#i have other ocs from different things but these are either game ocs or ocs ocs tweaked for dnd

[n0valey]

COMMISSIONS ARE OPEN!!

Full body character concept art with a pose, expression, and outfit of your choosing. I'm able to take creative liberty if you so choose!

I do traditional art only and will mail the original piece to you for a slight up-charge. This is my first time doing this, so please be patient as I'm working out the process. But!!! I will put my best and all into the design!

all commissions are full body, but I will negotiate if you need/want

◇ Basic clothed full body: 30$

◇Basic nude full body: 25$

◇Intricate detailed armor/tattoos: +5$ to base price

◇Background: +5$ to base price

◇Additional Accessory/weapon designs: +3$ to base price

◇Shipping original design: Adjusted to shipping prices (I need to figure out international shipping)

Other commissions can be requested, but I cannot assure their quality like I can the concept designs.

CONTACT ME:

email: n0valeyline5tudios@gmail.com

discord: n0valey

website: TBA

Do not tag as Commission please<3

Please share <3 reblogs are VERY appreciated <3

[falinscloaca]

brain. please.

[yoru-no-seiiki]

Shit, I just saw you had different accounts for different genres and I already requested on your main non smut(??) account😭😭 Okay, okay, I have a new totally original idea. What about.. male pervert yandere enemy x gn or female reader? Like enemies to lovers but one is only in on it because of their masochistic tendencies and they just love being dominated. And please add nsfw of him jerking off, finding her sweaty (sweet) gym tshirt and it being mentioned that he has, I don't know, JERKED OFF TO THEM IN FUCKING CLASS. (The oneshot could be in class👀👀)

- I'm 🙈 anon from your main account, you don't have to complete both of the requests, either one I know would make me cum, but please I'm so desperate for cocky ass bakugo katsuki like bitch guys who are so submissive and vulnerable on the inside IM BEGGING YOU.. omg, now I'm like them, fuck.

This got me pissing my pants ngl- but aaaaa yess. This came at a perfect timing! (long story short i got sum good news from my scholarship stuff in Ateneo) Your audience with me has been approved.

(also I don’t think I received your other request unfortunately uhu)

YANDERE! PERVERTED! RIVAL OC x GN! READER

tw/cw: dddne, yandere themes, male masturbation, semi-public masturbation, yun’s trauma with enrollment procedures.

MINORS/AGELESS DNI OR I WILL BLOCK YOU.

University was hell before it even started. Due to complications with your scholarship, you and your parents had to repeatedly go out to get a whole bunch of documents in searing summer heat to ensure you kept the damn thing from falling through.

It was safe to say, you weren’t going to just take all that for granted.

You wanted to be the best student in the history of the institution, no — the whole country. Anything less than perfect would tarnish the effort your family has put into you.

But a certain Ricardo Peralta was making that oh so difficult for you.

Not only was he already a member of the student council and potential president for the following years, he was oh so disgustingly well-rounded and rich. You thought you were a try-hard? Well think again. Ricardo had you beat in many aspects.

But not all of them.

You are a people person by heart. Charismatic, and sociable. You knew how to mingle, how to get a person wrapped around your fingers. Ricardo may have the vantage point with connections now but in the future? It wouldn’t be long before everyone will turn to you instead.

And so began your petty rivalry.

It was subtle at first. Smirking at the one who got a lower score. Congratulating the other for winning second place while having a golden medal dangling from their neck. Scoffing at their rival for having a life outside academics ( pfft imagine having good time management? The two of you can never! )

And then it steadily degenerated into full blown petty fights. Violence at times. Anything aside from murdering each-other was free rein and even then there were days you two took that sort of route. It was mostly you though. For some reason, his parents were quite fond of you and would always let you into their mansion. This gave you plenty of opportunities to drug his ass.

You didn’t know it was because of a deal his parents made with yours to give him access to your room.

Ricardo studied you harder than the academics he worshipped his entire life. He knew you far longer than you did him. You were the reason he strove so much to be perfect. The only reason he wanted to be perfect was for you.

He knew your parents would never think to pay for the outrageous fees the University you (and by extension him) wanted to go to, so he made his parents start a scholarship program for gifted students (Anything to make their son happy). You were already guaranteed to get in from the beginning, and he felt bad for having made you panic from the strings he had to pull so that you’d always have the same classes/schedules.

So he let you win some of the little games you two had. In any case, nothing beats the reward of your smile. And the smug smirk you’d give him as you loomed over the desk, your chest almost resting on his face.

He shook his head, he can save those thought for after he stole another set of used underwear.

He usually came to your locker after P.E. it was when your scent wouldn’t be covered by whatever you sprayed on yourself. Don’t get him wrong, Ricardo was a germaphobe and a half but those cheap perfumes and deodorants you slathered all over yourself so you wouldn’t smell half bad after your exercises couldn’t compare to the scent of your body.

In anycase, today Ricardo got greedy. Impatient. Something his parents were sure to have reprimanded him on. But he couldn’t help it. Could you really blame him? It suddenly started raining out in the field. The way the water made your shirt cling unto your clothes practically made you irresistible.

“Ngh . . . [Y/N]. J-just like that . . . use me . . .” Tears formed at the corner of his eyes as he mumbled in pleasure. If you just walked a little more, perhaps leaned your head around the corner. . . god, he could imagine the disdain on your face. The utter disgust you’d show him.

It didn’t help that you were slandering him just a few feet away.

“That piece of shit, Ricardo. He totally fucking cheated.” You cursed, so unlike your usual polite tone with your fellow batch-mates and the faculty. He hears a resounding thud right after wards.

The movement around his shaft only gets faster. His grip tighter, harsher, as he imagines the way you’d abuse his cock. If he added any more force he’d probably tear himself apart. The thought of disappointing you is the one thing keeping him from harming himself.

His hand only ever stuttered due to the sound of your friend’s voice, ear piercing and grotesque as it is in contrast to yours, “Aray! Nadamay pa talaga yung mukha ko-“

“Shut the fuck up!” You angrily replied, this time slamming the locker behind Ricardo, making him moan stumble forward a little.

“I’ll fucking kill him.”

Streams of white leave the tip of his cock, your threat shoving him off the ledge of pleasure. Your rain and sweat covered shirt now drenched with another type of liquid.

[Notes]:

Aray! Nadamay pa talaga yung mukha ko — Ouch! You really just brought my face into the fray.

[fillinforlater]

Friends that can keep a secret

Male Reader x Jo Yuri (ft. two male friends)

Length: 3.500 words

Tags: foursome, gangbang, MMMF, drunk sex, seducing, a faux game of spin the bottle, making out, sharing a girlfriend, rimming, face fucking, double penetration, anal, spanking, rough sex, anal creampie, riding, cowgirl, protection, not_your_girlfriend!Yuri

TW: there are other male OCs in this and you fuck a girl in all her holes, I dunno, if you don't like that, feel free to leave

Inspiration: @breach12 for the request/prompt

(A/N: here is something I promised to write quite a while back. It's finally finished. I changed the prompt quite a bit, but I hope the person who requested it likes it (and y'all too))

“Should you knock or I knock.”

Daehwi grins and you roll your eyes. He can never make things easy.

“Dude, just fucking knock.”

You and your friends recently finished another semester in college. You really had to think, was it the fifth, the sixth, the—no, it was the sixth. It felt like forever since you enrolled in that university with it’s unimpressive name and even less impressive campus. In the end, you made it through this time without impressive grades or interesting stories, but maybe this is your ideal life.

Calm and uninteresting, at least to others.

Your friends are a bit different. On one hand there is Daehwi, the crazy one. He is like a wild animal, free from every and all constraints but a slave of his desires and instincts. He gets a lot of girls, hookups, relationships, break ups, scandals—nothing ever slows him down. No matter how stupidly crazy his ideas are, they always work out and in the end, even his grades pan out. Daehwi has either figured out how to live a perfect life or he is just insanely lucky.

But he is a good friend in time of need.

On the other hand is Junseo. He is one hell of a cutie-patootie, caring for every one of his friends, colleagues, even profs. No bad word ever comes from his lips and he is always punctual. Literally always. He trades loyalty for loyalty and is the perfect example for genuinity and consistency. It is only fair that he got the most beautiful girl as his girlfriend.

Junseo is a great friend, but sometimes Yuri takes up all his time.

Yuri is the rock star on campus. She can make the entire university fall on their knees by grabbing a mic and singing her heart out. She is talented, smart, gorgeous—the crush of many, until they find another girl to smash. Yuri was never ready for one night stands, and so it was only fitting that Junseo and her fell in love gradually. No hookups, just pure, romantic love.

Love without you. You watched from afar as your best friend fell in love with your crush. That crush on Yuri that everyone has at least once in their campus life, it still lingers in your heart. You have to suppress it almost daily, but it is a tiny stain on your otherwise good life. Suppress it for Junseo, especially today when you get to celebrate another successful semester at his place. 

"Oh hey guys, come in!" Junseo opens the door with a wide grin and a surprising pink hue on his cheeks.

"Yo!” Daehwi shouts until his chest vibrates. “We bought beer, let's celebrate—damn, did you start drinking without us?" Daehwi puts down the two six packs and starts to aggressively pinch Junseo’s cheek. You start to laugh as the two playfully fight like two lion cubs.

“I brought some snacks,” you shout and try to get their attention. Fun is good and all, but you’re still standing outside and the cold air is brushing past your sensitive calves. "I got them for you, but if you don’t move, I’ll eat them all alone."

The three of you finally make your way into the flat and onto the couches. You feel the good vibes radiating throughout the room and it only gets progressively better. The first step to make such a celebration unforgettable is good beer and surprisingly, the cans Daehwi bought (at least you hope that he bought them) are filled with it. You down two of them easily, Daehwi is already on his third while Junseo reaches for a Soju bottle to create an intoxicating mixture. 

“Damn, I didn’t know you got Soju,” Daehwi groans in ecstasy as he takes a swing straight from the green bottle. “Your grades must have been terrible.”

“Nah, it’s not that,” Junseo responds with a pout. “It's because this might be the last time we have a celebration like this.”

“Huh, how so?” you protest and get a handful of crackers into your mouth, not willing to accept that such a well-kept tradition would end tonight, without warning.

“It’s because, next semester, I’m done, so the party is gonna be bigger. And afterwards, with work and all, I don’t know if it will work out like this again.”

“Shit, life is really catching up to us.” Daehwi clicks his tongue and you can already see that his drunk, a bit more melancholic but still wild and direct self appears. After all, he can’t keep himself from downing liquor. 

“If only I knew,” you sigh, angry that you forgot that Junseo was already here when you started to study. He was always ahead and now he will be the first to leave behind college life and become a truly normal person. “I would have brought stuff to make this more memorable.”

Junseo grabs the hem of your shirt and there is this drunk grin on his face as he babbles: “Don’t worry, I have things planned.

“Yuri, dear, you can come in now~”

Honest to God, you forgot about her for a split second—you will never for the rest of your life. Yuri walks in, the walk of a supermodel. Her high heels clack on the wooden floor, her hips sway in that stupidly short miniskirt, her eyes sparkle when she winks at you. You’re staring everywhere at once, to the point your throat goes dry again and you quickly need another drink. Luckily, Yuri brought more Soju and hands you a bottle.

“Congrats on beating another semester,” she says with a saccharine smile that stuns you, glues you to the couch, all to the amusement of Junseo beside you. “You gonna take it or not?”

“Su-sure, thank you.” Grab the bottle like an idiot and drink from it like one. Daehwi isn’t any better, dry lips stuck to his can while his eyes are glued to Yuri’s back. She makes sure to stick out her ass for him to see the nice curve. The green plaid skirt is barely long enough to hide her cheeks as she kneels next to him, hands on the table, searching for crackers or chips.

“Yuri, you are gorgeous,” Junseo compliments his girlfriend with a wicked grin and Yuri responds with an expression so sly and sexy, you almost drop your bottle and spit out its contents. Those two must have been drinking before Daehwi and you arrived, otherwise they wouldn’t be so bold.

“Damn, what the hell is going on with you two?” Daehwi bluntly asks them, but all he gets are glances from the couple and a confused shrug by you. “I bet you two are drunk already. Better stop now before any accidents happen.”

“There are no accidents tonight,” Junseo says firmly and makes room in the middle of the table for an empty Soju bottle. “No accidents, no boundaries, no questions asked. Do you two understand?”

“Well, that is a question,” you try to respond with wit, but it’s quickly forgotten when Yuri spins the empty bottle.

“Whoever this bottle lands on gets to have a free wish—kinda like truth and dare, except everyone else has to accept the dare and what you want to do to them.” Yuri’s words have your mind rotating faster than the bottle; is she for real? No limits, no boundaries? No one will ask questions? Can you just—go for it? Ask her to love you for this one night—no Junseo, just you?

Your wish fades to black when the bottle stops and points straight at Junseo, who does not hesitate and grabs his girlfriend at the wrist. Blink once, blink twice and she already sits on his lap, right next to you, and he is ready to stick his tongue into her eager mouth.

“My wish is that everyone fucking loosens up and just watches.”

The most tense thriller could not be more engaging for you. To see Junseo fondle Yuri, her tight little body, her covered boobs, her flawless back, down to the edge of her skirt has you sweaty all over. All over, again, he doesn’t stop and goes for that long, blonde hair and combs it back. Yuri moans and her nails dig into the back of the couch. Then they go back to making out, provocatively loud and Yuri’s top almost slips over her boobs.

You’re not the only one starring. Daehwi gets into position behind them, and he shamelessly looks under Yuri’s skirt—what he finds must be utterly mind melting, because he quickly grabs the bottle and points it at himself. He clears his throat to get everyone’s attention and for a second, the silence is heavier than a black hole.

“I-it’s my turn.” Daehwi gulps, the couple pants. “Can I pull down your skirt, Yuri?”

“Sure, just let me get up.”

With a final kiss on the cheek, Yuri leaves her boyfriend’s lap and stands in front of the kneeling Daehwi. She reaches for his hands and places them on her hips. This was the final straw, the last chain that held back the savage animal. Daehwi roughly yanks down Yuri’s skirt; with every gasp, more of her lower body is revealed until—nothing but a skimpy thong. You get to see it from behind only for a second, because Daehwi immediately spins Yuri around to knead and lick her cute butt cheeks. 

You’ve only heard stories of Daehwi’s sexcapades, the endless rounds of loud smashing, of groaning, of cumming—you never knew he could become so feral at the touch of two small round buttcheeks. It seems to work however, Yuri is definitely feeling herself, hands in her hair, head thrown back as she moans profanities towards the ceiling.

Suddenly, the head of a bottle crosses your vision. Juseon has the green thing pointed at you, on eye level and you don’t let him even start his sentence before uttering your own wish. It’s a bit desperate, but totally accurate to your situation and pent up feelings.

“Yuri, I—I want to make out with you, o-on my lap!”

