually buckle and write him, asking if my terms have been agreed to, all the while not knowing who I’d pick. 

I get no answer. 

—

I’m thinking about what my next move is a week after our encounter in his office. I’m home, wearing a comfy pj set, hair still wet and fresh out of the shower when there’s a knock at my door. I’m honestly wondering if Lucien has returned next door but it’s Victor who I see through the peep hole. 

He’s holding something and looks impatient and I eagerly open the door, forgetting that I’m not exactly in sexy attire. 

“I’ve brought a contract,” he says, breezing by me and heading to kitchen to fix himself a drink before walking over to my couch. He’s clearly come from work, but he’s loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves, indicating that he’s done for the day.

I sit beside him and confused mumble, “a contract?”

There’s a snort and he says, “Our negotiation? Or have you already forgotten?”

“No!” I exclaim, but my heart sinks knowing what’s most likely in here.

When I look over the papers, I’m surprised to discover that there’s no mention of parting ways with anyone. Instead the demands are...far more accommodating to my desires. 

The contract outlines in details how we shall entire an exploratory phase with each other, and will not finish until both parties are satisfied. This period has no deadline other that it will last until both parties are satisfied.

There is one catch. 

With each week that goes by, I have to say goodbye to one suitor. Two weeks, two men total. Three weeks...well, the decision will be made by then even should we not have a label on our relationship. 

Victor smiles as I realize the contract is outlined in a way should I have unlimited men, one would be sacrificed per week. 

He hands me an expensive looking fountain pen and asks, “Do we have a deal?”

I nod, taking the pen from him and signing my name next to where he’s already signed. 

“It’s a pleasure doing business with you,” he says and extends his hand for me to shake it. When I take it, he grabs me and pulls me into him, his other hand wrapping around the back of my head as he kisses me. 

It’s brief because of how we are situated on my couch, and he pulls me onto him so I’m straddling him as he unbuttons my top, before sucking on my breast. His tongue flicks at me while his hand gently pinches the other and I moan helplessly. 

“Is this what you wanted when you appeared in my office in that sheer blouse?” He teases, but I can’t formulate a reply. 

“Well?” He pushes again, not accepting my half moan half whimper as a response. 

“Yes but more.”

“What more? Describe it.”

It’s embarrassing to tell him everything I fantasized but I do and as I do I can feel him getting harder and harder underneath me. I can tell he loves hearing about the nights spent with nothing but myself and thoughts of him and he carries me to my bed, stripping me of my bottoms, and demands I show him what I did those nights. 

I’ve never touched myself in front of anyone before and it’s both nerve-racking and exhilarating. As I start to do it, he strips down in front of me and does the same. 

It’s the first time I’m seeing him like this, not just naked, but animalistic in the way he watches me. I can tell by the way he’s stroking himself that things are escalating for both of us. I don’t want to come because he still hasn’t really touched me, but he demands that I show him exactly what I did and I feel compelled to obey.

I cry out as a wave of pleasure rushes over me and moments later he’s kneeling between my legs on the bed, hovering over me as he finishes on my stomach.

We’re both panting as I hand him a tissue to wipe himself and I’m about to get dressed when he grabs my arm and stops me.

“We’re not done,” he says with a smile.

For a moment I’m surprised, but then excited at the thought that our first night together is only beginning.

Part 5

I hope you liked the fourth chapter of my steamy fic. As I’ve said before this is very out of my comfort zone but I tried to kick this up a notch! If you liked this, please comment, share, and like! I love seeing that :)

As always, if you’ve enjoyed the story, please show your support by sharing it with a friend, liking it, or buying me a coffee!

Just lmk if you don’t want to be tagged and I’ll take you off.

tagging @ho-lee-snow-balls 

@redheadkitty11 

@superllamaathleteshoe 

@mamafishfound 

@animeemmy14 

@clilee​ 

@uniunikilla​ 

@x-klamstrakur​ 

@itsannaslife13​

@exosexosekai​

@galaxystarrr​

[has-gilgamesh-doneanythingwrong]

In regards to the high school Au, Gil meeting a shy yet pretty girl that he likes. What would he do to win her heart?

Hello, anon! I'm glad you enjoyed the high school AU. This will be an interesting continuation...TIME TO GO IN GUNS BLAZING!!

btw i made the reader insert character gender neutral so then it feels more like a dating sims game. :3

note: this is going to be a bit ooc (crackfic maybe)

Student Gilgamesh Developing a Crush (High School Au)

- Bored, Gilgamesh sips his wine on the school roof as usual; gorging himself in a specially-reserved bento box. He liked it up above, where he could just rest, instead of dominating the school so fiercely.

- When he hears the sound of pattering footsteps traipsing across his sacred grounds, anger thunders down on his face. "To think that such a foolish mongrel would have the nerve to entrench themselves upon my resting area...How dare you-" The words freeze in his throat, as he catches sight of you.

- From your posture, to the expression on your face...Gilgamesh was ensnared within the thorns of captivation!

- "E-err...sorry about that." You bow politely, as wind billows through your beautiful strands of hair, eyes blossoming like the finest of flowers. "You see, I just like to sit here too sometimes." Albeit being rather nervous, you bravely spoke up for yourself, which he liked. "I mean, I can leave if you'd like but I like this place too-" His brusque red eyes catch you off guard, as you duck your head in agony; twiddling your fingers.

- He was so scary!! As you fluctuated between wanting to leave and wanting to stay (because its not as if Gilgamesh owns the school roof or anything), his hands suddenly grip yours- as he pulls you towards him with all the force of a bull.

- "How adorable...how utterly enthralling you are! I never expected to witness such a fine beauty upon these school grounds." Gilgamesh has already latched into his hardcore flirting mode, leaning in awkwardly close to your face. "Mongrel. Tell me your name. NOW."

- Eyes wide with shock, you reluctantly tell him your name, only for him to proclaim that you shall have his interest from now on. "Although you are a beauty, you are naught but a mongrel. If you catch my eye from now on as well, so be it!" He tries to play it cool, but is actually much more interested than he wants to let on. "Take this land for yourself. I have no need for it anymore."

-As he leaves- face beaming with joy- an ominous pit of worry pools in your stomach. You knew the rumors all to well- of how Gilgamesh was pretty tough work, relentless once interested; and the tales of all the people who he had left broken and rejected. 'I'd better pick a god and pray...'

- However, you are greatly surprised by how tame his approach is at first (let's just say that he can be quite a nuisance at times). Besides from randomly slotting the occasional gift atop your desk, and winking whenever you passed him by; Gilgamesh was pacing himself for once.

- Once you nervously asked your friends about this, they reassured you that he wasn't always quite so hardcore as he seemed. "He only pops off once he's fully invested! All the best," Your stomach churned slightly at the idea of that. The amount of expert knowledge they had on his movements were insane. Everybody treated him like a local celebrity!!

- However, all things drastically change once he crosses paths with you during Sports Ed. Bunking off yet another class deemed too banal to entertain him, he strolls through school grounds- only to catch sight of your legs trembling as you parry the horrible sports ed teacher's serves; tears dropping from your eyes- as other students watch blankly on, hoping to avoid eye contact with the situation altogether.

- Once the teacher picks his next unfortunate target, Gilgamesh is surprised to see you rush to the back; only to be taken aback by the next sight lying before him.

- Helping take care of students injured by your demonic excuse for a Sports Ed teacher, you mouth words of encouragement to them, despite clearly shaking with fear yourself. Despite being extremely shy and scared, it seemed as if you were trying desperately to support others, as well.

- "Hoh..." Now he was certainly interested. Slinking back to his private zone, Gilgamesh vows to conduct a little more research on a certain asshole Sports Ed teacher...

- Luck seems to strike the pan, for another huge encounter occurs once he bumps into you at the shoe lockers. The sun slowly sinks across the horizon; dappling the world around you in a bright orange light.

