#it also helped me learn a lot about each oc since they were all new and didnt have much to them yet

[skidaddleskidoodles]

Ngl your oc sketch pages are SUUUPER cute and inspiring, now I want to doodle mine like that!! :D so many good expressions and cuteness, lovely job 💕

thats so sweet of you to say, i did the sketch pages half because im lazy and didn't feel like coloring everything and half because i was working on making expressions more ,, expressive lol so it makes me very happy to hear this (:

[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.

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[jeankluv]

Finding you || Jean Kirstein x f!oc

Words: 5,8k

Warnings: fluff, canon & post canon, some angst, spoilers for aot, the female character has a name but her appearance is never described, Jean’s pov mainly.

Summary: Jean never believed in love at first sight, it wasn’t until she appeared on his life

Notes: This is a story that has been on my drafts for over a year now, and I decided to finish it as a goodbye to one of my favorite characters, Jean Kirstein.

Materialist

Months passed by and no info about Eren was found. It was like he disappeared completely. While they searched for him they also investigated Marley and the world, that was the mission they had until some news from Eren came.

As usual Jean woke up early in the morning, he went to the kitchen of the apartment he was staying in, none of the group were staying in the same place but they were close to each other just in case. He prepared himself the usual breakfast and once he was done, he went to buy the newspaper. It was something he always did, that way he could recollect information for the group. He walked down the streets of the city, it was early in the morning so there weren't a lot of people around, just the ones on their way to their work.

He arrived at the store where he always bought the newspaper. He smiled at the owner and paid for it. He starts walking to a nearby coffee shop, so he can get coffee while reading the newspaper. That’s until he bumps into a girl, way smaller than her, and she falls to the floor. Jean looks at her and tries to help her stand but, she is faster, and pulls Jean to her and stamps her lips against his.

Jean doesn’t move and his eyes are wide open. He hears some people running behind them, searching for someone. That’s when the girl separates from him and looks around. Once she makes sure no one is around, she tries to run away once again.

“Hey!” Jean stops her. She tries to free her but Jean is way stronger. “Hey! Stop!”

And she stopped. “What?” She said with an angry look, looking at Jean.

“What? You just bumped into me and then kissed me. And now you want to leave without any explanations?” He said looking at her and crossing his arms.

“Yes, any problem big boy?” Jean smirked, she really is something.

“Those people… were searching for you?” He said pointing to the direction where they went.

She looked in that direction. “Why do you care?”

“Well… maybe I can help you.”

“You already did that.” She said and tried to leave but Jean grabbed her once again. “You don’t know me… so why do you care so much?”

“Because… maybe I don’t know your situation but you seem desperate and maybe I can help you.”

She laughed. “If you knew what I am you wouldn’t be here, you wouldn’t be touching me or you wouldn’t even want to breathe the same air as me.”

Jean didn’t respond this time, something clicks in his head. Could she be a eldian too? So those people probably knew about her being an eldian and were trying to catch her and who knows what to do to her. This makes his blood boil, why it’s the outside world like this with them? He comes back to his senses, just to find that she is gone.

“Damn it!” He started ñ walking trying to find her but she is gone. Just like she appeared, she is gone.

Frustrated, he started walking back home. He really hoped the girl would be okay.

“Jean!” He heard his name being shouted by no other than the two most scandalous people on earth.

“You two really can’t keep a low profile, don’t you?”

Both made a sad face. “C’mon Jean boy, don’t be mad.”

“Don’t call me that!”

“Now who is making a scene?” Asks Sasha laughing.

Jean lets out a sigh and keeps walking, followed by Connie and Sasha who are talking about going to the cinema, since finding out about it the whole group has been fascinated with it. The three of them arrived at the place where they usually met to talk about the things that they learned. The rest were already there, so they all sit around the table to talk. The reunion ends up with not much info or new clues.

“You seemed distracted.” Armin said. “You didn’t say a word during the whole time. What’s on your head Jean?”

“It’s nothing Armin, I was just tired.”

“You went out last night again? You know that if captain…”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Hey man. You know that if something is going on, you can talk. Right?”Jean nods and drinks from his coffee cup.

“Jean, are you coming to the cinema tonight?” Asked Connie.

“Yeah… sure why not?”

“Brats remember to be careful.” Captain Levi spoke looking at the group.

The whole group nodded after hearing their captain's order. It was early to go to the cinema, so they decided to hang out and enjoy their time together, pretending to be normal and not soldiers from the devils of the island. The five of them were on a bar drinking and enjoying the day. It really seemed like nothing changed, like they were still in their cadets day. Like all their commanders were still alive. It was nice, it was warm to see them happy, that’s what Jean was thinking while looking at his friends.

“Oi Jean!!” Screamed Connie into his ear.

“Are you dumb or something?!”

“I have been calling for you for the last 5 minutes.” Jean rolled his eyes.

“What do you want?”

“Ask for another round!” He said, raising his glass.

“Connie, if you keep drinking you want to be alright to watch the film.” Spoke Armin this time.

“C’mon Armin! We are young! Let’s enjoy ourselves! Right girls?” He said looking at Mikasa and Sasha, who until a few moments ago they were talking with each other.

“Yes, let's go, Armin!” Sasha screamed this time and Mikasa laughed at her friend's reactions.

Armin sighted, knowing it was a lost battle. “Alright, let’s have another round. Jean could…”

“Sure, I will buy another round.” He said standing and going to ask for another round. “The same as…”

“Disgusting eldian!” A man shouted, the whole group froze in place. “I’m calling the police! They have been searching for you right?”

Jean turned around to look at the place where everything was happening. There she was, the girl from the morning.

“Is she one of the devils?” A woman asked.

“Yes, this morning police were chasing her, and now she was trying to buy something here at my shop, pretending to be one of us!”

People started surrounding her and calling her disgusting names. Jean clenched his fists and tried to go to her.

“Jean… what are you doing?” Said Armin while holding him by the arm.

“We can’t leave her, she needs help!

“We can’t. If we do something they will suspect us.” Sasha spoke this time.

“I can’t do that! Sorry…” He said ignoring his friends.

He was being selfish, he was putting all his friends in danger and for what? For a girl that he met that same morning. What was he thinking? I must be going crazy. He pushed some people aside, to get where she was.

“You think a garbage like you, can keep escaping?! Oh no! You will go back to where you belong! Stupid slut!” The man said, grabbing her by the hair.

“Please… stop…” She said with hot tears rolling down her face.

“No you beg for mer…” Jean didn’t really think before punching the man in the face.

People gasped in shock and the face of his friends went completely blank.

“You…” The man said. “Who do you think you are?”

“I hope you can run. Because we are leaving right now.” Jean whispered to the girl, who stood next to Jean.

“Hey! I’m talking to you! Why are you defending that evil?” The man shouted. ”Don’t tell me… you are also one of them?”

Jean grabbed her hand tightly, she looked at him. “Now!”

And both started running, as fast they could, ignoring anyone that shouted for them to stop. They kept running for a little while more, until it was safe no one was following them. Jean stopped and tried to catch his air again. He looked at her and saw her down on her knees facing the floor. She looked so small, fragile, different to that same morning.

“Hey.” Jean kneeled in front of her. “You okay?”

No response came from her, she didn’t even look at him. Jean sighted and stood back, looking around once again, making sure no one was near.

“We need to…”

“Why did you help me?” Her voice came out, almost as a whisper. “Now,…. Now you’ll be in danger because you helped me.”

“Because I wanted to.” Jean said, looking at her.

“Because you wanted to?” She stood facing him. “Are you completely insane?!”

“Maybe I am but what I did, it’s my problem.” He got closer to her. “Now, come with me. We need to treat those wounds you have.” He said touching her cheek where there was a wound.

“I can treat myself.” She said, moving away from his touch. “You don’t have to do anything more for me.” Jean rolled his eyes.

“You know what?” He said, focusing his eyes on her once again. “I don’t care, you are coming with me, I’m treating that wound of yours, then you will take a shower and eat something. You get it?”

“But… you’re so stubborn.” She said pressing her lips together, making a thin line. “What if you’re a pervert?”

“Would you believe me if I said I’m not?”

“No.”

“Then you will have to trust me. I won’t do anything to you, I just want you to be okay. That’s all.”

“You don’t even know my name. Why are you doing this?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.” Then he looked at the left. “He would have done the same.” His words came out as whispered, difficult to hear but she did hear them.

She remained silent, looking now at his back. Why is he really helping me? She wondered.

She ended up accepting, because it really seems like he is worried and wants to help her. They both walk side by side, going through the less crowded streets to avoid suspicious people. None of them says anything, he just keeps walking, being followed by her. They both walked for a few more minutes until they arrived at the building where they entered. He must live here.

“You can make yourself comfortable.” He says letting her enter the place.

She nods and enters, the place feels comfortable and warm.

“I will go for the things to treat your cheek… you can take whatever you want from the kitchen.” He says pointing to the kitchen.

“Thank you…” She said and before he leaves she warns him. “And don’t forget, I won’t hesitate on killing you if you try something.”

He laughs and leaves the room. That girl…

“Captain Levi is going to kill me after he finds out what I did.” He spoke to himself while searching for the stuff. “Fuck, I really fucked up this time.” He sighed and grabs the kit from the shelves.

Jean made his way back to the living room and there she is, sleeping.

“I can’t believe her.” He whispered with a smile on his face. “You really fall asleep in a strangers place?” He sayid knowing no one will answer him.

He gets closer to her and looks at her face. She looks so peaceful like that. He shook those thoughts out of it.

“Hey stubborn girl.” He shook her.

She woke up startled and ready to punch him on the face. If it wasn’t because Jean had fast reflexes, he would’ve probably ended up with a purple eye.

“Hey! Easy.” Jean said, still holding her hand.

“Shit.” She said and took her away from Jean’s. “I fell asleep… fuck.” She whispered.

“It’s okay. You looked tired anyways.” Jean tried to calm her down.

“It’s not okay… I was reckless and I shouldn’t get so comfortable with someone I don’t know.”

“My name is Jean.”

“Why are you telling me your name?”

“You said you didn’t know me, well I’m introducing myself.” He gave her a faint smile.

“Still… you could…”

“I could what? Listen, I’m not going to give you in alright?”

“I… I can not believe that, you marleians, you lie so easily. You probably made a call when I fell asleep and the police are already coming for me.” She stood and started walking around the room.

Jean could see how her body was shaking from fear of the possible outcomes. He knew that telling her his real identity was risky, hell it was so fucking risky but he needed to tell her. Jean stood from the sofa and took her by the arm, making her stop walking. The stubborn, angry, defensive girl was nowhere to be seen at that moment, everything Jean could see right there was a scary, vulnerable girl.

“Please… I know I was rude and an asshole. But let me go… I… I need to go back home, please.” She started to silently cry. “I swear I will never come back, you will never see me again. I swear but please let me go.”

“Hey please calm down.” Jean tried to comfort her. “I’m not turning you in. I am… I am also an Eldian okay?”

She looked at him, shocked. What was he saying? No no no no if he was an eldian too, it meant he was also risking his life? Why? Why?

“Hey.” Jean spoke again. “Stop overthinking.”

“Why would you do what you did, you idiot?” She said and punched him on the chest.

“Here she is again.”

