#i mean. monkey brain me who loves ten and wants him to live forever was delighted.

[silvermarmoset]

your tags are SO true like it was one thing to bring tennant back pre-ncuti, since the whole point of that was quite transparently to increase viewership FOR ncuti, but to be like "actually tennant!doctor gets to go have his own life and ncuti is a totally different offshoot" is like ....... well.

i'm screaming a lot in the tags but i'm guessing you meant these ones?

#honestly. horrible horrible flex to set ncuti up across from the most beloved doctor from the start?#like i (and im guessing a lot of other people!) will /always/ be drawn to 10 and feel like he's our doctor#don't set ncuti up like that!! deny us dt and MAKE US LOOK AT HIM. this is so SO weird rtd wtf did you do

because yeah. it actually makes me a bit furious because leaving a spare doctor hanging around and sending Ncuti off as a double is just handing the perfect excuse to every bigot who wants to claim that Ncuti isn't the real doctor, the real doctor is back on earth in Donna Noble's garden. Why do that? Why make it easy for fans who want to drop the show now and pretend it's always the old way, forever?

i can think of reasons for doing it this way—like i'm 95% certain this was just a convoluted way to give Donna her happy ending—but none of the possible reasons i can think of justify going about it like this. I love Ten, and Tennant, I could watch him go on adventures forever, but the point should be I DON'T GET TO because because here's A WHOLE NEW WONDERFUL DOCTOR to go on adventures with! The whole constant point in Who is that change and death DO happen, and one of the joys is grieving the old while embracing the new!

But this episode doing this weird little pivot where you can die but still live, where a separate form of you can rest* so you can go on adventures....idk what moral RTD was aiming for here but it feels like he just shot his own next era in the foot for no particular reason beyond "we love Ten" (and we do but. come on)

*(what does that even mean?? canonically we know the doctor is restless and always running into trouble so what was the point of that?? it's confirmed he's going to mars on fun little trips!! this is the same man and you gave him a tardis and apparently there's no sacrifice at all?? what is this!! why!!)

#the giggle #dw spoilers #part of me is like. it's the epilogue! it's putting a button on the old universe and nuwho. but like— #NCUTI IS IN THE SAME UNIVERSE. it's still his universe! what are we even putting a button on here? are you going to tell me that every time #london gets invaded for the rest of the show (and lets be honest its going to happen within like 2 episodes anyway) we're all going to sit #and not wonder where The Other Doctor With His Own Goddamn Tardis is? why he is not helping here? #also. side note. it is not as egregious as *waves hands* everything else about this #but it felt like a very very big disservice to have ncuti's first moments still be david's #because i'll be honest. when david is onscreen i will watch him first. i will watch him and pay attention to him because he's my favorite! #putting ncuti across from ten (THE fave) is making him do TOO MUCH in his first twenty minutes of screentime #felt like setting him up to fail from the get go because of COURSE i was distracted by david tennant it's david tennant. OF COURSE. #just feel like rtd should have known better. PEOPLE DIE. make 10/14 die!! i will hate it but make me deal with it!! #then make me see 15 and fall fully in love with him #can you imagine if nine had been around during ten's first ep? skinny dt wouldn't have stood a chance. thats why we DO it this way russell #you HAVE TO MAKE US DEAL WITH LOSS. ugh im done fuming but yeah not happy w that #i mean. monkey brain me who loves ten and wants him to live forever was delighted. #the rest of me who has a brain and thought processes thought it was dirt and made 0 sense in any way.

[min-youngis]

Boom - p.jm

monkey brain said make a banner on your own u hussy

~ Pairing : Park Jimin x Reader (entrepreneur x software company intern, dance partners au)

ft. Best Friend/Roommate! Jungkook and Brother! Yoongi

~ Genre : Fluff, Humour, a very very very tiny smidgen of Angst

~ Rating : R (some suggestive descriptions, a fair amount of swearing and scary adult themes like money)

~ Summary : When Jimin leaves your little trio at the age of ten when his family moves away, you and Jungkook think that's the end of it, and you're never going to see your best friend again. But cut to twelve years later and suddenly your dance class is home to the prettiest man you've ever seen (again), who happens to be your friend's business partner and also...your new dance partner? Your friends think you're dumb, but you can confirm you're dumber.

Childhood Friends to Strangers to Lovers

~ Wordcount : 29.3k (🤡)

~ Warnings : swearing, some suggestive descriptions, mild alcohol consumption, excruciatingly slow burn, inaccurate depictions of internships and company establishment, emotional constipation, badly dealt with feelings, i-like-attention-but-i-don’t-like-people y/n, people who say please and thank you and excuse me and sorry are really fucking attractive, dissociation as a coping mechanism, overthinking as an instinct

~ A/N : no a/n this time ladies i'm all out of words. this has been two months in the making. muchos gracias to @ghostiemakingposties​ and @thedorkyfork​ for helping me figure out the timelines/logistics and making the plot make a semblance of sense :D thank you, that is all, i am ti r e d.

i'd love to hear feedback, spread the love!

