#so many little details in that chapter….what could I be referring to…..

[gatesofember]

HEY. I JUST GOT TO CHAPTER 8 IN MY REREAD. WHAT DOES THIS MEAN EMBER.

hmmmm……..

[topazadine]

Things that immediately turn me off a fiction book

I'm pretty picky with what I read, because the time I spend reading is time that I could spend writing. I generally know if I will like a book within the first chapter, and I feel no shame in giving up if I'm not vibing with it.

And no, I don't believe in the "oooh read further it warms up" because does it? Does it really? Do I want to waste time finding out?

Frankly, at this point in life, I read more nonfiction than fiction because there's just so. many. bad. books. that are getting published. Worse than fanfictions.

Anyway, here are the things that make me give up. Maybe hearing this will help you as you write your own masterpiece.

Too Many Proper Nouns

Three characters maximum in the first chapter or two. Do not throw dozens of people at me. I will get confused and give up. Let me get to know the main character, by themself or with a few of their closest companions, before you make me remember everyone else. And go deep with those characters! I want someone to stick with!

You can reference other characters, to create a sense of a deeper world, but do not go all-in on them. Make it clear that they are just there to provide a bit of context, and we don't have to remember them yet. We should only be meeting three characters maximum.

Throwing Us Immediately Into a Dramatic Action Point

This is controversial I know, but I hate when something immediately starts with a battle. I don't care if any of these people live or die. I don't know them. I haven't grown attached to any of them.

Even just a page or two to get to know them first will help. You can have them gearing up for a battle, thinking about what's going to happen, maybe talking to their friends, maybe checking their armor, whatever feels natural for them. But do not just start with stabbing people! I don't care about them yet!

Too Many Details

Many this is just me, but I simply do not care about every piece of armor your character is wearing. I don't need to hear a play-by-play of every single color of every single thing because I don't care. Pick out a few specific things for me to focus on and that's it. Stop overloading me with colors and patterns and armor styles.

Yes, yes, you've done your research on historically accurate gear. That's great. It would be good for a movie. But if I have to look up different armor pieces every five seconds, I am glossing over it and moving on. I don't care. I'm here for the story. If I wanted an infodump about medieval armor, I would simply pick up a nonfiction book (and maybe I will).

White Space Syndrome

Tell me what the overall scene looks like instead of all these hyperspecific details of certain objects, like carts or emblems or whatever. I want to know where I am!!

Don't just say "a forest." Tell me what kind of forest. Tell me if it's a young forest or an old snarly forest or a swampy forest or a cold alpine forest.

Don't just say "a castle." Tell me if it's a bustling castle or a gloomy castle or a rundown castle.

Don't just say "on the sea." Cold sea? Tropical sea? Far far away from land or is land in sight? These are the things I want!

Too Much Backstory

For the love of god do not explain the entire history of this culture in the first chapter. The first chapter is for getting to know the characters we're going to be following. You can introduce those things slowly and carefully as the story unfolds.

I get that fiction writers are delighted by all the worldbuilding (or research, in historical fiction) they have done. But the reader does not care right away. They need to get invested before all those little specifics matter at all. My eyes glaze over and I give up because I don't want to have to remember all of that all at once. It's like you just threw a college textbook at my face.

Plus, if you're doing third-person limited, you have to remember that the character is not going to be thinking all of that! They won't say all of that either! Because they know all of that!

Even a general on the brink of a major battle is not going to go "yes, this all dates back to when we took Iuanfutila back in 181, when the brave Iuanfutilans protested the rule of our Yawwbaawnwhryr leaders ...." They are focused on the present moment, and they may discuss the backstory later. Tell us what we need to know now because that is what the character would be thinking too.

"Oh, but Topazadine, how will the readers understand the context if I don't tell them??"

There's a battle. Two groups are at war. Or something was stolen. Or two people are fighting. Whatever. We understand those things. We can get the basic gist of how things are going to play out by just showing us these things happening. Then, as we have gotten a feel for the characters, you can tell us more about the context.

If you walk into a store that's being held up by an armed robber, do you give a shit about his backstory, or do you only care once that person has been arrested and you have to testify? I think we know the answer. You're not going "ohhh why is he doing this??" at first. You're going "HOLY SHIT THERE'S A GUN WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN NOW???" and then you'll care about the other stuff later.

Too Much Play-by-Play

I also do not need a play by play of a fight scene. I need to know the general movements, and then the overall atmosphere. I want to feel what the character feels rather than feel like I'm watching a football game.

Your reader will fill in the gaps if you give them enough information, but when you overload them with every single action, they're now trying to keep track of what went where instead of how this moment is supposed to feel. And now the action and drama has gone out of the writing because it's become a manual of fighting techniques.

Pointless Dumb Conversations

"Oh, could you turn around for me? I want privacy."

"Sure, of course, I'm a respectable man." Manfred knew that a lady-in-waiting would be unsettled by the presence of a strange man, so he wanted to be respectful.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Oh my god no one cares!!! No one!! We don't need this exchange. Cut it. This is stupid. Unless something is actually happening or something is meaningful about them saying this, shut up.

How to Not Write a Horrible First Chapter That Makes People Ragequit

Can you tell I'm mad today? I started and stopped three different books because they were all so bad.

Three characters max in the first chapter, with deep discussion of each. (One or two is better.) General appearance, demeanor, profession, whatever.

Restrain the urge to infodump! Dribble it out over the chapter!

Give the setting more attention than random little details that ultimately do not matter. I don't need to know the pattern of the curtains on the horsecart that's about to be burnt. Don't care.

Do not give a play by play of every single action that a character takes because it's boring and no one cares.

In media res is great but do NOT start with a big climactic intense battle or fight or whatever because we don't know these characters and don't know who to root for (or why we should care).

Your character is not going to give us a history lesson in why this conflict is happening. Do not do it yourself either. Give us just enough to get intrigued and no more. Think how your characters would think and what they would prioritize in discussions.

If a conversation is just pleasantries and has no purpose, drop it, we don't care.

[ozzgin]

With some of the most recent Monster author posts..I can just imagine having to teach them so many things about the human body, like having to teach them about how pregnancy works and etc..and while we’re just ranting they’re just staring at you and not registering a single word.

Man..idk, this just came to my mind :p

I feel like all these asks could be a mini-series on their own. A slice of life, romcom manga about an average human living with their average…monster partner.

And it’s really just that: a cozy story about navigating their differences and learning about each other (with the occasional cozy fucc).

Monster partner waking up and having a heart attack upon seeing the sheets stained with blood, because they're convinced they just killed you. They shouldn’t have trusted you when you begged for them to be rough. You were horny, they should’ve known better. As their mind spirals into despair, you shuffle underneath the sheets and groan. Huh? Maybe they didn’t quite end you yet.

You have to explain to a panicked beast that no, you have not been “ravaged to death”. They haven’t “crippled you” with their genitals. You begin to wonder, irritated, if they were secretly proud of such an accomplishment.

Or trying to plan your birthday together with your monstrous partner. What? They're certainly grateful you were born, but every single year? Isn't that a little too excessive-

Wait. You now have to comfort an enormous, inconsolable beast who has just been reminded of your much shorter lifespan. No, you do not wish to discuss potential ways of achieving immortality. You simply asked if they'd be okay with strawberry cake. How did you...how did you end up with a bawling mess?

Lastly, if we're referring strictly to the monster author, expect every chapter to end with him furiously scribbling at his desk. Everything has been dutifully documented in his little research journal. You haven't peeked into it ever since you discovered the ridiculously detailed charts of your intercourse, what turns you on, what gets you off. You shivered in horror, and promised to mind your business.

[dollscircus]

Swing first, ask later. Chapter 1.

(In my defence it’s Gotham and you were breaking in)

chapter 2

Arkham Knight Jason Todd x vet!Reader

Words: 2.5k

Tags: Injury detail, fighting and brief reference to animal cruelty plus general fuckery.

Synopsis: when you found someone breaking into your little veterinary clinic, you didn’t expect to find the Arkham Knight and certainly didn’t expect to find out that he reminds you of a wounded puppy. You’re a fixer, I guess…

-

I’ve always been a fixer. It’s always been apart of myself, ever since I was a kid. My mother at a young age learned what streets in Gotham to avoid with me because God forbid I’d see a small stray animal and try to sneak it home in my pocket. The animal shelters knew me so well at age 12, commonly bringing them in whatever injured or sick animal I would and wrangled into my arms. Most of your pocket money was used on animals and people in need.

That’s why I became a veterinarian, it felt good being able to help some of the weakest creatures in Gotham, a place that didn’t show many mercy. I liked being able to show that mercy and care. The night I met him, you stayed late in the clinic which was a normal thing. Your apartment was above the clinic, so it made it easy to come down the stairs to check on my patients during the night. That’s what brought my down into the clinic.

I weren’t sure how late it was, yawning as your body protested even being awake. I walked down the steps leading to the back alley, where the back door to the clinic was found. Rubbing the heel of my hand into my tried eyes as the keys jangled in my hand as my fingers worked through the bundle of keys to find the exact one I were looking for.

I mumbled in irritation while pushing the door open, I didn’t notice the blood drops on the floor of the alley as I stepped over it and into the clinic. I reached my hand over to the light switch but paused when I felt the breeze and whistle of the wind. Scanning around the dark clinic, I spotted it; A window was smashed, the curtains blowing softly in the soft breeze. I paused listening to slight movements coming from one of the back rooms. Oh, fuck that.

Another fun fact about myself, I don’t often think my actions through. The sounds were coming from the back room where the animals needing long term care were housed, in that moment I was to worried about whoever was in there harming the animals I didn’t think about calling the cops when I crept through the dark office, grabbing a baseball bat that was leaning against the desk.

I took slow and soft steps while walking through the office, noticing the back door slightly left open ajar. Some small light streaming in through the door, I couldn’t see much of the figure moving around but that small amount of light made I finally notice the blood smears over the ground. I looked down to the ground and scowled at the sight of blood. What?

I stood by the door, peaking my eyes inside and saw the stack of cages. Most of the patients sleeping aside from one of the cats who was clearly watching whoever was in the room who I heard an annoyed curse come from. The voice sounded weird like it came from a filter. I took a deep breath, adrenaline pumping through my blood as I nudged the door open with the bat then with a quick motion kicking the door open and just- swinging the bat at the figure in the room before even taking a solid look at him.

I missed. I never pretended to be athlete; the bat slammed into the metal of the shelf denting it. I gasped while the figured lashed to the side to avoid the blow, the metal bat made a metallic ringing sound in my ears. Turning your head to the figure, I didn’t register who he was; I could see the frantic shuffling back away from the shelf. The frantic gesture caused me to suddenly think about a scared stray dog. That train of thought kept my mind occupied that I gave the man enough time to pull the gun off his belt.

The next few moments were filled with many feelings and realisations. The first was that the man bleeding all over my floor was the Arkham Knight. Next the next was the gun he was now pointing at me. Honestly? Fair enough. There were a few long moments that stretched out, filling with the sound of your unsteady breathing and his own breathing distorted by the helmet. It was tense. He just stared at me; his grip of the gun trembled. I wasn’t sure what was about to happen, expecting to be killed but then- his hand and gun dropped down to the ground with a thud.

“Huh.” I said, my voice sounded a little weird just standing in the dim office. The Arkham Knight was still now, his breathing coming through the helmet with a distorted sound. I stepped closer, still holding the bat up as you creeped closer. Standing above him, I tilted your head to the side before tapping the bat into his foot. No reaction.

I tilted your head to the other side while looking him over, a wound was seeping out blood from his thigh. Ah, that makes sense why he had broken into the clinic. Ok- nice I didn’t get shot. I turned on your heel to walk out of the office to call the police until the memory of the Arkham Knight crawling back away from you flashed in your mind and it stopped you in your tracks. My common sense screamed to call the cops. That would be the smart thing to do but I was never one for common sense. I turned over my shoulder to look at the man on the ground. “Fuck.”

I wasn’t a doctor; I were a veterinarian but hey, I did my best. All I did was cut away from of the fabric from the wound to tend to it, leaving the clunky helmet in place. After I were done stitching his leg up, I left him on the cold table while you sat in a chair nearby just- staring at him.

He would sleep for a freakishly long time, so much so that the sun was creeping over the horizon when he finally did wake up. I didn’t notice it at first, I can my back to him while you were cleaning up the mess he caused, picking up boxes of medicine and supplies to place them back in their rightful spot. Standing in place, I didn’t realise he had woken up until there was suddenly an arm hooked around my throat with the Arkham knight leaning over me. His weight pushing me into the self as I felt the muzzle of the gun pressing into my ribs.

“Whoa- Whoa.” I started, trying to soften my voice. I didn’t really notice I was using the same voice I used with the more- feral animals that come into the clinic. The gun pressed a little harder into my ribs, but I wasn’t as scared as I should’ve been.

“What did you do?” He asked, voice sounding rough and distorted by the helmet. I let out a little sigh while slowly raising my hands to show they were empty.

“I stitched up your leg.” I said calmly, “I didn’t touch the helmet.”

There was a moment of silence, I could tell he was complicating what to do next. I was quiet, looking ahead to avoid any quick moments startling him. The gun was still firmly pressed into my ribs but his grip around my neck seemed to loosen ever so slightly.

“Why?” He asked, some confusion seeping into that rough voice. I really didn’t an answer that didn’t seem insulting. A few moments stretched on until he pressed the gun into my ribs a little more which sparked some mild pain into my ribs. That tiny bit of pain seemed to break my filter.

“You made me think of a stray dog.” I blurted out and instantly regretted it. Welp, he’s going to kill me and honestly. Fair enough, that was a dumbass thing to say. I help my breath, preparing for the pain of the gunshot but it never came. The weight pressed into my back suddenly pulled away and the gun was so longer jabbed into my side. Looking over my shoulder, I watched the knight slowly backing away from me; The gun still raised up and pointing at me. The helmet made his expression impossible to read, I stared at him as he ever so slowly backed away. Limping on his hurt leg.

“I uh- I’m not a doctor so you should get your leg checked by an actual doctor.” I mumbled while looking him up and down. His helmet flicked over to the door to the back room, and he started limping to the back door, the gun trained on me, but a strange sound came out of the helmet. A huff? Was it a huff? A laugh? The sound was distorted by the helmet so I couldn’t really tell.

As with a very quick moment, he slipped out of the office and disappeared into the still dark clinic. Huh. Well, that went much better than I expected. I listened out for the sound of the knight climbing out the window he broke, leaving me standing so very confused in my clinic.

—

“You made me think of a stray dog.”

Those words repeated in his head over and over. It had been a very long time since someone had shocked him with just some words. He’d been on edge ever since he climbed through the window of the clinic, the sterile smell and look of the place set his nerves on fire. Those memories of the asylum threatening to spill over, that panic only made worst when that bat swung into the shelf making the echoing metal trill. Oh boy. Now that did cause a wave of panic to rush over him. He moved back trying to create as much distance between him and whoever was swinging for him.

Only to be met face to face with you.

You. The memories of his childhood flashed through his mind in a few quick moments. Memories that often haunted him in his time in Arkham. No- they comforted him. No- Well, it was a bit of both honestly. Memories of a much softer times. Not tainted by the joker and batman. A place where Jason could hide away from the pain even if it was just for a moment.

He almost thought he had finally cracked and gone insane as he stared up at you down the barrel of the gun. You’ve really gone up nice, even with the shocked and slightly fearful expression. Jason felt that blinding panic fade from his body and the mere sight of you, along with all of his strength as he fell unconscious.

Jason wouldn’t actually shoot you. Never. Not you but he needed answers. What you knew. A pit in his stomach formed that he wasn’t used to when threatening most with violence, but he didn’t really have time to unpack that when your words shocked his brain into- a reboot.

“You made me think of a stray dog.”

Huh. Ok. That- huh.

You really haven’t change. Jason found himself strangely comforted by that, but your self preservation skills worried him greatly. Jason had to remind himself to push all of those feelings down. Refocus. Remember whats important.

You seemed to be doing good. That’a good. Good.

—

I had to put a tarp over the broken window, grumbling in irritation the whole while as I had to stand on a stool to reach the very top of the tall ass window. I grumbled while glancing over to the door as Mary unlocked the front door and stepped inside. “Oh, hello” She said while looking me up and down with a raised eyebrow.

“What happened?” She asked cue a very intense train of thought. Do I admit the truth and get scolded for what was an extremely stupid decision or lie? I’m bad at lying.

“Uh.” I said, just staring at Mary. “You’ll yell at me if I’m honest.” She narrowed her tried eyes at me.

“Did you break it yourself?” She asked and I shook my head in response. Mary let out a deep tried sigh before taking a sip of the coffee cup she was holding in her hand. It was a very long sip. I shuffled a little before climbing down from stool.

“I’ll ask again in an hour.” Mary walked past me into the back room. Honestly- not the worst.

“Why is there blood on the floor in here!?” Maru screeched from the backroom. Ah fuck.

It didn’t take to long to explain what happened. Mary was across the table from me pitching the bridge of her nose, face scrunched up. I tapped my shoes on the ground while just watched the older woman scowl.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah.”

“So. You not only didn’t call the police of the masked man who broke in but stitched up his leg? because the big scary man reminded you of a stray dog?”

“…Yeah. In my defence- he reminded of that grumpy stray pit bull? The one that came to us with his muzzle tapped up?” I tried to defend myself, but I could see Mary’s will to live slowly seeping out of her body.

“You’re going to be the death of me one day.” Mary sighed while standing up, “Just- you don’t have a shift today so just- go home.”

“Really- Mary I don’t mind-” I started to speak before she pointed at me.

“Go home.” She deadpanned.

Like I was told, I made my way up to my apartment. Rubbing a hand over my face while I felt the exhaustion of the night before catching up to me, muscles aching while I came down from the adrenaline rush. Dropping down on the bed, not even bothering to change my clothes as I dropped down on to the bed. Shoving my face into the pillow.

Sleep pretty quickly caught up with me. I wasn’t sure how long I slept for when I finally did wake up, glancing over to my window which had sunlight streaming in through the window. I blinked a few times in the- early afternoon light? Pulling myself up from the bed, rubbing my hands and letting out a tried groan.

After a few moments, I noticed something. My window was left slightly open, there was a small box on the desk by the window that was littered with old pictures and trinkets I collected over the years. I frowned while walking over to the desk before picking up the box. There was a little note on the box, ‘Sorry for the window, thank for the leg.’

The box had a- large amount of cash inside. Did the- Arkham Knight leave money when I was sleeping? A few emotions rushed through me. It was kinda creepy knowing the Arkham Knight was so close and I wasn’t aware that he was so close but- he took the time to leave money for the window? Huh. That’s kinda sweet?

I didn’t know how to feel about this.

[papiliomame]

Road to 3D- Sam Manson (Part 2):

Character Modeling

Part 1: Model Sheet

Welcome to the second and final part of this project. Since people have asked how I do my models, I decided to make a write-up on how I approach these things using the example of a model of Sam Manson. The first part focused on how I make a model sheet fo a 3d model the second part focus just on the modeling. There are many more things about how to create a fully realized 3d character that I could make whole other chapters for, like UV unwrapping, texturing, shading and rigging, but I don't have enough knowledge past the fundamentals on these topics that could warrant their own seperate posts.

Additional stuff before I continue:

I use Blender for all my model

This not a beginners guide or something similar, it would be helpful to already know the general workflow of a modeling, how to use Blender and know different terminology like edgeflow, retopology etc.

If you are a beginner and want to learn more about character modeling I recommend the videoseries "Modeling for Animation" by Dikko on Youtube

Maybe I make some reference some tricks from this videoseries

That's it, let's go!

My first step is always the block-out phase. The block-out phase is what the construction lines and the first sketch in a drawing are. I align the frontview and sideview from the model sheet I made in part 1 with the z-axis (the blue line in the images above) and roughly shape out the forms with primitive forms. For this I mostly use a cube with a subdivide modifier.

Having a modelsheet without the clothes obscuring the body makes it much easier the get the form right. The block-out phase is one of the most important steps, if it looks good than I have practically half the work done. This is also a good opportunity to practice anatomy.

After this stage I continue with the head. First of all, don't forget to add the mirror modifier so I just need to model half of the model. There are different methods to approach modeling the head, like sculpt the head first, retopologize and than bake all the deatails onto the retopologized head. I actually prefer to polymodel the head especially when I have a good model sheet. I practially trace the lineart from the model sheet by extruding vertices, once from the frontview and once from the sideview. The most important points are the form of the eyes, the mouth, the form of the face and the jawline. The head block-out is used as an anchor point for the shrinkwrap modifier so that the traced forms actually look like they belong to a 3d form and not 2d lines floating space. From this point on it's just connecting everything, pull and push vertices so it looks like a 3d head and make sure the edgeflow is good. (It's also helpful to know how the planes of the head look like) After that I add the eyelashes, eyebrow, eyes and the ears, now it looks like something!

Now comes the hair. For the hair I used the "curve trick" like mentioned in the video series I recommended. Here is a tip to save time: I choose some edges from the head, duplicate and seperate it from the mesh. I convert this seperated line into a curve and choose a beziercircle as a bevel geometry. This is now the perfect foundation to model the hair further. One thing I needed a long time to notice: To get the beziercircle to a perfect square or in this case a triangle lower the Resolution U to 1 in the shape options. Now I just convert the curves into a mesh and add details and the head is done!

With the head finished I continue with the body. Remember how I wrote with a good block-out half of the work ist finished? Well, for this step I practically just use the smooth brush in sculpt mode and smooth everything out so everything looks connected. Then I retopologize the body and that's it. Well, ok there is a little bit more to it: Before smoothing things out I join the block-out part to a single mesh and remesh it with the remash modifier expept for the hands. I prefer to polymodel the hands seperatly without worrying about the rest of the body because they are difficult to model. I reattach them later. Speaking of reattaching, I make sure that the connection points have the same number of vertices while I retopologize/polymodel. To ensure that, I often use the following trick visualized with a simple example ( which is also described in the video series):

I want to reduce the amount of edges at the bottom of this plane, for this I merge 3 vertices from the middle into 1 vertice seen in the left image. After that I can select the blue marked edges from the center image and dissolve them. The result, which you can see on the right, is a nice clean edgeflow with a reduction in the number of edges.

After modeling every part I attach them together and I have a finished bodymesh the work with.

Now onto the clothes, for this I use the model sheet with clothes as reference. Having a retopologized body makes it easier to model simple stuff like e.g. Sam's shirt. On the left image the marked faces of the the bodymesh already looks like a shirt. I just need to duplicate and seperate this area, clean it up a little and the shirt is basically finished. The more complex stuff like the boots I need to polymodel around the bodymesh.

With that the modeling part is done! Now comes the things I said above: uv unwrapping, texture painting, rigging and shading. These are whole other topics I cannot go deeper because I'm still learning how to do these things but I hope my little write-up about how I appoach character modeling was enough to learn one thing or two.

Thank you for your time and thank for reading!

[annymation]

The Kingdom of Wishes- A “Wish” Rewrite

Chapter 1- The Intro

Our tale opens the same way many classic Disney movies did before, with a story book.

The book opens, and we are presented with the illustration of a king looking down from his tower, and we listen to the narration of an elderly male voice:

Long ago, there was a kind and wise king, who wished that all his people could live the happiest and most fulfilling lives in his kingdom, and have all their dreams come true. "But how can I fulfill ALL their dreams?"The king pondered.

Then, he had an idea. Using his vast knowledge, the sorcerer king developed a new kind of arcane magic, Wish Magic. With it, the king granted the wishes of all the citizens in need of his help. And so, this became the tradition, in the Kingdom of Rosas...

But this is not his story, oh no no, King Eric was just the first of this loooong line of wish granting kings.

The pages of the book flip, revealing in each page a different king, each generation, and each one with their names written on the top of the pages, these kings are all named after the 9 old men, the famous animators that worked in the creation of Snow White. This is the first of many Disney references I’ll throw around in this rewrite.

Our tale begins with the birth of the 10th king of Rosas... Prince Magnus.

We see an illustration showing a young king Magnifico learning magic with his father, king Ward.

Young prince Magnus grew in power as quickly as the evening primrose blooms in the night. However, the young prince feared he'd never be truly worthy of following such a great legacy. With that in mind, the King and Queen decided that a... second option could be required in the future. And thus, prince Florian was born.

The two brothers grew into powerful sorcerers. But once it came the day to choose the heir to the throne, Florian was chosen, for Magnus didn't feel like he could be just as great of a king as the ones that came before him, he felt like there was something... missing in his life, something that would give him the confidence and strength he required.

And sure enough, that something, or rather, that someone arrived.

The most beautiful maiden Magnus had ever laid eyes upon. She was found by fisherman, passed out and floating adrift in a boat. By King Florian's orders she was brought to the castle, once she woke up, the maiden introduced herself as Amaya.

We see an image of young Amaya being found ashore by fisherman, she's dressed in a white dress similar to how Ariel was found by Eric in The Little Mermaid.

Amaya wanted to thank the young king for his hospitality, she didn't ask him to grant her wish, all she wanted was to serve in the castle as the king's personal alchemist, and Florian gladly welcomed her in his court. And as the days went on, Magnus and the mysterious maiden became hopelessly in love, and together, they felt as if they could do... Anything.

The narrators voice sounds confused with that last statement, like he doesn't know what's referring to. But he continues.

After a year of the kingdom prospering under king Florian's rule, Magnus, inspired by his new found love, decided to go on a quest for adventure, to leave the kingdom for once in his life.

We see an illustration of Magnus and his brother hugging each other goodbye next to a boat. It's a sunny day.

But every tale must have a tragedy, and Magnus faced the most painful tragedy of all once he returned to Rosas, and found out his dear younger brother fell ill and passed away while he was away.

We see an illustration of Magnus now back to Rosas, looking devastated, but one important detail is that he's now holding a staff with a green gem we haven't seen in any of the previous pages, it's a treasure he got from his quest.

But from this tragedy, Rosas reemerged stronger, with Magnus and Amaya as our new rulers. Magnus let go of his fears and swore to make the kingdom shine brighter that ever before, It's what his brother would've wanted after all.

Magnus changed the way that wishes were granted, instead of granting just a few per month like the kings that came before him, he granted dozens per week, by sending them up from the top of his tower, and making them float down to their wish makers as they sleep.

The kingdom was so happy and so grateful for their new king and queen that they started calling them by nicknames that reflected their magnificence and their passion. From then on, they were to be known as King Magnifico and Queen Amable.

The End

The book is closed by an old man's hand.

We now see the face of the man who was reading the story, Sabino, Asha's grandfather, looking ever so slightly younger than he was in the movie, but still very old.

He's laying on the bed with a smile, admiring the golden and flowery details on the book cover, and he says:

"I admire your interest in more sophisticated books Asha but ummm don't you think this one might be a bit too advanced for your age? hehe"

the man chuckles looking down to his side, where we see a little 5 year old Asha under the bed sheets.

"Yeah... I thought it would be better cause' the cover was so pretty, I wanted more fantasy, but its just romance... yuck" she makes a face of disgust sticking her tongue out.

"One should never judge a book by it's cover, what you got here is a history book." he tells her as he get's up from bed to put away the book and blow away the candles in the room.

"Sure doesn't explain things very well though, like where did queen Amaya even come from? And what's the deal with this staff the king found? And what sickness did his brother have? The book explains none of it." The little girl says frustrated with all these questions unanswered.

Her grandpa can’t help but chuckle, he's way too familiar to these unceasing questions of her's, Asha always had the habit of questioning everything.

"Well, 1. the queen is quite reserved about her past, it's best to respect that. 2. that staff is just a souvenir that the king got from his travel. And 3. sometimes bad things just... Happen, with no explanation, and there's nothing we can really do about it but to move on." The old man explains to her wisely "Now, it's time for bed."

"Noooo!" Asha interrupts before her grandpa blows away the last candle in the room "I want another story, this one didn't count because I didn't like it"

"And since when that was a rule?" her grandfather sounds amused by that

"Since now, I just decided" the 5 year old claimed proudly

"Hehehe and what exactly didn't you enjoy in this story?"

Asha thinks for a moment, but then she has an idea "Weeeeell for starters, romance is yucky, there was nooo villains, and I like villains in fairytales, and most importantly… it didn't have MY favorite king and queen in it"

(Ya know, I laugh to myself while writing this because not only Asha will grow up to live a romance in this rewrite, but also because there are indeed villains in that fairytale, it just so happens that the villains made themselves the protagonists.)

Sabino looks confused "... Your favorite king and queen? Now what do you mean b--" Sabino realizes who she’s referring to, and his confusion melts back into a tender smile "Oooh... hehe you mean THEIR story, huh? Say, didn't I already tell you their story this week?"

"And the week before that too, yes, but I just love it! Pleeease saba, then I promise I'll go to sleep, honest"

"*sigh* alright alright, but only because it's my favorite too"

Sabino sits down on his rocking chair next to the bed, no book required for him to tell this tale.

Once upon a time, there was a king, who traveled to a far away place with his son, his prince. They were looking for a place peaceful to make it their home, and they found it, a quiet house in the middle of the forest, not so far from a kingdom called Rosas. The prince was quick to meet the people that lived in the nearby kingdom, and among the people he met there was-

"A FAIRY!"

"Who's telling this story again?" Sabino glanced at Asha smugly

"Sorry sorry, hihihi keep going" she says hugging her pillow tightly.

So yes, the prince met a fairy, a fairy with the most incredible of powers, she could bring drawings to life! The prince was marveled by the fairy's magic, and hurried to tell his father, at first, the king didn't believe it "Drawings that move? That's absurd, son" but sure enough, the prince invited the fairy to their home, and she proved it to the king, she showed him her sketchbook and flipped the pages quickly, and all her drawings together seemed to move as if it was magic

"Because it WAS magic" Asha corrected

"Hehehe you're right, it was"

Years went by, and the love that the prince and the fairy shared only grew more and more. The fairy became an art teacher, sharing her magic and artistry, while the prince became a philosopher, passing on his wisdom and knowledge about the stars. And one day, they were blessed with the most beautiful little princess.

"That's meeeee"

"Yes, that's you" Sabino looks at Asha with eyes full of administration for the girl’s enthusiasm for such a simple story he only came up with to teach her about who her parents were.

And they lived ha--

Sabino interrupts himself before he finishes that phrase, he knows that's not how it went.

But he has to finish the story somehow, so he just says

And now that little princess is going to sleep, the end.

Nailed it.

"Very well Asha, a deal's a deal, good night now-"

"Saba! Look!" Asha points to outside the window with a huge smile "It's starting!" She jumps out of bed and runs to the window

We see countless wish bubbles floating out of the castle, like glowing lanterns filling the sky and making their way down to the people of Rosas.

"Huh, he started earlier today... Or rather, it's even more past your bed time than I thought, come on, back to bed mi nieta" Sabino rushes her back to bed, talking more sternly now.

Asha doesn't want to go to sleep yet though so she tries to stall some more "Saba, when I'm big, what if I wished to have magic like mama's?"

Sabino's eyebrows raise in surprise by the question "Y-you mean wish to make drawings move?"

"YEAH! I wanna be a great artist like her! I bet mr. King Magnifico could grant that wish pretty easy, right?" The little girl says cheerfully, her eyes shinning as she still looks up at the glowing wish bubbles in the sky.

Asha isn't seeing it, but her grandfather has a sad and conflicted look on his face, like he's trying to find the right words to tell her something really important.

"Heeey... You never told me what was YOUR wish to the king!" Asha realizes, turning back to the older man and walking closer to him on his rocking chair "What did you wish for?" She asks him curious with a big smile.

"... I don't know" He admits, trying to hide from her how sad that makes him feel with a forced smile.

"... Huh?" The girl tilts her head confused

"I was asked to give my wish when I moved to Rosas and... To this day I can't remember what it was... But maybe that's just how it works" He shrugs like it's no big deal. But it clearly is.

"That doesn't sound fair... He hasn't granted it yet?"

"... Could be…" Sabino admits what has been thinking for a long while, his eyes light up with an idea and he turns to his granddaughter with a serious expression "Asha, can you promise me something?"

Asha looks at her grandfather attentively and nods positively.

“When you turn 18… Oh never mind, you’ll probably not even remember this talk anyway”

“Yes I will, what is it?” She asks determined.

“… When the time comes for you to make your wish to King Magnifico, DO NOT wish for him to make you an artist like your mother, Sakina spent years practicing to master her craft… and I think she’d like you to do the same”

“Okay! I’ll practice everyday! To make drawings just as pretty as mama’s!” Asha’s joy returned with full force, she actually couldn’t wait to draw more in the the morning.