“Oh yes, for sure~”

Followed by the still manically kneading Daehwi, Yuri climbs on top of you and goes straight for your mouth. Her tongue, still glazed in liquor and tiny chips particles quickly turns into the most delicious treat you have ever had. Yuri engages the kiss, starts off what could have been an equal dance but she quickly succumbs to your sudden dominance. 

Call it a return to your monkey brain, anything but civilized. You fuck her mouth with your tongue, play with her hair lovingly while tormenting her slender frame with rubs and squeezes. Yuri’s giggles urge you on more, you become bolder, reach into the top of her bra—there is no bra, just bare tits to fondle and knead the way only Daehwi would, though he has transitioned to eating Yuri’s ass, thong pushed to the side. 

You’ve lost sight of Juseon, but who the fuck cares when you can stick your hands down to where the sun doesn’t shine and find Yuri’s pussy. She is laughably wet, her juices dripping on your finger while your teeth move to bite her collarbone. She moans and hugs your body, pressing herself further down your length which has been an issue in the tight confines of your jeans for way too long—

“Yuri,” Juseon suddenly shouts. “I think you’re the last one to make a wish.”

You pull out your fingers from those drenched folds and even Daehwi backs off from the feast that is Yuri’s ass. Everyone listens closely when Yuri finally gets her wish out.

“I want you three boys to finally get your cocks out and fuck them into my tight holes until I can’t walk anymore. Don’t think, just fuck me.

“I’m your semester trophy tonight.”

Juseon suddenly stands next to you, feet in the cushions of his couch and his pants meet them quickly. He whips out his cock and as if her lips were magnetically drawn to it, Yuri starts to kiss and lick over it. From tip to base, she does not leave out one spot. Equally sudden is Daehwi, who’s pants you can’t even see anymore, but his cock is clearly pressed against Yuri’s cheeks and then on the ring in between them.

To your surprise—not that you ever actively thought about it—their cocks are just average in size, maybe even below that. Yours might be bigger, but they get girls and relationships all the time—your thoughts shouldn’t become so weird, especially because you have already pulled out your own dick and begun to stroke it to the hardest it has ever been.

Yuri, while her face is getting fucked slowly, her boyfriend’s cock entering and leaving her lips, gently places an unwrapped condom into your sweaty hands. Good thing that they are prepared, because you of course did not bring something like this to what could’ve been a harmless party.

Harmless college parties? Yeah, no, who are you kidding. Just roll the plastic contraceptive over your hard shaft and then try to find Yuri’s pussy. Those hot folds, they are right there—further down. You rub along her midriff, navel, even her crotch but are unable to find it.

Yuri pops Juseon’s cock from her lips and smiles at you while her hand continues to lazily jerk the throbbing, wet thing. She reaches in between your legs and finds your thing poking her belly. 

“Should I help you?” she asks and you avoid her eyes in embarrassment—only for a second thought. Something draws you to their sparkle, lewd and thrilled, while she tries to adjust on your lap until— 

“Ah, fuck, Daehwi, wait!”

“Wha-what is it?” he asks with a somewhat annoyed growl, hands wrapped around Yuri’s waist, cockhead perfectly aligned with her asshole.

“Give me a second. I want all of you to thrust in me simultaneously. I never felt something like that.

“It’ll be great.”

You gulp when Yuri gets you to the entrance of her light pink cavern. This is it, the moment you’ve been waiting for for a long time—not really waiting, just dreaming of. Luckily, you don’t need to dream anymore and just focus on not exploding the moment you—

“Now, fuck, now.”

The signal sends your hips upwards in a thrust. It’s not a full thrust, only half of your cock fills Yuri’s insides. You couldn’t commit to all of it; you need to flex your thighs to keep yourself from cumming too quickly. Daehwi and Junseo do not seem to care about that: both went all in from the get go, filling Yuri’s mouth and ass to the brim with their dicks and their thrusts don’t stop. 

Daehwi’s rough, feral pumping gapes Yuri’s ass and you feel every second of it. He is on the other side, careless, just like in the stories from the countless one-night stands that loved his enthusiasm. This is not enthusiasm, more unbridled sexual desire. He chases his own orgasm every time her ass meets his crotch.

For Junseo it’s similar. He seems to really enjoy Yuri’s drool running down her chin, sometimes even stopping the thrusts just to spread it all over her face with either his tip or a finger. You totally understand why he indulges in the way Yuri looks, all messy and silly, but you’d love to hear her moan louder—you want to see the strongest kind of bliss on her features.

Instead of your own pleasure, you try to find Yuri’s spots and poke your cock against them purposefully. You’re a lot slower than the other two, but your stamina does not decrease at all. Unlike Daehwi, you don’t need any brakes to catch your breath. You just continue to fuck Yuri in this mesmerizing rhythm that has her humming on her boyfriend’s shaft.

“Is this good, do you feel good?” you ask her in between deep breaths, arms around her torso, while she finds stability on your shoulder again.

“Yesh, yes,” she mumbles as Junseo flops out of her mouth. You see him shaking, losing his mind when she starts to twist his tip with two fingers. “You can go faster, harder—don’t think of me. I’m just the reward.”

“Too bad.” Whisper in her ear. “All I can think about is my reward.”

Yuri’s expression shifts, like she is trying to challenge you, like she doesn’t believe that you really care about her, like she—and then she can only think of Daehwi again, who goes on another rampage in her back entrance, while covering her ass with hard spanks.

A tender pain on your lower lip when she bites it. You halt your thrusts, but Daehwi makes it feel like Yuri bounces and rubs on your entire cock. You hear both the guys scream profanities while your own profanities are stuck, unable to come out because of Yuri’s bite.

“Yuri, babe, I’m—” Junseo can barely stand. “I’m so close.”

“In my mouth?” she asks, cutely-lewdly.

“N-no, I want to… finish on your ass.”

“Great idea.” Yuri jerks his cock harder and starts to stick out her ass which seems to trigger another orgasm. Instead of politely asking, Daehwi just growls like a wolf to the moon and Yuri feels his thick cum flood her rectum. “Yes, fuck! Fill that ass, creampie me!”

Now that wasn’t cute at all. Just lewd. Lewd like her fucking face when Daehwi’s cock loudly pops out and Junseo sprays his cum all over those red buttocks. She looks thoroughly satisfied with all the white on her skin, in her hole—maybe she isn’t thinking yet of the mess on her couch, the carpet or on her clothes. 

“Fuck, guys, that was—

“Why haven’t you finished yet?”

Yuri looks at you, as if she expects you to just burst from the look in her eyes. No, she underestimates you. Your stamina is still going strong and your enjoyment of her cunt hasn’t diminished by a single percent.

“I-I can still keep going!”

“Really? Let’s see about that.”

As if you had fucked a million times already, Yuri’s riding and your upwards fucking synchronizes instantaneously. When she crashes down, all of your cock fills her hole and when she rises, you’re right at her entrance, ready to repeat what can only be described as heaven—an entry to happiness. 

But happiness isn’t a dominant emotion right now, hell, you don’t even want it. You just want Yuri and her snug pussy always around you, hot and milking you with that flawless texture. The pink thing should accept you the entire night and with how eagerly she slams herself down on your manhood, she wants it too. 

Maybe Yuri feels happiness, maybe that is your wishful thinking blurring with her mindless expression, mindless moans, mindless tongue that suddenly searches for yours and you engage in a tornado of kisses that leads to Yuri resigning. Her body is all yours now, yours alone, and she is begging to cum. Trophy this, award that, in the end she has her needs and you will fulfill them.

Hold onto her waist and like in the final battle of a video game, use all your knowledge and skill to stimulate the inside of her pussy. Nothing can stop you, not the cum from her gaping hole that drips on your balls, not her weight laying on top of you, not the shocked gaze of Junseo—he must have never seen his girlfriend get fucked so well.

“Fuck, I’m-I’m,

“I feel so good, don’t stop.”

Yuri’s whine feels like a victory. You know she will climax before you do. This is all you’ve ever wanted. After this, you can let your feelings for her die in peace. But for these last few thrusts, she is all yours. Her entire body and mind is occupied by you, and so you claim her with a gentle kiss and a not-so-gentle flick on her clit.

“Who makes you cum?”

“You! You, you make me—ah!”

That scream is so long, so good; she is so tight, so perfect. Yuri trembles, electric shocks of pleasure surge all across her body. Her cunt is so tight and hot, you don’t feel the condom anymore and release your seed into it with lazy pumps. Yuri mewls when she feels the hot sticky mess which sadly misses her hot, messy holes and instead sticks to your dick.

“Okay, fuck,” Junseo sighs and sinks onto the carpet. “That was hot, that was crazy.”

“I knew you’d like it,” Yuri weakly says, a bright but tired smile on her lips as she looks back to her boyfriend. She turns back to you, face in adorable scrunches “Lemme, uhm… clean up.”

“Oh, yeah.” You quickly try to get your composure, because you’re still balls deep inside her. “Fuck, sorry about that.”

“Don’t apologize.

Junseo can never hear that. He never will. And Daehwi is long asleep. Those following words are just for you.

“That was the best thing ever.”

[acstation206]

I messed up. /j

Introducing...

THE AMAZING DIGITAL ARCADE PARTY!

Yeah, that's right, I caved in.

Basically the exact same show except its established lore and setting is more largely inspired by archive compilations of popular vintage arcade games of the 80s and 90s such as Pac-Man’s Arcade Party, as well as the different takes within the sci-fi / fantasy genre by the likes of Wreck-It Ralph, Tron: Legacy, and Infinity Train. 

==

= BACKGROUND (in a nutshell) 💿 =

In an attempt to save their dying business, C&A developed and manufactured the first hybrid arcade game of its own kind that combined other popular arcade games and home console games with virtual reality. However, just as the company’s luck was turning around, numerous lawsuits from game companies by the likes of Nintendo and families were filed against the company for their product, from apparently “ripping-off” Super Mario Bros. in its entirety to causing many children to either inexplicably fall unconscious or suffer from amnesia after the cabinet’s headset was put on. Just then, as C&A announced they’ll be temporarily recalling the product to fix its issues, a shocking discovery was already made by investigators that would soon bring the company to its demise: the game’s AI had gone rogue, and once a human mind dies from losing one of the games in any way, they are either permanently reincarnated as a personified cartoon character of themselves or just straight up die in real-life depending on the outcome.

==

= ART N’ STUFF 🎨 =

(might wanna make a separate masterpost for that in the future but oh well)

NES Ragatha

==

= Q&As and BOUNDARIES (sort of) 🎙️ =

"Are there any plans to make a full webcomic out of this?" - Uhhhh, mayyybe? I'm not entirely sure, honestly. While there may be a few side comics and artwork from my head I want to get out sometime, I don't really have much plans for this AU that'll be worth telling a full story right now since I feel there is plenty of things that I've yet to figure out and develop in a matter of time, particularly the setting and characters (especially considering the OG show itself has only 2 episodes out as of writing and I only have mobile apps like ibisPaint X to make this all possible at the moment).

"Can I make fanfics and OCs for this AU?" - Of course! I've seen a lot of incredible things from the community, especially in regards to alternate universes, so you're absolutely more than welcome to share whatever's on your mind as long as your heart's in the right place. I can't really guarantee I'll see every bit of it since I do have some personal biz of mine to take care of at any moment, but I'll be happy to reblog them whenever I get the chance. Just tag me and we all good. :)

"Are there any canon ships in this AU?" - Yes. Yes, there are. Well, only BunnyDoll (Jax x Ragatha) to be specific. HOWEVER, you are free to ship whoever you want here! Showtime (Caine x Pomni), ButtonBlossom (Pomni x Ragatha), it's all okay. The choice is yours, a romantic buffet! (Plus, depending on the quality of my writing, I'm not even planning to dwell too much into it for now, aside from the side comics that will.)

==

That's all for right now. Enjoy! :)

[littlemissayu]

“YOU SPOKE!!” – Their kids first words (Night Raven 3rd Years-Malleus & Lilia)

A/n: Yes I ‘m well aware I haven’t updated/posted my other oc request from my event, even though it ended over a month ago BUT it’s getting done and I will try to finish as fast as I can. I ‘m just posting this because it’s been delayed forever and I need something to get my writing juices going.

If you see me mention gender it’s based off of my Twst boys as Parents series that you can find here!!

Warnings: FEM! Reader, pregnancy,domestic fluff, babies(ofc), google translate translations, I’m only doing their first kids/first set of kids

pairing(s):3rd Years x fem!Reader(separate/romantic)

Yummy/Delicious- Hears you say it everytime Trey makes a really good baked treat(aka all the time). Now I know delicious is probably a hard word for a baby to say which is why I also have ‘yummy’. They say it for the first time after Trey gives them a small part of a macaroon. You could just see how Trey’s eyes lit up when he heard his little one speak for the first time!!

Smile!!/Cheese!!- The two of you (mostly Cater) always say these phrases to your kids, so it’s no surprise when their first words are smile and cheese. With the family album(that I 100% believe Cater would start making once you get pregnant). When Cater heard his babies speak for the very first time he got super sentimental and excited calling you over(if you weren’t already there)

Papa!- Now this is solely based on my personal headcanon that Leona’s first kid would be a girl and a total Daddy’s girl. Always with him, even though you carried her for 9 MONTHS, homegirl got evicted from the womb and wanted to follow around papa. I also believe this happened as he was getting something and turned his back to her so she tried to get his attention. His ears immediately shoot up and his eyes open wide. He instantly picks up his cub and rushes over to you to tell you what your daughter just said. But dw, her next word ended up being mama. Is so proud of his little girl~

Pretty!- You’re always saying this to your husband so she eventually just picks up on it. Also hears other people saying it about either you or Vil; not to mention you and Vil do occasionally call her “pretty girl”. So she’s just surrounded by the word so it's no shocker when it’s her first word. Vil just beamed at his daughter, truly feeling the sentiment. His little girl, his pride and joy has spoken for the first time BUTTTT sadly he wasn’t there to witness it. So all that happened when he came back from work. He almost left early after you told him over the phone. But he could be more proud of his kleiner engel.

Up!!- Now this is because this little Hunt loves being picked up, especially when her father is flying on his broom. They love the feeling of being high up and flying through the sky with her father. Rook is always open to giving his petit oiseau what they ask. When his little one said their first words he couldn’t help but outburst with joy. He couldn’t stop praising them for speaking, then when you came in or called out to him/your child, he began praising you for giving this wonderful child.