masterlist in my description.

~~~

2008

“My mom says we’re moving.”

He says it with all the innocence of somebody who’s completely clueless about how permanent a shift like that is, blissfully ignorant in his ten-year-old self. Over the buzzing of a bee somewhere nearby, you can hear a door shut as Jungkook runs into the house, screaming for food.

Squinting against the sunlight that filters in through the rustling canopy overhead, hitting your eyes abruptly every time that one particular leaf moves in the summer breeze, you ask, “Where are we going?”

There’s a quizzical tone in his voice when he replies slowly. “I don’t think you’re coming. Mom didn’t say anything about you coming.”

You turn your head towards him, facing his body that’s mirroring your own, laid out on the grass that smells like summer, hands and legs spread languidly because time is forever and you have nothing to do but breathe and laugh and live. Your messy pigtail pushes into the side of your head painfully, but you ignore the uncomfortable sensation, eyes widening as you fix him with a stare.

“What do you mean, I’m not coming?”

Chewing his lip worriedly, he says, “I think she means we’re moving moving.”

“It’s a scam.”

“It’s a what?”

“A scam,” you repeat decisively, turning back to face the sky, closing your eyes again and feeling powerful as you explain your new found knowledge to an eager crowd of one. “Yoongi taught me. He said that when dad tells him he won’t get dinner unless he washes up after basketball, he’s being scammed and that adults tell lies sometimes to make us do what they want us to do. He said it’s progapanda.” You, Jimin and Jungkook know that your four-years-older-than-you brother knows everything.

“Panda?” Jimin asks doubtfully.

Sagely, you nod. “Yeah. We’re being raised to be brainless machines and slaves to the catapultists.”

“What are catapultists?”

Shrugging, you reply, “No idea. But Yoongi says they’re really bad. Anyway, your mom is probably scamming you. You’re not really moving.”

“No?” he asks, hopeful tilt in his voice.

“Nope,” you blithely respond.

You hear the grass underneath his head faintly rustle as he nods in relieved affirmation, and he goes back to closing his eyes towards the bright sky.

Jimin moving. It’s laughable. Adults, you think ruefully, shifting so you can feel the warm sun on your face. Some things are permanent. Like Mr. Kibum, your dance teacher who’s taught you your entire life, and the flowers that your mom keeps in the vase on top of the shoe rack that look shockingly real for plastic. Like Yoongi's basketball that he got when he was selected for the school team and is too big for you to hold, but with which he taught you how to dribble anyway, and like the large tree in Jungkook’s backyard that you’re lying underneath right now, waiting for him to come back from the house with lemonade.

And like Jimin, who’s just always there. Even when you don’t particularly want him to be, like that one time he had come over when you were crying four years ago because Yoongi was going to middle school and you both wouldn’t be in the same bus anymore. You had been so embarrassed because Yoongi was just standing there and laughing at you, but Jimin had said that he wouldn’t tell anybody and you had believed him, because it’s Jimin.

“And anyway, Kook and I won't let you leave.”

He snickers next to you. “How are you going to stop my mom?”

“We'll cry,” you reply simply, shrugging as much as you can in your laid down position. “I do it all the time to get stuff at home. Yoongi hates it, he calls it my younger sibling privilege, whatever that means.”

He doesn’t sound very convinced when he asks, “Will it work?”

Behind you, you hear the repeated thud of Jungkook running and his mother shouting, “Slow down! You’ll end up spilling it all and I’m not going to make another bottle.”

With a grin at Jimin, you say, “Watch,” as you sit up and turn towards an excitedly jogging Jungkook and as he approaches the tree.

“I have lemonade!” he shouts loudly, lifting the glass bottle up.

But you’re more focused on Mrs. Jeon and the platter full of mini sandwiches she’s holding. The yellow, sunflower shaped digital watch on your wrist reads 12:37 PM, roughly the time at which your mother usually calls whichever house you’ve spent the morning in and asks you to come home for lunch. The plan forms in your brain. Time to show Jimin the power of tears.

“Y/N, dear, your mother just called. She wants you back home after eating this, alright?”

Remembering Mr. Kibum's pre-performance advice (‘Deep breaths. You can’t put on a good show if your head isn’t fastened on tight.’), you summon all your strength and screw up your face, shutting your eyes and squeezing as hard as you can.

“What is she doing with her face?” you hear Jungkook ask. But it doesn’t distract you. You’ve just felt water behind your eyelids.

Opening your eyes wide again, you let your lower lip wobble with practiced precision, chin trembling.

“Oh, Mrs. Jeon, is there no way I could stay for a bit longer? Just ten extra minutes, I promise.”

To your delight, she immediately looks unsure, eyes slightly widening in surprise and concern.

“Oh! – oh, but of course you can. I’ll call your mother right now and let her know. And why don’t you take some of those sandwiches for the road too? There’s no need to cry, sweetheart, you can spend as long as you want here.”

You continue with your act until she’s back in the house and the door swings shut behind her, after which you immediately right your expression, grinning smugly. Grabbing a sandwich, you sit back down and look at a bemused Jungkook and an awed Jimin.

“And that’s how you do it,” you say, satisfied with their reactions and tuning them out as Jimin fills Jungkook in.

For people who have money, adults really are terribly stupid. Jimin moving, you think again, taking a big gulp of lemonade. The thought almost makes you laugh. As if.

2020

“Y/N, could you debug my code real quick?”

“Y/N, I need ten copies of this immediately.”

“Y/N, you’ll need to stay back for a bit today to finish the patch testing.”

You rush from cubicle to cubicle, sharing harried smiles with the other interns that you meet in the hallway, running around like you with equally stressed expressions on their faces. They may have been here a few weeks longer than you, but you doubt they’re having it any easier.

You’re about to slip back into your desk after submitting the copies to Hoseok so you can get started on debugging the code you’ve just been sent, when a ringing voice calls out from the room you’re jogging past.

“Y/N! Come in here for a second, please.”

Immediately, everybody around you freezes. Slowly, they inch away from the door that you’re standing outside. Wide eyed, you meet Hyejin's gaze worriedly from across the room. She looks just about ready to drop the tray of paper coffee cups she’s holding, but tries for an encouraging smile. It comes out more as a grimace. You see pitying stares around you and foolishly wait for a few seconds for some sort of divine intervention, for somebody else who shares your name to get up and enter the room instead.

“Y/N, I don’t have all day!”

From the cubicle on your left, Namjoon hisses, “Go! Before she gets mad.”

Pulling yourself together and squaring your shoulders, you turn and look at the half open door in front of you. A plaque on the wood reads ‘Kim Jennie – Head of Product Development'.

You place your fingers on the handle and hear a fervently muttered prayer from an intern standing behind you. With a deep breath, you plaster a polite smile on your face and push the door open.

“You had called for me?”

“Repeatedly.”

Off to a lovely start, then. You walk over to her desk, stopping when you’re a couple of feet from it. She doesn’t immediately look up from her laptop, choosing to let you stew, no doubt.

You’ve just started subconsciously picking at your nails when she deigns to look at you, slowly removing her glasses and placing them on the desk.

Twice before you’ve been called to her office. The first time was because you were subbing for her sick assistant and had messed up her coffee order. The second was when they needed an intern to sit in at a high profile meeting to shorthand the minutes and you were the nearest one they could find. Both times you had received an earful – the former got you a stern admonishment and the latter an equally strict warning to ‘make it legible, at the very least, if you can manage that’.

You wonder what you’ve done wrong this time. Wracking your brains, you come up empty. You’ve been much too busy with the subjects to fuck up for the queen.

“How has your time here been so far?”

“I'm sorry?” you ask in befuddlement, certain that you’ve misheard her.

There’s a flash of a tiny smile before her mask comes back on.

“I may be firm, but I’m not heartless. Being an intern at this company isn’t easy. I just want to know how you’ve been settling in for the last month.”

Realising that you’re gaping, you hurriedly shut your mouth before clearing your throat and replying, “I’ve been learning a lot and I’m glad to have the exposure.”

“Okay, now give me the non-textbook answer.”

“I’m sorry?” you ask again, simultaneously feeling thrown off and like a damn fool.

“This isn’t college anymore, Y/N. I’m not your professor. I’m your boss, and maybe, some day, your colleague. You’re our newest intern and I know it can get a little intense, so I just want to make sure that you’re comfortable.”

You look at her suspiciously. Is this some kind of sick, twisted test? But you take in her serious but kind eyes and decide that she’s being honest enough. Now or never.

“Can you allow interns to use the fancier copiers? They’re quicker than the ones on the second floor that we use now.”

You get a raised eyebrow and for one, terrifying second, you think she’s going to throw you out of her room, out of the building, out of the company and write an email to all the other software companies in the world telling them not to hire you.

“There is no rule stating that interns can’t use the copiers here. Have you been climbing floors every time you need to copy something?”

Before you can stop yourself, you ask, feeling like a broken record, “I’m sorry?”

She rolls her eyes and you feel like a chastised child. That’ll teach you a lesson about listening to your brother’s best friend.

“Will that be all? Any other...legitimate grievances?”

“Oh no, that’s all. I’ll be – er, going then.”

You get a lazily waving hand in response and consider yourself dismissed as Jennie puts her glasses back on and turns her attention to her laptop screen. About to pull open the door, you stop short as you hear from behind you, “Maybe actually read the company policy instead of talking to Hoseok, yes? Ask my assistant for a pamphlet. I dare say Yeonjun should be able to give you more reliable information.” You can swear you detect an amused smile in her voice.

A few hours later sees you as the centre of attention in a crowd around the coffee machine in the break room, regaling the interns around you with the latest.

“She did that for me too,” Hyejin says once you’ve finished your story, taking another sip of her coffee. “She does it for all the interns but it’s usually batch wise. You probably had to go it alone since you joined late.”

Shrugging, you reply, “Either way, it was terrifying.”

Soobin gives you a soothing pat on your shoulder. “At least that’s done with. Now you’ll only have to talk to her again if you fuck up spectacularly or if you’re really, really good.”

You nod mindlessly, biting off a piece of the canteen sandwich and chewing thoughtfully.

“Hey, Y/N! Managed to get fired before even getting hired?”

You spin around and see Hoseok and Namjoon cackling like a bunch of stupid hyenas along with some other employees. Pushing past a giggling Hyejin, you storm over, seeing red.

“Jung Hoseok. How dare you make me run around the damn building just to get some copies whenI didn’t even have to?”

You’re glaring at him now, looking up at his gleeful face.

“Oh my god, did you ask her about it? What did she say? Fuck, I wish I was there.”

Huffing, you reply with your arms crossed, embarrassed. “She told me to ask Yeonjun for the company policy pamphlet.”

He howls in delight, slapping a grinning Namjoon's back. “Ah, I can’t wait to tell Yoongi about this. He’s gonna have a field day.”

Unamused, you continue glowering at him. To your increasing annoyance, he looks completely unaffected, bringing a hand up to ruffle your hair, giving you flashbacks to when he used to come over to your house to hang out with Yoongi all those years ago. You have to admit, he was a great deal nicer then than he is now, snickering at your fuming expression. You aren’t ten years old anymore.

Narrowing your eyes one last time, you turn around on your heel and begin to walk away.

“Meet at the entrance at six today?”

You don’t verbally reply, still walking and flipping him off over your shoulder.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then?”

“Yes,” you mutter, just loud enough for him to hear before you leave the room in the crowd of interns you had entered with. Lunch breaks are only so short and those codes aren’t going to debug themselves.

“You alright?”

“Peachy,” you sigh, rubbing a finger on your temple as you let your head rest on the window next to you.

“It’s intense, isn’t it?” Hoseok asks, eyes focused on the road in front of the car.

“Yeah. I didn’t expect it to be this heavy.”

Attempting for a cheery tone, he replies, “But, hey! A month! That’s great! Most interns usually burn out by then, but you’ve managed to stick around.”

It’s a small consolation and you tell him as much, mindlessly watching the darkening sky as you get closer to home and to dinner and to bed.

“You’re doing well,” he says comfortingly. “Just give it some time. If you got through college, you can get through this.”

“When did you get so wise?” you chuckle, turning your head to see his lips quirk up in a teasing smile.

“When you were off gallivanting on the other side of the country and I was a lowly intern, just like you are now.”

Sputtering, you reply, offended, “I was in college.”

“Yes, that’s what they all say,” he sighs in a mock-patronising tone. “What’s up with your friend, though, Hyejin? She seems cool.”

“She isn’t into you, don’t bother,” you reply shortly, knowing exactly what Hoseok is asking.

“Not what I meant.”

“Hmm, I’m sure. Purest of intentions, yeah?”

Pulling up next to the curb outside your apartment, he crosses his index finger over his heart and replies haughtily, “Now that I know I don’t have a chance, yes, actually.”

You snort, unbuckling your seat belt and twisting around so you can get your bag from the back seat.

“Thanks for the ride,” you say, pushing the door open.

He smiles kindly in return as he waves off your gratitude and says instead, “Don’t do any work this weekend. Product rolling week starts on Monday and you’re gonna need all your energy.”

“Is it more intense than usual?”

“Unfortunately so,” he replies through the open door to your standing frame with a grimace. “It's fun work, though. Just tiring.”

Nodding with a sigh, you shut the passenger seat and give Hoseok a wave as he smiles at you and drives away.

You trudge up the stairs, thanking all the higher powers for Jungkook and the fact that he had reached home earlier than you. You don’t think you can handle cooking right now.

“Kook! I’m home!”

You hear an unintelligible, muffled grunt from somewhere inside the house in response as you kick your flats off in the foyer and shut the front door behind you.

Moving inside, you drop your bag on the table and make your way to the utility room from where you had heard Jungkook's voice. You’re greeted by the sight of his sweatpants-clad butt as he ruffles around the open washing machine in front of him, dumping clothes into it from a basket in his arms.

“Is it laundry day already?”

You get an impatient huff in response and a muffled sound emerges. “Every day should be laundry day.”

Snorting, you reply to his face once he’s stood up and cracked his back with a grimace. “We get like three outfits a day at most. What are you going to put in there, your Halloween shrimp costume?”

“I thought we agreed to not mention that!”

He deposits the empty clothes hamper in your tired but accepting arms, gesturing you to place them on the counter behind and you do so, as you laugh, “Now why would I agree to something so stupid?”

“Because you’re stupid.”

“And you’re 22, but you still can’t figure out something more devastating than a middle school comeback, stupid.”

You watch, satisfied, as he sputters for a bit before glaring at you and turning on his heel, walking out of the room.

Grinning, you follow, feeling loads lighter after that interaction. Nothing like winning some good old-fashioned verbal sparring to get the sinews stiffened again.

He leads the way to the kitchen, grumbling under his breath as you walk behind him, your stomach rumbling something awful.

“Oh, bless your soul, it’s food!” you moan, rushing towards the box full of rice sitting on the counter.

“Lovely, so now my soul is blessed, but any other time, I’m stupid. You might want to heat – alright, then.”

You don’t pause as you rapidly continue shuffling the contents into your mouth like you haven’t eaten in days. Climbing up onto the counter, you chew and swallow, only pausing for a second in the middle to ask, “How was work?”

He brings down two tea bags from the overhead shelf. “Fine, I guess. Managed to get assigned a good story, so that’s something.”

Swallowing, you say, “That’s great! And the novel?”

With a shrug as he pours boiling water into the cups, he replies, “Haven’t made any headway. I’m still stuck at the same place.”

“Well, you have the weekend to focus on it. That’s bound to help, yeah?”

You set aside your empty box, feeling satiated, and accept the mug from Jungkook with a smile, nursing the warmth in between your palms and letting it steep as he takes a sip of his own tea while nodding.

“Hopefully. And class tomorrow should be fun, might get something there.”

You hum in response, pleased. The thought of your weekly dance class perks you up a bit as you feel your eyelids drooping at the soothing smell and steam of chamomile under your nostrils.

When you and Jungkook had found out that you’d both be coming back to your hometown for work after spending four years at different colleges, the first thing you two had done after finding an apartment to share had been re-enrolling at your old dance studio. Now Saturday mornings are exclusively reserved for listening to Taemin, Mr. Kibum's protégé, shout at you and roughly ten other young adults to ‘Dance, you lazy fools,’ like he’s an old man who’s angry at teenagers about stepping on his lawn instead of the 25 year old, recent fine arts graduate that he is. Most of the class, including Taemin, are people you’ve grown up with in the city, gone to school with, performed at recitals with when you all were teenagers.

Sliding off the counter, you take Jungkook’s cup from him and wash it along with your own. Now that you’ve been fed, you want nothing more than to go to bed so you can wake up in time in the morning. Once, you and Jungkook had made the mistake of being five minutes late, and now Taemin’s put a black asterisk next to both your names in the database, like he’s running a bloody pre school.

“Oh, and I almost forgot, Tae finally found a business partner!”

Stacking the cups on the side of the sink, you dry your hands as you reply, “I always knew he would. Is it somebody you know, from college?”

“No, he said they went to high school together and met again at a reunion party. “

You’re having trouble keeping up with the conversation at this point, feeling your eyelids becoming more insistent in their bid to shut, so you just pat an amused Jungkook on the shoulder in acknowledgement before you manage to say through a yawn, “I’m excited to meet him. ‘Night.”

“Remind me again why I didn’t dance more in college,” you groan from your sprawled out position on the wooden floor of the room.

Taemin walks up and down the three rows of tired, panting dancers, looking infuriatingly fresh and straight off the ramp despite having just run through a terrifyingly complex and intense routine. Your only consolation is the fact that he seems to be the only one.

“Because you’re a nerd,” comes the reply to your rhetoric.

You try to move your leg hard enough to connect with Jungkook's, but all you can manage is a pitifully weak love tap on his shin. He lets out a wheezy sort of laugh from his straight legged, sat down position on your right, body tiredly leaning on his palms behind him. On your other side, Hyejin is faring marginally better than the both of you. She looks a little tired, but eager to, god forbid, go another round. She always was more active in college. It used to annoy you, when she used to wake up at the ass crack of dawn to go do something awful, like exercise, but now you wish you had joined her occasionally, if for nothing else but to have a stamina greater than a sedentary brick.

“On your way out, make sure you check the notice board in the reception for information about the competition.”

“Boom? It still happens?”

Taemin fixes you with a dry look as you slowly sit up and copy Jungkook’s position. “Shockingly enough, this institute runs perfectly normally even without you around, Y/N.”

Mr. Kibum taught him a bit too much, you think, as chuckles erupt around you.

Rolling your eyes, you reply, “Oh, please, we both know I’m only asking because a maximum of four teams used to participate when we were in school. Third place just meant second last.”

“We made it a solo and duet competition three years ago. More teams, easier to coordinate for participants. We’re doing much better than we used to.”

It makes sense. BigHit, as a studio, used to have a small but dedicated group of patrons. Everybody knew everybody, and there were only two rooms. But looking at how much bigger this new building is, and the number of students in this contemporary batch that you’re a part of, not to mention the multiple rooms that you pass by every weekend filled with screaming children learning how to pirouette and b-boy, it’s clear that there’s been an increase in customers.

The lot of you trudge outside the room, making your way to the entrance in a babble of ‘Goodbye!’s and ‘See you next week!’s. You can feel the familiar soreness setting into your legs and back, but it seems less intense than it used to be. You’re rifling through your bag for your water bottle as Jungkook reads the poster on the notice board.

“See you at work!” Hyejin calls out as she walks towards the doors, letting you give a distracted wave to her retreating back.

“Ah, shit, I think I left my bottle inside. Give me five minutes?”

Jungkook nods, not really paying attention to what you’re saying, too engrossed in the pamphlet.

With an internal groan, you turn around and walk back the way you just came until you reach the room you’re looking for. Pushing the door open, you stop to a sudden halt, feeling like the SpongeBob with headphones meme.

The sight you’re met with leaves you gaping. The man dancing inside is gliding through the music, elegance pouring out of every fingertip. His back is facing you, and you can make out the strength and control he has over his movements, shoulders fluidly firm and back flexing with each lift of his arms, slow twist of his hips through his plain white t-shirt. It seems, for a single, permanently ephemeral moment like the music is radiating from his very being, and not from the speakers on the side. You hardly realise that you’re still standing, that you’re still breathing, but watching his limbs flow with such commanding grace somehow makes you feel so, so alive.

Abruptly, the music stops, and you feel like you’ve been woken up from a year-long slumber, suddenly conscious of your body, of your existence. He still hasn’t noticed you, frozen as you are at the doorway, and he walks towards the speakers away from the door. You don’t look away, slightly out of breath, and with a start, you notice your blue water bottle on the floor next to his shoes on the side.

Gingerly, you step into the room and softly clear your throat, feeling like you’ve just desecrated someplace holy. The man turns around, speaker in one hand and phone in the other, slightly panting, and the moment comes to a standstill yet again, suspended with wild surmise.

“Y/N?”

The floppy brown hair, those twinkling eyes and pouty lips. Suddenly, you’re ten years old again, sitting with your best friend under a tree and discussing excuses to get out of doing homework.

“Jimin?”

You’re meeting each other in the middle of the room now in a tight hug, and you step away with a million questions running through your brain.

What’s Jimin doing back in this city? Why is he practicing in the studio alone? Is he staying? When did he get so pretty?

The last thought hits you like a bullet train and you impatiently shoo it away. It’s been twelve years, of course he looks different.

“You look great!” he says, eyes crinkling as he smiles, tiny dimple popping, in the I haven’t seen you in a really long time and this is how the script for such situations reads voice.

“So do you! How come you’re here?” you enthuse, referring to the same play, still reeling.

“I moved back a week ago! Do you still live here?”

“Moved out for college, came back for work-"

“Hey, Y/N, what’s taking you so lo – Jimin?”

“Kook! You’re here too?”

You watch Jungkook’s face morph through shock, surprise, confusion before mirroring your own expression of bemused joy as he meets Jimin in the middle for a hug. Seeing them like this makes your heart ache with the memory of the last time the three of you were together, that final evening under Jungkook’s tree, as the sun was setting on the horizon and you were all promising each other that you would write thrice a week. Even you and Jungkook, despite the fact that you both weren’t moving anywhere. Of course, not a single email was sent. Not unless you count that one week in college where you were avoiding your texts like the plague and used exclusively email to contact a very exasperated Jungkook (“Y/N, you literally do not even have to reply to my messages, but every time I get an email notification, I keep thinking it’s from the university and I don’t know if I should be relieved or worried when I see that it isn’t.”).

Before you know what’s happening, leave alone protest, Jungkook’s pulling you into the hug so your head is smushed into his chest, face a hair's breadth away from the side of Jimin's. He’s still giggling with Jungkook as the latter says, “Hey, this is so great! The three of us, just like old times, yeah?”

You take in the crinkles around Jimin’s eyes as he smiles, the sweet, high pitched, deliciously familiar sound of his laugh, his playful voice as he says, “It’s wild that you used to be the shortest of us,” to a faux offended Jungkook, and with the memory of him dancing like that still etched in your mind, you know that this is nothing like old times.

You push yourself out of the hug and plaster on a smile to cover how unsettled you feel on the inside. You’ve never been good with change, and this is a huge fucking change.

Laughing along for a bit, you let out an internal sigh of relief as Jimin winces and says, “Taemin and I are gonna be dancing together at the competition and he'll be here any minute, so I really should get back to practicing. He channels Mr. Kibum’s spirit even more when he has a vested interest in the outcome, and he really wants to win.”

“Oh, yeah, sure! No worries, we'll let you get back to it, then,” you utter, perhaps a tad too enthusiastic. Jimin doesn’t seem to notice anything, just giving you one of his wide smiles before the three of you exchange numbers.

Jungkook finishes entering his contact on Jimin’s phone and hands it over to him. “We should totally catch up sometime, though!”

Jimin agrees enthusiastically with a swift grin and says, “Yeah, definitely! We'll make plans soon,” and the next thing you know, and not nearly quick enough, you’re out on the pavement, absentmindedly counting the tiles as you and Jungkook walk back home.

“Are you overthinking this?”

You’re pulled out of your thoughts by his question. He’s got an infuriatingly knowing look on his face that you want to smack right off.

“What’s there to overthink?”

“It really isn’t a big deal, you know. I mean, yeah, it’s been a million years since we saw him and it kinda sucks that we couldn’t keep in touch and obviously, puberty hit him like a glorious, gorgeous truck, but he’s still Jimin.”

Side eyeing him, you wonder if it’s a good thing that it sounds like he’s just read your mind.

Sighing, you reply, kicking at a pebble in front of you in half-hearted annoyance, “He’s just so...grown up. And old.”

“You're three months older than him, if I remember correct.”

Debating on whether you should direct your next kick at him instead and deciding to spare him, you say, “You know what I mean. I know he’s still Jimin, but I feel like I don’t know him at all. You should have seen him dancing, Kook, it was beautiful. So poised and graceful and wonderful and skilled. I’ve never seen anybody dance like that apart from Mr. Kibum, maybe. Who is he?”

“There, there,” Jungkook replies after your sudden, passionate outburst, patronisingly patting your head as you huff and shake off his hand. “We literally just spoke to him for the first time in twelve years. I feel weird about it too, but I’m sure we'll be more comfortable once we spend more time together. We’ve grown as well, yeah?”

First Hoseok, now Jungkook. The amount of wisdom that’s been shoved on you from unexpected quarters recently is quite astonishing.

You tell him as much, swerving his swatting hand and narrowly missing bumping into an annoyed couple walking next to you. Giggling as you simultaneously apologise and teeter precariously on your heel, trying to regain your balance, Jungkook lets you suffer for a while until he finally takes pity and grabs your hand just in the nick of time, standing you upright.

“Tae wants us to meet his partner tonight over dinner,” he says, ignoring your scowl of annoyance as you hoist your bag higher on your shoulder from its displaced position.

“I’m meeting Yoongi for dinner today, though.”

“Tell Tae that. He’s annoyed you aren’t replying to his messages anyway.”

In a mumble, you reply, “He shouldn’t take it personally.”

Jungkook just hums in response as you both climb up the stairs to the apartment, more than used to your delayed replies. “Can you get Yoongi to bake that chocolate cake again? I’ve been craving it.”

Pushing the door open, you say, already dreaming about dessert tonight and Yoongi’s cooking skills, “Me and you both, my dude, me and you both.”

Yoongi : How long will you take to reach?

Depends. How long will the cake take to get ready?

Yoongi : If you aren’t here in fifteen minutes, I’m eating it and only leaving enough for Jungkook.

Open the door.

“Took you long enough,” Yoongi huffs as you close the door behind you and step into the foyer, slipping off your shoes in the doorway.

“Hey, I was only listening to what Hoseok said. I am to, and I quote, completely relax this weekend because next week's gonna be hell apparently.”

He flicks you on the forehead, easily dodging your half-hearted counter attack before leading you into the house. The smell of food wafts out of the kitchen, nearly making you salivate. If there’s one good thing that’s come out of moving back to this city, it’s that Yoongi never moved out and where Yoongi lives, good cooking thrives. He always did pay more attention to your mother’s lessons.

You’re preoccupied with trying to guess what the smells are, eyes closed and nose sticking up, when you suddenly bump into your brother’s back.

“Move over, then. What are we waiting for? It doesn’t taste as good reheated,” you say, eagerly trying to move past his frame so you can enter the kitchen slash dining room.

But something in his manner seems shifty. Slowly, you bring the balls of your feet back to the floor and stop fidgeting as you take in his evasive expression.

Sighing, you ask, casting one last doleful expression to the doorway that’s so close yet so far, “What did you do?”

“Who says I did anything?”

At your unimpressed look, he huffs before taking a deep breath, as if to summon up some courage.

“Y/N,” he starts, his uncharacteristically sweet tone making you wary.

“Yes?” you slowly ask, simultaneously suspicious and curious.

He places his palms on your shoulders and your younger sibling instincts kick in, ready to punch him in the stomach if he tries to flip you. But there’s no trace of mischief in his unsure, slightly scared eyes. Pleased as you are that Yoongi feels the need to be cautiously terrified around you, you wonder what you’re about to hear that’s making him anticipate a negative reaction.

In a soothing voice, he says, tilting his head like how he used to talk to you when you were seven, “You know that you’re my favourite sister, don’t you?”

Okay, that’s it. With an impatient click of your tongue, you wrench his hands off and swiftly sidestep him to the kitchen doorway as you mutter, “I’m your only sister, fool.”

But the insult never leaves your mouth, stuck as it is on the tip of your tongue. You’re left halted at the doorway, gaping like a fish at the figure sat on the table, Yoongi’s voice urgently, uselessly hissing, “No, wait, don’t go in yet!” behind you and trailing off like a deflating balloon.

“Hello, Y/N,” Kim fucking Jennie says, pleasantly smiling up at you, looking completely unfazed.

“Hi- Hel- Hey, Jennie.”

Your embarrassing stutter ends in a growl as Yoongi behind you chuckles, his laughter morphing into a deeply satisfying grunt of pain as you elbow him in the stomach as discreetly as possible.

Jennie's slightly widening grin shows that maybe the motion wasn’t as discreet as you had hoped. Oh, well. As long as it hurt like a bitch.

For a moment, you just stand there, looking at her with your mind blank. Twice in the same day, you’ve been left at a loss for words, feeling awkward and uncomfortable. She doesn’t seem to be too affected, sitting calmly and steadily looking at you through her black, full-rimmed, cat-eye glasses, like a drastically younger and more female version of an Asian Dumbledore. In fact, if anything else, she seems like she’s having quite a good time. Her smile doesn’t waver, and you’re still thrown by how young and non-terrifying she looks when you aren’t in front of her in a boss-intern capacity, but all that will come later. For now, you need answers.

Thankfully, at that moment, from behind you, in a voice that sounds disgustingly like a male turtle dove cooing to his romantic counterpart, Yoongi breaks the deafening silence. “Could you give us a moment, Jennie?” he asks, and with an amicable nod from your boss, he guides you back out to the living room with his hands on your shoulders.

The moment you’re out of earshot, you whip around to face him, mustering as much anger and irritation into your gaze as you can. “What the fuck?” you hiss, distantly glad to see him a great deal more scared than he had been when he laughed at you back in the kitchen.

Not giving him a chance to reply, you rapidly continue, “What is my boss doing in your bloody kitchen?”

He holds up his palms in a placating gesture as he says, “Now, I know this is a bit of a shock-"

“Figured that out all on your own, did you?”

“-but Jennie and I are...seeing each other.”

“Oh my god. Oh god. Holy fuck. I need to sit down.”

You drop onto the couch behind you, Yoongi tentatively following your lead, gingerly perching himself out of punching range.

As you try to wrap your head around this lovely surprise, he continues, “I know she’s your mentor and stuff, but it isn’t going to be any different at work or anything. You weren’t even technically supposed to meet her today. Her car's gone for servicing and her Uber’s running a little late.”

“Okay, wait, wait. How do you even know her?”

Looking slightly less wary, now that he can tell that you aren’t going to attack him, he says, “I met her at one of those company parties last year, when Hobi made me go as his plus one.”

You straighten up so fast, it’s a wonder your spine doesn’t crack. “Last year? You guys have been dating for an entire year?”

Trying to subtly shift slightly away once again, realising that the jury’s still out on physical violence, he slowly replies, “No, no, we’ve only been together for, like, two months, promise.”

You slump again, but shoot a venomous glare at Yoongi so he won’t lower his guard. “How old is she, even? And also, does Hoseok know about this?”

“28, and yes.”

“No fucking way,” you say, now in awe for a completely different reason. “She’s a division head before thirty?”

You regret it immediately, though, as Yoongi’s visage takes on a moony eyed expression. “Yeah, she’s really smart. Did her internship and online classes at the same time and skipped a grade in school.”

“Oh, ew, ew, okay fine, I understand. Stop doing that with your face, please,” you rattle off, completely disgusted by this ghastly display.

He’s about to say something, probably flattering because that always serves to soften you right up, when you hear the soft clearing of a throat. Both of you whip your heads in the direction of the sound comically fast to see Jennie at the end of the room near the foyer, phone in one hand and bag in the other. Immediately, the two of you stand up, although for different reasons.

It looks like she’s trying not to laugh as she says, “My ride's here, so I’ll let you guys get to dinner, yeah?”

“I’ll walk you out,” Yoongi immediately replies, taking on that tone that you’re quickly getting incredibly tired of.

Jennie nods with a wide smile, eyes crinkling on the sides as Yoongi gently places a hand on the small of her back once he reaches her. You try your best not to gag. You might be 22 years old with some reasonable amount of experience in the romantic field, but there are some things that you just do not need to see.

“See you at work, Y/N!” Jennie says. All you can manage is a half nod half bow, and ridiculously, you have to actively fight the urge to salute. You narrow your eyes as Yoongi lets out a snort at your actions that he quickly and not very convincingly tries to cover up with a cough, quickly ushering an amused Jennie towards the door.

An amused Jennie, you think, hardly daring to believe it, as you make your way back to the kitchen, determined to hold the chocolate cake ransom until he tells you more about Jennie. Only Jennie, mind you. Not Jennie and Yoongi. You wouldn’t want to touch that with a five-foot pole, not anytime soon, at least. But your mentor slash potential future boss alone, on the other hand, seems really fucking cool right about now.

“I’m telling you nothing. If I have to wait for a week to get a reply, you can wait a couple more minutes to see him for yourself.”