She jumps back to her bed, now ready to go to sleep since she has something to look forward to.

Sabino seemed pleased “That’s good to hear, thank you”

“But what should I wish for then?”

Sabino fell silent for a moment and just said simply “You have quite a lot of time to decide, I’m sure you’ll know by then... Now all I wish is that you'd stay in bed and went to sleep hehe” He jokes with a gentle smile.

He get's up from his rocking chair and goes to blow out the last burning candle in the room, but before he does so Asha says

"Saba... Do you miss them? Mama and papa?"

Sabino looks at the candle with downcast eyes.

"Yes... But it's alright, I still get to see them everyday"

"WHERE?" Asha exclaims, thinking her grandpa just casually admitted he sees ghosts.

"In you" Sabino tells her as he caresses her head "You have your mother's talent and beauty, and my son's intelligence and curiosity... They live in you, dear"

(Is this a Lion King Broadway musical reference? Yes, yes it is)

"You think I'll be able to make magic too, like mama?" Asha asks with a big smile

"If you keep trying, and never give up, you can do anything, my dear." He says calmly, looking at her full of pride.

"Okay... *yaaaawn* good night saba, I love you" She says while getting comfortable in bed.

"Good night mi nieta. See you tomorrow."

Sabino blows away the last candle, it all goes dark.

We cut to a sequence similar to the opening from UP.

(oh yes, it'll be that level of sad)

So as happy background music plays, with no lyrics, no lines, just visual story telling, we get a series of scenes showing some snippets of Asha’s life over the years.

We cut to the same little Asha waking up in the morning with a big smile on her face.

She's waken up by her grandfather, and she gives him a hug.

Sabino prepares breakfast while Asha draws on a sketchbook.

Sabino looks proud with Asha's doodle and hangs it on the wall.

Suddenly, they hear someone knocking, Asha goes to open the door and we see a young Dahlia selling sweets.

Sabino buys some, and as Dahlia walks away Asha notices she could use some help carrying all that food, since she's walking with a crutch.

Asha looks at her grandfather as if she's asking for permission to go, and he nods reassuringly.

Off she goes to help Dahlia, and the two quickly become friends

Asha get's back home after sunset, dinner is ready

she and her grandpa read some books together.

Asha went to sleep

This cycle would keep repeating during the whole musical sequence, and I don't want this to take too long so just imagine we see events similar to this repeating 7 times, each time we see Asha meet a new friend, and we see her grandpa become more and more senile and more dependent on Asha, as she gets older.

I'll just give a few more examples to illustrate it but if you're curious about how Asha met all her friends and in what order just read it here: Reimagining the 7 teens

We’ll skip the sequences showing how she met Simon and Gabo.

The music sounds slightly less upbeat

Asha wakes up, now looking more like a 10 year old

She’s ever so slightly less excited when waking up but still smiling

She goes to wake up her grandpa, who seems a bit lost at first but smiles once he sees her

She makes them breakfast

The walls of the house are covered top to bottom with Asha’s drawings

She helps her grandfather walk as they go watch a children’s play at the plaza, her friends Dahlia, Simon and Gabo are with them

Asha notices a young girl looking very uncomfortable on stage

Once it’s her scene, the bashful girl runs off stage

Asha goes back stage and we see her sit next to Bazeema and give her some words of encouragement

Bazeema goes back stage and plays the role of the queen perfectly with her eyes closed

Asha gets a new friend in her friend group

Sabino looks pleased

Asha prepares soup for dinner (remember she’s 10 here)

Asha takes her grandfather to bed, because he’s struggling to walk

Asha reads him some books

Asha went to sleep

…

We gonna skip to the last friend Asha made

Asha wakes up, now looking 13

She has a hopeful expression, it’s another day

She helps her grandfather get out of bed, he’s not smiling anymore, his expression seems distant

She makes them breakfast, and help her saba with eating it

There’s even more drawings on the walls, and they look way more detailed, showing Asha’s art skills improved

She and her 6 friends all go hang out for what was supposed to be a short walk

They spot a girl trying to practice juggling and failing miserably

Asha asks if they can help, but the girl just smiles awkwardly as if she says they can only help if they could make her a proper entertainer in the snap of their fingers

Asha indeed can’t grant that wish BUT she knows how to help her

Cuts to them all in Asha’s house, the 8 preteens all sit together on a round table and Asha brings in some papers, pencils and a book titled “Jokes and tales for jesters”

We see the whole gang now formed, as they talk and laugh together, helping Hal come up with jokes for her act as a royal entertainer

All is well until, Asha noticed her grandfather coughing on a chair right behind them

She rushes to give him some water and stays with him, while her friends watch from the table, with expressions of sadness and pity

Asha is hugging her grandfather when she feels a hand on her shoulder, she turns around and it’s Dahlia, with the other 6 behind, they all give her a reassuring smile as if to tell her it’s gonna be alright

Simon brings a blanket to cover her grandfather, Bazeema makes some tea, Dahlia prepares dinner, Hal plays some songs with her flute, Safi and Dario are dancing to it with Asha (as a reference to the “Silly Song” scene from Snow White where she dances with Dopey and Sneezy) and Gabo is just sitting there tapping his feet to the music.

Asha finally got a break, a moment to just enjoy herself

They all have dinner together, Gabo offers himself to help Sabino eat.

Asha waves her friends goodbye as they all return to their homes

Asha helps her grandfather go to bed, we don’t see his face much

Asha went to sleep

…

Asha wakes up, now 15 years old, she has an excited smile on her face just like how she had 10 years before

She shakes her grandfather to wake him up

He doesn’t move

She tries again…

No answer.

The music turns silent.

Her smile fades away.

…

We cut to her in Sabino’s funeral.

Asha is crying all alone, until she once again feels a hand on her shoulder.

She turns around to see all her 7 friends, all of them grieving with her.

They hug.

…

Asha wakes up, now in present day.

It’s her 18th birthday.

“… It’s another day” she says with a hopeful, but somewhat worried smile.

End of intro.

Chapter 2

Final Thoughts

And so it begins. This is just the first of a LOT of chapters.

This is my first time actually writing a story, in English no less (I’m Brazilian btw) so this has been a pretty big deal for me, please give me suggestions on how to improve if you have any, it’s really appreciated.

Asha and Sabino’s relationship hits really close to home for me, I think whenever we write something it’s inevitable that we bring a little bit of our own experiences into it, and here’s it’s not different, in my case I also had a really close relationship with my grandpa, and I grew up watching him develop Alzheimer’s, just like Asha I used to draw a looooot and my grandpa had a whole wall in his room dedicated only for my drawings, so yeah I got pretty emotional writing about that.

Rip Vovô Dudu

Anyway, what I wanted to accomplish with this intro was establish:

- King Magnifico and Queen Amable’s backstory… Or at least what the people of Rosas think it’s their backstory.

- Who were Asha’s parents and how they’re important to her and shape who she is.

- How Asha met all her friends, as well as who they are.

- How Asha is always going out of her way to help others.

- How her life went from being taken care of by Sabino to being his care taker, which in turn made her become more mature and hard working from an young age.

- But nevertheless, even with all the loss and pain she felt, she always remained kind and optimistic.

With all of that established, we can actually start this story, see you all on chapter 2!

Thank you for reading!

[lilacxquartz]

TO SAVE A BROKEN SOUL • suguru geto x cursed spirit fem!reader

ao3 • masterlist • mdni < previous chapter • next chapter >>

summary: saved by someone who claims to want to help you, your life quickly takes a turn for the worse.

trigger warnings: uncomfortable scenes, dehumanising and objectifying language, violence

Chapter 2. Sinner

Willingly returning back to the temple felt strange for you, especially when facing the curious glance from the girl before again, with another pair of eyes cautiously leaning in from around a corner to look at you.

The girl with darker hair stepped forward towards the monk you kept firmly glued to the side of. Her voice sounded so soft and gentle despite the words that came out of her lips, “Are you going to eat the monster, Geto-sama?”

You paled for a moment.

What could that posstibly mean…?

The man before you stopped for a moment, as if considering the situation and how to calm the two young girls while keeping your presence on the down low. “Not this one,” he replied at last, sensing the girl’s fear towards seeing you, “this one will be working with me personally.”

You felt comfort settle as you didn’t seem to be headed down such a strange route, but at the same time, you still didn’t quite understand what exactly you were brought in for. So far, as you understood it, the two girls could not only see you but didn’t fear you within his company.

This little detail unsettled you.

You weren’t afraid of many things, but this predicament you had found yourself in didn’t sit quite right with you.

And as he led you further away from the outer section of the temple, you couldn’t help but wonder what this strange person truly had in store for you. Working together? You thought you were just helping him satisfy a curiosity. Unless he was being purposefully vague to keep you on the edge. Whatever it was, you didn’t fully trust his intentions.

“Come,” he spoke once again, opening a slotted wooden door, “you’re going to bathe.”

You cautiously padded towards the room, spotting a small square bathtub with no curtain to hide being. The floor was made from bamboo and the window, although concealed by wrapping leaves around the outside of the exterior, still looked outside.

“Can I do it privately?” you asked, settling into the idea. You didn’t need to wash yourself as a cursed spirit, there was very little point in doing so. You didn’t perspire like humans did, and dirt therefore didn’t cling to your skin the same way. The rain that fell washed anything resistant away and due to not being alive in the same way that mammals were, you didn’t smell.

However, you could entertain it to keep your life.

Something told you that he wasn’t going to let you get further than this if you didn’t bathe, at least.

The man, who you had by now determined was referred to as Geto, tilted his head to the side in what appeared to be confusion. His long, cascading black hair hung in the air as his brows furrowed. “You’re a cursed spirit, aren’t you? Why are you being shy?”

“I’m not being shy,” you replied, attempting to stand your ground. You weren’t totally oblivious, knowing exactly what sort of form you had. It was feminine and through your feedings in the past, you understood that the anatomy wasn’t too far off either. “I am wary though,” you admitted, “you should understand why.”

He nodded, although his gaze didn’t wander away. “Sure, you’re a pretty face,” he considered, “but you’re also just a cursed spirit, so anything that I might do to you or not doesn’t actually matter, does it?”

“Is that why you brought me here?” you attempted to call out, trying to find the reason behind his words.

He shrugged. “I’m not being rude. I’m laying out a fact. Cursed spirits can’t feel anything.”

You tried to challenge his claim however, your words carrying some spite as you spoke, “But I might. Not every single one is evil without cause.”

“They all taste the same to me regardless,” he said, leaning back against the wall, his eyes trained on the steaming tub, “like rancid gasoline.”

There he went again, reminding you that you weren’t the only one who had the capacity to feed. You didn’t like that he had reduced your life to just a flavour that he didn’t like in his mouth. It felt demoralising, bleak and hopeless. Perhaps not too unlike how humans felt right before meeting their end.

You couldn’t quite shake the unsettling thought that now coursed through your body, understanding that while he took you in for some sort of strange hidden purpose, that he was going to very likely treat you poorly because of what you were. In his eyes, you were likely disposable because your life didn’t hold the same sort of weight that a human life did, for example.

Yet he emitted some sort of aura that made him call to you—making you drop your guard around him.

Some sort of cursed technique, maybe?

In a resigned sigh, you didn’t prod at the subject for any longer, deciding to get this whole thing over with and despite the lingering discomfort you felt from his eyes settling over your now exposed body, you pressed on, washing yourself under his hungry gaze.

He stared at you with such devotion, almost. His eyes practically worshipping you the longer that he stared. This was shaken off quickly though, his thoughts reminding him of your true nature. How horrid you truly were.

A disgusting sight.

An even more bitter taste.

You weren’t anything special, maybe even below human in his eyes.

Even despite the looks he gave you and the things your body made him feel. The way your curves sloped, the way that water rolled off of your skin—no, this wasn’t right. You weren’t right.

You were simply below him.

~~~

The next morning, he led you someplace else, guiding you off to another location. You didn’t in particular like it there either, finding that the stares of the people he acquainted with were nothing short of hateful.

Pulling you off to an airy room with a small stage, he explained your divine purpose to you with concerning detail.

“My role is to… deceive people?” you asked, not quite understanding, “Most people can’t see me, though.”

Suguru tilted his head at you, his voice dripping with a sarcastic tone, “That’s the whole point,” he smiled, glancing at one of the attending members, “I would like to be perceived as a higher power to those unsuspecting and unaware. Maybe even a deity amongst simple monkeys.”

You frowned in response for two reasons in mind. First, you didn’t want to be around humans for an extended amount of time for obvious excuses and second, for his own stated desire. Just who was this man actually and why did he seem so much worse than you?

He had the audacity to call you disgusting and yet, he spoke of himself so highly.

…Why did he have to bring you here?

“You see,” he continued, “people’s beliefs can be fragile, but that’s why in religions, miracles must happen and also… punishments.”

Just before taking you here, he did brief you on earlier with a threat to ensure your compliance. You understood fully why you felt confused around this man now and it was likely due to his cursed technique. The same reason humans feel strangely at peace before death, was likely what you felt when it felt like he was close to using it. A false salvation, a doomed hope if not only a means to an untimely end.

“You have other cursed spirits for this sort of job, don’t you?” you pressed with that information still fresh in your mind, hoping he would give you a better answer than the meaningless ones he had been giving you so far.

“True, I have my… collection,” he mused, crossing his arms in consideration, “but they act more as tools rather than helpers. I can command them to fight, to feed, to… kill, but they can’t perform miracles. That’s where you come in.”

Holding onto a sceptical tone you continued to prod, “And how could I possibly accomplish that?”

Suguru smiled at your linear way of thinking. He supposed that you couldn’t help it. “Do something positive, no matter how small. Or do something terrible, no matter how evil. These fools will interpret even the smallest act as a sign from something greater.”

You exhaled deeply, continuing to feel trapped. He was revealing his intentions to you as though you were just another one of his tamed spirits, yet you were free. Being so often around humans wasn’t something you wanted to be doing, finding the situation almost agitating.

“For example,” Suguru continued, his eyes catching onto a random man that stood in a small crowd nearby. “What do you pray for?”

The man hesitated from the sudden question, but answered the question anyway, “Wealth…?”

Clicking his tongue disapprovingly, Suguru scoffed, “Such a selfish desire, but let’s see if it’s granted shall we?” he dramatically gestured, his sights pointed at you but you didn’t know what exactly this meant. He brought you here with very little context and zero guidance.

Returning to you, he quietly reminded you in a very flat tone that he could either exorcise you or you could, you know, feed, right on the man that he had just spoken to. That he didn’t deserve this wish anyway, because if you couldn’t understand—being what you are—that selfish wishes like that aren’t worthy of miracles but punishments instead.

“I know you’re barely holding back,” he whispered, trying to tempt you, “think of just how good it’ll finally feel to give in, to not worry about consequences.”

And just like a cornered animal with a desperate desire to carry on living, you gave into instinct once again.

You couldn’t even help it.

Acting out of desperation, you reluctantly moved forward as an opportunity to sate your burning hunger had been so freely presented to you. Oh, how tempting it was to give in, to bite into flesh, to drink such thick red blood as though it was red wine—you felt so drunk, intoxicated even—as you chewed against disfigured flesh, but then, you heard it.

Screams. A lot of them. Gasps and shudders and an atmosphere of boiling dread; a feeling that both continued to intoxicate you while sickening you at the same time.

Albeit reluctantly, you pulled away from your feral stupor while still grinding against bloodied flesh, licking the blood that dried quickly over your lips. You couldn’t help but feel a wave of disgust roll over you as you backed away, with wide eyes as you surrendered to a lapse of something you didn’t want to become just yet.

(As long as you remained aware, you could remain in control. As long as you didn’t give into your instincts, you could still be you. That’s all it took. Yet, he sought to take it away from you under the false impression of becoming a god.)

In your heavily heaving state, swallowing the last bit of meat, you watched on as the man who took you in, who stared hungrily at you the same way you did at flesh, that claimed to be disgusted by you all at the same time—approach and ask someone else, repeating the same sort of question to them and snorting, hearing a finally acceptable answer.

“Good, that’s a good answer,” he praised, even if his tone did carry a hint of disgust, his eyes blank when talking to what seemed to be just regular people. “Why, it even appears that there might just be a miracle in store for you later on, but first, let’s get this… mess cleaned up.”

Gesturing for someone to come and clean up the unfortunate aftermath, he finally led you away. It wasn’t like he was completely oblivious to what you could potentially become, but that’s why the punishments would be just as rare as the miracles.

After all, if such things were a little too frequent, then what meaning could they possibly have?

~~~

this is part 2 of lilac’s bite sized yandere nightmares

[messysketchyobeyme]

How to Woo a Human: Chapter 2

[Chapter 1], [Chapter 2]

Satan/Reader

(Nightbringer Spoilers)

Summary:

"Different humans have different love languages. Taking advantage of a human’s love language will allow you to gain their trust, which can be used to manipulate them easier."

As long as Satan ignored the parts about deception and manipulation and focused on the affection part, he was certain he could change himself into someone who would be worthy of love.

He would make sure of it.

—

Satan highlighted (with a magic disappearing highlighter; he would never defile a book) the first love language he saw: words of affirmation.

Reading the passage over, it seemed like he just had to compliment you. That was simple enough. There were so many things Satan could compliment you about.

You were kind, brave, funny, adventurous, and smart. He adored the way your nose would wrinkle whenever you were trying to quell your reaction to a strange smell or to whatever his ludicrous brothers were doing at the moment. He loved how you were quick on your feet, always coming up with a plan to get them out of any situation you guys found yourselves in. He admired your sorcery skills. He had never met anyone who could make Lucifer of all demons stumble like that. 

Honestly, Satan could go on and on about you.

And that was the problem. Satan couldn’t ramble on like a fool in front of you. What would you think? That he was as brainless and dim-witted as Mammon? No. He had to plan this out carefully, lest you think less of him.

Satan took out a pencil and notepad and jotted down some more of your attributes. While it was easy to get the broad strokes of your personality on paper, Satan found himself focusing on the minute details.

The way you would scrunch your eyebrows whenever you were concentrating on something, how you would go slightly cross-eyed from boredom whenever Lucifer lectured you, or the way you’d bite your lips when you were excited but wanted to hide it.

Skimming over what he had written down, Satan realized that he was starting to sound deranged. What was he supposed to do with these notes? Waltz up to you and say he likes the way your eyebrows wriggle? 

No, no, no, no. This was stupid. What was the first thing he wrote about you? You were kind?

Yeah, that could work. He could compliment your thoughtfulness. That was a normal thing to say to someone. 

Satan scribbled some more words of endearment on a set of index cards and stuffed them up his sleeves. They were just for reference. That was all.

Wiping off his suddenly sweaty palms on his pants, Satan stood up and left his bedroom. Leviathan had invited you to the House of Lamentation to play some games. That gave him the perfect time to strike. 

He stepped up to Leviathan’s door and placed his ear against it. Muffled noises. Hm.

Satan knocked on the door.

The noises stopped. Then, muffled whispers. Eventually, they stopped and someone opened the door.

“Satan? What are ya doin’ here?” Mammon asked. His voice was always a little too loud for Satan’s liking.

Satan peered behind Mammon. Leviathan and you were sitting across from each other with a board game lying between you two. Leviathan was too busy staring at the game and presumably strategizing to notice him. You smiled at Satan and waved.

Satan waved back. “I want to play, uhh…” He snuck another quick look behind Mammon. “Devilopoly,” he concluded after seeing the game pieces. 

That seemed to get Leviathan’s attention. “No!” Satan shriveled back while Leviathan tossed his hands up to explain. “No, I mean, I want you to play with us, but I’ve been doing so well!” He picked up his play money, which, to his credit, was quite a bit. “I managed to buy all of the big properties!”

“Oh, be quiet, Levi. Let Satan play. We can start over,” you said, clearing the board.

“You only want to start over because you’re in jail!” Leviathan pouted.

You shrugged impishly. Mammon shook his head and opened the door wider. “C’mon Satan. We could always use another player.”

“Thank you,” Satan said quietly before stepping inside.

“So, how much are ya willin’ to bet? We can start from a hundred Grimm and go from there.”

Never mind. Satan felt foolish to have even glanced in that sorry excuse of a demon’s direction.

“Ignore him, Satan. We’re not doing bets,” you said, patting the empty space next to you. “Come here and sit. You can choose between the shoe, the racket, or the demon horns.”

Satan chose the shoe.

Leviathan exhaled loudly through his nose, while Mammon sat down next to him. “Seriously, Levi? What are ya? Five?”

“Be quiet, Mammon.”

You raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. You handed the dice to Satan. “Here, you can go first.”

As he held out his hand, Satan sneakily peaked at one of the index cards hidden under his sleeve. He forced himself to make eye contact with you before saying, “Thank you. It was nice of you to let me go first.” Satan cringed at how robotic he sounded.

You gave him a look but didn’t dwell on it. “You’re welcome.”

Satan rolled the dice before throwing it on the board. Each die bounced once before flying off into two different directions.

Mammon yelped. “Hey, man, no need to be so aggressive with it!”

You pinched Mammon’s side, causing him to yelp, again. “Be nice, okay?” 

Satan’s face burned uncomfortably. He didn’t think he threw them that hard.

While Mammon busied himself with aggressive nodding, Leviathan stood up and peered at the dice. “Six,” he said before scooping them up and bringing them back to Satan.

Satan moved six spots, landing on the one with an image of the Akuber logo on it. “I’ll buy it,” he said, handing over his fake cash to you, the banker. He also gave the dice to you. He wanted an ample amount of opportunities to compliment you.

“Thanks, Satan.” You quickly rolled the dice and tossed it on the board. Eight. You began moving your piece, landing on a Chance spot. Picking up the card, you quirked up your lip but that was all your expression betrayed. You placed the card face down next to you. 

Satan tried to casually place his hand on his arm. He felt the index cards through his sleeve. “That was…” His voice started off too quiet, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “That was a smart play. You’re good at this game.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Well, it was mainly just luck.”

Dammit. Not even a thank you this time.

Your attention was quickly captured by Mammon. It was his turn now, and he was shaking the dice in his cupped hands with all of his might. Mammon’s eyes were squeezed shut, and he was muttering “Boxcars…boxcars…” under his breath. He ended up rolling snake eyes.

Satan scratched at his knee. What was he doing wrong? He had already paid you two compliments, but you were no closer to falling for him than before. In fact, you seemed to be a little distant. Was Satan really that unlovable?

Gah, he was beginning to sound like Leviathan. That was disgusting in of itself.

The game continued on with Satan peppering you with the occasional complement. Each time, you would chuckle awkwardly or give him a half hearted thanks. Even Leviathan and Mammon were beginning to cast wary looks in his direction. Satan’s chest felt tight. 

What was he doing? Why would Satan ever think a couple of compliments would ever win your heart? Or convince you that he wasn’t the grotesque monster he feared he was? Satan swallowed thickly. He shouldn’t be here. He didn’t belong here. He needed to—

Something melodious filled the air, and Satan perked his head up to see you laughing. You were clutching your chest as you tried to catch your breath. “I–I can’t believe this is your…your third time going to jail!” you managed to choke out. “What are the odds?”

Leviathan scowled, his arms crossed. “Shut up! It’s not funny!” 

You tossed your head back slightly as you continued to giggle at Leviathan’s misfortune. The blue overhead lights caught your eyelashes just so, causing the tiny droplets of tears that clung to them to sparkle. Your eyebrows scrunched together the same way they would whenever you would focus on something. Satan made a mental note to update his list. 

Your grin stretched across your face, and it seemed to have lit up the entire room. At the very least, it ignited a fire deep within Satan’s very core. Now, his face was heating up for an entirely different reason. He didn’t understand how one human could look so captivating. You were perfect—wonderful inside and out. 

In a daze, Satan managed to breathe out a quiet, “You have a beautiful smile.”

You stopped laughing and turned to look at him with a wide-eyed stare. Your cheeks were still glowy, and your eyes were slightly dewy. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach, but they quelled down once he noticed your expression. 

Satan had a hard time pinning it down. It didn’t seem unpleasant, per se, but it wasn’t looking all too positive, either. Did he say something wrong? A hasty apology was about to spill out of him when you began to speak.

“Uh, thank you, Satan,” you said, looking away. You bit your lip while staring at the gamer controller piece that was currently in the jail spot on the board. “I, ah, appreciate it. Truly.” A tiny, wobbly smile managed to sneak its way onto your face.

If Satan didn’t know better, he would have said you looked bashful. Or flustered. Or…

Satan blinked. 

Oh.

That one worked. 

Now, the butterflies seemed to have increased tenfold. The buzzing sensation throughout his body was becoming too much to bear. He couldn’t take this. 

Satan leapt up. “This game is boring,” he said quickly, “I don’t want to play anymore.” With that, Satan strode over to Leviathan’s door and ignored all three of your protests before leaving the room.

Satan made sure to slam Leviathan’s door shut before pressing himself to the wall. He slowly slid down to the floor and pressed his forehead against his knees. He silently begged his heart to slow down, but it wasn’t working.

All Satan did was say that your smile looked nice. Why did you react like…like that? Why were you acting like he had gotten on one knee and asked you to marry him right then and there? You were always so composed, and he had never seen you flustered before in his (admittedly short) life. So, why did that one teensy tiny compliment get such a big reaction out of you?

The door next to Satan creaked open, and he glanced up to see you smiling down at him.

“Hey, Satan,” you said, “Are you sure you don’t want to keep playing?” 

“I’m sure,” he mumbled against his hand.

“Oh, okay. Just let us know if you want to join in, again, alright?”

“I will,” he said.

You flashed him that awful, wonderful grin of yours. “Perfect.” You momentarily disappeared behind Leviathan’s door before peaking your head out. “By the way, I thought it was cute how you wrote…notes about me.” With a flick of your wrist, you revealed an index card—Satan’s index card—in between your index and forefinger. “You know, if you think my eyebrows are charming, you could have just told me.”

Satan scrambled up to his feet and snatched his index card from you. He stuffed it in his back pocket while swearing under his breath. “How did you—”

“It fell out of your sleeve when you left.” You leaned in closer. “Don’t worry. I didn’t let Levi or Mammon read it.”

Satan wanted to die. He managed to stutter out something that could have been akin to a ‘thanks,’ but he knew his words were too twisted around to be understood properly.

You let out a soft giggle before catching Satan’s eye. He stopped breathing for a moment. “Bye, Satan,” you said before closing Leviathan’s door.

Ugh. Satan hid his face in his hands. It was truly unfortunate he was utterly infatuated with you.

[kyri45]

Hoi there!

You are so talented and creative. I love your art so much, the style is adorable ^^

I do have a few questions, as one creator to another. I don't post at the moment, but I do love making art, especially for my fanfic/original projects.

Can you tell me how you do it? Like how can you stay motivated and be able to post almost every day?

Any tips maybe on how to deal with artblocks and burnouts?

How do you pratice certain art styles and be able to do them accurately?

1. It’s because I really really REALLY like what I’m drawing right now. (gay monkies). Plus I have- an endgame lets say. I have a clear ending for my comics and reaching that point is what keeps me going, but I also ONLY draw what I want to draw, not EVERYTHING that needs to be shown for the endgame. This actually helped me go throught my ISAT AU comic.

It’s like- narrating a roadtrip. The ending is your destination, you can’t wait to arrive there, but first you know there’s a long road ahead. But you don’t actually need to describe/draw every single town / city / landscape to go there. Not every single kilometer of a roadtrip is a mouth-dropping view.

That’s why you can just-skip it. Stay 4 chapter at one diner if you like the set, focus a chapter on the protagonists looking at the stars, start a scene somewhere completely different, completely skip 30% of the road. As long as you can imply with details what was in between, you don’t need to show/write it in details if you feel it would be hard to make interesting, or just not your thing.

Also if you start to grow an audience and people ask you to draw/write certain things that you don’t feel like to, or just feel like they are extras, don’t do it.

Not because you can’t, but the MOMENT something that you create starts to feel like you are doing it for the audience, then you are not actually doing something yours, and from then on it’s gonna be harder and harder to do things. Like, I have hundreds of fanarts that I did on my IG that were mostly directed to my audience, and not something that I just did because of fun.

All of this is also- answering to your second question - for not burning out. All of this is for keeping your passion up. I’m not talking about mental or physical energy. You could be dead tired (like I am many times) but still be fueled do draw for hours. Because you’re drawing only exactly what you want.

It took me 4 years to understand. I used to do this in high school. Draw something just for the hell of it. It was harder back then, because drawing was hard. I arrived to a point where drawing is much easier (also cause I draw almost everyday for 6/8 hours.) and after I was healed from my broken arm this july, it became my drug. I understood I can’t live without drawing what’s in my head, and that (unless it’s specifically for work) I don’t wanna draw something that’s not only what I want.

I want you to arrive to the point that your drawings / fanfictions are so much exactly what you envisioned /wanted that you fangirl about them. That you read/watch them and squeak in delight. Because even if no one likes them, you must be crazy about them.

(I’ll make a post about this in the future, because it literally changed how I draw after years and it brought back my passion for art after 10 years, but rn it’s a little late and I wanna draw my LMK au so I’ll stop now)

3. I keep some reference to look at every now and then. I also draw a L O T. ( a ton shit of things that I draw are not posted anywhere bc of work)

[layraket]

AYO TIME FOR LU UPDATE COMMENTARY YESSSSSSSS

Well i mean, thats the best way of explaining Zelda dungeons, and thats also the thing that makes me love them, great things

Finding the object of the dungeon is one of the main objetives before anythng else, the majority of cases because without it it is impossible to keep going foward

Also holy shit the cane of Pac's design is so beautiful i love it i've been staring at it for a while now its so beautiful

that right there

is Hyrule's special sense for hidden things. Inside his dungeons its more difficult to navigate because of the lack of a map and compass, so he had to learn ways to identify secret rooms and hidden traps

Lucky guess my ass you literally went straight up to where the wall was you know so many things and never acknowledge it i love u rulie

Something that i have learned while playing a lot of the games is that if they give you the map almost at the start it means that the dungeon will be the next thing you will be seeing in your dreams/nightmares (points to snowpeak mansion in tp.)

HE DID THE THING YEAHHH

Beautiful reference i love it

I saw a lot of people pointing out that Legend at the start was really playfull and then started acting more serious and stressed, mostly towards Wild. He's the one together with Wars that has no experience in dungeons, the rest at least know how to manage by themselves, but Wild is a completly different story. Yeah he had shrines and the Divine Beasts, but compared to a real dungeon, filled with traps and full of monsters, going too confident could put in danger his life. And Legend Does Not want That.

As I already stated, Legend does not want to see one of his brothers get in trouble or injured by a dungeon trap if he can help it. He doesn't want to sound too overprotective or that he's exaggerating a little, but he can't really help it, he almost lost one of his brothers, specifically one of the ones that he's most close with

Wind knows how it feels, he has been in that same situation a lot of times. And Sky knows that too. At least Wild now understands how Wind felt that time that he stepped in front of him to recieve a blow in one of the first chapters

Again, Legend is now on his Vet mode, he's the one with most experience and will do anything on his power to avoid any accidents during their stay in this dungeon

the fact that Legend doesn't seem too amused with Wild's small atempt to calm the ambient shows more what i just said. There is no more room for playfully jokes or goofin around, the situation is more delicated and everyone should act acording to it.

Wars is still a little angry with Wild about his impulsive metods, and inside a dungeon like this he will not let the same situation happend again

this is meme material. beautiful.

Four knows this really well, he has gotten competitive even with himself during dungeon exploring, so it makes sense that he will be the one pointing this out. At least if they split up this could be less of a problem and more of a small inconvenient

Now my fav parts without any further context as always!

Small note but the fact that this is the Nervious Scratching The Back Of His Head™ thing that almost all Links do is a little but cool detail, i love it

there was a lot of Hyrule im well feed thanks to this update yesss

art as always belongs to @linkeduniverse !

[staylovesmiley]

Collision— Chapter 2

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Pairing; Stray Kids x afab!reader

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ᯓᡣ𐭩Summary; You’ve known him for years but you never would have guessed the charming guy you’ve been online gaming with has been an idol this whole time. (masterlist here)

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩Warnings; implied afab reader (only they/them pronouns used for reader), mild angst?, pls I haven’t written fanfics since 2018 patience and kindness is appreciated

Today was finally the day, well more like finally the night as the hour was late and the sun had begun setting as the plane landed at its destination.