“Don’t laugh, why are you laughing idiot. You’re fucking risking your life for a stranger like me. I don’t understand, I truly don’t. Is it because I kissed you? You’re one of those perverts? But fuck… if they find out not only you are helping me but that you are also an Eldian, they will kill you and all because of me… Again, it’s happening again.”

Jean saw how something broke on her after the last sentence. She fell to the floor, crying and repeating, it’s happened again, again. He didn’t know what to do, he wanted to make her feel safe, to make her understand that nothing was going to happen to her or him, that whatever she was thinking was not going to happen. He kneeled in front of her and embraced her, she tensed at first but then she continued sobbing into his chest.

“I’m sorry…” Jean heard her whisper.

“Listen, angry girl. Nothing is going to happen to me or to you. I promise.”

“Don’t do that…” She said. “Don’t make promises you won’t be able to keep. Please.” She looked at him, still with tears rolling down her face.

“I will try my best to keep the promise…” He said, whipping her tears away. “Now, let me treat your wound.”

She nodded and sat next to Jean on the sofa. Jean put the kit on the table and took out the necessary stuff he needed to treat her wound. He had treated thousands of wounds since he joined the survey corps years ago, he knew how to do it but this time was afraid of hurting her. The wound wasn’t really that big but still he didn’t want her to suffer anymore. Once he was done he put everything back on the bag and turned around to look at her once again. Her eyes were still red and so was her nose.

“You want to eat something?”

“No. I really need to leave and go back home.” She said not looking at Jean.

“It’s already dark outside, it will be dangerous if someone sees you alone at night.”

“It’s… it’s okay, it wouldn’t be the first time I sneak out in the middle of the night.”

Jean thought for a moment. “I will go with you.”

“Wait… no no, you already did enough.” She stood following Jean’s footsteps. “You saved my ass twice today and you’re an Eldian too, it would be dangerous if a police stopped us and they asked us for our documents. We would be…”

“Hey.” He turned around and looked at her eyes. “Trust me okay? It will be alright, I will take you home, safe and sound.”

She stayed silent, observing each one of his movements and trying to understand why that man, named Jean and an Eldian like her, was helping her. No Eldian is willing to help another one if it means risking the little freedom they have and yet, the man she had in front of her was risking everything for her, someone who was an asshole that treated him poorly since the first minutes their destinies crossed paths.

“For more that I try to understand, I just can’t comprehend why are you doing all this.”

“Maybe you enchanted me with that kiss.” Jean passed next to her with a smirk on his face.

“Now you’re flirting? Is that what you want from me? To fuck me?” She angrily asked.

“Wait no no no no.” Jean shook his head. “Don’t get me wrong okay? It’s true that I couldn’t get the kiss out of my head, because it took me by surprise but I’m not doing this because I want to fuck you. I’m doing this because I think you desperately need someone to give you a hand. I’m sorry if that made you feel uncomfortable.”

“Okay… sorry it’s just that… it’s not easy.”

“To trust someone?”

“Yeah…”

“I understand but try to trust me okay.” She nodded, still hesitant but with a feeling in her chest that made her believe his words. “Okay, put this on, it will be cold outside and like that we can cover you up, so those assholes don’t recognize you.” He grabbed the jacket and gave it to her, it smelled like him. “It looks gigant on you.”

“Maybe because you’re like two meters tall?” She said looking at the jacket and then at him.

“Almost two meters.” She rolled her eyes and tried to hide the smile on her face.

“Idiot…”

“You know, you can call me by my name, Jean. And by the way, you still haven't told me yours.”

“That’s right but I’m not telling you. Not yet.”

“And what should I call you then?” He tilted his head.

She was about to respond when a knock on the door made her freeze. She could feel her whole body trembling. Did he lie to you? It was the police, he called them?

“Look at me.” And she did, those honey eyes were looking at her and for some reason she knew right there, that he didn’t call them, that he didn’t lie and that she could believe him. “It’s probably my neighbor, so don’t worry, okay?” She nodded and watched him walk to the door.

She saw how he smiled to the person on the other side of the door and how politely talked to them.

“Jean, I heard a woman's voice earlier, are you finally settling down?” Jean laughed, he wished he could but in his position it was impossible.

“It’s not like that Miss Aldrich.”

“C’mon! Let me meet the girl.” Jean tried to stop her.

“Miss Aldrich I don’t think that’s a good idea, she…” C’mon Jean think about something.

“Oh I get it, yeah you two were having fun, alright Jean boy, I will leave you. Hopefully this old building will soon have new people.” And she left.

Jean sighed in relief, he loved Miss Aldrich and was a good woman but he couldn’t risk anything at that moment.

“Bee.” Jean heard from the other side of the room.

“What?”

“Call me Bee.”

Jean nodded at Bee and she gave him a faint smile. Bee didn’t know why she was willing to tell him her name but something inside her told her to do it, that it was okay.

“Okay, Bee. We should get going, so you can go back home.” Bee looked at him, he was offering his hand. “It will be easier if we pretend that we are a couple, if they stop us I will just show my ID.”

“But you…” She wanted to tell him if he was insane, if he lost his mind. But Jean winked an eye at her, making her heart race.

“I have a fake one, don’t worry, okay?”

“Okay…”

Bee held his hand and they both got out of the apartment. Jean held her tightly but gently, afraid of hurting her, afraid of someone taking her away. They needed to be careful, but the night was already coming so it was going to be easier for them to go unnoticed.

They walked the streets, like a normal couple would do, not making themselves notice. It wouldn’t be true to say Jean’s heart wasn’t racing like crazy, he was nervous about the possibility of getting caught and holding Bee’s hand wasn’t something that was helping. He couldn’t deny that she was beautiful, breathtaking to be more exact. But he couldn’t think about her that way, no, he needed to take her to her home and then hope she would be able to live a normal life, while he kept searching for Eren. That’s what was going to happen and they wouldn’t see each other anymore.

Bee moved beside Jean, guiding him in the direction of her house. From time to time she would look at him, he was serious, looking around, making sure no one would come for her and not letting her hand go. It made her feel secure, protected, something she hadn’t felt in a very long time. It almost made her cry in that instant.

Both of them kept walking for a little longer, leaving the most crowded streets behind, almost leaving the city behind. Bee stopped when they reached a small neighborhood, with old houses and almost no light.

“It’s here…” She said letting Jean’s hand go, feeling emptiness when she did it.

“Oh…” Jean looked around and nodded. “Alright…” he swallowed.

“I guess… it's a goodbye.”

“I guess so.” Jean played with his feet. “Are you sure you will be alright?” He looked at her with worried eyes.

Bee swallowed and blinked, trying not to throw herself to him and cry saying that nothing would be alright, that she was afraid and ask him again why everyone viewed them as monsters, why couldn’t see feel safe like she did with him. But she didn’t and she simply smiled at him.

“I will be. Thank you again.”

Jean nodded and they both stayed looking at each. Jean knew he should turn around and walk away, forget about her, forget about that whole day, go back to his life but something wasn’t letting him move, he couldn’t, he didn’t want to move away.

“I think… I will be heading home.” She whispered and started to walk away.

“Wait!” Jean held her hand and made her turn around. “If you… if you ever need anything, just look out for me okay?” She nodded. “Jean Kirstein.”

“I will Jean. Thank you…”

And with that, they both walked away, with a heavy heart and the feeling of a missing piece on it. They met for less than 24 hours but none of them wanted to leave each other. Bee for a moment considered going back to him, asking him to take her away from that place, for them to pretend they were monsters but she couldn’t do that to someone she hardly knew but desperately wanted to know. Jean on the other hand, would have everything for her, for a girl that cornered him, the girl that was so stubborn, the girl that despite looking so strong was so broken, if she only asked to.

But they didn’t say anything and they both saw each other for the last time that night. Bee kept surviving and trying not to get caught, while Jean kept searching for Eren and distracting himself so he wouldn’t think about her.

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

It was April, Jean’s birthday, thinking about it he never thought he would make it to his 20s after joining the survey corps. But there he was in a small bar near the refugee camp with Connie, drinking beer and chatting. After the Rumbling and everything falling apart live has been going too fast, it seemed like they couldn’t stop for a single moment, the attack on Liberio, then the rumbling, then helping those who were still alive, try to find peace. Hell they didn’t even properly mourn Sasha, Hange or even Eren, like they deserved, back then. He didn’t even have time to try and reach his mom and let her know that he was alright. He even thought about Bee, did she make it through the rumbling? Was she saved?

Although he met her for less than 24 hours, her memory was still on his head and he wished he could see her once again, at least to know she was okay.

He turned around to look at Connie, who was heavily drunk and dancing, although there was no music on. Jean smirked, he was grateful he had Connie with him and to have these stupid moments with him.

“C’mon Connie, let’s go home.” Jean stood and held Connie’s arm.

“Why? C’mon Jeanboy! It’s your birthday! You are entering your 20s, let’s celebrate it!” Connie went to the dance floor once again, ignoring Jean and forgetting about everything.

Jean sat back on his seat and sighed looking at his best friend. It was good that at least Connie was enjoying himself, but it was going to be a pain in the ass bringing him back home.

He simply stayed there, looking at his best friend, while with each drink he wandered in his thoughts. Two hours later they were kicked out of the place. Jean didn't think he was completely drunk, but his head hurt and he knew that tomorrow would be a hard day. He grabbed Connie's arm and dragged him to the place they now called home.

“You seemed to need help.” A female voice spoke, while Jean was trying to open the door.

“It’s okay, I can do it.” Jean responded without looking at the woman standing next to him.

“Let me help you.” She said and took Jean’s keys from his hands. “I own you one.” She whispered.

Jean blinked, trying to focus his gaze on the woman but he couldn't, everything was double for him.

“I don’t think… I don’t know.”

“It’s okay Jean… hopefully tomorrow you will feel better.” Jean saw how she started to walk away. “I’m glad you’re alive Jean.”

And with that the woman went away, leaving Jean confused and with Connie already sleeping on the floor. He moved him and started walking to their dorms, kicking Connie into his dorm and letting him fall on the couch. He covered his face with his arms, trying to make the headache stop but it was useless. He once again tried to think about the woman, tried to remember her face, but it was impossible, his vision had been too blurry, but something in her voice had seemed familiar. Jean finally fell asleep on the couch and it wasn't until the next morning that he woke up due to Armin waking him up.

“You should try and sleep on your own bed.” Was the first thing Armin had told him.

“Mhmm… I know mom.” Jean grunted, scratching the back of his neck. “Fuck my head hurts.”

“No wonder why, you and Connie had some fun last night.” He said, giving him a cup of water.

“Not every day you turn 20 you know?” Jean drank from the cup.

“A woman asked me about you.” Armin walked to the kitchen.

Jean blinked and stood up, following him. “A woman?”

“Yeah… she asked me about you this morning.”

“She told you her name or something?”

“No, just asked me if I knew you.” Armin shrugged. “Did you hook up with a woman? Jean we are on diplomatic…”

“Wait what? No. No I haven’t hooked up with…”

“Jean hooked up with someone?” Connie appeared in the kitchen.

“Connie… you were literally sticking your tongue inside on everyone’s mouth last night.”

“Hey! Don’t expose me like that bro.” Connie cried.

Jean rolled his eyes. “Where did you see her?” Said looking back at Armin.

“On the market, she was shopping.”