Play!!/Uh oh- Now 2 things to establish, 1. Ik “uh oh isn’t a word” but I’m just gonna have to count it and I will explain why 2. Why are there 2 different words, well if you read this fic here!!, you’ll learn that I believe Idia has twin boys therefore I wrote 2 different words. Now onto my explanation; for ‘play’ it just makes sense, sitting on his dad’s lap watching him play games that say and display the word ‘play’ on the title screen ofc that would be his kid’s first word it just makes sense. Now for your other twin boy this was his first “word” because whenever Idia gets frustrated on the game at a certain point he hears you say “uh oh”, meaning “Dad’s about to burst”. They also have learnt(bc they're a very smart child) that they can use this for other times when something is about to go wrong so they do say it when something might go wrong. Idia seemed nonchalant at first place but then a smile grew on Idia’s face from his adorable talking twins.<3

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[triglycercule]

i think the creators in the undertale multiverse is SUCH a creative concept and even though it's fourth wall breaking it's so amazing that it deserves to break the fourth wall

everytime other medias and games or stories break the fourth wall it's either taken unseriously (like pinkie pie from mlp or family guy cutaways) or people shit on it for being out of place and just a deus ex machina or something (hi3 i will NEVER hate you for including the players in the final arc) but the undertale multiverse completely subverts that. actually the entire MULTIVERSE is BASED on the concept that people are willing to make media and art and writing and that is what keeps these ocs and worlds and creations going and alive

the utmv isn't even a real thing. like it's not a fandom that spawned from a book or a movie or a show or game or comic. ok well it technically is but the undertale fandom and the undertale AUs fandon are two different things i think. like undertale aus ofc came from undertale but that's a whole seperate branch of things and sometimes those aus have NOTHING to do with undertale (looking at you dreamtale. and others.)

but the fact that a whole seperate branch of a fandom was created just because people wanted to expand on one tiny game and had so much love for it that it spawned this clusterfuck of a fandom is just so amazing to me. i don't think any other fandom has THIS extensive of a multiverse with aus where the people holding the pencils and typing words are so heavily engrained into the lore (ink and error i will forever love you for being aware of creators I AM AWARE OF YOU TOO!!! I LOVE YOU!!!!)

in other fandoms there's a strict canon for medias but in the utmv a lot of aus are just a brief concept and maybe some charactization and that's it (dusttale ily 4 this. dusttale is peak fiction). and if you like the concept enough you can make another concept based on it. and if someone else likes your au enough they might make another au based on it or write headcanons for it. and it's so cool that this fandom is kinda self sustaining in a way. undertale's probably never gonna get another update or game and even though deltarune has its connections its a completely seperate thing. but somehow the fandom is alive and still pumping out tons of amazing content

and the fact that we control all of these character's actions is so daunting but also so cool. like these characters do these things because we basically script them to do. we as creators are the ones drawing the angst or writing the shit posts. if a character is self aware of the creators that's just because we MADE them aware. so are they really aware or are we just pretending that we are. if a character is powerful that's just because we made them powerful. if a character hates the creators we made them hate us. if a character destroys aus we make them do that. but they don't actually feel that way or do those things, that's just what we tell them to do and i think that's really cool

ive yapped a lot about this topic (i still have so much more to say) but i'll hold it back and just talk about one last thing and that's headcanons and interpretations. I LOVE PEOPLE'S INDIVIDUAL INTERPRETATIONS!!! I LOVE PEOPLE'S HEADCANONS FOR CHARACTERS!!! i love seeing how other people think the mtt (or other characters but i am a murder time trio fanatic) would interact or how they would act. i love seeing people's dumb comics of them bickering or making out (errrmmmmm) because it's all different. all these people came up with their own ideas and thoughts on how to expand these relatively basic concepts and it's all different because everyone's different and gone through different things <333

all in all i love you undertale multiverse. this fandom is one of the most unique i've ever had the joy of being in and i hope it never dies out (if it dies out what will happen to all of the amazing creations and worlds and people we've made 😕😕😕 ink will be sad. so pls don't die utmv)

[darqx]

Hi I understand if you don't reply, but I was wondering if you have any advice to beginners who want to start making their ocs a reality? (Like in the sense of having Charecters that have been in your thoughts for a while, but it's hard to encapsulate them into physical form?) As I have some that id like to make either into a game or comic but I'm a little stuck..

Also I'm curious if there will be any other content with the best boy himself rire?? : 0

Hullo! Ah, (physically) designing characters, how fun ❤️ - there is part of a reason why I only have a handful of them lol XD; ANYWAY here are three things that help me, so hopefully they can help you as well :)

(I'll use Demon!Rire as an example as unless you are an old guard of mine, he will probably be the most recognisable of my characs.)

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

❓What do you know about them?

First of all since you already have your character in mind, congratulations you are most of the way there already! It's helpful to know the general vibe of them. And I don't mean the super detailed things that may arise from like..."Get to know your OC" quizzes - we are more looking for the core feeling of a character here. If you dumped this character into different AUs what things are going to stay the same/similar? Some things you should consider are:

What is their personality like? Why do they do the things they do?

Do I already have any physical traits for them in mind? Hair/eye/skin colour? Body type? Age? Name??

📝 Write a simple paragraph or some dot points about your character with these things in mind.

---EXAMPLE---

Sophisticated and charming, Rire outputs an aura of power and elegance. His pleasing physical appearance and gentlemanly demeanour usually enchants or commands people. Realistically, he is extremely manipulative and sadistic, and finds entertainment in the reactions of others.

---/EXAMPLE---

🤔 Make informed choices

Ok cool, you know something about your charac! Now build upon what you know to make them real - it is important here to try and match your design choices with the characterisation and "why"s of the character, and less with what you personally think will be cool/cute/whatever. What I mean by this is just pretend they are a person you are describing to a forensic sketch artist - you are giving "facts" as to what you think they look like not making stuff up (eg you would NOT be like "oh yeh she was totally a punk rocker however i'm going to say she wore a long flowing gown cos I think she'd look prettier in it?"*)

*Note that designing a character with opposites in mind can work out if you can at least answer the cursory "why" of it being a part of the character design. For eg maybe the punk rocker is secretly the alter ego of a socialite - flowing gowns and high fashion by day, grunge by night. Like Batman.

📝 Feel free to use dress up doll games and image searches for particular types of clothes/hairstyles/etc if you need inspiration. Thumbnail a bunch of different designs and see what works.

---EXAMPLE---

In my prev example paragraph I highlighted a few things in red. Here I'll break down how they can help craft a physical appearance:

Sophisticated and charming / elegance - to me, these combined make me think of ballrooms and black tie functions and nice suits. A well tailored outfit and someone who knows how to wear them.

Gentlemanly demeanour (well to some degree lol) - since I already know he's hundreds of years old (973 to be exact) I decided that an aristocratic Victorian-esque aesthetic would suit him. Somewhere in between a modern look and something with a bit more fantasy steampunk flair. He smiles quite genially until he's doing it with all his teeth.

Aura of power - he's got to be a bit of an imposing character so he's quite tall (or at least taller than all of my other characs) and carries himself confidently. Hooray for the ability to loom. Dark colours for this character, to cut an impressive figure.

Pleasing physical appearance - kinda stereotypical type of good looks that aesthetically most people would be like "yeh he's pretty". Athletic build - muscular but not bulky, broad shoulders, tapered waist etc etc.

Extremely manipulative - first of all, he looks rather human, for a demon - his entire species is designed very particularly like that. Then there's the sunglasses. The "why" [does he wear them] is they function to hide his eyes (one of the main parts of him that give away his demon-ness), but also as a bit of a red flag to the audience that something isn't quite right with him. I mean, look past his charm and he wears them all the time. The black and yellow colour scheme also ties in as warning colours ⚠️

Put them all together and this was one of my first sketches of Demon!Rire.

*Note that I already more or less knew how he looked other than his outfit; you will probably have a lot more sketch duds as you figure out what your character looks like.

---/EXAMPLE---

🔐 Don't lock yourself in

Despite the fact I've just said "pretend your character is a person", remember you're still their creator so obviously you have final say over them. Sometimes you'll find that they grow and change from what you initially thought of them (or you just evolve in how you draw them). Don't be afraid to make the tweaks and changes that enhance these - whether they be physical or core characteristics - and you'll get closer to the true character you always had in mind.

---EXAMPLE--

I now draw Rire with a more pronounced V-shape, longer, wavier hair, and somehow he ended up with way more pronounced eyelashes than I usually draw on my male characs. Which works out quite well considering how I tend to draw his eyes. Anyway the point of this is that these things developed over time as I kept drawing him.

---/EXAMPLE---

🍀 Try it out with your own characs! Have fun and don't force yourself to try and get it "right" on the first go.

[meazalykov]

getting what she wants

lena oberdorf x oc x USWNT!reader

part one of five

summary: lena knows she gets what she wants

warnings: cheating, angst, 18+ (smut? not too detailed and mostly suggestive)

oc description here

you and your girlfriend had always been complicated—never simple, never easy. 

it started back in 2021 when you and sloan played at psg. the chemistry on the field between you two was undeniable, but off the field, it was a different story. 

the beginning wasn’t so bad, though. she caught feelings for you shortly after she went through a breakup, but you didn’t think much of it. you were happy that someone was interested in you, someone as gorgeous as sloan. 

if you were to tell anyone about it now, you'd say it wasn’t the worst relationship, but it definitely wasn’t the best either.

sloan was magnetic, and in those early days, you were drawn to her like everyone else was drawn to her. the older woman was a fierce defender in paris, while you were a threatening midfielder that scared the defenders on the opposite team. 

the woman would pull you in, wrap you up in her intensity, and you’d get lost in the way she’d look at you, the way she’d run up to you if you took a hit on the pitch– it was like you were her whole world. and for a while, it felt like you were.

savannah was always there, in the background, but you didn’t mind. you played with both of them on the united states national team, and savannah never seemed like a threat.

she was just part of the past with sloan—something you didn't think twice about. you had bigger things to worry about, like football, your career. you weren’t the type to get jealous over old exs that your girlfriend had.

things shifted in 2022 when you left for bayern munich, after you spent three seasons with PSG. 

the move was huge for you. it was a chance to grow, to focus on your game in another league, and push yourself to new heights. 

sloan went back to the states, joining portland thorns. her contract didn’t expire with PSG but she didn’t want to stay if you weren’t there.

the long distance was rough, but you both promised to make it work. you'd have late-night calls, texting between training sessions, and sending each other pictures of your day, trying to stay connected despite the time zone difference.

but then, overtime, you started noticing things. 

small, subtle shifts. the first time sloan told you that her and savannah texting again. at first, you were alarmed until sloan told you that savannah, who played for louisville, was going to go up against the thorns in the NWSL that week. 

you told yourself it was nothing. they’d known each other forever; of course, they'd stay in touch. your mind brushed it off, telling yourself that your trust in sloan was stronger than whatever history she had with savannah.

but it didn’t take long for sophia, your friend on the national team who played at the same club as sloan, to notice. 

during one of your national team camps, the ones against china in florida, she pulled you aside, a concerned look on her face.

“have you talked to sloan recently?” she asked, her tone light but her eyes searching.

“yeah, of course,” you replied, a little confused by her question.

“why?”

sloan was still recovering from an ACL injury, so her club and national team agreed to have the 26 year old play for only portland games for now. she wasn’t called up for the national team so you couldn’t see her this time in the states.

sophia sighs in hesitation,

“i don’t want to stir anything up, but sloan was showing me some tiktok on her phone unaware that um...well,, i saw some messages. between her and savannah. they seemed kinda... i don’t know, close?”

you felt your stomach drop, but you forced a laugh. 

“it’s nothing. they’re just friends.” you convinced yourself. 

“just be careful, okay?” sophia didn’t look convinced. 

you nodded, but that seed of doubt had already been planted. 

later that night, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. the way sloan’s messages had become more distant, the way she’d brush off your questions with a quick “i’m just busy babe” or “practice has been rough.” you tried to push it down, telling yourself it was all in your head.

until one day, you couldn’t anymore.

a few weeks later, you were scrolling through your phone after a long training session in germany when you saw it. videos. 

they were everywhere—sloan and savannah, out at some club in portland, laughing, dancing, and way too close for comfort. the headlines were brutal, and your stomach twisted into knots as you scrolled through the comments, people speculating about what was going on between them.

you couldn’t breathe.

immediately, you dialed sloan’s number, your fingers shaking as you waited for her to pick up.

you had to run into your living room, since lea and georgia were staying over your house and were sleeping in the guest room beside your bedroom. there was no way that you would wake them up, even in this condition.

“hey, babe,” she answered casually, as if nothing had happened.

“what the FUCK, sloan?” your voice cracked, the anger and hurt pouring out all at once. 

there was a pause on the other end, just long enough to make you feel even worse.

“it’s not what it looks like,” she finally said, her voice too calm, too rehearsed.

“it sure as hell doesn’t look good,” you shot back. 

“you’re out partying with savannah? after you told me there was nothing going on?”

sloan sighed. 

“i told you, it’s nothing. we just went out for drinks with our teams. it’s not a big deal.”

“not a big deal?” you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. 

“sloan, everyone’s talking about it. you’re all over the news. do you even realize how this makes me look? do you know how this makes YOU look?”

you hated how much you still cared about her and her image. of course everyone on the internet was dragging sloan’s name through the filth for your defense. 

“you’re overreacting. savannah’s just a friend who happens to be my ex too. you need to stop letting other people get into your head.” sloan said, annoyed. 

but you couldn’t calm down. how could you? not when the entire world had just seen your girlfriend getting close with her ex like it was nothing. 

your heart ached, torn between the love you still had for sloan and the anger bubbling inside you.

“i can’t believe you,” you whispered, tears stinging your eyes. 

“i trusted you!”

“and i haven’t done anything to break that trust,” sloan shot back, her voice harder now. 

“look, if you don’t trust me, that’s on you. i can’t control how people perceive things.”

you hung up the phone without another word, your chest heavy, the pain sinking deeper with every passing second.

as you collapsed onto the ground, you felt a pair of arms catch you. the vanilla scent of the person’s chest told you that it was lea schuller hugging you as you cried. 

weeks afterwards– you threw yourself into training, trying to ignore the hurt, the betrayal. but it lingered, gnawing at you, distracting you during every practice, every match. no matter how hard you tried to focus, your mind kept wandering back to sloan, to those videos, to the lies.

you couldn’t go to the states to confront her, and that only made it worse. you were stuck, miles away, helpless.

many months later, it's July 1st 2024. despite everything—the distance, the arguments, the emotional drain—you and sloan were still together. 

maybe it was the comfort of it all, the familiarity. you’d been with her for so long that the thought of letting go felt impossible. breaking up seemed like more effort than just sticking it out. 

even if things weren’t great, they weren’t unbearable. or at least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

sloan wasn’t seen with her ex again. in fact, she never mentioned savannah again, and you didn’t ask. but the tension hung between you like a fog, thick and ever-present. every time you checked social media, every time her name came up in conversation, your stomach would knot up, the unease always lingering. but nothing ever changed.

after each conversation with sloan, you felt empty. like a weight had been lifted, but at the same time, it left a hollow space inside you. the next few days passed in a blur. 

you threw yourself into training, desperate to block out the pain, but even football wasn’t the escape it usually was.

that’s when lena oberdorf started showing up in your life. she’d recently moved to bayern from wolfsburg, and though you’d played against her plenty of times, you never really knew her well. she was fierce on the pitch, strong and confident. 

in fact, you had a perception of her since you fell victim to her side tackles on many, many occasions. but you started to notice lena’s behavior around you after training, she was different—softer, a little shy even.

it started with small things. lena would linger after practice, making conversation, asking how you were doing. 

at first, you chalked it up to her being friendly, trying to settle into her new team and make friends outside of the ones she knew from the national team.

a week later, before the national break that will lead into the olympics– training was going well. your focus was locked in on the drills as the team worked through possession exercises. 

everything felt sharp, crisp. your legs were taking you towards the goal until georgia came in hard, a tackle from the side catching your leg at an awkward angle. you hit the ground hard, a sharp pain shooting through your ankle.