- "You've been evading me so skillfully lately, mongrel. Have my divine offerings been to your liking?" Leaning against your locker, he grins mischievously at you; red irises dancing with amusement.

- "T-the chocolates were nice...but I'm fine without any gifts. So you don't have to bring them anymore." Hugging your plastered hands to your chest, you lower your head. Now just wasn't the time, you were already drained for the day. "I have to go, sorry..."

- Now that was a surprise. Usually people would be dying for his attention, not evading him like this! However, this was exactly to Gilgamesh's liking oh my god. Leaning forwards, he's just about to attempt to set your heart aflutter with some cheesy adages until...

- The Sports Ed teacher bursts in, eyes brimming with rage. "Y/N!!! WHY ARE YOU LATE? All that talk about 'i want to protect my friends', and then you can't even come to club on time, huh? You freaking coward!" By this time, the teacher is gripping you by the arms, as scared tears drop from your eyes, expression frightened.

- Eyes narrowing with disgust, Gilgamesh stares at the events unfurling before him. His research had uncovered a great deal of trash on this teacher, who was infamous for training students way past their limits; bullying them severely for not fitting his ridiculous standards.

- Grabbing the teacher by the scruff of his neck, Gilgamesh forcefully pulls him away from your quivering figure. "How pathetic a troglodyte you are, to be treating your fellow mongrels with such disdain. " Gilgamesh all but hisses into the teacher's ears. "You leave me no choice but to punish you."

- "Punish me? Who the hell do you think you are, you bastard?! I'll suspend you for touching me!" The teacher slaps Gilgamesh's palm away, as you watch them with terror. Things were getting ugly, and fast.

- "I'm Gilgamesh. Remember the name, mongrel- especially once I've casted your meagre buttocks out of this estate." Unveiling his golden-plated phone, a horrifying gleam lights in his eyes as he reveals a huge list of the teacher's misdemeanors. "I know what pathetic things you've been up to...and about your abuse of power. Not that I'd usually care, mind you." However, the teacher had the gall to threaten you. Which basically meant that he was now dead meat?! he was gonna destroy him XD

- Worried, you step in before Gilgamesh can unleash one of his terrifying bribes upon the teacher. "W-wait, Gilgamesh!" As he turns to you-shocked that you'd address him by name, you smile. "I-I think we should have him legally fired instead...but that's just me..." That way, he'd never be able to become a teacher again.

- "Hoh, how kind-hearted of you. Well, I shall honor your rather pitiable request once." Gilgamesh shoos off the bewildered teacher, who looks confusedly between you both. "Fate has bestowed you with generous luck today; you pathetic excuse for a teacher. Depart the premises at once!"

- However, the teacher is extremely prideful; and lunges to attack Gilgamesh- flying so wildly off the mark that he legitimately crashes into the teacher's office nearby. Which alerts all of the teachers of the ensuing scuffle. Which then results in you having to bravely explain the situation...which ends up with the teacher being MIRACULOUSLY FIRED ON THE SPOT?!!!!

- It was as if this chain of events was perfectly orchestrated. As you look towards him with both a mixture of awe and fear, he heartily laughs. "Fuhahaha! Let's just say that Lady Luck favors me quite greatly." That was a lie. Gilgamesh knew much more than he was letting on.

- "Thank you." For the first time, you truly smiled at him; sunlight beaming down on your face. "For a scary tyrant, you can be really helpful sometimes." Those were not the words he was expecting to hear at all! Coughing awkwardly, Gilgamesh puts on a mask of nonchalance to avoid his burgeoning feelings. You weren't meant to say that!!!

- "Fuhn, I wasn't doing it to help you, nor the other pathetic mongrels that troglodyte was bullying. Don't get cocky, lowlife." And with that he was gone, as you waved goodbye.

romancing bit (?!!)

- Seeing as Gilgamesh is now very interested in you, he will most likely make sure to cross paths with you as often as possible; saying all sorts of cheesy and flirty things. He sits with you during break, loudly sipping wine by your side as other students look on with amazement. He also leaves letters and gifts by your desk everyday. The letters are eerily direct, proclaiming ominous things such as 'we shall wed...'

- Overall, he is overzealous and extremely headstrong in his approach, not giving you enough time to breathe. However if you tell him that you feel overwhelmed by his actions, he reconsiders them briefly...only to go over-the-top in different ways instead; hoping that you'll be pleased by his advances. I think Gilgamesh needs to learn more about self-restraint here.

- He'll probably want to take you to many places as well, and try and bowl you over with limited edition experiences; things that are beyond your wildest dreams. He's probably also going to get very serious as well by increasing the time he spends by your side considerably. Expect to see him everyday from now on, too!

- Is he the type to do a shoujo-manga style entrance to sweep you off your feet? Yes. He does helicopter landings every now and then, thrusting a bouquet at you. He also hires people to serenade you at times, much like something out of a romantic novel; and loves seeing your surprised reactions.

- He will get quite pushy at times, so it's recommended to alert him if you're not enjoying it. In his eyes, the two of you are as good as close contemporaries now.

- Exasperated, he finally decides to ask "Mongrel. What is it that you desire? Anything you shall wish for will be in your hands." He's absolutely convinced that he can do anything to win you over. However when you reply with a simple, "...I'd like some help with my studies!" as your adorable cheeks flush with determination, he sighs. There was no winning over you with conventional means. Yet, he is also spurred on by the challenge.

- "Although your response is a terribly common one, I'll oblige you." He certainly will. "With my expertise, you'll be acing all of your classes from now on!" When a color-coded, detailed guide on all of your subjects lands on your desk the next day, as Gilgamesh smiles smugly at you.

- As you flick through the pages, you see detailed notes on all the things you don't understand, and are quite shocked by the quality level of this. "T-this is amazing!" You gasp. "How did you do this?!"

- "I have my sources." He really did. "Mongrel. From now on, I shall stand by your side. Do not hesitate to call upon my assistance if need be." And with that, his word is final.

- I have a feeling that once he likes someone, he'll hold onto them quite tightly, and will do as much as he can to impress them; going out of his way to win their heart.

[mobagehelllocal]

"ngiti"

twst oc week - day one: school days or domestic

"don't look at me, or else my anxious heart will melt..."

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Ai huffed as she turned to squint at Ace. It was the nth time he had asked, and she was tired of it.

“Hey, Trappola, hey.” She puffed her cheeks up and began to pick up the pace of her walking. “You were the one who begged to be included in my tutorial sessions with Azul-senpai. If you don’t want to go— “

“No! I’m coming!” He replied quickly, “If I can get free lessons from Azul-senpai— “

“They’re not free!” Ai frowned, “you have to pay him back—all three of you have to pay him back.” Her eyes shifted to her other side, where Grim and Deuce had identical looks of horror.

“Haaaah? That’s unfair! You’re getting lessons for free!”

“I’m not!” Ai shook her head, brown hair swished down to her waist at the motion. “I’m paying him.”

“Oh yeah? Paying him with what?” Ace challenged, as he peered at the girl with brilliant, coloured eyes.

“…” Ai shifted her gaze away—at which all three immediately began to protest.

“So, you aren’t after all!”

“That’s so unfair!”

“Hey minion! You have to let me get it free too!”

“No! I—I don’t know what I’m paying him with, but I am certainly paying him back!” she stomped her foot almost childishly.

“Haaah? Azul-senpai say something like that?” Ace snorted as he raised his hands to the back of his head. “Yeah right!”

“It wasn’t Azul-senpai!” she hissed, “It was…” she bit her lip and her cheeks flushed red—she ducked her head, almost shyly. It was the type of action that Ai only ever used around—or when talking about…

“So, it was Jade-senpai.” Ace rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner. “He’s a liar, you know.”