Jean nodded and without a word he left, he started walking across the streets, looking for the girl he met in Liberio. It had to be her, it had to be Bee, she survived and she was there, looking for him. Jean kept walking, looking everywhere, but who assured him that Bee would still be in that market? He reached the end of the market without any success, sighed and ruffled his hair in frustration. He turned around and started walking in the direction of his house. Maybe today was not the day he was supposed to run into Bee, but they were both in that place so at some point they would meet.

“Hey big boy!” Jean stopped walking. “Are you sober already?”

Jean turned around and there she was. “Bee…” His feet started to move on their own and when he realized he was embracing Bee in his arms.

“Wow big boy, careful. You are much bigger than me.” She laughed.

“I’m sorry… I’m.” He broke the hug and looked at her. She was still beautiful. “You’re alive.”

“I am and so are you.” She smiled. “I heard you are some kind of hero.”

“I wouldn’t call it that. But… Bee I’m so glad to see you are okay. I…”

“Me too. I saw you a few weeks ago and felt so relieved, strange isn’t it? We met for less than 24 hours and only knew each other's names but somehow, I couldn’t keep you out of my mind and when the whole rumbling happened, I prayed to meet you again… Oh god, you must think I’m crazy or something.”

“No, no, I mean, I kinda felt the same and… maybe now we could get to know each other better. Grab some coffee or tea or whatever you want, I don’t mind. And only if you want of course.”

“Jean, are you flirting?” She raised an eyebrow without hiding her smile.

“I mean… maybe? Would you be bothered if I did?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Coffee sounds good.”

“Good. Should we go now or are you busy?”

“Now it’s alright.” She started walking.

They both started walking side by side, slowly and enjoying the sun of the day and each other’s company and presence. Jean was beyond excited and happy, to know she was okay and that she seemed happy, despite the whole world went to shit. He didn’t regret hugging her right after seeing her for the first time, he really needed to do it and it just felt right.

He never believed in those stories of someone falling in love with another one at first sight, he used to think it was unreal and stupid. That was until that day in Liberio, after weeks passed by he tried convincing himself that his stupid self only felt like that because Bee stole his first kiss, but as much as he wanted to believe it was because of the kiss that she was still on his head, he couldn’t. He really fell for her just by seeing her and spending some hours with her.

“Is this place okay for you?” She pointed.

“Yeah… it’s okay.” He nodded.

And they both sat on one of the tables of the coffee shop, Each one ordered something to drink and waited in silence until it was brought to them. Bee watched through the window at the people passing by, from one side to the other, while Jean looked at her profile and admired her beauty. He was thankful that none of her friends were around her, otherwise she knew she would have them making fun of her for days.

“So… how, how did you get out?” Bee turned to look at Jean after hearing his voice. “I mean, away from the rumbling.”

“Oh… it wasn’t easy but after that weird message, something inside of me told me we had to get the hell out of there. So we took the last train that was leaving, most people weren’t eldians so they had no clue what was going on, so it was easy to sneak into one of them. After that, when the… the titans started to show up, I prayed to be safe and we were saved. A couple of weeks later we ended up here and that’s it.”

“You said we, you weren't alone?”

“No, my nephew was with me.” She drank her coffee. “It’s just me and her now.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, if it wasn’t because you saved me that day from those people I wouldn’t have been able to go back home to her.” She smiled.

“It was nothing, really.” He shook his head. “I’m glad, both of you are okay. I need to know something, why did you risk yourself back then?”

“What do you mean?”

“When you kissed me to get away from those policemen.”

“Oh that.” She looked down and smiled. “Something told me it had to be you. I guess it was right after all.”

Bee and Jean continued talking for hours, about everyday things, Jean told her about Paradise and Bee told her about her niece, her sister. Even when Bee had to leave to look for her niece, Jean accompanied her and continued listening to each of her stories carefully, without missing any detail of what Bee told her. Upon arriving at the school where Bee's niece was, Jean stood in front of her and took a breath.

“Would you go out with me?” Jean slowly spoke, meeting her gaze. “As a date, I mean.”

Bee's heart skipped a beat and she felt butterflies fluttering in her stomach. His honey gaze made her nervous and those words were making her even more nervous. With Jean she had felt security, protection and tranquility, but she knew there had been something more and her heart beat for it, she had liked him a lot. Very much. But the thought of never even seeing him again or anything happening between them had long since disappeared. Until a week ago she saw him again and her heart raced again like that time in her apartment. Bee licked her lips and looked first at her worn shoes and then at Jean's gaze. Maybe this was the destiny telling her that finally she was going to be happy.

“I would love to.” She smiled and so did Jean.

[mentally-a-slut]

Important Update!

Hello lovelies!

So, I have written two x readers at this point, both in second person. I have decided I'm going to write in either third or first person from now on, simply because it's more natural to me and I enjoy it more. That doesn't mean I won't do x reader, though! In fact, I have some important info about that.

Since I write for female readers, I would likely just refer to reader as 'her' in third person. I don't like using '(y/n)', s it'' likely just be nicknames or just pronouns instead.

I am happy to do request x readers! By that, I mean I would love to write a character for you, whether it be based off you or an OC of yours. If you're interested, please send me an ask with a name, a description of the character, and a brief summary of the plot or just an idea you have. This will help me develop my character writing skills, and overall improve the quality of my writing.

In other news, I would like to tell y'all about my OCs! I have quite a few, for different fandoms, and each are shipped with specific characters. If anyone is interested in learning about any of them, please let me know! You can anonymously request or leave a comment on any post! I have art of them by me, and I'm in the process of writing fics for most of them. My point is, I would really love for you guys to get to know my girls, and I would be really happy if I could write for them on here too! I'm going to list some info about each OC to see if anyone is interested! If so, feel free to request prompts or one shots for me to write them into!

Josie! So hear me out on this one, she is my red dead 2 OC, and she's Sean's older sister. She's paired with both Arthur and Charles, and they are set to be in a poly relationship. They are all romantically involved, not just with her. Meaning Charles and Arthur are also in love with each other. Her full name is Josephine Maguire, and she is a well-known bounty hunter under the alias 'Lady Luck.' Her backstory is too long to dive into here, so if anyone want's a full post about her, please lmk! I love love love this girl, so please express your interest.

Laena! She is (one of) my BG3 OCs, shipped with Gale because he is my soulmate and I can't romance anyone else. She's a storm sorcerer and had a traumatic past that I will get into later if requested, but she spent some of her childhood in Waterdeep and knew him when they were kids. They reunite when they both get infected, and it goes from there. There is a lot to her character, so trust me when I say she is worth it.

Estelle! Now, this one is a bit strange, considering I didn't mention this fandom in my intro, but she is my Stardew Valley OC! I saw on TikTok people talking about non-human farmers trying to hide it and failing, and I got the idea of Estelle. She's a nature spirit hybrid that was taken in by the owner of the farm and that's how she inherited it. There's far more to her history but that's for another time. Her love interest is Harvey. I have a whole thing about her family history so there's tons to learn about her!

So, just to recap, I will no longer write in second person, I would love to do specific requests for you or your characters, and I hope to write stuff with my personal OCs for y'all!

Please let me know in the comments or an anon ask if you're shy! Don't be a silent lurker, I love y'all but the feedback is over half the motivation for artists. I hope to get some requests from y'all and I look forward to (hopefully) sharing my OCs with you!

Take care lovelies! - Azi >:)

[clambuoyance]

Do u want to talk abt ur ocs..... I actually followed you initially bc they seemed so interesting and silly and I want to know more if you feel like sharing :)

I still can’t believe some ppl follow me for my ocs bc it’s usually for my fanart so this is really nice to hear! I have a couple stories/universes but the main one I’ve been…developing (it’s on and off) since I was like 13/14 is about these two kids named Keiko and Rolin!! Im still doing a lot of world and lore building but the main gist is that Rolin is a teenage boy turning 16 who returns to his hometown to live with his aunt and meets a strange young girl named Keiko (debating on making her 10-12 idk she was originally 10). I won’t go too much into like Lore stuff but she has like..my own version of clairvoyance. They are kind of opposites, with Rolin being introverted and jaded, and Keiko being loud and optimistic but they are both silly.

I think it’s been said before but the whole driving relationship of the story is the two of them going on adventures throughout the city and solving mysteries while simultaneously becoming family and finding a real home within each other and the people they’ve met and learned to love 😚

Now the story is centered around Rolin and Keiko, but a big focus is on the cast of characters that fill mostly Rolins life. Mira and Artie were friends with Rolin when they were kids before Rolin left with his mom, and all three grew up and have been living their own lives, but when Rolin comes back they get a chance to reconnect (with Keiko’s help). Valoryn (Val) is also new in town, and befriends Rolin and Keiko. This is just a messy fast doodle of them I have better art in my oc tags🙏

Some old sketches

The other major cast is Rolin’s family, and Rolin has always been Asian so as I worked on the story his family kept getting more and more relevant especially with a major theme of the story being about the connections you have with people in your life so like I can’t leave them out. And I’ve never settled on an Asian ethnicity until recently where I was like I might as well make him Filipino so I can base his family off my own🫡 Cousins (both blood and not) that are years older than you but treat you like siblings and give u silly nicknames 🫶

Now Diana (or Deedee) is one of those characters I’ve had for a long time, and I made her because I liked those laidback mentor figures in anime (like Qrow from rwby) and wanted a laidback lady one 🤷🏻‍♀️ she also has some Misato from nge influence. She has always been written to be a mentor figure to Rolin and Keiko, and at one point I think I was going to make her his actual aunt but stuck to her being just a cousin so I could write about her relationship with her mom 🫶 Unlike her brother Darius, she does not live with her mom and Rolin has to go out of his way to meet her.

And Rolin’s parents’ story aren’t the main focus (they aren’t really present themselves in the main story) and it’s mostly just flashback stuff but they r silly and sad and I love drawing them 😼

I could go into more detail but that’s an overview of some of the characters

[buckets-and-trees]

What inspired you to start writing🤔🥹

Thank you for sending the ask, Ray!

My parents are from two different states, and before my dad passed away, we lived in Texas near my dad's family. They were in Houston and we were in Dallas, but we saw each other very often, and we were on the phone with them a lot. My dad's family were all HUGE storytellers! Every time we'd get together, they'd be laughing and telling stories about the fam - immediate and extended family, depending on who was visiting.

We moved when I was eight (that was when my dad passed) to be closer to my mom's family with all my aunts, uncles, and cousins and my other grandparents so that there'd be a lot more people to help my mom and help raise me. After school, me and my cousins played a lot of make-believe games, and those would get thoroughly more intricate each day, basically turning into elaborate plays that would go on for weeks in a particular AU until we landed on some new idea or other.

Then, when I was in eighth grade, my English teacher had us write a story in class in one day - we weren't supposed to be stressed, just have fun and practice typing/learn how to be comfortable formatting in Word during our computer lab hour. I wrote a little mystery thing, and when I got it back from my teacher, she wrote a lot of notes on how good it was and encouraged me to write more.

That summer, we moved again, and because I was starting over with no friends, I was reading a ton and started writing my own version of the next Harry Potter book because I'd read and reread HP a lot and was desperately thinking about what would for sure happen next but also what COULD happen next if there were a girl character like me. It wasn't x reader fic at that point, it was a Mary Sue OC, but it got me through the summer. The next year, I had a summer sleepover with some of the cousins I'd done those elaborate plays with when we were 8 and 9, and we got high on the nostalgia and made up a new one - a royal story with all of us as princesses. I also had showed them my HP story, and they said I should actually write. So I started writing down our royal kingdom story.