Over the past month Star had been eagerly messaging back and forth with Felix about recommendations for things to do, places to eat, help with knowing what the weather is predicted to be so they knew what to pack. At first the Aussie was nervous, but the closer it got to time he felt more at ease that his identity was protected if even a little bit bitter that they had no clue they would be indirectly meeting through the crowd of his now sold out show. He had learned they hadn’t been a stay for very long, only having discovered them during their maniac tour and being just a casual fan until seeing the comparisons of Chan to Wriothesley (who happened to be one of their favorite characters in Genshin since his model was leaked). Felix had to bite back the amusement tinted with a small twinge of jealousy hearing them gush about how handsome his fellow Aussie was. Other than that they chose to not talk much about Stray Kids or the concert, preferring to talk about the trip as a whole and even asking the blonde to be somewhat of a virtual guide. Starlight never suggested trying to meet up, most likely assuming it an off limits topic considering how protective he was with his identity. Felix couldn’t help but hope they would bring it up, ask to meet up face to face since they would be so close to one another.

It was silly, he knew, feeling a strong want to reveal himself to them. The two gamers had been somewhat close before, even with never having seen what each other looks like or knowing each others names.

While he himself kept most details about himself a secret, Star was rather open about their personal life and, with consent of course, had often vented and rambled to Felix about their life whether it be work issues or that one time they had called him from the laundromat because it was so late and there was a rather creepy individual lingering near by as they waited for the dryer to finish and wanted to be on the phone with someone to try and deter the individual.

He had learned they didn’t have many friends in the city they lived in, being mostly introverted they kept to themself and found it hard to make connections due to their more nerdy hobbies and interests.

Felix battled with himself internally if he should say something, open up more to them even before he found out they were going to be coming to Korea. They were kind, and from what he could tell pretty trustworthy. Even after finding out they were stay, Star seemed so chill about it all he felt like it wouldn’t turn out too bad if they found out who he was. Perhaps it was the chaotic part of his brain wanting to see how they would react knowing this whole time they had been talking and gaming with the Lee Felix of Stray kids, the very group they planned to see in concert and had bought albums of. Maybe a larger part of it was wanting to strengthen this connection that extended past his idol life.

Though he hadn’t shared much about himself, he felt seen by Star. Not by the artificial surface level stuff most idols are watered down to, But for himself, as an individual.

Felix had talked to the others about them, multiple times now. First it was in passing, never even giving them a name as he just referred to them in general as a “gaming buddy” but over the past month, while getting to know them even more as he helped them prepare and plan their trip, he began opening up about his desire to be more honest with them as well as sharing more about them with the others.

Changbin and Hyunjin eagerly asked what they looked like, much to their dismay upon learning he didn’t know himself. Seungmin teased him, claiming he had a little schoolboy crush on the somewhat mysterious gamer (he argued that with how much of a yapper they tended to be, affectionately, he was more of the mysterious gamer then they were). Jisung and Jeongin showed their curiosity more subtly in asking about what they liked and suggesting things he could mention to them about places to go and sights to see on their trip. Minho seemed uninterested though he diligently listened to the younger vent about his inner battle over whether or not to reveal his identity.

Chan was surprising, when he first told him about Star he teased the other. The older poked at his cheek with a goofy smile on his face as he sing-songed about Felix having a little crush just as Seungmin had. But once he had opened up about possibly wanting to meet up with them, he expected Chris to get serious and scold him. To tell him that was a reckless idea and could potentially hurt the group should something go wrong. Instead, the older Aussie smirked slightly and shrugged his shoulders. “Do you feel like you can trust them?” Was what eventually left his lips as he turned in his studio chair to look at the younger who sat perched on the couch behind him, pillow hugged tightly to his chest with how anxious he was bringing up the topic with their leader.

Felix stared at him with eyes so wide it made the other burst out into laughter, almost falling out of his seat. “Listen, it’s risky, yes- but mate you’ve been talking about them nonstop for a whole month.” The younger blushed slightly and looked away. “I know the fans usually talk about them for a different reason but we have NDAs for situations like this….”

Felix gawked at him for a moment, blinking a bit as he stared at the older male. “I never- thought of that…but how would I go about asking them to sign something like that?” Chan shrugged, turning back to the soundboard to continue working. “You could ask them to meet up once they are here, then send over the paperwork and explain it’s for your safety. If they are a good friend like you claim, and they already respect how you’ve had to be secretive in the past, then they should understand.” Felix took in the words he was saying, letting them fully absorb as he took in what this meant. But was it really that simple? He thought on it for a few days, and just 48 hours before they were set to hop on a flight to Incheon International, he sent them a message asking if they would meet him once they arrived.

That brings you to this moment, waiting at baggage claim as you eagerly look over the messages in your discord app about where to meet your mysterious online friend after checking into your hotel.

This was absolutely insane, you knew. Meeting up with someone who after years of not even knowing his name or what he looks like, drops the bomb that he is “somewhat a celebrity” and wanted to actually meet in person after all but needed you to sign a bunch of documents stating you wouldn’t leak any of his personal information after knowing who he was. After signing and sending over the paperwork you should have demanded to know who he was, to video call before hand just to make sure you weren’t walking into anything dangerous. But you were a rather impulsive individual and the excitement of finally meeting your friend outweighed the rational part of your brain. It wasn’t even that they were a celebrity that had you so excited. Whoever your friend was, you were just happy to finally meet someone who you considered yourself rather close with even if it was somewhat one sided. Sure, he may have not shared any personal information about himself with you but as far as things like his likes and dislikes, his personality, his kindness, that you were familiar with. It didn’t matter that you didn’t have a real name or face to put to your friend or that you didn’t know what his line of work was, you knew him...at least you hoped you did.

Once you had gotten checked into your hotel you took some time to freshen up after your long flight before sending a message to your friend to let him know you had landed and were ready to head out to the meeting spot whenever he was. He had let you know today was a day off for himself, before an extremely busy schedule the next two days.

You were dressed simply in a pair of distressed baggy jeans and a slightly oversized long sleeve for the comfort of the flight and because you did tend to get chilly often. You were just planning to meet up near the Han River before going to get a bite to eat, so there was no need to change your clothes for something so casual. You heard your phone signal that you had received a message back, giving you the go ahead to start making your way to the park. Here goes nothing-

The spring air was crisp, wind blowing gently causing the baby hairs at the back of his neck to tickle the skin lightly with his hair pulled up in a messy bun he had recently learned with how long his hair has been getting lately. He was dressed in a pair of black sweat pants and a dark blue hoodie, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible lest he attract too much attention from the public.

Anxiously he paced back and forth at the spot he had asked you to meet him.

It was dark by the time you arrived, catching a glimpse of the man from behind a small smile appeared on your face as your footsteps picked up with the eagerness to finally meet your longtime friend.

As you approached him he had turned so he was facing you, though his gaze was pointed at the ground as he was deep in thought it seemed, and it dawned on you as the color slowly drained from your face and realization settled in. Oh no, oh this was embarrassing. You silently thanked yourself for not speaking to him much about your admiration and interest in his group, seeing now that your longtime friend was none other than Lee Felix of Stray Kids. You groaned internally, remembering the slight fangirling you had done to him in the beginning over his group and a specific leader, cursing yourself mentally as you took a a deep breath and made your way to him while his back was once again turned to you. You tapped gently on his shoulder. “Um- Hi?” You spoke softly, suddenly very nervous and not because his identity and status was now known to you but because of your aforementioned introverted nature.

Felix whipped around so fast his neck hurt slightly, looking down (only slightly, we all know this man ain’t that tall) he smiled nervously. Woah, they were so cute, he thought to himself before shaking the thought from his mind. “Star?” He asked, biting his lip slightly as for a moment he feared maybe this wasn’t his friend but could be a stay (and not his stay- wait his stay? Oops-) that happened to spot him and come to say hi.

You giggled lightly, nodding a bit. “It’s uh- my name is y/n, actually…” you said with a smile, offering your hand out to him in greeting. “But you can keep calling me Star if you like- I actually like that nickname.”

He blushed slightly, glad for it to be dark out so it was less noticeable. “You have a lovely name…I know this is probably a useless introduction for you but I’m Felix.” He chuckled and shook your hand before rubbing the back of his neck, eyes down cast. “It’s not useless at all! I know I’m well…a stay and all but I’m your friend first. I actually was your friend first technically speaking.” You rambled slightly, catching yourself before you went on for too long and got off track. “It’s nice to meet you, Felix.” He felt his chest lighten and flutter a bit at your words, knowing in that moment it was the right decision to trust you like this.

You spent some time talking, catching up on little things about each other (mostly Felix) that you never shared due to not knowing each other fully until now. You made your way to a small building with a restaurant upstairs that Felix swore had the best food for late nights after a long flight. He pulled your seat out for you before taking his own. “So I’m guessing those next two days you’re gonna be busy is actually because of the concert the day after tomorrow?” You questioned, looking over the menu and being grateful for the pictures with numbers corresponding to the items listed so it was easier to understand what each dish was as your Korean wasn’t the best. “Ah yeah- it is…are you still looking forward to the show?” He was slightly nervous. What if now after meeting him you felt awkward going to the show. His other friends and family had gone to shows before but perhaps this was different? He was in somewhat uncharted territory with you and since you hadn’t talked much about the concert even before knowing his identity he was nervous to ask but was dying to know at the same time.

“Oh my god are you kidding? So excited! Not to completely gush and make a fool of myself but you guys are incredibly talented. Besides- now I have a whole new reason to be excited.” Felix raised an eyebrow at this, his question showing on his features before he asked it. “And what is that?” You grinned cheekily and reached over to poke at his chest. “I’ll be cheering on my friend, silly!“ you laughed, only quieting down when the waitress arrived to take their order.

Once the order was placed and they were once again left to themselves, you turned to Felix slightly sheepishly. “So uh- I guess now is probably as good a time as any to mention I may not have been completely honest about the true nature of my trip here…” Felix‘s eyes widened a bit as that trademark confused look appeared on his face. Suddenly feeling his heart rate pick up his mind began to race with where this was going. Oh no- were you a sasaeng who actually knew who he was this whole time and had been stalking him until this inevitable moment? No. There is no way- it couldn’t be that, could it?

“I applied for a student visa and well- for the foreseeable future this is where I’ll be living!” The Aussie breathed a mental sigh of relief but then tilted his head as more confusion flooded his expression. “Oh? Why didn’t you say that earlier-“ You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck before taking a sip of the water in front of you. “Well I was worried you might feel pressured in some way that I would want to meet up and I knew how much you wanted privacy….I was afraid you would think I’d expect to become irl friends since I’d be living in the same city…” at this information, Felix felt his heart warm and his chest flutter again at your consideration for him and his boundaries. “Star- that’s….you’re so sweet. But moving here? That’s so exciting! Im glad we did meet after all. You don’t know anyone else here, do you?” You shook your head, feeling slightly embarrassed as the nerves over the move and leaving everyone you had ever known behind to come to a foreign country alone. “Just you, yeah…thank you for trusting me enough to meet up. I’m glad to have you as a friend.” You both wore a matching blush at this, looking away from each other just as the food was delivered to the table.

After a few moments of silence, besides the quiet sounds of you both digging into your respective dishes, the blonde man spoke up. “So a student huh? Are you going anywhere specifically?” You looked up at him, halfway through slurping up some of your noodles causing him to laugh softly at the sight. Quickly you finished chewing and swallowed your bite of food before answering his question. “I’ll be taking Korean lessons, actually, as a way to get my visa. What better way to learn the language than living here, right? I’ll take classes once a week and the rest of the time well- I’ll figure that out but my job was able to let me work remotely so thankfully I won’t have to worry about looking for a job while I’m here.” Felix smiled and nodded, taking in the information. “That’s so cool I didn’t know you could get a student visa to come here and learn Korean- do you know where you’ll be staying long term?” “Not yet. For now I’m at a hotel nearby but as soon as I can I’m going to start looking for an apartment.” You sighed, the stress of your lack of a living situation evidently weighing on you. “If you need any help just let me know, yeah? I’ll try my best. You don’t have to do it all alone..” he offered warmly, placing his hand on top of yours where it rested by your bowl. You smiled, cheeks almost sore from how much this man truly was the ray of sunshine the fans and members called him by.

You both couldn’t help but hold matching smiles on your faces as the night went on. The more Felix got to know his long time friend face to face, the more he felt at ease. It also helped how gorgeous you were. The blonde caught himself staring on more than one occasion and had to pull his eyes away before he was found out by the gamer across from him. The more you got to know him you felt butterflies erupt through your chest at how kind and charming he truly was, a true princely type it seemed.

You discovered you were the same age, though you were a few months older (your birthday closer to Hyunjin’s). You talked about anything and everything as you ate your meal, eventually being politely kicked out so the establishment could close for the evening.

Felix walked you back to your hotel, your hands brushing against each other occasionally from how close you were as you were deep in conversation. “So I’ll see you the day after tomorrow…” he said as you reached the front entrance of the hotel. “Well- yeah I mean if you can see that far into the crowd.” You laughed, tucking some hair behind your ear. “I mean uh- well if you wanted to I could arrange for you to come backstage afterwards and maybe come with us to get dinner after?” Your eyes widened in disbelief as you stared at him like he just handed you a million dollars.

“Really?! A-are you sure? I don’t wanna impose-“ you stuttered a bit as the excitement and nerves took you over.

Felix laughed and nodded his head. “I’ll talk it over with staff and the guys but I’m sure they won’t mind. I’ve uh, kinda been telling them about you a lot since I heard you were coming to visit and they have been super curious to meet you as well-“ now you blushed, looking away. “Um- yeah I mean sure I’d love to!” “Great! I’ll let you know the details when it’s all settled. Oh-“

Felix held out his phone, rubbing the back of his neck. “If you wanna put in your number? It might be easier than communicating through discord alone…” You smiled and nodded as you took the device from his hands and quickly put in the international number you were given for your time there as well as adding in your normal number into the additional contact information just in case. “Well this was so nice, Felix. Im really glad I was finally able to meet you.” He felt the warm and excited smile stretch across his features causing his eyes to turn to crescents and before he could think twice, he pulled you into a tight embrace. You squeaked a bit at the action, but quickly melted into his touch and rested your head against his shoulder while his rested against the side of your head. “Let me know when you get back safe.” You muttered to him as you let go, smiling at his nod of acknowledgment before you both shared your goodbyes and went your separate ways.

Between the time you had met up and the day of the concert you and Felix had been talking nonstop. He kept you up to date while they practiced for the show, even going as far as to send a couple selfies and pictures of himself and the members, including the cutest picture of a sleepy Jeongin and Hyunjin cuddled up on the couch at the back of their practice room that you will cherish forever.

You were currently in the process of getting ready for the show yourself, placing the final touches on your makeup and hair before standing up from where you had sat in front of the floor length mirror in your hotel room and stepped back to take in the full look.

You had taken it upon yourself to dress up to match their latest comeback, wearing a pleated denim miniskirt with a cream colored cropped tank top and a light blue biker jacket you had thrifted sometime ago on top. You finished off the look with some knit leg warmers in a matching color to your top and a few different silver chain necklaces, one dainty with star charms along the length of it and another just a thicker plain chain, and a couple of matching bracelets and rings.

Looking over your appearance once more, you nodded at yourself before slipping on your black docs to finish it all off.

Once you arrived at the venue everything was a blur until you were at your seat, this being your first ever kpop concert let alone in a foreign country. You smiled friendly to the stays around you who greeted you politely and made some small talk which you were happy didn’t get too deep since you were still so new to the language and a bit self conscious about your pronunciation of most words. Before you knew it the show was starting and you couldn’t help but cheer loudly for your friend and his members.

Felix had tried to insist on changing your seat to something closer to the stage but you had refused, saying that you’d get to see him afterwards and that you could still have fun from your seat practically in the nose bleeds and have fun you did. Thank god for modern technology as you were able to snap some photos of Felix mid dance that had you howling with laughter and would most definitely be used to tease him later on.

As the show came to an end your nerves started to bubble back up to the surface, realizing that soon you’d be face to face with all eight members of a group you’ve been a fan of for a couple years at that point. Again you were reminded of the things you had told Felix about one Bangchan and blushed with embarrassment at the thought that maybe he had said something to the older Aussie about your supposed attraction to him based on your love for a certain fictional character he bore resemblance to. As the lights began turning on and fans began leaving the venue you were greeted by a member of staff who lead you to the backstage area through a series of corridors and heavy double doors.

On your way to the green room you happened to run into the members in the hall, spotting Felix your eyes lit up and you called out to him. “Felix! Hey!” You shouted, laughing when his eyes locked on you and he took off run towards your figure down the hall.

Matching his energy you also took off in a sprint towards the Aussie and squealed with glee when instead of stopping upon reaching you the other wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you almost effortlessly and spun you around. “Star! Gosh I’m so glad you are here- how was it? Did we put on a good show for stay?” You giggled as he set you down but noticed how his arms stayed holding you in his embrace. “It was incredible, as always! Well- I mean from what I’ve seen via YouTube videos…” You both laughed, staring at each other as you took in his appearance and he yours. “You look incredible, to match our performance I guess.” You rolled your eyes a bit at his attempt at a joke, but took the compliment nonetheless. “Thank you! You guys inspired me I guess-“ you fired back, catching the seven other pairs of eyes on you from over his shoulder and suddenly felt anxious nerves flood over you.

“Uh, hyung- are you gonna introduce us to your friend?” Jeongin spoke up first, going as far as stepping up and tapping the older on the shoulder. You stepped back from your friend and looked at the others like a deer caught in the headlights. You never realized how large of a group they looked like until you were standing in front of them.

Your poor introverted soul screamed at you to run and hide but you forced yourself to bow at the waist politely to them and introduce yourself to them. “Hi! I’m y/n but you can all call me Star- well uh that’s what Felix calls me and what I go by with my friends…”

You slowly rose to standing straight again when you heard a few of them let out chuckles before they introduced themselves as well. “Star, yeah? Cute.” Lee know said with a smirk. “Cute is right! Felix why did you hide them from us for so lonnngg-“ Changbin whined and clung to the younger while the others laughed or rolled their eyes affectionately at his antics. “Hey I just found out what they looked like myself not that long ago-“ Felix pouted at him as he tried to pry the older off of him. “Ya! You could have shown us a picture or something??” You giggled, hiding your mouth behind your hand shyly before feeling extra bashful being talked about like you weren’t in the room. “Guys, you’re being kind of rude…sorry for them.” Chan spoke up, stepping up and nodding to the green room. “We’ve gotta go get changed but you can come have a seat while you wait? We won’t be long and I’m sure you don’t want to stand out here while you wait- though I warn you it can get kinda loud in there.” He said, glancing back at the others causing them all to prove his point by shouting their protests. “Thank you, that sounds nice.” And with that you followed them into the room to wait for them to all get changed.

As you waited on the couch in the green room for the members to get back into their civilian clothes as you’ve decided to nickname them, you tried not to be too obvious about how your eyes wandered around the room curiously to watch as the staff cleaned up after the show. Stylists grabbing clothing from the outstretched arms of the members from the closed off changing rooms to put them into the proper garment bags and hung on the clothing wracks to be wheeled off and stored away in some vehicle to be brought somewhere at JYPE perhaps, makeup artists cleaning their stations and packing away their supplies, other various staff members going around picking up trash left behind by either themselves or the members. You felt a bit anxious sitting down while everyone else was tidying up around you until you felt the soft leather of the sofa dip beside you. “Hi.”

Looking to your right you were met with Bangchans dimpled face grinning at you. “Oh uh- hi!” Your voice came out a lot higher pitched than you meant it to and you quickly scrambled to compose yourself while Chan laughed at your reaction to his presence. “Hey, deep breaths yeah? It’s just me.” You nodded along, taking a deep breath. “Yeah that’s kinda the problem- I know I’m not the first one to tell you this but you are like hella intimidating…” He responded with more laughter as you gave him a pout. “Sorry ‘bout that, not like I’m really trying to come off that way…quite the opposite really.”

Taking in his appearance you gave him a soft smile. He still had traces of makeup left behind that a quick remover wipe didn’t quite get rid of, dressed in a pair of loose fitting black shorts and a matching black hoodie. “Comfy?” Is the question that slipped out as he sat beside you, full on man spreading. The Aussie’s eyes widened before you were graced with his beautiful laugh once more and you were starting to think you could get used to the sound. “Yeah, I’d say so sitting next to someone as pretty as yourself.” This caused a dark blush to spread over your cheeks and to the tips of your ears as you quickly hid behind your hands. “Oh my god you can’t just say stuff like that-“ you groaned though laughter quickly followed to try and cover your bashfulness. Pulling your hands away you began to fan your face as another one of the boys made your way over to sit on the opposite side of you.

“Oh no, has our poor leader said something to upset you?” Came Lee Minho’s teasing tone as he leaned in close to take a look at the blush still dusting your features. You gasped a bit at the close proximity and struggled to find the words to respond. “Guys can you give them some space, please? They aren’t used to you yet-“ Felix seemed to rush from where he had been changing and attempted to shove Leeknow out of the way. “If they want some space they can speak for themselves, right?” The elder dancer hummed after his question, staring at you expecting an answer. “Well I uh- it’s fine, Lix I’m okay.” The blonde stopped his attempt short and looked between the three of you before huffing a bit. “Well alright if you’re okay….just tell me if they are bothering you, yeah?” You nodded to him, giving the young Aussie a warm smile as Chan made himself more comfortable by draping an arm over your shoulder, thus effectively grabbing your attention. “So, Star- Lix says you’re going to join us for dinner, yeah?” You nod eagerly and flash him the same smile you had just given Felix. “Mhm! If you guys will have me, that is.” From across the room Hyunjin muttered under his breath. “Oh we’ll definitely be having you-“ which caused Han to give him a sharp elbow to the chest and Jeongin a look to say “knock it off” without actually speaking it. Thankfully for the group you didn’t catch the tallest innuendo and continued to chat with Chan and Minho about the show, your favorite foods, and somehow the topic landed on your semi-permanent stay in Korea.

“Wait wait wait- so you’re going to be here for a couple of years to study? That’s fantastic!” Bangchan said with his dimples on full display for you. You fought the urge to reach out and poke them, thankfully winning against the impulse lest you embarrass yourself. “Yup! I still can’t believe it but I’m sure the reality of it will hit once I get settled in a place and start classes.” Minho raised an eyebrow and tilted his head like a curious cat. “Hold on you don’t have a place to live yet?” You shook your head in response and gave him a shrug. “I mean I’m staying at a hotel right now so it’s not like I’m out on the streets or anything.” Now Jisung made his way over, sitting on the other side of Minho and practically gluing himself to the older’s back to get closer to you. “But that’s no way to live! I’m sure it’s not all that comfortable I mean I’ve stayed in many a hotel with this career and it’s just- never as good as having your own bed.” You looked around the see the others nodding or vocalizing their agreement with the rapper. “Well no it’s not ideal but I haven’t exactly had time to find a place yet…” Felix spoke up moving from his spot where he had been leaning against the wall to sit beside Chan. “I offered to help them find somewhere since we’ve got some free time this week now that the concert is over.”

Chan smiled at his fellow Aussie then turned to meet your eyes. “That’s a great idea! We can all help if you want, too. The more the merrier, right?” You nodded, looking over to Felix to gauge his reaction and make sure it wasn’t imposing if he had wanted to spend the time alone with you and to your delight he seemed completely on board with the idea. “Yeah I would really appreciate that, than you Chan.” “Chris. Please-“ You blushed again, giggling a little as you nodded towards him. “Chris.” You responded, feeling brave enough to send him a wink which had the older blushing in return and quickly turning away from you to cough into his elbow. So much for being able to handle what he dished out.

“This is nice, chatting with everyone and getting to know you Star, but I can actually feel my stomach yelling at me to feed it so can we please get going to dinner?” Jeongin whined, clutching his stomach and leaning dramatically onto Changbin who started to complain of hunger himself. With laughter and words of agreement they all decided to load up into two cars split by dorms to head to the restaurant. You found yourself nestled in the cuties car between Felix and Jeongin, talking enthusiastically to Felix about updates coming to your beloved genshin while Jeongin zoned out beside you with headphones on deep into whatever he was doing on his phone. After a while the conversation died down and you felt someone tapping on your shoulder. Turning to look behind you, Seungmin flashed you a soft smile. “Do you plan on coming back to the dorm with us after dinner? We were gonna have some drinks and play Mario Kart since we have the day off tomorrow.” You turned to look at Felix, once again checking to make sure it was okay. Just a few days ago he didn’t even want to show you his face and now it seemed like you were being intertwined deeper within his life with every passing minute. The blonde looked nothing if not eager for you to agree, nodding to you with a bright and sunny smile on his face. “Please? I can show you my pc set up too oh my god I can’t wait for you to see it!” At that you couldn’t really say no, not that you wanted to. “Oh- okay sure I’d love to! I can’t wait to see it either I know you’ve talked about how much work you put into it for months!” Seungmin patted the freckled man on the shoulder and gave him a knowing look before he was met with a playful glare. You looked between them curiously but decided not to question it as you turned back to face forward as the van pulled into the parking lot for the restaurant.

After a somewhat eventual dinner where most of it was spent being practically fed food by all the members, eyes lit up at watching you try everything for the first time. Choruses of “oh try this, it’s my favorite!” and “you’re gonna love this, here take a bite” rang around you for nearly two hours as you all ate your full and chatted throughout.

Once you all arrived back at the dorms you were bid a goodnight by 3racha and their ferret, being ushered into the cuties dorm by an eager Felix as he practically pushed you through the living room before Minho shouted at the two of you to remove your shoes first. Giggling amongst yourself you did as told and then ran off to go see Felix’s set up.

Once your eyes landed on it you gasped, covering your mouth with both hands. “Lix, it’s beautiful-“ you said breathlessly as you slowly made your way to the desk in awe. Felix beamed proudly and leaned in the doorway. “I know, right? It’s almost perfect! There are still a few things here and there I wanna get before I’ll be truly happy with it but for now I’m content.” You looked back at him with astonishment before turning back to his pc. “Truly this is a masterpiece-“ he smiled at your words, coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist. It felt comfortable like this, almost familiar though you knew it shouldn’t considering this is only the second time you’ve been face to face with each other. Still, you found yourself relaxing into his embrace, leaning against him as he swayed the two of you lightly and rested his head on top of your own.

You would have been content to stay like that had it not been for one Kim Seungmin barging in and letting you two know that the drinks and game had been set up and they were just waiting on you.

You blushed, pulling away from Felix to head to the living room but not before grabbing hold of his hand to pull him with you. Felix was a bit sad at the loss of you from his arms but quickly cheered up once your fingers interlocked with one another.

Several rounds of Mario Kart and a few too many drinks later and here you were head in your hands as you faced yet another defeat to Minho as he high fived second place jeongin who then turned around to stick a tongue out at the three of you remaining. “This is why I despise this game-“ you groaned, taking another shot of soju while Felix sat and stared at the screen in disbelief. “I was so close to winning until SOMEONE shot me with a damn blue shell!” He glared at Minho who shrugged, mimicking Jeongin by sticking out his tongue at the younger dancer. “Alls fair in love and racing.” He then winked, heading off to his room. “Losers clean up! I’m going to bed.”

The maknae followed his lead, still laughing a bit at the disappointment on your faces before shutting the door to his room behind him. “I demand a rematch soon!” You shouted at their backs, huffing a bit before laughing as well at how ridiculous it all was.

You, Seungmin, and Felix began cleaning up before you grabbed your phone and started to order a ride back to your hotel. “Woah hey, what are you doing?” Your friend questioned as he came up to you after taking out the trash. “Uh, going home? Well- to my hotel I mean..” he shook his head, taking your phone out of your grasp. “You can stay here.”

You gave him a look as if you thought he was being funny but the man just looked back at you with seriousness. “Are you…sure? I don’t exactly have a change of clothes or anything-“ “you can borrow some!” He responded as if it was the simplest conclusion. At your unsure expression he sighed, canceling the ride on your phone before handing it back to you. “I’m sure. You can take my bed and I’ll take the couch.”

Shaking your head furiously you gawked at him. “Uh no way am I kicking you out of your own bed when I could just leave-“ before you could even finish your sentence he was shutting you down again. “Well I don’t mind sharing a bed with you but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” At that you gave him a funny look before rolling your eyes, though a soft blush painted your cheeks. “Lee Felix I don’t think you could ever or would ever for that matter make me uncomfortable.” He laughed a bit at the exasperated tone you used, pulling you towards his room. “I’m taking that as a yes to a sleepover! I’ll get you something to sleep in-“ and with that he began rummaging around through his drawers.

Once you were dressed in a pair of his sweatpants and an old tshirt, Felix lent you a makeup wipe and after cleaning up your faces you both settled under the sheets of his bed, facing each other in the dark. “I haven’t had a sleepover since I was in middle school…” You giggled, snuggling deep under the comforter. “Me either- I’m so excited! Maybe in the morning we can convince Minho to make us breakfast if he isn’t too hungover.” You raised an eyebrow at him. “Or I could make breakfast since you let me stay over?” You suggested, giving him a smile. “But you’re a guest! I couldn’t do that-“ He gasped, shaking his head at the proposal. “Please? I want to. We could do it together it would be a bonding experience.” It was his turn to raise an eyebrow at you. “Have you seen any videos of me attempting to cook? Are you sure?” You laughed, giving his shoulder a light shove. “Have more faith in your abilities, and mine to keep things under control! We help each other out in games how much different could helping each other cook be?” He scoffed a bit, pretending to be hurt by your weak push to his shoulder.

“Hey uh….would it be okay if we- um…if we cuddled?” The blonde asked, voice just above a whisper. You beamed, choosing to snuggle up to him in lieu of an answer. Felix sighed in relief and pulled you closer. That familiar feeling bubbling up again as you began drifting off to sleep after such an eventful day.

“Goodnight, Starlight…” “Goodnight, Felix.”

author’s note; oh my goodness that was a long one compared to the first chapter- I’m sorry if any of the ending bits with all the boys seemed rushed ૮꒰ “ . . ꒱ა my editor (aka my partner lol) was taking too long and I’m too impatient and wanted to go ahead and post for you all! Thank you guys so much for the support already on this series! It really means a lot to me I can’t wait to see how you all like the story as it continues on~ please feel free to ask questions or give feedback I love to hear from you all truly it makes my day so bright as I hope my writing does for you all! Also you’ll notice below I’ve started a tag list for this series if you would like to be added just lmk and I’d be more than happy to do so (if not that’s completely fine I still appreciate you checking the story out!) I also quickly wanna say I am not sure if I’ll have a concrete posting schedule- I work full time and my job can be mentally draining at times so whereas some days (like today) I can spend all my free time writing updates (and then get too excited and post them right away) and others I may not have the energy or mental capacity. I do apologize in advance but you should never have to go more than a week without an update at the very most~ anyways I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and are looking forward to what may come next ᕱᕱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

tag list; @softkisshyunjin @coastinglove @palindrome969 @amara-mars

[babystrcandy]

the lucky one (pt. 4) | 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: 30.2K chapter summary: Atlas wasn’t a god; he was just a man . . . and Jeon Jungkook could only bear so much. warnings/notes: typos probably, explicit language, forehead touches, the first games, daisy jones and the six vibes at some point, i guess kind of public sex, well elevator nsfw, fingering, squirting, nipple play, titty fucking, explicit sex, unprotected sex, cum play, wooshik (derogatory), shit goes down, reader may have a bad leg but let my girl into the MMAs (in other words, she’d do anything for jk (not that she’d admit to it)), jungkook’s past is revealed and it’s a doozy, abuse of alcohol mentioned, mentions of past suicidal ideation, mention of past suicide attempt but nothing is explained in detail, just mentioned (please be cautious of this part; and take care of yourselves), a silent voice + the female of the species + the picture of dorian gray references/inspo, descriptions of anxiety, depression, mental illness, i think that’s it but if i missed anything please let me know, i hope you enjoy, my loves <3

chapter four: build me up, buttercup ( ← previous | interlude | next → )  

BECOMING SOMEONE WAS ALWAYS something you had known you were meant to do, but you hadn’t expected it to be this hard. You supposed a part of you just always thought it’d be handed to you. OK, maybe not exactly handed to you on a silver platter, but you hadn’t expected that you’d have to chase it, constantly picking up your pace just to catch up. 

It should’ve been easy, right? Being a person was supposed to be easy. Emphasis on the . . . supposed to.

Even as it was happening . . . even as the parts of you that made you a person . . . even as you graduated college . . . this new life didn’t feel like it was yours. You didn’t feel like a person yet. (And a part of you didn’t want to be.)