“Yeah! He’s scarier than that Floyd!” Grim yelped. “That pleasant smile of his… he uses it to manipulate the people around him—you know.” Ace and Grim turned to Deuce, who flinched at the attention. His eyes moved from the expectant expression of the boys before finally turning to the only girl… She had her head bowed; dark hair covered her expression…

“Ai…” he scratched the back of his head anxiously. “… I don’t know. You know his reputation so… If you trust him…”

‘You might end up getting hurt.’ was left unsaid.

“… It’s not like I don’t know.” She mumbled, underneath her breath. She peered depressively down onto the ground, the playful mood from earlier had vanished. The boys looked at each other—slight panic on their expressions and a need to push the blame on any of the other. (Unbeknownst to her peers, her expression changed—darkened—ever so briefly…) Deuce elbows Ace harshly and while the latter scowled, he moved closer to comfort their friend—

“Hey—Ai, you know we didn’t me—”

She slapped her cheeks harshly to keep her thoughts light and happy.

“Fine! Then don’t come!” she huffed, startling them as she raised her head. Her long hair dramatically swung from framing her face, to slapping Ace flat in the face (“OW, WHAT THE FUCK—”)—as she began to stomp off towards Octavinelle’s Dorm.

“Huh? No wait! We are coming with you! We’ll haggle with Azul-senpai if we have to!”

--

“—that’s because you have to do it like this—” Azul hissed as he pointed harshly at a point in Deuce’s notes. “Sweet Witch, how did you even get past—” Azul went off into a long spiel about the finer points of Alchemy. Ai muffled her giggles as she noticed that Deuce (and Grim, alongside him) began to zone off, not absorbing a single thing Azul was saying…

‘And they went through all that trouble to haggle with him for a sit down…’ Ai’s lips quirked before her gaze flickered off to Ace, who had Floyd’s sole attention. The tall senior peered over Ace’s shoulder with a wide grin.

“Wow. Kani-chan’s quite lazy, isn’t he?” Floyd teased.

“Hey, shut up Floyd-senpai! I don’t see you doing anything!” Ace scowled; Floyd only cackled in response.

“Eh? Studying is boring when you can remember everything easily~”

“How does that even work!?”

Ai let out another soft, little laugh at Ace’s indignation. She was more than aware of how brilliant Floyd was—but she was also aware of how difficult it was to ask him for help if he wasn’t interested at all. She knew because, ‘how many times have I sat here…’ her eyes flickered around Octavinelle’s Lounge. ‘and gotten teased over it…?’

“Raina!” She flinched in her seat; eyes darted towards a scowling Azul. His eyes flickered down to the papers on the desk. “You’re not allowed to slack off as well. I’ve taught those to you already, so do the problems and I’ll look it over later.” She flushed in embarrassment at being caught, distracted.

“Sorry senpai. I’ll get right to it.” She nodded fiercely as she gathered the papers in her hand—when at the corner of her eye she noticed something. She turned her head in surprise and had her breath stolen from her.

“Oya, oya. Hello Raina.”

“Hey Jade-senpai…” she wheezed. “You... you’re here.” Her cheeks reddened at the mere sight of him, of his smile. (Which widened at his junior's speechlessness.) He leaned over the couch, his face a few inches away from hers (‘Don't look so closely at me—! You're too close!’ She panicked internally.)—a tray pulled tight to his chest as he gently settled a teacup onto the low table.

“Where else would I be?” he murmured, amused. After all, out of the two of them, he was the Octavinelle student. Ai doesn’t respond, her eyes are busy raking all over his face as if she hadn't just seen him earlier. As if she hadn't seen him in so long and needed to engrave the planes of his face to her memory. She studied how the light from the aquarium cloaked him in some supernatural light. His lashes tangled with a single blink, olive and gold eyes peered down at her with mirth. Her eyes hovered briefly on the curve of his nose, before it dropped down to his lips and that smile.

That smile.

It was the smile that made her blush reach her ears, made her throat dry, made her fingers curl, made her heart skip, made her want to—

Their silent staring is cut off by an indignant Azul.

“Hey, Jade! Stop distracting my student!” She let out a strangled sound (at Azul's words, or upon realization of where her thoughts were—she's not sure) whilst Jade merely chuckled.

“I do apologize, Azul.” he maneuvered the tray so that he could put his hand over his chest and bow politely. “I shall endeavour not to do that again.” His eyes flickered back down to the blushing girl.

“Your tea, my dear doll.” he gestured (she let out a squeak at the nickname, and she swore his smile spread even more—) before he retreated to Mostro Lounge. Ai’s gaze lingered on his back, still dazed from his proximity.

‘... It doesn’t matter what people say. I want to trust him. I think there’s something worth trusting in him.’ She’s not sure what, or if there actually is anything to trust but… Her heart pounded.

People do stupid things when they’re in love and she resigned herself to whatever Jade Leech would bid her to do.

--

"it's your smile i'm hopelessly in love with. and every time you move, the world stops for the song in my heart is yours. i hope you notice, the way i adore you in secret."

--

*ngiti - 'smile'

[15-dogs]

hey there i’m in need of more cedric fanfic 🥺 so can i request 11 from prompt list 3 with cedric and a female reader? thank you ❤️

bet on it |c.d.|

pairing: cedric diggory x fem!reader

summary: you were quite good at betting and enjoyed it quite a bit, but no one could have bet how far off your plan could be

prompt:  “you owe me a kiss.”

warnings: none

guide: (Y/N) = your name

word count: 2043

a/n: ask and you shall receive! may I just say that I literally said “aw” out loud when I read this bc it’s so freaking adorable?? thank you for requesting hope you enjoy!!

“Come on!” you groaned. You loosened your house tie as it suddenly felt as if it were strangling you. You were currently placing bets with the Weasley twins about which student's cauldron would explode first. Fred had picked the genius of the class because he claimed that she was a diamond in the rough of stupidity, George had picked the introvert at the back of the class who had spent more time doodling than taking notes, and you had picked the distracted young witch who was studying for an exam she had next period. 

It really was no competition. You were a sucker for a good challenge. That’s truly how you became friends with the twins.

You heard someone calling your name from behind you but you didn’t spare a glance. Then it happened again as you watched your chip’s potion bubble over. You bounced your leg in preparation. Finally, a firm hand grasped you by the shoulder and pulled you around just as a loud popping noise signaled from behind you.

“No!” you shouted, turning around to see the witch covered in spoiled potion. “I missed it.”

“Yeah, but you still won,” grumbled Fred as he and his twin slapped a few coins on the desk.

“Ace,” you said proudly.

“(Y/N)! I’ve been trying to get your attention for at least two minutes now!” Cedric complained from behind you. It was almost pathetic how fast you turned around.

You met his blue eyes and sucked in a sharp breath. You had fallen for Cedric quite some time ago and the twins made it their mission in life to partner you two up. You had disagreed with nearly everything that they had suggested, already having your own little plan for you two would get together. However, through the twins, you two had quickly taken to being friends, spending hours together talking about anything and everything you could. But, you see, he didn’t like you back and that threw an immovable wrench in your plan.

“H-hi,” you stammered. He let out a soft chuckle that had you completely unglued.

“(Y/N),” Fred began, breaking the tension between you and Cedric.

“We were thinking,” George chimed in.

“There’s gonna be a party tonight in the Gryffindor common room-”

“And we were hoping you and pretty boy would come.”

The twins exchanged a small glance before they asked in unison, “Would you?”

Your heart pounded in your chest. You didn’t want to make Cedric feel obligated even though you desperately wanted to go. You floundered for a moment before your body went rigid, Cedric’s hands sliding onto your shoulders and delivering a soft massage.

“We’d love to,” he answered.

“Brilliant!” the twins cried as they got up from their desk. As soon as they left, Cedric sunk into their seat.

“Sorry I answered for you, I just assumed-”

“I wanted to go anyway!” you blurted out. Your face turned red with embarrassment. That stupidly handsome boy always brought out the worst of you.

“Perfect,” he said with a nod. He got up from the chair and took a few steps away before leaning down by your ear. His hot breath fanned against you as he whispered, “See you tonight.”