You scowl at Tae, holding your tongue from reminding him that replying to a stupid cat video ranks much lower on the urgency scale than being armed with some semblance of information about his new business partner that you and Jungkook are going to be meeting in five minutes.

Next to you, Jungkook snickers and says in a sing-song voice, “I told you so.”

Tae continues fixing you with that obstinate glare, lips wrapped around the bright, red straw jutting out of his plastic cup filled with something that’s probably too edgy and expensive to taste good. Like everything else on this menu.

When he had sent the address to the two of you, you had exchanged one of those looks, one of those only half-joking Can he pay our rent? looks and immediately started planning lunch at home before going for lunch at this...cafe? Restaurant? Bistro? Either way, the hard, wooden table in front of you looks more comfortable than the tall stool you’re sat on and the drink you’re nursing that was advertised as coffee tastes more like mud water mixed with cheap fertiliser.

The stool opposite you, next to Tae, remains empty as you all wait for this dude that you have absolutely zero information about. It'd be nice to be prepared, is all.

“While we’re waiting,” Jungkook starts, voice pleased at the stand off that’s happening in front of him. Always a slut for drama, that one. “Did Y/N tell you that Yoongi’s dating her boss?”

Tae's eyebrow lifts higher as he lets the straw go with a pop before saying, “No, she didn’t. But I’m not surprised.”

“About her not telling you or about Yoongi dating her boss?”

“Both,” Tae replies to Jungkook’s question, fixing you with a stern glare.

Before you can defend yourself, and it'd be a mighty solid defence seeing as how you yourself found out less than twenty-four hours ago, Tae continues, “Yoongi's always had a thing for powerful women.”

Sputtering, eyes wide, you say, “But you don’t even know my brother!”

Next to you, Jungkook roars in laughter, coughing as he swallows his weird, green concoction. You don’t bother helping him. Let him choke.

“Jungkook’s told me enough about him. He seems cool. I don’t know how you’re both from the same family.”

As you huff and flip him off, Jungkook, who’s just managed to calm himself down, sets off again. You’re about to chide him for laughing at your misery when the bell atop the door you’re facing gives a happy little trill, admitting the fifth patron in as many minutes, and decidedly the most unexpected, terrifying and beautiful entrant so far.

You can’t explain what you do next. You can’t even say that Jungkook has the whole apartment brain cell because he’s hiccupping into his drink and looking incredibly stupid while doing it. But your first instinct when you see Jimin enter is to hiss, “Oh, fuck no,” under your breath, panic in your gaze as Tae looks at you in concern, before slipping off the stool and ducking under the table, hitting your head in the process.

Pain blooms across your temple, but you have no time to attend to it, as the next thing you know, you’re belatedly realising that Jimin knows Jungkook too, and however well concealed you are, the other man is doing nothing to seem inconspicuous. Summoning all your strength, you’re about to give a good, strong tug to Jungkook’s pant leg, hoping that that should be enough to get him down here too, when from above you, you hear Tae loudly saying, “Jimin! Over here!” and Jungkook giving a tiny ‘Hey, it’s Jimin!’

What the fuck?

From your vantage point, you can see a pair of white shoed feet turning and walking closer, the tall table giving you a lovely view right up to Jimin's black jean clad thighs. Your mind is running a mile a minute, wondering whether you can manage to crawl out towards the door without anybody noticing and maybe sneak back in once Jimin’s left.

Before you can make up your mind, eyes glued onto Jimin’s approaching feet, Jungkook’s head pops down next to yours, floppy hair blocking your line of sight. “You good down there? Comfy?”

With a sinking feeling, you realise there’s no escape now, Tae’s voice already giving a small whoop of welcome. You shove Jungkook’s head a bit, nudging at him to straighten so you have enough space to clamber out, plastering a smile on your face.

You pop up just as Jimin reaches the table fully, he and Tae with wide grins on their faces as they both turn towards you and Jungkook after their ‘Hey!’s.

He looks even prettier than he had yesterday at the badly lit studio, floppy hair being held back by a pair of shades perched atop his head and eyes crinkled in what you now think is a permanent smile. You feel your fake grin morphing into something softer, more genuine as he tells Tae, “You didn’t tell me your friends were Y/N and Kook!”

Tae's befuddled expression is a sight to behold as you, Jungkook and Jimin continue beaming at each other in pleasant surprise. Vaguely, you think this should worry you more, your sudden, absolute lack of panic obviously a sign of insanity. But, honestly, you think you’re fine. Apart from the whole first reaction is to hide under the table thing.

Your heart might be beating a little faster than its resting rate, and your palms may be a bit clammy, but emotionally, it suddenly feels quite easy to be around him once you’ve seen how comfortingly familiar his dimples are.

“So, you’re Tae's business partner?”

“Yup,” Jimin nods as he pushes his stool closer to the table to get comfortable. “Small world, huh?”

Jungkook nods, knee bouncing excitedly next to yours as he takes a sip of his drink, grimacing after. “Definitely,” he replies through a wince.

Your own coffee sits in front of you, untouched after that first sip. Your gaze moves a little forward and gets momentarily caught on the silver bracelet on Jimin’s wrist.

“Where are you staying?” you ask, more to prove to yourself that you can say something without embarrassing yourself, because you know that Jimin saw your little escapade and he’s just too nice to bring it up, but Jungkook and Tae won’t be quite so forgiving when they interrogate you later.

“I’ve rented a studio apartment for now,” he replies, scanning the drinks menu in front of him. You wish him luck finding something good.

“How’s Yoongi? Still plays basketball?” Jimin asks, once he’s wisely decided to not order anything.

“He's dating Y/N's boss,” Jungkook says before you can respond, still, for some unfathomable reason, drinking his sludge-in-a-cup.

“Is that...is that a problem?”

“No, Y/N's just really scared of her. Like super wimpy when she’s around.”

Your whiny protest is halted by Jimin replying thoughtfully, “I’m kinda not surprised. I vaguely remember Yoongi dating that really intense emo girl once all those years ago. I see his type hasn’t changed.”

Huffing as Jungkook snickers and Jimin gives you a teasing grin that makes your stomach give a weak flop (which will be analysed later), you decisively say, “Yoongi’s fine. He lives here too and runs a tattoo place with Jin, the super tall dude who used to be over at my house all the time. And I’m not that scared of my boss.”

“Oh! Jennie, let me get that for you. Oh, of course, Jennie, I’ll do anything you ask, I’m so far up your ass – Ouch!”

Your foot makes contact with Jungkook’s shin, effectively stopping his disgustingly high pitched, incredibly inaccurate imitation of you, but does nothing to prevent your breath from slightly catching as Jimin giggles at his antics.

The perfectly pleasant, three-way tête-à-tête is interrupted by the loud sound of palms hitting the wooden table as Tae, whom you’re amused to say you had forgotten about, whips his head between all three of you, looking completely bewildered.

“Why are you all talking like you know each other?”

“I don’t know if I feel like telling you,” you reply, feeling vindictive at his betrayed expression. Now he knows.

Jungkook’s tight lipped next to you, sulking like the child he is and periodically bending down to rub his leg entirely too times to be warranted.

Jimin, on the other hand, looks curious as well as he asks, “I actually wanted to find out, too. How do you guys know Tae?”

Of course, you’ll answer him.

“He and Kook went to the same college. I, unfortunately, know him by association. How do you know Tae?”

“High school. We ran in the same circles.”

On noticing his business partner's annoyed expression next to him, Jimin continues with a faux-curious voice, bending forward on the table, leaning on his elbows so he can pretend to be interested, “How do you know Kook?”

You ignore the shiver that runs down your spine at the intensity of his eye contact, however playful it may be, in favour of aiding and abetting this mission of How Annoyed Can We Make Taehyung Today by replying, “Oh, twelve years of schooling together. What about you, how do you know Kook?”

Thoughtfully humming, he’s about to respond, but he’s interrupted by Tae saying in an annoyed voice, “Jungkook, if you answer my question, I’ll pay for your lunch.”

The response comes almost too quickly, but you can hardly blame him. Shit's expensive. “We all used to be best friends here until Jimin moved away right before middle school.”

“Oh, that’s wild,” Tae says thoughtfully, shooting you a smug look at having procured the information that you were withholding.

You all order food and conversation pauses as you, Jungkook and Jimin poke around in your meals, looking for something that appears edible, contrary to Tae, who seems perfectly content chewing mouthful after mouthful of bland celery and olives.

“Do you guys have a location for the store yet?” you ask, trying to spear a half-cooked pasta piece on your fork.

“We settled on a building yesterday! It’s pretty, lots of light and air, some good backroom space too.”

“And our first shipment's arriving in a few weeks,” Jimin adds, eyeing his plate suspiciously, as if the burger's going to eat him.

“We just need models now,” Tae nods, satisfied and leaning back on his chair, squeaky clean plate in front of him.

Jungkook seems to be trying very, very hard to not look at his salad as he eats it, and after what appears to be a very painful swallow, he asks, “Aren't you guys doing the modelling?”

And suddenly, the thought of Jimin smouldering in front of a camera rushes into your mind. You really wish this place had some normal fucking water instead of the herbed shit that’s there in the glass bottle at the centre of the table, because you really could do with some cooling down.

Once Tae's clarified that yes, they will be modelling their products but they also need a female model for that clientele, you clear your throat and ask, nonchalantly enough, toying with your fork, “Have – uh, do you have modelling experience, Jimin? Did you do some stuff in college, like Tae?”

“Oh, nothing big or official. Just a couple of shoots for a few showcases and helping out a friend who majored in photography.”

“He’s being modest,” Tae grins, all Cheshire like. “I’ve seen his photos, they’re really fucking good. If our products weren’t already so great, he would’ve been able to save them.”

Half of you wants so, so bad to see these pictures, to see him looking into the camera like he’s staring into your soul, but you think you’re maybe better off watching his blushing face and crinkling eyes, covering his flush with two hands, peeking through the gaps between short fingers.

You don’t realise you’re staring until you feel Jungkook giving you a tiny pinch on your arm, unseen by the others. Hurriedly busying yourself with the food in front of you once again, edibleness be damned, you push those thoughts away, grounding yourself with the solemn reminder that you have work the next day, Hoseok's warning glaring in your mind.

The rest of the afternoon goes smoothly enough, Jungkook letting out a crow of victory on seeing how expensive his dish was (because this is one of those places that’s too edgy for prices on the menu) and that he wouldn’t have to pay for it. There’s a momentary panic that sets in when you’re leaving, as Jimin goes in for a hug when your hand is still up in a wave, but you get out of it unscathed enough, only slightly embarrassed.

Tae : please?

No.

Tae : i'll pay for your petrol

As much as I love your money, no. Now stop bothering me, I’m almost at work.

Tae : ugh fine. but is there anybody you know instead? that girl who came for yours and kook's housewarming? hyerin something

...Hyejin.

Tae : yes her! could you ask her, please please please?

Will you pay for my meal the next time we go out?

Tae : only if you don’t pull a kook on me and order the most expensive thing on the menu

I can work with that. I’ll talk to her today.

Tae : okay thanks lylyly, let me know by the end of the day!

Snorting, you switch off your phone just as Hoseok pulls into the car park. Surreptitiously, you look around, searching for a familiar sleek black sedan.

“She won't be here yet. Always a little late on Mondays.”

You ignore his knowing look in favour of twisting around to get your bag as you huff and reply, “You don’t even know what I’m looking for.”

“Oh, Yoongi told me everything. I don’t know why I keep missing all these moments between you and Jennie, they sound like such fun.”

Feeling partly relieved that you won’t have be having a super awkward interaction with your boss slash brother’s girlfriend first thing in the morning and partly resentful that Hoseok was able to read you so easily, you half heartedly scowl up at him as the two of you walk towards the glass doors.

“How was your weekend?” he asks, pushing the elevator buttons. The lobby is mostly empty right now, nobody else waiting with you for the lift that’s currently on the topmost floor.

Dryly, you reply, “Oh, has Yoongi not told you everything about it yet?”

At his exasperated look, you respond again. “It was whatever. Dance class, dinner with Yoongi, the shocking, life altering revelation that he's dating my boss, the usual. Oh, and you remember Jimin?”

“The kid you used to hang out with all the time in elementary school?”

“Yup. He’s moved back. Opening that clothing store with Tae.”

He hums in distracted interest as the both of you watch the elevator come closer to the ground floor, stepping on as it dings.

The doors are about to shut close when you hear a hassled ‘Just a moment, please!’ from outside, and on instinct, you press the button to keep the elevator open. Not a moment later, Kim Jennie slips into view, and enters the lift with a polite ‘Thank you,’ the very picture of professionalism.

The universe has started its meddling early today.

You and Hoseok shuffle backwards, making space for her as you catch his gleeful eyes. As the doors shut and she presses the button to the seventh floor, you can feel the familiar stifling awkwardness that always seems to appear when she’s around, only now it’s ten times worse.

You’re certain the lift has never moved this slowly before, but Jennie makes no sign of saying anything to you and you sure as hell aren’t going to bring shit up. But the same can’t be said of Hoseok, apparently.

He clears his throat, absently looking at the numbers moving on the display on the top of the elevator doors, and you shoot him a suspicious glance, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Conversationally, he asks, “How’s your brother doing, Y/N?”

You could murder him, you really could.

Eyes darting between Jennie's straight back and Hoseok's slightly shaking shoulders, you shortly grit out, “Fine.”

And then, just when the door finally opens and you’re determining whether he’s an important enough employee to be missed very terribly, you catch sight of a tiny, amused smile of Jennie's face as she walks out of the lift first.

It throws you off enough to let Hoseok go without any lasting damage, only breaking out of your shock when you notice Hyejin walking towards you, annoyed look on her face. In a flash, you remember your promise to Tae. Hyejin must be kept happy and agreeable and susceptible. If not, you’re doomed to be the newest face of the VMin Experience (because it isn’t something as basic as a store). Tae just has to offer to pay for a couple more things and you’re a goner.

“Four fucking emails. The office isn’t even fully open yet and I have four codes to debug before lunch already. Fuck product rolling week.”

This is for Tae. This is so I don’t make a fool of myself on camera.

With as sweet a grin as you can muster, you reply, “Why don’t you send me half of them? I can finish it up for you.”

It doesn’t have quite the effect that you’re hoping for. Instead of simpering and agreeing and giving you one of her trademark million-watt smiles, full of gratitude and good cheer, all she does is narrow her eyes suspiciously.

“Why do I feel like you have some ulterior motive to this?”

“No! No ulterior motive, I promise. Just wanted to make things a bit simpler for you. Can I not want my closest friend to be relaxed?”

She regards you for a moment, beady eyed. Apparently deciding that you sound legitimate enough, she slowly takes out her phone and forwards two emails to you.

“Fine, but only because I’ve just been sent on a coffee run and Namjoon’s drink always takes too long to make.”

“Of course,” you reply, nodding genially as you hear a ping from your pocket. And then for good measure, you summon the lift for her, holding the door open as she steps in, smile plastered on until the doors shut on her sceptical eyes.

Tae : have u asked her yet

It’s been two minutes since we made this agreement.

Tae : so that’s a yes?

It’s an I’m-working-on-it. If you keep asking me every two minutes, I’m blocking you.

Tae : hope you aren’t planning on convincing hyejin with that sunny attitude

Fuck off.

You thank your cab driver as you exit the vehicle, watching with slight regret as he drives away. Might have been useful to have a getaway car.

Product rolling week is not, in fact, an entire week. It apparently runs only until Friday morning, after which all of you get a let-off, leading to a fake, watered down excuse of a three-day weekend.

And if it were up to you, right now on said Friday evening, you’d be curled up under covers after an early dinner (like 6 PM early), with a cup of tea and a good book, doing your damnedest to forget the just completed week from hell and mentally preparing for two, glorious, work-free days.

But no. You have no book with you. No blankets and pillows and no warm tea. All you have is Uber surge pricing and the building that you’re standing in front of that reads The VMin Experience on a small, wooden, obviously work-in-progress board.

You opt to watch from the outside for a bit, looking into the store through the glass. They’ve got two mannequins up already, one dressed in street fashion with a backwards snapback and the other in a whole ball gown, pearl string necklace included. It’s an experience, alright. Squinting, you can make out a wall that still has plastic wrap up and a ladder with a few stools, paint cartons on the floor. The store seems empty, but the message from Hyejin on your phone reads ‘COME TO THE BACK ROOM!!!’.

Casting one last, rueful look at the street, you sigh and push the door open, immediately hit by the smell of turpentine and varnish and general construction work. There are golden track lights fixed on beams from the ceiling illuminating a few naked mannequins on the floor and you pick your way through the newspapers to reach the door behind the payment counter.

The first thing you see is Jungkook speaking into his phone held in one hand and holding up an umbrella stand with the other. Then you notice Tae crouching, camera held up to his eyes, shutter clicking as he focuses away from you. You observe as Hyejin does her smoulder-smile-pout routine that fills her Instagram feed and shoot a quick thank you to the universe that she had agreed so easily to doing this shoot. There’s no way you could have done what she’s doing now without spontaneously combusting.

In the corner of the room, there’s a clothes rack pushed right up to the wall, filled with hangers and sample clothing that they’re modelling right now. You see it jiggle a bit and realise with a start that there’s somebody changing on the other side. And it doesn’t take a genius to realise who the somebody is.

At the sound of your shoes scuffing the floor, there’s a temporary halt in the proceedings as Tae turns around and says, “Oh, finally. Move that light a bit closer. This is a bitch to do alone and Jimin’s taking too long to change.”

You'd linger a bit longer on the offense that you’re feeling at being ordered about like this, but Jimin’s head pops up from behind the stands at that moment as he replies with a grunt, “This outfit has too many fucking layers, I’m stuck,” and suddenly, as you’re assaulted by a hint of his clavicle, the annoyed pout on his face and the disgruntlement in his eyes that morphs into happiness as he notices you, any and all displeasure you feel at Tae's tone flies right out the window.

You wave shakily in response, watching with a tinge of sadness as he disappears back down, only for Tae to huff and say, “Okay, Y/N, new plan. Go help Jimin with that outfit. I’m finished, Hyejin’s almost done. Just Jimin’s last shot and we can wrap up.”

You wonder what kind of expression you’re sporting at Tae's demand. Something between shock, fear and a weird, perverted, refusing-to-be-tamped-down sense of glee. Either way, you have no choice as he just goes back to photographing Hyejin, who slips right back in to model mode after giving you a big, cheery wave. Jungkook only fixes you with an apologetic sort of look as he continues to talk into his phone and move the umbrella the way he’s asked to.

He’s recently taken to dictating his novel instead of typing it out, and it’s led to you waking up at ungodly hours in the middle of the night on hearing Jungkook curse after stubbing his toe while pacing, talking into either his phone or his laptop. As a software professional, you’re glad. As somebody who quite enjoys sleeping, not so much.

When you hear another grunt from behind the clothes hanger, you’re forced into action, dropping your bag next to Jungkook’s work sling on the floor before calming your nerves with a deep breath and making your way towards the corner.

You stop right in front of the rack, gaze firmly fixed on an invisible point on the recently painted, smooth, grey wall, a few inches above your eye level. Teetering on the balls of your feet, you slowly ask, “Uh, Jimin? Do you need any help?”

Please say no, please say no, please say no. Don’t do this to me.

“Ugh, yes, please. That’d be great. You’ll have to come in through the clothes though, just move some hangers around.”

Thanks a fucking lot.

With another deep breath, you hesitantly pluck at the hanger right in front of you that’s holding a black, sequined jumpsuit that you’d probably think of buying if you hadn’t known that The VMin Experience has luxury brand pricing. Maybe if you take long enough, Jimin will be able to figure it out himself.

“Uh, Y/N? I can’t move my hands.”

No point in holding out for a hope then.

Internally sighing in acceptance of your fate, you push the hanger to the side so you can step in through the ensuing gap.

You’re greeted by the sight of your ex-best friend's naked, taut back, his arms stuck upright in a weird angle above his head, pale blue shirt stretched across his elbows and multiple white silk straps trailing out from it towards the floor.

You can’t look away from it, from the back of his neck to his shoulders, eyes trailing down until they reach the small of his back, centre of his tapering waist, and the moment you notice that he’s wearing tight, black, leather pants, you suddenly feel very warm. It’s a cramped space, and you’re covered on all sides by two walls and a tall, diagonally placed clothes rack, and the awareness that you’re so close to him, and that he’s hardly decently clothed, and that he has the prettiest fucking neck hits you like a truck loaded with arrow wielding baby cupids.

“Were you able to get in? I can’t tell, I’m afraid I’ll fall if I try turning around.”

His voice echoes in the closed space, making the privacy and proximity even more prominent, and it’s an effort to keep your voice from shaking with nerves and breathlessness as you reply, “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’m here. How do you want me to help?”

“Let me just turn around, give me a second. I think a thread's caught on my finger, if you could just – Oh, fuck.”

It’s instinctive, how your arms shoot out in alarm as he nearly topples over in his attempt to shuffle around, your hands landing on his waist as you straighten him, helping him regain his balance. The moment he seems stable and not a second later, you tug your burning limbs back, memory of his soft, warm skin seemingly permanently embedded in your fingertips.

He can’t see you, a random flap on the front of the shirt hanging over his eyes, and it’s probably for the best given your wide eyed, terrified expression. There’s a flush beginning at the base of your neck and rapidly climbing up, and it distantly annoys you. It’s not like you’re the one who’s half-nude and momentarily blinded.

“Okay, so if you could just untangle that strap near my finger, I think it should be fine. I just need to be able to move my elbows.”

You stop staring at the tiny litter of moles on the right side of his waist with a start, rushing into action, belatedly and furiously realising that your mouth is open and likely has been ever since you entered this holy sanctum of inadvertent porn.

Taking a tiny step closer to his frame, you lightly stand on the balls of your feet so you can begin extracting him from the fabric. He stands silently, but this close, you can feel his steady breath on the side of your head as you deliberately concentrate on getting the shirt across his elbows. You try your hardest to not touch his skin, but it’s difficult when the cloth is this tangled, and at one point, your pinkie finger ends up twisted around his, and in a flash, you’re transported to a decade ago, when the two of you had linked fingers in his backyard and solemnly promised each other that neither of you would ever, ever kiss somebody, because kissing is disgusting and gives disease.

You feel a squeeze around your finger and you flinch. From behind his makeshift veil, you hear Jimin chuckle before softly saying, “I remember it too.”

Trembling, you give a tiny quirk of your lips that is, in theory, a grin, but probably more of a grimace in execution, before you hurriedly move on. You ignore his small hands, the bracelets on his wrist, his breathy giggle as your fingers accidentally brush against the inside of his elbow, the bumpy patch of mosquito bites on his shoulder as you undo the messy loops that the straps have managed to wind themselves into.

Before you can step away, the fabric falls, revealing his face and a relieved grin, teasingly, nerve-wrackingly close to your own.

You clear your throat, rapidly stepping away, looking anywhere but at him.

“Thanks, Y/N!” he says cheerily, tying the straps at the wrist together, as you obstinately refuse to drink in the perfect way the problematic outfit fits his body that you’ve seen entirely too much of.

“No problem,” you mumble, and you’re surprised yourself at how steady your voice comes out. “Anything else I can do for you here?”

A cheeky grin followed by, “Nothing, unless you want to watch me take my pants off.”

You chuckle along with him, blocking out any and all images that your mind is conjuring as you hurriedly step away from him, ducking out from under the hangers and reappearing on the much cooler, much larger and much more oxygen-rich other side.

As you move the light around the way Tae asks you to, absently looking at Hyejin finishing up and Jungkook closing his phone with a satisfied expression, you force yourself to relax, to slow your breathing, to ignore the rustle behind you as Jimin comes through and steps in front of the camera.

You can hardly hold a decent conversation with Jungkook and Hyejin as the three of you eat dinner together at a café nearby once the shoot is over, only supplying miscellaneous hmm's and haw's as they discuss the dance competition at BigHit. It’s a small, saving grace that ensures that Jimin and Tae stayed behind to do some decorating instead of joining you. You can’t imagine just how much more you can take of these annoying, bodily reactions every time Jimin even breathes in your general direction, and you refuse to analyse them now.

“Are you alright? You’ve been sort of quiet today,” Jungkook softly asks later as the two are walking home, streetlamps casting shadows in front of you.

“Fine,” you reply, waving away his concern. “Tired, that’s all.”

He doesn’t let up. “Hyejin said you were a bit jaded while leaving the office today morning. You’re sure you’re okay?”

You run with it. It’s easier than explaining that you haven’t been able to stop thinking about the half-naked form of the third best friend of your little group from elementary school. “Yeah, I had a bit of a headache. Long week.”

“Well, it’s over now!” he says cheerily, ever the optimist. “And there's dance class tomorrow, that should be fun.”

Not if it goes anything like last week’s class, when you met Jimin for the first time in more than a decade.

You manage a small smile and he takes it, probably thinking you’re still exhausted from work, turning back to face the pavement.

“Y/N.”

“Kook.”

“Y/N.”

With an annoyed huff, you let yourself fall onto the couch behind you as Jungkook promptly does the same. His phone is open in his hands, email from BigHit open on his screen. You hadn’t bothered to read the body after seeing the subject, but apparently, Jungkook wasn’t so dismissive.

“Come on, there’s prize money. Prize money. How is this not enticing you further?”

“I haven’t danced properly in four years, Kook. And that money’s only if you win.”

“So we'll practice! Remember how well we used to dance together in those high school showcases? And how much fun you used to have? Do you remember, Y/N? Do you remember what fun is?”

He gets a little intense by the end of it and you respond with a flick to his forehead, the most you can manage in your still sleepy, exhausted haze. Both of you are tired, him from class and you from the long, sleepless night you had spent tossing and turning and willing away flashing images of bare backs and white straps and stupid giggles and tiny fingers.

And Jungkook thinks he can convince you to participate in Boom along with him when you’re in this condition.

“Why can’t you ask Hyejin?”

Absently rubbing the tender spot on his forehead that your finger had satisfyingly connected with, he doesn’t let up, only fixing you with a pleading look that you’d be more susceptible to if you haven’t been on the receiving end of it a million times before.

“Hyejin’s going solo.”

“Oh, so I’m a last resort?”

He sputters and you watch, satisfied, thinking he'll give up now, but he’s nothing if not stubborn, only scrambling momentarily before he shoves his phone insistently in your face.

“How are you so sure we'll lose?” he demands. “And even if we do – don’t look at me like that, – it isn’t that big of a deal! It’ll be fun, please? Now that you have some free time and I’ve at least got a vague sense of where I want my book to go? The competition’s three weeks away, that’s a lot of time.”

You know you have no choice but to agree once he’s given his little speech. You’re teetering at the edge of a decision when he opens his mouth again, excited look on his face.

“And we'd probably end up bumping into Jimin more!”

Shields up, defensively, you ask, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Confused, he replies, “We haven’t spoken to him properly yet, yeah? And we’re all so busy during the week that we haven’t had a chance to catch up since we found out he’s back.”

Relaxing a bit, you say, “Oh! Oh, yeah. Yeah, okay. I’ll do it.”

But Jungkook doesn’t seem entirely convinced. A shrewd look overtakes his face, eyes narrowing in a suspicious expression that you’re not entirely fond of. Slowly, he asks, “Why? What did you think I meant?”

“Nothing! Anyway, I’m gonna go shower. We can start practice tomorrow and all my evenings are free next week!”

You ramble it all out in a rush, some unknown energy appearing as you jump off the couch and leave the room rapidly. Behind you, you can hear Jungkook mumbling in confusion, but pleased nonetheless as he registers both your names for the competition.

You wonder if you’ll be able to get through a single conversation ever about Jimin without your stomach erupting in dread and awkwardness and terrifying fear. And more importantly, you wonder how long you’ll be able to avoid it and how long you’ll be able to hide it from your shockingly perceptive roommate. When his head isn’t stuck inside the washing machine or under restaurant tables.

“Oh, it’s been too long since we did this last,” Hyejin says as she tops up your glass with some dollar store wine, setting the bottle on the centre table before she leans back on the couch, her own glass held precariously as she folds her pyjama clad legs under her, head propped up by an arm resting on the back as she faces you eagerly.

You respond with an agreeing nod as you take a sip of your second glass, cross-legged on the other end of her sofa.

“Now,” she begins, all business-like, and it immediately puts you on edge. “Are you going to tell me why you didn’t come for class today morning?”

Shrugging as nonchalantly as you can, you reply, “I over slept. Recovering from the week, I think.”

And from Jimin, a traitorous voice in your head adds. You impatiently shoo it away. You aren’t going to tell her that you woke up with your alarm, came as far as taking a shower and wearing your leggings, even began to pack your bag, before being faced by the possibility of meeting Jimin today. You can’t tell her that you chickened out at the last minute and when Jungkook knocked on your door, asking if you were ready to leave, you had faked a headache and decided to stay in. You can’t tell her that you’re avoiding your childhood best friend because he’s too fucking pretty and too fucking sweet and invokes too many bloody emotions in you that you prefer to circumvent, still not having registered them yourself.

She nods shortly, but her voice remains uncertain as she asks, “Are you sure? You did seem a bit shaken yesterday after the shoot yesterday.”

You wave away her questions dismissively. “Yes, yes, I’m fine, promise.”

She drops it, taking another slow sip. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

The two of you drink in silence for a bit, only sounds being the occasional slurp and the knocking of glass against teeth.

“Are you participating in Boom?”

Scowling, you reply, “I have been strong armed into doing so, yes.”

She grins at you over her glass as she takes a sip, “Jungkook asked me if I wanted to be his partner today. When I told him to just ask you, he got kinda squinty eyed. I think he knew you were going to put up a fight.”

Flattered about your reputation, you give a short, satisfied nod before you ask, “Is BigHit letting participants use their rooms for practice?”

“Oh, Taemin told us about all that today. All rooms are full on weekday evenings and weekend mornings. Every other time is free.”

You feel your stomach sink. You’ll be the first to admit that this wasn’t your preferred choice of activity for the next three relatively easy, work wise, weeks, but now that you’ve committed, you want to win, godammit.

She gives you a sympathetic grin, patting your knee. “I know, those are the only free slots we’ve got. But what're you gonna do?” she shrugs.

“We'll have to find a place. Maybe we'll just move around some furniture in the living room.”

Again, you both relapse into silence, thinking about how to make it work. Slowly, a tiny frown appears on Hyejin's face, the kind that she gets when she’s just thought of a possible way to get rid of an error in a code but isn’t sure if it'll work without fucking up some other section of the program.

“You could ask Tae and Jimin if you can use their shop,” she slowly says, looking at you unsurely.

Even as your heartbeat picks up, you fight to keep your face placid as she continues, “Like, I know it’s new and shit, and it’s their baby and all that, but it’s roomy enough. It isn’t like you’re both gonna go wreck the room by dancing. And that back room that we used last night for the shoot, that could work!”

She looks at you, waiting for an answer. You buy some time, contorting your expression in one of contemplation as you lean forward to refill your glass, but inside, you feel like you’re warring with yourself.

It’s a pretty good idea!

But Jimin.

They aren’t opening the shop for two more weeks!

But Jimin.

It’s not like they’re gonna say no!

But Jimin.

“I’ll talk to Jungkook about it,” you say, keeping your voice level, settling for the most diplomatic and inconspicuously evasive answer you can manage.

She nods, content with your reply as she leans back. You mindlessly make your way through your glass, once again, annoyingly, caught up with thoughts that don’t bear thinking about, when her downturned phone on the coffee table in front of the couch pings with an alert.

It’s always shocked you that you know somebody who doesn’t permanently keep their phone on silent or vibrate, but you can’t dwell on it for too long.

“Taehyung just sent me the photos from yesterday!”

Fuck.

Her excitement is infectious, though, as she clambers closer to you, grinning eagerly, phone tilted so you can see the screen loading. You place your glass on the table before leaning back comfortably, cushion on your lap and heart in your mouth. Best not to be holding delicate items when you see this.

Distantly, you wonder whether you can make a quick getaway, or come up with a believable excuse in such short notice. You had sort of envisioned yourself being alone when you saw Jimin's pictures. Last night, after the...emotional debacle, you had studiously not looked at him for the remainder of the shoot, only moving around the light when you were asked to, gaze stuck on the ground or trading funny expressions with Jungkook across the room. Your goodbye had been perfunctorily cordial, steps consciously measured as you walked out, skin burning at the memory of the hug he had left you with.

Are you excited to see Hyejin’s and Tae's photos? Yes.

Can the same be said of Jimin’s? Not out loud.

You shoot a quick prayer up, although you’re beginning to quickly lose whatever meagre amount of faith you once had, just as the screen finishes loading, tiny thumbnails appearing.

You squeeze your hand in a fist, preparing for the worst as Hyejin opens the top image. Irrational as it is, you curse Tae for putting Jimin’s photos first as you’re assaulted (blessed?) by the dancer looking somewhere to the left of the camera, body languidly, precisely positioned with all the elegance and strength that comes when he’s on stage, deliberately supercilious pout playing on his lips, eyebrow cocked in a challenge to whoever’s in the background.

Nothing big or official, my ass.

