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rileyslibrary · 11 months

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I love your sense of humour and have cracked up at your stories multible times. Maby you can find some inspiration in this:

Price ordering the team to an etiquette training so they know how to behave in case they have to go under cover in a more "fancy" environment (or the upcoming mission may require something like this). I'm thinking about Ghosts "sausage fingers" from the origami bit on a delicate litte cake fork... Or him needing to *converse* with someone.

I think putting these hard soldiers in a situation that's out of their comfort zone is always a fun read!

Thank you for letting us enjoy your fantastic writing! <3

Be gentle, man!

Relationship: TF141 x F!Reader with a potential Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader (platonic?) on the horizon. Also there’s an OC in the story.

Word Count: 1,598 (approx. 7-8 min reading time)

Notes: I began writing this last night as a joke, and couldn’t stop. Thank you SO MUCH for inspiring me to do this, anon. It’s a crackfic btw. (There’s a part 2 now here)

———————————————————————

The training room feels out of place compared to its usual purpose. Bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, the once-busy gym has been transformed into a classroom for an unlikely lesson—manners, of all things. Table manners, to be precise.

“Talk about Fitness Vs. Finesse,” Soap whispers, and you playfully nudge his side. The comment reaches Gaz’s ears, and he lets out a chuckle. Yet, Price’s death stare reclaims your attention and brings you back to focus.

You all sit around a long, polished mahogany table atop the gym’s boxing ring, admiring the delicate china and crystal glassware set before you. It reminds you of Aunt Claire’s preserved collection, which rarely leaves its cabinet. Lady Theodora, your etiquette instructor, assures you that each piece serves a purpose, and you will put them all to use. Every. Single. One of them.

Lady Theodora, the epitome of timeless confidence, moves gracefully around the table. Her silver hair is slicked back, framing a face that exudes years of wisdom and experience. Her Bordeaux-coloured shawl billows behind her as she glides, catching the gentle breeze her steps create. She pauses behind Price’s chair and reveals the reason behind today’s masterclass: an undercover operation.

“In the world of espionage, where appearances can mean the difference between life and death,” she says in a soft voice, “the art of etiquette becomes a weapon, a shield, and,” she concludes, resting her hand on Price’s shoulder, “your ticket to survival.”

“Bollocks.”

All eyes are drawn to the far end of the table, where a shadowy figure prefers to go unnoticed but isn’t afraid to express doubts. The only visible sign of life is a hand fidgeting with the butterknife.

“I beg your pardon, Lieutenant.” Lady Theodora says, and Ghost leans forward, revealing his unmasked—and visibly annoyed—face.

“We’re soldiers, not knights,” he claims. “Teaching us how to use all these,” he says, motioning to the various utensils before him, “is a waste of time, both yours and mine.”

Lady Theodora regards him gently as if looking at a child throwing a tantrum. She smiles and walks behind him, gripping the back of his chair.

“You seem quite certain of your own competence and doubtful of mine, Mr Riley,” she says, amused.

Ghost tilts his head to the side, partially facing her.

“With all due respect, Lady Theodora,” he replies, “I don’t believe you fully comprehend how such missions operate.”

Lady Theodora lets a light chuckle as she moves closer to Ghost’s face.

“My record of 25 confirmed kills, three of which were accomplished with a butterknife like the one in your hand, might suggest otherwise,” she admits. “Now, would you kindly move your seat forward, Lieutenant? I’ll show you how to act like a proper gentleman.”

Ghost’s Adam’s apple bobbles as he swallows hard. He returns the butterknife to its original position and pushes his chair forward with Lady Theodora’s help.

Gaz clears his throat and looks at Soap.

“Imagine her dinner parties,” he whispers so Price doesn’t hear him, “they must be perfectly executed.”

“Bet she makes a killer soufflé,” Soap whispers back.

You look at them and mutter, “You two are beyond help.” Unfortunately, it’s your own comment that catches Price’s attention this time, and he gives you a stern warning to behave.

“Let’s get started,” Lady Theodora says. “Projecting confidence and grace requires proper posture: sit up straight, shoulders back, and imagine a string pulling you upward from the crown of your head.”

You all adjust your posture, attempting to imitate Lady Theodora. Ghost used to a more relaxed posture, finds it difficult to maintain the required formality. His broad shoulders hunch forward, and he struggles to keep his legs straight.

“Excellent,” Lady Theodora remarks, catching Ghost’s struggle but choosing not to comment further. “Next, we shall delve into the art of dining. Each utensil on the table has a specific purpose, and it is essential to use them correctly.”

She points to the array of utensils laid out before you. Multiple forks, knives, and spoons of various sizes and shapes make the sight overwhelming.

“The outermost utensils are for the earlier courses, while the inner ones are for the later ones.” Lady Theodora says, “It’s like unwrapping a gift, one course at a time.”

You all nod and place the napkin on your lap to begin the process.

Ghost’s ingrained military habits take over when food is served, causing him to devour it quickly. He shovels forkfuls of food into his mouth without looking up and barely pausing to chew.

“Mr Riley,” Lady Theodora addresses Ghost, who shoots his head up to look at her. “I understand the military inclination to eat fast, but we must remember that the food isn’t going anywhere. Take your time, savour each bite, and enjoy your meal, please.”

“Sorry ’bout that.” Ghost mumbles with his mouth full.

Lady Theodora raises an eyebrow. “Mr Riley, it is impolite to speak with your mouth full,” she reminds him. “Please, swallow your food before continuing.”

Ghost swallows and clears his throat. “Apologies, Lady Theodora,” he mutters.

Lady Theodora smiles and nods at Ghost’s response. “Very well, Lieutenant Riley,” she says. “Remember, dining is about more than just the food; it’s also about the company and the experience.”

As the training continues, you witness Soap’s attempts to initiate a proper conversation, only to subconsciously bring up military strategies. Gaz, on the other hand, struggles with small talk and, when asked about his hobbies, blurts out his love of explosions.

“Kerosene is one hell of a—”

“No kerosene talk on the table, Sergeant,” Lady Theodora interrupts. “How about we talk about something more appropriate, like, for example, what did you do today?”

“You’re not going to like it.” He replies.

“Did it involve kerosene?” She asks and receives multiple excited nods from Gaz.

Ghost forgets about his napkin while using the finger bowl and instinctively flicks his hands to dry them. Droplets of water scatter across the table, and Lady Theodora steps forward with a calm smile. She retrieves his napkin and hands it to him. “Remember, Lieutenant,” she whispers, “the napkin is your ally.”

Throughout this ordeal, Price seems to be the only one who already has a natural fluidity in his movements. Like he already knows about etiquette.

You compliment his impeccable manners, but Lady Theodora intervenes before Price can respond.

“Oh, that’s because the Captain already received my services a few years ago,” she reveals, winking.

Price, caught off guard, coughs and sputters, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. After regaining his composure, he clears his throat and grins.

“Yes, well, Lady Theodora’s guidance has been, um, invaluable,” he manages to say and lowers his gaze to his plate. Gaz raises an eyebrow, and Soap gives a sly smile.

With the etiquette training completed, Price gracefully positions his utensils on his plate and folds his napkin. Lady Theodora hands him a file stack, which he distributes to you.

“These files contain detailed background information for your assigned roles,” he explains. “Study them carefully; familiarise yourselves with the personas you will embody, and don’t worry; with Lady Theodora’s help, you’ll have plenty of time to learn how to carry yourselves.”

He watches you all as you take hold of your respective files, scanning the pages and absorbing the details that will shape your performances.

“Gaz, within those pages, you’ll uncover the roadmap to shape your tech persona, along with essential contacts and valuable industry insights,” Price declares.

“A startup entrepreneur,” Gaz mutters and nods, “nice.”

“Soap,” Price continues, “your file contains the lineage and history of an alleged oil tycoon family; you’ll assume the identity of their sole son and heir to the business.”

“Why do I get the oil-moneyed spoiled brat?” Soap protests, “Gaz is the one obsessed with fossil fuel!”

Price looks at Lady Theodora, silently begging her to take the lead.

“Focus on embodying the demeanour of an heir, Sergeant MacTavish,” she comforts Soap. “Acquiring in-depth knowledge of the business is not a top priority now.”

Finally, Price shifts his focus to you and Ghost. His voice softens, and a smile appears on his lips.

“As for the two of you,” he says, “your assignment requires a convincing portrayal of a couple.”

You and Ghost exchange a brief look before returning your focus to the files in your hands.

“Laswell will provide you with a forged marriage certificate and photos of your alleged relationship,” Price continues. “The documents will serve as tangible proof if the need to validate your connection arises.”

“Any chance to let us know who or what we’re after?” Gaz asks, and Price shakes his head.

“Baby steps, Sergeant; we’re waiting for Laswell to give us more intel,” he explains, “but as far as we know, we’re dealing with people who can buy their way out of some very sketchy shit.”

“Language, Captain.” Lady Theodora reminds him.

“Please accept my sincere apologies, Theodora,” he says and turns to Gaz. “I meant sketchy things, Sergeant.”

As they continue discussing the mission, your mind wanders on the latest information. Ghost’s partner? How? You look at the file and then back at Ghost. You see Lady Theodora walking behind Ghost’s chair and leaning close to his ear. She looks at you and whispers to him.

“I told you, Lieutenant,” she says, “I’ll mould you into a proper gentleman.”

Ghost turns to face you as well. “I’m afraid that’s impossible, Lady Theodora,” he replies.

But Lady Theodora smiles and touches his shoulder, “Oh, you’ll see, Mr Riley—you’re my gift to unwrap, one course at a time.”

———————————————————————

Part 2 ->

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chahnniesroom · 1 day

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to have and to hold

pairing: bang chan x female reader

summary: you don't think there's anything chan can do to make you love him more. chan continues to prove you wrong.

word count: 1.4k

warnings: mentions of pregnancy, lots of fluff!!

a/n: sorry it has been so long since i posted! i have been wanting to write this since that ep of return of superman where chan and felix took care of rowoon, it was so so sweet. also i'm so sorry but i did not edit this at all

till death do us part collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

“Do you think you’d ever want to have kids?”

Your question breaks through the quiet dialogue of the show that you and Chan are watching. Behind you, you feel Chan freeze before he forces himself to relax and continue fiddling with your fingers.

Chan hesitates for a moment longer before answering.

“I don’t know,” he says, slowly and carefully. “I think that I’d want to eventually, but right now? Being an idol- It would be difficult. I mean, for anyone it’s hard, but especially with this career…”

“Do you like children?” you ask, curious even though you can anticipate his answer.

“Yes.” This time he replies immediately, although his voice is still cautious. He releases your hands from his hold and gently nudges your shoulders so that you twist to look at him. “Y/n- Do- Are you-”

“What?” you stare at him, not sure why he suddenly seems so worried.

“Are you pregnant?” he asks gently. “It’s fine if you are! We can totally work things out and I will 100% support you the whole time-”

“Oh!” You smack yourself in the forehead. “No! Definitely not! I was just thinking.”

“Ah.” Chan slumps against the back of the couch, this time he’s actually relaxed. “Just thinking or- what brought this on?”

“I’m sorry,” you say hurriedly. “That must have been out of nowhere for you. No, it’s because my older sister’s wedding anniversary is coming up, the first one since she’s had a kid, so I wanted to let her go out without having to worry. I was wondering if you wanted to help me babysit?”

“I see,” Chan says, sounding relieved. “Your sister. Yes, I haven’t met Doyun yet, right? I’d love to help you take care of him.”

—

Your sister is delighted that you’ve offered to take Doyun for an evening and you quickly coordinate with Chan what day would work best. It’s not possible to babysit on your sister’s actual anniversary due to Chan’s schedules, but your availabilities line up on a Friday night the weekend after.

Chan is nervous leading up to it, which you find absolutely adorable. When you look over his shoulder one night, curious what he’s focusing so intently on, you find him scrolling through articles on interacting with babies as well as tips on baby-proofing an apartment.

Before your sister arrives, you work with Chan for a few hours transforming the open area of your apartment, placing pillows and draping blankets over sharp corners and making sure to keep any small objects out of reach.

When the doorbell rings, Chan panics, popping his head out of the kitchen from where he’s been trying to figure out a way to prevent Doyun from being able to open the cabinets.

“We're not ready!” he says, eyes wide.

“What do you want to do, keep them waiting outside until you finish?” you joke, then pause when it looks like Chan is actually considering it. “Don't worry, I'll go let my sister in and you keep working on that. We'll be watching Doyunnie the whole time, so even if you can't work that out, it's fine.”

Your sister doesn't stay for very long. She hands Doyun off to you and assures both you and Chan that your place looks safe for a baby. After going through everything that is packed in the massive diaper bag that she’s leaving with you, she heads back home to get ready for her dinner.

Doyun has a short attention span and cycles between playing with a stuffed animal, a ball,

some plastic fruits and vegetables, and toy trains within the first hour. He is so adorable that you and Chan don't mind how much energy is required to keep him occupied. Luckily he's a fairly easygoing baby and hasn't fussed at all, although it did take a while for him to warm up to the two of you.

He's comfortable now, especially since Chan has started to spin the two of them around, hands firmly gripping Doyun’s torso. Doyun absolutely loves it, shrieking in excitement with his eyes crinkling. Even after a few minutes of the same thing, he never grows bored, just as thrilled everytime that Chan lifts him above his head. Although Doyun isn’t very heavy yet, after 15 minutes there’s sweat visible on Chan’s forehead and he’s starting to get out of breath.

“How about we take a bit of a break? Do you want to read?” Chan sits Doyun down against some pillows and rummages through the bag that your sister packed, finding some of the books that she included.

Chan hands the books over and although Doyun accepts both of them, he throws them aside and instead clumsily reaches up towards Chan, clearly asking to be picked up again. Chan pretends to groan and complain as he lifts Doyun back up.

“Aww,” you coo. “He really likes you.”

“And I really like him,” Chan says, spinning Doyun around. “I just wish I hadn’t gone to the gym earlier today, I didn’t realise what a workout this would be!”

Eventually Doyun grows tired, no longer begging Chan to continue. This time when Chan settles him on the ground, he just looks around curiously before crawling up to Chan and grabbing at his curls.

“He’s so small,” Chan marvels. “Look at his little fingers!”

He reaches out towards Doyun, who immediately wraps his hand around Chan’s index finger and pulls it towards his mouth.

It's comical to see the difference in size between their hands and Chan visibly melts, allowing Doyun to gum at his fingers, quickly covering them in a sheen of saliva.

“Are you hungry Doyunnie?” Chan asks. “It’s almost time for dinner, let’s see what your auntie prepared for us.”

By the time Doyun is set up in a high chair with a bib on, you’ve finished cooking. Dinner for Doyun is simple, consisting of steamed vegetables, tofu, rolled omelette, rice, and a bit of fruit. You’ve also used the same ingredients plus a few additions to make kimchi stew for you and Chan.

Chan is distracted the whole meal, prioritising feeding Doyun and wiping his face clean in between bites over eating his own food. It's a futile effort since Doyun seems more interested in smearing the food around rather than getting it into his mouth.

When you're finished with your food, you switch spots with Chan and coax Doyun into eating the last few bites he has left while Chan scarfs down his own meal.

After dinner, you carry Doyun into the bathroom and start filling the bathtub with a shallow layer of warm water. He watches with wide eyes as you add bubble bath that changes the colour of the water to a deep blue and creates a thick cover of bubbles. After washing the dishes and wiping down the kitchen, Chan joins the both of you just as you’re rinsing suds out of Doyun’s hair.

Cleaned and dressed in a fuzzy onesie with tiny bear ears poking out from the hood, Doyun struggles to stay awake for the rest of the evening. It’s obvious that he’s tired, he’s starting to get cranky and his blinks get longer and longer, but he stubbornly continues to play. After his third time nodding off while slotting plastic shapes into a cube, Chan picks him up and walks him around the room, rocking him slightly while humming a melody that you can’t recognize.

When your sister comes to pick up Doyun, he's sprawled out on Chan’s chest, deeply asleep. A line of drool drops from his open mouth to form a wet spot on Chan’s shirt, but Chan doesn’t seem to mind, staring at Doyun with stars in his eyes.

That night, right when you're about to fall asleep, Chan speaks up. His arms are wrapped around you and you can feel his breath against the back of your neck.

“I think,” he says quietly. “I think I want kids. Not now, I still have the same concerns as before, but in the future? I want it.”

“You did so well with Doyunnie, it looked so natural,” you agree. “I think you would be a great dad.”

“Only if you’re there by my side,” he corrects.

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

till death do us part collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

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wildernessuntothemselves · 6 months

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Jealousy, Jealousy... | Part 6

A/N: don't even have a summary for this. oc is in love with gyu and gyu is in love with another girl but both are virgin losers and gyu is a horndog who would let oc do what she wants to him just as long as he gets to cum.

Word count: 6.2k

Genre: Smut, angst, fluff

Warnings: fem!reader, loss of virginity, PIV sex, fingering, brief pussy licking, sub!reader, dom!yeonjun.