Merlin, that boy would be the death of you.

You arrived at the party in something more casual than your uniform. Your eyes scanned the room for Cedric but you were torn away when Fred and George tugged you to the side. You stumbled into them with a glare, evoking a small snicker from both of them.

“(Y/N) and Cedric sitting in a tree,” they sang horrendously. You shook your head and covered your ears teasingly.

“You’re hideous!”

“I should hope not,” Cedric said from behind you. Your stomach did a flip as you slowly removed your hands and turned on the balls of your feet, blatantly tuning out the twins’ laughs.

“Not...not you, Gred and Forge...I meant Gred and Forge! Merlin, I did it again.” Your night couldn’t have gotten any more embarrassing. Even Cedric was laughing now.

“What’s so funny?” Fred asked. “Those are our names, aren’t they, Forge?”

“No, you git! I’m Gred, you’re Forge!”

Nope, it got way more embarrassing.

Cedric, a smile still on his face, took your hand in his and pulled you away from the twins. You purposely ignored the kissing noises they made as he dragged you away. You two landed by the refreshments table— well, table was a nicer term for whatever you were standing by. It was simply stacks of boxes lazily thrown together with cups and bottles of pumpkin juice and firewhiskey which you assumed the twins had brought.

“Let me get you a drink,” he offered. You nodded gratefully. You looked around the party as Cedric poured you something, your eyes locking on a game of spin the bottle. Cedric placed the cup in your hand and whispered, “You want to play?”

Merlin, his voice. It was raspy and dreamy and everything you could have ever wanted. It was like a charm in itself, persuading you to say whatever was on your mind.

“Only if you’ll play with me.” You sunk into yourself as the words left your mouth, fearing that Cedric really and truly would run. Instead, Cedric took your hand and escorted you to the betting teens.

A few spins went by, people cheering and whooping at the awkwardness of it. Finally, it was your turn and you had bet Angelina Johnson two galleons that you would go through with it. The offer almost offended you— since when had you ever stepped down from a challenge?

You gave Angelina a playful smirk before spinning the bottle swiftly. It slowed, and slowed, and slowed, until it finally stopped.

No.

No.

This was your worst nightmare and your dream come true all at once. Cedric stared you down, a grin tugging at his lips. You blushed heavily while rubbing your sweaty palms on your clothing.

“I believe now’s the part when we kiss, love,” he teased, the group around you chuckling softly.

So this was really happening. You scooted a little closer so that he was only inches away from you. Everything about him was incredibly powerful up close. His handsomeness was almost hypnotic.

Cedric, noticing that you wouldn’t make the first move, began to lean in. But you couldn’t go through with it. You jumped to your feet and mumbled just loud enough for him to hear, “Not like this.”

And then you were gone.

You were lucky enough to not be in either Gryffindor or Hufflepuff which allowed you to avoid Fred, George, and Cedric for as long as you needed to. Unfortunately for you, you only had classes with Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs for the day.

Fred and George wouldn’t even tease you about what happened at the party. You knew it looked bad, but was it that bad? Apparently so.

When Cedric appeared in your Charms class, you gasped. You ducked your head and slid into a seat next to a random Hufflepuff. You couldn’t look in his direction for the whole class. You didn’t know what you had expected, for him to not show up to class? 

You tried, you really did, to focus on the lecture but it was just not distracting enough from the fact that your longtime crush whom you rejected sat a few seats away from you. You could practically feel his eyes trained on your back.

You decided to fiddle with your quill in hopes of tuning out of everything, and boy did that work. It wasn’t until a familiar voice called your name that you realized how long you had been zoned out— class was over!

“(Y/N)!” Cedric cried. Your eyes snapped up towards him and you froze under his stare. You instantly scrambled to get your things and bolt but Cedric cut you off. “And where do you think you’re going?”

You took a few steps back at his sudden closeness while you sheepishly muttered, “Um, dinner?”

“I don’t think so.” He feigned confusion.

“Is...is that so?” Your mouth felt incredibly dry. He was so close. Every part of you wanted to kiss him but you simply couldn’t, not there, not then.

“I believe you owe me a kiss.”

You shook your head, almost to test if you had heard him right. He seemed to notice how shocked you were and a one sided smirk pulled at his lips. Your body coursed with adrenaline as your heart thundered in your chest. The way he was looking at you had you weak in the knees, it was almost too much to bear.

Cedric took your anxious stammers and glances at his lips as a signal. He tilted his head slightly as he leaned in to kiss you, his eyes slowly fluttering shut. You jumped backwards with a squeak.

“Huh?” he asked, his eyes opening. “Merlin, I’m so sorry. Listen, I was only teasing you. If you don’t actually fancy me then we don’t have to-”

“I fancy you!”

Well, that certainly wasn’t scripted. Cedric just made you talk and talk, abandoning any hope of whatever you had in mind for how you two would end up together.

“You do?”

“Of course I do! I forfeited my first bet for you a few nights ago! Now I’m down two galleons and a reputation!”

Cedric stared at you incredulously before delving into a deep laughter. You didn’t know what was so funny. Cedric wiped a tear from his eye as he asked, “So that’s what that meant? ‘Not like this’ in terms of betting?”

Well now you felt downright guilty. You scuffed your shoes along the floor, avoiding his piercing eyes. You cleared your throat and explained, “No, that’s not what that meant.”

Cedric’s tone softened in a flash. You saw his feet come into frame and then his hand reached for yours. You looked up at him, your cheeks tinged pink. His eyes ran over you as he brushed some hair back with his free hand, his gaze lingering a second too long on your lips.

“What did you mean, then?” he implored, his voice no more than a whisper because it didn’t need to be.

You bit your lip. “I meant that...Merlin, this is embarrassing.” You tried to look away from Cedric but he placed a finger underneath your chin, prompting your head to turn back his way.

“You can tell me. You can always tell me.”

You sighed. How could you explain it to him? You had always imagined that Cedric would ask you out on a date to Hogsmeade in the early fall; when it’s not too cold for heavy jackets but not too warm where you’d be drenched in sweat. He’d take you to the stores, stopping by the tea shop where he’d already know how you liked your tea: breakfast with a little milk. You’d continue to survey the area until you stumbled upon a tree that was beginning to turn with the coming season. You’d stare at it in wonder and turn to see Cedric admiring you, a swarm of butterflies erupting in your stomach. He’d walk towards you under that tree, whisper something sweet and genuine before placing the most gentle of kisses on your lips.

How do you explain that?

“I always imagined things as moments, Ced. That game, that bet? That wasn’t a part of the moments that I had dreamed of.”

Cedric’s thumb went up to your bottom lip, caressing it with care. You let out a breathy exhale at the feeling, your eyes slowly shutting.

“As badly as you want it to be something you can predict, moments are exactly that: moments. They’re unpredictable. They come and go when you least expect it.”

You opened your eyes to look Cedric over. “What are you saying?”

“Even though we don’t know what moments are going to look like, we should never pass them by.”

Cedric moved his hand to frame your jaw and kissed you. The feeling was almost unreal. It was better than you could have imagined in your fantasies because Cedric was absolutely right; never let moments pass you by, no matter what form they may be.

[backalley-requests]

The Proposal | Chapter Two

The Proposal Masterlist

Summary: The Proposal™ au, where Ivar gets swept away in a lie about a fake engagement to stay in the country and needs to convince everyone (including his family) that he’s genuinely engaged to a woman he works with

Warnings: Mild swearing, dickish behavior

Word Count: 2,085

That’s how you found yourself sitting down for a meeting next to your boss, pretending the two of you were in love and set to get married. You were more outwardly nervous than him and your leg was bouncing. It made a quiet but consistant tap on the floor.

“Will you cut that out,” Ivar snapped.

You stopped bouncing your foot and glared at him. “I’m nervous.” It wasn’t a voluntary action but it helped with the nerves. Your head tilted up to the ceiling. The office was small and the two of you sat in chairs next to each other. Across from you was an empty desk. The case worker wasn’t here yet. Was this normal? It was 10 am but felt much earlier, and the silence was so loud. The two of you never had normal conversations.