A part of you wanted to take a step back, restart, and move back in with your parents. A part of you wanted to be a little kid again . . . her mother still brushing her hair and tucking her into bed. Now . . . now you brushed your own hair and barely made it to the bed before you passed out for the night.

You realized for many people becoming a person meant becoming an adult and that was it. You became a person when you became an adult. But it never felt that way for you.

Realizing becoming a person meant your decisions were your own and blaming everyone around you for your misfortunes was immature, had hit you in ways you never imagined. 

It happened gradually.

If you broke a glass . . . that was your fault . . . your mess . . . you cleaned that up. But . . . you remembered as if it were recently when your father would let you cling on to his back while he cleaned up the mess you made just so you didn’t get hurt. 

Now . . . your father wasn’t there to put Hello Kitty bandaids on your cuts. Now . . . now you cleaned up the mess and if you got cut, you got cut. You sucked it up and ran it under tap water. That was it. No sugar coating. No one was there to protect you. Not anymore. 

Because you were an adult now.

But . . . you were still afraid of the dark. You still couldn’t ride a rollercoaster or a bike or even really swim. 

So what exactly made you an adult?

Your age?

You still needed a hand in yours as you navigated through your own life. So how was that fair? You supposed it wasn’t. You supposed you had to accept that there was no hand for you to hold and there was no going back.

But that didn’t stop you from remembering, and it seemed all you could do these days was refamiliarize yourself with the past.

Becoming someone when you were a kid meant so much more. It used to be something you looked forward to. It used to be something that came with being an adult, and well . . . you just couldn’t wait to grow up . . . until . . . you finally did.

You wished someone had told you to slow down; don’t be so eager about tomorrow when today hadn’t even begun.

That was just who you were.

It wasn’t something you could help; you were just always curious about what the future held. Once a competition had concluded, you got right back up there to train and practice. There were no off-seasons for you. You didn’t like to stop; it made you feel uneasy. 

So . . . you liked to keep busy . . . 

Well . . . that all came crashing down the moment of your accident. Your future consisted of hospital beds, check-ups, and physical therapy, which all equaled a whole lot of downtime.

You supposed that was why you took so kindly to literature (not at first . . . of course, because you were still a stubborn person through and through).

And you thought . . . way too much if you thought about it. Whatever.

Thinking wasn’t always kind to you. It made you remember that you had been trained to become someone, not just an adult, but someone . . . great. Sure, you had to work for it every day of your life, but it was a routine you knew well and you liked it enough. You had chosen that life for yourself. You had chosen to become someone great the moment you picked up a racket.

Until you tore it from your own hands, and now . . . now you weren’t exactly sure who you were. And sometimes, if you really thought about it, you wished more than anything you could be a kid again. You’d become someone better if you could just start over. Maybe you wouldn’t become someone great . . . but . . . you’d become someone . . . better.

Worst of all . . . and keep in mind that you were incredibly aware how independent and hellbent on being your own person you were . . . but sometimes . . . sometimes you wished someone would just tell you what to do. You wished more than anything someone would just tell you who to be; who to become. 

Things would be easier then. You were sure of it.

But you were long past those ages. You had to tell yourself what to do; who to become; how to act, and sometimes that blew up in your face but you supposed that was what it meant to be an adult. (News Flash: you fucking hated it.)

Whatever.

What you wanted to do was tell the past and the present to go fuck themselves. What you wanted to do was crawl under your bed and hide away from the rest of the world. What you wanted to do was not be a person at all. 

But the past had a sick way of reminding you that you were perhaps too much of a person.

You had always been just a little too much. Too loud. Too quiet. Too ambitious. Too selfish. Too cruel. Too stupid. Too you. You’d been told it all your life and you’d never really cared until all that was left of yourself was your seemingly horrible personality. That was what you were most ashamed of—not only being a person but being a . . . bad person.

The past had a way of sneaking up on you, reminding you of who exactly you had become and who you had been meant to be.

And that night was no different.

It was the night before the first round of games. Your entire team, Yunis, had traveled by train to Busan for the event, and to say you (and most likely everyone else) were nervous. You’d, of course, sat next to Jungkook the entire time, listening to him snore literally the whole duration of the trip. Eventually, you ended up having to fall asleep with your fingers plugged in your ears, and when you awoke, you were embarrassingly drooling all over Jungkook’s shoulder. (Now . . . nobody say anything, you were already embarrassed enough as it was.)

Anyway . . . 

Train. B-line to the hotel. Get your room key. Take a nap in the queen bed. Wake up. Get more practice in before curfew.

Check . . . check . . . check . . .check . . . check . . . and . . . check.

Only you had underestimated just how much your heart would be pounding the second you approached the arena’s double doors. You knew technically you shouldn’t have been there the night before the games, but it wasn’t illegal so whatever. That didn’t stop the fact that you couldn’t help but notice how much your hands were shaking when you reached out to grasp the door handle.

You just . . . 

It had been a handful of months since you’d joined Yunis. You and Jungkook were good now. Friends. He had been training you, and you couldn’t honestly say that while you weren’t some kind of Olympian. . . you weren’t horrible. And tomorrow, you’d get out there, play with him by your side and know that you had put your all into it. The past should have been behind you. 

But it kept seeping back in.

Your fall. The injury. Those three years.

What if you got hurt again?

What if you failed?

You were OK, maybe even good, but you weren’t . . . great.

And you sure as hell weren’t sure you could live with yourself if you cost your team a win. That nearly made you peel over and spill your stomach’s contents. And if you had to see Jungkook turn to you with disappointment on his face . . . ? That would surely kill you.

Disappointing him was something you didn’t want to do. Not after everything.

It was decided then what you would do: walk through those doors and practice until you could safely walk back to your hotel room without a sinking feeling weighing you down. That very thought stayed on your mind as you shoved open the doors, racket clenched tightly in your hand. Your eyes immediately found all the equipment set up for tomorrow’s tournament, and your heart thudded in your chest at the sight. 

The thing was: you hadn’t seen a court like this in three years. Sure, you’d practiced and practiced and practiced, but you hadn’t seen it like . . . this . . . like how you left it three years ago.

So without even thinking, your body took control. Call it muscle memory or nostalgia, you didn’t know, but you did know one second you were standing by the doors, then the next you had taken all of three steps before your hand touched the net. You walked along the court, hand never leaving the net as you remembered what it felt like to have this be your entire world. 

That was the thing about remembering: you never truly forgot. It had always been badminton to you. It had always just fit into your life. You missed it like you missed a childhood pet. 

And then you felt it: the excitement.

For a split second, you weren’t thinking of winning or losing or anything in between. No, instead, for a second, you remember how it felt just to hit a birdie, no questions asked. You remembered the late nights and the feel of a new racket in your hand. You remembered the joy you felt when you’d see your parents in the stands. You remembered how it felt to hear the crowd scream your name. You remembered it all. And then . . . you realized you were remembering how it felt to . . . love badminton.

Why had it ever been about anything else?

Badminton had fit into you so long ago because you loved it. You weren’t sure when you had lost sight of that.

But you didn’t try to scramble for explanations. You didn’t want to. Instead, you let yourself remember, and as you did, you gave into a small thought which crossed your mind. You leaned down, nose hanging just above the net and breathed in the scent, and then you began to smile. That was what you wished you remembered about your past—the scent of a badminton net. (You supposed it was the same feeling of walking into a bookstore and that scent hitting you all at once (had you told yourself that you’d come to love the smell of a bookstore, you would’ve laughed in your own face, but . . . now . . . badminton and books didn’t have that much of a difference to you.)

Raising your head once again, your eyes fell to the racket in your hand. Here you were three years later, a racket still in your hand, and for a second you swore you felt excited about it. For a second, you wondered if you’d enjoy tomorrow. 

Because maybe badminton fit into you like a hook in an eye, but maybe you had grown to hate it; to fear it. And maybe . . . maybe you could learn to love it again. Perhaps even if you did lose tomorrow . . . perhaps you could still love it. And maybe—

“Why are you sniffing the net?” you heard from behind you, and instantly you knew that voice.

Your head whipped around, eyes immediately finding Jungkook sitting at the top of the bleachers. 

Oh. (Your heart pounded a little faster now.)

Had he been there the whole time?

“Stalking me now?” you called back as you slowly made your way toward him, beginning to climb the bleachers with your racket still in your hand. (You didn’t want to admit just how relieved you were to see him there, because maybe that meant he was nervous too. Maybe you weren’t alone. And maybe (just maybe) you wished he’d come find you all night.)

“I’m not much of a stalker,” he huffed, his eyes never leaving you as he leaned back against the bleachers. “Too much work.”

You reached him with a shake of your head. “You’re too stupid anyway,” you teasingly hummed as you sat down beside him, resting your racket to the side so you could lean back and cross your arms over your chest.

“That’s rude, you know?” he remarked, nudging you with his elbow.

“Eh,” was all you hummed while you turned your head to the side, immediately locking eyes with him. “Say something rude about me then.”

Jungkook only smiled. “No.”

“Come on—” you leaned toward him, staring up at him— “tell me what’s wrong with me. Hmm? Free shot.”

Jungkook mirrored your actions, leaning toward you. “Nothing to tell.”

You rolled your eyes. “Liar.”

“Fine, you’re a brat.”

“A brat?”

“A brat.”

“You’re the brat,” you huffed as you shoved his shoulder.

“Oh, yeah?” he mused, taking the chance to rest his arm around the back of the bleachers where you were leaning. His arm wasn’t quite wrapped around your shoulders, but you could still feel the heat of his body radiating off of his onto yours. “What makes me more of a brat than you?”

“For starters—” you blinked up at him— “this. Oh, and when you make coffee in the morning, you do this thing where—”

But you never finished your sentence, no, instead, you were cut off with his lips pressing against yours. It wasn’t rushed or sloppy or anything like that either. It was soft, but before you could even kiss him back, he pulled away, a dopey smile on his face as he resumed his position, leaning back against the bleachers.

“Uh . . . “ you trailed off.

“Hmm?” he lazily hummed.

“You kissed me.”

“Yeah, I wanted to.”

Narrowing your eyes, you gave him a once-over. “For what?”

“Dunno—” he shrugged— “Been a long day. I like kissing you. You like kissing me. Do the math.”

A scoff left your lips and before you could stop it, you muttered, “Brat.” (Let’s completely ignore the fact that you had a smile on your face when you said it, too.)

The silence hit you two then. But it was comfortable, filled with small smiles and this warm bubbly feeling.

And then . . . 

“Are you nervous?” he asked you. “About tomorrow?”

And you knew the two of you understood each other more than you originally had thought. Because, yes, you were, and so was he. This . . . this was another chance. 

Like the two of you . . . this was a chance to start over.

So instead of bottling up your fears like you would around anyone else, you let your mind speak. “Yes,” you found yourself mumbling with a soft sigh. “A little excited too, but . . . mostly nervous, yeah.”

“Yeah,” he sighed heavily, “me too.”

“How come?”

His eyes snapped to you. “Haven’t played since . . . since last year,” he mumbled before he wet his lips and shrugged.

“Why?” you found yourself asking before you knew it.

“Something with a friend happened.”

. . . 

“Tae?” you hesitantly asked, wondering if he'd let you into his past.

Jungkook blinked. Hesitant at first, but then . . . “Yes.”

Oh.

Suddenly, you remembered the phone call you had overheard weeks ago. Taehyung. He was injured. No. No. You couldn’t jump to conclusions.

“What happened?” you asked instead of letting your mind decide for you, because this was Jungkook and he mattered to you, not some conversation you weren’t supposed to hear.

A beat of silence.

You swore he’d leave you like that. You swore he’d change the subject. Until . . . 

“We had a falling out. Jimin, too,” he ended up muttering out as he turned away from you. He . . . he couldn’t look at you. “I knew I’d fucked up. I tried to fix it, but . . . I was too much of a coward.” A heavy sigh left him. “Still am.”

“Well . . . “ you trailed off, trying to think of words quickly because here he was telling you the truth and you couldn’t bring yourself to be enough of a person to comfort him. So you ended up blurting out: “What if you—”

But Jungkook stopped you where you were. (Perhaps you had taken too much time to respond.) “It’s past that. No ‘what if’s’ will make things OK between us,” he said, his voice strained. “I ruined his life. It was my fault. I ruined everything for him. Everything.”

“Maybe it’s a misunderstanding,” you rushed out, desperately trying to reach him before he curled back into himself. “Like with us.”

He turned to you then, brows raised. “Us?”

Then you realized something . . . your own past with him. You never . . . you never apologized, because you remembered what you did. You remembered how you’d forced the blame onto him because that was easier than admitting you had ruined yourself just like you ruined everything else. But perhaps in doing so, you had ruined him, too.

And you never apologized for any of it.

So when the words “I guess I never apologized, huh?” came out of your mouth . . . you knew what you had cut out for you.

Jungkook only sat there, staring at you in confusion as if he couldn’t believe someone was apologizing to him.

And you went on. “I blamed you for what happened to me, but it wasn’t your fault. I didn’t know when to quit. I should’ve sat the game out, but I didn’t. I did this to myself, not you,” you mumbled sheepishly. One, two, three seconds of silence passed before you awkwardly touched a hand to his. “I guess what I’m trying to say is . . . I’m sorry . . . for blaming you . . . hating you . . . not letting you visit me in the hospital. I’m sorry.”

He blinked in response.

You withdrew your hand.

Was he trying to make you feel awkward on purpose? You quickly cleared your throat just to fill the silence. “You would’ve been the only one to visit me anyway,” you blabbered on, trying not to seem so affected by . . . this. “Shouldn’t have turned you away for that reason alone. I’m pretty sure even the nurses would switch with each other so they didn’t have to deal with me.”

And finally, like some saving grace, Jungkook let out a clap of laughter. “You really are a brat,” he remarked with a shake of his head.

“I was lonely, OK? And miserable!” you whined, squeezing his shoulder. (Your little anxieties floated away the harder he laughed . . . and you knew things were OK.) “Plus! The food tasted like goop.”

He quirked a brow. “Goop?”

“Yep, so you—” you drilled a finger into his chest— “try not going crazy.”

“Brat.”

You shoved his chest in response, but couldn’t hide the grin on your face. “Listen . . . about the other thing . . . Tae’s understanding,” you began again. “You’ve always said that, right?”

He offered you a small, strained smile. “Not about this.”

And you nodded in understanding. “I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“Everything,” you mumbled with a shrug. “Tae. Jimin, too.”

Jungkook blew a raspberry. “Shit happens.”

“Well . . . my mom will be happy to know we’re finally on good terms,” you offered up, trying to lighten the mood. It also wasn’t like it was a lie either. You had yet to tell your parents that you and Jungkook were on the same team, and if your mother knew, she’d leave work just to be there to see you guys play. (What could you say? Jungkook was practically family.)

“We’re on good terms?” Jungkook questioned in response.

Oh no.

You knew where he was going with this. (You could tell by the small grin twitching at his lips.)

“We’re teammates, of course, we are,” you simply replied, trying not to give away the fact that you knew what was ahead of you.

“Are you admitting that we’re friends?” he asked immediately.

There it was.

He was going to rub this in your face.

Of course the two of you were some kind of fucked up friends, but you had yet to truly admit that, and Jungkook was going to have fun with that. (Obviously.)

“No,” you coughed out. (Like that was believable.)

He shoved a finger in your face. “You are.”

“No!” you desperately rushed out. “I’m not.”

“Oh, this is rich!” Jungkook laughed loudly, clapping his hands.

“No, Jungkook, no. Not friends. We can’t be! Our past!”

“Our past?”

You nodded vigorously, practically begging him not to put you through this embarrassment. He wanted you to admit it; to admit you were wrong and you had already done enough of that tonight.

But it seemed Jungkook had other plans entirely.

Instead of shoving it in your face that you’d admitted the two of you were friends, he simply sent you a half-grin and nodded. “Fine,” he hummed, his voice soft and smooth. “Then let’s start over . . . this time as strangers who become . . . friends.”

Oh.

You blinked.

“Fine,” you huffed, but it came out more like a dazed sigh.

With that, Jungkook kept that charming grin on his face as he held out his hand toward you. “Jeon Jungkook,” he mused, introducing himself like the two of you didn’t have a history that could fill an entire filing cabinet. “Nice to meet you.”

And you couldn’t help it: you smiled back at him, grasping his hand in yours and introducing yourself. “Nice to meet you,” you mumbled again after a second, the smile still on your face as you shook his hand.

Jungkook nodded in approval, but his hand stayed in yours and just as you gave him a look of skepticism, he tugged you into him. You let him of course. With an amused look on your face, you let him pull you into his chest, going the extra mile to swing your leg over his lap so you were straddling him. 

What could you say? You enjoyed his touch all too much.

Then you felt his lips. Similar to the kiss from before, this one was also soft. At first, it was just closed lips and nimble sighs. He pulled back after a few small pecks, seemingly content with just having you close to him.

“Sorry, it’s a ritual,” he murmured against your lips.

“That how you greet all people?” you mused, laughing through your nose.

“Of course,” he hummed as he pressed another quick kiss to your lips.

But you had always been a little insatiable . . . so, the next words to leave your mouth were: “Can you show me more of that ritual?”

All Jungkook could do was grin against the very lips that had asked him that question. He, of course, gave in to your request, pressing his lips against yours once again, softly kissing you with every atom in his body. Until . . . slowly, so slow that it was almost painful, his hands found their way to your hips and squeezed, fingers digging into you and making you crave more, more, more. You just couldn’t help yourself. He was like chocolate-covered strawberries. You couldn’t resist him, not after the long day you’d both had.

And so . . . your hands found their way into his dark locks, weaving through them as you shifted on his lap and deepened the kiss. You nibbled on his bottom lip, tugging slightly and just enough to get him to comply. His lips parted slowly and you nearly sighed in contentment, but no, instead you melded further into him, now tugging his head backward by his hair in order to lick into his mouth. You just couldn’t help it. He tasted sweet. 

It was sloppy and carnal . . . just the way you craved it to be. He only spurred you on from there. While you hummed into his mouth, biting and licking, attempting to taste more and more and more of him, he nearly whimpered under your touch. You couldn’t believe it either. Jungkook whimpering under your touch? It was almost too good to be true, and you loved it.

Craving more of this feeling, you tugged at his hair a little harder, causing him to wince . . . but this was no ordinary wince. No, the man full-on moaned. It was quiet and short, but it was still there. By now, yes, you knew one of Jungkook’s major turn-ons was getting his hair pulled, but you never got over it, and every time, you’d tug his hair just to see what kinds of sounds you could pull from him.

Sometimes (most times) he let you get away with it without a word. But sometimes . . . sometimes he bit back (and you sometimes liked to admit just how much you enjoyed that, too).

And tonight? Well, tonight, Jungkook was in the mood for biting back. 

Instead of letting you have your way with him, Jungkook weaved his fingers into your hair and pulled hard. With a muffled whimper, he pulled you just far enough away from him to press his lips to your ear. And then . . . then . . . he said words you never thought you’d ever hear fall from his silver tongue.

“Something in me wants to ruin you. Keep tempting me like that and I don’t know if I can hold back,” he muttered with a masked growl under his breath. “But . . . I don’t know if I’d ever forgive myself.”

“I would,” you rushed out, not missing a beat. Did you know what you were saying? No, but god, you just wanted him in any way. “Forgive you . . . if it meant . . . “

He pulled back so his eyes met yours. “If it meant?”

You blinked at him, eyes lidded and clouded. “That I could feel you,” you hummed as you pressed a hand against his firm chest.

His brows twitched with intrigue. “Feel me where?”

You swallowed hard. “Everywhere.”

In real time, you watched his eyes darken completely and you almost couldn’t believe it. It was the kind of thing you read about, not something to experience, and yet . . .

Jungkook was touching you a second later, and you let him. Hell, you’d let him do anything at this point. Ruining you was on the table. Perhaps that was the part of him that he liked to hide away, but you didn’t mind it. You knew you were safe in his touch. That was the only thing you knew anymore about anything.

So when the hand on your hip tightened, you let him. He pulled you in closer with his other hand, keeping it secure against the back of your head while his mouth attacked your neck. He licked a long strip from the base to just under your ear where your sweet soft lay, lapping and swirling his tongue against the sensitive skin. 

Then, he found your pulse, halting above it before grazing his teeth over it, working you up more. He continued his devious attack before he began sucking, quietly moaning into your neck as he took note of the slight gasps escaping your lips, and you were so caught up in the moment that you hadn’t even realized that perhaps the two of you were going a little too far.

In fact, it didn’t hit you until you accidentally nudged your racket off the bleachers with your leg. And the sound of it clanking against the bleachers brought you out of your own mind. 

Your eyes darted to the racket . . . then . . . it set in. “Don’t mark me,” you muttered as you turned back to Jungkook.

He continued kissing your neck, but did as you said, not sucking on the skin. “You marked me first,” he breathed into your neck as his wandering hand finally found your plump ass and he couldn’t help himself. He began palming the flesh, softly humming into your neck, and making you lose your train of thought. His touch just felt so good.

Until you realized what he had said. You marked me first. And yes, he was right. Because you had. You’d accidentally left many hickeys on his neck (and all over his body) since this little thing between the two of you had begun. (What could you say? He looked pretty like that . . . and maybe there was something possessive about you . . . )

Still . . .

“Yeah, but if we both show up with hickeys—” you began, trying to find your brain with his lips still on your skin— “I think people will start to put two and two together.”

“Who cares?”

“I care,” you huffed, but still continued running your hands through his dark hair, refusing to leave his touch. “People are gonna think I fucked my way to the top.”

“Well, that’s simply not true,” Jungkook mumbled as he (unfortunately) leaned back, his lips leaving your neck so he could meet your eyes. “I have yet to see you fuck on top.”

You deadpanned. Of course that was where he was going with that. “You’re infuriating,” you said in monotone.

“Calm down,” he snorted, shaking his head at your expression. “I’m not marking you.”

And he was just about to continue his sloppy descent when you . . . well you . . . decided to mumble under your breath, “Well . . . “

“Oh, god, yes, honey?” he huffed out, using the one nickname that he knew you hated.

(You truly did hate it.)

You rolled your eyes at him, but nevertheless went on. “Just . . . don’t do it where people can see,” you muttered.

Jungkook only grinned, wide and toothy. “Wanna sleep in my room?” he offered up, and you knew what he meant.

A beat of silence.

(Did you even have to think about it?)

“Yeah, why not?” you hummed a second later, nodding with a small smile on your face.

(Not like you had planned on sleeping in your own room anyway.

(Duh.))

The arena looked different in the morning. Everything was a little different. For one, there was an audience, and for two, you were nervous too, but also excited? Whatever that meant. But you weren't caught trapped in your own mind for too long. As you stared out at the court, assessing the other team as well as the audience members, you felt your phone buzz in your hand. Instantly, it tore you away from the present as you opened your phone only to see a text message from none other than Jeon Jungkook. (A smile lifted onto your face as you opened the message but you refused to acknowledge that . . . part.)

Kook Ur ass looks good in that skirt

And you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, not even bothering to text back a response. Instead, you glanced over your shoulder, eyes searching for him and then . . . then you saw him. He was in uniform, except under the tee, he wore a black long-sleeve compression shirt, which you supposed was to hide the tattoos. In addition, his dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail at the back of his head that held most of his long locks. And you noticed that he’d taken out all of his piercings, almost making him appear like the boy you used to know three years ago. (It was an odd sense of deja vu, but . . . well . . . he still looked like . . . himself.)

You were moving toward him in an instant. Whether it was the nerves or whatever, you didn’t care about anyone else, you just needed to feel him. Maybe that would ground you. And so, you crossed the court to him, and when you did, your hands found his broad shoulders, squeezing them. And then . . . then you did something so uncharacteristically unlike you . . . and rested your forehead against his, finally allowing yourself to breathe a sigh of relief.

Jungkook reacted quickly to your touch, squeezing your arms as he laughed through his nose. “You alright?” he murmured, a hint of a teasing tone in his voice.

“Yeah, obviously, just . . . just feel like I’m going to puke,” you joked, because it was true. Now if it was because of nerves or excitement . . . you didn’t know. “Just normal stuff. Why do you ask?”

“You’re touching me in public,” he simply said, a hint of a grin on his face.

You blinked. Oh. Well . . . you supposed he was right . . . so you know . . . you kind of cleared your throat and backed up just an inch away from him. “Just—” you shrugged— “putting our heads together.”

Jungkook remained grinning. “Don’t be nervous,” he hummed as he squeezed your arm once more. “We’ve got this, Iris.”

You nodded. “Right.”

And you tried your best to believe him. (All the while trying to ignore the fact that touching him in public hadn’t even crossed your mind as unusual. It had felt . . . safe . . . right. 

Fuck.)

The score was eighteen to eighteen. Your side just needed to win by four more clear points. Four more points. 

This . . . this was familiar. It wasn’t like practicing with Jungkook or practicing by yourself. It reminded you of the past; a past where this could have been easy for you; where it was normal; where you wouldn’t have your heart pounding out of your chest.

You’d been here before. 

Twenty to twenty. Yurim, your college doubles partner, had been by your side back then. She had been the one who stood by you as you took that fall and lost the game. She lost it, too.

That game was both of yours to lose.

You’d let her down then. (As far as you knew she had left the badminton scene ages ago.) But you had the chance to redeem yourself.

Right now . . . now you could win this game and set things right.

Setting things right meant keeping your eye on the birdie. Obviously, the more skilled player takes the front while the other takes the back, so you stayed in your spot most of the game at the back and made a few scores, but not as many as Jungkook. He just made it look so easy . . .

He deserved this. This win should be his. And you knew you had to keep your eyes on the birdie.

The two of you had gone separate ways on a court very similar to this one. If you made those points, you could mend what had been ruined. 

A well-oiled machine you may have been but—

A whistle was blown, your thoughts cut off as you watched the other team set up the serve. And then the birdie was airborne.

Quickly, you readied yourself, fighting your present and past memories as you tried to stay focused. Eyes on the birdie. That was what you needed to do.

The birdie swirled through the air, heading straight for Jungkook, and you had no doubt he’d hit it, but as his net made contact, the birdie fumbled. The hit made the birdie fly higher into the air, and not over the net but rather backward . . . toward you.

And you acted fast.

Racing behind Jungkook, you didn’t think. One moment you were standing by like a sitting duck, then the next you had jumped off your bad leg, putting as much power into your jump as you could. Your eyes still on the birdie, you launched your arm forward toward the birdie. But it seemed Jungkook had thought the same thing, attempting to swing backward enough to hit the birdie over the net . . . however . . . the two of you acted on your own, non-cohesive thoughts and dived for the birdie, smacking your rackets together in the process and fumbling it all.

The point was not yours to claim.  But that was the least of your worries. You had been looking at the birdie, already accepting the failure. And you realized too late what was happening as your feet touched the court once again.

Because . . . well . . . your eyes had been on the birdie. They'd watched it the entire time, and you'd forgotten about paying attention to landing on your feet. And you hadn’t taken into account how close Jungkook would be, and how that might play out.

It had only been a second where you’d let yourself forget and get wrapped up in the game once again, and suddenly, it was as if you had been transported back three years. And then . . . then . . . the past repeated itself.

It'd only been a second where you forgot; the one second you'd forgotten while your attention had been on the birdie, you landed on the court, only your leg hadn't been positioned right, causing your ankle to roll, and while you had caught yourself, that didn’t matter. Jungkook was moving, too, and before either of you could react, his body knocked into yours, causing you to lose your footing as you fell backward onto the court.

In response, you tensed, waiting for the pain to seep in, waiting for your life to be ruined once again. But no pain came. Your leg was OK. Nothing had happened. And you could breathe a sigh of relief. 

The whistle blew, signifying the other team had scored a point, but your mind was still on your leg. That was what mattered to you right now. That was why you hadn’t moved from your spot on the court. That was why you had decided to ignore the world for a split second and carefully touch a hand to your hip, making sure nothing had truly happened.

Only . . . you hadn’t taken into account the fact that the rest of the world didn’t decide to ignore you.

Jungkook especially hadn’t decided to partake in any ignoring.

That much was evident as he fell beside you on the court. “Fuck, fuck, no—” you heard him instantly rush out— “Baby, fuck, your leg. I didn’t—” 

Glancing up, you watched as the shocked expression on his face turned into one of concern, and before you could interject, he called out for the ref, signaling for a timeout. The whistle was blown once again in response, clarifying that Yunis would be taking a two-minute timeout before the game was to resume. And all you could do was stare at him, trying not to burst out laughing . . . because . . . goddamn it . . . you just wanted to hug the guy.

“Koo,” you settled with instead, a small smile on your face.

But it seemed Jungkook hadn’t heard you as he whipped back to face you, his eyes wide and almost innocent. “Can you stand?” he started with as he gently touched a hand to your hip. No one had ever been so gentle with you . . . like that. “Is it—Is it OK? Pain? Any pain?”

You only blinked at him. 

His brows pinched together in concern. “You gotta talk to me? Is it shock? Fuck, are you in shock?”

And then you truly did snort.

He blinked. “ . . . What?”

With a smile slowly forming on your face, you rested a hand on his shoulder. “I’m fine, Koo. It was just a small tumble. Nothing’s broken and nothing hurts,” you hummed. “Well . . . except my pride. I really thought I had that in the bag.”

Slowly, his face softened into relief. “Just a little hiccup. We still got this,” he said, a small smile on his face once again. “If you’ll forgive me for tripping you in the last round.”

You laughed, “I think I tripped myself on you.”

“Eh, agree to disagree,” he mused as he stood to his feet and reached out his hand toward you. “Ready to win this?”

“Yes,” you sighed in contentment as you took his hand and let him help you to your feet . . . because you really did believe you might have a chance. You just . . . you needed to trust him. He would’ve hit the birdie if you had just let him. So now . . . you needed to trust him.

Trust him, you thought as the whistle blew once again, signifying that the game was resuming. Trust him, you hummed to yourself as you got into position while you watched Jungkook secure his stance. Trust him, you believed as he glanced over his shoulder to send you a wink just as the whistle was blown once again, and the game began. And trust him you did.

Everything moved slowly then. The world was barely turning on its axis. The other team served the ball, hitting it over the net. Jungkook hit it back. Then . . . the other team attempted to hit a smash, but Jungkook was fast. One moment the birdie was flying toward the court, then the next Jungkook was diving for it. He put all his force into his legs, diving for the ground, and just in the nick of time, he smacked the birdie clear over the net, countering the other team’s shot. And as if that weren’t impressive enough, he’d made a clear . . . one that no one had been expecting.

The other team was too caught up in the potential win to be near the backcourt. Jungkook had hit the birdie, and cleared. The birdie was too fast, hitting the backcourt without a single counter.

He’d won you guys a point.

The score was nineteen to nineteen. Two more points and you’d win. You couldn’t believe it. The two of you may have actually had a chance. You just had to trust him. Yes, that seemed to be the trick. Just . . . trust him, and truly, you did.

You knew you did as you jumped for him, helping him to his feet with a grin on your face. “You did it,” you softly said with a hand on his shoulder. 

“Remind me to ice my ass when we get back,” he groaned, but somehow, someway, he still looked handsome. (And you desperately wanted to kiss him, but . . . you know . . . control yourself.)

“You good?” you asked, searching his face.

“Yeah, yeah,” he brushed off your question with a sigh. “We got this, Rosie.” He offered up a high five, and you took him up on it, high fiving him (he enclosed his fingers around your hand a little longer than he probably should have, but whatever . . . you guys could win this).

It was your turn to serve. And with equal parts nerves and excitement in your veins, you gripped your racket tightly in your hand, gave Jungkook a small nod, and made your way to your place on the court, birdie grasped tightly in your other hand.

Everything happened too quickly from then on. You briefly heard the referee blow the whistle, signifying the resumption of the game. Then you rubbed the birdie on the side of your handle once for good luck, twice for blind hope, a third time for a chance to start over . . . before you sent it flying through the air, over the net in an almost perfect serve.

You almost blinked in shock, realizing perhaps you really had gotten a lot better. This game could be yours. It really could be. Fuck, it could be. (You tried not to grin at your thoughts.)

With careful eyes, you forced yourself back into the game and watched as the other team hit the birdie. It was heading toward Jungkook and instead of worrying; instead of racing toward it, you let him hit it, watching as he delivered another perfect clear except, this time, the other team had hit it back. Only, Jungkook was quick. He countered this too.