Despite what Beomgyu said, he and Haeun seem to have become an item, just as you and Yeonjun are now. They’re always together, as you are with Yeonjun, and it’s like you and Beomgyu don’t even know each other anymore. He’s always hanging out with her and you’re always hanging out with Yeonjun. You hardly see Beomgyu anymore, which makes it weird the way he’s sitting on your bed, watching you get ready just like old times.

You remember how you and he used to play a game sometimes as you got ready where you’d pick out various outfits and try them out for Beomgyu, giving him a mini-fashion show that he would narrate as if it was a football game, going on about how groundbreaking the designs are and how pretty the model (you) looks.

He was your main supporter in going into fashion as a major. You don’t think you would’ve had the courage to do it without him. He always believed in you and stood by you even when your parents were upset at you for choosing a career with such an uncertain future. He told you that if one of you succeeds, you’ll just pull the other up too. If his music career takes off, he’ll contract you to be the creative director for the band and if your fashion career takes off, you’ll have to hire him as your model. And if you both fail…well you’ll be strippers together.

You laugh as you remember your promise and turn back towards Beomgyu, who was sitting on your bed watching you. “Hey, remember our backup plan? That we’ll make a two-man stripper show to repay our student debt?”

But Beomgyu doesn’t share your laughter. Instead he just hums, focusing on your dress.

“What? You don’t like it?” You ask, insecure. You’re not used to wearing something this extravagant but Yeonjun is taking you to a photography exhibition tonight and he told you it’s gonna be really fancy.

You’re not sure if being stressed out and sweating as you try not to get judged by all those more talented and influential people is the best idea for a date but Yeonjun insisted that if you wanted to get into fashion, you have to start mingling.

You didn’t even have a proper dress. You had to wear something you made for a fallen goddess shoot you had in mind, but by the look Beomgyu is giving you, it’s probably trash.

"Does it matter?" He asks and you frown. "What do you mean?"

"It means that with what you're wearing, I don't even know why you’re bothering going on a date when you can just invite him over and let him fuck you now, skip the formalities."

"You're unbelievable." You spit out, trying to hide the dread filling your chest and making you struggle to breathe. Yes, the dress was a bit more revealing than you’re used to, but it’s an art event, people wear this stuff there all the time.

“Where did you even get this dress?” He asks in distaste and you hold your head up high. “I made it.”

That makes him back down, his eyes visibly softening as regret shows on his face. “Oh… It’s pretty.”

You snort in disbelief. "Why are you even here, Beomgyu?"

He shrugs. "Just watching this shitshow go down."

“Right.” You mutter bitterly, "I guess it was too much to expect you to act like a friend."

"I am your friend.” He says as if declaring it is enough to make it true. “I'm your best friend."

"I wouldn't be so sure."

He jumps off the bed when he hears that, quickly getting in front of you. "What does that mean?”

"Nothing. I'm going to be late." You try to get past him but he won’t let you. "No. What do you mean by that? You said I'd never lose you."

"Yeah, that was before you transformed into this asshole who accuses me of trying to sabotage his career and calling me a slut for daring to date."

He moves back, stunned at your words, and you almost laugh. Is he really surprised? "I'm just… working through some stuff."

"Stuff? That's your excuse?" You ask incredulously and he looks away. Is “stuff” worth what he’s done to your friendship?

"It's just hard for me to see you with him." He finally admits and you sigh. Not this again. "Beomgyu, I know you’re worried about your band, but Yeonjun and I are adults, even if we break up, that doesn't mean–"

"It's not about that." He shakes his head, cutting you off.

"Then what is it?" You ask, frustrated. Frankly, you’re at your rope’s end with his weird behavior.

"You're too good for him."

"What?” You reel back. Now, this is new. “Is it because he sleeps around? Because we’ve talked about it and he insisted that just because he's had many casual relationships before doesn't mean he's gonna cheat on me. We've been together for a while now and he has been nothing but wonderful to me."

He really has. You don't know what's wrong with you. Why can't you love him the way you love your asshole best friend? Maybe it will come with time? You've known Beomgyu for years and your love for him didn't develop overnight. Maybe you just need to give your relationship with Yeonjun more time.

You hope it doesn't take years to get over Beomgyu and fall in love with Yeonjun though.

"It's not that. It's not him. You're too good for everyone."

"Beomgyu…" You walk towards him and hold his hands. "I know you're not used to me going out with guys because, well, I've kind of lead a fairly loser-ish life--you know, you've been there– and maybe me and Yeonjun won't end up working out and maybe I'll end up hurt but I can't just be virginal forever. I have to try to find someone for me."

"But you have someone." He pulls you towards him, resting his forehead against yours as he plays with your hands. "Me."

That hurt more than any mean thing he has ever said to you and he doesn't even mean to hurt you. He has been terrible to you all this time because he thinks you deserve more? Because he wants things to stay the way they are? That is fucking absurd and so infuriating. Why couldn't he have just told you that instead of acting like an ass? Not wanting to lose you doesn’t mean he gets to order you around. Being worried about you doesn't give him the right to treat you like a stupid slut.

"Don't be stupid." You say harshly, making him flinch. You try again, softer this time, not letting the anger and pain through as much. "I know I have you but I need more."

"More what? Why can't things just stay the way they are? We have fun together, right? I make you laugh. I'm there for you when you're down. We've even messed around. What can he give you that I can't?"

Love. You need love and even though Beomgyu loves you very much, it's not in the way you need.

"Beomgyu, you’re being very childish about this. We're not twelve anymore. I know you’re scared that we'll drift apart if I find someone but the only reason we’ve been drifting apart is because of your behavior. I can't keep coddling you. You may not like it because it’s only been you and I until now, but it's time for me to find an actual boyfriend instead of this–this joke I have with you."

Maybe you’re being too harsh on him but you’re honestly too hurt to sugarcoat it anymore. And you also need to hear it yourself. What you have with Beomgyu isn't real and you need to face the fact that it will never be. "I need someone to actually love and to hold and to be my other half. Us messing around together is just that, messing around, nothing more. I need something real. You do too. I mean you're finally with the woman you've been chasing after for years. Do you really wanna throw that away just because you're scared?"

Still, seeing the way he becomes quiet after your outburst, looking away from you and not responding… maybe you could’ve been nicer about it.

“Beomgyu…” You sigh, reaching out to turn his face towards you but he pushes your hand away, refusing to meet your gaze.

"Go. You’re late for your date." He grits out and you look at the time. Crap. You are!

You look at him again, seeing the tension in his jaw and shoulders, something that resembles pain etched on his features. Should you stay and work this out for him or go on your date? If you stay, you’d be choosing him yet again. If you stay then you’ll just teach him that all he needs to do is act out and you’ll cave and do what he wants. No, you need to make some changes. That’s what you promised Yeonjun when you and him decided to become exclusive. Beomgyu can’t come first anymore.

"I have to go. Let’s talk about this later." You step back, ignoring the hurt in his eyes as you grab your bag and head for the door.

____________________

When Yeonjun said the place was fancy, he wasn’t kidding. You’re blown away right now, surrounded by people you’ve only known about through magazine spreads and hours of admiration through the internet. You can’t believe you’re here in the same room with such talented artists and creators.

You feast your eyes on the multiple displays from different photographers and artists, analyzing their technique, their vision, and their subject, and you’re just in awe. This is exactly where you should be, mingling with the others in your field, making connections, building a network… except you haven’t really gotten the hang of socializing yet. You’re too nervous to talk to anyone. You just stand silently next to Yeonjun as he charms his way through the crowd, joking there, throwing a compliment here or purring a small flirty line that has the other party blushing.

He can turn it on for anyone. He’s so good you can’t help wondering where his charming nature ends and his actual affection for you begins. How do you know he’s not just charming you the same way he charms everyone else?

“Do you like it?” Yeonjun asks, and you snap out of your thoughts. You look around to see that everyone around you has left and you’re standing alone with him. “Huh?”

“You’ve been staring at this particular shot for a long time. Do you like it?” He laughs and you shake your head. “Not really.”

“Really? Why not? It’s well shot, the composition is good, the set design is top-notch and the clothes really complement the atmosphere.”

“That’s all true.” You agree, and he laughs–his sweet tinkering laugh that makes you smile. “Then what’s the problem?”

“I don’t like the model. It’s obvious the photographer was going for a femme fatale look but she doesn’t deliver. She’s supposed to have the face of an angel but the aura of the devil. She has to convey the monster within but she’s so afraid of not looking pretty, it just comes across as if she’s putting on an act rather than losing herself in the madness of it.”

“You really don’t like her, huh?” He laughs, and you furrow your eyebrows. “Well, it’s not really her fault so much as it’s the fault of the photographer. They should be directing the model on how to act and correcting them when they’re doing something wrong. This model is obviously gorgeous and she has the potential in her to look fierce, but with a weak direction like this, all you get is what basically amounts to a child dressing in her mother’s clothes.”

You hear someone huff behind you and turn around to see a very disgruntled man. “And to whom do I owe this very shrewd commentary on my work?”

Oh, shit. Oh, fuck.

“I–I am… I’m nobody.” You squeak, wishing the monster from the next picture over would jump out of the frame and swallow you whole right now.

“That’s right, you are nobody.” The man haughtily agrees.

“Hey, man, she’s just giving her opinion.” Yeonjun attempts to interject but the man pays him no mind. “I am an award winning photographer. I don’t take the juvenile half-baked opinions of nobodies. Come back when you’ve actually achieved something that could hold a candle to what I’ve done over my career. Oh no wait, you’ll never amount to anything if these are the opinions your artistically challenged brain comes up with.”

“Hey–Yeonjun protests, a scene starting to form around you, but you quickly cut it short–the humiliation already too much for you to handle.

“I’m sorry.” You tear up, quickly turning and running away.

Through your tears, you can see the shocked and confused looks of the other patrons so you quickly keep your gaze to the ground until you’re out of the gallery and near Yeonjun’s car in the quiet parking lot where no one can see you cry.

No one except Yeonjun who followed closely after you. “Wait up! Baby–Are you okay?”

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I embarrassed you in front of everyone. I’m sorry I ruined your night.” You babble, tears streaming down your face. “You shouldn’t have taken me to such a nice place. I didn’t deserve it.”

Why the hell did you even think you would ever make it in such a business. The best you’d be able to achieve is etsy store designs and wedding photographs. You’ve just messed up your first chance at making connections AND you fucked up your date with Yeonjun. You’re such a screw up.

“Woah, calm down. You didn’t do any of those things.” He holds you in his arms and you bury your face in his shirt, seeking comfort and a place to hide from him. “Don’t lie. I ruined everything.”

Maybe now he’ll even realize that you’re not as cool as he thought you were. That you’re not actually this artistic person he probably imagined you as and lose interest. He’d know you’re a fraud and dump you. Then you’d be left with no Beomgyu and no boyfriend. Just your loser self.

“You didn’t. But you crying might ruin my shirt.”

You gasp, pulling away and trying to step back but he holds you by the arms, giving you a mischievous grin. “I’m kidding. You can soak me through with tears and snot all you want.”

“You’re an asshole.” You smack his chest, pouting.

“Maybe. But I got you to stop crying.” He says and you frown. He actually did. While you might’ve preferred a more sweet approach to getting you to stop crying, this still worked.

You sigh, little cries bubbling up in your chest still. “I still am sorry. You wanted to do something nice for me and I ruined it with my big mouth.”

“No, you didn’t.” He retorts, wiping away the few stray tears still falling. “I loved hearing everything you had to say. I thought you made some really good points. He was just threatened that you could've done a way better job than he did.”

“You really think so?” You peer up at him, hopeful that he’s not just saying that to make you feel better.

“Yes, but don’t start crying again.” He laughs, kissing the pout you answer him with. “In fact, I’m free if you ever want to try it out. And I want you to know that I take very good direction.”

There goes the flirting again. The one that makes you wonder if he’s sincere or it’s just part of his charm.

"Yeah, we could do that." You say nervously, letting him prop your chin up to press a proper kiss onto your lips.

“Do you wanna get something to eat?” He asks but you shake your head. “Not hungry. Too depressed.”

“Aw, baby, do you wanna head back home with me? I can make you forget all about that asshole.” He brushes your hair out of your face, kissing you again, and you know what he’s really asking.

You’ve already gone on a few dates with him. It’s not too soon for this. This is what people who like each other do after going on multiple dates. And if you want to get over Beomgyu, you’re going to have to completely give yourself to Yeonjun. You can’t be holding anything back in the hopes that Beomyu might want it someday.

You put on a brave smile for Yeonjun. “Yes. Let’s head home.”

____________________________

“Hey, you don’t have to be nervous.” Yeonjun whispers to you, feeling you tense up as he tries to push the straps of your dress down your shoulders. “You’re beautiful."

Does he really think that? You can’t be that beautiful compared to the women he’s been with.

"Did I tell you how much I love this dress?" He asks, toying with the neckline, and you shake your head. "I love it. Makes you look like a movie star. So beautiful and sexy. Almost makes me not want to take it off."

His lips brush softly over your skin, raising goosebumps in their wake before he pulls back to look you in the eye. "But I wanna see all of you. Will you let me see you, doll?"

You nod, holding your breath as he pulls the dress down your chest, kissing every inch of skin on the way until your breasts are bare and his plush lips are wrapped around your nipple.

“Yeonjun…” You whine, grabbing onto his hair as he kisses and kneads your breasts, slowly but surely turning you on.

“Does it feel good, doll?” Yeonjun smirks, one of his hands going between your legs to rub your pussy.

“Yes. Please.”

“I got you, baby.” His mouth moves down your body as he pulls your leg apart.

“Missed this.” He murmurs, reaching your pussy and giving it a wide lick as his finger prods at your opening and pushes through. “Oh, that went in easy.”

“I… I finger myself.” You admit bashfully, covering your face with your hands, feeling embarrassed for some reason but Yeonjun just laughs and leans up to remove your hands and kiss you. “That’s okay, makes my job easier.”

You give him a confused look but quickly realize what he means when he presses another finger into you, moving both of them in and out to loosen your pussy.

“See? All good. I’ll have you fucked open for me in no time.” He drawls, staring you down confidently as he works another finger into you. You tense up on that last one so he uses his thumb to rub your clit to get you to relax a bit. “There you go. Open up for me, doll. Let yourself feel good.”

You’re trying to, you really are. You’re trying to focus on the moment, the burning feeling moving up your body from your pussy that just needs to be quenched.

He’s doing it so well, hitting all the right spots, completely confident and self-assured. He knows exactly what he’s doing. No clumsiness. No unchecked lust. No uncontainable eagerness. Just steady, purposeful movements that touch you places you didn’t even know you were sensitive.

“Feels good.” You slur, pressing your pussy further into his hand, grinding against his palm to seek more of that mind-numbing stimulation. “More.”

“I know, baby. But let me take it slow for you.”

You shake your head. You don’t want it slow. You want him to lose himself in you. “No. Want you now.”

“Doll–”

“Fuck me, Yeonjun. Make me yours.” Please. Please make me yours. Make me stop thinking about him.

Are you doing this for all the wrong reasons? Maybe, but how else are you supposed to get over Beomgyu? Don't they say the best way to get over a guy is to get under another one? Well, you'll just have to test that theory.

Yeonjun relents, shushing your needy mewls with kisses as he takes his hand away. “Hush, doll. I’ll fill you up again in a second.” He undoes his pants and pushes them off along with his underwear before grabbing you by the thighs and lining himself up with your pussy.

“You ready, baby?” He asks and you just stare at his cock.

Has Beomgyu already fucked her? He must have. He’s so needy to get his dick wet that he’d never miss up the chance.

You look up at Yeonjun. “Do it. Fuck me.”

Ok, so maybe you fingering yourself hadn’t fully prepared you for this. Maybe you should’ve taken a page out of Beomgyu’s book and gotten yourself a sex toy–a dildo to practice with before the real thing.

Thankfully, Yeonjun takes it slow despite your earlier demands, thrusting into you shallowly, letting you get used to his length bit by bit.

“Relax for me, doll.” He purrs gently, kissing all over your face as his hands massage your thighs, doing his best to get you to loosen up.

“Yes, Junnie.” You whimper, head falling back as you will your body to relax. You hear a soft chuckle coming from him. “Junnie? That’s cute.”

You blush as you realize what you’d said. You couldn’t help it. You love giving cute nicknames to your friends. And you guess your boyfriend too.

Yeah, because Yeonjun is your boyfriend now and boyfriends and girlfriends have sex. You know Yeonjun must have done it with all his previous girlfriends. It would’ve been weird if you didn’t.

Not that Yeonjun pressured you to do it or anything. But you know he wanted it. You wanted it too. You just couldn’t get Beomgyu out of your head. Which is why it’s good that you’re finally doing this–smothering that last candle you were holding out for him.

“You’re tensing again, doll.” Yeonjun tells you, kissing your neck. “Not that I don’t enjoy it. It feels like heaven when you squeeze down on my cock like that, but I want this to feel good for you too.”