“Don’t be, it’s annoying.”

Did he expect you to remain a calm worker under these conditions? It wasn’t like he could fire you. Both of you risked losing if you didn’t stick around. It felt like a sick game of chicken. “How can I not be? We’re here because you—“

The conversation was cut short by the metal door opening. It felt like a prison, as if the two of you were being detained and Ivar didn’t even want to discuss a game plan. He had actually rolled his eyes when you asked for one.

The man was dressed in a black suit and tie, his hair was short and his face shaven. “Shall we begin?” He lacked pleasantries and it only added to your growing paranoia. There was no handshake or introduction. The man jumped into it. Immediately you felt yourself zoning in and out. Half the time you were thinking too much to listen and the other half was spent committing it to memory.

Ivar nodded confidently, evening out to a neutral. How were you supposed to project that same level of confidence? He appeared so unbothered and you stuck out like a sore thumb. The interviewer took notice. “Step one will be a scheduled interview and I’ll ask you every little question a real couple would know about each other.”

That was easy. You already knew way too much about the man. He shoved off too much personal responsibilities onto you that he didn’t want to do. You even wrote his Christmas cards at this point.

“Step two, I dig deeper, I look at your phone records, I talk to your neighbors, interview your coworker.”

The two of you didn’t have a story. The two of you communicated often for work but they weren’t out to anyone. Well— technically the two of you didn’t have a relationship to be out about. You glance over at Ivar who didn’t bother to look back at you. He seemed so eerily calm while all you could do was panic.

You were pretty sure you missed something important by the time you glanced back to the interviewer. Did you miss his name? Did he even offer one? Your leg began to bounce again.

“If your answers don’t match up at every point. You will be deported indefinitely,” he looked at Ivar, “and you will have committed a felony. Punishable by a fine of 250,000 dollars and a stay of 5 years in federal prison.” His gaze turned to you and you froze.

The sound of your heart beating drowned out whatever the man said next. It didn’t take long for both men to notice. You were in too deep. You couldn’t do this! Why did you even bother agreeing?

“Y/N?” The interviewer asked.

You couldn’t handle prison. You never even got into a fight before in your life. You’ve seen prison shows, they’re always fighting. They’d eat you alive.

“Y/N, do you want to talk to me?”

Ivar elbowed you harsh but discreetly. His blue eyes were intense and it brought you back to your reality. You had already spent three years working for him. Another two at the company. Being fired wasn’t an option and you’ve been dying to get promoted since you came there. If you could pull it off... what’s three years on paper? You blinked and nodded your head.

“You do?”

“Wait no— I mean I don’t.” You took a deep breath and held it. This man had to see right through it from the moment he walked in.

“The truth is…” you glanced at Ivar, “we’re just two people who weren’t meant to fall in love. But we did. Six months ago. We weren’t going to come out to our coworkers, not until we didn’t think they’d judge us,” your face was red and you found yourself staring down into your lap as you played with your fingers. “Especially with my promotion coming up.”

You paused, trying to see if what you said convinced him at all. “So, have either of you told your parents about your… secret love?” The interviewer wrote down notes onto a notepad.

“Oh, um, impossible. My parents are dead,” you admitted casually with an awkward laugh. “No brothers or sisters either. You can check if you want—“

“I will.”

The silence was deafening.

“What about you, Ivar? Are yours dead?”

Ivar scoffed at the mention of his family. It was clear to you that on some level he truly thought he was above being here. How could he be so casual?

You decided to cut in, “no. We were going to tell them this weekend. It’s his father’s birthday. The whole family is coming together. We thought it’d be a nice surprise.”

Once the lies began it was hard to stop them. But the event was true but Ivar’s attendance wasn’t. He had you tell them he wasn’t going. But as you spoke you got more confident.

“And where exactly is this going to take place?” The man was quizzing you.

“Aalborg, Denmark. It’s located along Kattegat Bay,” you replied. Ivar’s face twitched in surprise that you knew it at all. Your face never quite calmed down and kept a pinkish hue.

The interviewer stared intently at you, searching for signs.

“That’s right,” Ivar cut in, trying to save you.

“Isn’t Denmark a little far?”

“Well it’s not like I have a visa to lose at this point,” Ivar rolled his eyes.

The interviewer shrugged. “Next Friday at 10am, I expect you both to be here for the scheduled interviews.”

—

“What was your fucking problem? You may as well have worn a sign that we’re trying to commit a felony?”

You were floored. Did he actually want to start things off like this. “Like you were much better? You looked pissed off and detached! If you wanted better results maybe you should’ve interjected more.”

“It was fun to watch you flounder until I realized your actions have consequences,” he shrugged casually. What was wrong with him? “And now Mr. Harold Millington is going to be lurking through my family.” Oh that’s what the man’s name was. Had it shared that? Did you actually miss it?

“Just tell your family then. Have them lie.” If they were anything like Ivar then being manipulative should be in their nature.

Ivar rubbed the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath. “They wouldn’t agree to it.” It meant they had to go. That created the new fact that you had sentenced the both of them on a trip to Denmark. It was that or he gets sent home forever and you’re in federal prison. “How did you even know that?”

“Know what?”

“About my father’s birthday.”

“You had me send them condolences,” you crossed your arms over your chest and rolled your eyes. “I actually know a ton of things about you. It’s you who has a week to learn everything about me.”

He stood before you in his bitterness. He didn’t deny your statement. It was one thing to have marriage papers and never speak of it again for three years and another to pretend to his family that he was in an actual relationship. His mor had wanted it forever now. “Book the flights, since you’re so used to doing everything for me.”

You had a laundry list of people to contact and he expected you to book flights? Your gut instinct was to tell everyone the truth and convince them to lie to the authorities, but that seemed a little much to ask. “It’s your home, why don’t you book them?”

The two of you continued to bicker when the interviewer from earlier stepped out of the building. The two of you immediately silenced as Millington walked by, “remember. Deportation and federal prison. It’s not too late to come clean.”

The smug look on his face pissed you off. You watched the man walk further away and down the block. “I may not like you, Ivar, but I like you more than that guy,” you said bitterly as your eyes remained trained on the agent in the distance.

“At least we agree on that.”

“I want him to feel like a moron.”

“So then let’s do that,” Ivar’s words caught your attention as you glanced back to him. “He knows the truth but if we make it rock solid he’ll have no choice. It’ll drive him insane.”

You laughed, “I probably should’ve guessed your favorite pass time was belittling people and making them regret their life choices.”

“I liked you better when you just delivered coffee,” Ivar responded. The same anger from earlier was gone but that didn’t stop Ivar from starting to walk away from you. You were left standing, irrationally angry at that decision. Civilities were out the window. He had nothing over you anymore. Neither could pull the plug. And he’s been on your nerves for a while. How did you ever find that man attractive?

“Goodbye to you too, asshole!”

—

“I’m coming back for the week,” Ivar held the phone to his ear, waiting for his mother’s response. If he was being honest he was actually a little nervous about it. He actually loved his mother. The rest of them were hit or miss. But he hadn’t been back home in a long time.

“Really?”

The excitement in her voice got to him, not that he’d confess it. “I was going to introduce my girlfriend to you guys.” He hated lying.

“You have a girlfriend?” He hadn’t even mentioned the idea of one to her in forever. Not since he left Denmark for the last time. She’d been pestering forever. “Since when did you get a girlfriend?”

“Mor—“ he took a deep breath and sighed, “she works for me.”

“Oh— so it’s one of those situations.”

Was she judging him already? “Just be prepared for her.” He noticed the dip in her voice and he bit hard on his bottom lip.

