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[usernare]

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[justimajin]

The Solace Window

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader (ft. Namjoon)

Genre: Angst

↳ 15.8k / Older Couple AU

Summary: Kim Namjoon is no more, and you are left behind as a 75 year old widow. Stuck in between experiencing grief and mourning your late husband, your search for solace seems more and more far-fetched. That is until you stumble upon widowed Jung Hoseok.

*Warnings: Depictions surrounding death, grief, depression, spousal loss, miscarriage, fertility issues, illness, growing older, familial issues, mistreatment of the elderly, old age homes. This story will deal with heavy topics and reader discretion is highly advised.

A/N: After much contemplation, I have decided to write this fic. It is very personal to me, and one that I really wanted to share.

He’s gone. 

Kim Namjoon is laid to rest in the casket in an eternal sleep. His gray hair has been carefully combed back against his wrinkled skin, and he’s dressed in an elegant black suit, arms folded and resting on top of his chest. He wears a content expression, brows smoothed out and lips tightly shut.

He’s gone, forever. 

A handful of individuals surround him; namely a couple in their late thirties clad entirely in black. The wife clutches onto her husband’s shirt, thick tears streaming down her face and tremors shuddering through her shoulders. 

“D-Dad…” She chokes out, burying herself further into her husband’s embrace as he wraps his arms around her. 

There are two small children with wide eyes, glancing between their mother and father in curiosity. Their gazes then flicker over to the rest of the people who have gathered, before looking back at the older lady sitting on the side, who holds a somber expression and far too much anguish in her eyes. 

You can only watch as the service is completed and you have to say your farewells. You can only watch as you keep the deep ache in your chest at bay, attempting to keep yourself from crumbling. You can only watch as your loved ones are a mess, sobs echoing from the room. 

You can only watch as your husband departs from this world, leaving you behind. 

You are silent the entire ride home. 

When the multiple cars arrive at the large complex, you already begin to carefully shift out of the vehicle, not waiting for anyone to help you out. Your cane hits against the pavement and you place pressure on it, moving slowly with a hunched back. 

You trail along the sidewalk until meeting the front steps, cautiously raise your feet and walk on them one by one. Weakly pushing against the door, you tread towards the staircase, having no desire to eat and wanting to head straight to your room. 

A gentle hand on your shoulder halts you. 

Turning around, the woman stares back at you with a swollen but intentful gaze. She’s inherited your eyes and Namjoon’s smile, her expression scanning your features. 

“Mom…” She calls out, but you don’t have the strength to hear her words. 

“I’m tired, Naree.” You quietly whisper, and she moves her mouth as if to speak again, but her own words fizzle out. She simply nods, swivelling away as her eyes brim with water. 

You gradually ascend onto the steps, pushing your cane against the wood before hauling your shaking feet upward. After a couple of moments, you manage to reach the top, shuffling your feet into your bedroom. 

The bedroom you once shared with Namjoon. 

There’s a double-sized bed in the middle with two dressers, one of which has Namjoon’s medications carefully stacked to the side, a small lamp and a book with a bookmark that he was in the midst of completing. There’s two picture frames off to the side, a much younger you with a huge smile hugging a shyer and much younger Namjoon, the snapshot taken seconds before he had accidentally stumbled and taken you down with him. 

You move closer to the other dresser, the one that contains all of your belongings. Setting your cane securely against it, you slip into the covers, bringing them up to your chest until you’re completely nestled. 

As you stare at the ceiling, silence greets you. There’s the faint tick of the clock on the opposite side of the bed, the very one Namjoon had installed so it was easier for him to figure out the time without squinting and straining his eyes. It’s accompanied with a side that is now empty, his scent still lingering on the pillow that sits right next to yours. 

The silence continues to greet you the longer you stare at the ceiling, and it’s absolutely deafening. 

The tears rise before you can stop them, rolling down the crinkle of your eyes. The longer you wait, the longer you stare, the more it becomes inevitable with every passing minute. 

He’s not coming back. There’s no him arising from the door, slowly parting it as he sheepishly admits he had accidentally fallen asleep on the couch downstairs, mind growing absent these days. There’s no dim light radiating out from your side, a pair of glasses on the rim of his nose as he carefully turns the pages of his book. There’s no familiar dimpled smile wishing you goodnight, no soft kisses against your forehead before he slips into the covers with you, pulling you into his warm and comfortable embrace. 

There’s nothing anymore and it’s something that slams into you, being wide awake despite living in a walking nightmare. 

A harsh sob rips from your throat, echoing against the silent walls. 

You are numb.