Yes, it’s the right thing to do this… right?

“Okay…” You breathe, trying to relax and focus on the moment, letting your muscles unclench as Yeonjun presses his cock in and out of you.

Once you’re sufficiently relaxed, you start to actually feel good again, his cock feeling much better than your fingers ever did. It reaches places inside you that you never could by yourself. It’s so thick and long, dragging along your walls and stimulating those sensitive spots inside you that make your toes curl.

“Yeah, you like that, baby?” He drawls, taking note of the moans you were now letting out but he still takes it slow.

You breath hitches, his words too closely resembling what Beomgyu had said to you before, and for a split second you see Beomgyu over you instead of Yeonjun, his long hair tickling your face and his intense gaze burning you up.

“Yeonjun–” You gasp, digging your fingers into his arms. “Harder, please.”

Maybe if he fucks you harder, it’ll push Beomgyu out of your brain. Maybe if he fucks you harder, you could mistake his casual affection for the raw passion you crave.

“Are you sure, doll?” He asks, concerned.

“Yes, please, Yeonjun. Fuck me hard.” You insist, hoping your eyes convey how much you need it.

“Your wish is my command, baby.” He grabs your thighs, pressing them against the sides of your body and getting on top of you, driving his dick so deep inside you it makes you throw your head back in a long, choked out moan.

But he doesn’t let up, fucking into you again and again, bullying his cock into your virgin pussy at a brutal pace until you have no more breath to scream, and then he fucks you more.

“Baby, you with me?” Yeonjun pants, not letting up.

“Isss good….” You mumble, brain short-circuiting, caught by the fire spreading from your pussy to set your body alight. “S-so good.”

You vaguely hear him laugh through his own grunts, “Good girl, just lay back and let me make you feel good.”

You nod, tears brimming at your eyelashes at the overwhelming feeling. But you love it, the burning pleasure making its way through your body and making you forget about anyone else but Yeonjun.

“Junnie… soooo good…. Too g-good...” You cry, your pussy fluttering around his cock as it hammers in and out of you, your legs trying to slam together to take a break from the excessive pleasure, but they can’t. Not when Yeonjun’s hold on you is so bruising, his hips keeping at that brutal pace that makes you unable to even string along a full sentence.

“You asked for it, doll. Now be good and take it.” He grunts, bending down to pluck one of your nipples into his mouth, his teeth lightly grazing the sensitive nub.

“No–no—Junnie!” You scream, unable to take it anymore, your pussy clamping down on his cock as your whole body shudders with a blinding orgasm.

“Oh, fuck–baby, baby, I’m cumming.” Yeonjun groans, quickly taking his cock out as he cums on your belly, and replacing it with his fingers when you start crying at the emptiness.

“I got you, doll. I got you.” He murmurs, pumping his fingers in and out of you as he milks his cock of the last drops of his orgasm–letting you both down gently.

When you start squirming at the overstimulation–the fires retreating from your brain–he pulls his fingers out and bends down to kiss you. “It’s okay, baby. You did really well.”

You look up at him, the insecurity creeping back in again now that the mind-numbing pleasure is gone. “Did you like it? Did you like m-me?”

Were you good? Did you live up to his past lovers? Were you supposed to do something more? Be more proactive? Did he enjoy his time?

He chuckles. “Yes. You were great, baby. You felt so good.” He reassures you simply, pressing a kiss against your forehead.

“Okay.” His answer doesn't really give you the reassurance you needed. You don’t even know what you need him to do or say, but you know he’s not giving it to you. And he notices.

“You okay, doll?” He asks, giving you a skeptical look and you nod. “Yeah.”

He doesn’t appear to be convinced by your answer. “Are you sure? Wanna take a shower?”

You shake your head, getting off the bed and beginning to dress yourself up again. “No, that’s okay. I can take a shower at home.”

“Home? You’re not staying over?” He gives you a look of confusion which you reciprocate. “Oh. I don’t know. Do you want me to?”

You blink at him, genuinely unsure. You didn’t want to presume anything. You don’t have experience doing this. You don't know if you’re supposed to stay or if it’s too soon.

“Of course. I’m not just gonna make you go home after we fucked.” He chuckles, pulling you back down to the bed. “You have to stay the night.”

“I don’t know…” You hesitate. If you stay, Beomgyu will probably know what you've done. He'll know that you and Yeonjun had sex. But if you leave you'd be choosing Beomgyu again. You need to let go of him.

“Okay.”

___________________

You end up having a nice time with Yeonjun once you get over your anxiety and trepidation of losing your virginity to someone other than Beomgyu. It's silly but you suppose on some level you thought you'd have your first time with him.

And it's not just that. For a second you let the insecurity get to you and you wondered if Yeonjun would act differently now that you had sex. That he'd show his true face and break your heart, but he doesn’t. He is as sweet as ever, giving you some of his clothes and staying up in bed with you, having those precious pillow talks that are so important early in a relationship.

He is easy to talk to, and when he does that cute thing where he scrunches his nose up and pokes his tongue out as he's teasing you, it makes your heart flutter.

You find out that singing isn’t his only passion--that dancing is his first love. He even gets up out of the cozy comfort of the bed to show you a few dance moves when you whine and insist he shows you. You watch him with a big smile on your face as he executes them so well even in his bedroom, his movements so fluid yet precise, it’s mesmerizing. And when he’s done he smiles that sweet smile of his and lunges back into bed with you and you take him into your arms as if he could actually belong there.

It was so unlike how he usually is on stage and in front of others that it tugs in your heartstrings a bit, making you feel special for being allowed to witness this.

You fall asleep in his arms and wake up in his arms, forgetting about that aching feeling of emptiness in the center of your chest for a few blissful hours.

And in the morning you even make breakfast together. Or more like he makes you breakfast while you make coffee.

“Oh, man. I haven’t had a proper breakfast in sooo long.” You moan, digging into the omelet and sausages he made you.

“You don’t cook?” He asks, smiling as he watches you eat.

“Nope. Me and Beomgyu are hopeless. We’ve almost burned the kitchen too many times that now we don’t even bother.”

“Then what do you guys eat?”

“Frozen goods and slimy take-out. We’re building a formidable gut microbiome. We’re actually part of the country’s biological weapons program.”

Yeonjun laughs. “Well, sorry for ruining your trajectory by feeding you actual food.”

“Ah, well, Beomgyu can carry the torch by himself.” You shrug, mouth full of food.

“You guys are really close, huh?” He asks, and the mood grows a bit gloomy. You chew slowly, thinking your words through before answering. “Yeah, he’s my best friend.”

“He’s more than that though, isn’t he?” He pushes and you hesitate.

Once again, you know exactly what he's asking, and you’re faced with a decision to make between an uncertain future with Yeonjun, nurturing a candlelight that is so shaky it might get snuffed out at any moment, or live on hopes and dreams with Beomgyu, praying for the sun to break out from behind the clouds after years of waiting for it to no avail.

“No.” You finally say, looking up at him, trying to be decisive, hoping it will come naturally with time. “No, he’s not. Not anymore. We’ve agreed to be exclusive, you and I, and I’m serious about it.”

Yeonjun's smile is slow, cautious. “Good to hear.”

Do either of you actually believe it? Do you really think you can move on from Beomgyu? You don’t know but you know that you have to try and you know that you'd like to try with Yeonjun.

________________________________

Still, heading home you feel uneasy. Like you'd done something wrong you’re going to get punished for, and so to ease the guilt and tension, you grab something on the way with you–just some donuts and coffee, a small token of peace, knowing Beomgyu would be hungry and that the best way to get into his good graces is to offer him junk food. It's not like he was going to make himself breakfast or anything anyway.

When you step into the apartment, you find him sitting on the couch just as you had expected.

“Wanna eat? I got you your favorite donuts.” You wave the food next to your head in lieu of a greeting.

He stares at you for a few seconds, not saying anything. Shit, does he know? Can he see it on you? Probably, since you’re still wearing Yeonjun’s clothes.

But he just says, “Sure.” and makes room for you on the couch.

You accept it gladly, watching as he takes the donuts out and offers you some. “No, thanks, I already ate.”

Once again, he pauses, studying you for a second before looking away and taking a bite of his donut.

“Ugh, I was starving. This is the real stuff.” He groans and you grin. "Yeah. This is food as God intended it, processed and fried until it barely resembles food." You hum in agreement, making him giggle.

For a second you think you're off the hook. For a second you think things can just be normal like he wanted. But then he asks you something that stops you cold.

"How was the date?"

You study his expression, trying to decipher a hidden agenda in the question. Is this a trick? Is he asking just so he can say something mean about it? Is he going to act vindictive once you tell him how it went?

But he looks genuinely curious to your scrutinizing eyes, and so you decide to just tell him the truth. "Ugh, awful. You know how completely unaware I am of my surroundings? Well, I started criticizing this one photo and the photographer was standing right behind me."

Beomgyu gasps, a piece of food flying out of his mouth at you. "No! What did he say?"

You brush it off in disgust. "He said I was a nobody."

Beomgyu's face twists up in anger as he puts the food down. "What the fuck? He said that?"

"Well, I said it and he just confirmed it." You explain sheepishly, still feeling the sting of the humiliation even now. "He said he has all these awards and I have nothing and never will and he won't listen to someone like me."

"He's a fucking idiot.” Beomgyu rages, immediately jumps to your defense, “What, he thinks just because he has awards that he's the only one who can have an opinion? You know most of these awards are just rich people smelling their own farts, right? Real talent like yours cannot be measured."

Beomgyu is as fiercely defensive of you as he has always been and it brings a small smile to your face. However, the wound that the encounter opened up is still raw and just that isn’t enough to make you feel better.

"Well, I wish it would be measured a little bit. You know we've both been doing this for years but while your band is getting bigger and bigger–and I'm so happy for you–I seem to be getting nowhere." You tell him glumly. You haven’t gotten any recognition for your work even though you work your ass off, dreaming up concepts, executing them to the best of your ability, and trying to get someone to notice.

"Hey, hey, you will. I am certain of it. No one this talented can go unseen for long. They will notice you one day and they will be blown away." He scoots closer to you, holding your face in his warm hands and caressing your cheeks lovingly. "And hey, if all else fails, you always have that backup plan of being our main stylist and photographer. Me and Yeonjun will make sure of it. And not as a sympathy job either but because we truly believe in you."

"You would work with Yeonjun again for me?" You ask, touched. Beomgyu has been very stand-offish with Yeonjun ever since you started dating him. He only interacts with him the bare minimum to still allow the band to function. It’s not ideal but at least they’re not fighting anymore.

"I would do anything for you." He smiles at you, the smile not quite reaching his sad eyes.

Has his eyes always looked like this? So melancholic? Still, you feel comfort looking into them. You feel love and familiarity. You feel home.

You do your best not to tear up, knowing if you let that dam crumble you'll end up saying things you'll regret. So you hold it together, despite how much you ache to throw yourself in his arms. You missed this. You missed him. You miss what you wish you could be.

But then he takes his hand away and asks quietly, “Did you spend the night with him?”

“Yes.” You admit in a small voice, heart hammering against your chest.

“Got it.” He says simply, and it’s somehow worse than him getting angry. There is a sense of loss there that you can’t explain but it aches, deep and inaccessible.

“Thanks for the food.” He says, getting up and throwing the rest of it in the trash.

"Wait. Where are you going?” You ask when you see him heading for the door.

“Out.” He says simply, seeming to be in a hurry to leave but you’re not ready to let him go yet. “Can't you stay for a bit?"

"I'm sorry. I've got something to get to. But I'll catch up with you later, okay?" He doesn’t even wait for you to answer before he’s out of the door.

“Okay.” You mumble quietly to yourself, letting the tears fall freely, having no reason to hide them anymore.

_____________________________

A/N: AHHHH two more chapter left. the end is nigh and only one boy can win. as always feedback gives me the motivation to write and upload faster. also just to let you know i will be giving patreon a try and an alternative ending to this fic will be published with the losing boy there.

Back to our regularly scheduled programming. which boy do you want oc to end up with (voting has no bearing on the final results though i guess now it doesn't matter because we'll have an alternative ending anyway)

Taglist: @blxxsss @sanasour @tinkw1nks @lol6sposts @zuzuhasablog @beomsl @seolis-world @stantxtorurmissingout @wonwooz1@yaorzu-blog@allylikesdabee@rkivezzs@malieno @leviathanlee26 @yomomas-stuff @kurisaiyunobara @girlwholovekpop @zuzuhasablog @viaaasdiary @ho3forkpop @skzvcr @th3-3d3n-g4rd3n @izzyexe @boomfrogg @kpop-cakepops-recs @chronicallygyu @girlwholovekpop

#txt smut #tomorrow x together smut #dom!idol #sub!reader #fem!reader

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sleekervae · 5 months

Text

New York Romantic .1

Masterlist

pairing: Tom Blyth x ballerina!oc

summary: a young actor moves across the hall from an aspiring ballerina. (college au kinda)

word count: 1562

a/n: i've had this idea knocking around in my brain for a few days and finally got to penning it down -- enjoy!

August 2016

The sun stretched its golden rays across the morning sky in New York City, the last embrace of summer's fading heat lingered in the air. The city bustled under a whispering breeze that carried the promise of change, as tree leaves, once adorned in vibrant green, began their slow transformation into a canvas of crimson and gold. Amidst the streets, a serene anticipation filled the air, capturing the essence of a city transitioning as the summer activities came to a close and the kids were dreading the return to school.

The wheels on Tom's luggage clacked against the cracks and bumps in the concrete sidewalk, bleary and tired eyes scanning between his phone and the address placards on the various condos. He knew he should've taken a cab, but the bus was so much cheaper and Google indicated it was only a five minute walk to his new living quarters anyway.

He finally stopped in front of a brick building, the address placard worn and rusted from the elements but the numbers matched up with that on his itinerary. The other cue that gave it away was the variety of art pieces in windows and hung over bannisters and fire escapes. Tom lugged his bag up the three stone steps and ducked inside.

The lobby was pale, dingy and in dire need of a fresh coat of paint; not to mention the air held hints of mothballs and burnt microwaved popcorn. An older woman was sat behind a desk, reclined in her chair while glazed eyes were focused on her computer screen. Tom approached slowly, hoping his smile could cover the exhaustion hiding in his face.

"Hello,"

The woman's eyes were the last to focus when she turned her head, blinking over her glasses and a warm smile graced her face, "Oh, hello! You must be... erm..." she suddenly grabbed a clipboard and scanned the tiny text, "... Jacob Nielson?" she spoke in the classic Brooklyn accent with exaggerated vowels and nasally undertones.

"No," he shook his head politely, "My name's Tom. Blyth," he replied.

She scanned her list with her pen, gasping aloud when she found his name, "I see, now! Very nice to meet you, my name's Doris -- I'm the super here. You're my renter from London, right?"

"Yeah. Well -- Yorkshire specifically,"

"I didn't do so well in geography, honey. Have mercy," Doris replied as she stood up, heading for the wall of cubbies behind her, "So tell me, which insane asylum are you checking into?"

" -- Excuse me?"

"What school are you attending?" she asked again, her fingers flourishing across the cubbies.

Tom nodded, "I'm starting at Julliard next week. I'm an actor," he replied.

Doris scoffed, "Yeah? You and everybody's dog, honey," she pulled a key from a specific slot and returned to the desk, "But you got a nice face, maybe you'll luck out,"

Tom wasn't sure whether or not he should've taken that as a compliment, so he simply smiled back and accepted the key, "Um, thank you,"

"You're on floor three, room 14. Your roommate should already be moved in, he can give you a tour of the place," she explained, "If you need anything, leaky faucets fixed and whatnot just come down and see me,"

"Thank you, Doris," he took his bag and started for the elevator on the right of the room, but Doris called out to him again.

"Hold on, handsome! Elevator's broke! Hasn't worked since Giuliani was mayor," she pointed to the left, "Stairs are over there,"

Tom huffed under his breath; he was tired and the last thing he wanted was to lug his suitcase up three flights of stairs. Nevertheless, he gave Doris one more polite grin as he started for the staircase.

The sun cast stark patterns across the stairs, the skewed silhouettes of the window panes interrupted by Tom's own shadow as he made his trek up. He hadn't at first registered the thundering of footsteps above him until a group of kids rushed passed him.

"C'mon! We're gonna miss the bus!" The stairwell was relatively narrow, arms and bodies knocking into Tom until he nearly slipped and his grip loosened on his suitcase. The suitcase went tumbling down the stairs, smacking hard against the opposing wall and the latches burst open. His belongings spilled everywhere.

Tom grumbled to himself, trekking down the stairs again to clean up the mess. One of the kids however hung back, trailing behind her group but she'd witnessed Tom's misfortune. She double backed up the stairs, staring in astonishment at the clothes and knick knacks, then at him.

"Jesus, I'm so sorry! Are you okay?"

Tom was crouched over the ground when he looked up, coming face-to-face with the concerned expression of a young brunette. She was lean and petite, dressed down in denim shorts and black tank top. Her converse had two different coloured laces, one red and one yellow. He found that peculiar.