“Your father is going to be so happy to have you home.” Aslaug started to talk more about it. He was surprised she wasn’t fuming at the mention of his old man. It occurred to him then that maybe his family missed him more than he realized. She was already making plans, doting on him for finding someone and talking about how relieved she is that her son found someone. “Hey Ivar— is she beautiful?” He was brought out of his thoughts by the question.

Were you? He already knew the answer. You were. It wasn’t a crazy thought. Ivar always thought you were beautiful. From the moment you walked into his office the first day holding a cup of his favorite coffee— how you ever found out before meeting him he’ll never know. It’s what told him you were beyond him. There was a hint of too much perfection that he had immediately felt anger. That anger eventually settled to annoyance.

But if he actually hated you he probably would’ve fired you by now. The issue is that you’d never genuinely go for him. He had his own love life of sorts, money speaks for itself, he could get laid. What he couldn’t get was more, who would genuinely date him? It was easier to resent than pine.

“Yes.”

Aslaug laughed on the other end, “you took a little long there to respond, Ivar.”

“Sorry— she is, mor, I’m just busy with some work. I’ll call you before the plane leaves.”

“Please do. Oh, and Ivar, dear. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

—

Taglist** @youbloodymadgenius

[sortaotaku]

Happy New Years! 🎉

Ikevam New Year’s Set Stories

2021 Super Awesome Set

I wanted to share because I understand the paywall is probably too much for a lot of people. It’s a pretty informal overview of the stories though~

Boys Talk - Team Abnormal 

Shakespeare, Le Comte, Jean

Setting: Thermae

Le Comte asks why Shakespeare is looking gloomier than normal. Shakespeare says he feels a bit weird about a sarcastic comment Arthur made about the three of them (Shakespeare, Le Comte, Jean) being abnormal.

Le Comte: I guess he means we’re deviants. Idk where he got that from. 

He comments that Shakespeare likes to tease people and wonders what to do with him.

Jean: You two are most definitely deviants

Them: Wha? 

Le Comte calls his comment unnecessarily cruel. Shakespeare defends himself and says unlike Le Comte he’s a gentleman

Le Comte is like LOL I feel like you added an insult in there

Jean: It’s best you hear the truth bc you’re in denial. You’ve been buying <your name here/MC> dresses a lot. Are you sure it’s not just bc you like dressing her up?

Le Comte: What else am I supposed to do? She looks ravishing in everything. I’m not doing anything except sitting and watching in the dressing room.

Shakespeare: A grown man enjoying dressing up a girl like a doll sounds pretty deviant to me

Jean: Yep. He’s the most deviant one.

Le Comte: Judging from the content of your plays I think you’re worse than me.

Shakespeare: My writing isn’t necessarily representative of my desires

Jean comments about how Shakespeare has been inviting MC over to his villa a lot.

Le Comte comments that he quite likes Jeans fixation on MC and Jean tells him to shuddup.

Shakespeare also says he isn’t doing anything weird. He says he blindfolded and cuffed her for research purposes.

Jean: Hold on, I’ll come back with my sword.

Le Comte: Don’t run around the mansion naked and angry. Return to the water now.

Shakespeare states that Jean is upset by trivial matters. Basically “tough luck, that’s life”

Le Comte: Yeah, be more open-minded

Jean: I must destroy the world then

Shakespeare asks if he had any weird encounters and Le Comte says he’s basically been a recluse 

Jean admits to giving MC a boost on his shoulders, but... He was shocked because her thighs were pressed against his cheeks and they were soft. 

Shakespeare: How are you insult us when you had her pressing her thighs against your face? You’re the worst deviant one.

Le Comte is basically like LOL and Jean is kinda baffled.

End

Boys Talk - Battle Against Desires

Theo, Napoleon, Mozart

Setting: Thermae

Mozart calls the two of them sighing in sync annoying

They do it again and state they’re tired

Mozart comments that this is rare considering how adept they are at dealing with the more eccentric residents 

They’re both like “That’s it!”

Napoleon is like that’s what everyone says. Everyone thinks I’m sensible

Theo: Yeah, I thought common sense is something everyone should have. We just look overly sensible because everyone lacks it.

Napoleon is like how about we just toss that (sense) out, I’m sick of it. 

Theo: Yeah, I’m going to do whatever I want

Mozart: Hold on, if you do that you’ll lose sight of yourselves.

Mozart (Internally): They say it’s the most dangerous when people go off the rails. These two keep order. I must stop them.

Mozart adds that everyone didn’t start out selfish. He asks if they’re sure if something else isn’t making them this way.

Napoleon says its a problem that MC sees them as so sensible.

Mozart is like: 🤨 Why?

Napoleon says that everything is wrong. She lies around in the common area asleep and apparently sleep undresses. (Half way, that is)

Mozart: Yea sounds about right... Wait what? Don’t tell me you...

Napoleon: Obviously I buttoned her up and tucker her in so she wouldn’t catch a cold.

Mozart: Are you her mom?

Theo: I get that! I would do that too.

Napoleon: Theo~ 🥰

Mozart: Can you guys not hug in the bath? Anyways what about Theo?

Theo: I went in for a bath and MC was in there stark naked bc she mixed up the time.

Mozart: Yea, she’s ditzy sometimes. Don’t tell me you...

Theo: Obviously I simultaneously tossed her my own towel and quickly turned around.

Mozart: Are you her dad? 

Napoleon: I get that! I would do that too.

Napoleon~ ❤️❤️❤️

Mozart: Stahp hugging in the bath... So you’re saying you don’t feel free to express your desires bc you’re seen as too sensible?

Them: Yea

Mozart: That’s easy to fix. Just act on your desires. It’s important to be true to your feelings. I just do what I want.

Napoleon: Easier said than done. Women find it even more frightening when a “safe” man comes onto them more than normal men. They feel violation AND disappointment because of the breaking of expectations.

Theo: And you’ll lose trust that you cannot recover.

Mozart: That sounds oddly convincing from you two.

They sigh heavily again. Mozart smiles a bit and comments that he must warn MC to be careful from now on and encourages them to cheer up.

End

Boys Talk - Imagination Station

Dazai, Arthur, Isaac

Setting: Thermae

Dazai talks about how great a bath after a good drink is. Arthur agrees and asks Isaac what he thinks. (Note: Don’t go into a huge hot bath while drunk)

Isaac: STAHP TOUCHING ME YOU TWO! Why did you guys insist we bathe together?

Dazai: It’s a good way to get to know each other.

Arthur: Yep, we know each other well but there are no limits on luvbbb ❤️

Isaac: If this is your love I have some doubts...

Arthur + Dazai: Lalalala~~~ 🎶

Arthur: Isn’t it funny how alcohol loosens inhibitions? I’d love to get naughty with MC

Isaac: Don’t you dare touch her!

Dazai: I find it questionable too.

Isaac: Dazai?

Dazai: Women get uncomfortable with sudden moves. You haveta do “that” 

Isaac: huh?

Them: I-mAg-I-nA-tIoN!

Isaac: 🤨huh???

Arthur: Lemme explain. We’re writers. We think up scenarios for a living.

Isaac: ?

Arthur: GOSH. We can do anything we want. In our minds. In vivid detail.

Dazai: Ai-kun is confused still, we must invite him into our minds

Arthur: Good idea! Naughty story time!

Isaac: Hold on—

Arthur and Dazai cook up an Isaac x MC smut headcanon in which Dazai still calls her “Toshiko”

Isaac didn’t even notice at first and commented that it makes sense Mc was drowsy because she’s a hard worker. He gets embarrassed when he figures out and the other two are like LOLLL 😂😂😂, we love your reactions!

Isaac: You’re saying you spend your days thinking about lewd stories of MC?

Them: No.

Arthur: We could imagine but the real thing is a whole different thing.

Dazai: The real thing trumps fantasy.

Isaac: So you were trolling me?

Them: Yes.

Isaac: You’re the worst!

Them: Rofl

End

Boys Talk - A Steamy Nighttime

Leonardo, Vincent, Sebastian

Setting: Thermae

Leonardo: A bath sure is nice!