Since then it's been in and out of fanfic and original fiction. There's a little more that I've shared in my Field Guide to the Forest about the college years, the fandoms I've written in, and the hiatuses I've taken, but between that and this, that's my writing journey!

[idv-sunsxin3]

XMuffet Headcanons (for a bestie)

Note// Headcanons of X x Muffet ( @beth-bethar00 's OC) <333

____

I feel like before they established something between them, I think Muffet first encounter X when she was with Vertin and the group as they were going to LaPlace where the grey-haired boy works at.

X first took a liking of Muffet by the fact she offers him a muffin after first introducing herself- I mean, he wouldn't pass this sweet gift! He got charmed... He is looking forward for the second visit.

X most likely was the first one to confess, somehow the most coolest way possible./ih

Like just as he was calm at that moment, he almost catches himself blushing a lot fjtnbff;;;

The fact that they have this era gap, X being from the 1930s and Muffet from the 1950s... I can already imagine them sharing each other's slangs or modern customs that probably the other have never learned before.

Muffet visiting her man to give him lots of sweets(he honestly loves getting pampered by his crush at work is silly dnfnbdb)

Also not X trying many ways to somehow get Muffet's attention- even in the subtle ways-

"Muffet-"

"...Yes?"

"..." :))

"Yes???"

"Nothing, I just like it when you’re staring at me with those eyes." ^^♥️

"...!"

X likes to tease and rizz the heck out of Muffet- who seems to find it silly despite that there are times she really gets extremely flustered by his demeanor.

"I had a dream last night. In the dream, I was... You want to know what it is, Muffet"

"Oh? Of course."

"Come here, let me tell you." <33

Muffet then finds herself getting pulled closer for a hug before X starts leading her to a small waltz in his arms...

"I dreamed about you and I getting to travel together someday."

"A-Ah..." *giggles*

"When this ends, I would like to stay by your side the wholeee time."

Then they rolled towards the couch of the suitcase, giggling along together.

___

Whenever Muffet gets incoming targeted during the battles, X would be often there to catch her of she stumbled.

"Oh, cupcake! Watch your steps." He would sweetly say as he has her in his arms.

"Be careful! I don't want you to fall for someone else~" He tends to tease at times but shows his worry by quickly inspecting Muffet for any scratches with an unreadable smile.

___

X happens to be a New Yorkean--- I randomly imagined hat when Muffet can't catchup with him as they go on an outing, X would carry her in bridal style or with one arm and still quickly walk to their destination as if it's nothing serious fngngnngn;;;

___

X is comfortable around Muffet just as she is comfortable around him- he likes letting her take a look at hus inventions and even try them herself-(of course, X has some safety equipment when certain inventions may not seem a bit comfy,,,-). X doesn't like to get Muffet into danger, after all. He finds that idea awful;;; <//3

He feels nice whenever Muffet congratulates for his success in hus experiments- either by a simple praise or a pat on his fluffy hair is enough to lean in to nuzzle on her or smile very happily.

___

Since he has a laPlace coworker next door, he's a bit worried that Pocket Medicine would scare Muffet away- it turns out Muffet already tamed the puppy and their owner with a sweet charisma and baked treats... wow.

So it means Muffet and Pocket Med are just vibing now/ih

Philocalist loves the pair a lot- she finds it cute that she would even bring a little hand to be their matchmaker or something. At least help Muffet choose what to wear for their incoming dates hehe,,, She learned a lot about fashion and its history, worth to use that knowledge for her friends <33

___

In the Moden Au where XMuffet ever shop around at a supermarket or somewhere like Costco or Ikea, I feel like X would know what Muffet would need before she even gets to go to that certain aisle-

Like he already brought most of the stuff in his hands and put them on the cart bit by bit within the moment Muffet tries to check a new item's price/ih

Muffet sometimes would try to stop X from buying strange items that could be a "great use for his inventions or experiments"- like

"Honey,,,, That material costs $20--- we can find something else better than that...;;;"

"B, But, Cupcake----" 😇🥺

Muffet drags the defeated X away/ih

I mean, if LaPlace Modern AU allows him in a certain budget to buy stuff with their money.  She would let him at occasional times-- but that time, not really rhdhh🤔🫠

___

X's innovations are... quite strange. He once saw Muffet struggling to reach the highest shelf and helped her reach the book for her- then an idea started to loght up in his head.

The next few days after that, he invented a machine that can reach books for Muffet---(which got her flabbergasted)

___

When he's stuck in the middle of brainstorming, he sometimes tries to think as he pulls Muffet to dance around the room with him for a bit- sometimes finding himself some inspiration after or is him setting his plans aside just to end up cuddling with his gf;;;/ih

___

The thought of matching barely crossed X's mind- until he notices the bow behind Muffet's neck and the bow he has wrapped on his torso.

...He feels a bit more funny now-

While Muffet tends to like tickling X at tomes and sometimes even from behind him, X would surprise her back with hugs from behind- nuzzling his cheek against the smooth fabric of the bow connected to her dress;;;

As Muffet would spoil him with sweet snacks, he would spoil her with some occasional gifts that he happen to encounter a few times that remind him of her... like a new pair of shoes, kitchen cloth with bunny patterns, cute cookie shapers, a stuffed animal, etc.

There are these silly cheesy moments where he gives them to Muffet, like helping her wear a new pair of heels, or connect a necklace as she is sitting in an armchair.

X loves his gf, he would even mention Muffet as "his lady" to any opportunity he has in talking about her;;; 🥰🫶💅✨️

____

X seems to like observing and studying Muffet's behavior sometimes as part of his hobbies... He is an observant guy who knows that there is a certain "singular point" that makes her an unique individual. He would try his best to learn and understand her better.

I feel like X is an average sleeper- he seems like a morning person that likes to work in an environment where sunlight is present. After finding out about Muffet's sleeping schedule, he quickly tries to design some kind of invention that might try and help her--- uhhhh it seems to motivate be much of a success unfortunately.

X can only sigh and smile sadly at his failed attempts--- so all he can do is drag Muffet at an early time to a bed, put an alarm at early dawn for her to wake up, and hug her and whisper her sweet things to sleep;;;

Cooking and Baking is like a science for X- he sometimes takes the freedom to see if he can make a tasty bread in 393939 different ways. He probably would have that kind of hyperfixation,,,

I can just imagine him helping Muffet bake stuff together and be her lil assistant or something, Most likely in the mornings after breakfast,, he believes he will learn a thing or two from the experienced one 🤭

X will love to spoil Muffet with food the moment she forgets when to eat--- He just has to! Plus, more excuse for Muffet to stay long enough to try his bread too <333

[autoboros]

does auto have lore or does he have some stuff wrote about him or something?

Oh man I've got a lot on Auto

Like a Lot

I don't think I have anything written currently on hand that's fully up to date or organised so I guess I'll just try rewrite stuff here (it is a bit long even though I've summarised a lot forgive me)

Auto was born into the Octarian army, life in the domes was all he knew. He didn't have parents that he knew of or grew up with, but it's not something that ever bothered him since, again, this was all he knew. He would attend school there, and made two friends for life, and they'd quickly become inseperable.

They were great friends with their own interests. One who enjoyed mechanics and machinery, the other who enjoyed botanics and tending to the foliage, and Auto, who enjoyed strategy in combat. Each of them were rather quiet, the second one not learning how to speak until late into her infancy, but they all fit together perfectly. (Related; They are all autistic.)

As he grew up a little, he realised in his childhood that his goal would be to become an elite soldier. He always admired and took interest in the high ranks of his sector and their skills in combat. Years and years later, around 16, he'd achieve this, becoming one of the top ranking elites of his sector as he'd always wanted. He had practiced with a wide array of weapon classes, and found chargers and blasters to be his favourite.

A year into this, he realised he felt a little aimless without any further goals. He had just achieved the biggest thing he could go for in the underground, what else is there? He then learned of the surface, and this idea grabbed him. He'd go to the surface and seek out new opportunities. His friends were on board with this idea, and they wanted to make a new life together. One of his friends managed to make contact with the surface, contacting someone who would help retrieve them. Things were looking pretty good.

To make the already long story short, Auto escaped. He stayed with the friend from the surface - who would be my other main oc, Boro - and would await the arrival of the others. He was absolutely captivated by the surface and how different it was, but his wonder was held back by the anxiety of waiting.

In this time, he met Hiro, who was a friend of Boro's. He'd end up spending a lot of time with him, getting introduced to turf wars and anarchy battles through him. Auto quickly learned of his love for Tower Control, and found a favourite weapon in the Custom Splattershot Jr. He would also learn of his new feelings for Hiro. He had never felt something like this before, though, and didn't know what the hell he was feeling or how to deal with it, and it caused him a ton of emotional turmoil.

In the end, only one of his two friends had successfully escaped, the other being lost to sanitisation. This loss only worsened Auto's mental state. This was his lifelong best, dearest friend, and he lost her. He blamed himself for this to no end. He is only around 18 or 19 here - he still blames himself for it to this day.

The people close to him do their best to help him, though, and his mental state recovers slightly. Around this time, Hiro and Auto learn of their feelings for one another, and get into a very loving, close relationship, and his life basically stabilises from here onwards.

He's 23 now, and he has finally felt a semblance of happiness for the first time since the underground. A boyfriend who is his absolute world, friends he cares about and can rely on, goals and achievements he can feel proud of, hobbies he can enjoy... He feels happy. Despite it all, though, he still blames himself for the loss of his friend.

[practically-an-x-man]

Character Ask:

1, 11

Ship ask:

Q, S, T, W, Y

Author:

🎬, 🖌️, ‼️

Thank you!!! I think I'll answer this for Jimmy (and his relationship with Lars) since I know you love them <3

OC/Ship Ask Game: Firsts

First big aspiration (i.e. what did they want to be when they grew up?)

Oh, he bounced around from inspiration to inspiration as a kid. He passed some blues musicians playing out on the street, he wanted to pick up an instrument and be a musician himself. He wandered by leatherworkers, carpenters, any number of other artisan shops, and he wanted to learn those.

However, the main one that stuck was reading about Charles Darwin and his travels - it made him want to work with animals, and potentially even discover new species.

11. First "big purchase" they ever made on their own

His father didn't wear suits most days, being an ironworker, but he did have his good tailored suit that he wore for nights out, and Jimmy always associated that suit with success and comfort. When he was a teenager, he finally saved up enough to get himself a real tailored suit like his dad's, and he wore it just about as often as he could because he wanted to look like a distinguished gentleman.

____

Q. First act of non-sexual intimacy (e.g. washing the other's hair, taking a bath together, sharing food)

This will come up in the fic so I'll keep it succinct, but they do read to each other as an act of non-sexual intimacy :D

Lars enjoys podcasts and music while he works since it helps him focus, and Jimmy reads to him on the days he forgets his headphones and struggles to focus in the silence. And Lars returns the favor when... well, that one's a plot point, no spoilers.

S. First anniversary + how they celebrated

Honestly... I haven't really thought about it that far out yet. I could imagine something classic and romantic for them - Jimmy buys Lars some flowers or another small gift, they get a dinner reservation, and maybe walk around Coney Island after dinner for that callback to how they met... it would be sweet.