"I'm alright," Tom assured her, "If this is the worst thing that happens to me today, then it's not such a bad day, right?" he tried to laugh it off.

The girl simpered, "Sure," nevertheless she crouched down to help him. One of her friends called out from below.

"Noelle! C'mon! We're gonna miss the bus!" she shouted.

The girl -- Noelle -- shouted back, "Go ahead, Bianca! I'll catch up with you guys!"

"But the movie starts in an hour! It's take forty five minutes from here, man!"

"It's twenty minutes of previews, anyways!" she turned back to Tom, her cheeks tinting bashfully, "Sorry about that,"

"Don't worry. You should go with your friends, I'll be fine," he replied.

Noelle scoffed, "Can I trust you with a secret?"

"Sure,"

"I hate horror movies,"

Tom smiled, "And lemme' guess: they're going to see a horror movie?"

"Don't Breathe. Some kids break into a blind guy's house and he ends up killing them all and quite frankly -- I can go my whole life without more nightmares," she replied, a coy smile playing at her lips.

"Don't half blame you. I'm not the biggest fan, myself," he said, "Do you live here?"

"Yep. That nutcase shouting at me was my roommate," she replied, "Sorry, I didn't get your name,"

"Tom,"

"Very nice to meet you. I wish it was under better circumstances," she chuckled back.

"Don't worry about it -- Noelle," he grinned.

She helped him clean up and pack his things, leading him back upstairs to his room. He assured her he could manage but Noelle insisted, saying it was the least she could do for his trouble.

"Room 14?" she cocked a brow when he told her, the corners of her lips pulling back to bare her clenched teeth.

"Yeah. What's wrong?" Tom asked apprehensively, "I don't have a serial killer for a roommate, right?"

Noelle shook her head, "No, no, you get Sunny. And he's just like his name -- absolute sunshine human being,"

"... I sense there's a 'but' coming," he trailed.

"He's a scholarship violinist, he's brilliant. And he's so brilliant because he practices at all hours of the night," she explained, "... All hours. You might wanna invest in some noise cancelling ear plugs,"

Tom nodded, relieved that at least his new roomie didn't sound like a dickhead, "Thanks for the advice,"

They stopped in front of the door, a worn brass 14 glinting subtly in the light. Tom fished out the key from his pocket, "I guess this is me,"

"Oh, damn," Noelle huffed, glancing at the door across from them, "You get the insane neighbours,"

His eyes flitted between her and the door, "... Whatcha' mean by that?"

Noelle pulled a key from her pocket, "Well, they're dancers for one. So they're always playing music, talking shit, burning their instant noodles because they're half-daft," with that she shoved the key into the lock and twisted, and sure enough the door opened.

Tom glanced at her, sheer amusement crossing over his face. He simpered under his breath, "You're my half-daft dancer neighbour who burns her instant noodles?"

"Unfortunately for you," she confirmed, half smirking.

"And how does one burn their instant noodles?" he asked.

"Don't worry about it," she closed and locked the door again, "But I'll let you get settled in. If you need anything at all, you can just pop over,"

"Thank you, Noelle," he smiled, "And thanks again for --" he stopped suddenly when he heard a faint violin melody from the other side of his door. It was a beautiful melody nonetheless, and it had him intrigued, "I suppose that's my roommate?"

Noelle nodded back, "Yep. I promise you, he's a sweetheart," she started walking backwards towards the stairwell, "I'm sorry again about earlier,"

"Don't give it a second thought. Have fun at your movie," he replied.

She giggled sardonically, "Oh trust me, I'll have a blast. I'll see you around, Tom,"

Tom gave her a small wave, watching her until she disappeared around the corner, could hear her shoes squeaking as she trotted down the stairs. He couldn't deny he found her quite a looker, a small part of him giddy with excitement at the prospect of getting to know his new neighbour. The violin melody continued to play on the other side of the door, and taking a deep breath for confidence, he pushed the key into the lock and opened the door...

#tom blyth #tom blyth x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #tbosas #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus imagine #the hunger games #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games the ballad of songbirds & snakes #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #ballad of songbirds and snakes #original story #original female character #imagine blog

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space-mango-company · 20 days

Text

Stranger | Chapter 5

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

TW: Descriptions of Violence, Mentions of Cannibalism

Tags: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!Reader, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Smut, POV Second Person, No use of y/n, Original Characters, Canon What Canon

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: Not proofread!! Holy moly. Here it is, folks. The scene that inspired this whole fic. I had fun writing this so I really hope you enjoy it. Once again, I appreciate everyone who likes, comments, and/or leaves kudos so much. I really started this fic for myself but good golly, that dopamine rush whenever I get a notif might be more addicting than spice. I'm glad to be part of the bald man brigade.

Also, I can't believe I'm only now questioning why I decided to write this in the second person? I guess maybe I thought this fic would be a lot shorter and not that deep, lol. At this point 'y/n' probably has enough personality to just be a straight-up OC. It's funnier because I don't even find second-person or y/n fics any more engaging either. I always detach myself by giving 'y/n' her own name and only seeing her as a character in the fic.

ANYWAY, sorry to ramble. Stay safe and have a good one, ya weirdos.

You step out into the dark cul-de-sac of the guest hall, illuminated only by the large suspensor lamp in the middle. Feyd-Rautha looks you up and down, seemingly entranced by how the dim light casts his shadow on your modest dress. Atreides green, he recognized.

"Trying to sneak into my rooms again?" you say arms crossed, leaning on your door. "I didn't appreciate the last time, by the way."

"It's my house," he says cooly, "and I did knock this time."

You stare at him indifferently.

"Quite the display from you yesterday morning, using The Voice on me." His voice low and raspy, "I should have you drawn and quartered."

You scoff in his face. "You almost choked me to death. Are you trying to start a war?"

He takes a step closer and his face is inches from yours, you can feel his breath on your cheek, "I didn't think I'd like you this much, little hawk."

"What do you want, Feyd-Rautha?" you had no patience for him right now.

"Ah," he steps back, a dark smile on his face, "I've been waiting to hear my name from your tongue." His hand reaches for your lips. "I've grown quite tired of 'na-Baron'."

You grab his wrist before he can touch you. "If you're only here to toy with me, I would rather be left alone to prepare for bed." You release his hand and turn to open your door.

Feyd-Rautha props an arm against the doorway to block you. "We're to be married in three days," he says, "and I just can't seem to bring myself to let go of my 'harpies', as you called them." He meets your gaze. "You said you'd kill them. Did you mean that?"

You look up at him with steely eyes. He towered over you but your heart felt no fear, "Yes."

His coy smile returns. "Good. Come to my training hall tomorrow," he says, walking away.

"What?" you call after him.

"Dress to fight," he says over his shoulder. "I want to see what you can do, Atreides."

You needed no help from Zora in putting on a loose shirt and long pants. The plain beige outfit certainly wasn't as elegant as the dresses you had been wearing so far. But it was comfortable and you could fight in it, which was all that mattered. Still, you look yourself in the mirror. The soft, airy fabrics draped over your figure well but perhaps you were not in the best shape as you once were. Your muscle mass is much less than your brother's and he wasn't particularly built himself. You admit you did wane off your training sessions with Gurney and Paul leading up to your departure from Caladan. Nevertheless, you were still a skilled warrior. Another secret you've been keeping from the Harkonnens.

You were 14 when you started learning the blade. Watching Paul, 2 years your senior, practice with the Atreides Warmaster lit a fire in you. You didn't hesitate to pester your father to let you train with them and of course, there was nothing he could deny his darling daughter. You were a fierce and determined student. Gurney Halleck was a man you genuinely believed to be one of the best fighters in the Imperium, along with Duncan Idaho. Gurney would train you and Paul on even days. On odd days, your mother would teach you the Weirding Way. These lessons, much like the rest of your mother's teachings, your father wanted to know nothing about. After becoming decently adept at Prana-Bindu and gaining almost complete physical control of your body, Lady Jessica insisted that you also be skilled in the Bene Gesserit style of combat.

You were far from mastery in either but the combination of both trainings made you a formidable fighter. Despite this, you could never seem to beat your brother in a sparring match. A fact that frustrated you to no end, though you appreciated that Paul never went easy on you. You'd always blame it on him having trained for longer than you have. But in truth, you knew there had just always been something special about him.

"Are you ready, my lady?" Zora's soft voice wakes you from your thoughts.

"Hm? Right. Yes, let's go." You quickly tie your hair out of the way and grab your father's dagger from atop your dresser.

There was no fanfare when you entered the hall. On one end, the na-Baron's concubines sat chained on the steps of the shallow recessed pit in their leathers, their glares piercing through you. Your eyes linger on them as Feyd-Rautha and his Warmaster greet you.

"I was starting to think my lady bride was bluffing," Feyd-Rautha says as you approach him. The older man beside him offers you a polite bow.

"Perhaps she wasn't so keen on your brutish games," you bite back. "Your lord uncle won't be joining us?"

"No," Feyd-Rautha crosses his arms, "but he'll be hearing about your victory. Or your demise."

"Right. Well, I assume you'll be releasing them from those chains," you nod towards his pets "Not sure why they're necessary."

"Oh, trust me, little hawk. They're necessary." Feyd-Rautha motions to a servant.

"Your blade and shield, my lady," they bow, presenting you with a knife and a small device you recognize as a Holtzman shield.

"I've brought my own," you unsheath your father's dagger. You contemplate taking the shield but remembering that the na-Baron forwent it during his gladiator fight, you decide to do so as well. "They've no weapons anyway, the shield seems pointless."

Feyd-Rautha shrugs, "If you insist."

You take a deep breath, "Let's get this over with."

You lightly stretch as you walk down the steps of the shallow pit to stand opposite the na-Baron's concubines. You had come into this on the pretense of righteousness. For Iassa, you told yourself. But you've known her a mere two days. A part of you wanted to show off. You were good and you knew it. You could probably kill anyone in this room, even Feyd-Rautha. You craved the respect of the people here: the Harkonnens, the people of Geidi Prime. You figured this was one way to get it.

Feyd-Rautha walks around the pit to one of his concubines and kneels to whisper something in her ear. You assume a fighting stance when he moves to release her from the chains. When you meet her eyes, they are filled with feral bloodlust.

Suddenly, you weren't so bold. The veil of courage you have maintained since you arrived, even when Feyd-Rautha had your neck in his grip, is torn apart when you face this woman. You could tell no part of her would hesitate to rip your throat out with her bare teeth. You were almost relieved they were unarmed, but you weren't sure if that would make them any less lethal.

Fear grew in your chest and you had less than a moment to recite the Litany in your head before the concubine lunged at you.

You crouch down in time and slash at her abdomen as she approaches you. You turn to face her on the other side of the pit and she wastes no time in attacking you again. She attempts to grab your armed hand but you take hold of her wrist first and move to pin it behind her back. Quickly, your blade drags across her throat and she falls to your feet.

The kill has not yet registered in your mind but your heart is racing. You can almost hear your blood coursing through your veins. You held your arms outstretched, your eyes focused ahead, ready for the next one.

Across the pit, Feyd-Rautha licks his lips, smiling as he releases his second concubine. This time, you walk toward her while she moves to attack you. You clock her head with the pommel of your dagger and knock her a few steps back. She reaches a hand to wipe the blood beginning to drip out of her nose. After examining it, she snarls and bares her sharp teeth at you. Your mind is blank now. She dodges your first slash then manages to land a blow to your jaw. You seethe from the pain. You spit out the mixture of blood and saliva filling your mouth. The anger at the hit drives you to rush at her. Seeing an opening, you duck down to her waist and stab her twice. As she falls to her knees, the look of determination doesn't leave her eyes until the very last moment.

When you turn around, Feyd-Rautha has already released the last concubine. The ruthless scream she lets out disorients you. She pounces and knocks you over. She straddles you and pins your arms to the ground, your blade sliding inches away. She screams again in your face at the death of her sisters. You wedge your right knee between you and her abdomen, the only thing keeping her teeth from reaching your throat. You grunt as you struggle to free your hands. In your periphery, you see Feyd-Rautha, wielding his own blade, take a step into the pit.

"GET BACK," you roar, and he is powerless to refuse.

You turn back to your opponent still on top of you and you butt her head with your own. She loosens her grip and you kick her off to hastily crawl to your weapon. When she reorients herself and attempts to grab you again, you hook a knee under her arm and flip the both of you over. With your weight on her chest and both your knees pinning her arms down, she thrashes underneath you, claws digging into your right ankle. You take your blade in both hands and her screaming is silenced when you sink your knife deep into her heart.

When you rise, the room is quiet. Your chest heaves. The stark white ceiling lights don't help the lightheadedness that begins to wash over you in the post-adrenaline rush. Feyd-Rautha says something from behind you but his speech is garbled as you reel from the thrill of what just transpired. You were electrified. You almost... wanted more.

Then, the realization of the revolting scene you are in settles upon you and you are knocked off your high. You look at the leather-clad bodies scattered around you, the grotesque way they lay on the floor, the red blood pooling around them made brighter by the sterile grayness of the room. You did this.

A hand on your shoulder snaps you out of it. In reflex, you turn and raise your blade at the offender.

Feyd-Rautha holds his hands up, "Whoa, easy, Atreides. Trying to kill me? Don't want to start a war, do you?"

You yield your weapon. Your eyes dodge his as you look to your feet and try to steady your breathing.

"Enjoy your first taste of blood?" Feyd-Rautha says, the look in his eyes indecipherable to you. He raises a hand and swipes his thumb on your cheek. It comes away covered in crimson.

You gasp and reach for your face with your own hand. You don't even know if it's your blood or theirs, or when it got on you. Your heart pounded, unable to decide whether you were repulsed or proud.

"Look at you," he says licking the red off his finger. You could not help but stare at him through the strands of your hair that had come undone in the fighting. "You're beautiful like this," his hand reaches for your face again.

"No," you say low and quiet when you swat his hand away, "you're sick." You didn't know if you meant him or yourself. You calmly turn to leave. No one stops you when you make your way up the shallow steps of the pit. As you pass Iassa—no, Zora—by the doorway, you tell her flatly, "Prepare a bath."

You had never taken a life before. Today, you took three. You were glad you didn't know their names. You decided you'd never find out.

After Zora pours a final pitcher of hot water into the bath, you tell her, "You may go. I'll dress myself later, thank you."

She bows and makes her way out of your rooms.

In your solitude, you bring your knees to your chest. You had been quick to wipe the blood off your cheek before you even reached your quarters. Now, you cup the water into your hands and rub it into your face, the slight sting of the heat comforting you.

He was a cruel man, your betrothed. This is what you've decided. Having you kill the concubines he claimed to want to keep so much. But wasn't it you who threatened to kill them? He started it, you argue with yourself, when he had Iassa killed. You felt like a child.

When you used to hear of Feyd-Rautha's exploits, you had to mask your disgust. And yet now, you had killed so easily in that pit as he had in the arena. What was this place doing to you?

When you left Caladan, Paul had never killed anyone either. You wonder if he ever does, would he feel the same exhilaration you did when you slit that first concubine's throat. No. Your brother was fierce but, like your father, he had a good heart. You beat him by three. You hoped it would stay that way.

You think about your future here, marrying Feyd-Rautha. Producing heir after heir under the Baron's watchful eye. You were a broodmare. Despite all your fancy training and education. Despite your little demonstration earlier. It was the bitter truth.

You missed home. You missed walking along the beach at night with your father. You missed your mother's gentle hands brushing your hair. You missed the banter and teasing with your brother. You missed Gurney, and Duncan, and the cold breeze on your balcony, and getting to roam free and going anywhere you pleased. When the tears come, you sink deep into the bath so they might fade away in the water.

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

Taglist: @torchbearerkyle @austinswhitewolf @dreamlandcreations @emeraldsgirl @strawberryfieldsforevermore @bornslippys @vexis-world @aoi-targaryen @alexandrainlove @mamawiggers1980 @sstardussty @aboutthenabaron

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha fic #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #atreides reader #dune #dune part two #space-mango-company #fic: stranger

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kykyonthemoon · 1 month

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Limerence

(noun) — a mental state of profound romantic infatuation, deep obsession, and fantastical longing.

⋆˚✿˖° This chapter is a part of a mini-series of dark fairy tales and romance sets in another universe. It consists of three chapters, each with a Male Lead and is separated from one another.

⋆˚✿˖° Character x Reader/MC, from another (OC's) point of view. Reader/MC's pronounce is "she/her/hers".

⋆˚✿˖° Warnings & tags: 16+, MDNI, angst, hurt, thriller, obsession, major character death, dark fantasy, dark fairy tale, necrophilia.

⋆˚✿˖° Howard is my OC.

⋆˚✿˖° Read more chapters:

✦ Rafayel's ✦ Zayne's

⋆˚✿˖° Masterlist

⋆˚✿˖° My friend Cery made an art for this fic here: x

Chapter: The Sleeping Beauty — in which he paints this world blue for his Queen

⋆˚✿˖° Word count: ~3k

There was something about the lakeside cottage which scared Howard to the bone.