The other two: ...

Leonardo: Why so quiet?

Vincent: I don’t think MC registers me and Sebastian as men. (Correct. You are indeed an angel and not a mortal man)

Leonardo: Why?

Vincent recalls how he was sunbathing with MC and she commented how he was comforting like a little brother

Leonardo: Pride must’ve been hurt by that. Sebas?

Sebastian: Similar. She said I was like her dad.

Leonardo: Dad-zoned, huh (*This isn’t my own abridging of the story, he actually said that) It’s not as bad as you think. Its proof MC is comfortable, that’s important.

Vincent and Sebastian says that : They want to be seen and treated as reliable men

Leonardo (internally): I’m pretty sure she sees them as men though. If I’m too serious about this, they’ll try too hard. The best thing is to make them laugh

Leonardo: You must get comfortable around women. If you get too self conscious things get weird right?

Sebastian: I see. How?

Leonardo: Prof Leonardo shall teach you. This is classified so don’t share

Them: We Promise.

Leonardo: Did you know a women’s breast is as soft as the inside of their arms. Start there with the inner arm

Vincent: Brilliant. What do we say after

Sebastian: Practice on me master Vincent

Vincent: Your arm is hard

Sebastian: I’m actually swole. (He says quite muscular)

Leonardo: You weren’t supposed to take this seriously

Vincent: Will you give more tips? I wanna get closer to MC

Sebastian: Please teach us professor Leonardo

Leonardo (internally): I didn’t expect this... They’re so pure. I can’t let them down.

Leonardo: When someone licks their lips it means they want you to kiss them, so watch out.

Vincent: You’re a genius! Arthur does that all the time! But I won’t do that since it will startle MC if I suddenly kiss her.

Sebastian: Start with the forehead/cheek

Vincent: Anything else?

Leonardo: Playing with hair = Wants affection

Sebastian: Isaac does that a lot, but he DOES crave affection. I gotta watch out for that.

Leonardo: Listen. I didn’t expect this...

Them: Teach us more!

Leonardo: 😓 

End

A/N

Sorry it’s late. Distracted my Animal Crossing. You can find 2020’s set in my previous post or under the “2020 New Years Set” tag.

[crusherthedoctor]

Sonic Heroes: Sweet or Shite? - Part 1: SILVER

There are some heroes I like. And there are some heroes I don’t like. But why do I feel about them the way I do? That’s where this comes in.

This is a series in which I go into slightly more detail about my thoughts on the heroes in the Sonic the Hedgehog franchise, and why I think they either work well, or fall flat (or somewhere in-between). I’ll be giving my stance on their designs, their personalities, and what they had to show for themselves over the course of time. Two things to keep in mind:

1. These reviews will be focusing mainly on game portrayals. Though alternate media will occasionally be mentioned, it'll be for the sake of adding onto a point if a portrayal is similar enough, or to compare and contrast if a portrayal is different enough.

2. These are just my own personal thoughts. Whether you agree or disagree, feel free to share your own thoughts and opinions! I don’t bite. :>

Anyhow, for today’s installment, I decided to challenge myself by starting off with a complicated one. Born from the future, and never content to stay put in said future, it's the saviour whose debut came from the most unfortunate game... Silver the Hedgehog.

The Gist: Once upon a time, in the distant future, there was an idealistic young hedgehog named Silver, gifted with the power of telekinesis for reasons unknown. With his amazing potential, he was truly destined for a wonderful, prosperous li-just kidding, it was shit.

“All two of us.”

For as long as he knew, the world was forever plagued by Iblis, the terrible Flames of Disaster. Cities stood in ruin, flames stood high, the floor was lava... it was a bitter life to be certain, all thanks to Iblis. Not even defeating the titular creature did much good, since it would simply come back to be a shitty boss fight another day. What was he - and his friend, Blaze, a character we definitely never saw before and definitely didn't have a completely different backstory before - to do?

Trust the first person he sees, of course. Even if they look like they might be related to the same Flames of Disaster that he fights so constantly.

If he had eyelids, he'd be winking at the camera.

This mysterious fellow, Mephiles the Dark, informed Silver that if he were to wipe out Iblis for real, he would need to take a trip into the past, and eliminate the root of the problem... Sonic the Hedgehog? That was what Mephiles claimed, yes. What was his proof? There was no proof.

That was good enough for Silver.

Oh look, it's Fleetway Sonic.

After an elaborate series of events, which should sound exciting but really isn't because it was just Silver going “Iblis Trigger grrr” in varying tones of voice, he was finally able to corner the blue hedgehog... twice! And despite having less fighting know-how than the hero who saved the world plenty of times, he effortlessly came close to killing the blue hedgehog... twice!

This looks like a jobbing for...

Why twice? The first time was halted by Sonic's friend Amy Rose, who Silver had met beforehand after she mistook him for Sonic, an understandable mistake that even the keenest of eyes would be forgiven for making.

The second time was also interrupted, this time by Shadow the Hedgehog. There's only room for one controversial non-blue male hedgehog in this franchise, sonny boy. Actually, his reasons were more benevolent than that: he wanted to show Silver the truth about what was going on, by time travelling to the incident that gave birth to Iblis. Why was one able to to this, so long as more than one Chaos Emerald was present? No one knew.

That was good enough for Silver.

“I challenge you to a dumb-off.”

As it turned out, Iblis was one half of a sun god called Solaris, the other half being the aforementioned Mephiles. The Duke of Soleanna wanted to reunite with his late wife by harnessing Solaris' power, which succeeded from a certain point of view since he's dead now too. The resulting blunder split Solaris into two halves. One half was all brawn, with little capacity for intelligence. The other half was Iblis.

Understanding the error of his ways, and after making peace with Sonic, Silver went back to the future to try something different, which consisted of doing the same thing he always did. Luckily for him, the script decided it would work this time, albeit at the cost of Blaze sacrificing herself... Maybe? Sort of? It’s not entirely clear what happened to her, and it’s not like this was the last we ever saw of her.

~La laaaaaa, la laaaaaa, la laaaaaa, heading to a better game, la laaaaaa~

But ohhhhh nooooo, turns out THAT didn't solve anything either! In the present, Sonic was killed by Mephiles, after the latter realised he should probably do that already if he wanted to make any progress at all with his plan. This incident led to Iblis being brought into the present, and they fused to become the omnipotent Solaris once more. Such power... such divinity... such devastation...

Actually, he was really easy. The antlion from Underground Zone was harder.

Manchild robots - 1, god of time - 0.

With their super forms in tow, Silver, Shadow, and the revived Sonic joined forces to defeat Solaris, with Sonic in particular going the extra step in retconning Solaris out of existence entirely. Since time itself reset, meaning Iblis was no longer a memory, Silver's timeline was given a second chance. What was he to look forward to in this new, promising future?

Shit.

The Design: Let's take a closer look at Silver's appearance, shall we?

Or rather, a certain thing that's wrong with it.

He's holding up fifteen fingers.

Yes, you all know what I'm pointing to: the hairstyle. Let it be known that I'm very aware of the intention behind this design choice. It's supposed to be based on the Japanese Red Maple Leaf, which holds a lot of relevant symbolism for Silver's character. This is a fine idea in theory, and I can respect the intent and the creativity.

But here's the thing: If it looks like a ganja leaf, people are going to say it looks like a ganja leaf. I know some fans will gnash their teeth at me saying this, but the fact of the matter is that intentions and ideas, no matter how good they may be on paper, don't always translate well into the final product. Unleashed Secret Rings Black Knight Sonic '06 in general is certainly no stranger to showcasing examples of that, and Silver's hairstyle is no exception. There are ways to incorporate symbolism in a character’s design without making them look like meme bait in the process, and no amount of “umm ackshually” will change that, I'm afraid.