You slowly peel open your eyes in the morning, the faint sunlight seeping through the same floral curtains. The side beside you still stays empty, as you continue to sleep on your own side. The belongings on the opposite dresser are untouched, small specks of dust long beginning to settle. 

A year has passed since the tragedy, and you are still numb. 

You rise onto your feet, your wrinkled hand reaching out for your cane. Weakly pushing yourself off the bed, your feet stagger as you pad through the room and head into the bathroom. 

Setting your cane aside again, you turn the tap on and the water flows. Pooling it in your hands, you splash it over your skin, the water feeling tender against it. Glancing in the mirror, a low sigh leaves your lips. 

The lines on your features have deepened and increased, small indents showcasing near the corners of your eyes and your mouth. Your cheeks have become hollow, bone beginning to surface and protrude out. The bottom of your eyes have darkened, skin sagging down.

There's a saying you’ve roughly heard in passing – one that Namjoon’s mother had echoed to you when his father had passed away and you were inquiring how she was. 

She had said that for many couples, after your spouse passes away, the grief only seems to accelerate the aging process tenfold and that it wouldn’t be too long till her own day would come. 

At the moment, the thought itself was devastating to hear. But you never thought a day would come when her words would be so utterly true, your face having aged more within one year compared to the last five years you had spent with Namjoon. 

After washing up solemnly in silence, you pad back through into the desolate bedroom, before exiting and slowly descending down the stairs. 

Naree’s voice echoes through the room.

“...–not eating on time and barely talks, I just don’t know what to do anymore.”

“It comes with age.” Her husband, Seojun, echoes, “You should know that she’s growing old.” 

“I know,” She huffs, “But she won’t even go through my father’s belongings, instead she insists on keeping everything the same and it’s been so long–” 

You quietly clear your throat, leaning against the staircase beside the kitchen. Naree spins around with wide eyes and both of them freeze, as if they had been caught. 

“Mom–” 

“I’m feeling tired.” You simply say. 

“Let me make you some tea.” She brings up immediately and you nod, turning around with another word. Naree and her husband glance at each other silently, before she moves towards the kettle. 

You walk over to sit down on the large couch at the side in the living room, the one that has enough cushions for your hunched back. Sitting down with a large heave, your gaze falls onto the window. 

A small girl stumbles into the room. 

Her wide eyes are bright, a familiar dimpled smile on her lips and a photo in her hands.

There’s a soft upturn to your lips and she beams, rushing over in an instant. 

“Grandma!” she squeals, body falling near your legs and head landing in your lap. Another younger girl pads in quietly behind, following her older sister with curious eyes.

“Nayoung.” You reach out and tenderly stroke the eldest girl’s hair, who is around eight years old, before moving your eyes to the four year old behind her, “Dambi.” 

The youngest smiles and you widen your arm, to which she pads closer and rests within your embrace.

You hug your grandchildren with all the love you have left to offer. 

“Grandma!” Nayoung excitedly rambles, placing a frame into your withered hands, “Is the baby in this Mom?” 

You take it and flip it around, eyes widening to find the picture of you, a small child in your arms and Namjoon’s hand resting on your shoulder. You’re smiling but your eyes are brimming with tears, as so are his as the baby stays rested within your comfortable embrace. 

Your eyes gloss over for a split second, but you sniffle, bringing your attention back to your granddaughter. 

“No, it isn’t.” You explain, “It’s my son…. your Uncle Haneul.” 

Nayoung stares at you with surprise, glancing at the photo frame again. “Uncle Haneul?” 

You slowly nod and she continues to stare with fascination, even glancing back at Dambi and pointing towards it like she had uncovered a hidden secret. 

“Where’s Uncle Haneul?” Dambi ponders, and your eyes soften.

“Following in his father’s footsteps.” You whisper, “He became a professor, and he’s been exploring the world for his research.” 

Ever since Namjoon passed away. – you want to add. 

You take the frame from Nayoung’s hands, “This picture is when he was first born, before your mother was.”

Haneul and Naree. After years of love and even more years of building a life together – a relationship, a marriage, a home, you and Namjoon had decided that you wanted to have kids. Through the ups and downs, the panics of pregnancy to the bliss of becoming parents, you both were blessed with two children that you love dearly. 

In return, Haneul had ultimately decided that becoming a parent wasn’t something he had desired, something both you and Namjoon had understood from afar and confirmed when he had brought it up to you. Instead, he wanted to travel and was inclined to be hungry for knowledge, much like Namjoon himself. You had to convince him to leave after Namjoon’s passing, insisting that life was too short and he should be living his, instead of fretting over the family. 