That area was formerly abandoned, dingy, damp, and home to numerous insects and reptiles. Few people ventured there except to hunt or fish. An ideal spot for Howard and his fellow children to hide and play when they did not wish to be found out by their parents.

Yet a few months ago, when a young couple bought the property and moved in, all of a sudden it was transformed into a paradise. A variety of peculiar flowers and plants bloomed, forming a meadow surrounding the cottage. The warm light emanated, and the aroma of tea and baked delights consistently made the kids drool. They were occasionally handed sweets by the new owner, and everyone of them was bribed in this manner, oblivious to the fact that their headquarters had just been taken from them.

Nevertheless, that was not what bothered Howard. That cottage made him anxious because, in addition to the abrupt change that he had yet to adjust to, he felt little sympathy for the new owners.

The brain of a ten-year-old child prevented him from generating an answer for this. He knew only one thing: there was an odd vibe beneath the new neighbors' tenderness, as if they were keeping some sort of secret that they wanted no one else to find out. His hunches were usually right.

“Here's your pie.” The husband said as he handed Howard's friend a hot, fragrant loaf of pie. “I'm sorry, kids, but you must find somewhere else to play. My wife is not well. She's in need of a quiet place to rest.”

All the children nodded, except Howard. He paid close attention to his neighbor. The man appeared youthful, clothed simply and comfortably. With his bright hair and blue eyes, he made people feel at ease and cozy. His beaming face appeared quite amiable, and the way he dealt with the children indicated that he was a trustworthy person. However, in fairy tales, witches frequently disguised themselves as nice people as well. And the person who took away these children's playground was clearly not a decent one, even though according to the law, they had every right to do so.

Howard's reluctance was not enough to stop him from returning to the lakeside cottage. He appreciated this location and the tranquility it offered. He went about nearby alone, inquisitive about the area and its new residents, but did not dare venture forward to alert them. On average, he would see the husband awake at about midday. He went into the forest to harvest fruits and hunt, and they occasionally ate the fish he caught in the lake. On the contrary, the wife was rarely seen. Howard sometimes caught her figure sitting at the window, staring out. He was unable to see her face properly, but he had the impression that she was really beautiful and gentle.

On pleasant, sunny days, the neighbor would maneuver his wife's wheelchair out into the heart of the blue flower field he had planted. He rested next to her on the ground, listening to the birds sing and told her about everything that had transpired here, including the children.

"Isn't this area quite calm? You enjoy it here a lot, don't you? I do too. Children come every now and then to bother us. But fret not; I told them to find another place to play. It appears that they are effortless to handle... Such adorable little ones."

The husband paused for a moment. He took a hold of her hand and caressed it. “Children could be a source of delight. Do you also wish we could have a child of our own in the future?”

There was no response from his wife, but he smiled as if he had heard her heart.

Aside from the two odd neighbors, Howard was intrigued and horrified by the flower meadows around their property. He had never seen such flowers blossom in this land before. They were an elegant blue tint, similar to forget-me-nots, but at night they emitted a soft glow under the moonlight. They eventually extended from all sides of the cottage to the woodland and the edge of the lake. They appeared pleasant at first sight, but Howard was alerted the moment he attempted to pick one.

“Don't touch them.” The neighbor said, now known to Howard as Xavier.

“Why is that?” The boy inquired promptly.

“…” Xavier gave not an instant answer. It seemed that he was finding words to explain it to a child. “It's best that you stay away from this place.”

Howard pouted. He did not like the feeling of being unwelcomed.

“Are these flowers poisonous?” asked Howard once more.

“These flowers are for healing… Don't damage them, kid.”

"Oh is that so." The youngster nodded. If the flowers were used for healthcare purposes, he would be more cautious around them. At the same time, he was intrigued about what diseases these flowers might cure.

The peaceful days continued to pass. After a few conversations, Howard realized that his neighbors were not as frightening as he had imagined. They were just a little odd. Xavier did not have any official employment; he simply stayed at home and relied on his hunting talents. He must have chosen to live this way since his ailing wife required particular care. Howard was tremendously curious about his wife, though. Especially after one afternoon when he happened to meet her by the window.

That day, Howard spent his time pursuing his family's mischievous cat. That cat was quite old and sick. Yet for some reason, she managed to find her way to the neighbor's cottage and slept soundly in the middle of the flower meadow. It was said that when a cat knew he or she was about to leave this world, he or she would flee to a place where the owners could not discover. But Howard prayed that day would not come soon enough.

He called the cat from afar, but the animal paid no heed. After a while, he entered the neighbors' private space.

The cat laid close to the couple's open bedroom window. Howard stared for a while, fearful of being caught and chastised. Not seeing Xavier's shadow anywhere, he felt secure in moving on.

Someone sat beside the window. Howard suspected it was the wife. She did not move even though he was certain that in her sitting position, she would have seen the boy approaching. She simply remained there like a statue behind a thin curtain. Howard was hesitant and intrigued. He halted when he was only a few meters away from her.

“Erm… Hell, ma'am… M-May I bring my cat home?…”

He held his breath and waited, but she did not answer. Perhaps she was asleep. He saw her and Xavier by chance several times previously, and in those moments she also remained silent. Her condition must have caused her to be like this. He once had overheard grownups discussing how her entire body was immobilized and that she could not even talk at times.

Without seeing any reaction from the neighbor, Howard reached down and scooped up the cat. At that time, a powerful breeze blasted through the area, causing the curtains to lift. Howard looked up, but the dust in the air caused his eyes to squint. He could barely see a portion of the pallid face of the woman seated in the room. Her eyes were closed.

Then, blocking his view of the window was a familiar tall figure. It was Xavier. He flashed the child an expression of rage.

“Get that cat out of here. Now!”

It was the first time Howard had seen him angry. Although the neighbor remained cordial, the tone of his words dismayed the child. In an instant, he pictured witches consuming children in his head. But Xavier was much more terrifying than that. Howard instantly embraced the cat and fled out of their meadow.

For the following week, Howard refused to enter the area surrounding the neighbors' cottage anymore. He occasionally came across Xavier around town on his way home from school. The man had reverted to his regular state, even waving at Howard despite his intentional turn in another direction.

However, Howard's cat was fearless. She continued to stray off to Xavier's place frequently. One time, the youngster caught the animal on her way home in the early morning, in her mouth a blue flower that only blossomed in his neighbors' meadow.

“What are you doing?” Howard yelled at the cat. He removed the crushed flower and discovered a glittering blue tint in the animal's tongue.

The cat must have swallowed the neighbor's medical plants. Howard kept this a secret because who knew how enraged Xavier might be if he found out? Perhaps there was truly enchantment in those flowers. His family's elderly cat, who had been severely ill, suddenly became healthy again. She ran around and lived with them for a very long time, surprising everyone, but Howard kept his mouth shut.

That was presumably one of the neighbors' mysteries, which the child eventually came to respect. He stopped being inquisitive, but something about the cottage still made him shiver every time he passed by. Perhaps not because he still feared Xavier, but more because of his wife.

One brilliant sunny day, Howard happened to see her sitting alone in a flower meadow. She turned away from the child and appeared to be reading a book. Initially, Howard intended to just observe from afar. By coincidence, the book in her lap glided to the ground. Howard was concerned, unsure if he should come and help or just leave. He glanced about, but failed to locate Xavier anywhere. Perhaps he had gone into town or was hunting in the woods.

Howard went to help the neighbor. He thought about having his whole body paralyzed like that, it would truly be a curse. What would become of him when he could no longer dance and play? What would happen when he could only watch life pass in front of him while remaining motionless as a sculpture? He wondered if the neighbor could still feel the warm sunlight embracing her. What a pity! Pity for the husband who was at her side day by day, taking care of her. They were too young to have suffered such a tragedy.

When Howard approached her, he detected an unusual aroma. The scent was comparable to their flower field, but with a really nasty undertone. The stench made him think there was a dead animal lying somewhere. The youngster leaned down to take up the book. It was not an ordinary book, but it featured characters and illustrations that he could not comprehend. Yet another kind of language? Nevertheless, it was not appropriate to delve into other people's affairs, so he closed the book and returned it to the wife.

Only then did he get a close look at her. And it required all of his courage to stay on his feet.

Seated in the wheelchair was a person, or he did not know if she was still a human then. He still recognized her appearance; still seemed like what he had seen a few months earlier, but half of her face was lost. Howard saw half of the skull covered in pale skin, while the other half had rotted just completely. The white bones were utterly visible, from the cheeks to the chin. Howard claimed to have seen her collarbones exposed with no skin covering them, despite the fact that the majority of her body was clothed in heavy layers of clothing. She presumably lacked a heart inside all of that.

She was a dried skeleton draped in decaying human skin.

Cold sweat streamed down Howard's spine. He trembled and placed the book in her lap, where her decomposing hands were nicely positioned. Before he could shout, he heard the rustle of trodden leaves behind him. Bewildered, he whirled around to see Xavier emerge from the forest, wielding a sword.

It was unimportant if he had been apprehended yet. Howard sprinted all the way home with all the strength left in him. His fever reached forty degrees celsius, and from that day on, he vowed never to return to that wooden cottage by the lake again.

“My dear,” Xavier's warm voice like the sun filled the room, which included a bathtub full of flowers in the center. He lifted his loving wife from her wheelchair and tenderly dipped her into the bathtub. The cool blue water enveloped her entire body. He put in a few other necessary details before kneeling alongside her.

“Today is our five hundredth day on this planet.” Xavier used his hand to catch the magical water and let it fall through his fingers, touching his beloved wife. “Do you like this place?”

The wife was silent as she always was. Her eyes closed, allowing Xavier to soak her hair and face. Half of her face had decayed, revealing bones and teeth. But it was of no significance; as soon as this ritual was over, she would revert to her original beauty.

"That neighbor kid saw you." Xavier's voice rang evenly. "He raced away. But do not be sad. "To me, you are always the most beautiful person."

Xavier picked up a flower from the water and set it in her hair. Nothing in this universe could compare to her. Even if her physique had changed. Even if she was only a withering skeleton.

"I always love the way you look, no matter what."

Xavier's hand continued to repeat the ritual of taking water and pouring it all over her body. Moments afterward, a new layer of skin began to develop around the decaying remnants.

"Worry not that others would discover our secret. That child wouldn't open his mouth. Even if he does, I have a way to silence him. Nobody will believe him. All of this was due to my carelessness. I left you alone out there."

The rustling sound rang out again as Xavier bathed his wife. From head down to neck, body and arms and legs. Her body was gradually restoring under the effect of the magic water.

“I apologize to you, my Queen. From now on I will never let you be alone."

He kissed her forehead. The water was as blue as the flowers outside their cottage, covering her exposed body. He planted them for her. As long as they grew, she would not perish. They would be together forever. Nothing could separate them anymore, not even death.

Xavier, the Crown Prince of Planet Philo, was to wed the girl he loved. Yet fate tore them apart, as she endured a terrible disease and did not survive much longer.

“Wait for me. I will go find a cure for you. When I return, we shall hold the wedding immediately.”

Xavier whispered beside her sick bed before departing. He and his fleet had discovered traces of a legendary flower, said to have the ability to cure all diseases. He traveled light years to find it and returned, only to find her lying cold in a coffin.

It was supposed to be their wedding day, but when he came back, a funeral was all that greeted him.

Her family members told him that she could not wait for him, and all she wanted for him was to forget about her and move on. But, how could he? He had no desire to go through a single day without her.

He refused to accept her demise, grasping the flower in his palm, he stole her coffin.

They traveled to another world where no one knew or could track them. He performed the wedding ceremony for only the two of them. Then he planted the miraculous flower he had found and utilized it to nurture her. It failed to bring the dead back to life, but it did keep her body from withering. As long as the magic from these flowers lasted, she would forever be young and beautiful.

They would live, happily ever after as in a fairy tale. She was his Queen. For her and only her, he could paint this whole planet into a blue meadow.

“Stay with me… Please…” He begged. His tears combined with the poison created from blue flower petals that he poured over her body. He held and kissed her eyes, lips, then fingers, and hands. He wished to feel her warmth again.

Yet that warmth had been lost, along with her soul. What Xavier could hold on to was only her body, which no longer felt anything, including his love.

Many moons later, the woodland transformed into a fascinating forest of blue flowers. Everyone was drawn to its beauty, yet only those who had witnessed the horrors concealed deep inside the forest held its tale in high regard. The tale of Sleeping Beauty and her Prince.

Howard, now an elderly man, had returned to his hometown after spending several decades far away. He could still recall the path back to the wooden cottage by the lake. In fact, the blue blossoms led him back.

Perhaps, his neighbors no longer lived there. Possibly it was his old eyes that were deceiving him. Howard saw that nearby the cottage was the silhouette of a familiar woman still, the most beautiful flower in that meadow; she was sitting and reading a book. And, always at her side as a shadow, that young man with the same features as in his childhood memories placed a hand on her shoulder. He gently turned his head, glanced at Howard, and smiled.

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late-to-the-party-81 · 12 days

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Answer the questions and tag five fanfiction authors you know!

Thank you @metalbvcky. NPT for @mrs-illyrian-baby @doasyoudesireandlive @km-ffluv @labella420

🍓 How did you get into writing fanfiction?

As a teen I was a voracious reader and tried to write my own stuff based on other books I'd read. I also loved ST:TNG and wanted dearly to be in an episode and had lots of the books. I wrote my own ST stories with OC's (gratuitous self inserts), but they never went anywhere. In my late teens I read some Xena fanfic on the internet. But that was it for a great number of years.

At the beginning of 2021 I sat and watched the entirety of the MCU films in chronological order (I'd seen most of them before and was mainly a Thor gal.) I fell down the Stucky rabbithole. Deep. I decided to look up fanfic. AO3 was now a thing! I wrote (a very poor) Stucky fic and here we are, almost 3 years later

🍇How many fandoms have you written in?

As my ST stuff never made it further than my parent's old PC in the days of dial-up, I won't count it.

I've written for MCU, various Chris Evans and Seb Stan Characters and one fic for RWRB. I've been toying with writing a one-off Criminal Minds fic as a gift for a friend.

🍈How many years have you been writing fanfiction?

Three in July since I first published anything on AO3.

🍎Do you read or write more fanfiction?

I try to balance it out. If I have a period of hyperfocus writing I try to then go through a period of reading. I read on both Tumblr and AO3, so try to keep that even as well.

🍌What is one way you've improved as a writer?

Getting betas to pick me up on tense changes, overuse of words and rogue commas. Reading more. Practising. Writing outlines for longer stories so I don't go off-piste.

🍑Do you have any bad habits as a writer?

Getting bored half-way through a long fic, especially if the first few parts haven't had a lot of interaction. Which is why I try to write the whole thing before I start posting.

🍍 What's the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

Engineering courses at MIT and, for a separate fic, Violet wands, including the ways to use them and the differnt types of accessories you can use with them. I even watched a Youtube video.

🍉What's your favourite type of comment to receive on your work?

Any comment! Anything that gives me the validation I need!

🍐What's the most fringe trope/topic you write about?

I wrote a transformation into Tsum-tsum fic that was both cracky and smutty. That's pretty niche.

🥭What is the hardest type of story for you to write?

Action scenes. I loathe them. I'm constantly wondering if they are long enough, and make sense.

🍏What is the easiest type?

Short things that are either PWP or fluffy slices of life.

🍑Where do you do your writing? What platform? When?

Mainly on my elderly laptop on G-Docs, and in every moment I can - normally afterwork before dinner and on Mondays when I don't have work.

🍋What is something you've been too nervous/intimidated to write, but would love to write one day?

There are a few characters and ships I haven't written that I'd like to. And I suppose I'd like to write a proper long, over 100k fic at some point.

🍇 what made you choose your username?

When I made my AO3 account I felt as though that at 40, and only really starting in Fandom in this way, I was late to the party, so that is who I became.

#tag games #getting to know you #jen answers

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joon4eva · 9 months

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drunk in love — kim namjoon.

genre: best friends to lovers. mutual pining.

summary: you and whiskey are never a good combination. or: you've been in love with your best friend for years and you might tell him about it while drunk.

word count. ~2,597

warnings. OC is a stubborn drunk, heavy kissing.

note. swiped two pics from u @doucillies; ur moodboards are adorable (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡

masterlist

"Okay, it's time to go home."

"Nooooo," you whine, crossing your arms over your chest. "I'm havin'—hic!—the most fun right now!"

“We’re not doing this while you’re drunk, ____. Let's go.”

“I’m not”—you hiccup, hand flying up to your mouth, so ready to barf—“drunk.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes and grabs your arm, guiding you towards the exit of the crowded bar.

The room seems to tilt and wobble around you, like the inside of a snow globe shaken by a child. The alcohol in your system clouds your thoughts, transforming words into unintelligible murmurs and making the edges of your vision fuzzy.