“y/n!” you heard georgia’s voice above the ringing in your ears as she stands up from the ground. 

“shit shit shit!!! i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean to—”

before she could finish, lena was already by your side, practically sprinting over from the other side of the field. 

she dropped to her knees next to you, her hands immediately on your shoulders.

“are you okay? where does it hurt?” lena’s voice was frantic, her eyes wide with concern as she looked you over, clearly scanning for any sign of serious injury.

“i’m fine, lena,” you muttered, trying to sit up. 

“just... give me a sec.” the pain wasn’t as bad as you first thought. it was more of a shock than anything.

lena wasn’t having it. 

“you don’t look fine,” she insisted, gently pushing you back down as you tried to get up.

“you should stay down for a bit. what if it’s worse than you think?”

georgia hovered nearby, an apologetic look on her face. “i didn’t mean to go in that hard. really, i’m sorry, y/n.”

“what the hell, georgia? you didn’t have to go in on her like that—it’s training, not a match!” lena shot her a glare, her protective streak kicking in immediately.

“i know, i know,” georgia said, holding up her hands in surrender. 

“i was just going for the ball, i didn’t mean to hurt her.”

you could see the tension building between the two of them, 

lena getting more worked up than necessary. it wasn’t the first time lena had gotten overprotective over you, but this was definitely one of the more intense moments. you placed a hand on her arm, trying to calm her down.

“lena, seriously, i’m fine. it’s not a big deal.”

but she wasn’t having it. “no, it is a big deal. she should’ve been more careful.”

georgia rolled her eyes but kept her distance, clearly not wanting to escalate things. the rest of the team had started to gather around, watching the scene unfold with a mixture of concern and amusement.

“she’s tough, lena,” georgia said with a small smile, trying to diffuse the situation. 

“she’s not made of glass.” you wanted to giggle after georgia said that, but you didn’t want to piss off a protective lena. 

“maybe, but that doesn’t mean you can just throw her to the ground,” lena snapped back, still kneeling beside you, her hands hovering protectively around you like she was scared you might fall apart any second.

"you're one to talk about putting people on the ground!" georgia says before laughing at lena's smirk, a smirk she tried to hide knowing that georgia is right.

the team, noticing the bickering, started exchanging looks. 

a few stifled laughs could be heard, and you knew exactly what was coming.

“uh, lena?” tuva called out from behind you, a teasing grin on her face. “y/n is okay.”

tuva pulls lena, gently, away from you as you stand up. your ankle is sore but not painful. you were okay.

“you do realize y/n’s taken, right?” lea whispered to lena, but you still heard it.

you groaned inwardly, knowing exactly where this was headed.

“yeah, lena, i don’t think her girlfriend would be too happy about all this... care you’re giving y/n,” giulia added, her voice dripping with amusement.

lena flushed, her cheeks turning a shade of red you hadn’t seen before. she quickly stood up, brushing off her shorts, though she still hovered close to you, as if she wasn’t quite ready to leave your side.

“i’m just making sure she’s okay,” lena muttered, avoiding everyone’s eyes.

you couldn’t help but laugh a little despite the situation. “lena, seriously, i’m fine. you don’t need to go full paramedic on me. besides guys, you don’t have to mention her while we are here”

“oh!” sydney says, laughing. 

the teasing continued, the team now fully enjoying the spectacle. 

“she’s going full-on protective mode, isn’t she?” pernille chuckled, giving lena a nudge. 

“you’ve got it bad, oberdorf.” madga joins. 

“it’s just concern,” lena muttered, clearly embarrassed now, trying to avoid the teasing looks being thrown her way.

you finally managed to walk, rolling your ankle a bit to check for any real damage. again, it was sore, but nothing too serious. you were fine—like you’d been saying all along. 

“see? i told you. i’m okay.”

“well, that’s a relief,” lena mumbled, though the look of worry in her eyes hadn’t completely disappeared. she stood a little closer than necessary, and the team noticed.

they noticed how you let her stay close to you too.

“yeah, ‘relief,’” georgia echoed, shaking her head in amusement. 

“seriously though, y/n’s fine. no need to be so protective, lena—- i’m sorry y/n.”

the teasing continued as the team dispersed, but lena stayed near you, still looking a little flustered. 

“i just didn’t want her to be hurt,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

you gave her a soft smile, appreciating her concern, even if it was a little overboard. 

“i know. but it’s okay. i’m tougher than i look.”

lena saw lea’s smile turn into a quick frown at that, she makes a mental note to question her best friend about that later. 

after that morning in training, you began to notice the way lena looked at you. there was something more in her eyes, something you hadn’t picked up on before.

the next day, after a tough session, you were sitting on the sidelines, catching your breath, when lena plopped down beside you.

“you okay?” she asked, her voice gentle, her eyes scanning your face.

you nodded, forcing a smile. “yeah, just tired.”

but lena wasn’t convinced. “i’ve noticed you’ve been... off lately. is it sloan?”

lena asked lea why you seemed off. lea told her the backstory about your relationship with the portland thorn’s defender. she did her own research afterwards, realizing how bad it really was.

the mention of sloan’s name made your stomach twist. you didn’t want to talk about her, not now, not ever. 

“it’s complicated.”

lena hesitated for a moment, then quietly said, 

“you don’t deserve what she is putting you through, y/n. you deserve someone who’s going to put you first.”

you glanced at her, surprised by the intensity in her words. there was something in the way she said it, the quiet conviction, that made you pause.

“it’s not that simple,” you mumbled, looking down at the ground.

“we’ve been together for so long, and— i don’t know.”

“maybe that’s the problem,” lena said, her voice soft but firm. 

“maybe you’ve been holding on to something that’s already gone.”

you didn’t respond. you couldn’t, because deep down, you knew she was right. sloan wasn’t fighting for you anymore, and maybe she never had.

lena stayed by your side for the rest of the day, offering silent support. 

and as the days went on, her presence became something you looked forward to—her quiet smiles, her easy laughter, the way she’d stick around just to make sure you were okay.

it wasn’t long before you started noticing the little things she did for you. bringing you coffee before training, giving you rides home, offering to help with your recovery sessions after each training. 

it was subtle, but there was a certain care in everything she did, something you hadn’t felt from sloan in a long time.

one afternoon, the last training before the national break for the olympics, lena comes up to you after the showers. 

“hey, you want to grab dinner?” she asked casually, but there was something in her tone that made your heart race a little faster.

“uh, yeah, sure,” you replied, caught off guard.

you ended up at a quiet restaurant, tucked away from the usual chaos. 

over dinner, lena was different. more open, more confident. she asked about your life, your interests outside of football, and for the first time in a while, you found yourself genuinely enjoying someone’s company.

halfway through the meal, she leaned back in her chair, her eyes locking onto yours. 

“y/n, can i be honest with you?”

your heart skipped a beat. “of course.”

“I've been attracted to you for a long time,” she admitted, her cheeks flushing slightly. 

“since before you moved to bayern. but i didn’t want to say anything because... well, i knew you were with sloan.”

you blinked, taken aback by her confession. “you... have?”

she nodded, her gaze unwavering. “yeah. but i’ve been watching how things have been going with you two, and... i just want you to know that you deserve someone who’s going to treat you better. someone who has respect for you.”

you stared at her, not sure how to respond. it wasn’t that you hadn’t noticed lena’s growing presence in your life, but hearing her say it out loud, admitting her feelings so openly, was something you hadn’t expected.

“lena, i...” you started, but the words got stuck in your throat. you didn’t know what to say. part of you was still reeling from sloan, from the hurt and confusion that came with it. 

but another part of you—a part you hadn’t allowed yourself to acknowledge—felt something for lena too. something more.

she must’ve sensed your hesitation because she quickly added, “i’m not trying to pressure you or anything. i just wanted you to know how i feel. whatever happens, i’m here for you liebe. no matter what.”

her words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, and for the first time in weeks, you felt a glimmer of hope. maybe lena was right. maybe you did deserve more.

as the night went on, you found yourself relaxing in her presence, the tension from your relationship with sloan slowly easing away. 

it was different with lena—easier, lighter. and when she walked you back to your apartment later that night, there was a moment where she hesitated, standing on the doorstep, her eyes flicking to your lips.

you could’ve kissed her. part of you wanted to. 

“thanks for tonight,” you whispered, your voice soft.

lena smiled, her expression gentle. “anytime, y/n. i’m always here for you.”

something in the air had shifted after she said that, leaving only the quiet between you two. 

lena was standing just a little too close, her gaze a little too intense, and you could feel the weight of everything unsaid hanging in the space between you.

her eyes flickered down to your lips again, and for a moment, she seemed to freeze. your heart pounded in your chest as the silence stretched on, each second amplifying the tension between you both. 

you couldn’t tear your gaze away from her, drawn in by the way she was looking at you, the unspoken desire clear in her eyes.

the way she cares for you, the way you’ve been burying your attraction for her. It was too much. you wanted her.

your mind was racing—everything with sloan, the mess of your relationship, how complicated it all was. 

but in that moment, none of it mattered. not with lena looking at you like that.

you made the first move, your body acting on instinct before your brain could catch up. 

leaning in slowly, tentatively, you closed the gap between you, your lips barely brushing hers at first. 

you paused, just for a second, giving her the chance to pull away if she wanted to. but she didn’t.

the second lena kissed you back, everything else melted away. her lips met yours with a sudden intensity, all the built-up tension finally spilling over. 

her hands were on you in an instant, one sliding to the back of your neck, the other finding your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened.

it wasn’t gentle—not by any means. there was an urgency in the way she kissed you, and the way you kissed her. she’d been holding back for far too long, and now that the floodgates were open, there was no going back. 

you responded in kind, your hands gripping the front of her hoodie, pulling her even closer as you kissed her harder, your body pressing against hers.

lena’s hand slipped under the hem of your shirt, her fingers warm against your skin as they traced the curve of your waist, making you shiver. 

the feeling of her touch sent a jolt of electricity through you, your heart racing even faster. your lips moved against hers in sync, the kiss growing more heated by the second, both of you caught up in the intensity of the moment.

you broke apart for a brief second, both of you gasping for air, but the space between you barely lasted a heartbeat before lena’s lips were on yours again, even more desperate than before. her body pressed into yours, pushing you gently against the door, and you welcomed the pressure, your hands finding their way into her hair, tugging just enough to earn a quiet groan from her.

“lena,” you breathed against her lips, not even sure what you were trying to say, if anything at all. her name came out like a plea, like you were drowning in her and needed more, but didn’t know how to ask for it.

“y/n,” she murmured back, her voice low and husky, her breath hot against your skin as she kissed along your jaw, trailing down to your neck. 

the sensation sent a shiver down your spine, your knees going weak as you clung to her, desperate to stay grounded in the overwhelming rush of feelings.

her hand gripped your waist tighter, holding you against her as her lips moved across your skin, finding every sensitive spot that made you gasp, your fingers tightening in her hair as you struggled to keep up with the intensity of it all.

you weren’t thinking about sloan anymore, or the complications that would come from this. all that mattered was the way lena was making you feel—the way her lips felt on yours, the way her touch set your skin on fire.

and when lena pulled back just enough to look at you, her eyes dark and filled with something raw, something intense, you knew there was no going back. 

you reached your left hand behind your body, keeping your right on lena’s waist, as you unlocked the door. 

pulling the taller woman inside, you didn’t think twice before taking her into your bedroom.

the sex was amazing. its been nearly 18 months since you last tine you’ve did anything, thanks to your long distance relationship.

the girl back in portland didn’t come across your mind once. just the moment between you, the girl who's sleeping in your arms, and the fact that you’ll have a flight back to the states for national duty in the morning. 

part two here

[babystrcandy]

the lucky one (pt. 5) | jjk

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

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

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

FIVE WAYS YOU CAN Help Someone With an Anxiety Disorder:

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

Don’t Tell Them to Calm Down

Encourage Them to Focus on Things They Can Change

Help Them to Help Themselves

Discourage the Use of Alcohol or Drugs to Cope With Anxiety

OK . . .

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

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

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

But . . . 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah . . . 

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

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

Anyway . . . you were getting off-topic. 

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

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

And then it would be your turn. 

Actually . . . 

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

“Hmm?” you hummed in questioning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that was what always shocked you.

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

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

Your brows scrunched together. “What?”

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

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

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

“It’s chapstick.”

“Really?”

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

Jungkook only grinned.

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

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

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

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

Jungkook nodded. “Cool, right?”

It was. It actually really was. 

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

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

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

“So I’ve impressed you?”

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

Jungkook snorted. “Well.”

Oh god. No, he didn’t.

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

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

“Kook.”

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

“Really?” you deadpanned.

Jungkook shrugged. “Whoops.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Glancing up, you nearly beamed. “Really?”

He nodded. “Really.”

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

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

A beat of silence.

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

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

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

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

“That’s because I can’t.”

“Bullshit.”

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

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

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

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

Supposedly.)

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

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

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

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

A beat of silence.

Another shrug was your only response.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You raised your head ever so slightly.

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

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

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

You felt yourself grin. “Good.”

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

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

What? It was uncomfortable with the fresh tattoo.

Whatever.)

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

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

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

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

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

Daisy baby. That was a new one.

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

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

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

Did you like it? 

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

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

But what exactly was this?

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

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

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

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

The two of you paused.

A beat of silence.

Another knock came.

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

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

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

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

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

“What—“ 

But he was already gone. 

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

Oh. You blinked in shock.

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

Huh?

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

Furrowing your brows, you sent him a look. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another beat of silence, more painful than the last.

Then . . . 

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

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

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

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

Was it embarrassing to say you were proud of him?

But . . . you were . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lie.

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

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

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

Until:

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

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

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

Squinting your eyes in skepticism, you watched him. 

He only sent you a knowing grin.

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

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

You nearly smacked a hand to your face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It seemed he always was . . . 

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

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

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

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

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

Were you . . . happy?

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

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

A beat of silence. 

In it more relief. 

Beat.

Beat.

Beat . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was weird.

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

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

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

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

And you were a step behind him.

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

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

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

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

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

So what? You’d find him. You had to.

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

“Hey, hey, wait,” the voice pleaded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A beat of silence.

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

But you really didn’t care.

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

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

Nodding, you swallowed hard. “Yes.”

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

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

Jimin blinked. “Oh.”

“What?”