Photo after photo flashes in front of you as you take in his smug smirk in one, his hip jutting out sideways in another, his fingers partway through running them through his hair, him in the middle of a giggle that you can hear, eyes shining, dimple popping. Distantly, as you greedily drink in the white straps dripping from his outfit as he smoulders, looking like an ethereal dream, you realise that you don’t want the pictures to stop.

You don’t pay attention to how obvious you’re being until you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder, pulling you out of the map you’re tracing with your eyes along Jimin’s neck, and with a start, you notice that you’ve been looking at the same image for nearly half a minute.

You shut your mouth abruptly at the expression on Hyejin’s face as she looks at you, head tilted. The silence is heavy, pregnant as you try to find some way to get out of this mess.

“Y/N,” she slowly starts, caution in her voice as she lowers the phone before you can say anything.

Not meeting her eyes, you squeak out, “Yes?”

She doesn’t say anything at first, only surveying you with that same, scrutinising, unsettling expression as you carefully retrieve your half-full glass, everything on edge.

“Something you’d like to say?”

“No, not really.”

She just hums in response, bringing the phone back up to go to the next lot of photos, these of Tae. She drops the conversation there, but you’re under no allusions as to what she’s figured out and what she hasn’t. The faint blush on your cheeks should be indication enough, if your blatant ogling wasn’t. All she does is give you a gleeful, knowing look, one that’s full of significance and that reads ‘I know what this is about, but I won’t make you talk about it now because you look like you’re about to shit a brick,’ before she clears her throat and continues scrolling through the photos.

You’re apprehensive as you do the same, leaning back to your previous position and casting a dubious sideways glance at her, but all she does is roll her eyes and say, “You think too much.”

Real genius, that one.

Either way, you’re grateful she doesn’t bring it up then. Or later, when you’re both eating ramen out of the pot as Seinfeld plays on the television. Or even in the dark, when you’re both about to fall asleep, because the older you’ve gotten, the more you’ve begun to truly appreciate the sleep part of sleepovers. The next morning, as she’s waving you away at the door, the only indication she gives that she even remembers the conversation is a wink and a ‘Don’t worry.’

She should become a therapist, what with all her golden wisdom.

“Come again?”

Exasperated, you sigh before you obediently repeat, kicking your feet up on the counter and leaning back languidly on the rolling chair, “Jungkook’s late.”

Yoongi looks at you suspiciously as he repeatedly pokes your shin to get you to remove your shoes from his precious work station. “But Jungkook’s never late. That’s your thing.”

Scowling, you impatiently swat his hand away as you reply, “Yes, I know. But he got held up at work.”

He gives up, resigning himself to moving the needles away to keep them safe from your pivoting feet. “I keep telling him he should quit. What kind of company makes their employees stay this late on a Friday evening?”

“Luxury magazines for affluent readers,” you respond, your fingers up in air quotes. “Either way, if his novel does well, he’s out.”

Infuriatingly predictably, you had chickened out of asking Tae and Jimin about using their store for practice. And Jungkook hadn’t even thought about it, which was great. In fact, you hadn’t spoken to Jimin the entire week. You wouldn’t go so far as to say you had been avoiding him, but twice, when Jungkook had tried getting the three of you together ‘like the old times', you had lied about having office work, despite the fact that this had been the most relaxing week in your intern life so far.

The past four weeknights were spent in your new practice studio: the backroom in Yoongi’s tattoo parlour. You wouldn’t say it's the most ideal of spots for multiple reasons.

One of them being that every time you’re late (read: every evening so far), Jungkook and Yoongi have a jolly good time talking shit about you. You’d think your roommate and your brother would hold some amount of love and respect, but when you had entered the room on Monday evening at 7:15 PM, they were compiling a lovely list of Top Ten Times Y/N Has Embarrassed Herself In Public. And they didn’t even have the gall to seem sheepish. Jungkook had just looked at your scowl with an amused grin and Yoongi had said, “If you’re late tomorrow, we're going to make one for the number of times you’ve whined about something stupid.”

And then on Tuesday evening, when you had dawdled for too long around the corner, trying to decide between having dinner before or after practice (and eventually settling on skipping the meal entirely), you had entered the shop at 7:21 PM, only to see Jennie and Jungkook engaged in a wonderful conversation about God knows what, all smiles and ‘Nice to meet you!’s. You were stuttering through your customary, “Oh! Hel – hi!” with Jungkook snickering in the background when Yoongi came out from the back, tossed you the keys and told you to lock up, and then swept a very bemused Jennie out the front door.

Wednesday was fun, in that Yoongi was busy with a late appointment and you and Jungkook made some headway, but on Thursday, Hobi decided to sit in, so it ended up being two hours of ‘What are you doing with your hands?’ and ‘Make it look natural, guys,’ as he and Yoongi traded sips from the emergency whiskey flask that your brother keeps in the shop.

And now, 7:30 PM, Friday evening. Two weeks left for the competition and you and Jungkook have been getting on fairly well, better than you had anticipated. If only he'd show up.

You send him a message, deciding to call him if he doesn’t reply in the next ten minutes, when you hear a polite knock on the door. Confused, you look at Yoongi with a tilt of your head. Jin’s out of town, Hobi doesn’t knock and Jungkook sure as hell doesn’t knock. He looks just as bewildered as you, letting go of the tattoo pen he was in the process of arranging and slowly walking towards the door. A louder, more urgent knock comes and you let your feet fall on the floor with a thud as Yoongi hastens to open it.

You hear the voice before you see the owner, nearly falling off your chair as you make a clear path to the sofa at the end of the room as Jimin and Yoongi carry a clearly unconscious Jungkook to it, laying him down as you rush behind them, worriedly asking the newcomer, feelings be damned, “What happened?”

“I was passing by when I saw him walk into a pole and fall down,” Jimin replies.

You don’t want to laugh, you really don’t, but as Yoongi sprinkles some water on your dance partner’s face and he slowly begins to stir, you can’t stop a simultaneously relieved and disbelieving giggle from erupting.

“He what?” you ask, calming down enough to kneel down on the floor, next to Yoongi, and look in awe at your roommate, marveling at his stupidity.

Jimin shrugs as he explains, “He was looking at his phone and just sort of walked into the pole. I didn’t know where to take him, but I remembered you saying something about your brother having a tattoo parlour somewhere here and figured I’d try my luck.”

“He weighs a ton. How did you carry him?” Yoongi asks as he adjusts Jungkook so he isn’t in danger of falling off.

“It wasn’t easy,” he replies. “What does he eat?”

“Protein mostly,” you respond, as Jungkook finally opens his eyes. You imagine it must be quite an experience for somebody to come back to consciousness and see three half-amused half-concerned faces swimming above them, but Jungkook handles it admirably.

“Wazza?” he blearily asks, drool slipping out the side of his mouth as he struggles to sit up.

The three of you back away, Yoongi handing him a bottle of water.

“You’re in my place. You fell outside. Jimin got you here.”

Jungkook gulps some water as he tenderly presses at the faintly purpling bruise right at the centre of his forehead. “Oh, thanks. Did I look cool?”

Jimin winces before replying. “You walked into a metal pole, so I’d say no.”

If your roommate were a normal, sane man, he’d be upset on receiving this news. At least slightly embarrassed. Not that his line of questioning had indicated anything even remotely resembling intelligence, but you’d think that at this point, he’d make up. But on the contrary, his glazed eyes clear up and a gleeful look overtakes his face.

“Do you think he has a concussion,” you mutter out of the side of your mouth to Jimin, as Jungkook opens his mouth to say something.

The giggle you get in response should not make you feel like prancing around in a field of roses and calling all humans your best friends.

“I remember why I was distracted! I got it!”

“Got what, a disease?”

For somebody who was recently unconscious, he’s capable of a great stink eye. You’re vaguely impressed.

“I got the next scene. Where’s my phone?”

Jimin moves towards the couch, pulling Jungkook’s mobile out of his back pocket and handing it to him. “Maybe don’t type while walking on the road next time,” he grins as he takes a seat next to him.

You hadn’t noticed Yoongi leaving the room, but he walks back in now with a bottle of fruit juice, speaking as he makes his way to the couch that the three of you are now sitting on, Jungkook feverishly going through a word document in the middle.

“This reminds me of when you all would come over and sit for hours on the couch in front of the television at home. Mom would give you all the snacks and then send me to do a grocery run at that corner shop the moment you left,” he says, fond smile on his lips as he gives Jungkook the bottle.

In a trice, that’s where you are, ten years old, Jungkook sitting wide eyed as you quickly got bored and kept changing channels because ‘This is my house, so I get to decide what we’re watching,’ and Jimin giggling ever so often at the miscellaneous cartoons you skimmed through.

“Shit, that couch was the best,” present Jimin sighs as he leans back on the seat, you and Jungkook nodding in agreement.

It’s easier to think of him that way. As your best friend of eight years that you shared all the drama and excitement and blown-out-of-proportion, self obsessed sadness that came with infancy, adolescence and preteen years, who left right before middle school, cutting your trio down to two. Maybe if he had left later, it wouldn’t be so hard to navigate him now, but you were all too young to keep in touch, and school and extra curriculars took over and now, seeing him after all these years, he’s just lying in that sweet spot between achingly familiar and unsettlingly different.

You don’t realise you’ve zoned out until Yoongi asks, “Do you guys still need the place for practice tonight or can I lock up?”

“Oh, I saw that you two were paired together in the sign-up form! Is this where you’re practicing?”

“Yup,” Jungkook replies, making sure his juice bottle is out of your reach. He’s probably noticed you eyeing it like a cat about to pounce for the last few seconds. “Where are you and Taemin practicing? Do you get extra BigHit room privileges?”

Jimin sighs a little, disappointed frown on his face that you realise, with a start, you want to kiss away. And then, belatedly, you wonder why you’re even surprised any more. “We had to drop out. Taemin got too busy with organising the competition and by the time he told me, it was too late to sign up as a solo performer.”

You can tell he’s upset, but he does an admirable job covering it up, pouted lips morphing in a wide smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he continues, “But I’m super excited to watch you guys on stage, though!”

All intentions of grabbing Jungkook’s bottle when he’s distracted fly out the window at the sympathy you feel. If that day, when you saw him dance in that practice room, is any indication, it can’t be easy for him to sit back and watch others on a stage participating in a competition he can win with his eyes closed.

“Oh, that sucks, man,” Jungkook says as you wrack your brain for something that sounds a little less hollow and a little more comforting. You come up empty and offer a sympathetic grimace, but somehow, you think he understands what you’re trying to convey. Like that secret code the three of you had, where vowels were consonants and consonants were vowels and everything had to be written upside down except every fifth letter, italics optional but preferred. You had a lot of time on your hands.

“You can watch us practice, though, maybe. And help out? You used to be the best at choreography,” Jungkook says with a grin, blindsiding you with his request.

“I’d love that!” Jimin responds, and you feel a thrill at how he doesn’t fake modesty, at the hint of cockiness that comes through in his voice.

Perhaps it’s the fact that Jungkook's just woken and the bruise on his forehead is only slightly lessening, or maybe that Yoongi’s right there, still waiting to find out if he should close up shop now or not and that he’s always been perceptive, but you force yourself to calm down. So what if Jimin watches you dance? You both went for class together for years. No biggie. Not worth giving your roommate another bruise.

“Can you dance now? Or do you want to just go home and continue tomorrow?” you ask, clutching at straws.

“I think I can dance, I feel fine. Fruit juice was great,” Jungkook says, making to get up.

“Yeah, Jennie got it from one of those organic stores she shops in,” Yoongi replies, nasty turtle dove making a reappearance.

You’re about to gag, or very pointedly look away, but before you can so much as decide on your method of conveying disgust, Jungkook, in the process of standing up, folds in on himself, knees buckling as he lets out a pained grunt. You, Jimin and Yoongi act on impulse, arms jerking out and catching him before he can fall, eyes wide with surprise and concern.

He settles back in his previous position and gingerly bends down, experimentally twisting his right ankle and hissing out a pained ‘Fuck.’

“I think it’s a sprain,” he winces, slowly moving it forward until another distressed flinch casts a shadow over his face.

Jimin bites his lip worriedly on Jungkook’s other side and you watch Yoongi help him slowly take off his shoes with a grimace.

“Y/N, there’s an ice pack in the mini fridge in my office.”

You don’t let him continue, only nodding as you swiftly rise after casting another anxious look at Jungkook, who’s looking everywhere but at his leg.

On your return, you see him lying face down on the couch, right foot propped over one arm rest as Yoongi says, “He must have fallen at a weird angle. It only seems like a sprain, but I don’t think he should dance.”

Jimin looks impressed as he watches Yoongi expertly place the ice pack in position and Jungkook huffs in simultaneous relief and disappointment.

“A million basketball injuries will do that to you,” you reply in answer to Jimin’s unasked question.

“What about the competition?” Jungkook whines.

You’re surprised to find the tinge of disappointment when you shrug and say, “We'll have to drop out. I’ll let Taemin know in class tomorrow and tell him to take us off the list.”

“But the choreography!”

Jimin steadies him as Jungkook slowly sits up, adjusting so he’s holding the ice pack, scandalised expression on his face as he looks at your drooped shoulders.

“Nothing we can do about it. Maybe we’ll try again next year.”

And then he gets that look. That expression that indicates that he’s thinking of an idea that’s good for him but sucky for you. Slowly, he swivels his head towards a confused Jimin sitting next to him before moving towards you, eyebrows scrunched, deep in thought. You can practically see the gears shifting in his head.

Warily, you ask, “Kook?”

His eyes are still narrowed and moving, but the frown slowly morphs into a small smile as he distractedly, instinctively replies to your question. “Yeah, what’s up?”

“Is there...is there something on my face?” Jimin enquires, slowly backing away on the couch.

Only the cutest fucking pout I’ve ever seen in my life, your brain unhelpfully supplies.

Jungkook doesn’t directly answer, but finally begins to explain why he looks like an automated form of The Thinker, his grin slowly growing. “You guys could do it together.”

“Do what?” Jimin asks.

It, your permanently horny inner voice replies.

Out loud, you ask, “Kook, what are you talking about?”

“You guys can go for the competition together! Jimin can be your partner instead of me.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I don’t mind.”

You turn your determined, closed off face to Jimin’s calmly curious expression in astonishment.

“What?” you demand.

“I don’t mind,” he repeats, shrugging but cautious at your unexpected vehemence. “If you still want to perform and need a partner, I’d love to step in.”

Jungkook claps in glee as you continue staring, mouth opening and closing like a fish, but no sound coming out.

“Then it's settled!” he says before a shrewd expression overtakes his face, single eyebrow cocked as he looks at you with challenge in his eyes. “Unless...Y/N has objections?”

You’re caught facing the barrel of a loaded gun, Yoongi behind you, obviously already intrigued by your uncharacteristically passionate reaction, Jimin on the couch, pleasant smile playing on his face, eager with the thought of being given a chance to perform but not wanting to guilt you into anything and Jungkook, big brain Jungkook, disaster child Jungkook, waiting for you to make your decision. As soon as you see the small glint in his eyes, a niggling doubt emerges in your head about whether he’s managed to figure out your feelings before you’ve even accepted them yourself.

With an internal sigh, you plaster on a smile and reply, “Nope. No objections.”

Jungkook’s face clears, a brief flash of victory in his eyes before he beckons you closer, holding his right arm out for you to sling over your shoulder as he stands up.

Jimin gives you a satisfied grin, chuckling and taking your stupid roommate’s other arm as you nearly buckle under the weight.

“Thanks for taking care of me, Yoongi! How you and Y/N share the same blood, I’ll never know.”

Yoongi snickers, “You and me both, dude. Try not to put too much weight on your foot!”

And if you give a small pinch to the side of Jungkook’s waist where your hand is resting, that’s your business (and your satisfaction when you feel him flinch).

“Do you need any help getting him home?” Jimin asks as the three of you wait outside the building under the dark sky waiting for the cab to arrive.

You’re still reeling from the developments of the last few minutes, head terrified but heart perversely gleeful, and you don’t look directly at him when you reply, opting instead to direct your gaze at the little black dot on the map on your phone that indicates where the car is. “No, I can manage, thank you.”

Once Jungkook’s safely inside the car, Jimin doesn’t let you immediately follow suit, stopping you with a smile outside your roommate’s closed door before you can round the vehicle.

His body isn’t too close, but in your head, you run through the choreography that the two of you will be doing, and you know that that’s going to be far from true over the next two weeks.

“Hey, are you alright? You don’t have to dance with me if you don’t want to. You seemed a bit uncomfortable back there, when Kook suggested it.” He looks sheepish almost, but understanding, palm coming up to rub nervously at the back of his neck and other hand inside the pocket of his black jeans.

As he slightly rocks forward and back, you want to grab his face, bring them down to your level, look him the eye and tell him, equally stern and emotional, that he has occupied so much of your mind for the last week and that if there’s anybody here who should be unsure about this, it’s him.

You clear your throat under his light gaze before you reply, confidently as you can, “I was just thrown by the change of plans. I’d love to dance with you, honestly. I still think about that day we first met- well, met again- when you were practicing and how I’ve never seen anybody dance like that before.”

You’re as surprised by he is at the confession, immediately wanting to backtrack, but you don’t have the opportunity. A faint blush emerges on his cheeks as he looks away from your gaze, eyes crinkling in an embarrassed grin.

“Ah, Y/N,” he honest to God whines before taking a few deep calming breaths. You watch in fascination as all this unravels, drinking in this new Jimin. Fondly, before you can intercept it, the thought enters- you want to see just how many sides he has, want to experience them and revel in them.

“Thank you,” he mumbles with a small smile.

You can’t help but smile back, and the two of you are left grinning softly like a pair of fools at each other until a smart rap sounds on the window right next to you, making you startle into awareness.

Both of you turn to the car and see Jungkook peering through the glass with an expectant look on his face. ‘Are you coming?’ he mouths.

Flustered, you nod and give Jimin a small wave before going around him and entering the vehicle from the other side.

You’re too preoccupied to notice Jungkook staring at you, same shrewd look as last Saturday on his face, but when he lets out a soft ‘Ahem,’ you turn your head to look at him.

His expression is closed, and hardly clear as his face only gets illuminated passingly by the occasional streetlight, but his tone leaves no room for doubt when he says, lips quirking upwards in a small, teasing grin, “If you keep smiling like that when you’re talking to him, somebody could get the wrong idea.”

Maybe it’s the fact that it’s the end of the week and you’re too tired for confrontation, or that your roommate has a sprained ankle and you don’t want to cause him any more grief, or that you’ve finally accepted the state of affairs, but you don’t resort to your knee-jerk reaction of denial.

With a small sigh, you softly reply, not making much sense when taken in context of the conversation but conveying everything that needs to be conveyed either way, “Yeah.”

He looks surprised at your response, probably expecting a huff and an ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ but says nothing, just smiling at you kindly as you let your head fall on his shoulder.

“We can go to the doctor tomorrow morning and get your ankle checked, skip dance class,” you mumble as you watch the street ahead of you sideways, fingers absently fiddling with the strap of Jungkook’s bag in your lap.

He hums in reply, and you appreciate the silence, grateful that he knows you well enough to not bombard you right now.

Jimin (Do Not Interact) : Hey, this is Jimin! Park Jimin. Uhhh Chimmy Jimin. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that the shipments to the shop are a little delayed so we can practice in the backroom. It’ll be a bigger space than Yoongi's studio. I’m always here so let me know when we can start :D

You read and reread the message that was sent an hour ago, absently chewing your thumb nail.

“You do that a lot.”

“Do what?” you mumble, running through all the possibilities in your head.

Chuckling, Hoseok replies while shifting gears, “Look at your phone all worried. You’ve started a bit early today, though. And it’s still Monday. Bad weekend?”

Sighing, you reply, “Not particularly. Just...worried.”

“Anything I can help with?” he asks, patiently curious.

You flash back to ten years ago when Hoseok used to give you snacks whenever you accidentally (read: not) entered whichever room your brother and his friends were holed up in, kind, cheerful smile on his face as you shyly took whatever sweet treat you were being given that day before sprinting out of the room.

Taking a deep breath, already in awe at what you’re about to do, you tilt your phone towards him as he slows down at a signal.

He peers at the screen, looks up at you with a confused expression, and reads the message again.

“Is there something I’m missing?” he asks, as the light turns green and he starts the car again.

“First of all, why is he texting sense at 8 o' clock in the morning?”

“Y/N, have you ever considered the existence of people who enjoy waking up early?”

“Bet you’re one of them,” you huff.

He snorts before waving his hand in ‘Go on' gesture.

“Why is he sending smileys? What’s he so happy about?”

“Jesus Christ, he's just being nice, dude. How are you overthinking an emoticon? It isn’t even an emoji – are you blushing?”

“No, I’m not,” you say loudly, fighting through the unplanned flush on your face. Stupid smiley.

Your companion laughs as he sputters, “Okay, but I have a few questions myself.”

At your haughty nod after you’ve taken a few calming breaths, he continues, “Did he really think you wouldn’t remember him when you, very obviously, have a big, fat crush on him? Chimmy Jimin?”

“Stop,” you whine. In an undertone, you add, “That’s what I used to call him when we were kids. And it isn’t a crush.”

You’ve never been happier to see the office park.

“Are you going to reply?” Hobi asks, pulling into the mostly empty car park. “You know, because you’ve saved his name with ‘Do Not Interact'?”

You roll your eyes even as you know that your thumbs have been hovering over the keypad for the greater part of the last hour. “I will. Soon.”

“You literally just have to say yes or no. I’ll dictate it for you if you want. Yes Chimmy, I love you so much or No Chimmy, I love you so much.”

“Shut up,” you say, glaring at him as he laughs, thoroughly amused by himself. You both get your bags from the back, making your way into the building, text still open in your hand.

You’ve been staring at it for so long, that at first, you think you’ve imagined the green dot next to his name.

“Fuck, he's online,” you mutter in front of the lifts as Hobi giggles at your worried expression.

“Dude, just say yes or no, it isn’t a big deal.”

With a deep breath, trying to calm yourself, you slowly begin to type.

Sure, that’s a great idea! How does 6 PM today evening work for you?

“Perfect,” Hobi says, holding up three fingers in an OK sign when you tilt your screen towards him for approval.

“Smiley face?” you tentatively ask.

“It'd be accurate, you’re definitely happy."

You settle for a :) so it’s low-key before hitting send and immediately shoving your phone into your pocket, shaking your head to clear it for work.

“At the rate you’re going, you’ll have no nail left.”

“I am not entirely opposed to the idea.”

From the back of the car, Jungkook lets out a disgusted ‘Ew' even as he continues scrolling through his phone, absently biting his own index nail.

“Are you excited?”

“To get this over with? Yeah.”

Jungkook scoffs from the back. “There’s that charming Y/N optimism.”

“Don’t fight, children,” Hyejin says pacifyingly from her place behind the wheel. “We can tease her when she’s being a mess around Jimin.”

You scowl but have no comeback, because you can’t find the lie. In the backseat, Jungkook rubs his hands together like an evil fly.

“If I didn’t know that you’re perfectly capable of doing something as stupid as walking into a pole, I would’ve thought you set this up on purpose.”

He looks wounded at your comment, holding up a dramatic hand to place over his heart.

“We're here!” Hyejin calls out before any more confrontation happens, pulling up next to the curb.

“Thanks for coming along,” you sigh as you unbuckle your seatbelt, opting to leave your office bag in the car and only carrying your phone and water bottle.

Before Hyejin can reply, because obviously, the gratitude was aimed at her, Jungkook says, “No problem!”

You’re sure to gently jostle him a little as you loop his arm over your shoulder, helping him out of the car as you deadpan, “I was talking about Hyejin, fool. You practically begged to come along.”

He clicks his tongue in admonishment. “Is that any way to treat your injured best friend? After everything I’ve done for you?”

The eye roll is instinctive, but the banter serves to loosen you up a bit, weirdly calming down the butterflies in your stomach. Jungkook staying at home the entire day and not being allowed to work out means a lot of unspent energy, and you have no doubt that he’s going to be in full exuberance for the rest of the evening, at least until the painkillers kick in. You? You’d rather be anywhere but here, waiting for Hyejin to lock the car outside The VMin Experience at 5:55 PM, straight from work for dance practice with your...friend.

And if you’d prefer to spend your utopian free time scrolling through said friend's Instagram feed, that’s between you and God and your phone battery percentage.

“No thanks needed, I’m very excited to observe your reactions now that I have some background information,” Hyejin says gaily, sharing a beaming grin with Jungkook.

She pushes open the door as you let out a long, drawn out sigh and resist the urge to drop your roommate’s ass then and there when he theatrically whispers, “Happy face, Y/N. Happy face.”

                           ________________________________

“You good?” Jimin asks, only faintly panting, a single drop of sweat running down the side of his neck as he watches you, your hands clutching at the slowly forming stitch on your hip.

“Pe- Peachy,” you reply with a weak smile, gulping for air. Your legs feel like they’re gonna give out at any moment and even with the central cooling in the room, you could really go for an ice bath.

You bend at the waist, bracing your palms on your slightly bent knees. A bottle of water appears in your line of vision and you look up to see a kindly grinning Jimin.

“Let’s take a break, yeah? Five minutes,” he says, giving you a short, and what is probably meant to be comforting, pat on your back, but only serves to drag out the ongoing process of your heart calming down.

You’d think, after nearly an hour and a half of having his hands on your waist, fingers tracing your neck, palms closing around yours and the both of you moving together, you wouldn’t continue having all these physical reactions to a mere skim of skin over your clothed spine, but when has your body ever had a logical response to Jimin’s presence in the last few weeks?

Your breath slows down as you walk slowly around the room, looking at Jimin perfecting a step out of the corner of your eye. In the corner, Hyejin's subconsciously mirroring the dance as she shoots you a grin and a thumbs up. Your eyes sluggishly move to Jungkook, who looks like his painkillers have just kicked in, his eyes fighting to stay open even as he has an amused smile on his face.

The first thirty minutes had consisted of Jungkook teaching Jimin his steps with you as a prop, which basically meant you were passed back and forth as Jungkook explained as well as he could on one leg and Jimin caught on incredibly fast. It had been shockingly simple to dance with him, to let your body move with his and dip and soar step after step as he flawlessly executed the movements after watching Jungkook just once or twice.

You had nearly gotten caught staring at the furrow in his eyebrow as he concentrated, a similar pout on your lips as you yearned to lean up and smooth it out, but Jungkook had been too preoccupied to comment and you gave yourself a good, strong pep talk to focus.

And now it’s nearing 8 PM and you’ve just completed the first proper run-through, your body burning and your nerves hyper aware but so satisfied at the completion of a smooth rehearsal. In some weird, twisted way, it’s easy to not pay attention to the nervous, frazzled, constantly overthinking voices about Jimin in your head when you’re dancing with him.

Feeling a little calmer, you turn back around while gulping some water and see Jimin gathering his hair off his forehead and tying it up in a small ponytail, shorter strands falling out and hanging as wisps.

“Ready?” he asks with a grin, hand held out in your direction when he sees that you’re looking at him.

You swallow with difficulty and try not to be too transparent about the effect this new hairstyle is having on you as you muster a smile and nod, placing your palm in his, fingers only twitching slightly.

Hyejin stifles a short giggle, morphing it into a cough as you shoot her a sharp look before she restarts the track on the phone.

The piano intro begins, build up in the song already evident as Jimin pulls you close for the start position. You let the music wash over you, anchoring yourself in the sound and running through the steps in your head. Steeling your nerves, you meet Jimin’s eyes as you straighten your back, finding them twinkling in anticipation and unwavering concentration, gaze boring deep into yours as you both begin the routine again.

The rain is starting to come down heavier as you huddle close to the wall of the security cabin, trying to fit as much of your body as you can under the awning. Your laptop bag is secure in your arms as you use it to cover your chest, trying to receive some kind of warmth against the wind that’s picking up pace.

With a sigh, you unlock your phone for the fifth time in two minutes, checking if Tae’s given you his ETA. On seeing no new messages or missed calls, you close it again and let out a low groan.

A particularly strong gust of wind makes you shiver as you idly curse at your own stupidity for not checking the time while debugging the latest code you had been assigned and ending up leaving this late. If Hobi had come to the office today, he would have made sure you left on time, probably annoyed you into it as he played his stupid, TikTok songs playlist next to your desk until you agreed.

But he’s sick and you had spent twenty minutes sitting through awfully cheery morning radio in your Uber in the morning, too scared to request the driver to change it. And now, you’re standing outside the office building in the dark, waiting for Tae to come pick you up because no cabs are available.

The last message on your phone from him reads leaving in five! and that was sent fifteen minutes ago. You’re too caught up in trying to calculate what that means, time and math-wise, that you only realise that your boss’s car has drawn to a stop in front of you when the passenger seat window is rolled down and her concerned face appears, leaning over from behind the wheel.

You immediately straighten up from the wall, absently shivering against the droplets that hit your face and arms as you politely smile. Apparently, you weren’t the last one to leave.

“Get in!” she shouts to be heard over the sound of the rain, and at this point, you’re too cold and miserable to disobey. You transfer your bag and phone to one hand, pulling the door open and sliding in as gracefully as you can when your eyes are shut and your head is ducked to avoid the rain you’re momentarily exposed to. Which isn’t very graceful at all.

You nearly moan at the warmth inside the car, immediately feeling yourself getting less cranky.

“How come you’re leaving so late?” Jennie asks, moving the car so she can stop it against the curb before turning up the heat a little more when she notices you slightly shivering still.

“I was debugging something and lost track of time,” you say with a wince.

She nods in understanding, the light of the streetlamp casting a shine on her long, straight black hair as she pushes her glasses up.

“You have a ride back home? I noticed that you and Hoseok carpool but he didn’t come in to work today.”

“Yeah, my friend’s coming to pick me up. He should be here…sometime soon, hopefully.”

“I’ll wait with you,” she says. “I don’t want you falling sick, too.”

You accept with a grateful nod, more than willing to spend the next few minutes inside here rather than out in the rain.

Maybe it’s the fact that it’s a Thursday evening (night) and you’re going through the crushing, midweek existential crisis you’re prey to; or that the rain outside is getting heavier, small flashes of lightning indicating a larger incoming storm and you’re glad to have some kind of shelter; or maybe even that there’s a satisfying sort of soreness to your limbs from the now regular dancing, not painful but just present enough for you to feel content that you’ve done something, but the regular awkwardness seems practically non-existent.

Jennie doesn’t say anything, just quietly observes the rain from her seat, placid smile on her face like she’s been sheltering cold, helpless interns since she was four years old, and you feel no inclination to break the comforting silence, preferring to rub your palms in front of the heater vents, letting them warm up.

Until your phone begins to vibrate on your lap, caller ID reading Tae.

Eagerly, you accept the call, putting the phone to your ear. As fun as hiding out in your boss's car is, nothing sounds better than your bed and some pillows and a warm blanket.

“Talk to me,” you say immediately, anticipating good news.

There’s static for a while and you hear some talking in the background, something about boxes and back rooms before Tae's voice comes clear.

“There’s been a change of plans,” he starts, and you note with slight concern that there’s no sound of a running engine or rain on his end.

Warily, you ask, “What do you mean?”

A door closes in the background and now you can hear him easier, like he’s gone to a quiet place.

“A shipment got delivered early and since it was in my name, I couldn’t leave the shop.”

You feel your heart sink at his words, knowing from prior experience that it could take up to an hour for him to make it. In the suddenly deafening quiet of the car, his tinny voice through your phone rings clearly and you have no doubt Jennie heard. To her credit, she pretends to have not been paying attention, only continuing to look out of the window.

“Can you still make it?” you ask, cursing the day you and Jungkook decided to buy that washing machine that ate into your savings so much that you haven’t been able to purchase your own car.

He makes a soothing hum before replying, slowly and then all at once, “No, but Jimin is coming to get you and he should be there in five minutes tops.”

And now, in a rush, you’re seized up, unable to say anything except a tiny ‘Okay,’ in a voice that suggests that it isn’t really okay at all, if Tae's low chuckle is anything to go by.

It’s all fun and games having that rose-tinted feeling of liking somebody and being able to spend time with them and really embracing those giddy butterflies in your stomach every time you’re both in the same room, but when push comes to shove and you have to spend an extended period of time alone together without the buffer of music and the purpose of dance, you can think of few things more intimidating.

At your small tone, Tae replies, putting you more on edge, “Don’t worry, you don’t have to engage, he's pretty tired too.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I don’t mind engaging with him,” you respond, probably too defensive to seem convincing and too rushed to mask your knee-jerk panicked reaction.

He doesn’t give you a straight answer, and even though you can’t see him, you know his palm is held up in a pacifying gesture. “I’m just saying, when you like somebody, you tend to avoid one-on-one interaction with them which isn’t exactly conducive for fostering romance.”