A few more hits were bounced back and forth, and for a second you thought Jungkook would definitely deliver a lethal smash toward the other team, resulting in a win, but no . . . this time, as the other team hit the birdie . . . it came racing toward . . . you.

You swallowed hard. That was your cue. You readied yourself, eyes on that damned birdie. It was right there, but it was high, and you realized you had been here before. This . . . this was your true test, and you wouldn’t fail it again.

So with it coming straight toward you and an odd sense of deja vu hitting you all at once, you beckoned it closer and jumped off your bad leg, putting as much power into your jump as you could. Your eyes still on the birdie, you launched your arm forward, your racket slamming into the birdie and sending it at an impeccable speed toward the other team.

Fuck, you’d hit it. Fucking hell, you really had!

Time moved slowly then. You could’ve been frozen in the air and you wouldn’t know. You just didn’t even want to take your eyes off the birdie. But memories of three years ago consumed you. This was where you’d met your end.

The match couldn’t be yours; it didn’t make sense. And defeat was right there; it still tasted just as bitter as it did three years ago. It was there on the tip of your tongue. But this wasn’t three years ago, and you were not the same person you used to be. This . . . you had rubbed the birdie against your racket three times for good luck, blind hope, and a fresh start. This was not the past, it was your fresh start.

You didn’t have to fail. And you didn’t have to win. You just had to remember.

And so as time seemed to slow down even further, you realized your eyes had been on the birdie. They'd watched it the entire time, but this time, even with the pounding in your head and the ache in your leg, you hadn’t forgotten about paying attention to landing on your feet.

The birdie would land or it wouldn’t. You’d given your all to it. You remembered that at the last second.

It'd only been a second when you finally remembered. And unlike three years ago, you landed on the court, sneakers touching the ground as you bent your knees to cushion your impact. But you didn’t dare move.

You stayed crouched on the ground, head lowered as you waited to hear what your fate had in store for you. Would it be horrified screams? Cheers? And when they cheered, would they be cheering for you?

And then you heard it: loud cheers erupting from behind you as the crowd stomped their feet on the bleachers, nearly shaking the entire arena in the process. Was it? Could it be? Had you—

No, stop. It couldn’t be. Sure, you thought maybe the two of you could win, but . . . you fully expected just to walk away from the game with a loss but a newfound love for the sport you once called your other half.

So with confusion consuming you, you finally glanced up, eyes immediately landing on Jungkook, who was already staring at you, a wide, toothy grin stretched across his face as he clapped for . . . you.

You’d been here before. That was the same look he’d given you when you’d beat him just a few months ago. That was when you first felt yourself truly care for him . . . and now . . . now it seemed you’d made him proud. Had you?

Your brows shot up in shock, your body relaxing only slightly.

Then . . . you saw it. There, on the other side of the court, laid the birdie.

That meant . . . (holy fuck!) That meant you had landed the smash. You’d made the point. You’d . . . You’d . . .

You’d . . . won.

The score was nineteen to twenty-one.

You had fucking won.

Yunis landed fourth in the tournaments. You’d won. You were moving on to the next games. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Fucking fuck! Yunis would appear at another tournament. There was a possibility that your team could win it all. 

Your thoughts ran wild.

You’d won. After all these years, all the pain, the hurt, the tears, the anger . . . and you’d finally . . . won.

You couldn’t help it. The second this dawned on you, you rose to your feet and fell into Jungkook. Your arms wrapped around his neck, and you held him tight, nearly letting yourself cry into his shoulder. You just . . . you couldn’t believe it. And it was all because of him.

Thank you, your hug seemed to say as you squeezed him tighter (so tight you were sure he could feel it in his soul).

Then . . . Jungkook ever so slowly wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight against him, and you realized the only reason this win felt like one was because of him. You hadn’t only won for yourself, but for him.

Perhaps this would get him to love badminton again. Because, truly, badminton fit into you like a hook in an eye, and you were sure Jungkook felt the same. You could only hope he did.

Let the record show that making acquaintances with the bartender in the hotel bar your team was staying at for the first round of tournaments was not how you imagined celebrating your first win after three years. It just wasn’t, and honestly, you hadn’t even expected to leave your hotel room. You expected to maybe . . . just maybe see what the minibar in your room had in stock and perhaps you’d drink a few small bottles of . . . whatever.

That had been the plan—to get mildly tipsy then head for the bathroom for a hot shower . . . but . . . somehow, someway you’d ended up taking the shower first, taking one look at the minibar, then deciding the actual bar on the main floor just might have better options. And then, well, you ended up sitting alone at the end of the bar, dressed in sweats while everyone else appeared to be dressed business casual.

You stuck out like a sore thumb.

It was embarrassing, really, but after the second drink, you stopped looking around the room and focused in on the bottom of your glass. Why was this how you decided to celebrate? You had no idea, because, truthfully, it felt a lot more like nursing an old wound than celebrating a win.

It didn’t help that your entire team was elsewhere and your own doubles partner was MIA since the court. So, really, that just left you alone in sweats at a bar with a drink in your hand that you didn’t even like.

Fifteen minutes later you decided you’d had enough. But just as you were about to stand on your feet, pay the bartender, and turn to your hotel room, something caught your eye.

Now . . . Jealousy was not something you had an issue with. You didn’t get jealous. There was no need to. You’d never had anyone to be truly jealous over. Right? Yes, obviously, duh. Obviously . . . 

But catching a glimpse of Jungkook just on the other side of the room, talking with another girl did annoy you. No, not because you were jealous, but because here you were all alone celebrating your win and he was nowhere in sight. And now . . . now you discovered he had been in the same place as you this entire time and didn’t say anything.

Were you being dramatic? Probably.

Whatever. Whatever. Whatever.

Still . . . you continued staring, eyes narrowed and you were certain it looked as though you were trying desperately to blow his head up with just a glare. But . . . ugh! Come on, he was so—

Jungkook turned his head, his eyes locking with yours.

Your eyes widened into saucers as you quickly (too quickly) whipped back around, facing the bar once again with your drink now clutched tightly in your hand.

But you knew he’d seen you. And he knew he’d seen you.

Surely, he wouldn’t come over here, right? He was busy. Yes. He wouldn’t come over. He was—

“You have a staring problem,” a deep voice whispered from behind you.

Of course. Of course . . . Jungkook would come over.

Clearing your throat, you slowly turned to face him. “Just wondering how you bagged her,” you hummed with a small shrug as you took a sip of your drink. Yep, still the same taste. (You tried not to react to the bitter-tasting liquid.)

Jungkook ignored your jab and instead sat down on the barstool beside you, resting his elbow on the bar. “So . . . “ he trailed off, searching your eyes as he toyed with the lip ring adoring his bottom lip, “wanna come back to my room?”

You shot him an unamused look. “Is this how you treat all one-night stands?”

“Mmm, come on,” he began as he slipped the drink from your hand, taking a sip in the process, “you know I’d never ask them to stay.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “Oh, I feel so special,” you sarcastically mused. Your eyes drifted to the girl he was talking to, finding her still standing in the same spot now talking to another woman and a man. But still . . . your jealousy remained. Wait, no, not jealousy. No. “Go back to your girl. She’s waiting on you.”

Those were the words that fell from your lips the moment the fact that you could actually be . . . jealous . . . popped into your head.

Jungkook blinked, his expression faltering ever so slightly.

Then: “Alright . . .” he nodded— “have a good night, Buttercup.”

“Yep,” you breathed out, turning back to face the bar as you watched him get up and walk away out of the corner of your eye.

It was silent again. You were alone again. Until: “Can I get another one of these,” you heard yourself ask before you knew what you were doing. Why you were ordering this god-awful drink again, you had no idea, but . . . oh well . . .

Only, before the bartender could pour another one out, a hand cut in front of you, pushing the empty glass away. “That won’t be necessary,” the person said, and you instantly knew who interjected.

Turning around, your eyes fell on Jungkook for another time that night. “Kook? What?” you questioned as you watched him wave off the bartender, and sit back down in the barstool beside you.

Finally, his eyes flicked to yours, and he . . . smiled. “Told her I already had plans.”

You breathed out a laugh through your nose. “You’d choose me over somethin’ like that?” you hummed, trying to make light of the awkward situation. (At least . . . well . . . awkward to . . . you.)

“I’d choose you over everyone,” Jungkook responded without missing a beat.

And your face slowly fell into one of shock.

“So, let me ask you again . . . “ Jungkook began again while you were still in a state of shock, “wanna go back to my room?”

I’d choose you over everyone, rang through your ears again as he stared, awaiting your answer. But he couldn’t mean that, right? . . . Right?

And . . . and why did it make you feel like . . . that? Like . . . like . . . well you didn’t exactly know what it made you feel, but you did know it had done something to you. You just . . . you couldn’t put it into words, but . . . you didn’t hate it.

You didn’t hate how his words had made you feel; how he had made you feel. So, really was it a surprise that you reached forward to grasp his warm hand in your cold one? Was it really a surprise that the next few words to fall from your lips were: ‘Lead the way’?

Subtly, you, and Jungkook did not go together well. The entire walk back to the lobby, down the hall, and straight for the elevator were filled with quick steps, wandering eyes, and hands brushing (very obviously if you had to admit). Anticipation and eagerness were in the air as the two of you finally made it to the elevator.

Side by side, Jungkook pressed the upward arrow, and you watched as it lit up, the sound of the elevator gearing into action. His pinky finger brushed against yours then. It was a simple touch; one you wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t so caught up in the memories of the last time you’d had his body on yours (just before you’d taken the train to Busan . . . so like . . . two days ago). 

It was a consistent thing. You had nothing to say for yourself. It was fun. And that simple touch had your mind reeling and your body itching to touch his.

Then, as if like clockwork, the elevator dinged, the doors slowly opening to reveal an empty area. You didn’t even have a chance to put a name to the feeling that bloomed within your chest before Jungkook took your hand in his, pulled you into the elevator, and slapped the button to his floor before he vigorously pressed the door close button.

Leaning against the elevator wall with your hands clasped behind your back, you felt yourself laugh under your breath. “You know you only have to press it once,” you hummed, brows raised as you took in his appearance with a careful look.

“What’s the point in that?” he sheepishly questioned, pressing it one more time before he approached you, leaning his hands on the rail on either side of you. His nose bumped yours, his lips just barely brushing against yours. “Hmm?”

“Unnecessary time wasted,” you murmured back, leaning just a bit closer . . . enough to press your lips against his once. 

“But then how would I get my point across?” he whispered back, pressing another kiss to your lips.

Subconsciously, your hand raised to caress his jaw. “What point?”

Jungkook grinned against your lips.

“What?” you questioned. “What point? Hmm?”

“That if this elevator does not close fast enough—” he moved to kiss your neck— “I might be tempted to fuck you here.”

Oh. You swallowed thickly. “And that’s a problem?”

Jungkook raised his head, his eyes meeting yours as that damned half-grin spread on his face again. He went to open his mouth, but finally, the elevator doors began to close, forcing the two of you to turn your attention to them, watching carefully as they closed shut and the elevator shaft began to move.

Blinking quickly, you turned back to Jungkook. He turned back to you, eyes flicking between yours and your lips.

Then . . . he smiled. “Not a problem now,” he murmured, and you knew there was no going back. His hands, lips, teeth, tongue were on you instantly, trying to get as close as possible that you hadn’t even noticed he’d hiked up your leg onto his hip in an attempt to get his body flush with yours. And you welcomed it all, because fuck . . . the only thing you were thinking was him, him, him.

In the heat of things, his hand snuck under your sweatshirt, the warmth of his skin providing comfort to your chilled skin. You sucked in a breath, the hand that had been on his jaw, now snaking into his dark hair, twisting and twirling the longer strands. Without thinking, you tugged a little too hard on his hair, instantly drawing a deep moan from the back of his throat. 

You stilled under his touch. Fuck. Now . . . men who were vocal were your biggest weakness. You had known this before, but he’d never sounded like . . . that. And you barely had time to process it.

One second you were frozen under his touch, then the next all you could feel was him. He took you by surprise, the hand holding your thigh up reached for your ass, tugging you into him so your lower half was completely flush with his. The fact that he was already somewhat hard, too, was impossible to ignore, and only fed into the dizzying effect he had on you. And as if him slightly grinding the bulge in his pants against your core wasn’t blissful torture enough, his other hand had snaked all the way up to cup your breast, his thumb quickly finding your perked nipple and rolling it. You jerked against him, the pleasure going straight to your core.

“No fucking bra. You’re killing me,” he murmured against your lips, his thumb still rolling slowly then quickly then slow again . . . just how you liked it. “I’ll never get over how sensitive you are.”

And you . . . well . . . you couldn’t help yourself. It was your weakness after all. One more roll, and you were reeling, core throbbing, and blood rushing to your head. You gave in, letting your body buck against his as you practically mewled into his mouth.

“Fuck, I can’t wait any longer,” he all but whined as he retracted his hand from under your shirt, and before you could question his motives, that same hand was already crawling under the hem of your sweatpants. Quickly, his fingers found your heat as he gave a groan of approval before he began to swirl the wetness around your puffy lips. 

“Kook,” you gasped into his mouth as his middle and ring fingers plunged into your core. “Can’t you just fuck me here?”

He curled his fingers in response, and you slightly arched against him. “Shh,” was all he could fathom while he plunged his fingers in and out . . . in and out . . . in and out.

One particular plunge had your pussy squelching. You didn’t know why it was so loud this time, but every time he’d fuck his fingers into you, squelching sounds followed. But before you could become embarrassed, Jungkook lowered his head to your shoulder, groaning into your neck as he paused his hand movements. 

Was he going to say something? Was he—

“Listen,” he whispered into your neck, shocking you completely moments before the grip on your thigh became lethal as he began to quickly fuck you with his fingers, loud, wet squelching sounds accompanying each pump.

And suddenly you weren’t thinking any longer. His skilled fingers were working you so well, you barely even heard how wet you were for him, you just felt this overwhelming sense of pleasure and let yourself become consumed by it. Mesmerized by your pleasure, Jungkook continued fucking you on his fingers, dragging the pads of his fingertips against the rough part of your walls as the palm of his hand applied pressure to your clit.

One particular motion had your lower stomach muscles contracting, and that was when you felt it. Gasping slightly, you managed to raise your head, shooting your hand out to latch onto the rail behind you. “Kook,” you gasped again as your brows pinched together and you tried to focus your vision. “I think—” a small whine sounding from the back of your throat cut you off— “Fuck, I think I’m going to—” 

Another whine of your own cut you off once again, and instantly, you recognized this feeling. The familiar coil building and building in your lower stomach. Only this time, it felt different—the pressure was deeper, more intense . . . like you couldn’t control it.

Your lower abdomen muscles contracted again and you knew it was coming. “Kookie,” you all but cried out as your hand grasped the forearm of the hand clutching your thigh. “I’m going to—” you tried to swallow, but your mouth felt so dry and you were so out of breath— “I’m going to fucking . . . ffffuh . . . fucking . . . squirt.”

At the sound of your words, Jungkook raised his head, lidded eyes, mouth slightly agape, and brows pinched upward, staring back at you. Quickly, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against yours. “Be good for me, yeah? Let me have it, baby,” he murmured against your lips, still not stopping his motions. “Look at me when you do. Wanna see it.” Another kiss to your lips. “Wanna see you cum.”

All you could do was nod as you tried to keep your eyes open while Jungkook backed up from you just enough to be able to see your face clearly enough. And then you felt it: the coil. It tightened and tightened, rings of pleasure hissing in your ears until it finally snapped, your release sprinkling out of you and soaking your sweatpants as this deep pleasure consumed your being in waves. You tried to fight against it, trying to keep your eyes peeled open and trained on Jungkook, but your vision was blurry and your pussy was throbbing so hard you were sure it had gotten to your head.

In the end, all you could manage was to slump against Jungkook’s buff chest while he pumped the last of your release out of your pulsating core. And once you had nothing left to give, his fingers slid out of you before he wrapped both of his arms around your spent body, chuckling slightly as you fell limp in his grasp.

“You are so loud,” he murmured after a moment’s silence as he buried his face into your hair and finally laughed, his whole chest vibrating.

“Am—” you smacked your lips together, still delirious— “not.”

Jungkook snorted. “Whatever you say, Petunia.”

“Ugh, Koo . . . “ but your words died on your tongue.

Had you been loud? Oh god . . . did you . . . you didn’t scream, did you?

Slowly, you gained back a little mobility (enough to raise your head to look him in the eyes), and asked, “Did I scream?”

Jungkook stared down at you, a wide, toothy grin spread across his face. “Only a little,” he mused, chuckling slightly at his words. “Whined a little, too. Kinda like a . . . like a little bitch.”

Your eyes blew up. “No,” you gasped in horror. “Was it really—”

The elevator dinged, drawing both of your attention to the closed doors. Wait—Fuck, you’d forgotten you were even on an elevator. The elevator must have arrived on your floor, and you two had been too caught up in each other to have even noticed . . . until now. And now . . . now you had a giant wet spot on the crotch of your sweatpants. Just your luck.

But as soon as the doors opened, Jungkook acted quickly. He bent down and wrapped his arms around your thighs, hoisting you over his shoulder. You, in utter shock (and still mildly coming down from your high), laid limp in his grasp, and let him have his way. It wasn’t until after the people boarding the elevator got on and Jungkook got off, did you realize what exactly was his plan.

“Lightweight, you know?” he chuckled lightly to the other people, and your jaw dropped.

He was painting you as a passed-out drunk. Oh, he was going to get it. (Although . . . it was a pretty good cover. (Not that you’d admit it.))

Once the two of you were finally out of earshot, you pounded on his broad back. “That was embarrassing,” you groaned, kicking your feet in the air.

“Drunk people piss their pants all the time,” he simply hummed as he continued down the hall in search of his room. “Nothing to be ashamed of, sweetheart.”

You pounded on his back again. “I did not piss my pants,” was all you spat out.

“Oh, trust me, I know,” he mused as he brought his other hand up to deliver a hard smack to your ass. And you could only huff against him in response.

Only when he’d found his room did he put you down, slowly and safely on your feet, and you were ready, already glaring at him the second you were on solid ground again. You crossed your arms over your chest and huffed to seal the deal further.

But that only seemed to amuse Jungkook more. “What?” he hummed, raising his brows as he leaned in closer to you.

“You suck,” was all you muttered.

His eyes flicked from yours to your lips as a small grin slid onto his face. “Believe that’s your job,” he murmured as he leaned even closer to plant a kiss on your cheek. “And you’re very, very, very good at your job.”

Narrowing your eyes, you demanded, “Open the door.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he cheerily replied as he slid the room key into the slot, removing it quickly, and waiting for the green light before he swung open the door. His eyes flicked to yours then, and he nodded in the direction of the hotel room. “After you.”

But just as the two of you entered the room, flicking on the light as the door slammed shut behind you, Jungkook pulled you back into him. You stumbled slightly, but nevertheless, turned around in his arms to face him with a confused look.

He only sent a small smile in return. “I like when you’re jealous, by the way,” he remarked as he curled a piece of your hair behind your ear.

Your brows knitted together. “Jealous? I’m never jealous,” you scoffed . . . but . . . you had a sneaky suspicion you knew what he was talking about.

The corners of his lips twitched a little further. “You know . . . she was from the other team,” he went on, ignoring your words.

“Hmm?” you questioned, playing dumb when you one-hundred percent knew what he was going on about now.

Earlier. The bar. That girl he was talking to.

“That girl,” Jungkook continued. “She was just congratulating our win. So you—” he tapped your nose— “sweetheart, were jealous over nothing.”

Well . . . you supposed that explained it, but . . . but you couldn’t have him knowing that you were jealous. He already knew way too much about what went on inside your head. He could not know you were jealous of all the disgusting things to be. So, you decided to . . . you know . . . lie.

“I was not jealous,” was the brilliant response you came up with.

Jungkook tongued his inner cheek, trying not to break out into a wide grin yet again. “Mhm.”

You shrugged in response as if to say, Told you so.

But those words never left your lips. In fact, you rather regretted even thinking them the moment Jungkook opened up his mouth again.

“There’s no one else on my mind,” were the words he decided to reply with.

And your face slowly fell into one of shock. “What?”

That didn’t seem to faze Jungkook. His smile still remained. “It’s just you, stupid,” he whispered, his voice like a tear on a cheek—soft and . . . sweet.

Oh. You blinked. It’s just you.

And you felt yourself smile at the words. You couldn’t even help it either. It just . . . he was sweet. He really was. 

It’s just you, rang through your ears once more, and you couldn’t help it. You leaned forward and kissed him. It wasn’t like the others either. It was soft and sweet . . . just like his words.

Then, you pulled back, kicked off your shoes, and walked further into the room. “Nice place you got here,” you mused as you looked around the hotel room before you bent down to sift through his suitcase, pulling out a pair of his boxers. You slipped off your soaked sweatpants and underwear before you slid on the boxers and headed for his bed, plopping down on the mattress with your legs crossed and ankles under your knees.

(That was the thing: this was normal. The two of you shared clothes. (Well, you mostly stole his clothes, and then he’d end up finding you in them . . . and well . . . he wouldn’t be able to think straight for the rest of the day.)

“Thanks,” he laughed, his hands reaching for the hem of his shirt before he pulled it over his head and discarded it on the ground, “no cockroaches found yet.”

“Oh, wow, fancy,” you remarked with a look. “You rich?”

Jungkook cocked his head to the side, a dazed grin on his face. “You didn’t know? I’m a world-famous badminton star,” he said as he approached you, leaning his hands on either side of your body on the bed.

“World famous?” you tsked, clicking your tongue. “Oh, god, oh no. I’m so sorry. I had no idea I was in the presence of royalty.” You dramatically clasped your hands together and bowed to the best of your ability, surely whacking him in the face with your hair.

“OK, you little shit. C’mere,” he all but whined as he wrapped an arm around your back and pulled you down to the bed so you were laying flat on your back, looking up at him. 

Except, the look on his face was all too much for you to hold back—you laughed. You couldn’t help it. He just looked so ruffled. It made the laughter caught in your chest bubble up in your throat, and eventually you were laughing so hard you had to squeeze your eyes shut and clutch your stomach.

As the seconds ticked by, your laughter died down and your eyes slowly opened to find Jungkook still staring at you, a dopey smile on his face.

Still holding back your quiet laughs, you quirked a brow in questioning.

Jungkook only shook his head, sucking in a breath through his teeth. “I love when you laugh,” he hummed, his voice like fucking honey or something unfairly ethereal. “Strokes my ego.”

“Like you need any more stroking,” you remarked, shooting him a look.

His brows shot up. “You offering?”

And you couldn’t help it, you laughed again, but this time tried to cover it up with a roll of your eyes. “Nice try,” you scolded as you raked your hands through his hair. “Hey—” your thoughts unexpectedly switched as your hands found his hair— “can I braid your hair for the next games.”

But Jungkook was somewhere else. His eyes were on your sweatshirt as he sighed through his nose, securing his hand on your hip to move you further up the bed so he could crawl over you. And you let him, trying to ignore how the almost possessive action made your heart thump (amongst other . . . things). He now laid with one arm holding him up, his legs on either side of your body as his free hand toyed with the hem of your sweatshirt.

“I wish you were in one of my shirts,” he mumbled almost as if he were talking more to himself than to you, but you paid it no mind. (He often lost his train of thought, staring off into space . . . and you always snapped him out of it with a bubbly smile on your face. He was . . . cute.)

“Kookie,” you hummed. 

His eyes snapped to yours, wide and brown. “Hmm?”

“Can I braid your hair for the next games?”

He smiled then. “Course,” he replied before he leaned down to press his lips against yours.

“You sure do like kissing me,” you mumbled against his lips.

He nibbled on your bottom lip. “I’m not ashamed of it.”

The only response you could muster up was to press your lips against his once again, a bit firmer now. 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. You sucked his bottom lip into your mouth, sucking on it gently before you let it go and instead licked a strip along the crease of his lips. He reacted quickly to your touch, hands tangling in your hair as he pulled you closer and melded your tongue with his. His grip tightened on you instantly, his hand sliding up your thigh, squeezing your hip before it snuck under the hem of your sweatshirt.

A small gasp escaped you when you felt the warmth of his hand graze the swell of your breast, palming it. He grinned into the kiss, circling his thumb around your nipple, sending jolts of arousal to your core.

You instantly knew what he was thinking too. Ready so soon for another round . . . but like . . . come on. Who could blame you?

Certainly not him, not now, not with you like this. “Mmm,” he hummed against your lips, his hand inching toward the hem of your sweatshirt again. “Can I take this off?”

“Mhm.”

Ever so slowly as if to savor it, Jungkook pulled your sweatshirt off you as if the two of you were watching paint dry. And finally with it off and over your head, he threw it to the ground, instantly, coming back from more, molding his bare chest against yours. “Sometimes I think you want me to cream my pants,” he remarked, shaking his head at your tits while he brought a hand up to gently roll your perked nipple with his thumb.

You laughed through your arousal, tilting your head back slightly. “You’re so stupid,” you heard yourself say in a hushed voice. It was so obvious just how much he affected you. You could hear it in your voice, and you were sure he could too.

But that only seemed to spur him on further as he sunk down lower until his face was level with your tits. He began to mouth at them, leaving sloppy, wet, open-mouthed kisses across your flesh. “Mmm, put something on the TV?” he mumbled into your skin moments before his tongue wrapped around your nipple and he began to suck.

“While you’re motorboating me? No thanks,” you huffed, trying to keep your cool, but Jungkook was sucking and nibbling all over your tits, making your head feel fuzzy and core a little too needy to be comfortable.

“I’ve never motorboated,” Jungkook countered as he traveled to your other breast, squeezing the flesh before he flicked his tongue repeatedly across your nipple. “Not classy.” His tongue swirled and you nearly mewled.

You swallowed hard in response instead. “Since when do you care about class?”

Then there was a hand on your face. And no, not like caressing your cheek or anything like that. Jungkook had full on just placed his abnormally large hand over your entire face . . .

“Shh, let me have a moment with my girls,” he mumbled his explanation before he went back to mouthing at your tits.

“Oh, my god,” you groaned in disgust as you flicked his hand off your face, but that didn’t cancel out the fact that his skilled tongue was sending jolt after jolt of arousal to your core with every lick.

“I’ve missed you, Samantha,” he sighed as he lightly bit one of your breasts. “Mmm, you, too, Rachel.” He moved to your other tit, swirling his tongue around your areola and sucking.

You deadpanned. “You named them.”

“You’re interrupting my threesome.”

“And you’re giving me nightmares,” you huffed as you pulled away from him, turning over on your side. You were being dramatic. Obviously. And you were doing it on purpose, because, well, you wanted his attention. (And you liked being a brat . . . sometimes. (OK, fine, you thought it was funny. Get over it.))

Jungkook knew this, too, as he let out a clap of laughter, immediately reaching for you as he wrapped an arm around your middle and tugged you into him. “No, no, baby, I’m sorry, I just wanted to piss you off,” he mumbled into your neck as he pressed kiss after kiss to your skin.

“Mhm.”

“Do you forgive me?”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hold back your joking grin. “If I have to,” you dramatically sighed.

“I’m a weak man, what can I say?” he remarked into your neck as his hand slowly cupped one of your breasts. And then . . . well . . . he squeezed . . . twice. “Honk. Honk.”

And you snorted. “Seriously, Jungkook?” you choked out through a laugh. He was just so . . . god you didn’t have a word . . . he was just so . . . Jungkook. “I never expected you to be this much of a boob guy.”

“Well—” he blew a raspberry— “when they look at me like that.”

“Jesus.”

“They’re like dumplings.”

That was when you looked over at him, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. Really, your unamused look seemed to say.

“What?” He blinked, eyes wide and brown. “I love dumplings.”

“You know what I love?” you asked, turning around in his arms so your body was facing him.

He leaned forward to flick his nose against yours. “Mmm?”

You scrunched your nose. “Seeing you suffer.”

“This is what you call suffering?” Jungkook remarked, glancing between your tits and your face. And then . . . then . . . he reached out and smacked your breasts.

And you . . . well . . . all you could do was stare at him in shock. Had he really? Oh, that little—

Jungkook burst out into a fit of laughter, rolling onto his back and clutching his stomach. All the while, you stayed put, mouth still agape in shock as you blinked one, two, three times. Until he pulled you into him again, and that warmth you were so used to revisited you.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, couldn’t help myself,” he laughed into your hair, his words muffled.

And then you said something that you hadn’t even realized was on your mind until you blurted out: “Do you want to fuck them?”

Jungkook choked on his laughter.

A beat of silence.

“What?” he trailed off, and you could practically hear him blink.

But you had meant what you said, and so . . . “Do you want to fuck my tits?” you repeated again, this time craning your head to look him dead in the eyes when the words left your lips.

Jungkook rolled over, caging you in as his hand reached your face, gently brushing your hair behind your ear. “You pulling my leg?”

You shook your head, biting your lip to hold back the devilish smile that was crawling onto your face. “I know you want to . . . and I . . . wanna see you do it,” you mused, searching his face.

“Yeah?”

“Mmm.”

Narrowing his eyes at you, he asked, “Why don’t I believe you?”

“Why not?” you pouted, knowing damn well he was right. You took that as your chance to lean in closer to him, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Want me to say I need your cum? Hmm? Is that what you want, baby? You want to know that I’m thirsty for it?”

He swallowed hard. “Fuck. You’re teasing me.”

“Maybe a little,” you hummed with a shrug. “But I do kinda miss your cock.”

Jungkook flashed his teeth, shaking his head. “Brat,” he muttered under his breath as he reached for you again, pressing his lips against yours. 

It was hard not to let yourself be consumed by him. You enjoyed it—how his lips felt like a tear on a cheek; how his kiss always felt like remembering something you were missing. You didn’t know what it meant. You rarely knew what anything meant, but you did know you enjoyed it; you relished in it; you craved it. Truly. You craved him. All of you.

In an instant, you were on your back again, and his lips were on your neck. He was whispering sweet nothings into your skin as he made his descent to your tits, paying extra attention to the old hickey on the underside of your breast which he left there just a night ago. It was sloppy, perhaps a little carnal, but you didn’t mind. 

Jungkook leaned back up to kiss your jaw. “Want me to cum on your tits, hmm?” he asked, his voice darker now, making you nearly squeeze your thighs together. You knew what that voice meant, and god did you miss it. “Want to fucking smell like me? Show everyone who’s fucking you, huh? Want them to know it’s me? That you’re my girl?”

And you couldn’t help it; you gave in. “Please, Kookie, need it so bad,” you all but whined, knowing damn well he got off on this little bratty act of yours. “Need you to cum on my tits. Need it. So bad.”

He groaned into your neck. “You’re killing me.”

“Oh, but, Kookie, you can’t die yet,” you whined, pouting slightly. “Not until you fuck me. Pretty please?” Batting your eyelashes, you knew he was getting a kick out of this, and that . . . that was exactly why you did it.

“Yeah?” he asked as he pressed into you. His cock was digging into your hip now, making your head spin, until you could no longer ignore it.

“Mhm,” you hummed, still pouting, now with your bottom lip pushed out. “I won’t be able to breathe without it, you know?”

Jungkook grinned, shaking his head. “You’re such a little shit,” he remarked with amusement in his voice. 

“Well . . . is it working?” you asked as you leaned forward and kissed the scar on his cheek.

“You don’t need to do anything for it to work.”

You quirked a brow. “Oh?”

“Don’t act surprised, sweetheart,” he mused as he nipped at your bottom lip. “Makes you look stupid.”

That little—You cut yourself off with your own actions, because really . . . sure, you’d act like a brat, but if he thought he had the upper hand, he was dead wrong.

With that thought on your mind, you trailed your hand down his chest, soaking up his warmth as you dipped into his boxers. While maintaining eye contact, a sly grin slid onto your face as you wrapped your hand around his painfully hard cock. You felt him still under your touch, but he was cockier tonight. He recovered quickly, grinning down at you as he shoved his pants down his legs and threw them somewhere in the room, his boxers shortly following. Then . . . as if he couldn’t get any more up his own ass, he looked down at you almost expectantly, glancing between your face and his cock.

It seemed the win may have worked its magic on him as well, and even if he didn’t realize it, you could tell, and that . . . that was attractive to you.

You sucked on your teeth, trying not to give yourself away, but you were sure the moment he felt your core, he’d get that much cockier. Still, you wanted to win this . . . whatever this was, and so when your thumb brushed over the head of his cock, you watched as he tried to stifle his reaction, but you caught onto him swallowing quickly the second you squeezed. Your cunt throbbed with the desire to be filled in response. 