T. First time dancing together

Aww, this is also giving me a soft little thought - Jimmy insisting on finding some proper New York blues for Lars, finding a little jazz club somewhere in the city... It's Jimmy's first dance with a man, and Lars' first time dancing to that style of music (though he's probably not a particularly accomplished dancer in any genre...), they're both a little awkward, but they just have a great time regardless.

W. First time they realized their relationship is endgame... or isn't

Also a plot point, but I will say that there's a bit of a physical cue ;)

Y. First time living together

After they officially get together, Jimmy does start spending his nights at Lars' apartment. "Living together" is a bit generous in a sense, since Jimmy still just kinda exists in the space (I mean he doesn't eat, doesn't sleep, doesn't really have other bodily functions, so it's really just another place to be), but it's much nicer to be in the apartment than an empty lab.

____

🎬 - First fandom(s) you wrote for, and if you still write for them

Answered previously!

🖌️ - First character you created, or first character you wrote for

Also answered previously!

‼️ - Free space! Tell us about a notable "first" in your writing journey!

Hm... I started out exclusively writing longfics, actually. Coming up with the story plots was easy, but I always felt like I was missing out on key details about the characters and their relationships when I tried to write a oneshot, so they always ended up a lot longer than I intended. But as I've gotten more comfortable as a writer, I've been able to pare things down while still being satisfied with the final product, and I've written so many more impromptu oneshots and ficlets than new-writer me could have ever imagined!

Side note: I have no idea why long pieces were easier for me to write than short ones, I know it's the reverse for a lot of people, I just wanted to share all the details and references and inside jokes in these characters' relationships and I couldn't tell how to just write a singular moment in time.

[lovelybruises-backup]

Date Night

Pairing: Neteyam x OC (Female Omatikaya Reader)

Note From Author: this is a small snippet from a story that I am writing on Wattpad, decided to share it with y’all! There is no use of y/n, it’s solely based off of my story that I am trying to write. It’s my first ever written short story so please be nice! Any advice is welcome! Also PSA CHARACTERS ARE AGED UP!!

CW: mentions of scars, mentions of pregnancy, fluff, semi sexual tension

^If I miss anything on the CW.. please let me know!

{Semi proofread}

Small Background Info: the sully family had taken refuge amongst the winter mist clan, Zidari (oc) is the next in line for being leader. Zidari and Kaladdin are arranged to be mated but on the night of the sully families rebirth into the winter mist clan after learning the ways of the people, Zidari and Neteyam had mated.

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

The next day was surprisingly warm with cold winds, Zidari had been helping her clan with anything and everything.

Neteyam had left with the war party and has been gone since early morning, Zidari didn't mind. She had a lot of stuff on her mind and needed to think about what to do, how she was going to break the news of being mated to Neteyam. She was stressing out all day. She had avoided her mother and Kaladin mostly.

Zidari was helping Kiri with gathering some herbs, since their herbs were a lot different than the Omaticaya clans, Zidari had explained each and every single one that they had gathered.

Zidari loved spending time with the girl, even though they weren't so close, Kiri appreciated the company of the princess. "Come let's go start organizing and getting everything ready for when the war party comes back" Kiri nodded her head and followed beside the princess, their arms linked together.

Location: Sully home/hut

Kiri and Zidari sat there in Kiri's secluded room organizing and separating the herbs, they were laughing and talking about whatever came to mind.

The horn blew and the sound of direhorses could be heard along with the screeching of the Ikrans, Kiri grabbed ahold of Zidari and pulled her out of the home and to the entrance where everyone gathered. To greet their loved ones, friends. Yuna stood at the entrance of her home and watched from afar, she knew something was off about her daughter, the mood swings, the sickness she had endured, the fatigue.

Yuna kept her eyes trained on her daughter. Watching her like a hawk.

Kaladin was leading this war party and had returned, next to him was Neteyam, and on the other side was Lo'ak, following behind was Jake and then the rest of the group. Zidari looked at Neteyam as his face held a stoic expression, yet his eyes showed something else that tugged at her heartstrings.

Kaladin dismounted the direhorse and walked over to Yuna to give her the details of the patrol, everyone else dismissed to join with their friends and family. Neteyam walked over to Zidari and sighed heavily.

"Are you okay?" She asked him as his head was lowered, "I don't want to think about what happened— tonight, let's go flying, just you and me. A date" he replied with a strain voice yet the sound of hope lacing his words as he looked up at the girl.

Zidari gave him a fanged smile, "a date would be lovely" Neteyam smiled and kissed her on the forehead, "great! I will come get you from your place at eclipse" Neteyam stated, Kiri stared at the couple in awe, she was so happy and excited for her older brother.

"Princess, your mother requested your presence" a warrior stated and Zidari nodded her head in acknowledgement, "see you tonight" she replied and left with the warrior to go see what her mother had wanted.

Neteyam waited until she was out of ear shot and smiled at his sister, "okay so— Kiri I am going to need your help" he pleaded and Kiri looked at him in confusion, "with what?" Neteyam chuckled nervously.

"So since I am of age now, I am being given my own place to live in and well... I would like your help to make it look romantic for tonight" Neteyam asked and Kiri looked at her brother with wide eyes, "oh my gosh! I will definitely help you!" Kiri jumped with joy and hugged her brother, they both laughed.

"Let's go see your new place and let's get started!" Kiri stated and linked her arm with Neteyam's and he led the way to his new place.

Meanwhile...

Zidari sat in front of her mother and Kaladin, no one was speaking so it was quiet but the only sound that was heard was the crackling of the fire, Yuna cleared her throat and straightened her posture.

"My daughter, Eywa has given me a vision and I am denying that it is true... but I need to hear it from you. Now" she commanded and Zidari looked at her mother in confusion, "well what did Eywa show you mother?" Yuna huffed. "My daughter, our great mother had shown me that you are carrying Kaladin's child" Zidari's breath caught in her throat, so it is true... the vision she showed me on the night of the rebirth of the Sully family, oh great mother why.. Zidari thought as she saw Kaladin with a smile on his face at the mention of her being pregnant.

"It's new to me... I had no knowledge of being pregnant— I didn't think it would happen so fast" Zidari conceded, Kaladin looked at Yuna, "well this is good news! Now you and Kaladin can officially mate!" Yuna stated in happiness and Kaladin got up and pulled Zidari into his chest.

"I'm ready for this, I've always loved you Zidari" he stated and Zidari pushed him away from her, "no. I refuse" she declared and walked out of the home, Kaladin and Yuna were shouting at her to come back.

Zidari ran all the way to a secluded waterfall that never froze, she fell to her knees and sobbed uncontrollably. Her head cradled into her hands as she cried, the waterfall covering her loud screams of anger and pain. She cursed Eywa for the decision of planting a child in her womb.

Kaladin was not the one she had chosen. Her mind immediately thought of Neteyam and she remembered how he acted when he found out that she was destined to be mated to Kaladin.

Her heart clenched at the thought and she kept crying. The waterfall consuming her cries, her screams, her shouting, her prayers. It allowed her to feel her emotions all at once, to feel the pain of her mistakes.

6 Hours Later...

Neteyam and Kiri had finished up decorating the home, they had help from the clans humans that were there such as Norm and Max, because well they needed help with the choice of sheets and blankets.

After they finished up decorating, Neteyam hugged Kiri and thanked her along with Max and Norm for their help. Max and Norm dismissed themselves and Kiri looked at her brother, "you are in love dear brother. She is perfect for you" Neteyam smiled at his sister and she smiled back.

"Go and get ready, I will start the fire and adjust the lighting so that it's dim in here. Oh! Also I shall bring a basket of fruit too!" Neteyam thanked her again and rushed back to his family's home and bumped into Lo'ak and his father.

"Dad, Lo'ak I need your help" Jake looked at his oldest son, "sure son, what is it?" Neteyam then explained everything that was going to happen. Lo'ak immediately went off and began saddling up Neteyam's Ikran and Zidari's.

Jake helped his son with finding the perfect loincloth and helped him with his riding gear. The cummerbund laid perfectly on his toned abdomen, the arm band, leg guards, his necklace and neck piece for just in case, and his arm band that held a feather.

Neytiri heard from Lo'ak of what was happening and came to help. She fixed his braids, the beads that was woven through his hair, the feather that rested behind his ear. Once his father and mother finished, they stepped back and smiled at their oldest son.

"My son... so grown up" Neytiri spoke softly as she hugged him, Jake placed his hand upon his shoulder and smiled proudly. "Keep your weapons when you go flying, be careful okay? Also, if anything goes down, please remove the comm device" Neteyam chuckled, "yes sir" with that Neteyam took a nervous breath and left.

He went to go find Zidari.

Zidari had went back home to get ready, she did her hair, she dressed in different clothing and sighed happily. She placed a flower in her hair and smiled.

"There is someone here for you" her mother said and walked away, Zidari grabbed her riding visor and sped walked to see who it was. When she peeled open the beaded cover, there stood Neteyam. He looked so handsome in his black loincloth, his songcord hanging from the string that held it in place, his riding gear worn perfectly on his toned body.

"Hi" Zidari said with a smile, Neteyam admired the girl in front of him, she looked beautiful. Neteyam smiled, "ready to go?" Zidari nodded her head and she took his hand. They walked through the clan talking and laughing, it was eclipse and they finally made it to a high point mountain where the flying patrols normally mount their Ikrans.

Lo'ak stood there and smiled at the couple, "your Ikrans are ready" Neteyam hugged his brother and Zidari smiled at the two. "Let's fly" Zidari laughed and mounted her ikran while Neteyam nodded his head at his brother and mounted his ikran as well.

The two took off, the night sky was beautiful. Their bioluminescent freckles lighting up their features, the wind was at a easy pace as they flew in the sky. Laughing and enjoying the night fly.

They flew through the mountains, up and over and under them, they flew through waterfalls, they circled each other and raced through the sky. Admiring the sky and looking down below at the Winter Mist clan, Neteyam and Zidari yipped and whooped at each other. Huge happy smiles adorned their faces, they were truly happy.

They circled each other one more time and this time their Ikrans closed in on one another and then dove backwards in a back flip like motion, laughter erupted from the two.

Soon after they finished up flying, they headed back to the clan and landed on the high point mountain where Lo'ak and Nayila stood. "That was amazing" Zidari said with pure love and happiness, they dismounted the Ikrans and let Nayila and Lo'ak unsaddle them and allow them to rest now.

"Good luck big brother" Lo'ak whispered and Nayila held a thumbs up to Zidari. They both laughed and waved bye to the others.

"Now what?" Zidari questioned as Neteyam held her hand and they were walking, "I have something else to end the night with" Neteyam mentioned as they kept walking. "All ready for you big brother" Kiri said through the comm device and Neteyam chuckled.

Once they were in sight, Zidari looked at the home and looked at Neteyam, "this is my home" Neteyam claimed and Zidari gasped at the beautiful home. "Come" Neteyam led Zidari inside and she marveled at the beautifully decorated home, Kiri greeted the two and left the home, she was smirking at her brother.

"It's beautiful" she whispered and Neteyam led her to the bed. They both sat down on the bed and looked at each other. "Zidari... I want to—" Neteyam could feel his nerves eating at him, Zidari placed her hand upon his cheek, "I want to as well.. it's okay" she soothed him and he felt his heart pull towards her.