“Fucking hell, does everybody know?” you groan as your head hits the back of the seat with a dull thud, momentarily forgetting about where you are and whom you’re with.

“Everybody except Jimin!” Tae replies cheerfully. In the background, you hear somebody asking for him.

You have no valid reply, only uttering a soft ‘Okay, bye,’ when Tae signs off by saying, “Okay, I have to go now. He’s coming in my car and should be there soon. Text me when you get home!”

Hanging up, you sigh, turning around to face Jennie who’s looking at you with a concerned expression.

“All good?”

Resisting the urge to bite your fingernails as you’re wont to do in high pressure, nervously anticipatory situations like this, you muster a weak smile and reply, “Yeah, everything’s fine. He should be here in a bit.”

She nods, accepting your half-baked response without question.

At that moment, through the sheets of rain, you see a familiar silver sedan pulling up on the opposite side of the road. Squinting, you read the number plate, and once you’ve deduced that it is, in fact, Tae's, you turn to Jennie and say, “That’s him. Thank you for waiting with me.”

She waves away your gratitude with a small smile, but stops you when you’re about to push open the door with a clearing of her throat.

Gentle but insistently, she slowly says, “From one woman to another, if you want something, you should go for it. Don’t hang around being scared or waiting for something to happen.”

So she did hear after all.

You don’t know what to make of it, don’t have any reply to her statement that won’t sound silly, can’t figure out a way to convey that yes, you agree with her one hundred percent, but this situation is different.

Your phone vibrates and you see the caller ID.

Jimin (Interact Only For Practice)

The headlights in the car opposite are blinking on and off, probably to signal to you that he’s arrived in case you don’t pick up your phone and you’re saved the bother of a reply by Jennie smiling kindly at your half-pleading half-flabbergasted expression and saying, “He's waiting for you."

With a gulp, you can do nothing but nod and stutter out another ‘Th-Thanks,’ before you push the door open and jog to the other side of the road towards your ride.

                                   _____________________________

“Here, I thought you might need this.”

There’s a sweatshirt placed on your lap, something soft, warm and as far as you can make out in the dim lighting of the car, black.

He does look tired, faint bags under his eyes that are missing their regular sparkle. He gives you a small smile, though, as he jerks his head in the direction of the fabric he’s set down on your thighs.

“You look cold. Do you want me to turn up the heat?” he asks, slightly husky voice, all kindness. You might not be particularly fond of water at the moment, given that it’s dripping from your hair and making your clothes stick uncomfortably to your skin, but given the chance, you’d drown in his voice right now.

“No, it’s perfect. Thanks for coming,” you reply, looking away under the pretense of tugging the hoodie over your head, unable to stare at him without needing to combust any longer.

It isn’t too big for you, just hanging a little bit off of your frame, but it engulfs you perfectly, immediately making you feel cozy and warm.

He starts the car, the bracelets on his arm jiggling lightly as he pushes it into gear. “No problem, really. I don’t mind helping out. Especially if it means you don’t end up staying in the rain and catching a cold.”

An easy smile accompanies his words, and you can only mumble something unintelligible in response, simultaneously flattered, shy and annoyed that you’re feeling.

A comfortable silence settles for an indeterminate period of time. It can’t be more than five minutes, but it feels like much longer before you muster up enough courage to ask, “How are things going at the shop? Everything running on schedule?”

“Yeah, more or less. Hectic, though. Nobody told us it would be this much work.”

There’s no bite in his words, just a mix of passive regret and satisfaction at taking up such a large project and seeing it go through.

“I can tell,” you reply, trying to be supportive. “Tae doesn’t send me as many cat videos as he used to anymore.”

The laugh that you get in response puts angels to shame, and you’re not sure you quite manage to keep the sappy fondness out of your expression when you take in the more relaxed droop in his shoulders and the smoothening of his face, at least a fraction of his regular happiness making a return.

“I actually wanted to talk to you about that,” he starts, the atmosphere in the car a little lighter and easier now, thanks to your stellar comedic timing.

“About Tae's cat videos?”

He shoots you a grin as he replies teasingly, “Maybe later. I was talking about the store opening.”

“Has there been a change of date? Last I checked, it was scheduled for Friday, the 17th.”

“It still is. But Boom is on the 18th, so any last minute run-throughs we'll have to get done in the next six days.”

You nod, thoughtfully. “I think we can make that work. We’re in a pretty good position.”

“We work well together,” he says, agreeing, probably not realising that his statement has just sent every nerve ending you have on high alert, shocking you out of that false sense of security you’ve been cocooned in for most of the conversation so far.

You mumble a slow ‘Yeah,’ as he absentmindedly pulls into your road, slowing down as he reaches the apartment.

Whatever ease you were feeling earlier has flown out the window, and now you want nothing more than to leave.

“Thanks for the ride! Oh, let me give you your hoodie bac-"

“Keep it.”

You look up from his hand atop yours, stilling your fingers in their momentarily abandoned mission at the side of your hip, his palm settling atop your fisted knuckles that have fabric twisted in them.

It’s like time’s paused as you see his kind smile, feel the warmth of his hand and the chill of the tips of his fingers that are almost cupping yours.

Swallowing when he makes no attempt to move them, just looking at you half-warning and half-gentle, like he’s daring you to return his sweatshirt when you’re still cold and wet and obviously need it for the walk up to the front door, you softly ask, partly whispering, though you’re not sure why, “Are you sure?”

He doesn’t break eye contact, just gently giving your hand a reassuring squeeze before releasing it, fingers curling around the wheel once more as he replies, “Yeah, you can return it at our next practice session.”

“Okay,” you mumble, nodding unconsciously and lifting your bag from the floor of the car as if in a dream, waving goodbye hazily until you’re taking the stairs up to your floor.

You unlock the door, and the moment it shuts behind you, you’re turning around and letting your body sag against it, slumped with your bag in one hand and the keys limp in the other.

You distantly hear Jungkook calling out from the living room, his voice getting louder as he limps towards you.

“Y/N, is that you?”

You don’t have it in you to reply, only grunting as you face his approaching form absently.

“Whose jacket is that?”

Fuck.

“Wow.”

You nod, mouth open as you stop next to a similarly gaping Jungkook, frozen in front of the newly unveiled storefront.

The sound of your cab driving away goes unnoticed as you both take in the transformation from the last time you had been here, nearly a week ago.

Since the shop had finally gotten too crowded with items and display pieces, and the storeroom actually had things to be stored, you and Jimin had moved your practices back to your living room with all the furniture (a grand total of one couch and a coffee table) pushed right up to the wall. Consequentially, you haven’t seen the shop in little more than a week.

The cheap plastic board that had been there earlier is now a sleek black and silver plaque with The VMin Experience written on it in that clean, classy, elongated font. From the outside, the freshly wiped glass windows give a direct view into lit up display mannequins clothed in designs. Even at ten in the morning, everything looks sophisticated and chic. There’s a small signboard hanging from the door handle that reads ‘OPENING TODAY!’ right above the PULL sticker.

“Do you think Tae will give us a discount?” you ask, as you take in the pastel pink blazer that the mannequin on the right is wearing.

You aren’t even remotely surprised when your roommate slash the devil incarnate nudges you in the ribs with his elbow and says, grin evident in his voice even if you aren’t looking at him, “I think you’ll have better luck with Jimin.”

After Jimin had dropped you off that night and you had stumbled up to the apartment all in a tizzy, Jungkook had questioned you extensively and didn’t even have the gall to hide his amusement at your retelling. Since then, he’s taken to dropping some very unsubtle hints like leaving post-its around the house with winky faces, which is very unsettling, and always making his SIMS characters kiss whenever you happen to be around.

Mercifully, he hadn’t been too unsufferable whenever Jimin came over for practice, probably realising that it was in his best interests to not antagonise you that much.

And you? You’ve been avoiding everything that even vaguely resembles romantic emotion as staunchly and stubbornly as a mule. God and your phone battery and your browser history (that includes but is not limited to Google searches like crush songs and how to stop thinking, and multiple BuzzFeed articles about zodiac compatibility and quizzes along the general lines of Tell Us Your Favourite Disney Movies And We’ll Tell You If Your Crush Likes You Back, combined with excessive usage of your notes app) might disagree, but that’s nobody’s business.

Especially not Jungkook’s, even if he did hear you singing bubble pop in the shower once.

“After you,” he says, completely ignoring your eye roll and letting you go in front of him, more to avoid the barrage of instructions that you’re both going to be on the receiving end of the moment you step into the store, than any real goodness of his heart.

You flick him half-heartedly on the arm before pulling the door open, immediately assaulted by the smell of fresh items and air conditioning. And something like lavender?

“Oh, good, you’re both here. Could you move that rack a bit to the left?”

You and Jungkook just exchange a short, amused look before obediently moving to opposite sides of the indicated shelf with hangers of clothes and moving it, as directed, a bit to the left.

Taehyung looks uncharacteristically nervous, his usually impeccably trim nails bitten at the edges and a frazzled look on his regularly smooth, bored face, and when the two of you turn to him, ready to receive more directions, he’s in the middle of trying to shift a stand that’s very clearly bolted to the floor.

“Uh, Tae? All good there, buddy?”

You know Jungkook’s talking in that corny voice, calling his friend the superior term of platonic endearment to get him to crack a grin, and it’s worked in the past, but all Tae does now is grunt as he tries harder to push the stubborn stand.

He’s dressed casually in a loose, black and gold button-up shirt tucked into tight, black pants, looking for all he’s worth like a rich patron of a modern art museum or a front row invitee to a global fashion week, but under the lights and with the fancy clothes all around and the sheer aura of expensiveness radiating from every surface of the shop, he fits right in. Apart from the annoyed curl of his lips as he continues his attempt to move a non-budging, nailed down shelf.

An irresistible force against an immovable object, if you will.

Slowly, you and Jungkook approach him, like you’re about to pacify a tantrum throwing toddler.

Hesitantly, you place a palm on his tense shoulder, right as he realises that the stand is attached and lets out an anguished groan.

“Is something wrong?” you ask slowly, when he makes no move to shake your hand off.

He exhales harshly, jaw clenched as he gathers himself before taking a deep breath in.

The verbal reply to your question comes from behind all of you, as Jimin enters the main shop floor from the back room, partway through rolling up the full-length sleeves of his shirt. Your throat goes dry as you take in his formal pants, distantly aware that Taehyung is wearing literally the same thing but had hardly evoked more than a vague sense of appreciation from you.

“He’s been like this all morning,” Jimin says, continuing to make his way closer, looking up for just a second to shoot an amused smile before he goes back to concentrating on rolling his sleeve neatly with one hand.

You don’t know what possesses you to do it, but as you’re looking at his arms twist in his struggle to make it look artfully messy, you blurt out, “Do you need help?”

He gratefully nods, giving up and extending his right arm out to you as he continues, “He wants, and I quote, everything to be so perfect that it puts Hallmark films to shame.”

Behind you, you hear Jungkook snort and reply, “There’s nothing perfect about Hallmark films.”

The sounds of Tae and Kook arguing behind you fade into background noise as you focus on undoing what Jimin’s done so far. You’ve just about finished, tugging out a flap from the fold so it doesn’t look quite so formal and pulling away, when your wrist is caught in a gentle grip.

As studiously as you’ve avoided looking at him directly so far, you can’t stop your gaze from shooting up to his in surprise, breath catching as he smiles at you, a curious mixture of nervousness and anticipation in his eyes.

Dancing together is different from...whatever this is, intense and charged as neither of you look away. The other two have moved towards the back of the shop to prematurely open a champagne bottle for Tae's nerves, but you’re not sure you would have noticed them even if they were still bickering in the vicinity.

He loosens his grip on your hand but doesn’t let go, slightly bending as he says, “Thank you.”

You nod, not trusting your voice and just giving a smile before you gently detach yourself from him, immediately moving towards Jungkook who’s holding out a champagne glass toward you, beckoning you both to participate in the entrepreneurially sanctioned daytime drinking.

As you’re lifting your glass, letting it clink against the others and resolutely not making eye contact with Jimin who’s standing directly opposite you, his cheerful voice joining in the chorus of ‘To paying off student loans!’, your heart and head race a mile a minute.

What does it all mean?

                                   _____________________________

“So he thanked you.”

Huffing, you impatiently repeat to Hyejin's simultaneously confused and unimpressed face, “No, he thanked me.”

“Yes, that’s what I said.”

You groan in frustration, letting your arms flop against your sides in abandon as you lean against the side of the closed back room that the two of you have been conversing in for the last ten minutes, ever since you caught sight of her entering the shop and dragged her back right after she congratulated the new business owners.

She had whined a bit about not getting the fancy champagne flute, but once the word ‘Jimin’ had left your mouth, she became mighty compliant.

“I think I’m missing something here. You’re losing your mind in the store room on the opening day of your friends’ shop at 12 PM because...” she trails off, looking at you expectantly with an arched eyebrow.

Something breaks inside you and the next thing you know, you’re venting out in a single breath, nearly tripping over your words, “Because I like Jimin and I think he likes me too, but I’m too scared to say anything or bring it up in case I’m wrong and also, I sort of really want it to be true but I don’t know and I’m scared and I would very much like everything to go back to when this stupid dance competition didn’t exist, because now I keep thinking about ways to spend time with him after tomorrow and I’m embarrassed and feelings suck.”

You’re gasping by the end of it, like you’ve just run a marathon with a cash prize for first place. If you weren’t somehow feeling simultaneously lighter and more exposed, you’d be amused at Hyejin’s expression, but all you can muster is a weak sort of shrug to mask any awkwardness you might be feeling.

She looks like she’s just been slapped across the face with a wet fish, eyes wide and mouth open, but before she can say anything, the door to the left opens and Jungkook walks in, a half-full champagne glass in his hand.

He takes in Hyejin’s expression and your defensive stance that’s combined with the worried furrow of your eyebrows before he slowly says, “I just came here to escape from Yoongi who keeps asking me where his Tupperware is and I’m too scared to tell him I lost it, but there’s a really weird energy in here right now.”

“Jimin thanked Y/N,” Hyejin unhelpfully supplies, looking like she’s slowly regaining her bearings after your emotional outburst.

Jungkook's eyes narrow in confusion as his head tilts, lips pursed. “I feel like there’s more to that story, but I’m not gonna hear any of it.”

You sigh, weight of everything crashing into you as you sit down on the floor cross-legged, staring unseeing at the opposite wall.

At your actions, Jungkook’s eyebrows crease in concern, but his confusion is abundantly evident when he says, “I’m, uh, sure you can tell Jimin not to thank you again if it makes you this sad. Will some champagne make you feel better?”

“Yes, please,” you say, nodding despondently as you accept the glass from him, after which he sits down next to you, twiddling his thumbs, probably wondering why he offered.

For about a minute, the two of you sit there, you completely zoned out, dissociating to cope with the reality of the situation as you take little sips and Jungkook humming something vague, his legs now stretched out in front of him.

You nearly forget that Hyejin’s even in the room until your glass is snatched from your affronted grip and you’re looking up accusingly at her exasperated face.

“Up,” she says shortly, taking one of your hands in hers and pulling you. You have no choice but to follow through, landing shakily and ruefully watching her finish off what’s left of the champagne before she hands the glass to an entertained Jungkook and places both her palms firmly on your shoulders.

Oh no.

“I’m going to tell you something, and you might not like it, but you have to hear it anyway, okay?”

You resist the urge to salute, nodding as you agree. Not that you have an option. You’ve seen Hyejin in intervention mode before, and resisting is like trying to stop a fire from burning.

“You. Are. Incredibly. Stupid.”

Your mouth drops in offense, and you make to defend yourself, but before you can say anything, from the floor, Jungkook cheers, “I knew there was something I missed. What happened?”

Not taking her eyes off of you, Hyejin replies, “Y/N likes Jimin and she thinks he likes her and she’s having a crisis.”

You have hope for a moment, when your trusty roommate scoffs behind you, and you vow to get him something good for his birthday this year, but just as you’re grinning all satisfied at Hyejin, he says, “Of course he likes her. Pfft. That was never the question.”

Coal. He’s getting coal and it won’t even be gift wrapped.

At your shocked expression, he slowly stands up, looking confused as he asks, “Did you...did you not realise?”

Near-hysterical, you reply, turning to face him fully, “No? How was I supposed to realise?”

Jungkook’s looking at you like you’ve grown a third head, like you’re the one who’s just said something completely bizarre, which is absolutely untrue.

“Wait, what did you think her crisis was about?” Hyejin asks, infuriatingly calm at this revelation and completely ignoring the fact that your roommate is spouting enough shit to fill a truck.

“Feelings? In general? I thought she knew about Jimin liking her. I thought you knew about Jimin liking you!”

You throw your arms up in a gesture of annoyance as you hiss, half-frustrated and half-panicking, “How was I supposed to know? Nobody tells me these things!”

“Dude, he's been flirting with you for weeks.”

“No, he has not. You’re wrong. Hyejin, tell him he’s wrong.”

But to your great betrayal, Hyejin doesn’t immediately contest the sheer stupidity of the statement. She gets that look you’re constantly wary of. A ‘hmm, you might have a point there,’ look.

“Actually,” she slowly begins. “Now I think about it, he might be right.”

You groan in frustration as Jungkook continues in the same voice, like he’s still bewildered that you haven’t picked up on any flirty, non-existent signs.

“He gave you his jacket and let you keep it for, like, a week? And he wouldn’t stop looking at you during the photoshoot? And he agreed to dance with you immediately, no questions asked. And don’t even get me started on that evening with the super intense eye contact outside Yoongi's studio. And he agreed to come pick you up in the rain at ass o' clock even when his shop was opening in a week and he was neck deep in work with no complaint, from what I heard. What part of this isn’t registering as ‘I want to hold your hand non-platonically' to you?”

You open and close your mouth, speechless. More out of formality, to put up a fight because weary fear and wary hope makes one do and say stupid things, you softly mutter, “He was just being nice,” but you’ll be the first to admit that there’s more than a tinge of doubt in your voice now.

Hyejin sighs, looking at you kindly as she says, all too knowingly, “I know you’re going to overthink this. But it really, really isn’t a big deal.”

“But what do I do?” you ask, desperation thinly veiled in your voice.

“Nothing, if that’s what you want. Or you could ask him out. Or you could wait for him to ask you out.”

Jungkook nods insistently next to her. “It’s all good, dude.”

Stellar contributor, that one.

Taking a deep breath in and letting it out with a whoosh, you look back at their expectant faces, trepidation in your eyes.

“First, I’d like a glass of champagne.”

The light that enters through the crack in your curtains annoys you, but not enough to make you get up and block it. Your phone is on silent, and for once, you don’t feel the constant, compulsive need to check it.

You don’t feel the need to do anything, really. Here, starfished on your bed, staring blank at the white ceiling is a good place to be. Optimum zoning out position. You’ve gotten so tuned to the sound of the clock on the wall, that you’re certain your heart is now beating in the same rhythm, and the numbness in your foot has been there for so long, you don’t remember who you were before it.

After the...talk in the storeroom yesterday, you wish you could say that your first order of business (after some liquid courage) was to walk right up to Jimin and give it to him straight, but nothing could be farther from the truth.

You had avoided him like the plague, preferring to catch up with Yoongi and hide out in the dressing room armed with clothes you can only afford in your dreams. To top it all, you also had to deal with all this new information and suddenly, you were noticing a lot of interesting things. You’d catch Jimin looking at you at odd moments, and he’d look away after shooting you a small smile that you physically couldn’t not return. He had come over all the way from the other end of the shop to ask you if you wanted another glass of champagne (you had declined), and there were fingers brushing against your shoulder, winks thrown across the room whenever eye contact was made and all of a sudden, you were consumed by this overwhelming feeling of stupidity, all of Jungkook’s points becoming more and more valid with every passing moment.

So, you did what any sane person would do. After congratulating them, and having an incredibly brief conversation with him about the final plan for the competition, you had left (after counting and comparing the amount of time he spent on his hugs with different people, and coming to the conclusion that you got two seconds extra).

You had refused to speak to Jungkook about anything even in the vicinity of the ballpark of whatever you were thinking about on the cab ride back, shovelled in an early dinner, gone straight up to your room and begun to create a definitive flowchart about possible outcomes.

It had been of no help whatsoever, and had only led to you thinking even more until you finally gave up on the project, paper landing on your bed with a comically sad finality, probably still there, lying crumpled under all the pillows.

You had flopped onto your bed, stared at the ceiling until your eyes could stay open no longer, only to wake up to your alarm at 7 AM with the same train of thought in your head continuing where it had left off.

Cut to now, two hours later. You can see your packed bag near the closed door. Jungkook’s knocked twice already, asking if you want breakfast before your big show and you’ve declined both times. You’re already showered and dressed, and both activities were a sort of background noise to the insofar ceaseless thinking in your head.

But now, you’re all thought out. You’re tired godammit, and you know that you’ve spiralled enough for a thousand exam seasons for there to still be some hope that rationality will prevail and a conclusion based on facts can be hit upon. No, you’re done thinking.

It’s time to listen to Kim Jennie, 28, Head of Product Development. No time for being scared. And maybe some advice that’s less daunting and closer to the kind of thing you can vibe without wanting to puke at the thought of, Hyejin’s ‘It isn’t such a big deal.’

Despite the sudden clarity and at least half-way confidence in your constitution, your body’s still playing catch up, and your movements are sluggish as you sit up, coming face to face with your reflection in the mirror. There’s that trepidation that you’re all too aware of in your eyes, but you brush it aside. You’ve got the power of your boss and your friend on your side. And once you tell Jungkook your plan, the moment you figure it out yourself, you’ll have anime too.

You give your reflection one final, determined nod before standing up and collecting your phone and bag. You decide to hold off on opening the curtains just yet. No need to get ahead of yourself. Maybe when you get back. After your fate’s been decided.

Your notifications range from well wishes (Yoongi: Don’t trip like you did during that performance in fifth grade.) to a compilation of cat videos (Tae: to make up for the lack over the last few weeks :D), but the message that your eyes are drawn to is from the man himself.

Jimin (Maybe Interact Sometimes): I’m excited! Let’s kill it!

Unbidden, a smile grows on your face, small at first before slowly growing until you’re beaming at your phone. The familiar pre-performance anticipation settles deep in your bones, and combined with your recently acquired confidence and the butterflies that have taken up permanent residence in your stomach over the last month or so, it’s a deadly mix.

Feeling heady, you reply with some exclamation points and lock your phone, toning down the grin on your face so your roommate doesn’t think you’ve finally crossed the bend before pushing the door open.

Jungkook’s in the kitchen, sitting over a bowl of cereal, eyes skimming through the newspaper that he’s holding up with one hand. It’s a common enough occurrence, one you see nearly every morning, but it feels different today. You’ve got the enterprise of mission in you.

He notices you entering and opens his mouth to say something, but stops short. You catch sight of your reflection in the glass window behind him, and see that the grin, if not entirely blinding, is still a drastic change from your usual morning grumpiness that Jungkook has the pleasure of poking at every day.

Tentatively, he asks, rather than says, “Good morning?”

Dropping your bag, you make your way to the fridge to get some milk to fix up your own cereal as you reply, cheeriness coming through in your voice even as you try to keep it neutral, “Morning!”

You can feel his quizzical gaze on your back, and he makes no pretense of hiding it when you sit down opposite him, bowl set in front of you.

“Are you done with the newspaper?” you ask, pretending to not notice his staring, absently tapping your spoon against the side of the table as you swallow a mouthful.

He looks confused as he replies, “Am I done with – uh, yeah, here.”

You accept it with a smile and a ‘Thank you!’ before spreading it out on the table in front of you, bowl in one hand, spoon in the other as you hunch over to read.

It only takes a few seconds for Jungkook to break the silence. “Are you alright?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, peachy. Excited about the competition!”

You look up at the fag end of your sentence, just in time to catch his deeply mistrusting gaze.

“Nervous?” he asks, like a detective looking for a lead.

You direct your gaze back to the editorial page as you shake your head and respond simply, “Nope.”

That’s a blatant lie, and you’re sure that as soon as ten minutes from now, you’re going to start realising the gravity of the situation (prize money is a powerful incentive), but that bridge hasn’t even been built yet, leave alone reached.

There’s silence for a while, you reading the paper while eating your cereal and Jungkook looking at you shrewdly, like he’s trying to read your mind and figure out how you’ve made a complete 180 from yesterday.

When you deem the time right, you say matter-of-factly, “Might ask Jimin out today.”

It’s quite unfortunate that you aren’t looking up when you utter those words. Jungkook’s in the middle of a sip of coffee, and it takes a minute for him to stop choking and sputtering.

“You what?”

“Might ask Jimin out today,” you repeat with a shrug, folding the paper after finishing the comics section and directing your gaze at his startled face.

He narrows his eyes, scepticism in his voice as he asks, “What do you mean you might ask Jimin out today?”

“For somebody who’s a journalist and about to be a published author, you’re having an awfully hard time comprehending words, aren’t you?”

He groans in annoyance as you smile pleasantly, enjoying the overall effect of this conversation.

Gathering himself, he slowly enquires, “So you just woke up today morning and decided that you’re going to do this?”

“Yep,” you reply, popping the p.

He scrutinises you carefully, looking for traces of bullshit. Finding none, he slowly begins to smile. And then you’re smiling. And then he’s smiling wider, and now you’re both grinning at each other like a pair of fools. If anybody were to walk into the kitchen now, they’d take one look before turning around and marching right back out.

Jungkook lets out a small giggle, partly in residual disbelief and partly in excitement, and your nervousness and anticipation manifests in the same way.

“When are you going to do it?” he asks, eyes twinkling as he stifles his laughter.

“No idea,” you reply, standing up with your bowl and making your way to the sink with him in tow.

“You mean you haven’t thought this to death and made a timeline down to the millisecond about how your plan’s going to unfold? I’m shocked.”

There’s no bite in his words, though, and you merely bump him on the side as you wash your bowl, him drying his next to you. “I’m tired of thinking. Time to get shit done.”

A pause as Jungkook whoops in support, and then you’re asking, “Is this a terrible idea? Should I not do this today? What if I screw up while dancing?”

You don’t know where the sudden uncertainty is coming from. Maybe everything’s finally catching up to you, but abruptly, you need some reassurance that you aren’t in over your head, that you aren’t going to fuck up.

“None of that now,” Jungkook says bossily, drying his hands and placing his palms on your shoulders, turning you so you’re facing him. “You’ve got a cash prize to win and a crush to ask out. No time for being scared and mopey. You know why? ‘Cause you’re a lean, mean singing machine.”

“I’m not lean.”

“Mean singing machine.”

“I’m actually quite nice, I think.”

“Singing machine.”

“This is a dance competition.”

He huffs in annoyance, but there’s a glint of relief in his eyes at your return to admittedly uncharacteristic optimism.

“Phineas and Ferb quotes shouldn’t be adapted,” he staunchly says, nose teasingly up in the air as he lets you go so you can pick up your bag.

“Not by you, they shouldn’t.”

“Okay, why don’t you book the cab, yeah?” he says, marching your giggling frame out the door.

The large board next to the main, high school auditorium entrance reads ‘PARTICIPANTS HERE' followed by a red arrow pointing to a small door that presumably leads to the green room.

You and Jungkook stop a few paces away, moving closer to the wall so you aren’t blocking the hallway that’s teeming with audience members trying to enter. Some of them take in your outfit and wish you luck, to which you reply with a grateful nod.

The confidence you were feeling earlier has been replaced by the shaky excitement that accompanies a performance. You wonder what you were thinking, deciding to launch your amoratic venture on the same day as the competition. Like you don’t have enough to be nervous about. But a plan is a plan, and you’re sure you’ll chicken out and/or rip all your hair out in frustration if you go another day without dealing with it.

But prize money first. Boys after.

“Y/N.”

“Yes,” you reply, trying to mimic Jungkook’s firm voice, even as your eyes take in the large crowd of people who are going to be watching.

“Let's get this bread,” he says.

You nod, taking strength in the knowledge that Mr. Kibum is judging, that you’re dancing with your childhood best friend, that Hyejin’s going to be in the green room as well, that Jungkook, Yoongi and Tae are all going to be cheering you on from the crowd, that this is dance.

The wink he offers you leaves no doubt of the fact that he means other breads as well and not just the show, but you ignore it. Focus is key.

“Break a leg!” he cheers, ironically enough seeing as how his ankle is still in a cast, despite the fact that he can walk now with a barely noticeable limp.

You shakily smile in response before waving and ducking into the room you’re supposed to go into.

Immediately, the loud noise and chatter from the corridor becomes muffled as you’re wrapped in a quiet air of anticipation and nerves that hangs heavy. A few people look up when you enter, the ones you know offer you a weak smile that you return. In the corner of the room, you spot Hyejin and Jimin doing their stretches, much like majority of the other participants strewn around.

Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve effectively temporarily suppressed your feelings in favour of focusing on the competition, or maybe that you’ve finally accepted them and decided to do something about them, but all you feel is a sort of calm glow when you see him. Your stomach does give a weak, little flop, but you don’t experience that urge to escape as a first instinct, like you’ve become so accustomed to recently.

You scuttle over, taking care not to hit anybody with the swinging bag dangling from your side.

“Hey,” you mumble, easily accepting Jimin’s hug as he smiles at you and grinning at a mid-split Hyejin.

You begin jogging in place to warm up to stretch as Taemin enters the room, fedora full of chits in his hand.

“It’s time to decide the order of performing! Everybody gather around.”

Hyejin smoothly gets up with her freakish core strength as you and Jimin look at each other. There’s a dash of glitter on his eyelashes, subtly sparkling in the light, and you can swear, at that moment, that he’s easily the most beautiful person in this room. Hell, in this building.

“You wanna pick?” he asks, quirking his head to the side.

Ordinarily, you’d decline. But with the clouds you’re walking on, maybe you should try your luck.

“Sure,” you reply, making your way to the slowly gathering crowd that’s surrounding a hassled looking Taemin.

You huff in preparation before sticking you forearm into the hat blindly and snatching the first chit your fingers close around. Somebody’s nails scratch you, but you’re too distracted, fighting your way out of the group of people, eager to reach Jimin on the outskirts so you can open the tightly clutched paper in your hand and see your fate.

“Ready?” you ask, once you’re standing in front of him.

He nods eagerly. There’s a flush on his cheeks, a light in his eyes you’ve never seen before, and the memory of watching him dance in that practice room for the first time all those weeks ago, with all that love and passion and elegant control enters your head unbidden. You feel a little sickened by the amount your heart warms when you think of Jimin getting this opportunity to do what he loves on stage.

You slowly open the paper, only for your heart to veritably pause for a second when you read what’s written.

No fucking way.

You look up, unable to keep the apologetic grimace from your face as you see him half-amused, half-disbelieving.

From the other end of the room, Taemin calls out “Team number 1!”

You and Jimin look at each other briefly before making your way towards him. Around you, you can hear small whoops. You think the muted laughter is from Hyejin.

“Pendrive?” he asks all business-like, hand stuck out, palm up, giving no indication that he knows the two of you, that he sees you every Saturday, that he was going to be Jimin’s partner first.

But the small ‘Good luck,’ and smile he gives as you’re both making to go away after handing over your music more than makes up for it.

Jimin leads the way to the corner of the room as the other teams go up in order and give their tracks. There’s silence for a second as you survey each other, trying to figure out just how surreal of a possibility this is.

You break it by mumbling, “Oops.”

All it takes is that stellar wit and ill-placed asinine humour for the tension in his shoulders to drop just a tad and his lips to quirk up, as he nods and says, amused, “Couldn’t have put it better myself.”

“We were going to go up anyway,” you reason, trying to make light of the universe screwing you over.

Agreeing, he replies, “Yeah, and now we can watch the other performers without being too distracted.”

You nod, humming, taking courage in these sad attempts at positivity.

You’re running through the choreography in your head, when you notice Jimin moving next to you, turning to face your body from his previous arms out, wrists rotating position.

“Hey,” he starts softly to get your attention, like you aren’t hyper aware of his presence and that the plan to act on your...romantic feelings is still very much present, even if it isn’t at the forefront of your brain.

You hum in reply, signalling him to continue.

“Regardless of what happens, I’m really glad I got to do this with you.”

You don’t know why you’re caught off guard, but you hide it best as you can when you reply with a smile, the most genuine one you have, “Same here.”