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

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

Another beat of silence.

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

Oh . . .

Don’t say it.

Don’t say—

Don’t—

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

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

You just had to say it . . . 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instantly, your heart dropped. 

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

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

But you stayed frozen, your mind spiraling and spiraling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You raised your brows. “Why not?”

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

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

“Is it?”

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

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

The world stopped.

A beat of silence. 

Two beats.

Another.

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

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

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

He loved you? He . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Had it reached your heart?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

But no one was to blame.

No one.

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

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

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

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

“Min?” 

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

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

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

Wait . . . 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This could be it.

A new leaf.

For him.

For Jungkook.

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

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

And you nodded back with a smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you had to try. For him . . .

And then you remembered:

Five Ways You Can Help Someone With an Anxiety Disorder:

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

Don’t Tell Them to Calm Down

Encourage Them to Focus on Things They Can Change

Help Them to Help Themselves

Discourage the Use of Alcohol or Drugs to Cope With Anxiety

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

Hesitantly, you took a step forward.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was this softness that you felt? Or weakness?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another beat of silence.

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

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

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

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

You supposed it would always end this way.

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

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

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

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

But . . . 

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

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

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

That odor.

That damned odor of mock orange blossoms.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were sure you never would.

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

Who were you without . . . badminton?

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

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

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

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

Those three years . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you took it every time.

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

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

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

Whatever. Whatever. Whatever.

Anyway.

Focus on the present.

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

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

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

You checked your phone.

—an hour and a half ago.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perhaps . . . 

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, you wished you knew the answers. 

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

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

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

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

A beat of silence followed your confession.

The world exhaled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you had.

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

Haunt me.

Haunt me.

Haunt me.

Give it to me, and breathe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was sweet. Innocent. 

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

And that was when you realized something . . .

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

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

How could he ever think he deserved this?

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

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

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

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

I’m a better person because of you.

How could I ever be unhappy with that?

And you knew you meant every word.

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

Not here. 

Not with him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s something soft in me—

You remembered reading long ago.

—we killed it and it’s rotting.

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

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

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

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

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

. . . 

Whatever. 

It didn’t mean much, right? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(There’s something soft in me—

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

—we killed it and it’s rotting.)

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

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

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

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

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

There’s something soft in me—

we killed it and it’s rotting.

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

Off the highway like another deer.

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

Off the highway like another girl.

What was . . . this?

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

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

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

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

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

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

You needed air. You needed to run.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was it.

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

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

. . . And then you were gone.

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

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

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

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

This wasn’t a fire. Far from it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still . . . 

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

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

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

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

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

Silence for only a beat more.

And then, he spoke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

It really was that, wasn’t it?

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

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

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

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

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

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

A few beats of silence.

Beat.

Beat.

Beat.

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

Home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There.

Right there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until . . . 

. . . until him.

And you had no idea how to handle that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swallowed hard.

You’re the one who haunts me.

Oh . . . 

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

You swallowed hard once again.

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

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

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

I want you to help me live.

It echoed in your ears.

I want you to help me live.

I want you to help me live.

I want you to—

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

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

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

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

Whatever.

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

OK, he nodded. 

OK, he smiled. 

OK, your eyes seemed to glisten back.

OK.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then it would be your screams which filled the room.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God . . . what had you turned into?

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

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

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

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

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

You threatened to do it again, your hand outstretched.

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

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

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

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

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

But Jungkook always managed to surprise you. Always.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He only laughed.

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

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

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

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

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

He wasn’t kidding.

But . . . 

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

His brows raised ever so slightly. “What?”

Oh no.

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

He wanted you to like him back . . .

So then you had—oh, no!

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

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

“Yes! Obviously!”

“Oh, shit . . . “

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

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

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

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

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

“Obviously.”

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

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

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

Scrunching your nose, you tsked, “Ew.”

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

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

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

“Mmm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it seemed neither could he . . . 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you knew that was it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then . . . then it hit you.

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

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

And that scared the shit out of you.

taglist:

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

[ink-flavored]

💐100 Question Romance & Love OC Ask Game💘

Do you love love? Does your OC feel the same? Look no further for an excuse to talk about everything romance! Plus there's a few about aromanticism in there! I tried to make the questions applicable to most relationships, but you want something a bit more poly-focused, here’s a link to my polycule dynamics game. Remember to send an ask to the person you reblog it from to make sure everyone gets to play!

😍Do they like romance? Have they always hated the idea, or are they a swooning hopeless romantic?

❤️How do they feel about the concept of “love”? What does it mean to them?

❓Have they ever questioned the idea of what “love” is? Where did it lead them?

💞How many times have they been in love?

💭What’s their most formative memory about love or romance? It can be good or bad.

💖What’s the easiest part of love for them?

🖤What’s the hardest part of love for them?

💝What do they want the most from a romantic relationship? Is it what they need?

👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨Do they prefer a steady partnership or casual dating? Neither?

🥰Who are they in love with right now, if anyone?

🔥Who was their first love? How did it turn out?

💋How romantic do they expect their partner(s) to be in a relationship? Is it a deal-breaker if expectations aren’t met?

💓How romantic are they in a relationship? Does it depend on the partner, or are they moon-eyed with anyone?

💌Which “traditionally romantic” acts (love poetry, flowers, etc.) do they love the most? Would they rather receive this kind of affection, or give it to someone else?

💐Which “traditionally romantic” acts (love poetry, flowers, etc.) do they hate more than anything? When it’s directed at them, or when they’re expected to give it to others?

💟What is the dating culture in their society like? Do they participate in it?

💯What’s their idea of a perfect date?

⏳Have they ever tried speed-dating? How did it go?

📱Have they ever tried dating apps? How did it go?

💍Are they expected by their society to date and/or marry? How do they feel about it?

💜Do they have a “type” of person they tend to date?

📃Do they have high standards about who they date? Low standards?

🧀What’s their cheesiest romantic fantasy? Do they want to recreate it in real life?

💘Do they often “make the first move” when it comes to love? Or are they waiting for the object(s) of their affection to pick up the hints they’re dropping?

📢Are they able to confess romantic feelings easily, or do they clam up at the mere prospect?

💦Is it super obvious when they have feelings for someone, or are they a master at hiding it?

💗What’s the longest amount of time they’ve ever pined after someone?

🤍Have they ever been on either side of an “unrequited love” situation? How did it turn out?

🏃‍♂️Is anybody their “one that got away”? Have they ever “gotten away” from someone else?

💔Have they ever had to break up with someone? Why?

🔂Have they ever broken up and then gotten back together with the same person? How many times? Did it work out in the end?

❌Have they ever been rejected after a confession of love? How did they handle it?

🚫Have they ever had to reject someone else’s feelings? How did it go?

🤏Have they ever had a romantic interest “stolen” before? Have they ever made a move on someone they knew a friend was interested in?

🤔Do they consider “having a crush” and “being in love” different things? Where’s the line?

🤥Have they ever lied to make a relationship more viable? Did it end well, or blow up in their face?

😳Have they ever been broken up with in a situation where it was kiiinda their fault? What was the issue?

🍨What are their methods for getting over a break-up?

🐸Do they tend to jump from one relationship to the next, quickly entering another as soon as the previous one ends? Why?

💡Have they ever been in love with the idea of someone instead of the actual person? What was the aftermath?

💛How important is being in a relationship to them?

📅Have they ever stayed in a relationship long past its expiration date? Why?

💥Did any of their relationships end catastrophically? What happened?

🤝Are they still friends with any of their ex-partners?

😲Have they ever been cheated on before? What happened?

👺Have they ever been the cheater? Were they ever found out?

1️⃣How do they feel about the concept of finding “The One”? Is it an aspiration or something they roll their eyes at?

👀How do they feel about the concept of “love at first sight”? Do they believe in it?

😨Do they have any “taboo” or unpopular opinions about love or romance?

💚Are they aromantic? Have they considered it?

✋Are they loveless? [for an aromantic perspective on lovelessness check out this essay]

💙Have they ever been in a queer-platonic relationship? Would they consider it?

💕Where do they draw the line between friendship and romance, if at all?

✊Do they practice relationship anarchy? [for more information about relationship anarchy, check out this guide]

🔢Are they polyamorous? Have they considered it?

💫How would they feel if, in a monogamous relationship, their partner asked them to try polyamory?

🗂️Do they have a hard time separating their romantic feelings from other kinds of love? Which ones?

⁉️Do they often feel like they’re “doing love wrong” in their relationships? Anything specific?

📈Do they often prioritize romance and love in their life? To the detriment of other relationships?

😡Are they a jealous partner?

👥Are they jealous of any of their friends’ or family members’ relationships?

😥Are they often left behind in love? Were they single and watching all their friends get married?

🤷‍♂️Would they be happy without romantic love in their life?

🚒How important is physical attraction to their romantic relationships?

👯‍♂️Are sex and romance conflated in their culture? How does this impact them?

🥴How often do they expect sex in a romantic relationship? Is it a deal-breaker if expectations aren’t met?

🙅‍♂️How would they feel about being in a sexless relationship?

👫Have they ever been in love with someone who was already in a relationship? How did it turn out?

📚Do they like romance as a genre? In books, movies, games, etc.?

✅Do they have a relationship they can look up to as a positive example of romantic love?

👎Do they have a relationship that’s a perfect example of “what not to do” in their life?

🤕What are their “hang-ups” or insecurities about love and romance?

👄Are they an effective communicator in their relationships?

🦸‍♂️Have they ever played match-maker with their friends or loved ones? How did it go?

🧐Have they ever been “match-made” by someone else? How did it go?

💒Is marriage an important consideration for them? Out of choice, necessity, social pressure?

👰Is marrying for love a rarity in their culture, or commonplace?

💎Would they want to propose to someone, or be proposed to?

🎉Do they want a huge showy proposal, or something more private?

🎁What’s their ideal wedding, on a scale of “courthouse wedding with 5 people maximum” to “100+ guests, massive ceremony, all-night reception”?

👗What sorts of clothes do married couples wear in their culture? Do they plan on wearing the traditional clothes, or doing something different?

🔓Have they ever had to break off an engagement? Why?

🏆What kind of love is prioritized in their society? Does it impact how they’re able to love?

🌹What’s considered “romantic” in their society? How does that impact their relationships?

👪How has their family influenced their ideas of romance and love?

🙋‍♀️How have their friends influenced their ideas of romance and love?

⛪How has their religion or faith influenced their ideas of romance and love?

🗺️What are some cultural customs surrounding love and romance that they practice?

👑Does their culture have any formal courting customs? Have they been taught how to properly court?

💄Are people pressured to fit a specific beauty standard in order to be “romantically viable”? How has this impacted their love life?

🙄Have they ever dated someone for their family’s sake? How did it go?

🤨Have they ever “pity dated” someone? Have they ever been “pity dated” by someone else?

🥣How does their culture view a “serial dater,” or someone who refuses to settle down?

➕Do they care about people’s “body count,” or how many relationships they’ve been in?

👶Would they ever be in a relationship with someone who already had children?

🤱If they ever ended up single with children, how would they feel about entering a new relationship?

🌑Would they date a widow? Would they date again if they were ever widowed?

✏️If they had the chance to erase one past romantic mistake, what would it be?

🩹Do they often give romantic advice to their friends or family? Is it good advice?

👂Do they often seek romantic advice from friends or family? Has it helped?

[mamaestapa]

Welcome to the Jungle|| Joe Burrow x reader (Series Masterlist)

•summary: Y/N Y/L/N moved to Cincinnati, Ohio for a new start. Move in day arrives and she discovers something terrible...the apartment complex gave her the wrong lease. Instead of living with who she originally was supposed to, she's now living with the hottest quarterback in the NFL, Joe Burrow. Y/N is stuck living in the same apartment with him for a year...which the two are not thrilled about. However, as time goes on, they realize that maybe this wasn't the worst thing that could happen to them. Will Y/N and Joe stay enemies, or will they find themselves falling in love?

•warnings: language, alcohol, slow-burn, jealousy, lots of angst and lots of fluff, smut, pregnancy, will add to this in more detail as the story progresses!

•chapters: 21/21

!IMPORTANT NOTE!

this is MY story from wattpad!! i’m transferring it over to tumblr as a Joe x reader instead of the Joe x OC that it is on my wattpad account. i do however want to make a statement that my account on wattpad IS under a DIFFERENT name!! however, it is still me. for a while, i never thought i would introduce my wattpad stuff to tumblr and vice versa, but i saw there’s a lot of stuff about joe on here, so i figured i’d share my work from wattpad with everyone! i’m under a fake name on tumblr for privacy reasons, but now that i’m “combining” accounts in a way, i will share my real name. you can continue to refer to me as abigail or as brooke. either is just fine! :)

chapters:

chapter one

•chapter summary: You arrive in Cincinnati and sign your lease to your new apartment

chapter two

•chapter summary: You move into your new apartment and meet your roommate—which ends up being quite the surprise

chapter three

•chapter summary: You’ve been living with Joe for a week now, how have things been going? While you relax by the pool, Joe brings over some guests that you didn’t plan on meeting right away…

chapter four

•chapter summary: You take the day to explore downtown Cincinnati. When you get home you find Joe engaging in some activities with a girl….

chapter five

•chapter summary: You attend your first Cincinnati Bengals game (that comes with lots fun and a surprise or two…)

chapter six

•chapter summary: You and Joe go back and forth doing things that bother one another and you get a surprise gym buddy ;)

chapter seven

•chapter summary: Groupchat with Joe and the guys

chapter eight

•chapter summary: There’s a storm in Cincinnati and you and Joe realize maybe the other isn’t so bad after all…

chapter nine

•chapter summary: You and Joe enjoy a morning together that gets ruined by an argument. Joe tries to make it up to you, but you have other plans

chapter ten

•chapter summary: You come home from your date with Evan feeling guilty and Joe, well, Joe makes a mistake and doesn’t know what he’s feeling

chapter eleven

•chapter summary: Joe struggles at practice and seeks advice from his teammates, then he comes home to a nice surprise…

chapter twelve

•chapter summary: Time skip! You and Joe decorate the apartment for Christmas! Fast forward a few weeks to Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, and a couple days after Christmas…a lot happens. And what happens when Joe finds out you met someone while he was back home?

chapter thirteen

•chapter summary: Joe comes up with a plan to get Jake away from you…but does it work?

chapter fourteen

•chapter summary: You go to the playoff game Joe wanted you to come to. While you’re there, you reminisce on the last few months and figure out your true feelings for Joe…

chapter fifteen

•chapter summary: You and Joe confess your love for one another and share a very intimate moment after the Bengals win…(CHAPTER CONTAINS SMUT!)

chapter sixteen

•chapter summary: You and Joe have a very important conversation the morning after your post game rendezvous

chapter seventeen

•chapter summary: You and Joe go Instagram official

chapter eighteen

•chapter summary: It’s the day of the AFC championship game. Joe has some sweet surprises for you and you meet Joe’s parents for the first time. However, the night doesn’t end the way you hoped it would…but at least you and Joe have each other.

chapter nineteen

•chapter summary: Off-season adventures shown off through an instagram photo dump

chapter twenty

•chapter summary: It’s just a few weeks away from the start of a new NFL season and you and Joe have a day full of surprises that will change your lives forever

chapter twenty-one

•chapter summary: You move into your new home with Joe and reminisce on all that has happened to you this past year. You finally get your happily ever after

epilogue

•chapter summary: Instagram posts and stories from the past nine months of yours and Joe's life. A great way to wrap up the end of this series❤️

[oliviablancmom]

"Enemies - Pablo Gavi (PART II)"

Pairing: Pablo Gavi x OC! character

A\N: And here we are with the second part. I must admit it's been fun 'living' with these two, and it's totally different from writing Isa and Pedri, which I didn't expect... But these two... The things they have. I'm so excited for you guys to see!! This beginning of the story takes place in 2021; she is sixteen years old, and Gavi is seventeen.