They were mated already, why was he so nervous? But before they did anything, Zidari and Neteyam moved to the soft carpet and sat there talking and laughing, they ate pieces of the fruit that was in the basket that had been provided by Kiri and took their time for each other. Neteyam didn't want to make her uncomfortable and rush her into anything so he didn't mind that they laid on the carpet, talking, laughing and eating fruit.

Zidari was laying on her back as Neteyam was laying on his side, leaning on his hand that held him up. He adored her, the flickering flame of light reflected off of her and highlighted her body, Neteyam lightly turned her face to him and leaned in, kissing her ever so gently, Zidari returned the kiss.

The two took their time with the kissing, allowing it to heat up on its own. The kiss grew passionate between the two, Neteyam could hear his family in the comm device so he immediately made a noise and took off the device placing it away from him and his mate.

He hovered over the girl and admired her as he pulled away from the kiss to catch his breath. Her lips swollen, her breathing was heavy, her eyes were heavy with lust, he smiled at his mate.

"You are so beautiful, my love" he whispered and she blushed, Neteyam then sat up and had lifted Zidari up to lay her down on the bed. The girl watched him as he took off his riding gear, she admired his body, his muscles and toned v line where the cummerbund laid above. Everything about him, she absolutely adored and wanted to worship.

After he took off his riding gear, he went to the end of the bed and began kissing along her legs. Each kiss was gentle, he saw the faint scars that adorned her skin, he could hear her soft breathing and a few whimpers here and there.

He kissed her knee as his hands trailed up her legs, "my love... show me your scars" he suddenly said as he was sitting in between her legs, she looked at him, "but why?" She asked. "I want to see how many times you needed me and I wasn't there," he whispered. As he saw the tears brim her green eyes, she nodded and he helped her undress fully.

He removed the flower that held her hair pinned back and she laid back down. Neteyam then looked over her body, every scar that littered her body, he kissed. He could hear her sniffling quietly at the gesture he was doing. He felt his heart break at the many scars that was inflicted by those who hurt her. By those who tortured her. He kissed every scar, every reminder of her past.

After the vulnerable moment, she wiped away her tears and he went back to admiring her body. The perfect curves, the way her freckles littered her skin, the shape of her body, the way her chest rose for each breath she took.

He couldn't help but stare. She looked like an angel that had come down from heaven to tempt me. Her eyes were softly glowing and her hair fell in silky waves all the way to the small of her back. She looked so innocent and pure. It only made me want to corrupt her all that more. The devil in me couldn't help but be enraptured by her ethereal beauty, in its utter perfection. He thought to himself as he then trailed kisses up her stomach all the way to her neck. He could hear her desperate whimpers. It sparked everything in him, but he wanted to take his time. He wanted the night to be perfect.

©️softsnowydreamer 2023. || All rights reserved. Do not repost, reupload, translate, modify, or claim my work as your own.

[ironwoman18]

Rather Be - Part 1

Disclaimer: The characters or the main plot of Spy x Family belongs to me. Only the stories in this fic or the OC I add.

Chapter 1: Exalted in the scene

Yor was determined to be a better wife and mother so she decided to talk to their neighbor. An old lady and her husband were their new neighbors and they were really nice.

They even accepted to be called grandma and grandpa by Anya since Loid’s parents were dead and hers too.

Grandpa helped Anya to study for her final exams and she finally got a Stellar for it so they were thankful for their help.

That's why Yor thought about asking grandma to help her with some cooking classes.

Yor knocked on the door and after a few minutes the old lady opened it “oh hello Yor” she said smiling kindly “what can I do for you?”

The black haired woman blushed softly and played with her fingers “well... Umm... I was wondering if you could... Umm... Teach me how to cook?”

The old lady smiled kindly and nodded “of course sweetie” she said, looking at her and held her hand to let her in “first of all, where are you from?”

“I'm from the south side of the country. Why?”

“I need to know how to help find the tastes of your childhood”

“My mother died when I was little so I don't have lots of memories”

“But there must be something sweetie” she smiled and looked for ingredients. Some of them looked quite familiar to her and realized that her mother used some of them.

The old lady handed her a small book “look for page 10” she nodded and looked for it. There was a recipe.

“Eggs and bacon?” She said blushing a little looking at the woman.

“We have to start with the basics honey” she smiled “Ok first we have to cook the bacon”

The old lady started to instruct Yor on the basics and the young lady nodded taking notes.

Grandma explained what to do and let her do it as was explaining, and in the end they put their eggs and bacon on two plates.

“Let's try” the two women nodded and exchanged their plates and started to eat. Yor looked at the old lady blushing a little nervous “excellent job Yor” she smiled and Yor got excited.

“Yours is delicious as well” she smiled and tried some of her own plate and she realized it tasted very similar to her teacher.

“Try it at home tomorrow morning and you will see how your husband and kid will love it, even that beautiful dog of yours will love it too” she nodded very happy “next day we will learn another recipe for lunch”

“Well normally we aren't at home at lunch time”

“You can do it on the weekends or on vacation” Yor realized how dumb she was and nodded again blushing softly.

“You are absolutely right” she left for work and spent that whole day in such a good mood, she was so happy that people thought she did ‘that’ with her husband right before arriving at work.

The next day Loid and Anya woke up with the surprise of Yor cooking.

“Good morning guy!” Said a very happy Yor “I will cook breakfast today” she smiled and her cheeks were red.

Loid and Anya looked at each other in panic.

‘Oh God... I can't get sick today, I have an important mission’ thought Loid and Anya heard.

She held his hand so her dad relaxed but also to relax herself.

“Let's trust mommy...” Said her unsure but hoping for the best.

When everything was done and they sat down, Anya, Loid and Bond looked at each other with a little drop of sweat on their head.

They ate and we're shocked when the food wasn't terrible, in fact, it was well cooked and tasty.

“Wow Yor... This is wonderful!” Said a happy Loid eating with a smile.

“Mommy this is incredible!!” Said Anya smiling too.

Yor was eating too blushing and noticed Bond rubbing his snob on her leg happy with the food too.

Yor watched this and felt happy and full of hope because her family was enjoying and there's no other place she would rather be than with them, living this moment.

OOooOOooOO

I hope you liked this one. I might do more with more small moments with them showing how there's not place they would rather be than with themselves, Loid, Yor, Anya and Bond as a family.

[cinamun]

Hey Cin, I been following Indya's journey from the beginning, love everything about it; Darren and Indya keep me entertained. Love that you drop some pearls of wisdom along the way. Just trying to understand why Jayce situation got to be another debilitating situation. I guess you not being akin to romance would also be why interactions with Indya and Darren are just based on sex and material things. Just wished there were some more healthy couples in their story. Even the good Doc got issues.

*sigh*....Nonnyfriend...

Firstly, thank you for continuing to follow my writing. Thank you for loving everything about it. I very much appreciate that. Its been a long journey with very complex characters. So complex, that I've had to address this idea of "healthy" couples quite a few times. Please do pardon me if i'm a little more abrupt this time.

Let's get into it:

So I mentioned in a reply that I don't like RomComs. This is a personal thing for me. I'm more into Marvel, Stranger Things, Lord of the Rings and other high quality shit like that. Romantic Comedies never did anything for me. What on earth does that have to do with this here story? If you've been around for as long as you say, you've seen the very wholesome love story of the Greenwood Family.

I'm versatile. My movie preference is irrelevant.

Love stories don't have to be healthy or wholesome to be love stories.

What Darren and Indya have is love, whether its healthy to you is between you and them honestly. I can't stress enough that this story did not start off as healthy. It was never supposed to. Things rarely do. In fact, things fall apart.... The important part is how you pick up the pieces and keep growing which is what I've been trying to show with Darren and Indya since their wedding day (well, since they met). Is their marriage romantic? I certainly think so. They love to spoil each other with expensive gifts and they have fantastic sex. They are ridiculously devoted to each other, loyal to each other and are each other's best friend. What is wrong with that? When I am just playing their household they autonomously snuggle and kiss and all types of lovely things that don't make the final cut.

I asked someone else if they were reading the same story that I was writing when they couldn't see the growth between my OCs. So I'm going to pose the same question to you: If you think every interaction between Indya and Darren is based on material things and sex, are you sure you're reading the same story I'm writing?

What "issues" does the good doc have? On the couple's retreat we learned that he and Kyla are distressed about normal couple shit.

And Jayce's situation? Do you know how many teenagers hate their parent's new boo after divorce/loss of spouse? Its not debilitating its just not cute.

I don't write cute. I write real. If you want cute and healthy please just follow my gameplay posts. This story is not going to be, nor has it ever been rainbows, butterflies and happily ever after. Its going to be raw, its going to cut deep, its going to sting, it will make you roll your eyes, it might make you block me. I can't help that. I actually *like* what I write about which I *love* for me.

That was a little longer than I anticipated but, again, if you've been following for as long as you say, you know I get this a lot. I've even been berated about it and had to block someone who accused me of glamourizing the ghetto. I find that hilarious. I hope you at least have a better understanding of why I write the way I do. If not, I don't know what else to tell you other than Happy Holidays love.

[linagram]

a (very late) introduction to linagram!

hi! since the second trial is going to start soon i hope so and also i've noticed some new people following this blog, i thought that it would be a good idea to make a post like this! i think it will be useful for both new people who don't know much about my ocgram, but still want to learn more and people who are following this blog since the first trial, because i've actually never mentioned some of this information before!

(yes i know it would be better if i just added all of this to my pinned. i know. i will leave a link to this post there sjskslsl)

"Why Linagram?" Because this OCgram is named after me! :D And also because I'm bad at coming up with names and titles. Also [2], at first it was just a tag I used for my Milgram OCs before I created this blog, so yeah.

"What about the guards and the prisoners?" This OCgram actually has more than one guard (if you don't count Jackalope as another Canongram guard) and right now there's two guards (last name, first name order): Sanada Eiji and Andou Miki. There's also ten prisoners, just like in canon (same name order): Miyagawa Akio, Hanasaki Aimi, Ishizu Shun, Chiba Naomi, Sanada Kei, Yoshioka Eiko, Yano Asahi, Maruyama Yurika, Kuroki Riku and Himura Reina. After the first trial, all prisoners were forgiven except three of them: Akio, Kei and Yurika. 

"Is this OCgram connected to Canongram?" It kinda is and it kinda isn't. It shares a lot of things with Canongram, like music videos, ten prisoners, also some prisoners share things like personality traits, backstory details, etc with the canon prisoners, but it's also very different from Canongram: more than one guard has to participate in the voting process, Jackalope almost never appears (though he will appear very soon) and doesn't really play an important role (he wasn't even there to explain how everything works) and also both guards are related to the prisoners. You have probably already noticed that Eiji shares a last name with one of the prisoners and that's his brother. Miki is related to one of the prisoners as well. I imagine that this OCgram takes place a few years before Canongram, but I'm not sure how many. Also, a lot of the MVs often have scenes that look like they're actually happening from someone else's POV, like a victim or a side character's and not just the prisoner's. Most of the time it's just done to make the MVs more interesting, but you can interpret it as the victims/side characters trying to help you/the guards figure out what actually happened, if you want! The victims play a big role here in general, since the guilty prisoners can not only hear the voices judging them, but they can hear their own victims' voices or even see them too. Maybe Milgram is the victims' new home too.