If anybody were to look at you, they’d see that :D emoticon that Tae's so fond of.

You think he’s going to stop there, but even as he turns back and continues stretching, feet shoulder width apart and hands on his hips, he says, “It was a lot of fun and I like dancing with you.”

You feel a warm glow at the comment, a soft shiver running down your spine as you take in the slightly reddish hue of the side of his neck and everything it indicates.

He likes likes you.

You’re not sure what possesses you to say it then, what stupid prank-pulling higher power decides that now would be a good time to do this, less than ten minutes before dancing together so you can’t even escape if things go sideways, but the next thing you know, the words are spilling out from your mouth of their own accord, tumbling over one other in a mad rush of adrenaline and bashfulness and nerves.

“Doyouwannagooutwithmesometime?”

You’re as startled as he is, maybe even more at this betrayal by your own lips, and you wish you could take it back the moment you say it, because now is not the time.

But thankfully, it doesn’t seem like he understood your stupid babble, and at the confused tilt of his head and his soft ‘Excuse me?’, you just shake your head and slowly say, avoiding his eyes, stuttering as your brain works in overtime, “I just said that...we both had a good time. Doing this, I mean. The, er – dancing.”

He accepts the explanation easily, bless his soul, but it’s still a relief when Taemin calls out that the competition is about to start and the two of you are up.

With one last nod and smile, as you force your head and heart to refocus, and manage to do so admirably well considering how close to fucking up you were, you and Jimin exit the room from the side door that leads to the auditorium, softly padding onto the dark stage behind the closed curtains and getting into the start position.

You meet his gaze as they announce your names, and the fabric of his t-shirt feels comfortably warm against your palm as they slowly open the curtains, and hundreds of eyes land on you.

The surrounding lights are bright and the attention nearly deafening, but nothing is quite as blinding and arresting as the look in his eyes as they bore into yours. The subtle pressure of his arm around your waist feels thrillingly familiar, but as you’re both waiting for the cheers to die down and the track to start, he goes off script.

Bending his head slightly, he begins to whisper, so subtly that nobody in the audience can notice unless they’re focusing very intently on his lips. Which...you wouldn’t blame them.

“You have horrible timing, but yes.”

And just like that, before you can even think about pulling away to look at him in shock, the demand for a less cryptic sentence, despite there being absolutely no doubt as to what he’s referring to, hot on your lips accompanied by the tingling certainty you feel when you look at his twinkling eyes that are partly mischievous but more noticeably excited, performance adrenaline taking strong hold, the music begins. With a small squeeze on your waist, he reverts to serious dancer mode from his previous Little Shit setting, taking a deep breath and twirling you away with a wink as you let the relief and joy and excitement flow through your body as you begin the routine.

“What’s this?”

“What’s wha – oh, fuck.”

You practically vault across the bed to get to the other side of your room so you can wrench the paper out of Jimin’s grip. He lets it go easily enough, a little startled at your sudden vehemence but amused nonetheless.

As you furiously rip it apart, not meeting his eyes, he teasingly says, “I’m pretty sure I read my name. Have you been making lists about me?”

“I have not,” you reply hotly, dropping the pieces of paper into your dustbin and gathering yourself so you can face him defiantly.

“It was a...to-do list.”

His eyebrow arches, eyes twinkling as he remarks, “At least take me out first.”

You huff, cheeks burning. “Not like that.”

He takes his shoes off, grin firm on his face as he sits cross-legged on the bed, facing your still shut laptop at the foot. “Well, you’ve got me in your room now, so I’ll let you have your way with me.”

You roll your eyes as you pick up the pizza box and place it on the centre of the bed, getting comfortable next to it.

“Second place isn’t so bad,” Jimin says thoughtfully a few minutes later, as you’re both watching the video buffer as you chew on dinner.

Nodding, feeling a warm glow at the current state of affairs and probably the most calm you’ve been in the last three weeks, not to mention an immeasurable sense of relief at not having to overthink yourself to sleep, you reply, unable to keep the shy smile off of your face, “Yeah, this is nice.”

Not that you've spoken about what this is. After the show, there had been a celebratory hug, which may have been just a tad tighter and a smidge longer than previous hugs, before the two of you were whisked away by the organisers for photos and caught up in a flurry of congratulations. As you had both stood at the back of the auditorium, blending into the shadows like the other participants that came to join you after their shows, watching the dancers on stage, there had been a kind of tension that comes with unresolved conversation. But for once, you were perfectly content just existing. There’s only so much emotional upheaval that you can manage in a day.

There had been brushing hands and awkward eye contact that was diffused by timid giggling and grins, but not much talking. Turns out, you’re both wimps.

And after you two had received second place and, along with Jungkook and Tae, eaten lunch at a nearby restaurant, right before everybody had parted ways, you had given yourself a pep talk, practiced in front of the bathroom mirror around ten times, and then gently tugged Jimin to the side and said, voice carefully controlled and tone slightly less rushed than the last time you had done this, “Hey, do you wanna come over for pizza tonight? And maybe a movie, or something?”

The smile accompanying the ‘Sure, that sounds great!’ you received was blinding, and a little relieved. Jungkook’s reaction when you told him on the way back, after letting him stew in silence for a bit, just for the fun of it, had been offensively surprised, like he hadn’t believed you’d go through with it.

(“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I had utmost faith in your plan.”

“Liar.”)

And now Jimin’s in your room (Jungkook’s probably right outside, ear pressed to the door), food in hand, The Office playing on the laptop screen (you had both agreed that a movie would require an unavailable amount of attention after such a long day), his knee comfortably resting against yours like a constant reminder that he’s there, as if you can forget.

And it’s easy.

Like an upgraded version of the old days, that comes with blushing and giggling and a nosy roommate who's given up trying to be subtle.

~

#bts #ficswithluv #ultkpop #btswritingcafe #kwritersworldnet #btsbookclub #btsguild #thekpopnetwork #park jimin #kpop #fluff #kpop imagine #bts imagine #jimin imagine #jimin fluff #kpop fanfic #bts fanfic #jimin fanfic #yoongi #taehyung #hyejin #hoseok #namjoon #jin #bangtan #kpop fluff #bts fluff #jennie #taemin #key

[canonicallyanxious]

Can I ask for Amy/Jonah for the ship game? 🙏

These asks are just gifts for me I hope you realize this Ardi

Amy/Jonah: ship it (;-;)

What made you ship it?

Okay there is a gifset I saw of one scene, this one fucking scene from the series finale that hit me in the monkey hindpart of my brain so hard despite a complete lack of context it caused me to watch six seasons of superstore in like two weeks and it's this one. And my life is so much better than it was!! Because of you!!!!! Truly!!!!!!!!!!!!! It makes me want to go insane!!!!!!!!!!!

(now that I have the context it hits EVEN HARDER jesus h christ they really put six whole ass seasons into making that line land huh!)

Actually watching the show I was hooked from the first episode just based on the way Jonah Simms looked at Amy I mean the fuckin... Stars on the ceiling that everyone is looking at but Jonah is only looking at Amy... What was I supposed to do NOT wholeheartedly stan this pairing until the end? Absolute nonsense. But for real their chemistry??? Ten out of ten, absolutely love them forever

What are your favorite things about this ship?

I genuinely and unironically think this relationship in a workplace sitcom is a masterclass of romance writing and Im not sorry about it. Just like, the slow burn will they won't they of three seasons. The established relationship and domesticity of raising a child together for two. The post break up exes to lovers of it all for one season. This ship has everything I'm telling you. The pining! The right person wrong time vibes (MULTIPLE TIMES)! The amount of times they were allowed to just hang out and have fun together and that was considered significant enough for the story to keep! Jonah helping Amy realize there are things worth fighting for in this terrible world (specifically because he wholeheartedly believes she DESERVES to fight for them!!) and Amy grounding Jonah and helping him become more in touch with the world! A man who is unabashedly ass over heels in love with a woman! This is the best m/f dynamic what do you even want me to do!

Also because I'm me and an incorrigible hoe for hurting myself the second scene that lives in my brain rent free behind the iconic reunion in s6 is the break up scene in s6... Ben Feldman who asked you to go that fucking hard with your acting in this workplace sitcom... I must thank u for my entire life...

3. Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

I swear this is a next to useless question to me lol especially because in this case I came to the party after it ended but I will say, wasn't the biggest fan of the beginning of the union storyline after Amy joined management, particularly when Jonah joined it to basically help bust it for Amy's sake, overall I thought it was pretty in character but personally it just wasn't my favorite storyline ever (who could say why lol)

Ship ask game babey

#answers #inmyarmswrappedin #these two... <333 #jonah simms my emotional support white boy #and amy sosa a woman who deserves the WORLD

[angelthefirst1]

The ballerina begins to dance again in fifteen minutes...

Last season I was extremely hopeful that perhaps masked Ninja would end up being Beth and that a big reveal would be similar to Morgan at the end of Coda-not far from finding team family, taking his mask off and revealing that he was indeed still alive. Providing us with a repeat Coda. Anyone that has been followed my posts over the years knows that I believe the actors use social media to give hints as to what is coming in the show, and that specifically-Emily's side projects since she's been gone, are planned by AMC and deliberately picked for her to symbolically shadow TWD. Thinking about some of the projects she has worked on, they include... The following-where she is a member of a cult and she is killed like this... 

Same overall theme to Alpha who had "A following"with the whisperers, and is killed in the same way. The flash (self explanatory)

Ten days in the Valley-About a missing girl The concussion-About a lady who gets a blow to the head. The Knick-About a brilliant surgeon who pushes the boundaries of medicine. If Beth is to survive her gunshot, she would at some point need medical attention. Forever-about a medical examiner who is immortal and studies the dead. In TWD universe we have seen examples of studying the dead/immortality, at the CDC in season one, and Milton in season three-who is a researcher and scientist, and we see hints of something similar happening with the helicopter group too. Love on the sidelines, which-as the title suggests would indicate her love story is on the sidelines. Being played quietly PPP Bullet proof Picasso-also self explanatory...

The messiah (Beth has always been portrayed as a sacrificial Christ figure) she sacrificed herself for Noah while wearing the cross bracelet. And we believe she will rise again and as with Jesus there was an empty tomb and Beth we saw no grave.  All of these could well be symbolic of Beth's story in part... And then there's some of Emily's songs which many in the past have speculated are about Bethyl. Songs like Last chance and more recently her song played on the TWD The Turtle and the monkey which played in episode 1005 (10+5=15) So keeping all this in mind...when I saw her post this...

About doing ballet and getting stronger, my mind at the time was focused on Ninja and I hoped she was learning to fight like Ninja and perhaps was just saying she was learning "Ballet" to cover for leaning marshal arts. But after re-watching 510 (5+10=15) the other day I saw Maggie open the music box and my mouth fell open and my brain exploded...

How did I miss this connection???

I suddenly remembered Emily's new album called THE SUPPORTING CHARACTER (PPP)

And her new song called 15 minutes (5+10=15) in which she becomes the BALLET DANCER.

Carl hands Maggie the music box in 510 and says "I found this when we were looking for water" (water = looking for the Lord-I'll explain this further down) Maggie "What is it?" Carl "I think it's used to play music" Carl "It's broken, I thought you might like it" Maggie "Thanks Carl"

Emily's new single/album is produced by SEAHORSE SOUND STUDIOS which is also represented in 510 (5+10=15) by this...

The walker trapped in the car in 510 is release by keys with a yellow seahorse. It’s trapped in the yellow "Seahorse studio" and even looks to have pointed toes like a ballerina and possibly a nod to ballet shoes to match...

Daryl, when he sees this car, deliberately runs away from it and goes on his search for WATER and comes across this dead deer

Time and again in this show (and others) whenever a deer dies (Christ) a person lives. If the deer lives-the person dies. Carl, Rick, and Magna's group prove this-just to name a few. In biblical symbology, deer represent devotion, and safety in God's care. Deer are a symbol of thirst and longing for the Lord. (Beth) Old testament David wrote about God, “As a deer longs for flowing streams (Water), so my soul longs for you. Jesus said "whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.'" Understanding the eternal water that Jesus speaks of will make more sense of 510 and why they were so desperate for water and then get drenched in it.

It's all about Beth (Jesus) return.

So for those who perhaps don't fully understand or haven't heard the gospel of Jesus Christ it's basically this. Mankind broke God's moral law (The ten commandments-Don't lie, steal, dishonor parents, commit adultery etc...) The payment for breaking even one of God's laws-even once is eternal death. God became a man (Jesus) who was free of the fallen nature and so was sinless. He sacrificed himself to pay the fine or penalty that was owed to mankind, having broken God's laws. So he died on the cross, but because he sacrificially paid for the sins of the world that were not his, God raised him to life and he defeated death (He wasn't owed the death penalty) He defeated death not just for himself but for all who ask him to take their place or payment. Water is life for humans so the reason Jesus calls himself the living water that springs to eternal life is because his water (sacrifice) if accepted brings eternal life to the drinker. So if a person lives (eternally) it's because Christ dies in their place, and they receive the eternal water Jesus has offered them. Beth was heavily portrayed as Christ, and Daryl (like old testament David) was longing for Beth when he went looking for water and he found the dead deer. Indicating Beth was indeed alive, he just didn't know it.

Emily's new song, video clip and album has heavily included symbolism of Beth from 510. including Beth being water and also the music box/ballerina. 510 (5+10=15 minutes) The water aspect is shown-or not shown i should say, by her album art cover. Which depicts her in the dessert (showing a lack of water just like the group in 510) but Emily is wearing the same pink that is found inside the music box. With the white shoes a nod to the white skirt. 

And this post Emily made about getting stronger at Ballet...

Was a repeat of this scene with Daryl and Maggie...

Daryl "She was tough, she didn't know it-but she was".  

The music video for 15 minutes is depicting the music box in 510. The video clip is very short and on a repeat loop, just like the ballerina in the music box it spins round and round.

For added emphasis i have hummed part of the music-from the music box that plays at the end of 510, and combined it into the introduction of Emily’s song, (please excuse the bad humming) but oddly the two fit together. whether that’s just pure luck or not, i don’t know but i found it interesting.  

In the video, Emily is dressed as a ballerina in the background but doesn't actually dance, it's a different ballerina dancing. Just like the music box ballerina represents Beth, but isn't actually her.

In photo’s Emily posted of the Video shoot, we see a ballerina dancing in front of oval lights-a hint to the oval mirror from the music box in the background.

Some of the lyrics to the song also made my ears prick up. Such as this...

While filming the small video clip for Fifteen minutes Emily posted some Instagram stories, which also tell Beth's story and I will go into below. Watch it and then read below.

This may seem to be an unplanned impromptu video, but it's not. Everything in this clip is scripted and planned. Every action and word is repeating Beth and Daryl scenes.  I'll point it out to you line by line... "Jacob's playing the piano, in my music Video that's coming soon" a reminder of Beth (music) playing piano and the music box playing again soon.

Jacob throughout this conversation is stuffing his face. Repeating Daryl doing the same in Alone.

Emily "Do you want to add to that?" Is a play on "What changed your mind?"

Jacob "Yeah you're gonna love it" (Daryl was trying to tell Beth he loved her)

Emily "What else? Ya think it's gonna be pretty good" Another play and repeat of the "What changed your mind" line, good people, and Beth playing “Be good” on the piano. Jacob "It's beautiful"

Emily "Thank you" repeating the thank you note. (In the background while Emily says thank you, we hear someone shout ooohhhh repeating the oh moment)

Emily laughs and says "what if you'd said no" which i think is a play on Daryl saying nothing to Beth when she asks "Don't you think that's beautiful?" Emily "Do you have some notes for the song?" A play on the thank you note. Jacob says he doesn't have any notes, repeating Daryl telling Beth she doesn't have to leave the thank you note.

Emily "Okay GOOD, because it's already mixed and mastered. Another mention of good.

Jacob ends the short clip with another reminder of the good theme by saying "The good thing is..." and it ends there abruptly, just like Beth and Daryl's story ending on the good people theme abruptly. This whole clip is a playful version of Beth and Daryl's main plot points from Alone.

Considering Emily posted about her ballet teacher saying she was getting stronger. I really find it odd that Emily doesn't actually dance in this video, she is just in the background.

I mean... she was apparently taking Ballet lessons and then does a ballet themed video clip-that would be a perfect opportunity to show some moves in. But it seems the Ballet theme video actually serves a different purpose-to tells us beforehand that the music box ballerina is about to start dancing again... 

Hopefully you can all see the connections here, and it's provided you with some much needed hope that Beth the music box ballerina is about to dance again soon. 

I do want to give a shout out to Emily Kinney Info on Instagram who is amazing at archiving all Emily's posts and provided me with some Instagram stories, clips and photos, which would have been lost in time.

#team delusional #team defiance #bethyl #beth greene #beth is alive #musicbox #ballerina

[flightofaqrow]

mothering (on mother’s day)

qrow + Sun Wukong ( @ultravioletvoleur​ )

fighting clearly hadn’t been what was on the kid’s mind. maybe he just wasn’t thinkin’ at all; he definitely isn’t right now as words tumble from his mouth, barely coherent. qrow still doesn’t need to hear these things about his niece, but he’ll let this one slide.

Sun leans his back against the wall, tail swaying to and fro. His face spoke to the internal conflict he was struggling with when it came to this, “I was hoping I could actually… Ask for your advice?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Quick update, may wanna say Happy Mother's Day to your niece. ...Kaybye!"

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

qrow whips open Harbinger faster than a nevermore diving upon its prey, and fires a warning shot off as Sun makes a break for it, near missing the base of his tail.

he knows the kid well enough by now, and trusts Yang even more, than to truly buy into the implications of his statement. oh, but if playing this cat and mouse game makes the cheeky monkey so happy, qrow will absolutely go a round.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“YIPE!”

That was a much faster reaction than he’d anticipated, barely making it ten feet before the crack of exploding gunpowder rang out. There was a hole smoking in the wall in front of him- dangerously close to banana height, and Sun began sweating. He turned very jerkily, with the closest approximation of a cocksure grin he could manage through his abject terror.

“Oh, uh. D-did you… Need something?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

well, at least qrow got to make a point, should he ever actually need to act on teaching the kid a thing or two. alternatively, about picking fights one may not be able to win. a similar tough past he may have, thieves at least tended to work from codes of honor. not every struggle is the same.

he prods, sarcastic, feigned anger lining the sharp curve of narrowed eyes, sword still deployed at his side, “what in all of remnant makes you think you can just say things to me?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

There is a very audible gulp as the Hunstman advances on him. Every other time they’d traded barbs, he’d gotten the sense that Qrow was something of an old glory days kind of person, who had lost their touch a bit. However, that split second action, and the pointed glare burning through his confidence like a hot knife through butter, told him a whole new story.

Qrow Branwen was what his nightmares were made of.

“Well you see I thought we were buddies and I thought you would know it was a joke I swear I haven’t laid a hand on your niece like that I would never well not never possibly in the future but definitely not right now not that I don’t think she’s attractive she’s very attractive oh but that’s not the only reason-”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

tch. forever a curse, even at his best. maybe he laid on the drama a bit too thick. honestly, he thought a bit of zeal is something Sun could appreciate. he’s far too much talk still, isn’t he? all bright light and translucent beaming rays which still questioned their own substance. he might be further ahead than he seemed at first, but still has a ways to go. …kids these days.

“of course I knew it was a joke, golden boy.” qrow folds away his weapon, drops his stance, while raising a brow. he lessens his posturing, but not his attention, hand still remaining on Harbinger’s hilt in the case of some trick.

“but I also took it as a taunt, tellin’ me you’re finally ready for a real man’s brawl. heh, guess i was wrong.”

fighting clearly hadn’t been what was on the kid’s mind. maybe he just wasn’t thinkin’ at all; he definitely isn’t right now as words tumble from his mouth, barely coherent. qrow still doesn’t need to hear these things about his niece, but he’ll let this one slide.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“What?!”

He’d almost lost his stones by way of his ass for a sassback?! Their Uncle was even more intimidating now, and he was going to die on that hill. Still, though, knowing that he wasn’t actually angry was a huge relief. The tension left his body and he slumped down with a sigh-

And then he noticed Qrow’s weapon was still out and ready.

“He-hey, uh. N-no need for that. I didn’t come here looking for a fight. I actually wanted to get you riled up so we could then use that energy into doing something for her. I- I know her situation with her mom isn’t great. I dunno the specifics, that’s for her to tell me when she’s ready, but…” He trailed off, trying to find the words.

“Well, I guess… I just want to make today lively for her, instead of having people walking on eggshells around her. Make her excited and happy that today happened, rather than add it to a growing pile of disappointing holidays.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“you moron,” finally, he fully releases, instead staring dumbfounded at the other. he really did think he could just come around and say whatever, and still get his way without consequences. what single-minded, reckless, stupid drivel. yeah, qrow had been an idiot brained teen at one point, but seriously never that bad. he didn’t have that kinda energy. different plans took different tactics, did they not teach anything at Haven or Shade anymore?

“i don’t need to be ‘riled up’ to do something for my family, kid. couldn’t you just ask like a normal person? i promise you, me bein’ jazzed up ain’t the kinda lively she needs.”

eyes now round with sadness; his chest deflates; pointed corners of his mouth turn down. it’s too close to the belligerence he used to have - unprovoked, but drunk. he’s trying so hard to be better than that. for a lotta reasons, but Yang too.

he breathes in, and out, fingers running in and out over his forehead. once satisfied in processing all these thoughts, in having switched gears, he turns to Sun once more, hopefully coming off with the same rational attitude he wants in return, “so, then, turn your brain and your sense of respect on, and just tell me what you had in mind, huh?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Well… That’s kinda the thing. I was hoping I could actually… Ask for your advice?”

He leans his back against the wall, tail swaying to and fro. His face spoke to the internal conflict he was struggling with when it came to this. In truth, he’d wanted to go about this like a normal person, more than anything. Something in him, however, be it a defense mechanism or just a general need for attention he’d never really received drove him to do everything to an excess.

Truth be told, nobody hated Sun’s antics more than he, himself.

“I… I’m going to try to be serious here, for a minute. It’s- It’s not something that comes easy.” He sighed and pinched at the bridge of his nose. “I’m… scared. I’m really, truly scared, Qrow, of how she makes me feel. How much it would hurt to lose her, or even see her hurting. I just get so caught up in my own head that I can’t think straight, and… I’ve never…”

Another sigh. “I’ve never had a family before. So I don’t know what to do to help someone who’s mourning theirs. But I see her hurting, and I want to help, and when I came to you, I swear, I wanted to just ask, but. …That would mean… Admitting I love her.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

oh, here we go. this roller coaster again. what about his look or his life or any of his choices made him seem like someone to go to for advice? qrow barely scraped his own life together, and still dropped the pieces too many times. but somewhere along the line, somewhere in just trying to do good - for his team, for Oz, for his family, for Ruby, something must have slipped in to his very psyche, huh.

Ruby somehow always knows the right thing to do. Yang had told her.

I had good role models. Ruby had told him.

he’s cursed. and he wrestles with it every damn day. and while he’d never call it a good thing, maybe some people see themselves in that same fight. maybe he sees himself in theirs and their struggle to understand and express themselves, and that’s why even in the times he wants nothing to do with other people and their decisions, and he’s sure he’ll just mess everything up, he can’t help but listen. he can’t turn them away. doing so would do nothing to mend the wounds of a broken world. and in the end, continuing to try is the only way to stick it to Salem.

he takes a spot next to the young man against the wall, knee bending and sole kicking up as he leans, crosses his arms, turns his head to Sun and fixes his gaze on him.  

“yeah. loving people is scary. probably means you’re doin’ it right.”

qrow doesn’t know a damn thing about romance. not like that, anyway. he’s never been brave enough to face that very fear, to let someone that intimately close. almost, sometimes, maybe. somehow his chances always disappear before he’s quite there, only confirming those very fears. a great and terrible feedback loop, that. although, he can’t say such words are entirely unfamiliar; admittedly, the whole conversation is nostalgic. thrice over. he laughs, a bittersweet little huff, “…you sound just like her parents.”

that kinda love he knows, found, eventually. family. and if you ask him, they’re equally as scary to think of losing. “our family has never been the typical picket fence dream either, so don’t think you’re missin’ pieces of some non-existent normal. there’s no big secret about bein’ one, kid. you just gotta be there for each other.”

a palm-down hand raises to sweep across his body in a dismissive motion, “an’ not everything has to be some grand production to top the one before. trust me, i’ve screwed that up enough times to know.” qrow looks towards the ground, slides the toe of his shoe back and forth. “Yang, she… she’s used to people comin’ and goin’ in her life. if they come back at all. so, seriously… just go to her. be with her. she’s a tough egg, and too smart. she’ll tell you what she needs if you can just shut your giant trap enough to let her.”

#* not all are so brave = ultravioletvoleur * #* we got work to do = ic * #* how do you think legends and fairy tales get started? = thread archive *

[flirtingwitharson]

Prompt: Sirius wakes up with a bad hangover (he can’t hold his drink!) and Remus makes him feel better 😉???

dear @blitheringmcgonagall : i am so sorry i never got round to this! it’s a very cute prompt that i saved on purpose, but i’m so terribly bad at consistent writing so unfortunately it was left unwritten. here it is now, though, and hopefully things will continue to get written in a timely manner from now on :))

Alcohol, Sirius mused, was a bloody good metaphor for life. When it had you up, times were absolutely brilliant, but as for the come down...well, the good things couldn’t last forever.

That said, Sirius had mused this at a much more previous (and thus more sober) time, for right now he wasn’t sure that his brain was capable of such coherent thoughts through the dull yet blinding pain it was enduring. He opened his eyes, and immediately regretted it. This would be the first in a long list of regrets that morning, or so he gathered from his rather piss-poor state.

“Christ, hello,” Remus tutted softly at him, turning his head to take in the sight of the sad sack lain in bed next to him. Remus was sat upright against the headboard, reading a book in the dim morning light as he was wont to do. One of his (very long) legs was bent at the knee, and his unoccupied hand was loosely tangled in the sheaths of black hair pillowed around Sirius’ head. His momentary surprise had of course faded into a soft little smile, and Sirius cursed him inwardly for being able to manage it after a night out like the one previous.

“M’head,” Sirius mumbled dumbly. He immediately shut his eyes again but reached out grabbed for purchase in Remus’ sweater, almost as if Remus were a cliff and Sirius was holding on for dear life. “Hurts, Moony.”

“How eloquent you sound when hungover, love. I must say, if you keep speaking like that, I’ll have no other choice but to care for you in your moment of need.”

Ignoring Remus’ self-indulgent sarcasm, Sirius simply groaned and rolled over onto his stomach, hoping that Remus would maybe pity him and take this dire situation far more seriously.

As Remus pat him on the head and got up to do merlin-knows-what, Sirius deliberated on what had caused such a terrible, unbearable hangover. The night had started out as James’ Stag Do—they’d be lying to themselves if they didn’t milk that joke for all it was worth—and though he was a bit blurry on the details, he knew far too much fire whiskey and maybe a shot or ten had taken place throughout the evening. They started out at the pub, eventually making their way through various bars on a route carefully hand picked by Remus and Sirius to assure nothing would get too out of hand. Thinking this hard made the dull ache in his head level up to a rather annoying buzzing, so he promptly shoved his pillow over his face and fell back asleep.

The second time he came to, the savory scents of bacon and coffee intertwined and cascaded through the air. Remus was sat beside him once more, only this time with an ornately transfigured tray wielding greasy, delightful hangover food in his hands.

“Feeling any better?” He asked Sirius with a smirk, knowing full well that Sirius was terrible at holding his drink and very smugly lording the fact that his wolfy metabolism made it virtually impossible for him to get plastered over him.

“A saint, Remus. I live with a saint, and it’s you, fucking hell,” Sirius praised his knight in jumper-and-sweatpants as he eased himself into a sitting position in order to sip at the coffee.

“You’re bloody well right you do,” Remus scoffed. “Not many would be willing to cater to your sorry arse after you drank far more than you could stomach.”

Sirius seemed to decide that this didn’t dignify a reply and instead swallowed down the ibuprofen Remus set aside for him before picking at his breakfast.

Remus opened his mouth for a piece of the bacon Sirius was eating, only to roll his eyes and close it at the following daggers that Sirius glared his way. “How much do you remember of last night anyways, Padfoot?” He wondered aloud, kind enough to at least gave let Sirius wake up a little bit.

“Not much, Moony. Thinking hurts, couldn’t do it if I tried.”

“Well, you never have, so you might as well continue to postpone your journey into rational thought. Do you really not remember anything?”

Sirius looked up at him then, suddenly worried he’d gone and done something quite embarrassing. He made a silent vow to never drink again—or, at least, never to that capacity. Often. “Did I, er, do something worth remembering?” He asked weakly, the ‘I-know-something-that-you-don’t’ look splayed upon Remus’ face not easing his worries one bit.

“Well, I should say so,” Remus replied vaguely. If there was a hint of mirth in his voice at Sirius’ expense, well, who could blame him?

Sirius groaned. He sipped more of his coffee—really, he owed Remus a blowjob and a thousand thank yous later—and deliberated, racking his brains for anything that might’ve stood out the night prior. Coming up with jack shit, he looked to Remus and asked for an recap.

Remus smiled wider now, enjoying every second of his retelling. He told of the contest of who could down more shots in less than a minute, which was quickly followed by a drunken speech about “refusing to let Lily take James’ manhood and cause him to grow a vagina”, and after more stupid mishaps landed on the shining moment of the evening. “There is one last thing that you did last night, Sirius. Are you ready, or do you need a moment?”

“Christ, Moons,” Sirius groaned. “I didn’t start a bar fight, did I? That one at Marlene’s birthday when that arsehole called you a fag was already bad enough.”

Laughing, Remus replied, “you didn’t exactly defend my honor, Sirius. Would you like a drumroll, or should I just get on with it?”

Sirius flicked his wand and the drumsticks strewn on the floor of his closet tapped out the weak drumroll Remus so obviously wanted.

“You, Sirius Black, got right up on the stage of the last bar for the evening, sang karaoke to Baby I’m Yours by the Arctic Monkeys, and got on one knee and so hilariously, so drunkenly asked for my hand in marriage.” Sirius couldn’t begin to comprehend why Remus was beaming at what might have been the lowest moment of his adult life—that he couldn’t even remember, thank you very much.

“Fuck, Moony!” Sirius wailed, burying his face in his hands. “Shite, I’m so sorry, ugh.”

“What could you possibly be sorry for? James convinced the bartender to give us free drinks on our so-called engagement and I now have blackmail fodder for the reat of your life.”

“No, Remus,” his boyfriend insisted remorsefully. “I had this whole goddamn plan, too, and it was going to be lovely and romantic and now I just went and screwed it all up!”

Suddenly, Remus’ laughing stopped. “You mean that wasn’t just a drunken lark? There was actual, coherent planning that went into all that?”

“Yes, Moony, of course I was going to bloody ask you soon, it’s been three fucking years since we got together and there’s nothing I’d want more, but apparently drunken Sirius is an impatient bastard. Please tell me I didn’t have the ring on me, I might actually have to go find a nice window to hop out of if I did—“

“Ring?” Remus interrupted. He was blushing, a bashful and pleasantly surprised smile dancing across his lips. “You’ve a ring already?”

“Well, that answers that, then.” Sirius smiled up at him with a furrowed brow, angry at himself for bollocksing it all up. He placed the tray on the nightstand, feeling much better than when he had opened his eyes the first time. Leaning forward to kiss Remus and cuddle up against him, Sirius mumbled, “just forget it happened, Moony. You deserve a better go, I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

After a few moments of silence, Remus spoke aloud once more. “I said yes, you know. When you fake-asked me last night. I don’t care if you would have asked me on a morning like this where I’m nursing you through your hangover, the answer would be yes, Sirius. It will always be yes.”

#this got longer than i intended #it’s kinda just babbling #i hope this is what you were looking for #idk how it got so soppy #marauders #sirius black #remus lupin #james potter #peter pettigrew #lily evans #moony #wormtail #padfoot #prongs #mwpp #wolfstar #sirius x remus #remus x sirius #wolfstar fic #wolfstar drabble #harry potter

[aurora-the-kunoichi]

A Year Without – Part One

(Back at it bitches) warning this story will get angsty, twisted and smuty