You wanted him in the most visceral way. But god did you love watching him wither, and the thought of continuing this little game overpowered everything else.

That very thought was your main drive. You shoved him back, perhaps a little rougher than usual, but the never faltering grin on his face showed you all that he was thinking. Playing off that, you hooked your thumbs into the band of his boxers you wore and tugged them down your legs, throwing them to the floor. And then . . . then you gave him one last look, pretending to adjust your position on the bed in an attempt to showcase your glistening core to him before you teasingly tore that away from him, closing your legs. (But you made sure to note how his eyes had lingered on your legs as if he were trying to pry them open with a look.)

“I want you to cum on my tits,” you stated boldly as you leaned back down while pressing your tits together with your hands so they were on display for his gaze. “Pretty please, Kookie?” You pouted once again, playing into that bratty act he loved so much.

“Jesus Christ,” he blurted out as he blinked one, two, three times. It was almost as if he couldn’t believe this was really happening, and that made you all the more confident in your desires.

Shimming down so your tits were level with his cock, you peered up at him moments before you took his cock in your hand and guided him. Gently, you brushed the tip of his cock over your nipples, the glide being slick and easy due to the beads of precum already leaking from the small slit. He was hard, and you could tell it was taking everything in him not to just forget all about everything else and just fuck you senseless right there. And you almost let him, but . . . this was too much fun.

“Mmm, I don’t think we have any lube, do we?” you exaggeratedly huffed. 

His thumb tapped your bottom lip, but no words left his lips; his eyes were solely trained on your tits which were already stained with his precum. But no, you were not going to spit on your tits. You had a better plan.

“Too messy, Koo,” you all but scolded, and then . . . you made sure his eyes were on your hand as you slowly made your descent to your wet heat. Your fingers made contact with your wetness, and you sighed in contentment as you dipped into your heat, pumping your fingers in and out, and relishing in the loud, lewd sounds which came from the act.

Once you were sure your hand was completely covered in your arousal, you rubbed the wetness all over your tits, making sure to cover his cock as well. In response, his cock twitched in your grip, and you knew you had him wrapped around your finger.

“What the fuck?” he remarked in utter awe.

You smiled sweetly. “Fuck them, Kookie,” you mewled as you stared up at him. And who was he to disobey?

Slowly, Jungkook took his cock from your grasp, sliding the tip around the wetness on your chest, until he slid into place between your tits. You pressed them together tightly, creating a cushioned slit for him to fuck . . . and almost as if the warmth from your breasts enclosing around his length had shocked him out of his daze, he sighed, leaning both his hands on the bed as he began to move his hips.

“You like this, huh?” he asked, his voice raspy as his thrusts began to gain in momentum. “Like being used like this?”

“Yes, only by you,” you gasped out as he began to fuck into the slit your breasts had made solely for his cock. You let some of your spit dribble down, allowing for more lubrication.

Jungkook groaned at the sight, picking up the pace until he was nearly panting. “You’re so fucking hot,” he all but growled. “You get so fucking dumb for my cock. So fucking sexy.”

You pushed your tits together tighter, beginning to whine. “Please, I need you to cum on my tits,” you cried out. “Wanna feel you. Wanna taste it.” You didn’t know where these words were coming from, but you didn’t care. It didn’t matter when you could just tell he was seconds from busting. So you did your best, squeezing your tits together as tight as you could and silently begging him to give into all of your desire.

“Fuck,” Jungkook cursed as he threw his head back and allowed himself to release a deep moan. “Just like that, baby. Squeeze your pretty tits for me.”

Normally he lasted longer, but sometimes, when he was so desperate just to feel you he blew all too easily. It was times like those that you looked forward to the most. You liked seeing him all desperate and needy like that. (What did that say about you, you didn’t know. (You also didn’t care.))

When he came in under a minute, that was when you felt the most proud, because you’d done that. You’d taken this seemingly almighty man and made him submit to you. That was what you craved, and that was what had you nearly rubbing your clit raw when he wasn’t there to fuck you into the mattress. And so, you couldn’t help it. You began to rub your thighs together, searching for relief as Jungkook’s thrusts became sloppy and his moans increased. He was practically whining now, begging you to let him cum. 

You dribbled spit onto his cock and rubbed your tits together, creating enough friction to have him gasping above you. That was when you thought he was most beautiful (well . . . there were other times, but . . . ). When he was weak enough for you to moan and whine and practically cry out for your pussy . . . that was when you thought he looked like the kinds of fallen angels you’d read about in cheesy romance novels.

“Give it to me, Kookie,” you begged, knowing that tone of voice and the use of that nickname would have him right where you wanted. And then you heard it: the tell in his voice that told you he wasn’t just close; he was less than seconds away.

In utter awe, you watched as he desperately tried to pull himself together, nearly out of breath as he pulled away, his hand instantly wrapping around his length and jerking himself off. You squeezed your tits together, continuing to watch with lidded eyes as he clenched his jaw and breathed through his pleasure. And then your mouth fell open, sticking your tongue out as if beckoning him to ruin you, and he lost it.

“Fuck, yes, just like that,” he all but moaned as his eyes stayed on your chest while he vigorously tugged at his length, focusing on the sensitive tip.

“Please, Kookie. Need it, baby,” you rasped out, and you knew that was it. 

Jungkook released a strained groan, his muscles tensing as ropes of his cum shot out, painting your chest. He continued to milk his cock, whining softly as the last bits of his release hit your tongue, your chin, even dripping down your nipples. And once his orgasm had passed, he leaned over you, holding himself up on the bed before he collapsed beside you, still breathing heavily.

“I think that was a dream come true,” he rushed out, completely out of breath.

You laughed, shaking your head as your fingers crawled toward your cum-stained chest. And then you did something which shocked even you. You dipped your fingers into his cum, spreading it around before you brought your finger to your lips and licked the contents completely off. Only then, with your lips wrapped around your fingers did you turn to meet Jungkook’s gaze.

Jungkook only blinked at you in shock, watching as you swallowed his cum. He swallowed hard at the act, continuing to watch as you slowly withdrew your fingers from your mouth . . . and well . . . you supposed that was his last straw.

Without warning, Jungkook reached for you. One hand found your plump ass while the other tangled in your hair as he pulled you in for a kiss. But this was no ordinary kiss. No, Jungkook didn’t bother giving you an innocent peck. Instead, he immediately licked the seam of your lips, and you parted your mouth for him. Only instead of slotting your tongues together like you expected, he wrapped his lips around your tongue, sucking the muscle like he was trying to taste himself on your tongue. And if that wasn’t enough, once he’d gotten a taste of you and him, a soft, deep noise sounded from the back of his throat.

He didn’t care about the fact that your chest was painted in his cum. In fact, you were sure that only spurred him on more as he squeezed you tighter against him while he licked and sucked into your mouth.

It was carnal, messy, sloppy. It was almost sin. And when he finally pulled back, both of you now equally covered in his release, all he did was send you one of those half-grins.

“Wanna shower?” he offered. “Kitty cat’s hungry I think.” His eyes flicked down to your neglected core, and you nearly laughed in his face.

Instead, you nodded, completely dazed. Even from the look on your face, it was clear you didn’t know much. That was obvious. But . . . there was one thing you knew for sure: Jungkook would always surprise you.

Hours later, you were awoken by the sunlight peeking into the room through the blinds. Rubbing your eyes, you shuffled backward, finding that Jungkook was still there. You smiled to yourself, nuzzling further into him as you found his arm wrapped around your middle, and quickly clasped your hand around his, bringing it to your chest to cradle.

Jungkook stirred then, laughing under his breath. “Hi, baby,” he murmured, his morning voice nearly making you squeeze your eyes shut. (It really was unfair how attractive this man was. Jesus.)

But . . . then your dreams snuck back in. That was part of the reason you’d woken up. Your dreams had haunted you. Because you knew he was hiding something and your mind had made the worst of it.

Yesterday, you supposed, after the tournament, he disappeared, and he hadn’t told you where he’d gone. That . . . that had your mind wandering even in your sleep.

So you really couldn’t stop yourself when you mumbled out, “Can I ask you something?”

“Mmm.”

“Where’d you go last night?” you let yourself ask, swallowing hard. “After the court, where’d you go?”

A beat of silence.

He hadn’t been expecting that, but . . . He’d let you in, right? After all this time . . . he trusted you, too, right?

But another beat of silence passed and you began to wonder. Then you began to worry. And then . . . then you began to feel stupid.

But just as you were about to pull away and apologize for going too far, Jungkook pulled you closer. “My room,” he began as he nuzzled his face further into the crook of your neck. “I couldn’t breathe. Everything was . . . blurry . . . dizzy.”

You blinked. “Panic attack.”

And he nodded against your skin. “I had to be alone.”

The thing was: you weren’t unfamiliar with panic attacks. You hadn’t had many in your life, but during those three years . . . everything had gotten worse. You knew how it felt when . . . that happened, and you knew what it did to people. 

“That’s OK,” you found yourself saying before you even knew it.

Jungkook raised his head. “You think that’s OK?”

You nodded, because it was. It truly was.

“If that’s what makes you feel safe . . . then yes, I think that’s OK,” you mumbled, restating your thoughts. “But . . . if you don’t want to be alone . . . if you don’t want to do it alone . . . I have nothing to do. Come find me.” You glanced behind you, eyes finding his in the dark.

And then . . . then he smiled. “I’d like that,” he hummed, his voice like honey. “But—”

“I know,” you cut him off with a gentle hand to his cheek. “You don’t have to tell me why. Just . . . if you need someone . . . I can be someone.” You dropped your hand, letting it fall to his arm. “By the way . . . I’m sorry for being a bitch yesterday—”

“Eh, used to it,” Jungkook muttered with a shrug.

Pursing your lips, you shot him a look you knew he wouldn’t see. “I was just jealous,” you finally admitted, because, really, who were you kidding?

And Jungkook didn’t rub it in your face this time. Instead, he simply smiled and hummed, “I know. I like it when you get like that for me.”

Your brows twitched. Fuck, did he ever have an effect on you.

Almost as if he knew this, too, that was when he kissed you. You hadn’t been expecting it, so the startled hum which left your lips was totally called for. However, the laugh he allowed himself to make was not. (Not like you minded with his lips on yours.)

And then neither of you were thinking and nothing else mattered. You didn’t exactly know how you got there either, but you supposed it had something to do with the fact that he was just so warm and his kiss was just so addicting and well . . . his dick was hard and digging into your thigh.

How could you ignore that? And how could he?

It was almost comedic how quickly the two of you responded to each other. He pushed and you pulled. Like a fish hook in an eye, you knew your body would be craving his in an instant (perhaps it never stopped).

“This OK?” he asked against your lips, slightly out of breath.

All you could do was nod. “Need you,” you murmured against his lips, an almost silent plea. It was vulnerable. Perhaps more vulnerable than you meant for it to sound, but it was true. You needed him, and right now, you needed to feel him in the most visceral way you could.

The world blurred. Time morphed together, moving slowly as he sighed into your mouth and you reached for his hand, pulling him between your legs. He graciously accepted your offer, slipping his hand under the pair of boxers you’d stolen from him after your shower, and pumping his fingers into your core while he swallowed your soft moans. Lewd, wet sounds filled the room as the world continued to blur and blur into pleasure, and bliss, and him.

And only after he’d made you cum on his fingers did he move your thigh to rest on his, allowing enough room for him to easily slip into your still pulsing core. It was true; he fit into you like a hook in an eye. The two of you had always melded together, and you did now. But it wasn’t what you were used to. Sure, the two of you would fuck slow, fast, rough, or soft, but this . . . this was a different kind of softness. It was the kind you had only experienced with him once—the first time you’d had sex all those months ago.

It was vulnerable. And you weren’t used to it. But you reveled in it all the same, losing yourself in every deep thrust. Like an odd sense of deja vu, you knew you’d felt this before. He fucked you slow, never soft, but always deep. He was everywhere, consuming you moan by moan, and you never wanted it to end. 

As you struggled not to moan loud enough to wake the people in the room next over, you glanced down, and that was when you saw it. You could have sworn that as his cock hit the deepest parts of you, a small bulge showed. Gently, you sighed out a moan as you pressed a hand on your lower abdomen, pressing down and that was when you felt it: his cock hitting deep inside you again and again and again.

Until you couldn’t take it any longer, you grabbed Jungkook’s hand and placed it against your lower stomach. “Feel,” you rasped out, keeping your hand over his while he thrust again and again.

When he felt it; when he felt his cock creating that bulge inside of you, he lost it. He buried his face into your neck, whispering how much he wanted to have you in every way, telling you how beautiful you were, and how much he wished he could fuck you forever.

And then:

Need you, you heard your own voice whisper as he gently bit into your neck, groaning softly while he shot his thick ropes of cum into your begging pussy. Need you, you acknowledged as his skilled thumb brought you to another orgasm that night all the while he stayed sheathed inside of your warm heat. Need you, you felt as he pulled out, immediately reaching for you once again as he brought you into his body, strong arms wrapped tightly around you.

Your own voice haunted you while Jungkook fell into sleep once again. But you just couldn't get it off your mind. Why had your words entered your mind then?

Why, why why? But you already knew why. You knew because you had been battling it for a while now. 

This entire time, you had wondered why you couldn’t give up on him. At first, you thought it was because you cared about him and needed to help him. You thought he needed you, but . . . while that was true; while he did fit into you like a hook in an eye . . . you knew you needed him more than he ever needed you.

That . . . that was why you couldn’t leave him alone. And fuck . . . did that ever scare the shit out of you.

When the two of you awoke for the second time that day, you knew what was ahead of you. A long day of traveling back to the training center, which meant leaving Busan.

That went well, but then the night came and as you made it into the living area of the girls’ dorm, all of your team members awaited you. They wanted to go out and celebrate Yunis’s win at the bar, which . . . you went along with, against your wishes.

Luckily . . . Jungkook was going, but . . . He had been sitting at the bar alone for half the night, and you felt less like a person and more like another cog in the wheel as you were forced to sit with your teammates instead of your partner.

But the thing that was bothering you that night was . . . Being who you were, what you had accomplished by the end of your senior year of college, and everything in between, you’d like to say you still remembered how it felt to win. But the truth was: you’d forgotten it entirely.

As the years had passed and you’d watched old teammates of yours make it farther than you ever probably would be able to again, the electric surge victory sent through your veins had slowly diminished into an afterthought. And you never thought you’d get the chance to taste that euphoric feeling again, at least not for a few more years if you were being generous. You’d never expected to end up here—winning by Jeon Jungkook’s side, and you certainly didn’t expect to owe it all to him. But there you were: standing in the middle of the very same bar you’d visited with the rest of the team at the beginning of your contract. A beer was clasped in your hand with a small smile on your face as the rest of the team conversed amongst each other, going on and on about the winning shot you had made which landed your team amongst the winning teams progressing into the next stage of the tournaments.

Yet . . . something felt off.

You didn’t feel like you’d won anything. You had. When you’d watched the birdie slam on the floor, the whistle blaring in your ears as you looked around to be met with a wide, toothy grin from your doubles partner . . . you had felt that victory. When you had thought of nothing else other than to hug Jungkook to commemorate your win . . . that was when you felt like you had actually won something.

But this . . . this didn’t feel good. It felt like nothing. And you knew exactly why.

Now . . . you didn’t want to celebrate with them. You wanted to clink your beers together in cheers with . . . him.

As your teammates loudly spoke over each other, your eyes flicked to the open bar just across the room. There sat Jeon Jungkook alone at the bar, hunched over his drink as he inspected the small tattoos on his hands. And long were the days that you would just let this happen.

“Kook!” you called out, not missing a beat.

Jungkook lifted his head in confusion, his eyes meeting yours. Why were you calling him? That was raging through his head, and you knew it, too. And perhaps it was the liquid courage, but for once, you didn’t care what your teammates thought of the two of you. Jungkook was not going to spend the night moping at a bar, instead of celebrating both your wins by your side. So . . . you waved him over (Naturally). 

And Jungkook, albeit a little hesitantly, followed your command in an instant. Slowly, he approached the rest of the team, which had quieted down now since your sudden request. Whatever. You didn’t care. You wanted him beside you. That was all.

“While I do love taking all the credit, I really can’t this time,” you began as you reached for Jungkook, tugging him in by the bicep. “I’m not the one we should be celebrating.”

Once again, his eyes met yours, brows twitching at your words. And you didn’t break eye contact. You weren’t sure if you could.

“Jungkook’s the reason we won yesterday,” you continued, that small smile still on your face. “He’s the reason I didn’t entirely suck. We should be celebrating him.”

Not once did you look away from him and not once did he look away from you. It was like the others didn’t matter. This was your win, not theirs.

The silence which met your ears confirmed this notion. You were OK with that. You were sure Jungkook was too.

Why, one might ask?

Because Jungkook had that stupid, (almost charming) small smile on his face. And you couldn’t help but offer up one of your own. This was both your win. 

Funny how times had changed . . . Funny . . . indeed.

“Well . . . “ someone began a second later, tearing you from your own mind, “I’ll drink to that.”

Only when you finally met the others’ eyes did you realize it was Hoseok who had offered up this proclamation of peace, practically waving around a white flag while he raised his beer toward Jungkook. And for a moment you thought maybe things would actually change. Maybe Jungkook would start to sit with the rest of the team instead of opting to stay in his dorm or sitting alone at the bar drowning his sorrows. Maybe things would be better now. Maybe this was his justice as much as it was yours.

Then . . . you noticed something. . . . When you glanced back at Jungkook, his eyes didn’t meet yours. No, they weren’t on you at all. Instead, he was looking Hoseok’s way with his brows raised in shock and a small, genuine smile twitching at the corners of his lips. It was almost as if he couldn’t believe it . . . like he’d have to pinch himself soon to make sure he wasn’t dreaming this all up. But that wasn’t what you had noticed.

Jungkook was looking at Hoseok. Not his chin or his forehead or the table . . . no, he was looking him in the eyes . . . like . . . like he could see him. But . . . ?

Everyone just has this big X over their face. I can’t see them . . . even if I wanted to, Jungkook’s voice filtered in through your ears as you recalled the memory. He’d told you he couldn’t see people. It made him anxious. Instead, big X’s covered everyone’s faces. 

And yet . . . he was looking at Hoseok. He could see Hoseok.

Only then did you realize what had happened. Hoseok’s words, metaphorically raising a white flag in surrender, had snuck through the barrier Jungkook had built up so high. Even if this didn’t last, even if . . . even if it didn’t, it did now. 

Jungkook could see Hoseok just like he could see you.

Perhaps, eventually, he’d allow himself to see everyone again, even those he wasn’t too fond of. Perhaps he’d let himself look people in the eyes . . . to see the world again instead of staring at his shoes while he walked with his head down. Perhaps this was how he’d define his own justice. Perhaps, you thought as your gaze lightened and your smile grew.

Until . . . a loud clap of laughter erupted from beside you, and you felt your heart falter. Your head turned only to see the image of Wooshik leaning back in his chair with a shot of soju on hand. His gaze was lazy, barely able to keep his eyes open as he grinned up at the two of you, and yet . . . it felt oddly threatening.

Maybe he was just drunk . . . but: “This is bullshit,” he all but hissed as he swigged back the shot before he dragged a hand down his face and groaned. “Fucking bullshit.”

“Wooshik,” Hoseok warned, “not today.”

Wooshik lazily swung his head in his direction. “Not today?” he questioned. “Why do we have to sit here and applaud him? When do we get to voice the fact that this shit—” he slammed a fist onto the table— “isn’t fair? Hmm?”

“We won, didn’t we?” Hoseok bargained. “Jungkook put us on the map again.”

“So that means we what? Roll out the red carpet?” Wooshik slurred. “You know what he did. We’re the ones working our asses off every day all day and we still get slammed by Coach, and Jungkook here gets to drink himself to the brink of death, not show up for weeks, then somehow he’s still paid the most out of all of us. That sound fair? That sound like something we should be celebrating?”

Hoseok crossed his arms over his chest and began to open his mouth to retort, but you beat him to it. “He gets paid more because he’s good,” you muttered, voice low and dry. “Win a match, then bitch about it.”

“Did he tell you what happened?” Wooshik instantly spat. “Hmm? Did he tell you why he’s here? Why the all star isn’t halfway to the Olympics right now?”

You blinked at him, because that was all you could do. Because, yes, Jungkook had told you something. He’d told you something bad had happened, something that ultimately had to do with Taehyung, but he hadn’t told you what. It was a falling out. That was what you knew, but the way Wooshik was looking at you, his brows pinched together and an odd, almost pained look in his eyes told you it was something so much worse than a falling out.

“Whatever it is—” you began, wetting your lips— “I’m sure it can wait. You give him shit the rest of the season. It won’t kill you to can sit down and fuck off for an hour.”

Should you have said that? No . . . but . . . whatever. Screw protecting your image. It didn’t matter right now.

“This is—” Wooshik cut himself off with a scoff.

And you went on. “It’s what?” you all but mocked, tilting your head to the side as you narrowed your eyes in scrutiny.

But before either of you could go on, a hand wrapped around your forearm, pulling you back from the man. You turned, briefly, only enough to see Jungkook right behind you with a warning look on his face. “Let it be,” he muttered, his eyes solely on you. “It’s not worth it.”

Let it be. You swallowed, hesitantly. It’s not worth it.

No . . . no . . . you couldn’t believe that. Whether you liked it or not, Jungkook had quickly become something of a comfort to you, and fuck . . . fuck (!) you cared about him. Seeing this happen . . . seeing everyone treat him like shit infuriated you. You couldn’t let this happen, not when . . . not when you could do something.

It’s not worth it, he’d said, but yes . . . yes it was. It was worth it to you. He was. Jungkook was worth it to you, and you’d be damned if Wooshik walked away from this the winner.

“Kook’s a better person than I am, Wooshik,” you mumbled, still locking eyes with Jungkook before you turned to meet Wooshik’s harsh gaze. “He gets us on the map, and you’re complaining? I just think you’re a little pathetic.” You sent him a fake pout, fully aware of just how immature you were acting, but you didn’t care. 

Enough of kissing their asses. Enough of trying to be someone you weren’t. He didn’t get to win this. Not now. Not like this.

Wooshik only scoffed. “You’re just gonna let her make a fool of herself for you?” he asked, but his eyes weren’t on you . . . they were on Jungkook.

But Jungkook remained silent. 

And then: “It should’ve been you on that bridge,” Wooshik practically whispered, almost as if he couldn’t believe those words had fallen from his lips.

Jungkook’s face fell, his world falling as yours crumbled into confusion. You wanted to question him, but Wooshik interrupted your thoughts.

“Do you not get it? You don’t deserve this, he does, but you took that from him,” he declared, his voice gaining in octaves as he went on. “You should’ve gone through with it months ago . . . Everyone . . . would’ve been better off without you.”

“Kook, what’s he talking about?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper, because you knew the answer. You were sure you had for a while now.

“He paralyzed his friend,” Wooshik confirmed your thoughts for you.

Then . . . the world truly did fall then, at least for you. You felt it all at once.

While the world fell, all the pieces came together. Wooshik had been the one to threaten Jungkook that day on the track. Wooshik knew Jimin . . . he knew Taehyung. He had been the one you’d heard on the phone with Jimin . . . the one who had stressed over Taehyung’s condition. Only then, you had no idea what Taehyung’s condition entailed or how he’d gotten it. And now . . . now you knew the boy who’d practically been like Jungkook’s brother (meaning another menace in your life that you had begrudgingly dealt with) . . . that boy had endured an injury which led to the suffering of his career.

And it was all because of Jungkook? But . . . but . . . no. That couldn’t be. Jungkook would never do that to anyone, let alone Taehyung.

Softness ran through Jungkook’s veins. He’d always been too kind, which you’d realized a little too late. Even when you were kids, he’d never dared to squash the clover mites which infested your porch’s exterior. He found it cruel, while you had never given a second thought to it. To you, they were just tiny meaningless bugs that left a pigmented red smear when squashed. But to him . . . to him they were . . . small friends. 

Bug boy, you’d used to call him, and he’d always try to hide how his ears would flush red at the name. That little boy who cared for even the smallest of creatures couldn’t have done . . . this? 

Because, well, there were not a lot of things you knew about life. You used to think you knew the world like the back of your palm. But that was just false confidence. You knew nothing. You barely knew yourself, but . . . but you knew . . . him.

If there was one thing you knew, it was Jungkook, and he would never even think to do this to a friend, especially Taehyung. There had to be something missing. This was not the truth. It couldn’t be. 

“He’s learning how to walk again, meanwhile JK here’s winning tournaments. That seem fair?” you heard Wooshik hiss again, his words more slurred now as he went on, but all you could think was how invigorating it would feel to sock him right in the jaw. But that wasn’t the only thing you’d faced that night. No, what truly had the world crashing down around you was the words Wooshik had spoken before.

You should’ve gone through with it months ago. And that look on his face. It was like he knew just how bitter those words felt in his mouth the second he’d spoken them. Everyone . . . would’ve been better off without you.

You knew what that meant, but you didn’t want to believe it. You knew what that meant. Twist the knife, you wanted to say. That would hurt less, because you realized that if Jungkook had decided to go through with . . . it . . . there would have been no way to prevent it. He had no one. He had been alone.

So . . . you twisted the metaphorical knife wedged in your chest cavity a little more. You probably wouldn’t have even known. Twist the knife. Twist the knife. Twist the knife. You probably would’ve found out through your mother. Twist the knife . . . And there would’ve been nothing you could do about it. Jungkook would have just been . . . gone.

The little boy who refused to squash the clover mites; the little boy who cared for even the smallest of creatures; the little boy who had loved . . . everything . . . would have just been gone. And here was Wooshik taunting him for it in front of everyone.

That . . . that made the wildfire spread within you, and you didn’t give a shit about anything anymore. Something snapped in you. Something bad. Dark. “By which you mean he should kill himself?”

Everything was loud and silent at the same time. It was almost deafening the way everyone’s faces fell. It was almost as if they hadn’t expected those words to come from your lips . . . like saying the truth was something . . . unheard of.

You supposed the truth was a little darker . . . a little harsher than most would expect. But it was something you were familiar with. You don’t become embolized and lose your dream in one day and not think about things like . . . that. No, sometimes you even wonder what it would be like. If things would be better, but you never go through with it. And if someone were to taunt you for it? In front of people? Well . . . you weren’t just going to sit there.

Because, yeah, maybe Jungkook had never liked to squash the harmless, little clover mites, but you were forgetting one very small, very important detail. You had never shied away from squashing the little things. In fact, you often went out of your way to squash as many as you could find.

That was the difference between the two of you; the difference between you ruining your own career and Jungkook moving on; the difference between a child who chooses peace and one who seeks out rage. And a child born of wrath you had always been. It was time you stopped running from that. You used to squash every little clover mite you came into contact with, and Wooshik was no exception.

“Well?” you finally continued once, in rage, you found your voice again. 

Wooshik shifted awkwardly in his spot. “I didn’t say that,” he muttered before he cleared his throat.

But you had never been a fan of cowards. “Really?” You tilted your head to the side, narrowing your eyes at his figure. “You sure?”

“Listen—”

“Ah,” you clicked your tongue, pointer finger raised to your lips as if to quiet him down. And when you spoke again, your voice was as quiet as a whistle in the wind. “My turn.”

It was immature, you were sure, but you didn’t care. You were burning. Your skin felt ablaze with heat and you were sure your nails were breaking through the surface of your palm from clenching your hands into too tight of fists. But you didn’t care.

Your mother had always told you, Be kind. You’ll catch more flies with honey, than vinegar. But what if you didn’t want to catch them? What if you’d rather see them swatted? . . . You’d take your chances with the vinegar. 

That sentiment was solidified as you asked, your voice calm, almost eerily too calm, “What’s your name? Last name, I mean.”

Wooshik narrowed his eyes in skepticism. “Hwang.”

“Noted.”

“What?” Wooshik scoffed, raising a brow. “Thinking of reporting me?”

And you nearly rolled your eyes. But a hand securing around your arm brought you back to the present. And you realized who it was . . . 

“Come on,” Jungkook mumbled close to your ear. His voice was soft just like his touch, but he should’ve known better. You weren’t meant for soft things. A well-oiled machine. That was what you were. You were made of metal and bolts; you were cold . . . rough . . . worn.

Tearing your arm out of his grasp, the cold welcomed you back with open arms. “No, Kook,” you heard yourself say before you realized you were saying it, and then you realized it was too late. Your mouth wasn’t your own anymore. Your words belonged to the machine you had let yourself become, and you welcomed this just as the cold had welcomed you. “Hwang Wooshik, you’re a piece of shit. No, no . . . all of you are. You sit here and ridicule him—” you gestured toward Jungkook— “and for what? Have any of you actually asked him what happened? Do you even know the full story or have you made his life shit just to feel better about yourselves? I get it. We’re a shitty team. No one wants to be here, so why not? Right? Did you ever think why this team is shit? Hmm?”

Nothing. And then . . . Wooshik only scoffed. Typical.

But you were beyond dealing with this. “And you—” your eyes focused back on Wooshik— “you have no value, not even a soul,” you bit out through gritted teeth, fists still clenched as tightly as you could, and you had no intention of letting up. If he wanted the truth . . . then fine . . . you’d serve it to him on a silver platter. “All I see . . . is a bag of skin . . . a pile of bones. It’s pathetic how meaningless your life is. You bitch and moan, bitch and moan, bitch and moan, and yet, you have nothing to show for it except for a rotten mouth and a limp dick. You wanna show off? Wanna feel like a man? Go on . . . do it . . . but remember this moment. Remember just how meaningless you actually are . . . on this team . . . in the world . . . to yourself. Remember all the cells in your body splitting for nothing . . . just to make a worthless piece of fucking shit.”  Your brows raised, beckoning him. “Hmm? Don’t you get it now? You’re nothing.”

The world stilled. It was quiet, too quiet.

You didn’t dare look at anyone else, not even Jungkook. You couldn’t. And then you heard it: a heartbeat pounding in your ears. But it wasn’t yours. You could have sworn it was Wooshik’s or maybe it had been one of your other teammates. It didn’t matter. Your words had shocked them . . . maybe scared them.

Wooshik sucked in a breath first. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he questioned, and it was like you were seven years old again, being excluded from after-school plans with your friends. But you didn’t have much time to dwell on the past before Wooshik glanced between you and Jungkook, a look of realization crossing his face as he let out a breathy laugh. “Oh . . . I see . . . “

And you knew he’d discovered the truth between you and Jungkook. But honestly? You didn’t care. 

Good, you couldn’t help but think. That didn’t matter right now. Nothing did except this . . . 

Not that Wooshik had caught onto that. No, instead, the man had found his motive and gone with it. “Word of advice . . . he’s not the good guy,” he murmured to you, only making the wildfire within you burn brighter.

A muscle in your jaw twitched. “And you are?”

“I don’t run from the shit I do, and then cry wolf on top of a bridge,” Wooshik went on, but you were past listening. You could barely hear him. “I would’ve gone through with it. Maybe then that would set things right—”

But he never finished his sentence. No . . . you didn’t let him.

For a second time that night, something snapped within you, and you couldn’t contain it. Like a glass too full of water, your rage spilled over, and before you realized what you were doing, you pulled back your hand to gain momentum and then launched it forward, connecting your knuckles with Wooshik’s nose.

Wooshik stumbled backward, catching himself on his chair so as to not collide with the floor, while he clutched his nose in his hand. And you stood above him, hands still clenched into fists as you watched the man grovel and groan. His eyes stayed on you the entire time, an odd sense of fear mixed with bewilderment in his gaze. You realized for a second time that night, you’d shocked him. Perhaps you’d even scared him.

Be kind. You’ll catch more flies with honey than vinegar, your mother used to tell you. But you had never been fond of flies, and you had never quite liked Hwang Wooshik, either, so fuck that.

Still, Wooshik felt the need to ask, “What the fuck are you doing?”

And you only shrugged. “Whatever I want. Just like you,” you spat moments before you made an attempt to grab at his collar, but something pulled you back.

Once again, a hand wrapped around your arm, but instead of giving you the option to pull away, the person pulled you into their chest, securing an arm around your waist to ground you. . . . You instantly knew it was Jungkook (from the odd sense of peace you felt at his touch . . . but don’t tell him that).

“Take a walk,” he muttered in your ear for only you to hear, the command instilling dread within you. 

“Kook,” you whispered, but couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. All you could look at was Wooshik and his now bleeding nose.