"Is this OCgram connected to the light novel?" I admit, I was kinda inspired to do the whole "haha what if the guards were actually the prisoners' siblings" thing because of the novel's plot twist (even though it wasn't the exact same thing) (and also because i just thought it would be a cool concept, like wow, your sibling is one of the prisoners now. what are you gonna do), but nope, this OCgram isn't really connected to it.

"How does the voting process work?" Both guards have to talk about everyone's crimes and watch the MVs together. After that, they have to decide if they will forgive them or not. However, Eiji and Miki's morals and personalities are very different: Eiji thinks all of them deserve to die for their sins and Miki wants to forgive them. So yeah, they have to somehow convince each other that their opinion is the only right one. After that, they both have to vote them innocent or guilty.

"How will the second trial go?" I will post both pre-T2 voice dramas first, then I will post the album covers (+ song titles and preview lyrics), everyone's T2 profiles and then I will start posting their voice dramas which will also include their MV descriptions and polls. You can vote them innocent or guilty based on literally anything: their crime, their personality, their design, etc. Metavoting is fine too though it doesn't mean that everything will go exactly as you planned, hehe. After each prisoner pair's voice dramas get posted, I will write their interrogations as well (for example, if Akio and Aimi's VDs were posted, that means I will also post their interrogation soon).

"Can we send questions for the interrogations?" Yes! And you can also simply ask them questions even if it's not for the interrogations, like, if you just want to learn more about them or talk to them, haha. You can interact with them too if you have Milgram OCs as well :] And yes, you can send questions and interactions for the guards too!  

"Do you already know what you're gonna do for the third trial? Are all prisoners actually dead and we have to decide if they should go to Heaven or Hell? Is this all just an experiment? Do you have something completely different in mind?" I know that it's still only the second season of Canongram and it would probably be better for me to wait for the third season and maybe I will do that, but also I just kinda decided to go wild and do something original :D I already have some ideas for the third trial and the "big reveal", but don't be surprised if it turns out to be completely different from canon! 

"Does your OCgram include any triggering topics?" Since this is Milgram, yeah, death and murder is like, the whole thing, but just to be safe, here are all the warnings (i suck at these, so i'm sorry if some of them sound like i'm not being serious or something, I JUST HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO DESCRIBE THEM): bullying, self-harm, suicide, physical and emotional abuse, toxic relationships in general (platonic, romantic, etc), sexual themes (nothing too nsfw and nothing like that gets actually shown or described in detail, but it's there just so you know sjsjksks), characters get beaten up and injured in different ways (especially now that it's season 2), one of the guards is obsessed with punishing everyone so yeah, he's gonna say and do a lot of scary things, one of the murder victims was literally ten years old, derealization/depersonalization, hallucinations, literally all of them (including the guards) need therapy, like i'm sure all of them have at least one undiagnosed mental illness, stalking, harassment, some murders were very brutal, some future MVs will have elements of body horror and gore, but nothing too scary or detailed. If you find anything potentially triggering that I haven't mentioned here, please let me know! 

Hopefully, this explains how this OCgram works! If you have any questions, feel free to send them!

[citylighten]

Which mutuals ocs would get along with your ocs? Which wouldn't?

(Please Pass along the question)

First I have to honor the bestie 💖🌟@crimewriter💖🌟 who I'm always discussing messy scenarios with.

Patricia Carosella ( @crimewriter's main oc ) and Salvatore have a messy, consistently non-sexual, non-romantic relationship. The funny thing is they're both fire signs. Pat's an Aries, Sal's a Leo, and I feel their compatibility is reflected in their dynamic. When these two get along, things are great. But when these two clash, things are awful. And believe me, in every AU I've created with crimewriter they're bound to clash and call each other names. In contrast to that, Patricia and Eve have a much calmer, significantly better dynamic. But admittedly more of the intrigue in their dynamic comes when I depict Eve outside of her 20s, because she's a calm figure - if not a maternal figure - Pat looks to. Then there's the Brazilians...Franco and Pilar are longtime friends due to their families knowing each other. In the present, Pilar is the wife of an (incarcerated) cartel head and I'm not gonna lie, Franco aspires to have his childhood companion's heart and money. He really does care about her though. It's not just about money, though money helps.

With @shanisims

Both of us have already said that Linda is an honorary Belle of Pearl and definitely Pamela's bestie. 🤦🏾‍♀️🤦🏾‍♀️ While this itself implies a lot of things about their adventures I believe that this would mean Eve would have been in the midst of Deonne and Junior when she was young. Eve always shied away from boys growing up so she would have kept her distance from Junior. Instead, she would've admired Deonne so much. Deonne is older than her, prettier than her, Eve would have wanted to dress like her, wear her hair like her! It wouldn't be a stretch to say that Eve - as the only girl in the midst of many male cousins - would subconsciously create this imagined ideal form of Deonne who would be her big sister. As an adult, Eve's love for Deonne would have significantly calmed down. Yet, she would continue thinking Deonne is so pretty and respectable. Of course, this love would plummet if news about the Winterfest party came out. With all of this said, I definitely feel like Renee and Eve would become great friends. They're both loving girls who are navigating young adult life! 💖And, if she learned of Junior's previous relationship with Renee - well, let's just say Eve has to distance herself from Junior too. A side note - Tierra would love Nezuko too!! They would all be great friends! I could talk about so many more dynamics in a HFL and Dear Diary crossover but I'm gonna end it here. 😅

With @digital-deluxe

We've discussed Sal and Frank knowing each other as kids in the broke (Tartosan) part of Newcrest. The frequent pregnancies of Frank's mama were a hot topic spoken by Sal's mom Stefani at the hair salon. We also discussed how Sal and Frank's moms argued about WHO was a bad influence on WHO, refusing to recognize both of those boys were too mischievous for their own good. It was easy for Sal to make friends as a kid, but it didn't deter him from being sad when Frank moved to San Myshuno. But let's go a little deeper into this - When a teenage Sal goes to San Myshuno to visit some cousins and reconnects with Frank, he doesn't feel like he belongs with John's crew. Initially, Sal tried to roll with them, laugh with them, but he felt like an outsider since he isn't from San My. As a Leo, he also hated how John was the leader. He hated how John's family was rich. He hated how John saw Frank every day. 😢 This would lead to Sal thinking, 'oh he's not really tough he's just a snobby ass kid' and eventually challenging his authority. Real stupid teen boy stuff right here. In adulthood, Sal definitely meets up with Frank whenever he's in San My. If he planned to move there, Frank is the first guy he would message when looking for an apartment. As a grown man, he's over his petty dislike of John, but the fact John has went to college and had a nice job as an architect does have Sal (silently) like '😒 course he did.' I don't know if John will ever go on a pilgrimage to Tartosa but I do feel like there would be good vibes between the Russo and Nicosia family. While the Nicosia aren't crime affiliated - moreso taking a neutral stance towards 'politics' of that nature, I wouldn't be surprised if John's grandmother and Gigi's paternal grandmother had an excellent dynamic of some sort. Either that, or somewhere in history, they had ancestors who were married, making them distant cousins? I do think Damiano and John would get along well - John has good fashion sense, Damiano would dress sharp if he wasn't in Terra Amorosa, John would protect his brother at any cost, Damiano would protect Gigi at any cost. In the faaaaaar future, having a contact in Tartosa could be very useful for business.

There's so many more things I could say, so many more people I could tag, but this is long as it is. Feel free to give me dynamic suggestions in the comments whether I tagged you or not, I would love to hear them!!

[fallintosanity]

🤗🎉📚

🤗 What advice would you give to new fanfic writers that are just getting started?

Two things! The first isn’t fanfic-specific and is common enough to be a cliche, but: write what makes you happy. My earliest fics were terribly awkward multi-verse crossovers which quickly evolved into (what I tried to convince myself weren’t) Mary Sue fics with a sort-of self-insert character who was everything I wanted to be when I grew up. (Full disclosure: there are echoes of that self-insert character in several of the original characters I’ve created for my more recent fics, although I like to hope my writing has matured enough to keep those OCs more realistic and interesting. XD ) 

But!!! Writing those fics was fun. Most of the other students in my screenwriting degree classes were older than me by ten years, give or take, and their writing tended toward literary fiction aimed at twenty- and thirty-somethings. Their stories bored teenage me out of my skull, and if I (or my teachers) had ever tried to force myself to write the same kinds of stories, I would have given up writing before I turned twenty. (ETA: no hate to those stories, they just weren’t and still aren’t my thing.)  Instead, I wrote all those Mary Sue self-inserts and crazy crossover fanfics, and I learned how to carry a plot and how to use subplots and how to create tension and when to release it and all the other things a writer (fanfic or otherwise) needs to know. 

The second is mostly fanfiction-specific, and that is learn how to mimic. As best I can tell, one of the main reasons why a lot of people like my Murderbot Diaries fics and my Dresden Files crossover in particular, is that I’m faithful to the narrative voice. Fics that really nail each character’s speaking style, as well as the overall narrative style for written works, help keep your readers inside the canon you’re writing for. 

This is kind of the umbrella advice to things like “make sure to britpick your British characters” and “don’t have Aragorn son of Arathorn say ‘Bye Felicia!’ when killing an orc”. But it’s more than just making sure you’re using the right individual words and phrases - it’s about understanding the flow of the narrative voice, the individual characters’ speaking styles, and so on, and being able to accurately reflect them in your fic. (This skill is also useful outside fanfiction if you ever want to write for an established universe, like writing a Star Wars tie-in novel or whatever.) 

🎉 What leads you to consider a fic a success?

Any time it evokes real emotion from a reader! Ideally the emotion I mean for it to evoke, but honestly as long as my fic is making people feel something honest about the story or the characters, I consider it a success. 

📚 Would you ever want to turn writing into a career?

I have thought about it a lot actually! I mentioned up top that I took screenwriting classes - I actually got a degree in screenwriting fresh out of high school. (It’s not a “full” degree like a bachelor’s, though. I don’t remember what it’s called anymore.) And recently, when health issues forced me to take time off from my infosec career, I considered going into video game writing. But aside from the fact that breaking into a career as either a screenwriter or a game writer is insanely difficult, I’ve also learned I do not write well (or at all) when under major stress. (Hence why I did so little writing over the past year :( ) Since screenwriting and game writing are both stressful jobs, I’ve accepted that neither is a good fit for me. I might still get around to trying to write and publish a novel someday, though. 

Ask me stuff?

[missywritesfor7]

🌺 Promise Flower | PJM 🌺

Synopsis: Jimin is a popular dance student and the best one at his university. Mina is a photography student and has known Jimin since high school. An idea for a photo project finds Mina getting closer to him than she ever has before. She learns how big his heart is, but also learns how closely he guards it. Every time she thinks he'll let her in, he pulls away again. Is it even worth the trouble?

Pairing: college student!Jimin x fem!oc

Warnings: depression, anxiety, panic attacks, alcoholism

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

|| Ch. 22: Hard to Breathe ||

Our camping trip was great, but much too short, before I know it, it’s Monday and we’re back on campus.

Tae finally seems satisfied with the way he’s decorated his new place and is hosting a housewarming party on Saturday. He says it’s not a big deal and they haven’t invited many people, but he made me promise I’d be there. Of course I wouldn’t miss it for the world.