You sat alone, high above the city streets watching the cars and people go about their daily lives oblivious to the sorrow that filled your heart. But how would they know what had happened here, you barely even knew yourself. A year ago today, on this very rooftop was where it happened; this was the spot where Leonardo was taken, the leader of four mutant brothers and the love of your life. It had been like any other warm summer night; the sky was clear and there was a slight breeze keeping August’s heat from reaching sweltering. It had been a slow night; three of the four turtles had gone out on patrol. Donnie and you remained at the lair, he was helping you fix your laptop that had been giving you the business the past few days when a distressing sound came over the com on Donnie’s shoulder. It was Leonardo, his voice was calm, bored even but it was short lived, “All right guys, it’s been slow………(ack)…” Then there was static followed by an eerie silence. Donnie and you looked at each other, concern washing over the both of you.

 Donnie pressed down on his com. “Leo, everything alright?”

 When he didn’t respond you heard Mikey come over the airwaves, “Hey bro, we didn’t catch that, wanna come again?”

 “Fearless?” Raph followed after Mikey’s question went unanswered as well, his gravelly voice edged with worry.

 Again nothing, there was no response to any of their calls. Something was wrong and it hit all of you at the same time.

 “Where is he Don?” Raph came again, this time there was anger spiking in his curt tone.

 You looked at the purple banded terrapin sitting next to you and spoke just as Mikey came over the com again, “Track him.” You both demanded in tandem.

 One of the many great ideas that came from Don’s big brain was to put a tracker in each one of their coms. It had come in handy many times and this would be no different. Donnie spun from you wheeling over to his main control center and began typing away pulling up a large grid of the city. Almost immediately a blue beacon began flashing at the bottom left hand corner of the map.  “He’s in lower Manhattan on top of the Wells Fargo Building, head there now. We’ll meeting you there.” Short and sweet and the two brothers out in the city advised they were on their way.

 Donnie grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the garage where their large garbage truck sat waiting. “I’m sure he’s fine, maybe he pulled too hard on the cord and it snapped.” He smiled back at you with a crooked smile, but you could read the genius, you had known him for too long. He was just as worried as you. The ten minute drive to the location specified was silent and awkward, Donnie’s fingers tapping nervously on the steering wheel the whole way. When the truck came to a halt you both stepped out into the warm dense air and tilted your heads back groaning at the climb ahead. Without warning a strong hand slipped around your waist and pulled you forward bringing your chest in contact with Donnie’s plastron. “Hold on spider monkey.” he whispered low in your ear as your arms and legs hooked around his slim body. His long legs made quick work of the metal staircase vaulting up half the section at a time. The mutagen coursing through his veins kept his stamina at peak performance so the tall terrapin was barely out of breath, where you would have been panting nearly dead halfway up.

 As you reached the summit of the tall building you noticed Raphael and Michelangelo were already there, the look on their faces was less than encouraging. Raph was angrily pacing the rooftop while Mikey held something in his three fingered hand, his blue eyes focused in on the item. Donnie unhooked your limbs and dashed forward leaving you at the corner of the building to see what his brothers had found. The heavy pit in your stomach ate away at your sanity as you slowly approached Donnie and Mikey, the item was clear now in Donnie’s trembling green hands. It was Leo’s com which also housed the tracking beacon. By the looks of the clean cut it had been severed by a sharp blade. This was no accident.

 With shaky fingers you pulled out your phone from your back pocket and clicked on the light, there had to be more to this scenario. The gruesome scene below now illuminated by your phone, you let out a started yelp gaining the attention of the three remaining brothers. Blood, so much blood had been spilled on this rooftop. You knelt down pressing your pointer finger in a crimson pool and found it still lukewarm. This was resent, Leo had been taken just a short time ago.  Then out of the black tar and blood you spotted a new color in the corner just to your right. Your finger rose pointing to the item and Raphael followed bending down retrieving what had caught your eye. As he approached you saw it, Leonardo’s blue mask stained with blood left behind for them to find.

 “Someone ambushed him, taking him from behind, honor less scum.” Raphael growled running his fingers over the marred fabric. His green eyes rose to meet yours, the anger and hatred apparent in his gaze. The red brute wanted blood, he wanted death to those who hurt his brother. “If they hurt him, if they ki……” his voice faulted unable to finish the sentence as his large mitts squeezed the mask in his palm. You had no doubt Raphael was vibrating with fury with only one thing on his mind, vengeance.

 Donnie took in the gore, his eyes wide with worry, “There is so much blood here, too much for my liking. There’s no way for me to tell if it’s all Leo’s blood or if it’s some of his assailants? They had to of caught him off guard.” Another scan of the surface brought out foot prints, there was the obvious prints of Leonardo’s larger feet along with several unknown smaller prints. “Leo was outnumbered 20 to one at least. This wasn’t a fair fight but I know Leo didn’t go down without a fight, which means he’s probably seriously injured…..or worse.”

 “Don’t!” you snapped at the genius. “They wouldn’t take the time to track him down to just kill him. Whoever took him, took him alive.” Someone had taken Leo, they had found him alone and vulnerable and had hurt him god knows how badly and could very well still be hurting him.

 The search for him began immediately; there was no rest for the weary. None of you slept for almost three days looking for clues, following leads that all seemed to end with no conclusion and with no clear choice on who had nabbed the leader in blue. You all felt useless wandering about the city searching where you could but coming up with nothing yet still able to go back home to your own bed, while Leo was out there being tortured or god knows what.

 Tensions were high at the lair, Raph was at the end of his rope snapping at anyone that would come close unless they had a lead on Leo. Donnie was walled up in his lab, forever on his computer searching for anything that could help them find their leader and Mikey the sunshine of the group was anxious disappearing hours on end doing his own searches, barely sleeping. They only left the lair when there was a clue or chatter about something unusual reported on the web. They could only conclude they were next, so a low profile still needed to be kept.

 Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months and now a year had passed, and you were no closer to finding Leonardo then you were the night he was taken.

 His blue mask was wound around your wrist like it had been since the day he went missing. The only time you took it off was when you showered. It was a constant reminder to never stop looking, to never give up hope. You knew deep down you would see him again, to see those cerulean colored eyes and to feel his lips again. You just had too. Now a year had gone by and you had found yourself climbing the never-ending fire escape to the top of the building he was last seen. Something had told you to ascend the building; you had to be up there tonight.

 In the lotus position, you closed your eyes and let out a shaky breath. His name a whisper called to the winds in hopes they would hear you, to carry your call to him, wherever he was. Your finger traced over the blue fabric of Leo’s mask and the new tracker Donnie had injected you with a few days ago. He was pretty insistent on it, Raph, Mikey, Splinter and even himself had been given the same injection. There would be no room for error next time, if there was a next time. You didn’t put up a fight and gave him your arm for the shot.

 After an hour on the rooftop a presence made itself known. Cracking open your eyes you saw the tall slender figure of Karai standing a few feet in front of you, her hips jutted out with both hands on her narrow hips. She was a bitch if you ever did see one. You yourself hadn’t had much interaction with her but you knew it was her, there was no doubt in your mind. She was dressed in all black with a large red foot emblem in the center of her chest along with her armored shoulder blades. A katana sat at her hip along with a tanto blade by its side. Her long black hair spun wildly behind her with the wind that whipped up the side of the tall building. She was dangerously beautiful, it was hard to deny.

 You rose from your seated position with ease and adjusted your footing to a defensive stance, hands out, ready if need be. “What do you want?” you hissed quickly keeping your eyes on the woman as she began to circle you.

 “So, you’re Y/N? My, I’ve heard so much about you, but you and I have never really officially met. I’m Karai if you didn’t know that already.” She moved closer to you, her green eyes traveling up and down your form making your uneasy, “My my you are beautiful, aren’t you? He wasn’t lying, was he?”

 That caught your attention, “Who wasn’t lying? Who have you been talking too about me?”  

 The kunoichi laughed snapping her fingers, “You’ll find out soon enough.”

 The next thing you knew a sharp pain ebbed through the back of your neck and your fingers flew to the source. With a painful yelp you pulled a dart from your flesh, the remanence of a green substance sloshed about in the canister as you threw it to the ground. Almost immediately your vision began to blur. “What did you…”

 Karai cut you off closing the distance between you running her ivory white fingers over your cheek. “Don’t worry Y/N, it will only make you sleep. I have such plans for you and those other three turtles. I wouldn’t dream of ending my fun before it’s even begun. But first things first, the happy reunion. Or should I say unhappy reunion.” As the drugs took their course and the woman before you began to fade, you stumbled back away from her touch colliding with a wall of muscle. Thick arms hooked under yours keeping you from colliding with the roofs surface as you became more and more disoriented. Your eyes traveled down to familiar green scaled skin wrapped in black leather. “No.” you slurred jarring yourself free of the strong grasp. Your steps uneven and sloppy you turned around to see an enormous 7-foot green blur closing in. As the darkness raced to claim you felt it gather you back into its hold, firm and steady. “Please.” eyes raising to meet your capture you let out one name as sleep overtook you, taking you away from him again.

“Leo.”

@blossom-skies @southernblossoms @imthegreenfairy88 @nerdydirtydonnie

#tmnt #tmnt leonardo #foot leo #a year without #part one

[ziggory]

Riverdale Liveblogs 3x07 - 3x13

Instead of making you all suffer through six separate liveblogs as I was catching up, have them all in on post!

3x07, “The Man in Black”

Remember when Jughead was the biggest woobie ever with a bunch of sad shit happening to him. Fun times. Honestly, Jughead’s just really taking advantage of finally being on the roadtrip he was denied

Justice for Jingle Jangle. Why did we need a new drug? Or I’d be fine with it complementing the other but NOooOooOOOO. It’s trying to shove JJ out of the spotlight!

Elvis’ granddaughter could’ve just drugged the eggs but instead she chose to nearly give Archie a concussion. Hiram might chop her head off if his Archiekins gets permanent brain damage

Let Archie kill a man!! Jughead got to skin someone who was fucking up his life. Why can’t he let Archie take his shot!? I can’t hear you about consequences

Your business is failing because trading away the final piece of the Soutshide to open a vanity project in the form of a dry speakeasy was not a great idea. Also, gamers can give you business. I’ve seen it!

The show can make Veronica say all these supposedly empowering lines, but I’m never going to forget that she supported a for-profit prison

MAYBE MY DAD’S NOT SO BAD!!?!?

This voiceover was completely unnecessary. Honestly, it’s sort of a slap in the face to Lili’s acting as if they didn’t think she could convey certain things without some hand holding

I’ve seen movies. They make you swallow that shit on the spot

So many negative thoughts being awkwardly confirmed

Honestly, this is what happens when you keep exploiting the place for abuses to help your investigations but never fucking shut it down

3x08, “Outbreak”

Does Moose need drugs to get it up? He said Midge liked to get wild, but methinks he liked it of his own volition as well. And just what I wanted. Shadowy makeouts while high on drug laced childhood candy

Kevin needs to find out who put a curse on his dick. ANOTHER hookup interrupted by bodies in danger

I don’t know why a group of high school boys acting like typical jackass high school boys with loud laughing is cause for thinking they’re all high.

“good people like Archie” 

Gladys being a Jarchie shipper is pure. I will not stand for this no homoing

Wait, Cheryl did actually get to be Student Body President? I thought they were just going to let that circle the drain and disappear

MY FAVORITE INCOMPETENT EDUCATIONAL ADMINISTRATOR

THE PRISON WAS A FUCKING COVER?!?!? So all of S2 was just…oh my fucking god, I’m going to do drown myself

“good looking shortsatck” Love it. Goddamn, I love Gladys

Do they know that the way they write Hiram and Veronica feels like it’s been dipped in ten layers of incest? He talks to her like she’s the mistress he wants to bed

The affection the Jones women have for Archie is cute

The Gargoyle King being a hallucination is the most disappointing thing

TABLETOP RPGS ARE NOT FUCKING BORN OF MADNESS. Ugh, my inner geek is angry with rage

Oh, now you care about the kids in conversion therapy

So I guess they didn’t go to Toledo for Christmas??

Lili should get a raise for this Griffin Queen shit

I’m more emotional than I would usually be over these Fred scenes given Luke Perry’s recent condition

PROTECT THAT FUCKING DOG WITH YOUR FUCKING LIFE!! THROW YOURSELF IN FRONT OF A BEAR

I missed alcoholic Hermione. And lmao this Watchmen realness

I love Silent!Kevin getting nothing to say in that office! Just fucking great

we need to know more about this fucking Governor. Racist piece of shit who gets upset about vandalized statues of genocidal war criminals, AND he’s under Hiram’s thumb.

3x09, “No Exit”

Will someone get bit by a monkey? I can only hope

Oh fuck off with the Star Wars reference. IT DOESN’T FIT

Stealing from the rich to give to the rich. How very one percenter. And Toni, all your friends are living in tents by the river

KEVIN. WHY THE FUCK DO YOU ALWAYS JOIN THE WORST GROUPS

While the implication of Jughead sleeping over is nice, what the fuck was the point of last episode’s cliffhanger. This timeline makes no sense

I’M GETTING FIREWATCH VIBES

They’re so fucking low budget that they couldn’t even show the bear, LMAO

I forgot what Fangs sounded like. Didn’t FP retire? ARE THERE EVEN ANY ADULTS LEFT IN THIS FUCKING JOKE OF A GANG. But Damn, Fangs is good at crying. So pretty

Aww, I actually missed the hammy ass warden

Every time Joaquin’s name is mentioned, another dagger in my heart

The fact that the sisters have been fake nuns this whole time is just…what the fuck. AND THE FUCKING SOCIAL WORKER KNEW AND JUST LET THEM KEEP OPERATING!?!? LET THIS WHOLE FUCKING TOWN FALL INTO A HELLMOUTH

Remember when Jughead was outraged about the Serpents being paid security at the Pickens festival thing? Time is a flat circle

CHERYL, WHY DON’T YOU JSUT KILL HIRAM THEN

“SAVED”!??! REALLY NANA ROSE!?! IS THAT WHAT YOU CALL THE CHILD GROOMING YOU DID!? And uh, Fred and Sierra should know about that sordid piece of Penelope’s past

Damn, Veggie is hot as fuck

You know who else could’ve gone undercover for the Serpents to infiltrate the Gargoyle gang?!????? I HATE YOU FOREVER, RAS. ANOTHER AU FOR THE DRAWER

3x10, “The Stranger”

LMAO that they tried to make us think Archie died

Being attacked by a bear in Canada means not having to suffer through crippling debt because of the hospital bill for the rest of your life

Sidenote, but I really thought the painting of Veronica would have a bug or something. The fact that she just kept the painting instead of burning it says something

Oh so the core four are THOSE type of friends

Betty’s money >> those kids

Claudius just doesn’t want to do actual work

They let a kid pass the first grade when he couldn’t read? So the educational system has always been rather shit

Hey there, Silent!Kevin! Just sitting silently with your slowly developing biceps

Does Reggie know what PTSD is

I spy with my little eyes Kevin in the corner putting his PE clothes away! Once again robbed of a shirtless scene

FUCKING TALL BOY!?!? Lol, this is really good for my drawer fic actually. Keep sounding like a spiteful man! It’s semi feeding me

Wow, they really crammed in two Varchie sex scenes

Hiram deserved this and every agonizing second of pain he felt

Raw milk, huh? Yeah, that’s all you need to bait Kevin into this cult

Bye Claudius, no one will miss you

I want Hermione/FP to fuck

Jughead throwing a party to make things better is the biggest twist this series has ever done

Archie the alcoholic, eh. If this lasts more than one episode, that’d sure be something

3x11, “The Red Dahlia”

This is the noir episode, isn’t it. I’m…really bad with noir so an episode from THIS team is going to be…very trying

Awww, FP mentioning Joaquin is an extra pang. I wanted to know more about their relationship

I’d love to see the notes on this draft when Jughead tries submitting it to a publisher. Unless he goes the self pub route

Who even runs the newspaper now?

Betty, you’re like the last person to talk about black and white morality

Archie sounds like the protagonist of Office Space at the end when he finds his calling in construction

ELIO HAS SPOKEN MORE THAN MELODY EVER DID. EAT SHIT, RAS

I still need Jughead and Veronica arguing about classic cinema

I wonder where Penelope learned those crocodile tears, Nana. Like I never need a scene of her criticizing her ADOPTED DAUGHTER again

Cheryl is pretty forgiving of the uncle who sort of helped with her institutionalization

Have these boys never watched an episode of Breaking Bad? Put that body in a barrel

So has Veronica had a change of heart about Daddykins? I’m so confused

SMITHERS!?!? YOu’RE STILL ALIVE!? Protect this man

Remember when Betty was a camgirl for ten seconds and watched all of her fake brother’s porn videos

Josie’s voice is pure butter, and the show needs to stop pretending that we want to hear anyone else sing

Why doesn’t Toni have a job at Veronica’s dry speakeasy? She used to be an actual bartender!

“Kevin’s dad boxes at the gym” being a line from Josie is the most beautiful line in this episode

Well at least they explained the seizures.

YYYAAAAAASSSS, KELLY RIPPA!!

What is even the point of Minetta having faked his death just to be Hermione’s kept man

Well, damn, I really didn’t see this FP reveal coming. I wish he was the sheriff Hermione was fucking. And given all the things Jughead used to say and aim at Keller, it’s interesting to see him have to deal with his dad being somewhat in Hermione’s pocket

PULL THE FUCKING TRIGGER, ARCHIE

Lmao at this Bad Boys line. I see you, synergy

Honestly, how dare Archie shoot the person who was going to kill Hiram. I guess that’s one way to bury the Archie/Hiram grudge

Hermione’s trigger finger is life goals

3x12, “Bizarrodale”

So first off, fuck that title and everything it implies.

Second, this is the episode where I’m supposed to finally get fed, eh? FINGERS CROSSED

I forgot what Kevin sounded like after not talking for four episodes

WHEN CAN WE MEET KEVIN’S MOM!?!? I HAVE MANY FANCASTS

Veronica watches Netflix confirmed, and yet I guess she just scrolls past Orange is the New Black every time it’s recommended to her

Why are Kevoose makeouts always in shadow? Is it to disguise the fact that when they makeout it’s with their lips sealed shut

The actor who plays Major Mason followed me back on my burner instagram

Awww, Sweet Pea is a relationship guy with a gooey little heart!

Sierra pegs Tom confirmed. Love these two kinky fuckers

The way Tom says “Gargoyle King” goes straight to my nether regions

So does Britta have a kink for people outing others against their will? I swear this is a plot point in Ship It too

I feel like these issues are something they should’ve talked about way more. Making Moose’s coming out be an ultimatum is pretty gross

How DARE they not let us hear Josie sing?!??! Ohhhh, if we’d heard Josie sing then we would sent death threats to the fake Juilliard board. I never want to hear Josie’s teary little voice again because it hurts my feelings

Lmao, this is the second time a parent has been judgmental of how the Lodges involve Veronica in their business

Remember that time Moose and Cheryl made out? I’m forever traumatized by that

Hiram and Hermione strolling in like a fucked up Gomez and Morticia

I’m sure that Dilton would approve of his friend from another lifetime using his secret bunker to pop his cherry. But only Moose. Yes, I ship comics Dilton/Moose

Oh, HeeEYEEEEEEE, IT’S LIKE A BUNCH OF MY FIC DREAMS COME TO LIFE. Wow, I finally got pandered to. Kevin being in dagner is like…the basis of the majority of my drawer fics

I’M FUCKING PSYCHIC X2!!!! Well huh, this puts that earlier diner scene in a new light

Yesss, please keep calling him Tommy and talking about how Kevin looks like your old friend with that sad, wistful tone. Please feed my fic bunnies

Christ, Ashleigh has such a fucking amazing voice. I can actually bear KJ’s singing

Moose having to leave makes sense. ALSO MAKE SURE YOU WATCH CODY”S SHOW ON NETFLIX TO MAKE THIS WORTH IT

I never want to see Kevin cry again. Fucking Maramaduke

Gladys can step on me, and I’d apologize

3x13, REQUEIM FOR A WELTERWEIGHT

I’M FINALLY ALL FUCKING CAUGHT UP

I don’t think that bacon is fully cooked

So Veronica just decided to not move back out because the path of least resistance?? And she’s back in her Daddy’s clutches because....he got shot???

The Serpent with the awesome dreads is still there! Can he be an actual character with a name? He deserves it

Between last episode and this one, I am being fucking BLESSED with Daddy Keller content. 

VERONICA IS a FUCKING REPUBLICAN CONFIRMED. I guess we all know who scrolled right past 13th on Netflix! 

They’re really trying to sweep up their awkward plot mistakes from last season, eh

I need a flashback of young Alice in this ugly fucking wedding dress

This is some Rocky and Mickey shit. Hopefully Keller doesn’t have a heart attack while confronting Mr. T

YES, GLADYS!!! CALL OUT THAT LEADERSHIP!

San Junipero water, huh. 

Why is Archosie so perfect

Ehhhh, the last time they talked was eight episodes ago. Will this scene be about how Kevin’s recovering post-Moose?? Of course not. My hopes for investigative Kevin are once again yanked away. Though of course remember that time she got him to catfish a murderer without telling him that Chic had killed someone?? Fun times

“cute gay farmies”

Veronica is the opposite intimidating ESPECIALLY in the face of Gladys who we all know has actually fucked up a bitch

The monstrous Freeform ate Malachai, eh. Ghoulie jackets are still the best jackets

I’ve never watched Apocalypse Now so this scene is wasted on me

THUNDERDOME!!?!?

Keller looks like he gives good hugs

How the fuck did Jason learn about The Farm?

This is Polly’s revenge for being sent to the Sisters

It’s awkward how Choni just sort of disappeared from the episode

Damn, Archosie has everything going on

Hermione, you should’ve just killed Hiram when you had the chance

PROTECTIVE BIG BROTHER JUGHEAD!

Gladys doling out gang advice is just everything I wanted from her

#Riverdale #Riverdale liveblog

[bowlegsandbiceps]

otp questions meme #6a

What is their favorite feature of their partner’s? (Dean’s Version)

“You seem stressed.”

Castiel glared into the mirror, his brother smirking at him over his shoulder then returned his gaze to his tie that was, once again, backwards. He growled as he undid it to start over again. Dean always tied his tie for him but Dean wasn’t allowed to see him yet. A stab of longing hit him, the same one that had been poking at him the entire day, the entire past week really.

The wedding was Castiel’s idea. He kept reminding himself of that. This was exactly what he’d wanted. Big venue, family and friends, a string quartet for the procession, and a five-piece band for the reception. White roses mixed with hydrangeas and magnolia leaves. Ties and dresses the perfect shade of green to compliment Dean’s eyes. 

Dean had wanted to go to Vegas. A smile tugged at the corner of Castiel’s lips but it fell quickly. He missed him.

He was being ridiculous. They were getting married. They literally had the rest of their lives together. Divide and conquer was the easiest solution to last-minute additions, picking family up from the airport and what seemed like a million other small tasks that needed to be done leading up to their big day. Being too busy for anything but a quick peck on the cheek before they were off to the next thing was a small price to pay for the perfect day. Hadn’t Castiel been saying that all along? 

Finish on A03 or

There was a knock on the door and Castiel looked over to find Sam poking his head in, his face lighting up as he let himself all the way into the room. He held up an envelope.

“Special delivery for the soon-to-be Mr. Winchester.” Sam wiggled it at him and Castiel frowned. 

Castiel sighed. Couldn’t the caterer wait to get the last half of their payment until after the ceremony? Or maybe it was the band... ”What is it?”

“It’s the last of your 30-day wedding letter writing thingy.”

Castiel smacked himself on the forehead. They’d spent the last month following a list of daily prompts for love letters leading up to their wedding day. Castiel had written his in batches, leaving them for Dean on the driver’s seat of the Impala every morning and tried not to be annoyed when it was well into the afternoon before Dean got around to giving him his.

“Shit,” Castiel muttered shuffling over to his bag, pulling out the last of his stationary, the final prompt scribbled on a post-it stuck to the front. “Favorite feature”

“Don’t tell me you forgot to write your last letter,” Gabriel teased, side-eyeing Sam who had the decency to try and hide his smile. “After all the bitching you did about Dean trying to double up when he missed a day-“

“Shut up Gabriel.” Castiel’s voice was sharper than he meant it to be, sitting at the small table to write his letter. He’d wanted to save this one for the day-of, thinking it’d be extra special.

Castiel glanced over at Sam who was tapping the envelope against the tips of his fingers as he leaned down to speak quietly with Gabriel. It was one of the standard security envelopes they used to pay their rent. Castiel looked down at his $40 stationary set with specialty fine-tipped pen, all archival quality, and matching the paisley pattern Castiel had chosen for the groomsmen’s ties. 

It was all just too much. Dean didn’t care about any of this. So he decided to take a page from his future-husband’s book, tossing the stationary aside and peeling off the post-it note before he scribbled “your dick” under the prompt.

“Give me that, Sam.” Castiel stood, holding out a hand and Sam sprung into action, handing over the envelope with great care. His brows creased as Castiel ripped it open and pulled the piece of creased notebook paper out before shoving the post-it note in and thrusting the envelope back at Sam.

“Uh.” Sam looked down at it, seemingly at a loss for words. “Is... are you sure you-” Sam’s mouth snapped shut at the look Castiel gave him and looked to Gabriel who was eyeing his brother.

"We’re gonna give you some space, buddy.” Gabriel reached out and patted Castiel’s bicep, a placating gesture that only made Castiel frown more. “Only got-” Gabriel shot out his cuff to glance at his watch and gave a low whistle, “-twenty minutes before the big show.”

Gabriel clapped Sam on the shoulder and started herding the younger man out of the room. Sam looked like he wanted to say something but ultimately gave up, exiting with Gabriel who pulled the door shut behind him. 

Castiel sighed, looking down at the creased and crookedly folded note in his hand before he shook his head and threw it down on the footstool next to the full-length mirror, going back to his examination of himself. His suit was perfect, exactly what he’d wanted, sage jacket and pants with a slate gray vest, sky blue shirt, and paisley tie. Sophisticated and stylish. Dean would compliment it in a slate gray suit and vest paired with a paisley shirt and sage ascot. The dork loved an ascot.

Castiel looked down at the note again and sighed, snatching it up to unfold it. It ripped a little at one of the folds and Castiel winced, peeling back the layers more carefully to find the entire page filled with Dean’s neat copperplate. His handwriting varied as did the color of the pen he’d used. Things were scratched out and extra words squeezed in here or there by use of a carat. Castiel’s brows furrowed as he began to read.

Cas,

So it’s finally here, your big day! You’ve worked so hard over the past year to make sure everything would be perfect. I know I’ve been pretty useless and you’ve been frustrated because I don’t care much about the place settings or the font on the invitations. I mean I do CARE but not as much as you... and really only because you care so much about it. If you want a perfect day I want you to have it, right down to the green - excuse me, sorry, SAGE - shoelaces and that includes this, the final installment of The Sapfest Chronicles, so here it goes:

Favorite Feature: I’m sure you’re expecting some smart ass answer for this like, “your dick”

Castiel snorted, shaking his head.

And it’s my second favorite dick, don’t get me wrong, but we are so much more than our dicks, Cas. Didn’t you tell me that once? Or yelled it after you told me you loved me for the first time and I said “I know” not realizing you wouldn’t get the EXTREMELY ROMANTIC significance of it. Honestly, I should have known but when you said it, that you loved me -ME! -for the very first time, I remembered being four years old, watching the VHS tucked between my mom and dad and Sam was kicking me in the ribs from inside the womb. I had the same floaty feeling in my chest when you said it as when I was a kid and I get it every time you tell me to this day, ten-some-odd years later.

So, not your dick. Not your eyes either, though obvious choice. Your voice, panty-dropper as it is, came close but when I took the time to think about it, like really think about it, on my way to work to distract myself from opening your letter while driving. Or on my break eating the entirely-too-healthy lunch you packed for me. Or on my way home, trying not to speed because if I got pulled over I definitely wouldn’t catch you before you ran out to do final wedding crap. 

It wasn’t until I was laying in bed next to you, up before my alarm like damn always and you, unconscious and drooling while making that cute little snuffle noise that I don’t call a snore only because calling it a snuffle pisses you off more than saying your snore. The sun was just starting to come up and I laid there facing you watching as your features became clearer. I always hold your hand in the morning, did you know that? It’s right there flat against the bed between us and I’m able to slip my palm under yours, line up our digits and press my rough fingertips to yours, softly calloused from all those book pages and computer keys. 

It was laying there, palm to palm that I realized I couldn’t get enough of your skin. You called me “a tactile individual” in one of your letters (I had to look that up by the way - no fair using your big ivy league brain on the grease monkey with the GED) and you’re right. I do love you with my hands and love when you love me with yours. I love the feel of your lower back, warm when I rest my hand there while you’re smelling the rind of every melon in the bin in the grocery store. I love smudging my thumb against the line between your eyebrows when you concentrate too hard. I love grabbing your face with both hands while you’re yelling at me and kiss you until you’re not mad anymore. I love pressing my mouth to the faint line at your hip bones where your swim trunks sit and my tongue is very familiar with the taste of that freckle under your nipple. 

You know me inside out, the only person I’ve let take me skin on skin and your touch has healed something in me that’s been broken nearly my whole life. I’m a better man for loving you and despite your insistence otherwise, I will never deserve you. I plan on spending the rest of my life working at being worthy of you, Castiel Novak-soon-to-be-Winchester.

Yours, Forever and Always, Dean

P.S. I apologize in advance for wrecking whatever it is that I’m bound to wreck on your perfect day. I know I botched the letters pretty good and I’m sorry about that. Yours were just so good, this simple mechanic could never come up with anything like the “melodious prose” (thanks Sam) your poet soul conjured up. I can only say that I love you, and hope that it’s enough.

Love, D

Castiel had managed to lower himself to the footstool, thick tears streaming down his face and spotting the silk of his tie. The notebook paper trembled in his hands, smooth and worn from living for god knows how long in Dean’s pocket, smudged with grease and Cheeto dust and who even knew what else. Castiel looked up into the mirror and had to look away. It wasn’t Dean who wrecked his perfect day. It was him for being selfish enough to make Dean think it was only Castiel’s day and making him feel like his love wouldn’t live up to Castiel’s lofty expectations. 

He sniffed hard, wiping at his face with the heel of his hand and stood abruptly, clamoring out of the room and looking back and forth down the long hallway of the farmhouse turned bridal - well in this case groom’s - suite. He ran towards the back stairs, nearly slipping down them in his dress shoes and rushed frantically from the sitting room where the rest of the wedding party was assembling to begin their procession out to the barn. He skidded to the kitchen and then another sitting room.

Someone called his name behind him but his hand landed on the knob of a closed door and he twisted it open, finding Dean glancing over his shoulder into the full-length mirror to get a look at his ass. Castiel stepped in and slammed the door shut behind him just as Dean caught sight of him in the mirror. He turned, eyes wide in question before he yelped and snapped his eyes shut, clapping his hands over them for good measure.

“You said I’m not supposed to see you!”

“Fuck that.” Castiel was across the room, hands wrapping around Dean’s wrists and pulling to reveal the most beautiful green eyes he’d ever seen. When he glanced down at where Castiel held him by the wrists his lashes cast shadows on his freckled cheeks, plush bottom lip snagging between his teeth.

“You read my letter...” 

Castiel looked down, finding the paper tucked against his palm with his pinky and ring finger, using his forefinger and thumb to grip Dean. Castiel sniffled and Dean’s face went blank in alarm, shaking off his hold to grab on to Castiel’s face, thumbs running over the wet tracks on his cheeks.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked, his voice low with dread. “Is it the flowers in the barn? are they wilting? Do we need to do pictures now? I’m ready.” 

Dean took a step to the side like he was going to usher Castiel out the door and Castiel just dropped his chin and sobbed. hands coming to cover his face.

If Dean was alarmed before, he was absolutely panicking now. “Fuck, Cas, what is it? Who did it? I’ll kill them.” Dean’s fingers tightened at Castiel’s biceps and Castiel gripped his elbows to steady himself.

“It was me,” Castiel practically wailed, hating himself for his dramatics but dammit he was a poet he couldn’t just turn that off and on. “I’ve wrecked everything, Dean. I can’t believe I did this to you.”

Dean blinked, mouth falling open and he looked around the room as if he might find an answer tucked somewhere. His brow furrowed and he licked his lips as he tilted his head down trying to snag Castiel’s gaze. “I’m sorry, what now?”

“You... you wanted to go to V-Vegas.” Castiel was hiccuping now, the letter now tucked in his fist that laid against Dean’s chest, smushing his boutonniere.

Dean let out a surprised burst of laughter. “Babe, I don’t give a shit. You know that.” He rubbed his hands up and down Castiel’s arms, face crumpling in concern when Castiel’s mournful blue eyes met his.

“This isn’t just my big day, Dean. It’s supposed to be ours. And I...” Castiel looked around the room as if lost. “I just-”

“Hey, it is ours,” Dean’s eyes held Castiel’s and gave a short nod of his head. “I just want you to be happy. You’re happy I’m happy.” Dean gave a more authoritative nod and Castiel didn’t think he could possibly feel worse but that did it, more tears gushing down his face. Dean was back to panicking.

“I-I-I didn’t mean to m-m-make you feel inf-f-ferior. Your letters were... were wonderful.”

“They sucked pretty bad,” Dean chuckled, wiping at Castiel’s face again and Castiel shook his head adamantly. 

“This.” He held up his fist, the folded paper peeking out from under his fingers and Dean’s face went blank, eyeing his hand and swallowing hard. “This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever read.”

“Oh come on, Cas,” Dean tried to pull away, his ears going blood red, neck and cheeks pinkening too but Castiel held fast.

“You are certainly worthy of me, Dean Winchester.” Castiel sniffled, shoving the letter in his pocket before gripping Dean’s face hard and lancing him with an ethereal blue stare that made Dean’s entire body go lax, his beautiful face turning soft and fond. “Your love is the only thing I will ever need and I need it like I need air. It will always be enough. You are enough. And I definitely don’t deserve someone as kind and patient and nurturing-”

Dean waved a hand cutting him off with a smirk though his face was quite red now. “Yeah you do, you just got stuck with me instead.” 

Dean grinned at him almost bashful and Castiel huffed out a watery laugh, letting his forehead fall forward to rest against Dean’s chin. Dean’s lips pressed warmly to his temple before he pulled him in for a hug that nearly had Castiel in hysterics again. God how he’d missed him.

“Oh,” Dean said after a moment, shifting so he could slip a hand into his pocket and Castiel looked down to find him pulling out a folded yellow post-it note.