You're not one to go out often, but tonight had been a night unlike any other. Drinks had flowed like water, and one had quickly turned into, well… too many to count.

"I c'n walk on my own!" you protest, somewhat indignantly. But as soon as the words leave your mouth, your knees buckle beneath you, and Namjoon is there to catch you before you can collapse onto the floor.

He sighs, shaking his head in amused exasperation.

"Sure, you can," he mutters sarcastically while looping an arm around your waist.

You lean against him heavily, suddenly grateful for his support as the world continues to swirl around you in a dizzying blur of colors. Your own head is swimming with the protests it's trying to form, yet all you can do is let out an indignant 'pfft'.

The cool night air greets you as Namjoon leads you out of the bar. Your senses are assaulted by everything—the sound of car horns honking in the distance, the bright street lights reflecting off shiny shop windows, the smell of old cigarettes and half-eaten takeout littered on the streets.

Namjoon hails a cab quickly enough; it seems as though all yellow cabs magically congregate whenever he raises his hand.

You slump into the backseat next to him and he rattles off an address to the driver before turning to face you.

"Do I have to worry about you hurling in my apartment?"

You shake your head vehemently despite how it makes everything feel like it's moving at warp speed around you. "I wo'nn… promise."

"You better not," he says, but there's no real bite to his words, just a soft smile that makes your head spin more than the alcohol ever could.

The rest of the car ride is a blur, punctuated by stifled giggles and quiet singing along to random tunes floating through the airwaves.

The car finally comes to a stop outside Namjoon's apartment building, and he practically carries you inside, supporting your weight as you half-walk, half-stumble towards the elevator.

His apartment greets you with its familiar warmth and comforting scent.

You shed your shoes immediately upon entering; he always hated when people wore shoes inside.

Namjoon takes you by the hand and leads you to his bedroom. There's no discussion about where you'd sleep–it was never really up for debate. You had spent more nights in his bed than your own over these past few months, sharing the space like it was a natural extension of your friendship.

But deep in your heart you felt the lines of this friendship slowly blur until they were nearly indistinguishable.

You vaguely recall Namjoon going out on dates with other women – discreetly canceling on you for an evening or casually mentioning it over coffee when he couldn't spend time with you.

Each mention was like a dagger in your heart; the mere thought of him being with someone who wasn't you caused a painful twisting sensation in your chest.

Namjoon helps you sit down on the edge of his bed, pulling off your socks before turning around to rummage through a drawer for some pajamas or anything that would fit you comfortably.

He pulls out an oversized shirt and hands it to you, ushering you towards his bathroom. He stands outside the door while you splash cold water on your face, trying to sober up just enough to not become a nuisance.

In the quiet of his apartment, even the steady rhythm of your heart pounding in your ears feels deafening.

Once you're dressed in the soft fabric that smells distinctly of him, Namjoon helps you sit on his bed again while he looks for more blankets.

In these rare moments of silence, your thoughts begin to spiral towards a dangerous territory. A confession, long buried under fears and doubts, bubbles to the surface.

"Namjoonie…" you slur giddily, your words blurred and hazy even as their weight is clear.

"Hm?"

"I love you," you mumble sincerely between hiccups.

He chuckles lightly and shakes his head. "Oh man, you're definitely drunk. I love you too."

"'m serious," you insist, each word heavier than the last. "Like, really... really love you.

He pauses in his search for a blanket momentarily, looking back at you with furrowed eyebrows but still not taking it entirely seriously.

"And I really love you too," he murmurs back softly, turning away from you again.

Finally managing to locate an extra blanket somewhere, Namjoon walks back over, gently draping it across your legs and sitting on the edge of his bed.

For a moment, the drunken haze seems to clear from your mind- just enough for him to see your vulnerability shining through.

"You don't get it," your voice wavers as you flop over onto Namjoon's pillow, breathing in his comforting smell. "'m sooo in love with you. Can't ssannd it. Tried t' ignore it, but ev'ry day, ev'ry night—it's always you.."

His lips part and his eyes go a little wide. He blinks at you, fighting back a smile though the hint of one lingers around your words.

“You’re drunk,” he eventually says, shaking his head.

“Maybe," you hum thoughtfully, "…but I won’t be in th' morning.”

Namjoon's gaze flickers to the side, his eyes boring into a spot on the wall as though he can shield himself from any potential heartbreak.

He lets out a quiet sigh and he runs a hand through his hair, clearing his throat before speaking.

"We can... we can talk about this tomorrow," he suggests softly. "When you've had some sleep and are sober enough to remember it."

"If you still feel this way then, we'll talk, okay?"

You frown at him stubbornly as he starts to settle you into bed. The soft duvet feels heavenly beneath your weary form, but the innate rebellion within you only swells stronger. “I don' need help,” you argue halfheartedly, poorly attempting to push away his supportive grip.

Namjoon just smiles gently, continuing to tuck you in despite your protests. "Of course you don't."

His familiar shape slips under the duvet beside you, close enough for comfort but still mindful of boundaries as you both drift off to sleep.

—

When dawn breaks, the first rays of sunlight creep through the cracks of the curtains, casting a warm golden glow across your faces.

It's only when Namjoon's bedroom starts to steadily regain its color that you wake up, face planted into one of the softest pillows you've ever had the pleasure of sleeping in.

Groggily, the memories from last night begin to trickle into your still foggy mind.

You're half-convinced it was all just a dream—an alcohol-induced haze of emotions and repressed feelings. But as you move to stretch out, stifling a yawn, you come face to face with Namjoon asleep beside you.

His face is relaxed, lips slightly parted as he sleeps. One arm is thrown casually over your torso, the other tucked under his pillow. The warmth of his breath tickles your cheek, and it's both terrifying and exhilarating.

You stare at him for a moment - taking in the curve of his jaw, the slope of his nose, and the dark fringe of eyelashes against his cheeks. It feels like discovering Namjoon all over again - this time much different but just as wonderful to behold.

Namjoon stirs, his arms reflexively tightening around you while he fights the urge to wake.

You catch a stray lock of unruly hair that has fallen across his face with trembling fingers.

His eyebrows crease slightly, and he sleepily opens his eyes to meet yours.

For a few moments, the two of you just gaze at each other, silent as his grogginess fades into a dawning realization. "Hey," he mumbles softly.

Your chest constricts as a half-smile finds its way on your face. "Hey," you respond softly back.

"You stayed."

"Of course."

His arms tighten around you once more as he pulls you flush against him, nestled securely between the heat of his body and the cool cotton sheets.

"I thought you would run away," he murmurs softly into your hair, chuckling when he feels you shake your head.

Honestly, you could easily drift back to sleep like this, feeling the gentle rhythm of his breathing and the soothing patterns his hand traces on your back. But just as your eyes are about to close, his voice rumbles from his chest.

"How are you feeling?" he suddenly asks.

"I've been better," you reply honestly, muffled against his shirt.

There's a beat of silence.

"Do you remember anything from last night?" he asks.

"Not much. I remember you taking me home but everything else is blurry."

"I didn't do anything dumb, did I?" you ask.

"Well, that depends on your definition of dumb."

"Hmm. Anything I would be embarrassed about?"

"Other than the fact that you're a very stubborn drunk, no," he reassures you with a quiet laugh. "...But you did say some things."

"Oh, like what?" you ask, pulling back far enough from him so you could see his face.

There's a slight pause, his gaze momentarily flicking from your eyes to your lips.

"You said you loved me."

You nod, taking a moment to figure out how you were going to respond.

Though those words still linger as truth in your head, hearing them out loud like that is difficult to put into words. You could easily dismiss them as drunken ramblings but Namjoon knows better; he can always read you like a book.

There's only so much denial you can carry on with before eventually being swallowed alive by the chaos of your emotions.

You sigh and retreat back into his arms, nuzzling your face further into his chest. Namjoon doesn't press or push any further. Instead, he holds you tighter. Neither of you says anything for a while.

"What's on your mind?"

"Nothing, really," you say, swallowing back the lump that has formed in your throat.

"Mm, don't do that."

"Do what?"

He draws away from you, but keeps his hold firm, almost as if you'll slip away if he lets go.

"Lie," he says softly, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "I know you better than that."

He smirks, amused at your stunned silence. He knows just as well as you do that he's successfully called your bluff.

"You already know the answer," you finally say.

He laughs at this, his eyes adorably crinkling at the corners and those dimples you absolutely love coming out to make an appearance.

You can feel your heart pounding with him so close; though the two of you always have been close friends, this new proximity makes your cheeks flush and your thighs press together reflexively.

Through this haze, a sudden surge of self-awareness hits you, reminding you that your hangover has most likely wreaked havoc on your appearance. You nervously lick your lips and rack your brain to quickly come up with an excuse to get out of this situation, and get out of it fast.

Namjoon seems to pick up on your unease, reaching out and taking your hand gently. He guides it towards his chest, placing it right above his heart, urging you to meet his gaze again. His warmth eases some of your anxiety, and you finally meet his gaze again.

You can feel the steady beat of his heart under your fingertips, its rhythm slightly quicker than normal. He looks intently at your lips, and the corners of his mouth turn up into a faint, tender smile.

“I just want to hear you say it. Please,” he whispers.

Fully surrendered to him, to whatever this was, you find your voice.

"I love you," you manage to utter through the tightness in your throat.

Satisfied with your answer, he smiles and leans in to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

Now only inches away, his breath is warm on your face and his lips nearly graze yours when he asks, "Do I have permission?"

You give a slight nod, and that's all it takes for Namjoon to cup your chin with one hand and slightly tilt your head back to press his lips firmly against yours.

His lips are warm, surprisingly soft against your own, and as the kiss deepens, every lingering doubt is wiped away with each sweep of his tongue; it's delicate and excruciatingly slow.

You let out a soft sigh against his lips as your fingers slide up to tangle themselves into his hair, gripping it to bring him impossibly closer. You lose yourself completely in it, every inch of your body humming to life as desire courses through your veins.

You can't help but release a gasp against his lips, which he swallows and echoes with a soft groan that reverberates through your chest. Your hands find their way down to his strong arms, fingertips pressing into the taut muscles there before coming to rest at his shoulders.

You shift against him as the kiss intensifies; legs tangling together beneath the cool cotton sheets. The air around you fills with soft moans and exhalations.

Between lingering and hardening pecks on your swollen lips, you feel him whisper against your skin—"My everything...", "...Wanted to do this for so long..."—and each phrase causes an answering shudder to course through every fiber of your being.

The faint traces of stubble on his jaw graze against your face in a way that feels rough yet exciting – a sensation you hadn't experienced before. By now, it seems as if every nerve in your body is on high alert, attuned to every caress and tender touch that passes between you.

His touch remains gentle as his hands slide beneath your his soft cotton shirt, tracing patterns along the small of your back.

Your torso is now pressed up against his so tightly that it would be nearly impossible for a piece of paper to fit between you two. He responds with a low hum of appreciation and he reluctantly ends the kiss but doesn't break away entirely; his forehead rests against yours as both of you try to catch your breaths.

It doesn't take long for your lips to start exploring new territories; they traverse each other's jaws, press tender kisses along each other’s necks, and gently nibble on earlobes – all provoking delightful sighs and moans that fill the room.

Namjoon then gently rolls you flat onto your back, never breaking contact as he hovers above you.

A warmth radiates through the air as he pulls back just enough for his breath to softly brush your lips. "I love you too," he confesses, his eyes searching yours for any trace of doubt.

The whispered words could have been drowned out by the sound of your pounding heart, but they cut through the air like a dagger.

"And I always will."

#bts x reader #bts fanfiction #bts imagine #kim namjoon #namjoon x reader #bts #knj #namjoon imagine #kpop imagines #kim namjoon imagine

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kingofbodyrolls · 2 months

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My Heart's Home (m) | pjm | four

🐴Chapter summary: You’re back in the city, but it doesn’t really feel like home— nowhere has felt like home since you were a child. When Jimin suddenly shows up unexpectedly at your apartment, you’re left wondering the depth of his feelings. 🐴Chapter title: It Comes to This 🐴Pairings: jimin x reader (main), jungkook x reader (only happens once in the first chapter), jungkook x OC (jessi), namjoon x OC (jessi), yoongi x hoseok, namjoon x oc, seokjin x oc, taehyung x oc 🐴Characters: female reader (isn’t mentioned by name and no “y/n”), Jimin, Jungkook, Namjoon, Yoongi, Hoseok, Seokjin, Taehyung and four female original characters. 🐴Genre/AU: ranch!au, slice of life!au, soulmate!au, cowboy!au + smut, humor, fluff, romance, slow burn and angst 🐴Rating: mature/explicit/R18 – this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact!

🐴Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸 🐴Chapter warnings: mentions of not eating because of sadness, mention of past infidelity (parents), mention of past character death (parents). It’s fluff season y’all! 😍 🐴Status: completed (the epilogue is in the works!) 🐴Word count: 7.5k 🐴Taglist: @kookswifesblog, @kiki-zb, @babejinnie, @ownthesunshine, @allie-is-a-panda, @glllhjh, @bergandysam, @13-manggaetteok, @jeonsbabygirlsworld,

*tumblr isn’t letting me tag you! There could be a lot of reasons for that, check out this lovely post about it.

🐴Now playing 💿 “Locked Inside My Heart” by Rebecca Lavelle. [Wanna listen to the serie’s playlist?] 🐴Author’s note: okay so this is a short chapter, but it’s mainly oc and Jimin and it’s mainly talking, like backstory and feelings– it’s fluffy! But damn I loved writing this chapter. You’re in for a ride!!!

It’s been cross posted to AO3 if you prefer to read there. Wanna see the book cover?

← previous | s.masterlist | m.masterlist | next →

“I don't pretend the choice is easy I can't pretend I really know I don't believe that you can have it both ways Do you stay or do you go?” - ‘It comes to this’ by Rebecca Lavelle.

Several weeks have elapsed since your departure from the ranch, affording you the time and distance to gain some perspective. Though readjusting to city life is easy, a persistent ache in your heart testifies to the yearning for the open fields, the friendship of the girls, and even the complicated bond with your sister that you left behind.

However, you find solace in immersing yourself in your work, channeling your emotions onto the canvas with each stroke. As you complete yet another painting, a genuine smile graces your lips, proud of the creation that has sprung from the depths of your heart.

Yet, when your gaze shifts to the collection of paintings surrounding it, each depicting the rustic charm of a ranch, horses, and idyllic countryside scenes, a chuckle escapes you.

The truth is undeniable – the ranch is a constant muse, an ever-present thought that refuses to release its hold on your mind.

From the days of childhood at the ranch, where painting was a shared joy with your sister, to the present hustle of city life, your artistic passion has seamlessly evolved. Initially, it was a cherished hobby, but as the city years unfolded, it transformed into a profession. While you may not boast fame, your paintings enjoy a steady demand, affording you a comfortable life in the bustling heart of the city.

The soft vibration of your phone interrupts the creative dance of your brush against the canvas. Another painting takes shape – a girl riding her horse, an embodiment of carefree spirit with wind-kissed hair.

A sigh escapes you; these motifs only deepen the yearning for the ranch. Retrieving your phone, a message from a friend awaits, a lifeline momentarily pulling you from the realm of memories and strokes.

Minji [13.34]: GIRL, get your ass down to the cafe I miss your ass 😏

A burst of laughter escapes you at Minji's characteristically whimsical message. Swiftly, you respond, your fingertips adorned with dried paint, dancing effortlessly across the screen, assuring her that you'll join her in a heartbeat.

After rinsing your pencils and setting them out to dry, you meticulously cleanse the remnants of paint from your hands. Swiftly grabbing your handbag, you step out of your apartment, ready to face the world beyond your creative sanctuary.

In just a few steps, you find yourself at the familiar cafe where you meet Minji. Her radiant face stands out, seated outside, waving at you with infectious enthusiasm. Her ever-changing fiery red hair, a testament to her vibrant personality, frames her face elegantly. Today, she opts for glasses – bold, cat-eyed frames that add a touch of sophistication to her usual look. A departure from her usual contacts, she's adorned in a striking green sundress, perfectly complementing the vivid hue of her hair.

As you reciprocate Minji's enthusiastic wave, settling into your seat, she promptly slides a refreshing glass of iced coffee across the table to you.

“Oh, thanks.”

“No problem. Is it good to be back in the city?” Minji inquires, her bright smile accentuated by the sun's playful dance on her face, a subtle gesture accompanying her sip of iced coffee.

You respond with a nonchalant shrug, “It's fine, I guess,” the uncertainty lingering in your voice, a subtle reflection of the mixed emotions swirling within you.

Her smile falters slightly, and she leans in, eyes searching yours, “You miss it, don't you?”

The question hangs in the air, laden with understanding and curiosity.

You nod in acknowledgment, sinking into your seat as your fingers trace the rim of the glass. A frustrated sigh escapes your lips, “I do... more than I thought I would.”

Her chuckle fills the air, and she offers you a soft, reassuring smile. “Maybe it's time to go back?” she suggests, her eyes holding a glint of encouragement.