Before (2021)

"Your grandfather doesn't want you to watch the games from the stands with the other fans anymore," was the first thing she heard when she entered the house. She followed the voice to the kitchen, where her mother was in front of the stove, cooking something that smelled delicious, making her stomach growl.

"Haven't you eaten again?" her mother asked in a concerned tone, shaking her head in disapproval.

"You know I can't," she explained defensively, kissing her mother's cheek. Football was more than a passion for Florence; it was her lifeblood. Every match was a rollercoaster of emotions that left her too anxious to eat. "Was he here?" she asked as she sat at the table.

"Your father isn't, so... Yes. He wanted you to attend a meeting after the game, but he couldn't find you because you were among the fans," her mother said, sitting down and watching her with narrowed eyes. "And to be honest, I'm starting to agree with him. As soon as they connect the fact that you are the Real Madrid president's granddaughter, it will be dangerous to be in the stands," her mother said with concern. Florence pouted, agreeing with her mother's point; she knew it was the absolute truth.

"That's why I have to enjoy it while they don't know," she said with a smile. "I promise I'm being careful, Mom, and I will reduce my presence in the stands." Florence gave a salute, which made her mother laugh.

"Silly... Now tell me, you didn't torment that boy again, did you?" The girl opened her mouth in a perfect 'O' as if offended.

"I don't torment anyone, I just react like a good fan defending her team," her mother laughed.

"You've been picking on him since the first moment you saw him, darling. Poor boy..."

"Poor boy because you don't know him..." she said, annoyed.

"You don't know him either. He's just doing his job."Florence rolled her eyes at her mother.

"A terrible one."

"He scored two goals against us today, didn't he?" The older woman continued to tease her daughter.

"They should have been disallowed," the younger one shrugged. "He dared to celebrate right in front of me," she said, making a face as her mother laughed at her situation.

"Oh, Flo, you all take this too seriously..." The woman said, getting up to stir her pots. Sometimes, Florence wished she had inherited her mother's carefree side, and not all the passion for football that came from her father's side. "Your grandfather asked you to call him as soon as you got home. He wants you to accompany him to an event tomorrow," the girl sighed. "If you didn't want this, you should have told him."

"It's not that I don't want to, but I'm only sixteen... "I just don't want to disappoint him," Florence sighed.

"Flo, your grandfather loves you; he would never be disappointed in you." The woman walked over to the younger one, planting a kiss on the top of her daughter's head in an attempt to comfort her. Florence embraced her mother's affection at the moment since only thinking about the pressure she would soon face made her shiver.

As she grew up, football was simple for her, or at least, it should have been. It was about going to the stadium watching her team win and creating history with every match. It was about playing with the ball on the field after the end of a game alongside the players' children. It was about passionately singing the team anthem, about crying with joy over a qualification, over a victory. It was about being starstruck by the team players when they came to have dinner with her grandfather at their home. Football was simple for her until it wasn't.

But that was a thing for her to think about tomorrow, at least she hopes so.

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

"If your goal was to be hated by the Merengue fans, you achieved it, bro," Pedri said, patting his friend's shoulder. Gavi looked up from his phone, and to Pedri's surprise, a satisfied smile spread across the younger one's face.

"I don't care." Gavi shrugged. "Scoring for the club is satisfying, scoring in an El Clásico even more so, but scoring and celebrating in front of their fans, that's gratifying." Gavi folded his arms behind his head, and Pedri observed him closely with narrowed eyes.

"In front of her, you mean," Pedri smirked. "You know, you should just get her number or something." Gavi's eyes snapped open, and he made a disgusted face.

"Ew, gross. Never in my life." He felt a shiver run down his spine at the mere thought. "Although, I'd like her number just to rub it in her face every time we do well."

"Come on, we hear insults in every game, and you're the first not to let it get to you, why is this so different?"

Gavi looked at his friend and could see the concern on his face. He was genuinely grateful for his friendship with Pedri and admired his friend greatly. Many times, Gavi looked up to him as an example, and knowing he could count on him was a relief. This environment was competitive; true friendships were few, and having someone who was a friend, someone he could rely on, was comforting.

So, seeing the concerned expression on Pedri's face made Gavi feel a twinge of guilt. He was right; he wasn't usually affected by pressure or insults from fans. He didn't know what was different about this whole situation that threw him off balance. He couldn't explain it to himself; how could he explain it to one of his best friends? So, for a moment, he decided that the best thing to do was to ease his friend's worries, hoping it would have the same effect on himself.

"Bro... It's just teasing, it's nothing serious." Gavi tried to sound convincing. Pedri watched him once more and then decided to drop the subject, steering the conversation to something else as they headed to the event.

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

Football should be simple: step onto the field, play a great game, and then go home. No matter how confident he was, Gavi hated the whole image thing—the photos, the advertisements, the magazines, the rumors—it was all too much. He knew he would constantly be followed and have fans asking for photos, and he honestly loved that attention, but there was this side of him that often wanted to hide in a hole whenever a camera was pointed at his face. And specifically at this moment, he wished more than ever to escape from there. But he couldn't; he was at a charity event hosted by the Queen of Spain. There were many influential people, players from some teams in Spain and abroad as well, and as a rising new football star, his presence was required at these events. Of course, the princess's affection for him contributed to his being invited to these events. Gavi couldn't remember how the rumor about the princess's admiration for him started, but ever since it began, he had to deal with his teammates making jokes about the situation.

"Look, there's your princess, Gavi. Aren't you going to greet her?" Gerard Pique said beside him with a chuckle. Gavi just rolled his eyes at the comment and looked at Pedri for help, but his friend was in conversation with the team's goalkeeper.

"Leave the boy alone," Jordi Alba said, like a good captain, and Gavi was internally grateful that his teammates left him in peace.

Gavi sighed, a little impatient. As a child, he used to imagine what these events were like, and experiencing it now never seemed as boring as it was. So, he got up from the table where he was sitting with his teammates and decided to get some air. He headed to the bathroom and stayed there for a good few minutes, messing with his phone, which was far more interesting than anything happening outside. When he realized he had been there long enough, he decided to return to the hall, but before he could take more than three steps, he ended up bumping into someone.

"Jesus, don't you watch where you're going?" Gavi froze in his place, déjà vu filling his mind. Not déjà vu, a nightmare. If it wasn't enough to be haunted by that voice on the field, now it was right here, clearer than ever, right in front of him. Gavi felt deep irritation; the superior tone was the same as when she screamed from the stands.

"You've got to be kidding me. Are you some kind of stalker?" Gavi said irritably. The girl finally deemed it worthy to lift her eyes to him, and he swore they would pop out from how wide they got. The player almost saw a flicker of hesitation on her face, but it lasted only a few seconds before being replaced by that superiority.

"Oh, don't be so full of yourself," she grimaced. "You'd be the last person in the world I'd stalk," she said, tossing her hair back, and then walked past him, making sure to bump his shoulder. Gavi watched as she walked towards the terrace and decided to follow her; he wouldn't let her have the upper hand this time.

"I should call the police on you; this is starting to get creepy," Gavi said, approaching. The girl, who had her back turned to him, now faced him, laughing.

"Don't be so full of yourself. I already told you, you'd be the last person in the world I'd stalk. You're not interesting enough." This time, Gavi laughed.

"The way you try to get my attention when we play against the team you support says otherwise." Gavi had a smug smile on his face to match the one the girl wore. She just rolled her eyes and huffed.

"Whatever, can you leave me alone?" she asked irritably, her face red, and even from a distance, Gavi could see her eyes sparkling, so he moved closer.

"What’s wrong? Where's all that courage you have in the stands, querida?" Gavi took a step towards her, and again she remained immobile, completely unaffected by the air of superiority Gavi tried to display, and that irritated him more than all the insults she hurled at him.

"Aw, did I hurt you?" She pouted. "You shouldn't be walking around with that ego of yours, nor trying to disrespect my team in my house." There it was, all the arrogance, but Gavi couldn't help but laugh.

"Your team, huh?" He raised an eyebrow at her in a clear mocking tone. Gavi saw something flicker in her eyes, but before she could say anything, her phone buzzed. She looked annoyed at the device and then at the player.

"Well, it was not a pleasure to see you here, but I have to go,"

"The unpleasure it was all mine," Gavi answered back, with a fake smile, she rolled her eyes but before she could walk away, Gavi grabbed her arm. A spark of electricity shot through his hand at the contact, making him momentarily freeze. Her blue eyes glared at him with moderate anger. He stared at her and she back at him in a silent war, and Gavi just knew it wasn't the last time he would see her, just as he knew that like her voice was embedded in his mind, her blue eyes would also fight for space in his head.

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

Now Florence was beginning to realize the weight that football had on her, thanks to her family name. She now understood the hours and hours, almost like a nightly lesson her grandfather gave her in his office, about the club's history, and the players. She understood the responsibility and knew the role she would have in the future, a future she hoped would be a long time coming because she still wanted football to be simple.

She loved the idea of helping her grandfather and knowing that he saw something in her to prepare her to maybe take over everything in the future. But honestly, she was scared by the idea.

And that’s why she paid attention to every conversation her grandfather had in the hall. Even though Florentino Perez believed that business shouldn’t be discussed in public, it was still a way for him to always be aware of what was happening around them. But sometimes these conversations and this business got too much, especially at her age, and that's why she decided she needed a break for air, even though she regretted it bitterly, after her encounter with the last person she would like to.

She was back in the party room, furious, and suddenly completely uninterested in the serious conversation unfolding in front of her, she couldn't focus on that.

How dare he.

"Florence, you're not paying attention," she heard her grandfather's voice, still distant, and when she looked, she saw the older man's worried gaze.

"Sorry, I'm not feeling very well," she said with a smile, trying not to worry him, but the angry and tired face that he gave her, made her feel guilty. Before they could get into a conversation about how important it was for her to be there, a man called for Florentino, and he stepped away to talk to another man, leaving her alone with her frustrations.

She should have known she couldn't hide the expression of disgust and irritation on her face; her displeasure at seeing the player was too much to disguise. She didn't want to worry her grandfather; she couldn't tell him she was at war with one of the players from her club's biggest rival, or could she? Maybe then her grandfather could do something to help her, and put an end to the player's arrogance, so she could go back to enjoying the El Classico peacefully."

Her eyes unconsciously scanned the room and ended up stopping at the table of the players from the not-could-be-named club. Pablo Gavi was laughing and seemed embarrassed by something one of his teammates had said, seconds after the princess left their table. She had heard the rumors about the princess's interest in the player, and honestly, she found it pathetic.

What had she seen in him? Yes, he was a football prodigy, but that was it, at the end of the day he was still...him. Of course, looking at him from this distance, he almost seemed innocent and calm, not the annoying person responsible for much of her bad mood.

As if feeling Florence's eyes on him, their gazes met. His eyes did not avert or waver; they were distant from each other in the hall, but it was as if they were face to face. There were no words, just a silent war and promise.

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

A/N: Did you like the revelation? She's not just a simple Madridista, she's the greatest of them all, lol. Her full name is Florence Maria Pérez, named after her grandfather and grandmother. I can't wait for you to see more of their story. Oh, and just for you guys know, both Isa and Pedri will be appearing here, but we will have to come to 2024 lol. Anyway, let me know what you think!

[aloesarchives]

JJK Lore Headcanons for "Toji Lives/Megumi cock blocks Toji" AU: Shibuya Incident & Post Shibuya

Warning: !!!SPOILERS FOR ANIME ONLYS!!!, Female/Afab! Reader, Author(me) being a really fucking annoying narrator once again, Swearing, Inaccuracy to the anime and manga, Things that don't make sense but have been trying to, Switching between reader and you, Mentions of OCs but reader is not one, Toji dawging everyone up, Higher-ups being losers, Mention of deaths, Reader not giving a fuck anymore lol

!!Disclaimer!!: These are my PERSONAL headcanons, thoughts, and opinions on how these arcs would play out with Toji being an ally and Reader's thoughts and role in both arcs

Series: Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing:Toji x Mama!/Fem!Reader

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 4.9k words

Summary: Lore Headcanons for the “Toji lives”/”Megumi cock blocks Toji” AU for the Shibuya Incident and Post Shibuya.

So with the Shibuya Incident and Post Shibuya, it’s going to be more interesting with Toji being alive, and with him and Reader playing active roles in the arcs. This is a sequel to this headcanon. I’ll split it into two sections: the first is the Shibuya Incident itself and the second half is Post Shibuya, including Itadori's Extermination Arc and The Perfect Preparations arc. However, I probably won’t be making a post for the Culling Games arc and Shinjuku Shown arc because I stopped reading the manga around the start of the Culling Games w/ Tsumiki being awakened which is around mid-2021. So I have been relying heavily on Twitter posts, spoilers, and short videos to explain what’s been going on in the ongoing story. So I need to catch up with JJK itself. Plus, with Toji and Reader’s role in Shibuya and post Shibuya, it would completely change the trajectory of the current JJK plot. Especially with how the Culling Games lead to Shinjuku Showdown. So for now, I’ll be more focused on Shibuya and Post Shibuya. Also, these are based on Fakeweeb video on Youtube where he explained what the Shibuya incident arc would be like if Toji was on our side. However, that video is based on him being resurrected from the Old Grandma Monk. I am mostly changing it for the sake of my AU and completely telling Post Shibuya through my eyes. A majority of these ideas are credited to Fakeweeb’s speculation and explanation for the Shibuya Arc. So if you’re interested, you can check out the video and see for yourself.

Shibuya Incident Arc Headcanons

Toji’s Role:

Okay, with the Shibuya Incident, there are some major differences that will need a lot of explaining so bear with me on this.

First is addressed is deaths. Because Toji is both alive and an ally, many deaths and injuries would have been prevented/non-existed. Like Nanami, Nanako, Mimiko, Nobara if you want, civilians, etc. They will live and their condition isn’t bad because of the changed circumstances. Toji would have prevented Nanami, Maki, and even Naobito from getting burnt by Jogo. Prevented Todo from losing his hand.