Castiel looked at it in absolute horror. “Oh my god, Dean. I am so sorry. You wrote me this beautiful, soul-bearing letter and I gave you a fucking snarky post-it about your genitals.” Castiel made to grab for it, attempting to crumple it in his palm but Dean hastily grabbed his wrist and hand.

“Okay, one, what have I said about using the word genitals?” Castiel looked down at his feet and mumbled something incoherent that sounded contrite so he missed Dean smothering his grin. “And, two, this was the best fucking thing... probably ever.” Dean shook his head and laughed, finally plucking it from Castiel’s fingers. “I mean, if this doesn’t prove I’m a terrible influence on you then I don’t know if anything else can.” Dean flicked it before tucking it back into his pocket.

“But I did it on our wedding day,” Castiel whined, shame burning hot in the back of his throat and Dean’s delighted laugh was severely at odds with what Castiel thought Dean should be feeling.

“God, that makes it even better.” Dean chuckled spastically and shook his head. “Look, babe.” Dean grabbed his arms again, forcing Castiel to look into his eyes, pausing to smudge a knuckle against Castiel’s cheek just to try and get him to shift out of sheer misery. “You wrote me twenty-nine epic love letters. Twenty-nine.” Dean’s eyes were wide and astonished, mouth slightly agape. “I cried every fucking day this month, you asshole.”

Castiel perked up, giving a soft sniffle. “Really?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yes, really. Your weird kink for making people cry is honestly the only unattractive thing about you.” Dean gave a dramatic sigh and Castiel couldn’t help but grin.

“I love you, Dean. I’m sorry I’ve been crazy about this stupid day. It doesn’t matter. None of this bullshit matters,” Castiel looked down at his tie, still backwards and angrily tried to right it but it only flopped backwards again.

Dean gave a soft chuckle. “I know, Cas and there’s nothing to be sorry about.” Dean undid the knot at Castiel’s throat and situated the two sides of his tie against his chest before he began the loop. “We’re gonna have the best kick-off-” Dean leaned in to peck Castiel’s lips, coaxing a small smile out of the poet. “-to the best marriage-” Dean pecked his lips again. “-with the hottest sex-” Dean’s next kiss was more of them laughing into each other’s mouths. “-and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Dean leaned back to shift the knot of Castiel’s tie up against his throat, looking at it critically before holding up his hands and gesturing as if to say “ta-da!” He stepped aside, shifting so he was behind Castiel at his shoulder so Castiel could see himself, see them both really. Castiel’s breath caught in his throat, begging his mind to freeze this frame in his memory forever while what felt like a hundred sonnets began whirling through his brain, making his fingers itch for a pen. 

Dean’s arms slipped around Castiel’s waist, eyes holding on his in the mirror as he rested his chin on Castiel’s shoulder. He swayed them gently from side to side, the movement soothing and Castiel turned his head to nuzzle at the hair at Dean’s temple before puckering his lips against the skin there.

“Tell me you love me,” Castiel breathed and felt Dean shiver, pulling his head back just enough so that he could look Castiel in the eyes.

“I love you.”

Castiel’s lips curled up into a smile, sparking a grin that spread across Dean’s face as well when Castiel replied, “I know.”

#destiel #destiel fanfic #spn fanfic #otp questions meme #i answer these myself because it's fun #fanfic: supernatural #writing by me

[deepfriedtwinkie]

Why do you think Mike/Paige is so popular? Why do you think Gareth/Laurel isn't so popular? Songs that remind you of Dimitri/Anya? Favorite AU's for Enjoltaire? Rant about Hollstein (or one of your choice if you can't). What's a meme/quote that reminds you of Rogan and/or Java Junkies?

(see, THIS shit is why you’re my favorite human)

Why do you think Mike/Paige is so popular?

Probably because they look like Apollo and Aphrodite, tbh, b/c we all know that It’s Okay To Ignore Toxic Relationships If Hot—and because of the Fake-Ass Feminist™ idea that abusive women aren’t actually abusive at all, they’re ~EMPOWERED~ and men can never be victims ever. Like nooooooo, Paige was a BADASS for her (tunnelvisioned) commitment to those (ten, not hundreds of) girls, and for calling Mike on his lie about Lina (that her tunnelvision forced him into), and for holding him accountable (by extremely literally ordering a hit on him that was successful because he flatlined). All the times she hit, threatened, or belittled him was just Girl Power!! Like, yeah, what a badass woman, Bitches Get Shit Done, yup, sure. Or mAYBE FLIP THIS AROUND AND IMAGINE PAIGE AS A MAN AND MIKE AS A WOMAN AND THEN GET PROPERLY OUTRAGED BECAUSE OF ALL THE CLEAR AND PRESENT ABUSE, YOU USED NAPKINS—THE POINT IS, Aaron and Serinda are both unfairly pretty humans, and there are lots of “feminists” who actually don’t get the fucking point at all. Hence “Paige is a badass who’s SORRY for murdering him, murder means I love you!! Can they make out for my benefit now??”

Why do you think Gareth/Laurel isn’t so popular?

Political oversaturation. BrainDead had AWFUL timing; I know they were trying to CAPITALIZE on 2016′s hyperpolitical climate, but people were already fucking exhausted by reality. Plus come on, we ALL know how hard it is in REAL life for a liberal and a conservative to ACTUALLY get along. There’s eventually gonna be some shit you can’t agree on and can’t forgive and then the whole illusion of compatibility shatters, ’cause hi, that shit MEANS something for a reason. It’s pretty fundamental in like…everything. So sure, it makes a pretty great fantasy (especially with this I mean holy Jesus fuck), but at the end of the day, you either have to hope that Gareth’s eyes opened to more issues and he switched sides after some time, or expect that you’d eventually want to punch his pretty, pretty face in (and public faith in conservatives is rightfully so low that let’s be real, it probably wasn’t gonna be the former). It’s a lot harder to ship something that relies on headcanoning that half the ship will eventually change in order to make it last. THIS IS WHY I WILL ALWAYS WANT A SPINOFF WHERE THEY BOTH ABANDON POLITICS, TRAVEL THE COUNTRY AND GET A DOG

Songs that remind you of Dimitri/Anya?

OH GOD, first of all, “At The Beginning” and the rest of the soundtrack is just obvious (and I mean the MOVIE soundtrack because I’m sorry, I HATE that they scrapped the kitchen boy thing in the musical, THAT WAS THE ENTIRE SIGNIFICANCE AND FOUNDATION BEHIND THEIR RECONNECTION, THEY COULD HAVE MADE IT WORK EVEN WITH MORE REALISM, AND WHO REMEMBERS A FUCKING GLANCE FROM CHILDHOOD? IT’S SO RANDOM AND CONTRIVED, so for ME the Broadway version is NOT actually the couple I fell in love with and I’m mad at it, HE WAS THE BOY WHO OPENED THE WALL, DAMMIT, HE COULD’VE OPENED THE WALL OF THE IPATIEV HOUSE TOO, BUT ANYWAY, THE POINT IS I MEAN THE MOVIE). “La Vie En Rose” (Edith Piaf) is a Big Vibe one. “Your Mother Should Know” (The Beatles) always makes me think of them post!movie for some reason, especially b/c I used to write a ton of fanfic about them raising kids and whatnot, and I dunno, the past/family vibes….and it’s kinda silly, maybe, but “The Ballad of John and Yoko” (The Beatles) fit them post!movie really well for me b/c I always imagined them traveling all over the world together, and the song’s kinda part fun, part escaping persecution…. Basically anything romantic got my brain back on them for a while there…. Oh, and “The Same Boy You’ve Always Known” (The White Stripes), which sounds weird on the surface, but….You fell down of course / And then you got up of course / And started over / Forgot my name of course / Then you started to remember / Pretty tough to think about / The beginning of December….??? COME ON. And I know I’m probably forgetting some.

Favorite AUs for Enjoltaire?

I am a hugantic ginormic sucker for the very popular Modern College Activist Group one. More specifically, where Grantaire first joined Les Amis because he passed by a meeting during his freshman year and heard Enjolras speaking and it set his soul on fucking fire, and he proceeded to sit in the back and sketch and heckle for a year or two until the day came where Enjolras was arrested during a protest and Grantaire tagged the cop’s car with spraypaint so that they’d arrest him too, so Enjolras wouldn’t have to go alone, *loud obvious cough,* and then in their jail cell, before ’Ferre could pay bail, Enjolras asked Grantaire why he did it, and Grantaire confessed and Enjolras kissed him, and they became their friends’ frustratingly adorable OTP. And Enjolras is emancipated from his rich, shitty, homophobic adoptive parents, but has tapes and diaries from his lovely birth mother who died, and SURPRISE, his birth father is Javert, who slowly learns to come around, see the error of his black-and-white ways, and accept, defend, and even love his son, and punches Enj’s shitty adoptive father in the face. And Enj becomes a civil rights attorney, with guidance from Javert, and R becomes a legit commissioned artist, and they eventually adopt a little girl who was born into addiction, name her Emmeline, and Javert is a shockingly good grandpa/babysitter and eVERYONE IS STILL ALIVE. (YOU ofc go here also and didn’t need me to describe all this, but I figured I’d get detailed for all two and a half people playing along at home)

Rant about Hollstein (or one of your choice if you can’t):

OKAY, WE ARE JUST SO LUCKY THAT THEY ARE STILL/EVEN A COUPLE, THOUGH. THERE IS SO MUCH “HOLY SHIT” IN THIS THING. FIRST OF ALL, THE FACT THAT LAURA EVEN WENT “YOU KNOW WHAT, I THINK I LOVE THIS CONFIRMED VAMPIRE” IN THE FIRST PLACE. LET IT NEVER BE SAID THAT LAURA HOLLIS DOES NOT HAVE COJONES. SECOND OF ALL, THE FACT THAT CARMILLA WAS SO JADED AND YET STILL FOUND THE ABILITY TO FORGIVE LAURA FOR GETTING MATTIE, HER SISTER OF LIKE NINE BILLION YEARS, LITERALLY KILLED. I TOTALLY EXPECTED THAT TO NEVER GET FIXED BECAUSE FUCKING HELL. THIRD OF ALL, LAURA LITERALLY DIED, OKAY, LIKE STOPPED LIVING. THAT’S GENERALLY JUST SLIGHTLY HARD TO REBOUND FROM. THE FACT THAT THEY EVER BECAME A THING OR EVEN SURVIVED THAT SERIES AT ALL IS JUST, YEAH, OKAY, YOU NEED TO BE TOGETHER FOREVER, BECAUSE IF NONE OF THAT SHIT STOPPED YOU, CLEARLY SOMEBODY FUCKING LIKES YOU OUT THERE.

What’s a meme/quote that reminds you of Rogan or Java Junkies?

I literally can not think of a meme that has reminded me of a ship ever. There aren’t any literary quotes or anything that spring to mind either, but the first quote from the SHOW that I associate with Rogan is “Jerk, ass, arrogant, inconsiderate, mindless, frat boy, lowlife, butt-faced miscreant!” (which isn’t the most romantic but dammit if I don’t grin like a monkey every time), and the one I associate most with Luke and Lorelai is “I just want you to know, this thing we’re doing here? Me? You? I’m in…. I am all in.” 

(HOLY SHIT THAT WAS AN EMOTIONAL RIDE, I FEEL LIKE I JUST RAN A MILE)

#Graceland #Gilmore Girls #Carmilla #BrainDead #Enjoltaire #Les Mis #Les Miserables #AU #Gareth Ritter #Laurel Healy #Mike Warren #Paige Arkin #Pike #not Pike; not Pike ever again #Anastasia #Dimitri #Hollstein #Laura Hollis #Carmilla Karnstein #Rogan #Rory Gilmore #Logan Huntzberger #Lorelai Gilmore #Luke Danes #faeriviera #ask and it shall be answered

[mittensmorgul]

6.08: Oh, it’s that weird dog episode I always forget exists... 

Sam and Dean are working for Crowley:

DEAN: I've done some shady stuff in my time, but I am not doing this. No. CROWLEY: Ten quid says you will. [CROWLEY touches the back of SAM’s hand. SAM yells and his hand sizzles. A burn spreads on SAM’s hand. SAM gasps in pain.] CROWLEY: You like pain, Sam? You like Hell?

(I find it interesting in light of what Sam said back in 6.03, about how having gone to Hell didn’t affect him the same way it did Dean... Because Sam doesn’t even REMEMBER Hell, because the part of him that would remember it is still there. Oh gosh he’ll have a better understanding of it all when his wall eventually begins to crack...)

And we finally see a few cracks appear in Sam’s act:

DETECTIVE: What are the Feds doing here? SAM: Oh, we're specialists. They call us in to answer the questions of mouth-breathing dick monkeys. DEAN and the DETECTIVE look at SAM.

And really, it’s got to be EXHAUSTING for Sam to put on this “performance of Sam” all the time. And Dean has ASKED Sam to rely on his judgment, and I think it’s got to be a bit of a relief for Sam.

(And if he was actually intuitive, he’d begin to understand that Dean’s life long performance of Dean is just as exhausting for his brother. I’m actually half expecting Sam to acknowledge or at least understand it from this personal perspective when Dean gives up on the Performing Dean mask altogether. I kind of think this is the same sort of deal...)

So meanwhile in this episode, we have Lucky the dog, who isn’t really a dog, but is performing the act of being this family’s dog.

MANDY gives LUCKY a hug. MANDY: You are the only decent boyfriend I have ever had.

Meanwhile Sam’s ready to just bag up every suspect they come across and toss them to Crowley... But Dean needs to be sure, even if Sam finds that frustrating and confusing.

SAM: Bag him now? DEAN: No. We make sure. SAM: Really? DEAN: Before we hand him over to a lifetime of demon rape? Yeah, really.

and then as soon as Cal ,the previous suspect, becomes a victim, Sam moves right on to the next suspect:

SAM: I mean, Mandy is right at the deep end of the vic pool. Can you do it? DEAN: Do what? SAM: Shove her in the trunk, serve her up to Crowley.

but Dean’s intuition takes over where Sam’s is non-existent:

DEAN: Can I talk to your son? MANDY: Why? SAM: Yeah, what difference does that make, Agent Holt? DEAN: [to SAM] Trust me. It's important. [to MANDY] Please?

and even after hearing the kid alibi the mom, Sam STILL doesn’t believe their story. Sam still thinks she’s lying, but Dean uses the emotional quality of the child’s statement as absolute proof that he was telling the truth. He even uses the magic “trust me” with Sam, because Sam absolutely can not see it. He’s got zero empathy, and it doesn’t make him a “better” hunter, it makes him a cold hunter. And that’s just... not a good thing. That’s what Ketch is, and it’s really about all Soulless Sam is good for. Wind him up, point it at the thing you want dead, and let him go. Dealing with people? not so much...

Dean has a nice chat with Lucky the dog.

DEAN: Okay, time to go. Now, we can either do this the easy way – DEAN holds up a pair of jeans. DEAN: Hmm? DEAN holds up a spiked choke collar. DEAN: Or the hard way. SAM laughs. SAM: What? Soul or not, that's funny.

So they ask for Lucky’s help, and Sam tormenting him about the dog thing, but Dean gets through to him with this:

DEAN: What are you gonna do to that family, really? You gonna put your jaws around that little boy's throat? Clamp down, listen to him cry for his mom? 'Cause I'm gonna guess that these are the only people who in your pathetic life have ever showed you any kindness. So it's either that... or you can help us stop it.

Meanwhile, Dean plans to take down the pack’s alpha with a sniper rifle, and Sam’s confused as to why they’re going to just kill him instead of bringing him to Crowley like they were supposed to... And we get some more insight into Dean’s emotional logic here:

DEAN: Who gives a rat's ass? We let that thing live one second, and it sends out that psychic dog whistle and [hand motions] phew! SAM: On the other hand, it could lead us to an Alpha. Then Crowley would give me my soul back. DEAN: Are you kidding? 150 people turned into monsters. That's what you want? SAM: No. Of course not. I... I'm just asking.

Because he NEEDED to ask, because he just doesn’t get it. He literally doesn’t have the equipment to understand:

DEAN: You say you're "just folks," yeah? That – that you like baseball and apple pie or whatever. But truth is, I don't know what you are 'cause you're not Sam. SAM: Dean, come on. DEAN: I mean, it's your gigantor body and – and maybe your brain, but it's not you. So just... stop pretending. Do us both a favor.

So Sam stops pretending. Telling Dean he’d double-cross them, and how he expects Lucky to double-cross them, because HE would... but Dean trusts him to do the right thing because he knows Lucky loves his family and is willing to protect them.

Dean refuses to take the shot because Mandy and her son were blocking the Alpha, and Sam urges him to take the shot anyway.

(oh, hey Gunner Lawless... I always forget he’s in this episode, probably because I always forget this episode)

SAM: You wanted the real me. This is it. I don't care about them. I don't even really care about you. Except that... I need your help. And you're clearly not gonna stick around for much longer unless I give it to you straight, so... I've done a lot worse than you know. I've killed innocent people in the line of duty. But I'm pretty sure it's not something the old me could've done. And maybe I should feel guilty. But I don't. DEAN: Sam, get to the punch line. SAM: I don't know if how I am is better or worse. It's different. You get the job done, and nothing really hurts. That's not the worst thing. But I've been thinking. And it was... it was kinda harder. But there are also things about it I remember that I... Let's just say I think I should probably go back to being him.

(trust us all, Sam, it’s definitely worse)

But in s12, Sam does have his soul. He still knows-- but at least he also FEELS it now-- that Dean’s not gonna tolerate being lied to forever...

This ruthless practicality really IS a part of Sam though. I know we’ve been over that when we’ve experienced other soulless people, both in 9.17 and in s11 with Amara’s soulless victims, comparing them to how Soulless Sam was, seeing the differences between how people who lose their souls react, so this really is a part of who he is, and it’s a part that tends to come out when he truly feels he’s doing the right thing, even when it seems pretty damn shady... like working with the MoL and keeping big important secrets from Dean...

At least in s12 he’s actually got the equipment to care about it all.

#spn 6.08 #s12 meta rewatch #seriously though why doesn't everyone just trust dean's gut instincts it's like he's got an uncanny magical gift here... #sam vs reality #performing dean

[bookgasms-bookboyfriends-blog]

  Blank bookcover with clipping path

Christmas balls in winter setting,Winter holidays concept.

Christmas background with bright wooden board and fir branches decorated with red and silver baubles and stars – modern, simple and elegant

Three hunging red christmas balls isolated on a white background

BLURBS

Let It Snow – Nikola Christain

Jovie has always avoided the Christmas season. But when she has to spend the holidays in a ski lodge, she meets someone who may inspire her to embrace the season. Or at least the part about meeting under the mistletoe.

Eight Secret Nights – Shoshana David

Someone’s been leaving Hanukkah presents on Mara’s doorstep.  Sweet presents.  Thoughtful presents.  She wonders who her secret admirer is.  Hopefully it’s the cute guy who moved in next door and not the creep from 7A.

A Tradition Worth Continuing – Tricia Ramey

It’s Christmas Eve, and Beth Murphy is finally able to relax.  Now’s the time to enjoy a little downtime with her husband James before the chaos of their descending families the next day. But it’s the gift she has for her husband that will make this Christmas the most memorable one yet.

Kittens For Christmas – Caitlyn Lynch

Regina Brooks thinks finding a box of abandoned kittens on Christmas Eve is a disaster in the making. Fortunately, her hunky neighbor Ric is eager to help her out — in any way he can!

Missing You For Christmas – Moxie Rivers

When Allison’s husband, Jake, can’t get leave, it’ll be her first Christmas without him since they were married. But Allison isn’t the type of person to let that stop her, but with the help of her coworkers, and just maybe a little Christmas magic, it will still be a Merry Christmas.

A Grease Monkey Christmas – Cailin Briste

Fate arranges the chance meeting of two strangers in need of a little kindness on Christmas Eve. Celebrity Davon Weider, with his navy-blue eyes and muscular physique, can fill the starring role in any woman’s fantasy. But Jasline, a spaceport mech, is more impressed by his five jump speed records.

Santa Claus is Coming – Jennie Kew

I don’t dress up as Santa for just anyone, you know? Holly Granville isn’t just anyone. When a massive storm hits our Christmas photo shoot and we’re trapped inside a tiny hut — cold, wet, angry, and naked — our friendship irrevocably changes. But will it be for better, or worse?

The Promise Of Love – Maya Bailey

The year is 1819. He sees a man across a room and it is like seeing himself dressed in a British soldier’s uniform. How could it be that another man bears his face? He had loved her once; she had betrayed that love. Now he must find answers. If only he could do that without laying eyes on her again.

Underneath The Mistletoe – Ava Bari

Police officer Nic Zanetti just wanted to spent a quiet holiday alone with his TV. Then he’s called to find a runaway little girl. When he meets her widowed mother, this Christmas will be one they never forget.

Blizzard – Suzi Frewin

Simon and Fallon find themselves marooned together, fearing for their lives against the Zengwee, an alien species which has dominated Earth for its resources. Neither want the complication of falling in love, but fate and Christmas have other plans.

All I Want for Christmas … is You – Annika Steele

On Christmas Eve, Dr. Victoria Long is determined to take her relationship with Detective Devon King to the next level, maybe even the forever kind. But will their relationship survive when Devon discovers she’s a suspect in a series of thefts?

Christmas is Coming – Liv Honeywell

It’s almost Christmas, and Abby decides to decorate the tree, despite Will, her Dom, telling her to wait. But when she drops his toolbox and all the parts scatter like confetti, she’s left wondering if she’ll be able to sit down by *next* Christmas. What will happen when Will gets home?

New Beginnings – Dana Kenzi

When Erika’s Winter Solstice ritual doesn’t go as planned, it joins her list of worries, right next to her struggles to run her newly acquired business. Then her handsome neighbor, David, drops by to offer her some company. What starts off as a venting session between two frustrated adults leads to a cathartic and pleasurable encounter.

I Fell Through Starlight For You – Keira Fox

It’s the earliest hours of Christmas and Lucille is thinking of closing up her bistro when an enchanting figure comes through her door seeking aid for his injuries.

  EXCERPTS

From Kittens For Christmas by Caitlyn Lynch

Ric looked at Reggie sitting there on the floor next to him, a pair of fools caring for some orphaned kittens early in the morning on Christmas Day, and he wondered if she’d slap his face if he kissed her. She’d fallen asleep on his shoulder mid-sentence earlier, and snuggled up to him with the cutest little sound of protest when he tried to carefully shift her off. In the end he’d just leaned his head back on the couch and dropped off to sleep himself.

Reggie’s brown eyes sparkled as she laughed, and impulsively Ric reached out a hand and touched one of hers, resting lax on her knee.

“Hey. I’m glad I met you coming in tonight. Last night, I mean, it’s morning now…”

Ugh, that was so not smooth. Why does my brain always fail me when I’m talking to an attractive woman?

Reggie was smiling at him, though. “I’m glad, too,” she said softly, and her slight, fine-boned hand turned under his so their fingers interlaced.

Ric’s brain stalled out and failed him completely. He just stared at her hand under his, at least until Reggie let out a soft, husky little laugh. His eyes snapped up to her face – which was suddenly a lot closer.

This is actually happening. He was suddenly as nervous as a teenage boy with his first crush, palms sweating, hands shaking.

Reggie’s lips were soft against his, a light, tentative touch before she pulled back, looking at him with wide eyes.

She can’t be nervous. She’s gorgeous, she could have any guy she wanted. That look of nervous worry, of concern that he might not be into her, absolutely killed him. No way could he let her have that impression, even for one second. So he leaned closer and brought up his free hand to cup her cheek, fingers sliding into her thick ringlets, feeling their springy texture.

“God damn, but you’re beautiful,” he murmured before bringing their mouths back together. He felt her lips curve up in a pleased smile, right before they parted, welcoming in his tongue as he probed lightly.

Ric felt Reggie’s soft sigh all through his body; the little moan she let out as he explored her mouth had his cock hardening in his pants. Her fingers tightened around his before she moved, going to her knees beside him and putting her free arm around him, pulling their bodies flush against each other.

It was Ric’s turn to make a noise, a low hungry groan in his throat as Reggie’s breasts pressed against his chest. Leaning back against the couch, he pulled her with him and she straddled his thighs, settling her groin against his.

“Reggie,” his voice came out a husky rasp as she pulled away from the kiss and ducked down to nip and lick at his neck, finding that sensitive spot in the hollow of his collarbone which made him shudder, hips jerking up involuntarily. “What are we doing?”

“Well,” she paused to swirl her tongue in the hollow of his throat, “right now we’re making out, and since our charges are full of milk and sound asleep, I think we should take advantage of the temporary quiet to go ahead and fuck.”

His eyes, half-lidded with pleasure, flew wide open. “Well,” he said after recovering his composure, “that’s direct.”

Reggie chuckled and leaned back to look him in the eye. “I’m not one to talk around a situation. You’re hot, I’m horny, it’s Christmas, let’s have fun.”

“I think you’ve got it the wrong way round.”

Her brows furrowed adorably, a small line appearing between them.

“You’re hot and I’m horny. But the floor’s too hard and the couch is too small, so how about we take this to the bedroom?”

From Santa Claus Is Coming by Jennie Kew:

“Please tell me that was the last one.”

Holly grins. “That was the last one.”

“Oh, thank God.” I push myself up and out of the driftwood throne I’ve occupied for the better part of the day and stretch the kinks out of my back and shoulders.

Everything hurts.

My back is stiff from sitting for too long, and my thighs hurt from having an endless line-up of kids — and the occasional adult — sit on them all day. My cheeks ache from smiling waaay too much, my ass is so numb I’m not entirely sure it’s still attached to my body, and don’t even get me started on my balls….

Fuck me.

What a day.

When my best friend’s sister invited me to spend the day with her at Melbourne’s iconic Brighton Beach — you know the one, with the long line of brightly painted bathing huts that wedding photographers clamour over — I jumped at the opportunity. Spend the day with the woman I’ve lusted after for years while she parades around in one of those skimpy bikinis she’s so fond of?

Fuck yeah!

And sure, maybe I could catch a few waves while we’re there, show off my very grown-up, non-brotherly physique to the woman who once told me a. she’d never date one of her brother’s mates, and b. she’d never, ever be interested in someone so much younger than her.

Like a ten year age difference made her old or something.

Women!

Anyway, I rock up, surfboard in hand, and what does she do? Hands me a beach bum Santa costume consisting of little more than a pair of boardshorts and a Santa hat, shoves me in front of a camera and starts charging people money to let their precious little darlings crawl all over me and tell me their Christmas wishes. Which, okay — crushed ball-sack aside — was actually pretty cool, especially the kid who wanted total world domination so he could end bullying everywhere. I didn’t have the heart to point out the flaw in his plan, and judging by the look on his dad’s face, neither did he.

“You did a good job today, Chris,” Holly says as she packs away her camera equipment, then laughs. “I can’t wait to show Mikey that shot of the granny in your lap.”

I slip my Santa hat off my head and shove it in my pocket. “I’ll have you know her name was Phillipa, she’s only seventy-five years old, and she said I reminded her of her late husband.”

“She licked your face.”

“She wanted to know if I tasted like him, too,” I say with a grin. “I’d reckon the saucy old dame did it to win a bet, actually. I saw her and her friend exchange a tenner after she collected her photo. And you know Mike hates it when you call him Mikey, right?”

“Of course. Why do you think I do it?” she says with a wink that makes my breath stall in my chest and my legs go weak at the knees. “Seriously, though. Thanks for today. I know I blindsided you with it.”

“You know, you could have just told me what you wanted me for,” I say as I step down from the dais and discreetly adjust my aching package. “It is for charity. And you know us firemen. We love any excuse to take our shirts off.”

She looks up at me from under long, blonde lashes. “After the calendar shoot fiasco I wasn’t sure how willing you’d be to help me.”

Ah, yes. The calendar fiasco. I snort a laugh and shake my head. “I run into burning buildings for a living, Hols. On purpose. Did you really think a little dog shit would keep me away?”

Holly laughs, the full-bodied sound bursting from within her and shaking her deliciously plump figure with the force of it.

Good God, I want to eat her all up.

Starting right between her—

“It was more than a little dog shit. That poor pup had the worst diarrhoea I’ve ever seen. You were covered in it. I have photos. I was thinking of blowing one up and giving it to your mum for Christmas.”

Cocking an eyebrow at her obvious glee, I fold my arms over my chest and grin. “You just love humiliating me, don’t you?”

“Call it a hobby,” she says with a shrug, her pretty mouth curved in a smile of honest good humour. A smile that has my cock twitching with interest as I imagine how those sweet lips would feel wrapped around its rock hard length.

Fuck.

The last thing I need right now is a hard-on. I’m almost thankful for the sudden wind that whips past us, stinging my legs with flying sand.

  From Underneath The Mistletoe by Ava Bari

The officer who’d found her daughter was still there, and Amelia had yet to even acknowledge him. She rubbed her eyes and kept Grace at her hip as she looked up at the taller man… and instantly regretted choosing her most unflattering nightgown to wear to bed.

“Mrs. Eliot, I’m Officer Zanetti,” he said, offering a hand. She tried to ignore how strong his grip was. His hand was huge and completely engulfed hers.

“Thank you so much for finding my daughter, Officer,” Amelia said. “I really can’t thank you enough.”

“It’s all in a day’s work, Ma’am,” he said, his smile bringing her back to her teenage years when she’d fawned over boy band members and actors.

She thanked him several more times as the other cops left and Grace began to yawn and lean heavily on her mother. Deciding to save all punishments until tomorrow, Amelia hoisted Grace into her arms. “I think I’d better get her to bed now.”

Officer Zanetti nodded. “Yeah you should.” He leaned over, catching Grace’s attention. She was half-asleep but awake enough to listen when he spoke. “Stay in bed this time, okay? Remember what we said.”

“Uh huh.” She took the letter out of her pocket and then, for whatever reason, handed it to the officer. “You promise Santa will read it?”

“If he doesn’t, I will read it to him myself,” he swore, as serious as if he had his hand on the Bible.

“Okay, but don’t open it until you see him,” Grace said. She nestled into the thick cottony fabric of Amelia’s nightgown and was asleep in seconds. Amelia gave Officer Zanetti a questioning look.

“Ah yeah…” He rubbed his neck. “I might have told her I work for Santa Claus to get her to come with me.”

Amelia chuckled. Her heart had yet to slow down all the way, but there was something hilarious about this tough guy cop getting embarrassed. “You’re a Christmas elf?”

“A bodyguard, thank you,” he said, affronted.

“That would’ve been my next guess.” He certainly looked the part, as the unhelpful part of Amelia’s brain was quick to point out.

They stood in awkward silence for a time until Grace shifted in Amelia’s arms, reminding her they probably shouldn’t stand outside in freezing cold weather. Officer Zanetti seemed to realize this at the same time. He coughed and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Okay, looks like everything is good here. I’ll let you two get some sleep.”

“Would you like some coffee before you go?” Amelia asked. “I feel like I owe you for finding my daughter.”

“Just keep her safe in bed tonight, Ma’am,” he said, walking back to his car. “Have a Merry Christmas.”

“You too,” Amelia called out, but he’d already started his engine, and she had no idea if he heard her.

  THE AUTHORS

The saying goes that “it’s always the quiet ones,” and that is certainly true of Nikola Christain, the sexy personality lurking within a shy, regular woman. When she isn’t living her “normal”, quiet life, she is exploring, experiencing, reading, and writing about it all.

Follow her on goodreads, facebook, tumblr, and through her Amazon author page.

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A native New Yorker, Shoshana David loves celebrating her Jewish heritage in her writing. A bit of a late bloomer, she didn’t catch the writing bug until college. This is her first published work.

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Tricia Ramey, born in Alberta, Canada, enjoys reading and writing a variety of fiction. Married for sixteen years and counting to the love of her life, she uses her vast imagination and life experience to create rich and detailed scenarios for all her works.

Find her on her Amazon Author’s Page or on Tumblr.

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USA Today bestseller Caitlyn Lynch is an Australian author and happily married mother of two. She has a number of published works available on Amazon.

You can also find her at caitlynlynch.com, on Goodreads or Bookbub, or on her Facebook, Twitter, Google +, Pinterest, Instagram or Tumblr social media accounts.

Add your name to her mailing list to find out about new works, be invited to read exclusive advanced reader copies, and more!

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Moxie Rivers is an American writer of erotic fiction of all persuasions, living on the Mid-Atlantic coast with her wife and three fat, happy cats. When not writing, she can be found at her crafting table making jewelry or digging in the dirt in her garden. You can find her on Facebook or on Tumblr.

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Cailin Briste writes science fiction romance. She’s a member of Romance Writers of America, the RWA Fantasy, Futuristic and Paranormal Chapter, and the RWA Passionate Ink Chapter. She’s writing the third novel in her Sons of Tallav series and the second novel in her A Thief in Love Suspense Romance series.

You can connect with Cailin on her website, her blog, Twitter, Facebook, Google +, Pinterest, Goodreads, Bookbub and Amazon. Join her street team or subscribe to her newsletter for lots more!

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Jennie Kew is the author of The Q Collection, a series of quick and quirky erotic romances, as well as the upcoming Bennett’s Bastards series.

You can stalk Jennie on Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest, follow her on Amazon and Goodreads, or sign up for her newsletter and get first dibs on new releases, cover reveals and more.

*    *        *

Maya Bailey grew up in India but now resides in Utah with her husband. As a marketing communications professional she has lived and worked all over the world. An eternal optimist, she adores happily-ever-afters and the craft or writing. Regency Romance is her favourite genre.

You can find Maya at her website, on Amazon, Goodreads, Facebook and Pinterest.

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Ava Bari is a New York born Midwesterner with a passion for writing, reading, and reading when she’s supposed to be writing. Find her on Tumblr and Twitter.

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If the book you just can’t put down is an exciting tale of intrigue with lots of villains, twists, and an awesome romance, then you’ll love Suzi Frewin’s books. As a lifetime reader of romance, she likes more action than promise, so that’s the way she writes. Enjoy.

You can find Suzi on her website or on Twitter.

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Annika began writing at the age of eight, but abandoned her stories in college. A ridiculous number of years later, she stumbled across fanfic, put fingers to keyboard, and hasn’t stopped writing since.

Sign up for her mailing list here, check out her website, or follow her on Tumblr or Facebook.

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Liv Honeywell is a BDSM erotic romance writer, and when not writing about delicious, hot male dominants and the female subs who love them, she’s usually doing something craft-like, reading, or baking and attempting to satisfy the demands of His High and Mighty Dominance (the cat!).

You can follow her on her blog, on Twitter, Facebook, Goodreads, BookBub or her Amazon page.

Or sign up to her newsletter for freebies, fun, and book news!

*    *        *

Dana Kenzi has been writing fiction for over ten years. Currently, she indulges in her deepest and darkest fantasies to write erotica in her spare time. When she’s not glued to the keyboard, she’s eating, traveling, binge watching TV shows on Netflix, or impulse buying on Amazon.

Find Dana on her website, Twitter, or Facebook, or sign up to her mailing list to receive the latest information about new releases!

*    *        *

Keira always used to joke that she’d end up writing Mills & Boon novels if her career in art didn’t work out. She’s still making art and baking the sweet things that she so often likes to write about, but she decided that she’d like to do the other thing too. She lives and works in a tumbledown cottage in the back of a garden right near the ocean in Western Australia.

Find her on Tumblr.

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    Seasonal Shenanigans Anthology BLURBS Let It Snow - Nikola Christain Jovie has always avoided the Christmas season. But when she has to spend the holidays in a ski lodge, she meets someone who may inspire her to embrace the season.