“Go,” was all Jungkook said. And only then did you gain enough courage to look at the rest of your teammates. They stared back at you with equal parts shock and fear . . . and you knew you’d fucked up. Again.

That was all it took before you pulled away from Jungkook’s embrace, listened to his words for once, and walked out of the bar into the cold before you swatted one too many flies before the sun rose. And while you didn’t regret it . . . you knew you’d done it now. You knew you’d gone too far. 

All you could do now was squeeze your eyes shut, hoping this was some sick nightmare as you waited in the cold to probably (ultimately) be scolded by your doubles partner. That was what was ahead of you, and while you did feel guilty (you supposed), you couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

A well-oiled machine. That was what you were. That was what you had been trained to become. You weren’t supposed to care about other people, and you wouldn’t let yourself. But you couldn’t let him talk to Jungkook like that. No, not to him. Not in front of you.

Jungkook used to refuse to squash the clover mites on your porch, while you sought them out. That was the difference between the two of you, and you’d be damned if some no-name on this shitty, D-list team told you otherwise. 

He was soft, not you. Give all the unlucky shit to you. You could handle it.

If Wooshik wanted to hate someone, to blame someone . . . then he could blame you. 

You supposed that was what you had done tonight: ruined yourself to save Jungkook like you should’ve done all those years ago instead of ruining the both of you. (Although . . . not like you’d tell him that. You couldn’t. This was too much. Too raw.) And worst of all . . . you knew you’d do it again.

You realized that as you waited in the cold for who knew how long. It could’ve been two minutes or twenty. You hadn’t noticed. You hadn’t cared . . . after all, well-oiled machines didn’t get cold.

Only once you finally opened your eyes to see the cold around you, did you hear the bell above the bar door jingle, signaling that Jungkook was now behind you, no doubt angry with you for your little outburst. And all you could think was fuck, fuck, fuck. You’d crossed the line again, as you always did, but you couldn’t bring yourself to apologize. Not for this. 

And so, you found yourself muttering, “If you expect me to apologize, I won't. He doesn’t get to do that. Not to you. Not in front of me.”

But as soon as you had begun to turn around to finally face him, Jungkook didn’t greet you with furrowed brows and a scowl on his face. No, instead, you could only blink once before he was falling into you, his hands caressing the sides of your face moments before his lips met yours. There was no heat behind it either, no rushing, no nothing, just . . . just bliss. His lips met yours, his touch putting out the fire raging within you, and it was like you could finally breathe again. He kissed you as if that was all he could do; as if it were all he wanted to do.

Only then, when you realized he wasn’t going to rip himself from your body as if you’d scorched him, did you finally embrace him. Your hands found their way to his shirt, bunching the fabric as you pulled him closer and felt yourself succumb little by little to him. You didn’t even care if anyone saw you. It didn’t matter. Nothing did when he was near.

It could have been seconds, minutes, hours, days before the two of you pulled away, and you leaned your forehead against his, trying to catch your breath. The point was: you didn’t even care just how out of breath you had become. You would’ve sooner passed out than let him go, and perhaps that meant more than what you were willing to admit, but you did know it meant something, you just weren’t exactly sure what. But you barely had time to dwell on those thoughts before Jungkook pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and tugging you into his chest. And you let him.

“You’re an idiot,” he mumbled into your hair, laughing slightly under his breath. 

You’re an idiot, you repeated in your head, and a smile slowly twitched on your face, because you knew what he really meant. Thank you, his hug seemed to say, and you knew it to be true. And all you could do was melt against him, wrapping your arms around his waist as your eyes fluttered closed and a content sigh left your lips. You squeezed him tighter, realizing perhaps maybe you’d needed this hug more than him. In a way, you supposed you had always needed this—to be hugged so deeply it comforted your soul.

You’re welcome, your hug seemed to say, but you knew what it actually meant . . . thank you.

Once again, you smiled, perhaps a little wider now. That is what you had wanted to tell him. Thank you. Thank you for being there. Just . . . thank you.

You would like to make one thing clear: you did not have a fondness for many things. For instance, you hated when random people on the internet adapted an instrumental version of a song that, to be honest, did not need adapting. You hated the rain. Now . . . you knew most people didn’t particularly like the rain . . . but you hated it. It always had a way of making your skin itch, leaving you uncomfortable and irritated. It was unnecessary . . . really (OK, fine, maybe not unnecessary, but, ugh, whatever!).

Now . . . obviously you absolutely despised losing. That much was evident . . . sure.

But most of all, you hated the vulnerability which came with falling short of victory. You hated how your shoulders fell, the self-hatred seeping in and consuming you as soon as you realized you had either gone too far or not far enough.

You supposed that was how it had always been. You supposed you had always been a competitive child. You supposed the fact that it hurt more to lose a match than breaking up with your first boyfriend . . . was normal for a child who had been born into competition after competition.

Of course you never actually expected to fail. That wasn’t in your blood. Failing wasn’t on the table, so when you did, it hit you ten times harder. And you always ended up doing the same thing over and over again: locking yourself in your room until the sting became easier to manage.

That was what had happened in your childhood, and that was what had happened three years ago. You’d locked yourself in that hospital room, ignoring the world, pushing people away. You’d learned to live with yourself, and you learned to hate yourself. (Perhaps it was easy to find that hatred within yourself because it had always been there.)

You supposed that was why you had taken to reading so kindly. (Sure, you had put up a fight, claiming you did not and would not like books, but, well, your heart kind of beat for it now. A part of you craved it. And that part of you followed you everywhere.)

The writings you’d memorized all those years ago stayed in your head and every once in a while, you’d remember something you’d read. And every time, it’d bring you a sense of something. Comfort, maybe? Acceptance? Understanding? You weren’t entirely sure, but it did bring you something you couldn’t push away. And that night, the night Wooshik had pushed a little too far, revealing who he was, you were also reminded who you were: an angry child who had forced herself to grow up too soon.

You knew that was what you were. You knew you were angry and crude and all things not pleasant or kind. You couldn’t give anything up. You couldn’t let anything just be. . . .You knew your heart was cold and you were more machine parts than bone.

A burnt child loves the fire, Lord Henry claimed in The Picture of Dorian Gray. (Your love for the Classics had begun there within that book (peculiar considering your previous distaste for literature . . . but well . . . you had no excuse).) You supposed the reason why you’d taken so fiercely to this small, almost minuscule quote had to do with the fact that you couldn’t understand it. And you hated being in the dark about anything.

The original saying was supposed to be: A burnt child dreads the fire. And yet . . . 

That was what you couldn’t understand. You couldn’t understand why there was a need for the reverse. The saying was wrong. A burnt child should dread the fire, they shouldn’t run to it.

So . . . why? Why did the child Lord Henry speak of . . . crave the fire?

Only then did you come to the conclusion. 

As soon as your fist had collided with Wooshik’s face and you saw the look everyone had given you, the answer washed over you: there was a difference between these two children. While one who has been hurt; who has been burnt by the fire will avoid it at all costs for the rest of their lives, the other will seek it out . . . perhaps even crave it.

That was why you had punched Wooshik. A burnt child loves the fire.

The day of the incident . . . that was the day the fire had scorned you and instead of taking refuge with those who cared . . . you pushed them away. Because it was easier to be angry. It was easier to feel sorry for yourself rather than to accept help.

Because accepting help meant you had failed. It meant you were weak. It meant you were not the person you had prided yourself on for years and years and years . . . It meant laying to rest the person you used to be and truth be told you missed her more than you missed feeling . . . warm . . . real. But how much did you miss her now? That was a question you had yet to answer.

Yeah, you missed the cheers as you won match after match. You missed the glorious high which came after a win. You missed team bonding and everything badminton used to be. But you didn’t miss the stress, the pressure . . . the anger. And that was the thing . . . you’d won once again after so many years and yet . . . you didn’t feel stressed to practice until your feet bled. There was still stress . . . of course, but it wasn’t consuming. 

You realized you’d never actually celebrated a win before. You were always looking looking looking into the future, too caught up in it all to just . . . breathe. But now . . . now . . . now all you wanted to do was sure . . . celebrate, but rather . . . celebrate with your doubles partner.

So really . . . did you miss the girl you used to be? Perhaps a little in the sense that when you grow older, nostalgia only gets worse. But you didn’t want to be her.

You wished someone could tell you what that all meant . . . Were you still considered a burnt child? Did you still love the fire? Did you dread it? Or . . . were you somewhere in between?

You only wished someone could help you make sense of it all. You wished someone would put a guiding hand on your shoulder and tell you who you were, because . . . really you had no clue. 

Perhaps you’d been clueless all your life. Perhaps you would always be.

A warm hand wrapping around your wrist brought you out of your own mind. And you realized where you were.

It was the present, not the past as much as you’d spent thinking about it. Most likely a half hour after you’d punched Wooshik in the nose, changing the entire trajectory of your team. The atmosphere of Jungkook’s room surrounded you as you sat on the edge of the bed, right leg crossed over the left while he tended to your cut knuckles from said punch to Wooshik’s face.

His hand was warm as it always was, and you were sure he must have winced at how cold yours had been to the touch, but you weren’t even certain if he was paying attention to that at all. No, it seemed as you took your first glance at Jungkook’s face since he’d kissed you earlier that night . . . that he was entirely focused on the task at hand.  And truly, it was almost impossible to not notice just how meticulous Jungkook was to even the smallest of cuts on your knuckles, dabbing each and every one with a washcloth. He remained focused, his brows sat low as his eyes remained focused on your hand while his lips were pursed into an almost cute (?) pout. 

But you couldn’t help but catch sight of the muscle which ticked in his jaw. Something was on his mind. No, no, he was angry. Yes, that was it. His jaw always twitched when he’d get frustrated about something. And well . . . you had never been one to keep your mouth shut.

“I thought you weren’t mad at me,” you stated almost too abruptly, nearly startling the silence itself.

Jungkook paused, but didn’t look up to meet your gaze. “I’m not,” was all he muttered before he resumed his task.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re quiet,” you said as you poked him in the chest with your non-injured hand. “You’re never quiet. I actually have a hard time shutting you up.”

“Well.”

“Well, what?” you went on, knowing damn well if you pressed enough he’d cave. “If you’re mad just say it.”

He only replied with a hiss of your name. A warning (one you wouldn’t listen to).

“Kook—” you nudged his chest once again— “speak.”

For a brief second, he shot you a look. “You’re just—!” But his words quickly died on his tongue the moment he made eye contact with you. He seemed to search for something within your gaze before his brows twitched, his eyes falling to your injured hand as he swallowed hard. “I didn’t realize you got . . . hurt.”

Your gaze softened then. “It’s just a scrape,” you tried to reassure but you had never been good at comfort.

Jungkook only shook his head. “But it shouldn’t be anything,” he muttered as he began to dry off your knuckles. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“That’s not what you said earlier.”

“I know. Fuck, OK . . . I know,” he continued muttering without making eye contact as he quickly but carefully bandaged your hand. But even once he was done, he did not let go of your hand. If anything . . . he pulled it closer. “I just . . . I didn’t realize that—I just . . . I don’t want you to get hurt for me. You’re not invincible, OK?” 

“And you are?”

His eyes closed. “Come on . . . ”

“Why can you take it but I can’t?”

Jungkook breathed out through his nose, and then he was looking at you. But now there was a different tinge in his eyes. Now it was like he was hiding something . . . like he didn’t want you to really see what was going on inside his mind, and you had a sick feeling it had something to do with what Wooshik had said at the bar. And then he spoke, “Because I don’t want you to. It’s my bullshit. I don’t want you to get caught up in it.”

You realized exactly what he was doing. You had been right. He was trying to keep a distance from you, trying to keep you out, trying to protect you from . . . something. But as you had been so cruelly reminded, you were a burnt child . . . and you craved the fire. 

That was it. As a child, you had sought out the clover mites just to see them paint the rocks red as you squished them. That had been fun for you. You’d always craved the fire, you supposed . . . just in different doses. And a child who learned this way of living never backed down . . . never cowered, you faced it . . . welcomed it. And you sure as hell weren’t backing down from this. You refused to leave him alone . . . because Jungkook had never even dared to squash the clover mites . . . he’d wanted to save them . . . protect them, and someone like that did not deserve to carry whatever this was on his shoulders. 

Burned children could recognize each other . . . but he still had time to decide if he’d run from the fire or chase it, and you would try everything in yourself to not let him join you. Not now; not when you knew his heart. Not when you knew Jeon Jungkook, if given the chance, would still never, not even once, squash a clover mite for the fun of it.

That was exactly why you found yourself claiming: “I already am.”

He squeezed your hand tighter as his face fell further. “I don’t need you to fight for me,” he all but whispered.

But you had never been a good listener. You’d always acted first, thought later. Some would call it a flaw. You sure would, but you didn’t care. 

So you listened to the first thought that popped into your head, standing to your feet as you curled your joined hands into your chest. “I know . . . but it’s what I do,” you found yourself saying. “I can’t help it. I’ve tried to change, Kook. I’ve tried to be gentle. I’ve tried to speak quietly. I’ve tried not to be . . . all the things that I am, but it never works. It just feels like I’m pretending.” And as you confessed, you couldn’t help but scoff a laugh at your words. “I’m not a gentle person. I’m loud and blunt and maybe even a little cruel . . . and now you’ve made me care about you.”

You’ve made me care about you, your words rang throughout your ears, and you realized that was the truth. You did care about him. Perhaps more than you cared about most things. And it was clear your words had affected Jungkook, too. His features softened, his brows lifting slightly as his eyes rounded and his mouth parted only just barely.

You’ve made me care about you, you were sure was ringing through his ears. And you knew this, too, because he didn’t bother to tease you or shoot you that half-grin of his. No, he just stared, trying to digest your words.

It seemed no one had ever shown him this. No one had ever tried to get through to him, and you knew that well. You knew how it felt to push everyone away, secretly hoping someone would want to break through the barriers you’d put up. 

Burned children could recognize each other, and you knew exactly how Jungkook felt. Years and years of dealing with everything on your own is debilitating. You couldn’t imagine being forced into this isolation. You knew what it felt like to lose everything . . . and you could see on his face that he knew that feeling well, too.

It made you feel worthless. Stupid. Useless. It was almost gut-wrenching how much it made you feel like nothing. And, god, you were tired of being nothing. You were sure Jungkook was tired, too.

So as you went on, a slight smile on your face, your eyes had begun to water. You’d never been much of a crier, but you couldn’t help it. “Don’t you get it?” you mumbled, your voice quieter now. “I care about you more than I should. You made me. You made me fucking care about you, so you don’t get to sit here, give me whiplash, and expect me not to defend you.” You couldn’t help but let a small tear slip, because, truly, you really did care about him. “I don’t care about a lot of people, and maybe that’s sociopathic, narcissistic, whatever! I don’t care . . . but I refuse to let you put up with this, deal with this, endure this . . . alone.”

Jungkook blinked quickly, but remained silent as he chewed on his inner cheek.

“I’m in this,” you went on, squeezing his hand tighter. “Whether you like it or not . . . I . . . am . . . not . . . leaving. Got it?”

But something was preventing Jungkook from nodding at your words. He only just stood, refusing to make eye contact with you. And then, he tilted his head, his eyes on the ceiling as he mumbled, his words strained, “I don’t want to hurt you, too.” He tugged his hand from yours then and you fought the urge to grasp his hand right back.

“You won’t,” you muttered instead, eyes still trained on your now empty hand.

“You don’t get it,” Jungkook whispered in response as he stared at his own hands, almost in disbelief or astonishment. “Everything I touch . . . it’s like . . . it’s like things come to die at my hands.” 

You were at a loss for words in response, because you knew that feeling. You were sure you had thought those exact same words. You were sure a part of you still believed that about yourself.

And while you mentally rotated through the things you were supposed to say, Jungkook went on, “I can’t let you all the way in. I would never forgive myself if—“

But he never had the chance to finish the sentence. No, it seemed his body wouldn’t let him. His words tangled around his tongue, and finally, you glanced his way, finding his eyes were now glossy and he was forcing himself to keep his gaze trained on the wall behind you, careful not to blink and let the tears spill.

Jungkook believed things came to die at his hands. He believed he deserved . . . this. And yet . . . how could he be so wrong? You knew him. It didn’t matter what Wooshik or your other teammates said. You knew him. You’d grown up with him. You’d watched him throw tantrum after tantrum after every clover mite you’d squashed just to tease him.

He would never do the things that had been said. And he certainly didn’t deserve to feel like . . . this. That was your driving force. Without thinking, you grabbed his hand, and brought it to your face. Slowly, you cupped your cheek with the palm of his hand, your hand covering his before you whispered, “Did the world end?”

His eyes were on you now, warming you just with one look. “No,” he softly mumbled as his thumb grazed your cheek.

He’s sweet, you couldn’t help but think as your brows twitched at his gentle action. Then, slowly, you took that same hand and brought it to your chest, laying it just above where your heart would beat deep inside.

“Oh, look, my heart’s still beating,” you said lightly, a little more pep in your voice in an attempt to get that smile on his face again. “The world will not end and nothing will happen to me at your hands . . . OK?”

His fingers flexed on your chest. “I can’t.”

“Jungkook,” was all you could whisper, an almost silent plea as you squeezed his fingers.

He brought his other hand up to your cheek and took a step forward. “Baby . . . ” he all but begged as he leaned down to rest his forehead against yours.

Tilting your head up enough to brush your nose against his, you welcomed his embrace. “Please,” you found yourself mumbling. “I’m not going to run. You won’t lose me.”

And truly, you did mean every word.

You didn’t care for the fire or the fight or anything like that. You just . . . fuck . . . you wanted him to be alright. That was what you wanted. You didn’t know why or how it happened, but it did.

That was what you wanted, and you had never been one to back down from anything. So you meant it. You weren’t going anywhere. And as the silence consumed you two, you stayed by his side, proving your words to be true. Jungkook seemed to catch onto this, too, as his words changed . . . 

“But I will disappoint you,” he mumbled instead of his previous sentiments.

But who would think that would scare you off? You were all kinds of disappointing. It didn’t matter. “So? People are disappointing. It’s what makes us human,” you found yourself speaking your thoughts. “Can we just . . . carry your bullshit . . . together?”

Jungkook remained unmoving for a mere moment before he withdrew from you. For a second you thought he’d leave you hanging once again. For a second, you thought he’d locked himself away like he had months ago. But instead, he moved away from you, the cold replacing where his warmth had been as he sat down on the edge of his bed . . . and you knew what that meant.

He was letting you in. Fully. Completely. Finally.

You met him at the bed, folding your leg under yourself as you sat down facing him. A part of you wanted to reach for his hand, but you couldn’t. Something was stopping you from reaching out to grasp him, so you sat in silence, carefully taking in his features from the small scar on his cheek to the tiny mole under his bottom lip.

It must have been minutes of you just taking in his features while the silence danced around the two of you. Perhaps it went on for even longer. But you didn’t mind it. You wouldn’t run from this . . . from him.

And finally, that was when you didn’t necessarily reach for his hand, but you did rest your hand on his knee, providing as much reassurance as you knew how. You could only hope he knew what your touch meant. You could only hope he could feel . . . you.

His eyes found yours the next second, and you knew he could. He could feel you just as you could feel him. He could see you. He could see you. He could see you. That had to mean something. It seemed it did as Jungkook carefully placed his hand over yours and squeezed. Then . . . then he offered a small, strained smile before he sucked in a sharp breath, slowly exhaling . . . and then . . . then he spoke.

“It was last year . . . around January,” he began, his voice careful, calculated, quiet.

And you scooted closer, listening intently.

“We’d made it onto the national team,” he continued, keeping his eyes on your locked hands. “Taehyung, Jimin, and I . . . but it was tough. The days were long. And I wanted to . . . I don’t fucking know live a little. And there was a bar just outside the center and I . . . wanted to go. I dragged Taehyung with me. He didn’t want to leave. We weren’t supposed to leave. But I was cocky and an idiot and I wanted to get drunk before the games the next morning like we used to. So he caved . . . He snuck out for me . . . because of me. We went, we drank, until we decided it was time to go back before Coach found out. But . . . we were still drunk . . . “

As his words died on his tongue, Jungkook averted his gaze from your hands, instead focusing on the wall in front of him. But his eyes kept moving, shaking back and forth as his brain raced with thoughts of the past. 

A burnt child dreads the fire, you thought. Was this his fire?

Your thoughts remained unanswered as Jungkook continued. “There’s a bridge that leads to the nationals’ center,” he mumbled, almost hesitant about his words. “It’s small, but passes over a lake.” He cupped his other hand around his chin as he rested his elbow on his thigh. His eyes fluttered closed a second later. “It was January . . . the coldest night of the year . . . and we had to pass over it to get back to the dorms. We had to—fuck.”

The hand on his chin immediately covered his face, his thumb and pointer finger rubbing his eyes. You didn’t want to guess what had happened. You didn’t want to think of the worst, but . . . You remembered the night you caught Jungkook on the bridge, staring out at the water. You remembered the look on his face; the look you knew all too well. And you remembered wondering what had happened to him.

Now . . . now it seemed something had happened on a bridge similar to the one you’d found him on. It seemed on his drunk walk home, the bridge he’d have to pass over to get back to the dorms reminded him of the past. And you both knew how sickly haunting the past could be.

You couldn’t help it. Instantly, your other hand reached to cover your joined hands. 

“It was so fucking cold that night. I know it was, but I can’t remember it. I was too fucking drunk to be cold. I was too drunk to notice the water under the bridge was frozen solid . . . but not . . . not all the way through,” he went on, his voice weaker now. “It wasn’t—It wasn’t frozen all the way through.”

It wasn’t frozen all the way through. Your brows furrowed. Wait—

“When Taehyung drinks . . . he does stupid shit. Everyone knows that. I knew that,” Jungkook was muttering now, practically cursing himself. “I knew that.” He beat on his chest once as he shook his head in disbelief.

When Taehyung drinks, he does stupid shit. Did that mean . . . ?

“He wanted to—” he cut his words off with a curse. “He wanted to walk across the wooden railing to see . . . I don’t know . . . I don’t fucking know what he was trying to do but he was drunk and I was too. I was too drunk to realize what was going on. Fuck, I even encouraged him to do it. I put money on it. I fucking bet him if he could walk across the railing, I’d give him ten dollars. Can you fucking believe that?”

Jungkook turned to meet your gaze briefly then, and only then did you realize something. His eyes were glossy . . . and he was sniffling. He was crying. And suddenly, you knew where this was going.

Your brows pinched together in concern as you silently begged him to see that you weren’t leaving. No, no . . . you were scooting closer. You weren’t leaving, you were staying.

Jungkook nodded in response as if he knew what you had been trying to tell him, and then . . . then he continued. “And of course he did it,” he all but laughed, but it came out as more of a pathetic scoff. “He even made it to the end, but we were joking around, laughing about it, and he . . . he lost his balance. He must have stepped on something . . . or . . . or . . . I don’t know, but he . . . he slipped.”

He slipped. No. Your eyes shut tightly as you pulled your bottom lip under your teeth. No.

“He slipped and all I heard was his body smack the ice. And then I heard water . . . “ Jungkook trailed off, his words angry, hurt, and strained. “He fell . . . . and the ice broke. . . . It wasn’t supposed to break. But it broke and I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t see him. It was just ice and water and black. Everything was so fucking dark and I couldn’t see him . . . so I jumped in after him . . . and I still couldn’t fucking find him. And—And when I did . . . when I finally pulled him out, I thought he was dead. But I brought him back. I brought him back and he was supposed to be fine. He was supposed to be fucking fine.”

Only then did you open your eyes . . . and when you did, you saw the Jungkook that had been trapped under barrier after barrier for a year now. He sat before you, shaking his head at his memories as a few tears slipped down his flushed cheeks. And you let them fall, not because you wanted to, but because you needed him to know that it was OK for you to see him . . . let go. So you remained silent, listening to his shaky breaths until he was ready to speak again. And when he did, you stared only at him with your hands interlocked with one of his.

Jungkook shrugged his shoulders, still shaking his head in denial (?), anger (?) . . . maybe grief as a whole (?). “His back was fucked up, but we both just thought it was sore from the fall. He couldn’t really walk, so I had to help him back to the center . . . I knew it wasn’t good . . . but . . . “ he trailed off, his brows twitching. “He didn’t want to go to the hospital. I kept telling him we had to just in case. Just in case there was something wrong. But he was scared. Scared he’d get kicked off the team if they knew we snuck out to drink. So we went back, I helped him get dry, changed his clothes . . . then we went to sleep.” 

He blinked. A few more tears fell.

Sucking in a breath, he mumbled as he shakily exhaled, “A few hours later he’s waking me up telling me he can’t feel his legs. Something didn’t feel right. I tried pricking his legs, pinching, anything . . . but he couldn’t feel it.” 

You squeezed his hand tighter. You couldn’t imagine . . . 

Jungkook wiped his cheeks, his eyes, even his nose, finally taking a deep breath to calm himself down. “Everything happened so fast after that. I told Coach. Tae was rushed to the hospital,” he said, his voice more stable now. “Surgery after surgery after surgery later. He slipped into a coma . . . and when he woke up, they . . . said physical therapy and rest would be all he’d need before he could get back to playing . . . but only one leg gained back some motility. The other . . . just never improved. Something to do with a nerve . . . his spinal cord. Whatever . . . his leg was shot. They said he missed the window, and getting back to even sixty percent would be impossible.”

Fuck. You couldn’t imagine how Tae or Jungkook felt. Having your entire life just taken away from you like that was worse than dying you were sure of it . . . and having to watch someone you cared about go through that . . . You couldn’t imagine.

“Just like that his career was over as well as any chance of having a normal life again,” Jungkook scoffed at his own words. “All because I forced him to go get drunk with me. It was my fault. I should’ve known. Maybe if I had called the hospital . . . told Coach . . . maybe then . . maybe he could’ve been OK. Fuck.”

His words circled around in your head for a moment longer. It was my fault. I forced him. It was my fault. It was my fault. It was my fault.

But . . . Wait—

Your brows scrunched together in confusion. This . . . this is what Jungkook thought would make him a disappointment. This is what had him blaming himself, hating himself . . . ?

Jungkook believed he had done this to Taehyung. But . . . but it wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was an awful thing that happened to both of them . . . and Jungkook blamed himself for it.

No . . . no . . . it couldn’t be. This was what he thought you’d hate him for. 

A burnt child loved the fire, indeed. They let themselves become consumed by it, condemned to it, tortured by it, and for what? 

Why did Jungkook have to suffer for something that was not his fault?

Fuck. You didn’t know what to do. You weren’t good at this. You barely even knew how to be a person, how could you help him when he thought his friend’s demise was all his fault? 

Shit . . . and you had blamed him for what had happened to you. You had added to this. You had . . . No, no, no, no. You didn’t know what to do.

You couldn’t believe what all this guilt, this blame, this hatred had done to him. You couldn’t imagine . . . and you couldn’t contain your emotions. Your eyes were watering now. No, you couldn’t let them. Not now. Not when you were supposed to be comforting him.

Jungkook didn’t seem to notice the turmoil raging on inside your head as he was only looking at the floor. “He couldn’t forgive me after that,” he went on, his voice quieter now once again. “Everyone turned away from me then. I had to leave the team. I knew I did. There was no going back after everyone found out that I was the reason he was out there that night. I lost everything, and it was all my fault.”

It was all my fault, ringed through your ears. Your heart ached for him, but you couldn’t cry now. Not now. 

You had no trouble holding back your emotions your entire fucking life so why was it so hard now? Why were you having trouble holding back these tears? You didn’t know, but you didn’t care. You had to keep a calm composure. You had to try. And try you did. 

“I would’ve left the badminton scene entirely, but . . . my parents,” Jungkook managed to finish up with a heavy sigh. “Their restaurant wasn’t doing well. It still isn’t. They need this money. I only joined Yunis to help them. All my money goes to them. I only keep what I need, the rest is theirs.”

And suddenly it all made sense with those final words from him. Jungkook blamed himself for what had happened to Taehyung.

He didn’t feel worthy enough to continue his career knowing Taehyung’s was over, but he had to . . . because he was a good son. He had always been a good son. That you had known. But you hadn’t known their business was in trouble. You hadn’t known, and you had been such an asshole to him.

He had to be here. That was why he was here. He had to be. For his parents. Not for fame or even himself, but for them. He was a good son. He was a good person. And everyone . . . even you . . . had failed him.

Then . . . you remembered something else that Wooshik had said, and you almost let a small sob escape your sealed lips. You never imagined you could feel this way. You’d always been cold. You’d always just been a burnt child, relishing in the fire; a well-oiled machine with human parts. You weren’t meant to feel like . . . this. So why did your chest hurt so fucking much? Why couldn’t you breathe when you remembered what Wooshik had said to him?

You should’ve gone through with it months ago. Everyone would’ve been better off without you.

Then . . . you began to wonder. Had Jungkook really? Had he tried to end everything . . . And you could have sworn you felt the metal encasing your heart had begun to shrink, squeezing the muscle in a painful ache. How could Wooshik have said that knowing . . . 

“Wooshik,” you heard yourself say before you knew what you were doing, “he said . . . “

“I know,” was all Jungkook could sigh. “He was friends with Tae and Jimin. This was his team. That’s why he’s so pissed I’m here, because I knew we’d be on the same team. But Coach . . . he knew who I was too and to him it didn’t matter who did what when to who. The only thing that mattered was that I was good. I was going to come out of the nationals team with gold medals and he knew that. So he offered me a lot of money . . . and I joined for my parents, otherwise, I’d be back in Busan.”

But you didn’t give a shit what Wooshik’s deal was. No, you wanted to know why he would say such a thing. Why he—

You stopped yourself from thinking, immediately speaking the words before you even thought then, “Why did Wooshik say you should’ve gone through with . . . with um . . . “

“Killing myself?”

Your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach as your eyes shut. Wetting your lips, you gained the courage to say, “Yes.”

But the silence met your reply.

It wasn’t something anybody talked about. People just kind of danced around the subject, trying not to say the actual words, and you supposed even you were guilty of this. But no one prepares you for this kind of shit. No one sits you down and tells you how to deal with this. You didn’t know how to deal with anything. 

When you were in recovery, you had the same thoughts. You wondered if it would make things better, but you knew it wouldn’t. You knew it wouldn’t make anything better. You’d just be gone, leaving pain behind, and that was not what you wanted. 

You hoped Jungkook had realized this, too. But the silence still remained. Until . . .

“I . . . “ he began, stumbling over his words. Then: “A few weeks before you came . . . I couldn’t take it. I did something horrible and came out of it completely fine. I wanted to make things right. I wanted to pay for what I did to him. And . . . and I wanted everything to just . . . stop. It hurt so fucking much. Every day I couldn’t breathe, I didn’t want to eat. Most days the only thing in my system was alcohol. I stopped looking at everyone, stopped being able to see them shortly after that and everything just became so . . . loud . . . and . . . and lonely, too. I guess—I guess I wanted it to be quiet . . . silent? I wanted time to stop just for a minute so I could breathe and then it would be fine. I could make myself be fine if I could just stop everything . . . just for a second.”

A beat of silence once again. And then he spoke, “I found the tallest bridge I could find here and I tried to jump . . . but . . . my mom called to say goodnight . . . and I realized I couldn’t go through with it, not when they still needed the money. I figured give it one more day . . . if I get fired then I’ll know.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “And Wooshik?”

“We’re dormmates. I slipped up when I was drunk, told him I was going to off myself,” he said through a sigh, his shoulders sinking. “Fucking stupid.”

There was the silence again. He was finished. That was what had happened to him and that was why he was here. The boy who cared even for the smallest of creatures had endured and endured and endured. How was that fair?

Jungkook used to cry for the clover mites when you’d squash them, and yet, here he was, carrying the world on his shoulders. Was he even allowed to breathe? Could he? Or was that peace stolen from him, too?

He thought he was a bad person. He thought he deserved this. He thought---How could he think that?

He was still the same Bug Boy you knew as a kid. He didn’t deserve this. He was a good son; a good friend. He was a good fucking person.

And the world had made him believe otherwise.

Everyone . . . everyone had failed him.

And you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him this without feeling the lump in your throat rise and rise and rise. You would cry if you spoke, and this wasn’t fucking about you. 

This was about him. You couldn’t be selfish.

You just needed a moment to calm yourself.

But a moment you weren’t given as Jungkook whispered, “You’re silent. You get it now, don’t you?”

He thought . . . 

No. No. No. No.

And suddenly, you couldn’t stop yourself. You glanced his way with glossy eyes and a quivering bottom lip. “No, no, I don’t,” you muttered, your voice hoarse. “If anything I don’t get it at all.”