You ponder her question for a moment, though you've wrestled with this very dilemma countless times. “I don't think I can,” you admit, the words carrying the weight of your internal struggle.

Leaning in, she bridges the gap between you two, her eyes searching yours, “Why?”

You release another heavy sigh, frustration echoing in the air as you lift the glass of ice coffee to your lips. “First, my sister hates me; she made it clear she doesn't want to see me again,” you confess, the memory of your strained departure from Jessi lingering. “Second, I believe I royally messed up by sleeping with the wrong brother.”

Minji's eyes widened in shock, her curiosity instantly piqued. “You never mentioned this! Spill the details!”

You release another exasperated sigh. “Yeah, well, I met Jungkook at the party, and he's ridiculously good-looking, you know?” Minji nods knowingly, urging you to continue. “So, I ended up sleeping with him at the party, and later I discover that Jimin is his brother.”

Minji's eyes widen once more, and her mouth drops in shock at your revelation. “Jimin? The same Jimin you had a crush on when you were a kid?!”

“Yes, that Jimin,” you groan, taking a longer sip of your ice coffee. The cold liquid provides a welcome contrast against the warmth of the sun caressing your skin.

“Do you see my dilemma now?” you sigh dramatically, a huff punctuating your frustration.

“Not really,” she chuckles loudly, her laughter echoing with contagious joy. You gaze at her, curious about the cryptic message in her amusement.

“You fucked him once right? It's not like you were in a committed relationship or anything, and people make mistakes,” you look at her, waiting for her to finish her thought. “I don't see it as a problem. You didn't know they were brothers; it's not like you intentionally sought out his brother. I think you're overthinking it. Sometimes life just throws these curveballs at us.” She shrugs her shoulders with a reassuring smile, trying to convey that she doesn't see this situation as problematic, unlike how you perceive it.

“Do you have any idea if Jimin has a thing for you?” She inquires with a mischievous smirk, playfully emphasizing her question with a sly raise of her eyebrow.

“I'm not sure, but according to Jungkook, he does. Jimin's been giving me these intense stares, and it's starting to feel like he's been studying me,” you confide in her. It's a relief to finally share the thoughts that have been swirling in your head over the past few weeks.

“Girl, you should totally jump his dick!” Minji exclaims, her voice escalating in excitement, drawing glances from other tables. A blush creeps up on your cheeks as she practically shrieks the suggestion, and you quickly hush her, “Aish, keep it down.”

You roll your eyes and scoff, “You don't have to alert the whole neighborhood, you know.”

“Ah, sorry. I got overexcited. But it sounds like Jimin likes you,” she teases, giving you a smirk. “If he does, I don't think he sees it as a problem that you had sex with his brother once.”

“Half brother,” you add, and her eyes practically sparkle with intrigue at this new piece of information.

“I say go for it,” she leans back into her chair, sipping on her iced coffee proudly. “Also, I think you should go back and mend things with your sister.”

You groan at the thought, envisioning a scenario that seems destined for disaster. Shaking your head, you can't fathom how it would unfold positively.

“Bitch, take a good look at your paintings lately. Every piece you've shared in our chat revolves around ranches or horses. If that's not your heart screaming out what you truly desire, you must be blind.” She laughs as you furrow your brow, but in your heart, you acknowledge the undeniable truth in her words.

For weeks, your heart has been instinctively immortalizing the place you've desperately yearned for and at the same time desperately tried to erase from your thoughts. Each stroke of paint on canvas was a poignant reminder of the struggle to suppress those nostalgic pangs.

For the remainder of your coffee date with Minji, you delve into the intricacies of her life, relishing the distraction it provides. It's a welcome reprieve to immerse yourself in someone else's narrative, if only momentarily, allowing you to temporarily set aside the weight of your own troubles.

As the coffee date concludes, you bid Minji farewell with a heartfelt hug and a gentle kiss on the cheek. The warmth of her gesture lingers, accompanying you on the walk back to your apartment, a comforting echo in the quiet corridors of your thoughts.

Returning to your apartment, you scavenge the fridge for any remnants of a meal, opting for a quick reheat in the microwave. The familiar routine finds you on the couch, mindlessly consuming your food while the television blares, its content serving as mere background noise to the symphony of your contemplations.

In the last few weeks, nourishment has been an elusive companion, and the reason echoes within the recesses of your consciousness. Since bidding farewell to the ranch, your attempts at a hearty meal have been feeble at best. Despite your earnest endeavors, the appetite that once danced with enthusiasm seems to have deserted you entirely.

As you sigh, the rhythm of your fork against the plate harmonizes with the contemplation swirling in your mind.

Two diverging paths lay before you, each demanding consideration - to stay or to go?

Simultaneously, the looming question of the inheritance casts its shadow, forcing you to grapple with the decision to sell or keep it?

As uncertainty clouds your thoughts, a myriad of possibilities unfold before you. Returning to the ranch might mean facing your sister's wrath once more, while selling your share could sever ties irreversibly.

Yet, holding onto your stake without a return holds the promise of avoiding immediate consequences.

Startled by an unexpected knock on your door, you briefly contemplate ignoring it. However, the persistent tapping forces you off the couch, curiosity and caution intertwining as you approach to unravel the mystery at your doorstep.

Swinging the door open, your astonishment peaks as you come face to face with none other than Jimin, a soft and warm smile gracing his features.

His unexpected presence leaves you momentarily speechless, your mouth falling open as you drink in the sight of him. Clad in a loose-fitted shirt, denim pants, and those boots that never fail to catch your eye, he exudes an effortless charm. His tousled hair adds to the allure, making him nothing short of breathtakingly handsome.

A sense of amazement causes your eyes to flutter, leaving you standing there like a floundering fish caught off guard. His chuckle breaks the moment, and you realize you haven't even managed to say a simple ‘hi’.

“Jimin?” You inquire, quickly scanning your surroundings to ensure there's no one else lurking behind, ready to spring a surprise on you.

He runs a hand through his tousled hair, a warm smile playing on his lips. “Hey,” he greets with a hint of shyness.

“Come in,” you invite, your voice carrying a mix of curiosity and anticipation. As he enters, his eyes wander around the compact hallway, absorbing the essence of your two-bedroom sanctuary. It might not be a sprawling space, but it's a reflection of you – a place where every corner holds a piece of your story.

He chuckles nervously, a melody that dances through the room as he slips off his shoes. The familiar sight of them, adorned with the remnants of mud, speaks of untold adventures and stories etched in every speck of dirt.

“What brings you here, Jimin?” you inquire, fixing him with eyes filled with curiosity and anticipation, silently urging him to reveal the purpose behind his unexpected visit.

“I came here because there's something I wanted to talk to you about,” he begins, strolling deeper into your apartment. As he glances around, you can't help but feel a twinge of self-consciousness, as if he's peering into your soul, carefully examining every painting, lamp, and piece of decor that surrounds you.

“Do you paint?” he inquires, his gaze drawn to the easel tucked in the corner of your living room, surrounded by a towering collection of finished paintings. Intrigued, he moves closer to your creative space. His eyes sweep over the current painting on the easel – the one capturing a girl on her horse, wind tousling her hair – and then shift to the array of your ‘country’ collection resting against the walls.

“These are stunning. I had no idea you were an artist,” he remarks, his eyes lingering on the paintings, and he turns to you with a wide, appreciative smile.

“Thank you,” you reply, a touch of embarrassment coloring your cheeks, as compliments have always had a way of making you a bit bashful.

“I really hope these paintings find their way into the world, they're exceptional!” he exclaims, his eyes drawn to the one capturing a ranch perched on a hill, surveying a paddock filled with graceful horses.

“Actually, it's my livelihood, so yeah,” you respond with a soft smile, a mix of embarrassment from his praise and a sense of pride for your craft.

“That's incredible,” he remarks, shifting his body towards you, his gaze traveling from your head to your toes.

“You mentioned wanting to talk?” His gaze feels like a gentle but persistent probing, causing you to fidget nervously with the hem of your sundress.

“Sure, let's go to a cafe and have that talk,” he suggests, a glimmer of anticipation in his eyes.

“Absolutely, there's this adorable cafe nearby with the most delightful desserts. What do you think?” you suggest, a smile playing on your lips. Despite your efforts to downplay it, the word 'date' echoes in your mind, and your heart betrays your intentions, quickening its pace at the mere thought.

“Lead the way,” he nods, accompanying the words with a casual stroll back to the hallway.

Silently, you both slip into your shoes, you secure your purse, and step out of your apartment, descending the stairs to the lively streets below. As you navigate the urban buzz, your mind races at a million miles per hour, anticipation building as you wonder about the conversation he's eager to share.

The dessert cafe you're aiming for is a bit of a trek compared to the one you frequented with Minji. The silence between you and Jimin persists, almost becoming stifling as your curiosity intensifies. You can't help but wonder, could something significant have occurred involving Jessi?

The café looms into view, and a surge of anticipation prompts you to quicken your steps. Anxious to unravel the mystery of Jimin's conversation, you settle into an outdoor seat, basking in the warmth of the sun as you eagerly peruse the menu.

Curiosity dances in your eyes as you look up from the menu, questioning, “What do you want to get?” Your intrigue extends beyond the dessert options, yearning to discover the nuances of Jimin's taste in sweets.

A tender smile graces his lips as he places his order, “Just a chocolate cake and a strawberry bubble tea is fine.” You find his simplicity endearing and decide with a chuckle, “I'll have the same then.”

Making your way to the counter, you confidently order the tempting treats, savoring the anticipation. After settling the bill, you return to your seat, careful not to spill a drop of the deliciousness awaiting you in those cups.

You dismiss his attempt to split the bill with a warm smile, insisting that it's your treat. As you explain, a gentle generosity glows in your eyes, emphasizing your delight in sharing this small but delightful moment with him.

As you raise the fork, poised to indulge in the decadent chocolate cake, your gaze locks onto his enchanting brown eyes. With a flicker of curiosity, you inquire, “So, what's on your mind?”

A nervous chuckle escapes him, and he shields his smile with a hand, his eyes betraying a hint of unease.

“It's about you actually,” he admits, his words hanging in the air with a mix of anticipation and uncertainty.

Your eyes widen, and your parted lips reflect the shock of his revelation. The mere idea that he wants to talk about you sends your heart into a frenzied rhythm. His gaze, soft as clouds, envelops you, and you can't help but feel a flutter of anticipation in the depths of your chest.

Your eyes widen, and you question him with a mixture of surprise and nervousness, “Me?” The fluttering sensation in your stomach intensifies, and your hand hovers over the plate of decadent chocolate cake, dessert forgotten in the wake of unexpected revelation.

He starts, sipping through the straw of his strawberry bubble tea, “We miss you.”

You eye him, the flutters in your stomach intensifying—what does he mean by ‘we’?

“Everybody back home,” he smiles, his eyes crinkling with joy, yet a subtle twinge of sadness lurks beneath the surface, like shadows in the sunlight. You find yourself drawn to the complexity of his emotions, wondering what lies behind the façade of happiness.

You exhale, a heavy sigh carrying the weight of memories and emotions. “That place isn't my home anymore,” you confess, shoulders tensed against the flood of sentiments rushing back.

A subtle flinch in his eyes, a pang of hurt in his gaze—it leaves you questioning whether his sadness is somehow tethered to you. But that couldn't be true, could it?

“It could be,” he says, his eyes softening into a small smile, “everybody misses you, even your sister.”

At this, you arch an eyebrow, a hint of disbelief coloring your expression. “That doesn't sound like Jessi,” you laugh, though the sound is forced and choked.

“Well, she does. She feels bad for how she treated you,” he begins, and the tinge of sadness creeps back onto his face.

“Did Jessi send you here?” you question with a watchful and stern eye, not appreciating the unexpected turn in the conversation.

“No! Absolutely not!” he defends vehemently in mere seconds, sounding almost disgusted that you've even entertained the thought.

“I came here for me. Well, mostly for you,” he grins again, a warm and inviting smile that makes his wonderful brown eyes disappear, and you can't help but reciprocate with a smile of your own.

“I want you to reconsider coming back,” he adds, finally poking at his dessert. You look at him cautiously. “When you left the first time, it made me really sad,” he takes a bite of his cake before speaking again, “and when you left this time, it made me really sad again. The ranch isn't the same without you.”

You give him a contemplative smile, truly empathizing with his feelings, but you remain uncertain about returning to the ranch. The internal struggle weighs on your expression, caught between the desire to make him happy and the uncertainty that lingers within you.

“I'm sorry, Jimin. It's just... I'm not sure if returning is what I want,” you express, lifting the fork to your mouth, savoring the delicious cake. The sincerity in your apology mingles with the rich taste of dessert, creating a bittersweet moment.

“I noticed those paintings in your room. Are you sure you don’t want to come back?” he challenges, his gaze intense. An airy laugh escapes you, acknowledging the truth. Logic may dictate one thing, but your heart whispers another, a silent yearning for what once was.

Jimin leans in, a trace of chocolate on his lips captivating your attention, but you resist the urge to interrupt as he continues, “The ranch belongs to you just as much as it does to your sister.”

You nod in acknowledgment, grappling with the weight of truth in his words. The decision about your share of the ranch hangs in the balance, a pivotal choice between holding onto it or following through with your initial plan to sell.

“I know Jessi can be stubborn,” he remarks, and you burst into laughter, the shared recognition of your sister's stubbornness creating a light-hearted moment that echoes with his laughter.

His laughter fades, and he continues, “You can always return and hold onto your share of the ranch. That place is your home.”

You allow his words to linger within you for a moment, your gaze briefly captivated by the small piece of chocolate on his lips. A smile plays on your lips as you lick your finger, reaching out to his face. With a gentle swipe, you remove the tiny morsel of chocolate from his mouth. In that instant, his eyes widen slightly, yet he remains still, observing your every movement with a hawk-like intensity.

He grins warmly, releasing an airy chuckle that dances through the air. You lean back in your chair, savoring the sweet notes of your bubble tea as you both share a moment of easy laughter.

Appreciation colors your voice as you express your gratitude, genuinely thankful for his words and the warmth of his company today. “I'll give it some thought,” you add, leaving the door open to the possibility he's presented.

As the last bites of cake vanish, and the lingering taste of bubble tea fades, Jimin breaks the companionable silence with a suggestion that catches you off guard, “How about some shopping?” The invitation hangs in the air, carrying the promise of a new adventure.

His unexpected proposal catches you off guard, and you almost choke on the lingering taste of your drink. Despite the surprise, you find yourself nodding in agreement, silently marveling at the surreal nature of this man before you.

In the heart of the city, Jimin sweeps you away on an impromptu shopping spree, indulging your every desire to explore the stores. Patiently, he waits as you try on different outfits, offering his honest opinions on each. The experience is surprisingly intimate, radiating a domestic charm that lingers in the air. Though it simmers with the essence of a date, you resist delving too deeply into that notion, attempting to soothe the fluttering butterflies and the electrifying sensation that accompanies each of his glances.

“This is really nice,” Jimin remarks with a soft smile as the two of you stroll down the bustling street. After spending a few delightful hours shopping, you're en route back to your apartment when a captivating dress in a window display captures your attention. Jimin notices your gaze fixated on the black, flowery dress with its gracefully flowing skirt. “Do you want to try it?”

“Ah, but I'm getting tired,” you confess, allowing your body to sag against his, savoring the reassuring firmness of his shoulder. His touch sends sparks coursing through your entire being. You're keenly aware that Jimin must be weary too; his limp has become more pronounced, hinting at potential fatigue or pain from too much walking. Despite your concern, you hesitate to pry, choosing to respect his privacy for now.

“Humor me,” he chuckles, playfully guiding you into the store. Together, you locate the dress effortlessly. Fingers grazing the hangers, you zero in on your size and confidently snatch it.

Making your way to the dressing rooms, you draw the curtains, stepping into the private space. Stripping off your clothes, you prepare to slip into the alluring fabric of the dress.

As the dress drapes over your silhouette, you gaze at your reflection in the dressing room mirror. There's an immediate sense of admiration, an unspoken agreement between you and the dress. You don't need to analyze it; the feeling of confidence envelops you. The heart-shaped neckline accentuates your collarbones, and the dress gracefully reaches your knees, a perfect harmony of style and comfort.

Parting the curtains, you step out, adorned in the black flowery dress, and as Jimin's eyes land on you, his pupils dilate, capturing a moment of speechlessness. A playful chuckle escapes you, and, reveling in the newfound confidence, you gracefully twirl in the dress, the fabric swirling around you like a dance partner.

You wear the dress with an air of effortless elegance, and as Jimin utters his compliment, a warm smile graces his lips, “You look really good in that dress.”

However, when you meet his gaze, you're drawn into the depth of his eyes – dark and possessive, a captivating intensity that sparks a desire to unravel the mysteries concealed within them, as if they hold secrets worth exploring for hours.

Gratitude colors your words, “Thank you. I really like it too,” as your fingers caress the soft fabric of the dress. The tactile sensation adds to the pleasure, leaving you appreciating not just the appearance but the luxurious feel of the material.