Second, certain events will either have different fighters, outcomes, or not exist at all. With Toji entering as an ally, his support and actions will cause certain events to change or not happen at all such as the Toji vs Megumi fight that never even happened. To which it also means that Sukuna doesn’t get resurrected because Jogo doesn’t find Yuuji and feed him Sukuna’s 10 other fingers nor does Nanako and Mimiko feed a finger to an unconscious Yuji. Meaning the two girls don’t die when Sukuna awakens. This would mean that Megumi never summoned Mahoraga in the first place nor did Jogo fight Sukuna. 

So essentially, Toji pulls up to Shibuya and finds a black sphere in the middle of one of the subway stations. And since Toji has no curse energy, he could just walk right into the Domain but he sees a little hole opening up and decides to invite himself to the battle. The next thing he knows, he is surrounded by Megumi, Maki, Nanami, and Naobito as they struggle against Dagon. Toji just has this blank stare, not looking at anyone but he does wink at Megumi. He just goes up to Maki, snatches Playful Cloud from her, and just walks deeper into the Domain. Naobito has some flashbacks, Nanami gives a questioning glare, and Maki looks back at Megumi like, “Yo Megumi, isn’t that your Dad? What’s he doing?” and Megumi is just like “You’re asking me? I didn’t even know he still fights.”

This is the moment he realizes how leagues above his dad in terms of raw strength and power. He couldn’t fathom that his two teachers, revered as the two strongest in all of the Jujutsu World, were beaten by him. Even Gojo at one point was killed by his dad, but he could never believe it because his dad had no curse technique whatsoever. But seeing Toji fight Dagon in their own domain, overwhelming them, and straight up dawging him with raw brute strength, Megumi finally starts to understand why his dad was notoriously feared throughout the Jujutsu World. That if it wasn’t Reader/you, he would have completely changed the trajectory of the Jujutsu World/Society.

It was also the same moment Megumi understood how both of his parents are viewed in Jujutsu Society. His father, a curseless human, is notoriously known as a useless human with raw power that terrorized sorcerers alike, even defeating two special-grade sorcerers. His mother, however, was revered throughout Jujutsu Society(minus the Elders/Higher-ups) for her technique/ability, being the teachers of some of the most powerful sorcerers, and seemingly taming his infamously famous father that was a threat to Jujutsu Society itself. It seems like opposites attract on the surface but Megumi knows his parents are similar to each other than many make it out to be.

Anyway, after Toji’s absolute domination and straight up obliterating Dagon, Megumi starts interrogating his dad. Why was he here? Where were you? Were you safe? Was Tsumiki safe? The boy, for the first time, was a little vulnerable around others. Toji grins at Megumi before ruffling his hair, saying something along the lines of,

“Your sister is safe, your mom made sure. Speaking of her, she’s somewhere in Shibuya right now. Don’t know where cause we split up at the train station. Your mom will be fine on her own.”

But it didn’t explain why Toji was here in the first place. Before Megumi can question Toji’s presence in Shibuya, Naobito beats the unofficial Zen’in to it.

“You got guts to come here, Toji. Remember, you coming here with weapons and not accompanied by (Y/N), that both you and her will be executed? I thought you were a much more cautious person than that. Didn’t 12 years do anything to change you?” Naobito pompously spoke, a slight undertone of mockery laced in it. 

However, the pompous arrogance was meant to cloak the sheer fear and unease that erupted in his body when Toji came into battle. Toji all but scoffs at the Zen’in clan head. He tosses Playful Cloud back to Maki, telling her to keep it because it will help her out later on when she has “broken all of her chains”. Whatever that means, Maki thought. 

Just as Toji was going to explain to Megumi about your intentions, Jogo decides to invite himself to the party and starts spewing out lava from his mini-volcanos. For the sake of plot and creating balance, Maki and Naobito still get burnt. Maki still lives and isn’t as burned as in the canon timeline. Naobito, however, is more heavily injured than Maki that Naoya takes up the clan head position as his father is out of commission. Nanami, on the other hand, doesn’t get burnt because Toji and Megumi decide to team up against Jogo. Saving Nanami from getting severely burnt. Toji told Megumi and Nanami to get the two burnt victims as he deals with Jogo.

Jogo was a challenge to deal with for Toji because the man didn’t want to get burned. But with Celestial Restriction, Toji absolutely murdered Jogo just like he did with Dagon. The man simply overwhelmed the disaster curse with lighting speed and brutal blitz of a  smack down. He obliterated him before Jogocould pull a fast one on him and use his domain expansion or special move. Toji pulls out the Inverted Spear from his new inventory curse and slices Jogo’s head off while also slicing his body into pieces. 

Toji came out with minimal injuries, probably a few scratches(lowkey wished they were your scratches on his back) and some cuts but he is unfazed by it. Anyway, he wandered around Shibuya. Cutting down any curses that get in his way with the Soul Splitting Katana.

Then, he runs into Manhito. Because of Toji’s Celestial Restriction, Manhito can’t one-shot him with idle transfiguration. Manhito puts up a good fight with Toji and was able to hold himself up for quite some time. However, once again, Toji got that dawg in himself and manhandled Manhito to the point that Manhito starts running away while Toji just follows him walking.

Before Toji could even get the chance to near Manhito, the damn curse decides to transform to his awakened potential. Toji does get frustrated at this and decides to pull out Soul Splitting Katana out to finish him off. Then Kenjaku arrives like, “What do we have here? A fucking monkey? That’s no good, come here Manhito.” Then Manhito gets absorbed into one of Kenjaku’s talismans. 

Toji would go after Kenjaku if he wasn’t bombarded by his curses that he released from his talisman. Then back-up arrives, the kyoto gang with Utahime and Kusakabe, Todo and Yuki just jump into the battle, and Choso somehow switches sides. Then not even a minute later, Megumi, Maki, and Nanami pop in to join. Everyone was duking Kenjaku curses and Uraume entered the fray. Kenjaku ends up sustaining injuries so he abandons Uraume and flees. Not before leaving a party gift, two curses that have so much concentrated curse energy that they exploded and created two massive craters in Shibuya. 

Kenjaku escapes and so does Uraume. Leaving the exhausted sorcerers a bit defeated and frustrated.

Reader’s role:

So let’s get to Reader’s role in all of this because You, my friend, are gonna go off those hinges.

So Reader knows what will happen in Shibuya will make or break Jujutsu Society. She also has a gut feeling that the higher-ups would use this event as a way to get away with certain decisions. Such as resuming Yuuji’s execution, leaving sorcerers for dead, not helping at all, etc. To which she was unfortunately right in the end.

As a result, You start to do some of your own scheming of your own. Mostly consisting of getting Toji on the battlefield and helping the others out. While Toji has done some missions for the Jujutsu world, it was mostly out of obligation from you and for the FAT JUICY paycheck he receives when he’s done with the job.

He’s not affiliated with the Jujutsu World and never has acknowledged as much from the higher-ups. Toji is still under restrictions that were set up for him, so the higher-ups said that if Toji participates in Shibuya, you and him will be executed. But after You find out Megumi is a part of the lineup on top of your suspicions, you decide to throw caution to the wind and say fuck them shitty highers ups and those willings to lick their fucking boots.

You knew you’ll be left for dead or purposely killed so the higher up wouldn’t have to deal with you. You were always well aware that the higher ups kept you around for so long because they wanted to use you in any way they could. If only they knew you were just letting them have their fun. Either way, by the end of Shibuya, you would be labeled as a criminal and a fugitive by them just because they had no use for you anymore. So you might as well go all out and have fun.

So you retrieve and unseal the Soul Splitting Katana and the Inverted Soul Spear for Toji to use. Mind you, these weapons have been sealed away for the past 12 years. And the only ones that knew about their location were You, Gojo, Yuta, Yuki, Yaga, Maho, and the Higher ups. However, the higher ups don’t have access to the weapons, they just only know where they are. Anyway, Reader decides to bring them out of retirement because no one else is going to use them or knows how to properly use them unlike Toji. And since Toji was the last owner, she was going to give them back to him while finding a substitute inventory curse to hold the weapons.

You lie and say that you will provide backup if things start to go bad. But the reality is, you went to retrieve the weapons that give Satoru and Suguru PTSD. You are well aware that what you are doing will make you a criminal in the eyes of Jujutsu Society. Letting the sorcerer killer out by himself with the same weapons he used to wreak havoc 12 years ago, the same ones that were supposed to be sealed and hidden away from the Jujutsu public. But you made that choice to not fight for Jujutsu Society a long time ago. You only came back for the sake of cultivating a powerful generation with massive potential to fight against the frauds that see themselves as high and mighty.

You snuck out and retrieved the weapons and came back to Toji, wondering why you were carrying two big black suitcases.

“What's with the suitcases, Hon? You're gonna pack up and get cold feet~?” Toji jokes as he eyes the two black briefcases at your side. He, however, doesn’t address your steel grip on the handles of them.

“Me and running away? Who do you think of me as a coward, Dear? Nah, I just brought back some things to make the playing field a bit more fun for you. Thank me later, Toji.” With that, you slide the briefcases towards his direction.

Toji raises a brow, you never call him by his first name, especially with such monotone. But the underlying firmness gives him a hint as he picks up one of the cases and opens it. The wide eyes and lifted brows, an expression Toji rarely puts on his face. He pulls out the Inverted Soul Spear while dropping its briefcase, not caring if it dented the floor.

“Doll. . . How did you get your hands on this. . .? I thought that Gojo brat destroyed it 12 years ago. . .”

 He was still in disbelief, observing what he believed was his non-existence long-forgotten special grade curse weapon. But now, here it is in perfect condition. Without a second thought, he rips open the other case to find his other weapon, the Soul Splitting Katana. Toji was in awe to see his two special grade weapons, back in his hands again after years being hidden away.

“You said these were long gone. . . One was completely destroyed and the other was hidden in Hokkaido. What gives, (Y/N)?”

You just sighed with a smirk, crossing your arms as you shift your weight to one half of your body. 

“I didn’t mean to lie to you, Honey. It was so the higher ups would get off my ass and leave us alone. Those old geezers didn’t have access to them. They just knew their locations. Plus I threatened Satoru into keeping the Spear. Just officially saying it was dismantled in the records but that’s about it.”

“Never pegged you to be such a liar, (Y/N).”

“Lying isn’t it, my love. I was just manipulating the truth.”

You walk to the kitchen table and throw the sack that was sitting on it towards your husband, who catches it with ease while still holding his weapons. He stares at it before looking back at you with a confused look. You grinned playfully at your husband as you leaned on the table. An unsettling mischievous glint in your eyes sends a small chill throughout his being.

“Gear up, Toji. Let’s take a nightly stroll into Shibuya, shall we~?”

After traveling to the Shibuya district, Reader tells Toji they could cover more ground if they split up. She also tells Toji that if he finds Megumi to help and protect him no matter what. Toji gives a quick kiss before going in the other direction.

Reader wanders around the deserted subway systems before she ends up finding Yuji passed out by one of the public restrooms completely unconscious. By the look of his injuries, he was hurt pretty badly. Just as she was about to carry him to Shoko’s tent, Mimiko and Nanako were running through the station and stopped when you called out to them.

It was then you found out not only was Gojo sealed in the Prison Realm cube, but Geto as well. That could explain Mimiko tearing up with small sniffles while Nanako was holding her tears in with her lip quivering, confirming what her sister said. While comforting the girls the best you can, you asked them to take Yuji to Shoko’s tent for you so you can continue helping your allies. 

After the twins leave with Itadori, you continue to roam Shibuya and run into Haruta. Haruta tries to make quick work of you but you wouldn’t let it slide. So with your curse technique/ability, you killed Haruta without a second thought. You cringed at the blood that splashed on your face and wiped it off with annoyance.

Then Reader gets a call from Yuta, saying that he’s coming back today to help in Shibuya. You informed him of what happened and to be careful of the curses that flood the streets.

Reader does some crowd control and meets with Inumaki to help. While helping Inumaki, Reader has to take care of a big curse before it can do anything. She would have landed a curse technique on if it were not for the nails that stabbed one of its arms and blackish-red flashed by. It was motherfucking Todo and Nobara, a surprising duo.

As the four of you just continue to be curse exterminators, a loud bang erupted throughout the district causing small tremors to happen. You tell Nobara to stay with Inumaki while Todo and you go to where all the real chaos takes place. Todo goes ahead while you are making sure no one else is lying in the streets dead. 

Before you could even get to the battlefield, two big explosions blinded and prevented you from getting any closer. Once the explosions cleared up, you hop down to the battlefield seeing everyone tired and frustrated.

You then inform them that both Gojo and Geto got sealed into the Prison Realm together and need to free them as soon as possible since Kenjaku has a full potential Manhito on hand.

Shibuya Incident Summary:

Gojo and Geto get sealed away in the prison realm together because of Kenjaku and using the civilians as bait.

Nobara, Nanami, Nanako, Mimiko, and I guess Naobito survive for now. There aren’t that many casualties as many would assume.

Sukuna doesn’t get revived or eat any of his fingers. So he doesn’t fight Jogo at all nor gets resurrected.

Megumi never summons Mahoraga and isn’t as injured. So Sukuna vs Mahoraga doesn’t happen at all, creating way less casualties.

Todo doesn’t lose his hand and Inumaki keeps his arm.

Yuji doesn’t continue fighting after his battle with Choso and is taken by the twins after Reader comes across his unconscious body by the bathrooms.

Reader starts to break her filters and go against the Higher Ups by bringing back the Soul Splitting Katana and Inverted Spear with a new inventory curse for Toji to use in Shibuya. You also gear up and go to Shibuya even though the Higher-ups were highly against it. Oops

After dropping off Tsumiki at Jujutsu high with Kuroi, Riko, and Haibara, you and Toji make way to Shibuya.

You two split up to cover more of the district.

Toji unleashing the absolute dawg in him and fucked up anyone that faces him in Shibuya. 

Toji finds Dagon’s domain and jumps through Megumi’s portal he made. Absolutely murdering Dagon with just Playful Cloud. Maki and Naobito get burned by Jogo and Togi tells Megumi to take them and book it.

Toji battles with Jogo and ends up giving him the slice and dice special.

Toji fights and chases Manhito. Manhito gets saved by Kenjaku when he reached peak potential.

Kenjaku releases a bunch of curses to overwhelm Toji but the cavalry arrives. They fight Kenjaku while dealing with his curses and Uraume.

Reader fights alongside Inumaki, then gets back up from Todo and Nobara. See the Kenjaku fight and Todo and you go towards the action. Leaving Inumaki and Nobara.

Reader was almost there to join but got stopped when Kenjaku used his explosion curses to escape. 

Reader joins up with the sorcerers and your son and Toji. 

You tell the group about Gojo and Geto’s situation and it would be best to regroup.

Post Shibuya Arc Headcanons:

So everyone is recovering and healing up from Shibuya. But after what happened in Shibuya, the Highers up decided to play a game for the worst support system.