On the flip side, Naree married her husband a couple of years back, and you had met your precious granddaughters, Nayoung and Dambi, within that time frame. 

Within forty-seven years of marriage, you had seen it all, but it still comes racing back to you in a heartbeat, the memories still so vivid as you stare back at the single snapshot that captured it all. 

Nayoung watches you with a smile, and Dambi mumbles something that has light coming back to your eyes. 

“You used to be so pretty, Grandma.” The four year old states it so nonchalantly, resulting in her older sister gasping and whipping her head around. 

“Hey! Grandma is still pretty.” Nayoung persists. 

You deeply sigh, “I’ve gotten old, haven’t I?” 

“No, no!” Nayoung furiously shakes her head, “You’re not– …well, you are old, Grandma, but still so pretty!” 

A smile cracks onto your lips, long having forgotten what it felt like. Nayoung shifts, eyes growing uneasy. 

“Grandma…a-are you crying?” 

You sniffle, hurriedly wiping away your tears, The two children stare at you with rounded eyes and you softly chuckle, widening your arms. 

“How about you help Grandma feel a bit better?” 

Nayoung reacts immediately, launching herself into your arms as you bring her into your lap and rest your head against hers. Dambi crawls up the sofa and you pull her in as well, embracing the two with quivering arms.

Even in this bleak and lonely world, you are relieved to have them by your side. 

***

Naree stands by the living room entrance, a cup of tea in her hands. 

“Girls, it’s time to wash up and get ready for lunch.” She announces, and the two children glance up, before immediately rising to their feet. 

They both give you a quick wave before they’re scurrying away upstairs. 

Naree brings the cup and sets it down on the table in front of you.

“Mom.” She calls out and you turn to look at her. “Can we talk?” 

A deep sigh leaves you and you sink back into the chair, knowing it was all impossible to avoid. 

“I suppose.” You comply and she sits down on the couch opposite you, facing you directly. 

“I was talking…to Seojun…” At the topic of her husband, you shift and she continues cautiously, “I know how you feel about Dad, and he does too.” 

Your eyes downcast, “But we should really move his things into the storage room, Mom.” 

“And what about me?” You chuckle underneath your breath, “Are you eventually going to move me too?” 

“Mom.” She chides, letting out a long sigh. She looks tired, just like you. “It’s been a year since Dad passed away.” 

And a year since everyone had forgotten about him. 

You want to add, but keep silent, “I just think it’s really time to move forward…” 

There’s a deep ache within your chest, that only grows with her words. You knew this conversation was inevitable, but how were you to explain? 

How were you to explain that ever since Namjoon passed away, you’ve been consumed with an exorbitant amount of feelings that you could barely grasp?

Immense guilt that somehow through all this, you were still here while his death was so sudden. That you were still breathing and intact, all while he had struggled to do the same? 

Utter anger that he had left you here all by yourself after spending nearly half a century together, how he didn’t just take you with him, instead of you waking up everyday, longing to see him again. 

And of course – the grief. Perhaps the most painful of them all. 

You can’t go through his things without breaking down, reopening the jarring wound his demise has left over and over again when you see his clothes, his shoes, his belongings. The last remains of his existence and the last things you can desperately clutch on, mimicking a supposed fabrication of him still being with you. 

You wrap your arms around yourself, shaking your head with shut eyes. 

“My answer is firm, Naree.” 

“Mom.” She exasperatedly says, frustrated with your stubbornness that mimics her own. After all, she’s inherited your personality, except you’ve lived longer with all your experiences exceeding all of hers. 

“I’m exhausted.” You simply state, willing your shaking legs to get up. Once they do, you grab onto your cane, trudging towards the staircase.

Naree is silent as she watches you struggling to get up, unable to explain how much grief has been brought to her. Everyday she’s forced to watch her mother fall into a slump, surrounding herself with past memories and unable to break out of her shell. She’s granted only the fleeting moment of your former self when you interact with her daughters, but a part of her always wonders if a part of you had died alongside her father that day, that she ended up losing both her parents in some twisted way. 

She rubs her temples, feeling absolutely drained and tired beyond belief. 

A week passes by. 

There’s barely any change in your routine. You remain within your bedroom majority of the time, sleeping and occasionally being reminded to eat. You don’t speak much, carrying a solemn gaze and a deep frown on your lips. 

You don’t see much of Naree or Seojun, both of them occupied with their jobs and not making any effort to speak to you for the duration. 

However, one night you find them by the kitchen table, sitting opposite from each other. 

It was late into the hours and you had suddenly woken, on your way down for a glass of water. 

Naree stills. “Mom–” 

“What were you talking about?” You question, and Naree knows. 