We got our new photo assignment and I’m excited to get to work on it. We still haven’t gotten our grades back from the last assignment but I’m still fueled by the confidence I had while I was working on it. This new assignment shouldn’t be so bad. We’ve been tasked with doing a series of self portraits, and since these old school cameras don’t have timers or anything, Tae and I agreed to help each other out. It’s times like these that I’m incredibly grateful to have a best friend like him.

By Wednesday’s class we already have a roll of film each to develop. We did a quick test shoot the day before and don’t plan to use any of the photos we took, but we wanted to see how well it would work out.

After getting our photos developed we receive our grades for our last assignment. Tae did great getting an A on his assignment. He’s been excelling effortlessly in this class it almost makes me a little jealous.

However right now jealousy is the last thing on my mind. I received a C- and I’m feeling completely deflated. All of the confidence I had after completing that project has been sucked out of me at once.

“Do you want to get some lunch?” Tae asks as we leave class and start heading down the hall.

“No, I’m not really hungry. I think I’ll just go home.” Actually I was hungry, but after getting my grade back all I want to do is curl up in bed. Maybe cry a little too. Or maybe a lot. I’ll probably definitely cry a lot.

“You sure?” He asks with concern. “I know you’re down about your grade, but you sure you don’t wanna grab something to eat? My treat.”

“Thanks, but I’m sure. I’ll just go home and chill I guess.”

“If you say so. Try not to be so hard on yourself though, ok? Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Tae.” I try forcing a smile and we part ways.

I’m thankful for Tae and his understanding. He knows I’m always hard on myself when it comes to my photo projects, and he knows when I receive a lower than expected grade that it usually takes me a little time to get myself out of my depression and self loathing.

Some people need lots of attention, maybe even lots of physical touch when dealing with a bout of depression. They need someone to stay near them to help them out of the fog. I’m the opposite. I want to be left alone. I don’t want to see or talk to anyone. I love that Tae recognizes this and let’s me have the space I need.

Jimin however is a very physical and attentive person, and once I text him letting him know how I was feeling he took it upon himself to come right over. I told him he didn’t need to and that I was just going to go down for a nap, but he insisted on coming to help me feel better.

“You really didn’t have to drop everything and come over here,” I tell him again as I let him inside and head back to my bed.

“I know, but I wanted to make sure you were feeling ok. I know you can be hard on yourself when it comes to your photography.” He follows me into my room and opens his backpack to reveal some snacks and and juices.

“What is all of this?”

“Some stuff for you to snack on. You need to eat.”

“Thanks, babe. I’m not sick though, just a little down. I’ll get over it.” I curl myself up on my side under my bedsheets and close my eyes.

“I know, baby, but I want to make you feel better. I hate to see you upset.” He lays next to me and pulls me into his embrace. “I just want to make you smile.” He softly kisses my forehead and maintains his hold on me.

I know he means well, but I feel more burdened when he does this. I feel like I have to force myself to be happy so he’s not tasking himself with making me happy. I know that nothing he does will change the way I feel right now so he shouldn’t feel responsible for it. On top of that, I simply want to have the time to myself because that’s how I can best work through the feelings swirling in my head.

Regardless I can’t bring myself to say anything to him as I don’t want him to take it the wrong way. He has such a pure heart that I don’t want him feeling like I don’t want him around, so I remain in his arms and say nothing more.

He stays with me through the evening making me dinner and trying his hardest to get me to eat. I really don’t have much of an appetite and the more he tries the less I want.

He wants to stay the night and offers to take me to class in the morning. I tell him there’s no need, I’m considering skipping class tomorrow. He wasn’t too thrilled to hear that and it only heightened his concern. He wants to stay with me, but I tell him not to miss his class just for me. I’m perfectly ok to be alone, I just need to get my head out of the fog. Going to class wouldn’t do me any good, I know I wouldn’t be able to focus anyway.

This isn’t new for me. I know how to manage my depression. I’ve been doing it for years without much issue. I know what I need which is just a little time to myself. Him skipping class to stay with me the entire time would be the opposite of what I need. Still, I struggle to find a way to tell him that directly.

It’s my fault, I know. I should be able to tell him this without fear of him taking it the wrong way. However, when I look at his face and see his eyes big with concern and his bottom lip poking out I lose the ability to find words. I can’t imagine upsetting him and making him think I don’t want him around at all.

Because of my inability to communicate effectively, he stays the night and all of the next day with me. He cares for my every need though I don’t ask him for anything. When I just want to sit in my room and stare at the ceiling he’s right next to me holding me tightly as if he thinks I’m going to slip away.

Friday I decide to go to class primarily because I don’t want Jimin skipping another day of his classes just to be with me. I’m still lost in my head with feelings of failure and disappointment. But I force myself to show up anyway.

Being in class gives me a short break away from Jimin’s increasingly overbearing caretaking. Unfortunately, I don’t know anything that’s going on in class because my mind is stuck on what went wrong with my assignment. I worked so hard and still did worse than I did on my first assignment which was a disaster.

The critique I received from my professor was vague and seemed his main issue was the composition of my photos. I don’t know what I could have done better, I followed everything we had learned in class. Was this a matter of personal preference? Did he not like the subjects I chose? Does he not like me? It was a bit of an abstract theme we were given, did he not think my photos were abstract enough?

“Are you coming?” Tae says cutting through my thoughts.

I look around and realize class has ended and everyone is leaving now.

“Yeah, right, sorry.” I grab my things and head out with him.

“Are you still thinking about your grade?”

“A little,” I say dragging my feet down the hall.

“A lot?”

“Yeah maybe a lot.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” I sigh. I’m not in the mood to talk to anyone about anything. Then again it may be beneficial to let it out, and even more helpful to talk to Tae who can understand where I’m coming from. He’s been doing amazing in the class but maybe he can see something that I’m missing. “Actually yeah, do you want to come to my place?”

Tae nods and we make our way to my apartment where he grabs a few snacks as he always does and makes himself comfortable across my bed.

“I just don’t understand how he could give me such a low grade.” I throw myself on the bed and begin ranting. “I thought everything was perfect. I was feeling so good about everything then he came with a needle and heartlessly burst my bubble.”

“You didn’t fail though,” Tae reassures me. “I know it’s a lower grade than you wanted, but it doesn’t mean you’re a terrible photographer. It’s ok to be upset about it, but don’t beat yourself up so much.”

“I know,” I sigh. “But it’s so hard to shake the feeling of failure when I tried so hard and was so confident. Now I feel like everything else I do isn’t going to be good enough.”

“One grade from one professor in one class doesn’t define your worth.”

“Don’t give me your motivational quotes,” I huff.

“Now that you’ve acknowledged that I’m right, are you going to keep sulking like this?” He chuckles.

“Yes.”

“Guess I’ll have to pull out more motivational quotes.”

“Please don’t,” I say just as my phone vibrates.

It’s Jimin texting me to tell me he’s out of class and he’ll be over soon. I put my phone down without responding and let out a small sigh.

“What’s wrong?” Tae asks.

“Nothing, Jimin just said he’s on his way over.”

“Why do you look like you’re not happy about that?”

“I am, it’s just…I don’t know. Ever since I told him how down I was about my grade he’s been trying to make me feel better but in a very suffocating way.”

“Did you tell him that?”

“Kind of…I mean I told him he didn’t need to cater to me so much as if I’m dying or something.”

“But did you tell him that you feel suffocated?”

“Well not directly. How do I tell my boyfriend that he’s smothering me without making him feel bad about wanting to help? I don’t want him to think I don’t want him around at all, I just need time to myself to get out of my head, you know?”

“So you’ve just been dealing with it? Even though you feel suffocated? You haven’t tried to have a simple discussion with him?”

“I’m afraid of hurting him. He’s too sweet, you know that. I don’t want him to take it the wrong way and be sad. I can’t break his heart when he just wants to help.”

“So tell him how he can help.”

“How do I do that?”

“Mina you’re killing me. You have the communication skills of a toddler.”

“That’s not really helping me feel better,” I mumble rolling my eyes.

“I’m not here to make you feel better, I’m here to tell you the truth.”

“I don’t want the truth right now,” I say stubbornly.

“Too bad,” he says nudging my side. “Just talk to him. Like an adult. Not a two year old. If you don’t you’re just going to keep being annoyed and you know it.”

Just then there’s a knock at the door and we both know it’s Jimin. Tae grabs his things and stands up.

“I’ll let your prince in and I’ll see you tomorrow night. I’m expecting a very nice housewarming gift from you.”

“You get my pretty face,” I say dryly.

“I don’t like that,” he says walking out to get the door. I hear him say hi to Jimin followed by “She’s in there being a pain in the ass.”

“Fuck off, Taehyung!!” I yell from my bed.

“Love you too!” He shouts back before I hear the sound of the door closing.

Jimin steps in my room giggling at our little exchange.

“What’s that about?” He asks laying next to me and kissing my forehead.

“Nothing, he’s just being difficult,” I respond knowing full well that I’m the one being difficult right now.

“How so?”

“It’s nothing,” I lie. I know Tae is right. I need to be direct. He wants to help so I should tell him the best way he can. Otherwise I may lose my mind. And yet I let another opportunity pass and say nothing.

I hate that I’m like this. I hate that I don’t seem to know how to communicate the way I thought I did. I hate that something so simple is hanging so heavy on my mind all because I don’t know how to speak up. I hate that I start feeling like I don’t want him around. I hate that this makes me feel like a terrible girlfriend.

The next night we head over to Tae and Taylor’s place for their housewarming party. I’m not really in the mood to be social with a group of people, even one person is too much for me right now, but I promised Tae I’d be here. I even brought a small cactus as a gift.

Jimin clings to me the entire time not letting me more than a few inches away from him. Usually it’s not a problem. I always love when he’s affectionate, but this is different. He clings to me as if he thinks I’m going to have a stroke at any moment. He’s stuck in an overbearing caretaker mode and it makes me feel like I’m dying, or just straight up incapable of caring for myself, which only makes me feel worse.

The feeling of suffocation increases as the night goes on. I know Tae notices too because he keeps giving me knowing looks and shaking his head. I’m sure he can tell that I didn’t actually talk to Jimin about anything yesterday.

By the end of the party I feel exhausted and annoyed by everything. Jimin takes me home and I say very little to him the entire ride. He asks me if I’m ok and in typical Mina fashion, I say that I am ok. My inability to speak up just frustrates me even more. I’m frustrated about a lot of things and by the time we get inside the door of my apartment all of that frustration comes flying out the second Jimin asks me once again if I’m sure I’m ok.

“Yes! I said I’m ok! I’m fine!” I yell startling him a little.

“I-I’m sorry I asked,” he says softly. “You just seemed a bit bothered.”

“I AM bothered! I’m so fucking bothered! Everything is annoying me and I feel like I’m fucking SUFFOCATING! I just want to have like one day, Jimin, but I can’t fucking breathe! I just need some space!”

The second those words hit him I can see his face drop and I instantly regret everything I’ve said. I didn’t mean to blow up on him this way but it all just boiled over and I took it out on him.

He says nothing else and quietly leaves with tears welling in his eyes. I feel terrible for making him feel that way. I was so afraid of hurting him and in the end I managed to hurt him anyway and I hate myself for it. He didn’t deserve to be yelled at like that.

All I can do is throw myself on my bed and cry.