Once they announced that Gojo and Geto are fugitives/criminals. And if anyone tries to set them free will be put on trial or executed because they said it was illegal to free them. You’know, two of the most powerful sorcerers in the world, even though they’re needed more than ever.

Not only that, they also announced that all the suspended executions would resume.

Which means Yuji’s execution will be carried out, but that also includes Yuta, Yaga, You, and Toji. You and Toji could care less because who the hell is gonna stop and kill the both of you? Tokyo is in shambles right now, curses roaming the streets, Shibuya completely dead, fellow sorcerers are injured or out of commission, there is no order in the Jujutsu Society. So why bother listening to the Higher-ups/Elders if they won’t do anything or just make things harder for everyone else? 

When Megumi hears about it, he is so concerned for you and his dad. His parents are being targeted and killed on-sight even though they literally helped and saved many of the sorcerers in Shibuya. He feared for Toji and your demise, leaving him with Tsumiki with their parents. But you reassured your son that you will not be striked down so easily. Plus with Toji’s original weapons minus his “Chain of a Thousand Miles”, he pretty much is unbeatable right now.

Megumi thought his dad stopped fighting, to which Toji tells Megumi that he goes on missions when he and Tsumiki are at school. He finishes his missions right before they come home from school so Megumi and Tsumiki never guessed it. Megumi heard his dad going on missions, but he thought he went with you on some intel and retrieval mission. But after seeing Toji fight in Shibuya, he reconsiders his assumptions and believes the two of you white lied to him and Tsumiki to not get them in trouble from the Jujutsu World, especially Megumi.

Anyway, you kiss your son on his head while Toji just gives him a soft head pat. You tell him that you and Toji have to meet someone in order to discuss what to do next. Telling him to rest up as the two of you head out, leaving your son worried.

You talk with Yaga and the other sorcerers that are still there or have recovered. Meaning Mei Mei is out of the picture. There are talks about freeing Gojo and Geto, Kenjaku’s whereabouts and motives, and what to do next. Since there are not many of you to begin with, you suggest finding a way to free Gojo and Geto while trying to deal with Kenjaku.

Yaga said finding Kenjaku wouldn’t be hard since the veils are still up in Shibuya and other parts of Tokyo. They were set up for something called the Culling Games.

Kusakabe butts in and says that it’s illegal to free the two sorcerers. Also saying that You shouldn’t be saying much since your execution was announced. Toji would’ve done something if it wasn't for your mood change. The way your eyes showed a nonchalant yet tenacious aura.

“Since when did you start dick-riding the higher ups, Kusakabe? Hmm? I didn’t know you’ve become a boot-licker to the same people who aren’t batting an eye that we just lost our most powerful people. You gonna let those old geezers continue to keep the strong out just so they could stay in power until they bite the dust? *laughs* I’m not surprised it’s coming from you, Atsuya. Those old dementia patients just want to kill the strong off because they knew that either me, Gojo, Geto, or Yuta would kill them with no hesitation.” Kusakabe glares at you while baring his teeth. “Oh? Did I hit a soft spot for you, Atsuya? If you’re thinking about killing me or my husband, forget it. You don’t want to fight my husband unless you wanna die that badly. And let me remind you what happened a year ago when I mopped the floor with you even though I didn’t even activate my technique? Just drop it, Atsuya.”

With that, you told Yaga you had some unfinished business to attend to and left the room. 

Toji was so turned on by you telling off Kusakabe but you said now is not the time for a quickie.

You knew Kusakabe was a good sorcerer and ally. But after Shibuya and him seemingly siding with those losers, it somewhat pissed you off.

You have come to find out that after Yuji recovered, he went back out and Yuta attacked him. He apparently murdered Yuji for the Higher-ups. But you knew Yuta was better than to be a Higher-up boot liker. I mean, this is literally the same student that shares the same ideals as Gojo himself. Yuta wouldn’t do them any favors unless it’s to get them off his tail.

So you run into Yuta, who has a very much alive Yuji, and a healed but scarred Maki. Your assumption was right as Yuta just faked Yuji’s death so he would be labeled as dead in order for the Higher-ups to ease up a bit. 

Then Maki goes up to Toji and asks him to come with her to the Zen’in clan’s main residence. She said she needed to take more curse tools for her and the other sorcerers to use. Toji looked at her and said maybe he would help but it seems like she got it. Then Maki left to face off against the Zen’in clan.

Toji asked if he should’ve gone with her just to toss around against his shitty family. 

However, you were against it. It is cruel to say and think, you told Toji to let Maki go off on her own at first to see what happens to her and Mai. Since Twins are looked down upon in Jujutsu Society because the curse energy is split into two, it meant that both wouldn’t unlock their true potential or full technique/ability. In a way, it symbolizes that the twins hold each other back from each other’s curse technique and energy.

So if Mai dies, it means that Maki could unlock her true celestial restriction and understand what it means to possess it in its fullest form.

You also told Toji that the Zen’in clan took the “‘Chain of a Thousand Miles”, and stash it in their inventory instead of sealing it away with the Inverted Spear or the Soul Splitting Katana. So when goes after Maki, he steals back his chains. It was a couple hours since Maki left and Toji left to go get her. But first, he needed to find his old chains in the Zen’in clan’s curse tool vault.

He went in undetected and swiftly killed anyone who tried to sound the alarm of his presence. Once he got his old chains back, he strolled along to find out where Maki was. He didn’t know where to look until he saw her fighting against some of the clan members. Toji smirks, wanting to join in on the fun.

Toji starts to fight off some of the Zen’in clan members, killing them along the way. Since he needed more range, he used the chains for better crowd control and more reach. Then the Hei shows up and low and behold Naoya appears. He states that he’s the new clan head since Naobito passed away from his injuries. Naoya was boasting about going Mach 5 speed and Maki simply can’t keep up with him.

Maki and Toji exchange glances at what the hell Naoya was talking about being the Clan Head. Maki thought Megumi would be the next head, is what she was told by both Megumi and Naobito himself. 

Toji: “Yo Brat, you’re not the Head of the Zen’in Clan. My boy is, get your head out of your ass.”

Naoya thought he was up there with you, Toji, and Gojo for the strongest and powerful. More so, Toji as he sort of idolizes him heavily.

He really thought he was “I’m Him” for a good moment.

But alas, Naoya couldn’t beat the fraud allegations and got absolutely washed by Maki. With Maki’s newly awakened Celestial restriction, she was opened to a full power she only could’ve dreamed of. Now she has it for herself, a second Celestial Restriction user w/no curse energy at all.

Because Maki was the real “I’m Him” since she'll be on par with Toji himself.

Toji had this sense of pride that Maki has unlocked her true restriction, now she can absolutely body people AND curses. She can now see them and doesn't rely on her glasses anymore.

Then the two worked on killing the rest of the Zen’in clan off. When you heard that the Kamo and Gojo clan petitioned to have the Zen’in clan be removed from the three great families, you were so happy that you wanted to pop a champagne bottle.

However, you did feel bad that Maki had to lose her sister. The last of Mai’s curse energy went into making an exact replica of Soul Splitting Katana. Dragon-Bone and the replica became Maki’s only weapons. The rest of the Zen’in clan’s curse tools were either given to Jujutsu High or the other two families. You told her that nothing is stopping them and you all can rise up and fight against the system now. Pretty much everyone either hates the Higher-ups or is willing to go against them.

You were devastated hearing about Yaga’s death at the hands of the Kyoto principal. He was your dear friend, classmate, and sorcerer. It also messed you up that Maho was severely hurt and hasn’t woken from her coma. She was your best friend too, she and Yaga were in the same class together back in your earlier years.

With that, anything that happens after this point is fair game. You decided to participate in the Culling games because you needed to find the user that has the ability to free Gojo and Geto from the Prison Realm. That and find Hakari and Hoshi to see if they would strike a deal with you to help since your son was now the Head of the Zen’in Clan. Toji just goes wherever you go because, at this point, you’re his ride or die. And what better way to flex the most powerful couple in all of Jujutsu society with you, your Celestial Restriction Husband, your kind-hearted but strong-willed daughter, and your son who possesses a powerful Curse technique with limitless potential that is now the Head of the Zen’in Clan.

💙Thank you for reading!❤️

[starrgirlella]

Lurking for love? More like lurking for LORE

Hi everyone! Just two days ago, I made some interesting discoveries about LFL by just digging around the website

I'm not sure if anyone else found this out so that's why I'm going to be sharing what I found because it's very interesting

This post is going to be pretty long lol and full of my rambling. If you're interested, please take a read! Do note that English isn't my first language so I may express myself a bit weird 😭

Also IK the screenshots are pretty shitty but I'm lazy oops

To start, I have a habit of checking the sinistershrike website along with the LFL itch.io game page. Why? Well I just like looking if there are any new updates (and its my hyperfixtation so I'm constantly looking for new content)-

And I noticed that on the sinistershrike website there was a new update which some of you may or may not saw.

In summary, the game is getting custom music, prounouns are getting removed so MC is going to be gender neutral and getting called only by their name and most interesting of all: a new main character is getting added, and they're going to be dateable!

Pretty interesting, right? I immediately got curious on who that character might be since they're going to cause drama and more mysteries.

But wait! I'm still not done, hehe

Afterwards, I was just randomly looking at Jacob Alden pics thru google. Again, why? Well, I don't know either lol. It's just a habit that I do when I'm bored and sometimes when I'm lucky, I come across new things.

And this time I was lucky!

So I scrolled down to the end of the results and I saw this post which caught my eye:

What's so interesting about it? Well the fact that the creators website is linked to it. Curious, I clicked on the link and was suprised at what I saw.

(Mind you I still dont know if I'm an idiot just finding this out or not...)

Basically, it's a site containing all info about Jacob! I got really excited when I saw it bc I LOVE learning all the facts about my favourite characters and finding new official content!

When I finished looking through it I noticed two things:

1. The website adress (is that what it's called? Im sorry english isn't my first language)

So when you look at the website adress you can notice how it's linked (basically an extension) to the creators webiste which is: sinistershrike.neocities.org

The thing is; you can't open Jacobs page on the creators site. Like yes, there is a tab which says CHARACTERS but if you click on it you'll get nothing but a scary looking Jacob. Which means to get to this page you have to type the adress in yourself.

So I'm assuming the creator is purposefully hiding this Jacob page (maybe because he wants to finish pages for all characters and more)

And here's the link if you want to take a look for yourself:

https://sinistershrike.neocities.org/character/jacob

2. At the end of the page, you have links to other characters made by the creator.

Not just lurking for love, but other ocs made by him!

Though, if you click on them, you'll get nothing. Maybe they're still being made? I'm not sure.

Now, when you look at the characters for LFL, it's very interesting because we now have info on Sarah's last name AND... an unknown character? Noah Vega.

At first, I was stunned. Who could this character be? Then I went back to the creators website and remembered the mention of a new character, can you see where I'm going?

Noah Vega must be the new character! He was never mentioned before; neither in the game nor in the creators deleted blogs.

And pretty quickly I found proof which helped my theory (I SOUND SO DUMB OMG)

Now going back to the website adress thing.

So I concluded that the Jacob website is hidden from the main website for an reason, hence you can only acess it by finding it yourself. I decided to mess around with the website adress a bit, to see if I could find any more extensions/links.

I started by putting different names in the adress. I tried out: Austin, Sarah, Cedric and Alfred but they didn't lead or anything.

BUT

The only name which lead to an extension was Noah. And holy shit-

I'm finding it hard to express how shocked I was at this discovery

This is a pretty big lore drop imo! So his website shows a pinboard with various notes.

And with these notes we can conclude two things:

1. He has an gambling addiction

2. He is investigating Jacob

He definitely an detective trying to solve an old murder case involved with Jacob. Hence why the mention that the new character will add more drama and mystery to the game.

The three murdered highschoolers must be his old friends mentioned in the game: Steve, Monty and Kenny. Which he claims that they haven't talked since highschool. In reality, they were murdered by him for reasons that are unknown for now.

The website link:

https://sinistershrike.neocities.org/character/noah

And that's about it! I had fun digging around finding this new info and writing this post. I hope to see more of interesting secrets like this in the future because it's fun finding them!

I hope this post was of interest to you :)

[aquaticshopkeep]

I just had a feeling It'd be you.

Welcome back.

The vent is currently: Closed [Open for asks and interactions not in person]

Special Limited Stock: n/a

Sebastian is: Tired - Working, Waiting.

Don't stick around too long, but if you buy something maybe I won't mind too much.

Some rules for the shop, and dont forget them when you get back here again.

Don't get too raunchy. Every manner of criminal comes through here, and as funny as you making a fool of yourself would be, I am a supposedly married man.

I'll kick you out if you can't behave. It's my shop, I don't have to sell you anything.

If your idiot self can't handle the dangers of the Blacksite, maybe you shouldn't have taken the offer. There will be death, swearing, and maaaaybe some moderate blood and gore.

I'll see you around, Friends.

Post last updated [Sep 22]

OOC under the cut:

Mod is 18+, I go by Lash/Lashy and any pronouns are fine. I've been rping on an off tumblr for 10+ years

This blog is semi-selective as I burned out really bad trying to rp with anyone who came to my inbox. All asks are welcome, but I may not answer all that i receive.

Please don't randomly @ me on other peoples posts, especially if it's someone's art.

I follow from my main @lashydsdomain my main is 18+.

Do not follow my main if you are a minor or don't have an age visible.

Any interaction (Oc, OOC, canon, other fandoms, ect.) is welcome.

Other Sebastians too!

You dont need images to rp with me! I just like drawing stupid hot fish men.

Please only DM me if you're wanting to plan something for rp/ask something OOC you don't want answered publicly. If you message me trying to rp in DMs I will redirect you to this post.

I'm still developing head cannons for Sebastian and how I play him might not be fully cannon to the game. I've also yet to finish the game, and also intend to keep this blog spoiler free even once I do. Please don't spoil me, but mentioning the monsters of the game is totally fine.

Things to keep in mind for this blog:

• Sebastian does not like being touched randomly. You wouldn't like being touched by strangers either. He might be digital but he will still react negatively

• Even though it's in his file Sebastian does not know his name was cleared. He couldn't bring himself to finish reading what was written. And also its tasty angst.

My own art will be posted here. Please do not use it for AI, don't take credit for my art or post it anywhere without permission. If you'd like to use my art as a profile icon just credit me somewhere.

If you'd like to post my art with credit somewhere (reblogs of posts from this blog are fine), shoot me a message to ask my permission.

The Sebastian on this blog has a slightly different design to the cannon one, but at his core is intended as the same character.

A reference of the big guy to see the differences (he still has tail bags, i just didn't draw them for this).

If you ever draw fanart of my version of Sebastian, please tag me, I'd love to see it!

The black site banners were made by me! Feel free to use them just make sure you credit me somewhere (@ my main)

Might change things here if anything comes up, but that's all for now. Now bring the fish man some research.