“I'll get it for you,” he insists with a warm smile, brushing off your attempts to protest. Despite your insistence that you can purchase it yourself, he remains resolute.

“Consider it a gift,” he adds, turning a simple shopping moment into a gesture of unexpected generosity, leaving you both touched and perplexed by his insistence on making your day a little brighter.

Opting not to pry further, you offer him a soft, sweet smile, your heart fluttering erratically within your chest. “Thank you,” you express with genuine gratitude, appreciating the gesture and the unspoken connection between you two.

Once you've changed back into your familiar attire, Jimin accompanies you to the cashier, graciously settling the bill for the dress. As you both exit the store, a shared secret wrapped in the fabric of the new dress, you stroll back to your apartment in a comfortable silence, the anticipation of unspoken feelings lingering in the air.

You opt for takeout, a ritual of comfort that usually involves lounging on the couch, indulging in a feast of flavors while the TV bathes the room in a soft glow. Surprisingly, Jimin embraces the laid-back ambiance, seamlessly blending into the familiar routine as if he's been a part of it all along.

As the meal unfolds, a symphony of flavors dancing on your taste buds, the room is graced with a comfortable silence occasionally interrupted by snippets of conversation. After savoring the last bite and clearing away the remnants of your feast, you gravitate back to the inviting embrace of the couch, sinking into its cushions.

Nestled side by side, your arms subtly entwined in a delicate dance of proximity, you both sink into the plush cushions of the couch, the gentle hum of the TV providing a soothing backdrop to the quiet intimacy shared in the room.

“Hey, considering it's getting late, how about crashing here tonight? I wouldn't want you navigating the midnight roads,” you suggest, extending a warm invitation, while your hands effortlessly choreograph a symphony of comfort by fetching drinks for both of you.

“If you don’t mind, I’d love to,” he grins, settling into your couch as if it were a familiar embrace, a subtle warmth filling the room.

“I actually wanted to tell you something else too,” he confesses, the air thick with anticipation as you turn your gaze fully on him, hanging on to every word like a secret waiting to unfold.

“I wanted to tell you about what happened after you left, all those years ago, when your father took you away,” he begins, drawing in a deep breath that elevates his chest, momentarily diverting your gaze to his well-defined pectorals.

“Okay, I'm all ears,” you respond, shifting your body towards his, allowing your knee to lightly brush against his thigh, a subtle shiver coursing down your spine.

“Well, shortly after you left, my mother passed away,” he begins to share, the weight of sorrow evident on his face, his hands involuntarily clenching as he revisits the painful memory.

“I'm truly sorry to hear that,” you express sympathetically, your hand instinctively finding its way to his thigh. Offering a gentle squeeze, a soft, almost inaudible moan escapes from him, revealing the vulnerability beneath his tough exterior.

“It's alright, it happened a long time ago,” he reassures, his hand covering yours on his thigh, a warm and comforting presence. Returning the sentiment with a smile, you encourage him to continue, sensing the weight of his past experiences.

“Well, we had the whole funeral thing and all that,” he sighs, a hint of deflation and bitterness in his hazel eyes, “but my dad remarried two months after.”

Your mouth falls open, and you gape at him, a strange gasping sound escaping. “Fuck,”" is all you manage to say. The revelation hits you hard, and you can't believe it. “He really remarried two months after your mother died?” Your voice carries a mix of surprise, hurt, and confusion, echoing the shock that reverberates through your thoughts.

“Yep. That's my dad for you,” he jokes and laughs, yet the lingering hurt is evident in his eyes. “The man couldn't be alone, you know. Some people just can't be alone. So he got in touch with one of his ex-girlfriends,” Jimin's eyes soften as he speaks, but a touch of sadness still shadows his gaze.

“And that's how I found out I had a half-brother,” he exhales, sinking back into the couch. You gape at him, utterly surprised by his revelation, the weight of his words hanging in the air.

“So you had no idea about Jungkook at all?” you ask, your hand instinctively covering your mouth. He shakes his head, a silent confirmation of the tangled web of secrets unraveling before you.

“No. My dad never told me. He admitted he knew immediately when he got Jungkook's mother pregnant. He paid her to stay away, and then, when my mother passed away, he promised her anything and everything she desired.” He clenches his hands, attempting to steady his breath. Despite his efforts, you can sense the struggle, prompting you to squeeze his thigh in reassurance, hoping to anchor him to the present moment.

“But Jungkook is younger than you, right?” you question, trying to reconcile the timeline in your head.

“Oh, yeah. My dad cheated on my mother with Jungkook's mother,” he says, running his hand through his hair, a pained expression crossing his face as he seeks solace in the reassuring grip of your hand.

“The whole thing was really hard on me as a kid, and accepting Jungkook as my brother was a struggle. We fought a lot, you know, all the typical sibling stuff,” he chuckles, the sound carrying a sense of relief and maturity, as if the weight of the past has lightened with time. You can sense they've come a long way since their childhood conflicts, now being grown men.

“What about your dad and Jungkook’s mom?” The question slips out, and you realize that neither Jimin nor Jungkook has spoken about their parents, especially considering you haven’t seen them on the ranch at all.

He takes a deep breath before responding, “They both died in a car accident a few years ago.”

“Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry!” you exclaim, berating yourself for asking such a thoughtless question. You don't want to deepen his sorrow any further.

“Oh, it's okay. It happens, people die—that's partly why I just want to live my life to the fullest, you know?” The sadness lingering in his eyes persists, but now you can discern flickers of something more, a burning passion he talks about, the determination to embrace life to its fullest.

Under your hand on his thigh, you can feel his leg shake, and you're left wondering whether it's nervousness or somehow related to his limping. Now that he's shared such personal details, you contemplate whether it's the right moment to broach the subject and inquire about the cause of his limp.

“Jimin, there's something I've been wanting to ask you ever since I returned,” you confess, a twinge of nervousness coursing through you. The question is deeply personal, and you're aware that he might not be comfortable answering. Nonetheless, you're determined to respect whatever choice he makes.

He inches closer, his body melding with yours, the shared warmth creating an intimate cocoon. “What's been occupying your thoughts?” he asks, his voice a gentle invitation.

The words tumble out, a torrent of concern escaping your lips, “Why are you limping?”

The raw honesty hangs in the air, and you wince, wondering if your directness was too much. You cringe internally, hoping your curiosity doesn't come off as intrusive.

The softness in his gaze is accompanied by a profound sadness in his eyes, tugging at your heartstrings and making you ache to envelop him in a comforting embrace.

The revelation unfolds like a carefully guarded secret, his voice carrying the weight of past pain and bitterness. “I was in a riding accident as a teenager. The horse crashed down on my right leg, crushing it. I couldn't walk, underwent surgery, and then grueling therapy to reclaim my mobility. But,” he adds with a hint of lingering hurt, “I'll always have this limping gait.” The anguish in his tone resonates, painting a vivid picture of a tumultuous journey.

Emotion wells up within you, threatening to spill over, but you muster the strength to keep it in check. “Does it ache when you walk for extended periods or ride?”

The concern in your voice echoes the silent understanding that you share this moment, grappling with the reality of his persistent pain.

He graces you with a tender smile. “Yes, it does hurt, but I've grown accustomed to the pain,” he admits with a quiet resilience, revealing a depth of strength beneath the surface.

As you smile, a wave of empathy washes over you, a bittersweet blend of happiness for his strength and sorrow for the pain he endures. Deep down, an earnest wish stirs within you — a longing to ease the burden he carries, if only you could find a way.

“Does it hurt right now?” Concern colors your voice as you inch closer, your question laced with genuine worry. Leaning in, you search his eyes, silently hoping to catch a glimpse of the pain he might be hiding behind that soft smile.

His nod carries the weight of unspoken battles, each subtle movement a testament to the persistent ache he endures, “It does.”

Your hand, poised on his thigh, ventures boldly along the contours of his powerful leg. Locking eyes, you witness the subtle shift in his gaze, growing more intense with each upward movement of your hand. As your fingers edge perilously close to his crotch, you pause, your touch transforming into a soothing massage. A question lingers in the air, “Is this okay?”

“Y-Yes,” he breathes, the sound carrying a breathless quality, reminiscent of a soft moan. You decide not to dwell on that, focusing instead on the intent behind your actions. If your touch can alleviate even a fraction of his pain, you're determined to offer him the relief he deserves.

Your hand tightens its grip on his thigh, and you observe the way he nervously bites his lip. As you massage his thigh, your movements tracing a path from his knee to his crotch and back up, you become aware of the building tension in the room. Your hands start to feel clammy, mirroring the quickening pace of Jimin's breath, matching the rhythm of your own. It dawns on you that, in the process, you're unintentionally exploring intimate territories, practically groping him and feeling him up!

Your hands retreat as if recoiling from a burn, a sudden surge of embarrassment coloring your cheeks. “I'm sorry,” you utter, the words stumbling out, attempting to cloak the awkwardness that now hangs in the air between you two.

A rush of heat floods your cheeks, a vivid blush that likely extends to your ears. You curse your hands for their wanderings and your horny mind.

“It’s okay,” a reassuring chuckle escapes him, though the aftermath of your touch lingers in his eyes, a subtle impact you can't ignore. The flutters in your stomach take flight once more, swirling in a dance of unspoken tension.

“Would you be up for a movie?” you propose, attempting to redirect the conversation and steer clear of the tantalizing thoughts that have momentarily consumed your mind.

“Sure.” He says with a smile, sinking into the comfort of the couch as you scroll through movies on your phone. With a seamless connection, you stream a quirky rom com from your phone to the TV - a foolproof choice for a laid-back evening.

As the movie unfolds its scenes, Jimin gradually inches closer until your bodies meld together; his warmth envelops you, a comforting shield against the world. Drowsiness creeps in, causing your body to lean against Jimin's solid frame. The rhythmic thud of his heartbeat, resonating beneath your ear on his firm chest, creates a soothing lullaby. Oblivious to the movie's narrative, you succumb to a cascade of yawns, surrendering to the peaceful pull of sleep.

Wrapped in Jimin’s embrace, he becomes a haven of security and comfort, a living embodiment of home. In his presence, your tense muscles unwind, and your heartbeat harmonizes with his, creating a comforting rhythm. As relaxation unfurls through your being, your head descends, settling into the warmth of his lap. Unbeknownst to you, soft breaths escape your lips as sleep claims you, while Jimin, tenderly stroking your cheek and hair. Little do you know, three words escape his lips, destined to alter the course of your life.

In the morning, you gradually rouse to the sensation of something firm pressing against your face, yet there's an unexpected tenderness, a gentle caress against your skin. Your pillow, typically mundane, now cradles your head in an oddly satisfying manner, prompting you to nuzzle into it, seeking additional solace. A contented murmur escapes your lips in fatigue as you attempt to stretch your limbs, only to discover the subtle ache that permeates your entire body.

Wait.

Your eyes snap open in realization. This isn't the familiar embrace of your bed, and the comforting pillow beneath your head is anything but ordinary. A surge of awareness courses through you as you come to terms with an unexpected reality – you're sprawled across Jimin's thigh.

More precisely, you’re nestled against his groin, where you abruptly discover the undeniable evidence of his morning arousal.

You spring to attention, the warmth of embarrassment coloring your cheeks, heart racing like a runaway train against your ribcage. In the hazy glow of early morning, you fumble for the most sincere apology you can conjure, breathlessly exclaiming, “Oh, goodness! I'm so sorry!”

As you settle onto the couch, your gaze locks with his still sleepy and drowsy eyes. The realization hits that you both must have drifted off in this intimate position, with you cradled in the warmth of his inviting lap.

Jimin's chuckle resonates like a melodious tune in the early morning, a soothing sound that plays a soft serenade to your ears. Despite your efforts to steady your heartbeat and contain the fluttering sensations, his laughter creates a symphony that dances through the awakening air.

“It's okay. I just woke up,” he rises and stretches, a lazy yawn escaping his lips. Why does he have to look this enticing? His blonde locks cascade in unruly curls, framing a face that's both soft and slightly puffy from sleep. Those pink lips, as if kissed by the night, slightly nibbled, beckon dangerous thoughts. As he stretches, biceps tensing and shirt teasingly riding up, a glimpse of his happy trail emerges, a sight your eyes try to resist but fail. Damn it, you scold yourself, but then his armpit becomes visible, and even that seems inexplicably appealing.

Oh, he smells divine—powdery softness, a hint of sweetness, warmth, and richness all mingling to craft an intoxicating musky scent. It envelops you, leaving your entire being tingling with an irresistible allure.

Jimin appears entirely unfazed, but you're left feeling utterly flustered, convinced your cheeks must be ablaze. “I'm so sorry for dozing off on you. I meant to offer you my bed, but I guess I fell asleep before I could say anything,” you chuckle, trying to shake off the lingering traces of sleep from your weary body.

A sudden realization strikes you like a bolt of lightning.

Oh my god. If you’re sore, Jimin must be too! You practically slept on his injured leg!

“I apologize for your leg—I can't believe I slept on it. I might have undone all the massage from yesterday,” you groan in frustration, scolding yourself for your apparent weakness for this man. He's your childhood friend, the one who came and told you that you belong— at the place you once called home, reigniting something dormant within you, a feeling that has slumbered for centuries, now awakening and blossoming slowly.

“It's really okay,” he assures you with a soft squeeze to your leg. His hand feels firm and warm, mirroring his comforting presence. You realize a desire for more, but you tread carefully on dangerous waters, doing your best to keep your more horny thoughts in check.

“I'll have to head back soon,” he says, punctuating his statement with another heartfelt yawn, a languid stretch emphasizing the inevitable departure.

“Do you like pancakes? I could whip up a batch before you head out,” you suggest, caught between the genuine desire to treat him to a hearty breakfast and the subtle hope that it might extend his stay, sparing him the long drive on an empty stomach.

“Absolutely,” he responds, his soft smile revealing a glimpse of those charmingly crooked teeth. As you rise from your seat and head into the kitchen to whip up the pancakes, a subtle urgency whispers in your mind, warning that if you linger too long, keeping your hands to yourself might become an increasingly challenging feat.

With a culinary flair, you whip up the pancakes in record time, the aroma of warm batter filling the air. As you both settle around the small dining table, the atmosphere is filled with the comforting clinks of cutlery against plates. Amidst bites of fluffy pancakes, Jimin unveils the captivating tale of wild horses roaming the ranch, a narrative that unfolds with tales of Yoongi's quest to tame these untamed spirits, turning them into dependable companions through a gentle, patient approach.

Fascinated, you ponder the intricacies of Jimin's story. “I had no idea such a thing was possible,” you muse, savoring a sip of water as if to quench not just your thirst but also your curiosity.

“Yoongi has a real knack for gentling horses, it's like second nature to him,” he shares, his smile lighting up the room as he effortlessly joins you in tidying up after the meal.

As the moment lingers, a subtle sense of farewell hovers in the air, but you're not quite ready to part ways with Jimin. The warmth of his company, the echoes of the past, all make you wish he didn't have to leave just yet.

Gratitude colors his words as he stands in the hallway, boots on, ready to step out into the world again. “Thank you for having me over,” he expresses, his gaze carrying a blend of sincerity and a hint of reluctance.

“No problem,” you respond with a soft smile, “having you here was truly enjoyable.”

“I hope to see you again, maybe back home?” His gaze lingers in your eyes for what feels like an eternity. There you stand, like a lovestruck fool, anticipating the one thing your brain has been yearning for since you glimpsed his softly bitten lips in the morning. The hope in his voice resonates, causing your heart to beat erratically in your chest once more.

Your gaze rises to meet his, and as he strides closer, his eyes lock onto yours. The proximity is electrifying; you sense his warm breath teasing your face, and anticipation builds as he leans in, closing the space between you.

You surrender to the moment, shutting your eyes as his warm hands cradle your cheeks. A delicate touch, his nose brushes against yours, setting off a delightful jolt that courses through your entire being. Then, in a tender ascent, his plush lips descend upon your forehead, leaving an imprint of warmth that lingers.

Instinctively, your fingers tighten around his biceps, a reflexive response to the unexpected closeness. A soft chuckle escapes your lips as the realization dawns – he's kissing your forehead, a gentlemanly gesture that leaves a trail of warmth lingering on your skin.

He withdraws, and as you open your eyes, his warm, smiling face is the last thing you see. “See you at home,” he whispers, leaving you with a fluttering heart and a lingering promise in the air.

As he gracefully exits the room, descending the stairs with an effortless charm, your heart beats wildly, a flutter of butterflies threatening to carry you away. Your entire being tingles, breath caught in a sweet suspension. A lovestruck smile plays on your lips, lingering like the echo of his presence.

Home.

He wants you to come home.

Author’s note(2): Thank you so much for reading! 🌸 I appreciate every like, comment and reblog (a reblog would really help getting the story out more), and please don’t be afraid to let me know what you think; your kind words makes me extremely happy, so please don’t be a silent reader 💜

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