That said, there's another reason why I'm staying clean of Silver marijuana: it doesn't work for a hedgehog character. With the other hedgehogs, their hairstyles are simple and get the point across: Sonic's goes without saying, Shadow's is more angular to befit a slightly rougher hero, and Amy's is a cute bob cut of sorts. But Silver? Even without the ganja, you've still got the two tentacles making up the back of his head.

I'd rather not be reminded of hentai quills, thanks.

“I thought Crusher-san would like it :’(”

I do find it hilarious that they went through numerous designs for Silver, and this was what they chose to go with. Some of his prototype designs may have fared better had any of them been used instead... but we didn't end up with any of those ones. We ended up with this one, therefore I'm judging this one.

But don’t worry, it’s not all bad with Silver...

The Personality: As far as actual character goes, Silver's personality is as straightfoward as most characters in the series, yet it's no less interesting, because it took a while for it to fully evolve to what it currently is. The seeds of his character - a good-natured yet awkward and rather insecure kind of guy, who doesn't fully understand how the present time works - have always been there, but it was often downplayed in earlier titles due to him being hungry for Iblis Trigger blood... or being an arsehole for no reason.

Although to be fair, everyone in Rivals is an arsehole for no reason.

Eventually though, after the writers gave him a Snickers, these traits got more opportunity to shine. Mostly in side media admittedly, but it's been noted in the games as well. With no Iblis to angst over, he's proven to be a surprisingly bubbly chap, who just wants to know how you're all doing, fellow anthro kids. And whereas his naivety was previously used for intended tragedy to benefit the evil plan of a guy who thought taking the -istoph- out of Mephistopheles would make him inconspicuous, now it's been used for a bunch of low-key contexts that do a much better job at endearing him to the player.

Finally, something I can relate to.

Hell, he even seems to have learned from the Mephiles incident, as he was quick to make it clear to the next shadowy deep-voiced anthro with demonic eyes he met that he wasn't gonna fall for any of them fibs no more, ya hear?

“YouTube and Twitter don’t count.”

All in all, it works well enough, in my opinion. His personality does pave the way for some funny and wholesome moments, and since they’re no longer trying to build him up like he’s Shadow 2.0, he's nowhere near as much of a tool as he was before. So I guess you could say... I like it?

Does this mean I can say that I like the character as a whole then, design and '06-induced idiocy aside?

Well, not quite...

The Execution: This is where the complication part comes into play. We know now that I like his personality, not so much his design, but that's only the half of it. It would be more accurate to say that I like his personality... and dislike everything else.

Aside from that, obviously.

For starters, the creation process for his character and story was summed up with, in their own words, “Think Trunks from Dragon Ball Z”. So he comes off as rather lazy and uninspired. Now I'm not expecting my Sonic characters to be 100% unique, there's always going to be similarities to other franchises no matter what you do, even if subconsciously or by complete coincidence. Taking inspiration in itself is no big deal at all.

But... was that it? Copying a DBZ character to such a blatant extent? Was there no other thought put into it?

Naturally, this ties into an overarching problem: the franchise's mid-00's habit of trying way too hard to be the anthro Dragon Ball Z. Sonic has had DBZ influences since the early days, with the Chaos Emeralds and Super Sonic, but it didn't assimilate itself into every waking aspect of his universe. It was merely an additional flavor that added to the complete package, in the same way that a Death Star with a moustache didn't mean the franchise was suddenly Star Wars the Hedgehog.

But come the turn of the millenium, nearly every main title in the series ended with Super Sonic and/or Super Shadow saving the day, while everyone else either stood around being useless, or only helping in ways that no one actually cares about. Including the in-universe President apparently, since only Sonic and Shadow were featured in the photo on his desk.

Amy smiled. “I guess the rest of us can go fuck ourselves, huh?”

This reached its peak with - of course - Sonic '06, with Silver in particular being an obvious result of this then-ongoing trend. And yes, it would be unfair to use him as a scapegoat, considering it was already a problem long before he turned up. But moreso than even Shadow, it's an era that Silver is forever a relic of, for better or for worse.

But it doesn't stop there. Since Silver is considered a mainstay character, his gimmick of being from the future also creates problems of its own, because in order for him to make further appearances, he keeps turning up for little explained reason, and thus he suffers the Deadly Six problem of being shoved into places where he doesn't belong, for fanservice's own sake. Take Sonic Colours DS for example, where he went back in time JUST to check out Eggman's theme park... Okay...?

On one hand, I’d visit it too, since it's made by Eggman. On the other hand, I’d stay clear of it, since it's made by Eggman.

And when there IS a justification with more weight to it? It's just recycling the '06 routine of trying to avert his ruined future, which isn't much better. The cause may differ depending on the story, but if his future is a permanent shitehole for one reason or another, he might as well cut out the middle man and stay in the present altogether, since that's where his friends are anyway. But they seem intent on not doing that, despite the future schtick being a noose around his neck at this point.

In hindsight, maybe this was a hint to how the rest of the arc would turn out.

And then there's his dynamic with a certain purple cat... No, not Big. The other one.

“I’m here, by the way.”

Simply put: I don't like this dynamic. At all. Or rather, I don't like how they keep milking it. Blaze's backstory was radically changed to justify her presence in Silver's future, and it really shows, since she barely even shows up half the time, as if the developers themselves forgot she was in the game. But her backstory has since been restored to her original alternate dimension interpretation, so hanging around with the grey hedgehog is all good now, right?

To be brutally honest, I probably wouldn't care for this dynamic regardless. But I would be more willing to tolerate it, and I'd refrain from groaning every time they're seen together... if they weren't intent on playing it up so much in spite of '06 being wiped out, sometimes with a bit of commentary involving their thoughts and memories, which only succeeds at making things more confusing. If Blaze is around, Silver will be nearby, and if he's not at first, he will be soon enough. This franchise does have a problem in general with restricting who's allowed to interact with who (I personally believe Sonic Heroes may have led to this, or at least it accelerated it), but I'd argue it's at its most insufferable here, with Blaze's potential and her entire world taking a backseat to being the sidekick of Ganja Man.

And you might say “Well, it's part of the franchise now, so you'll just have to accept it”. To which I ask: Have you accepted Two Worlds? Have you accepted Solo Sonica? Have you accepted Sonic's friends not doing much as of late?

Yeah. That's what I thought. “It’s just how it is” doesn’t mean you can’t criticise it.

Meanwhile, Marine is lucky enough to get so much as a shout out.

So yeah, I have quite an extensive list of grievances involving poor Silver. But... very little of it has to do with him, right? They're all indirect problems that he just so happens to be linked to, as opposed to someone like Chris Thorndyke, who is genuinely a shit character through and through. This is more comparable to Tails being bitchy in Lost World, or Amy being manipulative in Chronicles, or Sonic being a smug dumbass in IDW, or Shadow not wearing a Hawaiian shirt in Boom. Frustrating, regrettable, but not really the character's own fault.

Yet even after all that, there's one last kick in the teeth... How do you fix all this? And how do you fix it when he's since gained a sizable fandom, many of whom like him for these very attributes? If you leave it as it is, you're stuck with this big, awkward mess that everyone pretends to ignore. If you try to do something about it, you'll get complaints about disrespecting the True Silver Spirit, and you’ll get questions about why you didn't create a new character instead... And if you did use a new character for the sake of a clean slate, THEN you'd get complaints about not using Silver.

It's a tough call to be sure, and it's such a shame because like I said, I do appreciate his personality, so I can't say he's bad outright. But with all this... clutter, I can only put him in the average category. So, in he goes.

Crusher Gives Silver a: Thumbs Sideways!

Well, I'm glad this one's out of the way. Putting my thoughts into words with Silver was harder than it should have been. I do slightly regret starting this series off on a rather downer note, but rest assured, it's a lot more positive from this point onwards, since while I have higher praise for some heroes more than others, the hero characters as a whole fare a lot better than the majority of villains not named Eggman.

I guess you could say that I hope to show why Sonic's friends aren't as shitty as the haters would suggest. ;)