Jungkook only blinked.

You swallowed hard. “Koo, it was not your fault.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t . . . I don’t understand.”

Fuck. That look. He looked so . . . lost.

And you couldn’t contain yourself any longer. The floodgates open, tears trickling down your cheeks. “How could you have known what would happen?” you questioned, trying to choke back a sob. “What happened to Taehyung is awful and heartbreaking, but . . . it was no one’s fault, let alone yours. You didn’t know he’d slip. You didn’t know he’d hit the ice. You didn’t know he’d fall. You didn’t know he’d get hurt . . . and you certainly wouldn’t ever hurt him. It was not your fault. I’m so fucking sorry you’ve been carrying this for so long . . . that—that you were made to believe you did . . . this.”

“But . . . I’m the reason he lost his—”

“No, no, you’re not,” you quickly cut him off. “Nobody could have predicted this would’ve happened. Had it been the other way around, would you blame him?”

Jungkook remained silent but slowly shook his head.

Brows raising in relief, you nodded. “No, because no one is at fault,” you told him quietly. “It was a horrible thing that happened to someone you cared about. Hurt people hurt people . . . and when people are hurt . . . they want to blame others. Doesn’t make it right. Doesn’t make it fair . . . but it does happen.” Looking down, you remembered what you had done to him, too. “I know . . . I know because I did it to you. It was never your fault what happened to me . . . and it wasn’t your fault what happened to Tae.”

His eyes softened at your words. Nobody had ever told him that before, you were sure of it, and that made another tear slip down your cheek. He’d been so alone.

That was why he looked so lost; why he ran; why he locked himself away because he thought he was supposed to be alone.

You wished you could take back all the feuds you had; all the times you’d pushed him away. You wished you could go back to the day in the hospital when he texted you. You wished instead of blocking him and refusing to see him, you had just accepted the food and allowed him to sit down at the edge of your bed. Maybe then things could have been different.

But you couldn’t go back to the past, no matter how much you wanted to.

He was here now, and he was looking at you with those eyes you had grown to care about. Big and brown and searching. He was always searching for anything. And you wanted to give him all the answers. But you knew nothing.

You were a sorry excuse for an adult. You were barely a person. How could you know anything? The truth was: you couldn’t, but you did know one thing . . . you knew him.

His bottom lip quivered as he continued to search your eyes. “I want to believe you, but it hurts so much,” he whispered as if it were a sin.

“I know,” you weakly mumbled.

And suddenly you weren’t thinking anymore. No, instead, you took one last glance at his glossy eyes, and fell into him. You swung a leg over him, adjusting yourself on his lap as your arms wrapped around his shoulders and brought him into an embrace. One of your hands slowly snaked into his long, dark locks, massaging his scalp as you buried your face into the crook of his neck. Jungkook remained shocked, his hands hovering in the air, but you didn’t care. He needed this. You knew him and you knew he needed this just like you had needed it years ago. Instead of pulling back, you continued stroking his hair and rubbing his back all the while you tried to hide the tears slipping down your cheeks and soaking his shirt.

Then . . . something happened.

In the midst of your embrace, Jungkook slowly wrapped his arms around your body, one hand spreading out along your neck while the other caressed your back. He brought you closer to him with one motion, until he was holding you back so tightly you were sure your soul had touched his even for the briefest of seconds.

He quickly buried his face into your neck, while his grip on you never faltered. “It hurts so fucking much . . . and it feels like this all the time,” he choked out through a strained sob. “It hurts. It just fucking hurts, and the alcohol isn’t helping anymore. I don’t know what to do.” His sobs came quicker now as he shook in your embrace, and you couldn’t help but cry for him as well. “I don’t know what to do. Fuck, I’m not OK. I’m not OK.”

“I know,” you whispered against his skin, trying to keep your voice steady. “I know, baby.” You pressed a kiss against his skin. It was innocent. It was sweetness. It was what he needed. “You don’t have to do this on your own anymore. I promise, Koo.”

And all Jungkook could do was nod.

“I’m as stubborn as a mule,” you reiterated, sniffling slightly. “I’m not leaving. OK? I know this—look—” you gently pulled back enough to place your hands on either side of his face. It was just enough to get him to look at you; just enough to let him know you meant every word— “I know how this feels. Hopelessness, worthlessness, anger, hatred. I know it all . . . and I know more than anyone that this is something no one should have to go through alone. I pushed everyone away. OK? When I was at my worst, I made people leave me until I had no one, and I can tell you right now that decision . . . it broke me.” You shook your head, another tear falling. “I don’t want to be broken, and I know you don’t want to be either.”

But his eyes were elsewhere. They were trained on the tear as it trickled down your cheek. “You’re crying,” he all but sobbed as he brought a finger to your cheek, catching the fallen tear. “I don’t—”

“Will you let me?” you found yourself asking, because maybe your tears weren’t selfish. Maybe . . . maybe they weren’t tears of anything other than . . . just tears. “Let me cry . . . for you. Let me carry this with you. I’m not scared of a lot of things, and I’m certainly not scared of this or you.”

His eyes stayed round and wide, still searching. And then . . . then he began to nod, and you couldn’t help but offer him a small smile.

“Good,” you hummed as you attempted to dry your eyes, but Jungkook beat you to it, wiping your cheeks clean of tears with the end of his sweatshirt sleeve. “Now . . . how about I lock the door so that fucker can sleep on the couch, and you and me sleep this shit off, hmm?”

“Can we watch a movie?” he questioned quietly.

You fought a grin. “Can I pick it?”

“Mmm, no.”

“Then, no.”

“Buttercup, don’t break my heart,” he whined, his voice slightly nasally from his now stuffy nose. His eyes were still red-rimmed and you were sure yours were too, but neither of you cared.

Hell, you couldn’t help but give a small laugh. “What are you on about?”

“You’ve never heard that song?”

You quirked a brow.

“Why do you build me up?” he began to sing, purposely doing it off-key (because yes, he had an annoyingly good voice). “Build me up.” His voice changed octaves, and you laughed in response, shaking your head at his antics. That only spurred him on. “Buttercup, baby, just to let me down?” He pointed at you. “Your turn.”

“Kook, I don’t know the words,” you giggled.

“Context clues,” he hummed. “Come on. Why do you build me up, Buttercup, baby, just to—”

“Let me down?” you whispered in a sing-song voice.

“There it is,” he cheered, nodding his head with a wide grin on his face, but the red-rimmed eyes still remained, reminding the both of you of . . . everything.

But that was OK.

You both would be alright. 

“I’m supposed to be cheering you up, not the other way around,” you mumbled as you toyed with the longer strands of his dark hair at the nape of his neck.

“I hate seeing you cry,” was all Jungkook said, a small smile still on his face.

A beat of silence.

Then:

“You know . . . “ Jungkook began again.

Your eyes locked on his; this time you were the one searching.

“I really like being your friend,” he mumbled before he tucked his bottom lip under his teeth.

A smile found its way onto your face. It was warm. It was pure. It was what you both needed. “I really like being your friend, too,” you agreed softly.

And perhaps, truly, in some weird, obscure way, the two of you had met again as strangers who became friends. Perhaps this time you would stay friends.

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[afewfantasies]

🏔️The Retreat 🏔️- Prologue

Prologue | Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter III | Misc references & details

Summary:  Set after the events of the war Gale and Lorena are recovering from what they thought life would be and their new realities. Gale and Lorena were deeply in love with their respective significant others before the war, they had big dreams and grand plans for their futures together. Only it was not to be. Gale turns into a bit of a recluse and takes to a Lakeside retreat in the mountains away from city life when things with Marge don’t go as planned. After a hard breakup and subsequent divorce from her husband Lorena ends up at Gale’s retreat looking for work and a place to stay. This is an angsty fic that follows the themes of love, loss and recovering from trauma. 

Pairing: Gale Cleven (MOTA Austin Butler) x Lorena (black fem oc)

Warnings:  Race is a factor but there will be no overwhelmingly racist outbursts. It is more so a discovery element and explorations, different worlds, a little forbidden love element.

Tropes: Slow Burn, opposites attract, forbidden love, angst

--------------------------------Prologue----------------------------------

It had happened so fast, the war that had changed everything. The war that broke men, women and children. That forced people so far away from lives of relative peace into lives of rations, scarcity and pain. Lorena had been married then before the call for men had happened. Happily married. Reggie was the reason she drew breath and she the reason he existed.  They’d been a loving couple, they were young beautiful, happy, full of life with the brightest of futures. They were on everybody’s list of dinner party guests. They shared hearty laughs and passionate nights and if anyone could have bet on a couple that would have made it, it would have been them.

Only it wasn’t to be.

Wars change even the best of men, after the first year Lorena’s dedication to writing daily never wained. She held everything inside, pouring her heart over the pages and keeping him informed. In month nine Reggie’s letters became less frequent, she felt the distance in the passages, in the reduced length of each reply and the heat fading from every I love you.

The news reports only confirmed that the boys were enduring a shellacking unlike anything known to men. Meetings with the other wives lessened as time passed as well. Some of their husbands had returned home broken. Missing limbs, too far gone to continue the good fight.  With each influx of broken men it seemed the women around her only broke more and more. Sadness became a close friend and like many of the others Lorena picked up the habit of a cigarette and some whisky to lull her her sleep at night. Her home also became a refuge for those wives whose husbands returned as violent strangers, trained and efficient at killing.

Year two Reggies letters slowed to a few times a month. Still Lorena maintained her frequency as a good wife should. Her proclamations of love more and more sincere as she recalled their fondest times together in her memories and she yearned for him to return safely. His safety was paramount. She was ready for the war to be over, for her love to return and for a fresh start. The two years had withered her, her hands had become warn from the loss of their housekeeper. Her dresses worn in from their repeated use and the lack of funds and seamstresses. It also felt frivolous to spend on dresses without the person she wanted to admire her in them.

Her journals pages filled with her inner thoughts and the feelings too desperate to be shares, her hopes, fears and suspicions. Carmen Kloss’ husband had called her another woman’s name in the throes of passion. When he came back to reality and saw his wife he left their marital bed to cry outside.  After an awful row Carmen discovered that there was another woman, a laundress stationed near him while he was recovering from wounds. There was an affair and a child on the way until she was killed by a bombardment. Now they lived in the same house with a Great Wall of distance between them no better than strangers. Long gone were the two people who cared for each other tremendously.

Heartbreak was all around. Still Lorena put it away and when the ships arrived after victory had returned she was hysterical to have her man return whole and of sound mind. Reggie had held her so tight, he stared all day and night like she was this elusive creature, like she would disappear and he’d wake up to find himself in a dream if he dared looking away. It was good for the first month until a letter came in the post. A perfumed letter. That night he’d come to bed and fell asleep without holding her. He began smoking more, all of a sudden he was full of stress and exhaustion. The ruse was gone the more people came to look for him. It was clear to Lorena that there was a tremendous amount of life that she would never become privy to. Conversation became far and few until the flame was all but extinguished. Somehow the pain of him present but so far way hurt more then his time away at war. Her heart knew it was another woman when he finally seemed to breathe at the arrival of her letters.

“I won’t hold an affair against you if it was what you needed to survive the war and feel comfort” she said finally breaking the silence between them. His head fell with shame immediately confirming her every suspicion.

“Lo” he said.

“You don’t have to explain, I just need you to be here. To want to be here and to love me” she whispered.

“I do want you Lorena” he’d responded voice cracking. 

Therein lied the conflict. His heart was split but not as hers was.

“I love you Lorena, I’ll always love you” he said with commitment. He had, it was true. At least it had been once, she was sure of it. It was in the way he walked, talked and looked at her but now that warmth was reserved for when he was penning replies to his wartime lover’s letters.

His words said one things and his actions another. The other husbands looked at her differently as she entered dinner parties, the wives looked at her with empathy instead of longing jealousy. It was clear and when the younger version of her walked through the doors of the banquet hall and his eyes lit up it was all the heartbreak she would take. She walked seven miles back to the house in her heels and dress. She had asked god to bring him back whole and sane and the lord had answered the prayers. The man she loved with everything in her was alive and well and she could be thankful for that. As much as her heart and feet ached that night she could not hate him or the other woman for being the reason they’d survived the war. All the killing, bloodshed and loss was something she could never imagine. He was still all she needed but the distance was too much and Lorena could no longer stomach it. Stomach knowing what a night of passion was like with her husband who could only now drape an arm around her sparing a few chaste kisses a week. The man who’d been adamant about trying for a child as soon as he returned but couldn’t get the deed done anymore.

It wasn’t lack of kindness of affection, his tone was still loving and his touches gentle, he was still a considerate husband. He was still far better than most but there was an absence of that unmistakable spark that existed between them that had once burned bright. He’d arrived home to her cleaning her bloody feet riddled with concern. Lorena refused all his questions on what happened. He’d cleaned the scars diligently. He was attentive to her every breath. That night he’d held her close concerned for her well being. She spent an hour in the bathroom crying in the shower.

“Reggie, I know you love me but I know you’re in love with her and I cannot in good conscience stay here when you’ve been through enough anguish and deserve to be truly happy.” Her words broke him. The tears that flow were only confirmation she’d never seen him cry, she couldn’t shed a tear or he’d never leave and remained committed to his vows. It would be a tragedy she could never survive. Lorena was strong but she could never be that strong. She refused the house and all of its valuables taking two cases of tattered dresses and garments and a sac of other keepsakes dear to her. In the matter of hours she’d gone from a well kept wife who’d never done a day of labour in her 25 years to a homeless divorcee. 

Her plan was simple, drive as far as the car could take her on her savings, find a place to stay and respectable work. The rest would have to follow. Her parents would only cause scandal and exasperate the situation between her and Reggie. The last thing she wanted was chatter surrounding her failed marriage while her heart was on the mend.

Author's Note: Very different from Feyd's Blade, ik ik, but the hopelessness in the soldiers eyes during the prison camp scenes of masters of the air pulled at my heart strings and so I needed to write about that return to normal. Gale is in the next part.

[focusfixated]

fic rec: ted lasso

all the men and women merely players

rating: T // fandom: ted lasso // pairings: ted x trent, keeley x roy x jamie, nate x jade // length: 50.7k author: @laiqualaurelote tags: theatre, shakespeare, post-apocalypse

"So let me get this straight. You, an American whose career highlights consisted mainly of appearing on Saturday Night Live, decide in the wake of the apocalypse to lead a touring Shakespeare company across the ruins of England." "Oh, I know. Heck, I said as much to Rebecca when she suggested it. I said, 'You could fill two Internets with what I don’t know about directing Shakespeare.' And she said, 'Ted, the Internet doesn’t exist any more.'" Trent Crimm meets Ted Lasso by chance at a Shakespeare play. Five years and the end of the world later, they meet again at another. A Station Eleven post-apocalyptic theatre AU (no knowledge of Station Eleven necessary to read).

rec notes:

a post-apocalyptic ted lasso AU where the richmond players are a troupe of travelling shakespearean actors.

simply one of the best things i've read in a long time. it SO perfectly operates within its genre, one of those beautiful pieces of cross-referential AU fanfic, where there is both a deeply thoughtful blending of references, a wonderfully precise understanding of the characters from the original media, and highly-detailed worldbuilding of its own.

the author nails every character's cadence, the variety of voices, their styles of conversation. the descriptive narrative, is also excellent. achingly poetic, there is so much beauty, and so much compelling, grim horror, too. the happy moments are threaded with plenty of intense, sharply sad moments, but there is so much joy, such hope. it's an ode to art, and friendship, and community.

i had such an amazing time reading this story. it's such a brilliant idea, and its execution lives up to the concept. the amount of detail, research, reference, is evident in every chapter. and it's a wonderful tribute to the show, while also giving such a satisfying conclusion to so many story arcs that were left a little underserved in the series finale.

[arecaceae175]

For Want Of Rest: Ch. 6

FAN JOY JULY!

Fic Summary: Five times Sky falls asleep somewhere that isn’t a bed plus one time they all do. Or, Sky struggles to manage his disabilities, then the chain has a conversation about accessibility and accommodations.

Fan Joy July! Each chapter is inspired a few amazing art pieces of Sleepy Sky <3. There are plenty more chapters and art inspirations to come :D

Chapter Summary: They eep. They also have a conversation about accommodations. 2.5k, fluff and hurt/comfort.

Happy July 35th everybody :/ Here it is :D. THIS IS HEADCANON GALOOOOORE hehehe. I gave everyone a Thing. Also featuring they/them wind so she/her legend isn’t lonely

Art pieces (Look at the arts before you read, it will enhance the experience hehe):

Facedown on the floor by @raycatzdraws Rest by @alis-art-stuff

I am so in love with both of these arts. Raycatzdraws is so so SO funny. Every position is hilarious and also SO in character. And alis-art-stuff's piece is a perfect fluffy companion. Looking at this art feels like a warm hug. Everyone is so comfy and happy!

Warnings: detailed descriptions of chronic pain, references to past ableism (with direct ableist quotes), subsequent internalized ableism. They discuss medical issues in this one but they don’t have many of the correct terms or understanding of health conditions, so obligatory please do not take this as medical advice :)

The last bokoblin crumbled to dust at his feet. Sky stumbled to the side, caught in the momentum of the swing of his sword.

"That's the last of them," Warriors said.

"Good fight. Any injuries?” Time asked, just as he did after every battle. No one spoke up, so he nodded in approval. “We should find somewhere nearby to rest.”

Very, very slowly, Sky lowered himself to the ground. His knees, hips, and back popped painfully, so stiff he could barely move them. Sky didn't bother holding back a grimace. Sky pushed his legs out behind him, laid his arms by his side, and collapsed face first in the grass. His entire body throbbed. Sky tried to breathe evenly through the wave of pain.

"Uh, Sky?"

"Here. Rest," Sky mumbled into the dirt. Grass got in his mouth. Removing it seemed like an insurmountable task. It wasn't like it tasted that bad, anyway.

A pause. "Anyone catch that?"

Sky groaned loudly as he turned his head to the side just enough to free his mouth. "Rest. Here." 

Hyrule frowned, glancing around from the top of the hill they were on. The grassy fields continued for miles. "Isn't this a little exposed?"

"Rest here."

Four shrugged. "We did just clear the monsters."

"See? Rest now." Sky wouldn't have been able to get up if he tried. Everything hurt and he was so tired he might cry.

"I'm so on it," Wind said. "I'm so with you." They dropped to their knees—Sky flinched, knowing how his knees would feel if he did that—then sat back on their heels. Wind's arms flopped backwards as they curled forward and shoved their face in the ground. Their forehead touched the ground, leaving their mouth free for complaining. Sky respected the commitment.

"We have been walking and fighting and walking and fighting and running all week. No more," Wind said.

Sky grunted his agreement. The heroes within his line of sigh all looked at him with a wince, eyebrows drawn together and eyes wide with concern. Sky belatedly realized his sound might have been more pitiful than he intended it to be.

"Yeah, that about does it." Legend put her last item away in her bag then flopped onto the grass next to Sky.

"You mind?" Legend asked. Sky made a noise he hoped was significantly less disturbing than before. It must have worked, because Legend laid down with her head on Sky's backside. Sky made a noise of surprise.

"What?" Legend said. "It's soft."

Any reply Sky would have made was cut off by Warriors dramatic sigh as he collapsed on the ground. His legs were bent underneath his body and he haphazardly threw his arms over his face, resulting in his scarf billowing over his head and covering his face completely.

"This is fine," Warriors said, muffled by the scarf.

Twilight laid down next to him and collected the end of Warriors' scarf to use as a pillow. Wild draped himself over Twilight's legs and dragged Hyrule down with him. Hyrule yelped in surprise but relented quickly enough. He stuck one foot into Legend's side as he got comfortable. Four laid on the grass in the most awkward position physically possible. Sky's joints throbbed in pain just looking at it. Sky couldn't see Time from his angle, but going by the loud thump, Time was now also on the ground.

Sky hummed happily and put his face back in the dirt. There was a nice little indentation right where his nose was, so he wasn't even suffocating. How convenient, he thought.

Sky's muscles were still tense from the battle adrenaline. As hard as he tried, he couldn't quite drift off to sleep. His body ached, every joint and every muscle throbbing in time with his heart. The longer he laid on his stomach, the more the fire-like pain in his back spread. He knew he would regret laying like this later, but he really, really didn’t want to move. 

"This is boring," Wind said.

The heroes burst into laughter. Sky chuckled quietly, with as much energy as he could muster.

“Let’s find shapes in the clouds!” Wild suggested. 

“Ooh! Yes! Everyone play!” Wind cheered. 

Sky sighed and tried to will his body to relax. The level of effort he was putting would have been comical—he couldn’t force himself to relax, that defeated the purpose—if he wasn’t so utterly worn down. Everything hurt and he really, really wanted to be asleep. Sharp pressure stung behind his eyes. Sky flopped an arm over them and breathed deeply, desperately trying not to cry. 

The voices of the other heroes sounded like they were underwater. Or, maybe Sky was underwater and they were above. That made more sense, he thought. He certainly felt like he was underwater, drowning as he was pulled down by invisible forces. And how could he fight an enemy he couldn’t see?

A hand touched his boot. Sky flinched, eyes flying open with a gasp. Legend was sitting up beside him; Sky hadn’t noticed the change in pressure when she moved. Legend flashed him an apologetic smile. 

“The sailor wants you to look at the clouds,” Legend said. “You’ve got about ten seconds before they drag you over there themself. Just a warning.”

“Over where?” Sky asked. His neck ached from the strain of looking sideways at Legend. 

In response, Legend tilted her head over her shoulders. The other heroes were gathered in a circle, laying on their backs with their heads together. Legend carefully pushed herself to her feet and stretched her arms above her head. Beneath her braces, her joints popped. She shook them out then went to the circle. 

Instead of taking the closest open spot, she deliberately stepped on Warriors’ chest. Her step was light enough that it wouldn’t hurt, and more than enough for Warriors to yelp and swat her away. Legend laughed as she let herself be tackled onto the ground. 

Just as Legend predicted, it was no more than ten seconds before Wind was hopping up from the circle and bounding over to Sky. They knelt next to Sky’s head with a wide smile. “Sky, come look at clouds with us!” 

Sky forced a smile even as tears gathered in his eyes. As soon as they started, he couldn’t stop. Tears flowed down his face as Sky choked on a sob, burying his face in his arms in shame. 

“Sky?” Wind’s voice was panicked. “What’s wrong? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” 

Sky sniffled and shook his head, ignoring the pinpricks of pain throughout his neck and shoulders. “No, I— I’m— it’s fine. I’m fine.”

“What’s wrong?” Wind asked again. 

“I don- I don’t know,” Sky cried. “I’m just…”

Wind’s hand landed on his back and they started rubbing comforting circles. Another sob forced its way out of Sky’s chest. 

“You should turn over,” Twilight said. Sky sniffed and looked up in surprise. Twilight was right next to him. They all were, Sky realized; the others had moved their circle over to Sky and were all trying very hard not to stare at him in concern. 

“Your back always hurts when you lay like that,” Twilight continued. 

A fresh wave of emotion forced more tears out of Sky’s eyes. “You— how?”

Twilight smiled sadly at him. “I noticed. You never said anything about it, though, so…” Twilight shrugged. 

“Here,” Wind said, voice determined. “Can I help?” 

Sky nodded and wiped his nose miserably. Wind put one hand beneath his shoulder and the other beneath his hip.

“Ready? Set, go!” 

With Wind’s added momentum, Sky turned over on the first try with minimal difficulty. As soon as he landed on his back, the pain intensified and the sound of blood rushing filled his ears. Sky’s breath hitched, then he forced himself to calm down and breathe through the pain as his joints released their tension. 

“Are you having regrets?” Legend asked in a teasing tone. Sky knew that was how she showed her concern, and the words warmed his heart. 

“Mmhmm,” Sky mumbled in reply. His voice wavered far more than he expected. 

The sharp pain receded, and Sky finally was able to take a full breath. He let his arms flop on the grass above his head. Sky let himself breathe and relax. 

“Sky?” Twilight asked, voice uncharacteristically hesitant. 

Sky’s eyes felt like sandpaper under his eyelids as he dragged them open. 

“We wanted to talk to you about… this,” Twilight continued. 

Sky’s face burned with shame. His ears pinned themselves against his head. He glanced at the other heroes, all clearly staring, then shoved his eyes closed again. 

This was it. They were going to tell him he was being too slow and he needed to be better. He needed to try harder . Somewhere in the logical part of his mind, Sky knew he was being unfair to them, but a lifetime of being told to just suck it up and do better and being far, far too slow clouded his judgment.

“I’m sorry. I can do better,” Sky said. 

“What?” Legend interjected harshly. “What are you on about?”

Sky sniffled and wiped his eyes to keep his tears at bay. He drew in a shaky breath before he continued. “I know I’ve been slow lately, but I’ll do better. We don’t have to talk about it. I’m sorry.”

“No, Sky, that’s not what’s happening here,” Warriors said quickly. “We want to help.”

Sky’s thoughts stuttered to a halt. “You… what do you mean?”

“Back in your era, after you passed out, we talked to Zelda about it. We weren’t hiding this from you, but we haven’t had a chance to bring it up since.”

“...Oh. Um…”

Wind’s hand slipped into his and squeezed. Sky squeezed back, at a loss for words. 

“That was scary,” Wind said quietly. “I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

Sky’s stomach flipped. “I’m sorry.”

Wind squeezed his hand again. “It’s not your fault! The only thing you should be sorry about is not telling us that could happen! How were we supposed to know you’d be okay?”

“Sailor,” Warriors admonished quietly. “Sky, there’s nothing wrong with needing extra help. We all do, sometimes. I… I may not have said it out loud before, but I have battlesickness. You know that, and I know any of you will help me calm down when I can’t remember where I am. Do you blame me for that?”

“Of course not!” Sky said. 

“You’ve helped me apply my scar gel before! And you always make tea when me or Twilight have cramps,” Wild said. 

“I have a blind side. I can’t see attacks,” Time said.

“My shoulder won’t grow right after a monster flung me around. I can’t move it all the way and it hurts, sometimes,” Wind said. 

“This isn’t like that,” Sky interrupted, clenching his free hand in frustration. “This isn’t from my adventure. It comes and goes with how bad it is, but I’ve always been this way.”

“You know my joints are terrible. That’s something you and I have in common,” Legend added. “The braces help, but I’m not always up for moving. You’ve never blamed me for that.”

“I’ve had migraines all my life,” Four said. “More after my adventures, just like you.”

“I have food allergies,” Hyrule said. “Those aren’t my fault and they’ve been here forever.”

“It… it doesn’t get better. I have to deal with this every day.” Sky’s voice had a hint of a whine to it, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “Everything hurts all the time. I’m so tired. I can’t even stand up without my body collapsing. It’s— it’s really, really hard,” Sky finished in a small voice. 

Wind squeezed his hand. The group was silent for a moment, only the sounds of crickets jumping through the grass. 

“Zelda told us some things she and Groose do to help,” Warriors said. “I’d like to hear what you do day to day to manage it, if you’re comfortable sharing.”

Sky blinked up at the clouds through teary eyes. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

“I always watch food being prepared, that helps my anxiety. I don’t like my face or neck being touched. When I’m panicking, breathing exercises and asking me to describe my surroundings are what help,” Warriors offered. 

After a beat, enough time for Sky to speak up if he wanted, Legend continued. “I stretch every morning and night. I have pain relief tea if I need it. Movement helps the inflammation stay down, but too much running or jumping makes things worse.”

“Oh,” Sky realized. “That’s— my knees are the same. If they stay straight or bent for too long they get hard to move.”

“There, see? Stuff like that,” Warriors encouraged. “What else do you know?”

“Um. When I passed out, that was from standing too quickly. Well, the portal makes everything feel worse, and I don’t usually fully pass out. When I sit up or stand up I have to move really slow or I feel bad for a while. I lean or sit as often as I can. I sleep as much as I can, but I’m still tired all the time, no matter how much I rest. Is that— is that okay?”

“You’re doing great, Sky. That’s exactly what we mean,” Twilight said. 

“Zelda mentioned the exhaustion too,” Warriors said. “She said stamina fruit helps…”

The Links stayed on the hill, resting and talking for the rest of the day. Time tired of talking quickly, but he listened with a smile on his face. Wind, Wild, and Hyrule pointed out exciting clouds during lapses in the conversation. The other heroes offered things about themselves they had learned and things that helped them, too, so Sky wasn’t the only one. They made sure he didn’t feel like a burden, and they made sure he felt loved. 

For once, Sky was not the first to fall asleep. Time and Wild hadn’t responded in a while, and Legend hadn’t opened her eyes for her last three comments. Sky could feel the fatigue tugging on his eyelids as he struggled to keep up with the conversation. After his third yawn in as many sentences, Warriors reached over Wind and ruffled Sky’s hair. 

“Get some sleep,” Warriors said with a fond chuckle. “I’ll wake everyone up in time to make camp before dusk.”

“Okay,” Sky said around another yawn. He sighed contentedly and drifted off more easily than he had in weeks. He felt light, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. The problems with his body may not be able to be solved, but Sky was confident they could be managed, especially with his family by his side. 

[squirrel-art]

Finished my little compilation of Sav and her mobility aids! ID in alt for each.

Disclaimer that I'm able-bodied & open to criticism about my portrayal! Also I realized belatedly her rollator is parked in a way that would, in fact, not keep it from rolling the fuck around, my bad.

Further details about my design philosophy/Sav's symptoms under the cut.

I played Savtas through Consular Story Chapter 1 in Full Good Girl Mode, saving all the Jedi and using the shielding ritual whenever prompted. The side effects of the rituals are vague and inconsequential in-game so as to make the job of the writers and programmers easier; characters comment worriedly about the fact that you "look tired" and not much else.

Fortunately, I have none of these restrictions. I don't know how to scientifically quantify "life-essence", but in my canon the energy required to create and maintain the shields comes right out of the body of the shielder, and behaves first and foremost like a faster-than-sustainable burning of calories. In the short-term, Sav became dangerously malnourished and fatigued; in the long-term she developed PoTS and what I've been glibly referring to as "Force fibro" in my brain, because the symptoms she experiences are the similar to that of those who suffer from fibromyalgia in real life: chronic pain, chronic fatigue, disordered sleep, and brain fog.

Some of those physical symptoms are ameliorated via use of a mobility aid, so she's tried out a couple different types.

Rollator

Sav's mobility aid of choice, purchased somewhere at the beginning of Ch 2. Sav is prone to dizziness and fatigue, and has less difficulty walking than she does standing for long periods; the rollator helps keep her balance and gives her somewhere to sit for short spells when she needs to.

The wheels do make this device better for navigating flatter and more even ground, but I imagine she can swap the wheels out for all-terrain varieties. I wonder if you could put blades on them like ice skates, to move around on places like Hoth? Well, the brakes wouldn't work, so probably not.

As mentioned in a previous post on my other sideblog, the design and colors are meant to evoke the pillars of the old Jedi Temple on Coruscant. This model is bespoke, created to Savvy's whimsical specifications. It wasn't even that expensive; you'd be surprised how many discounts people are willing to offer a Jedi!

Chair

A gift from the Jedi Council upon her defeat of Terrak Morrhage and the subsequent quelling of the Force plague. It's a more expensive model, and comes with a sturdy stand to rest it on when it's charging or not in use.

Design inspo drawn from both canon sources and the wonderful hermitmoss' hoverchair headcanons post!

I deliberated for a while as to whether Sav would have been given a wheelchair or a hoverchair. I settled on hoverchair mostly because Sav wanted a certain level of independence in her movement, but nobody was sure how long it would take her to regain enough upper body strength to reliably push herself around in a manual chair.

Sav in this image is at the beginning of her recovery, but she does continually make use of her chair after regaining some of her weight and muscle mass. Her rollator became her device of choice over the chair in part because the chair is kind of bulky and heavy, and can't be easily collapsed for transport. She probably has a lighter, more maneuverable transport chair stored on the ship to utilize in a pinch.

Looking at the design of the chair, I am already dissatisfied with it - the seat isn't raked to keep her from sliding out of it, and the control panel should realistically be attached to an extension and not directly under her hand. We'll fix that in the next pass, I think, but for now this drawing is representative of the overall design and colors.

Cane

She's got a few of these! Most have an offset or contour grip because she finds them the most comfortable, and most have adjustable bases.

Her favorite is probably the non-adjustable wooden one she got from a craftsman on Alderaan, the only one she owns made of fully organic materials.