She knows that you heard pieces of their conversation. The conversation about how drained she felt lately, work taking its everlasting toll on her, right before Seojun suggested taking a vacation and going out on a trip with the family. To the conversation shifting, Naree spilling out her worries and concerns about you, your old age and how much she could see your health deteriorating, to how much she can’t get through to you anymore, how much she’s just given up. 

However, what’s caught most of your attention is the sudden mention of a certain kind of home, one that notoriously knows how to take care of the elderly properly. 

“We should talk.” Seojun states, pulling out a chair for you. You reluctantly take it, slowly sitting down as your gaze oscillates between them.

Naree sucks in a deep breath, looking at her husband uneasily. “We were thinking…” 

“That it might be time for us to try something different.” Seojun finishes, glancing at you intently. 

You cut to the chase. “What are you trying to get at?” 

There’s a pause and Naree fidgets, eyes focusing onto her hands. 

Her next words have you freezing. 

“Mom…how would you feel about moving into an old age home?” Naree mutters.

A rigid chuckle leaves you, “So this is what it’s coming to, huh?” 

“Mom, please.” Naree insists in defense and if you weren’t so entrapped within your own thoughts, perhaps you would have noticed the fatigue running deep in her eyes or the stiffness in her shoulders, “It’s not an easy decision…but we’ve really thought about this.” 

Correction – Seojun has thought about this. You vaguely remember him bringing it up once, much to Naree’s protests and he let it slip by then. 

But now, you have grown older and gone through grief, which doesn’t make it implausible to bring up again. 

Except this time, you’re alone, not having Namjoon with you anymore to see eye to eye with Seojun as he always did and convincing him that you were better off together. 

You miss him so much. 

“Your health hasn’t been the same, Mom.” Naree explains, “And both Seojun and I go to work, the girls go off to school and–”

She deeply sighs, eyes becoming glossy. “I know, Mom…I know you’re lonely.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut. 

“Ever since Dad passed away, I think our relationship has changed,” She simply states, her next words driving a wedge through your heart “…and I don’t think we have the same capability to take care of you anymore.”

You sigh, glancing up to look straight into Naree’s eyes for the first time since Namjoon’s passing. 

“It’s the trip too, isn’t it? The girls want to go, but you’ve resisted for a while.” You mention, “You kept saying that I needed you, and that you’ll eventually go, but you had to stay behind because of me.” 

Naree winces at how direct you are, not missing a heartbeat of the reality you’ve been noticing since the past year. 

Sucking in a breath, you ignore the deep ache residing within your chest, pushing it back into the farthest corner. 

“Fine.” You solemnly state, barely having energy anymore. “I’ll go, if that’s what you want.” 

Relief breaks out onto Naree’s features and Seojun softly smiles. You suppose it was bound to happen eventually, better sooner than later, and perhaps it would do some good for you, to continue on somehow. 

That is, knowing this will be your last days within the home you had once built with Namjoon. 

The move happens within a couple of days. 

Your bags are packed, with clothes and smaller belongings tossed in. Peering around, you stare at Namjoon’s side of the bed, ready to leave it as it is. 

But you step forward, glancing down at the book he was in the middle of reading. It was another dystopian sci-fi book he was curious about, having heard good reviews about it. 

You place it into your arms, giving the room one longing look before ultimately shutting the door. 

Naree and you sit in the car in silence, as you gaze out the window and reminisce over the passing neighborhood. 

You and Namjoon were incredibly young when you had first moved here, hunting down homes and furiously checking the pricing of the housing market. It had been only a couple of weeks since your marriage, both of you fresh out of college and in entry jobs when he had stumbled upon the location, coming up to you with bright eyes one day. 

The nostalgia brims in your eyes, but soon Naree is tapping against your shoulder. 

“We’re here.” She announces and you nod, before she proceeds to come over and take out your bags.

You glance around with a frown. 

It's a small residential area, appearing more like a stretched out home with many windows, accompanied with a garden area at the front that spreads to the back. 

Stepping inside, it doesn’t seem to get better. 

The walls are a dull white, and sunlight pours in from the windows, nearly blinding you. There’s a reception area that Naree steps closer to talk to, but you stand with a frown still on your lips, peering into the room at the corner, where you can hear laughs and chuckles. 

There's a bunch of chairs, with people around your age seated and conversing. They’re smiling alongside each other, while some others are knitting as well as playing cards. It takes you off guard for a moment, not accustomed to seeing so many closer to your age range after being around your own family members for so long. 

The place seems to smit a sense of peace with a hint of melancholy, and you’re truthfully not sure about how you feel about it. 

“They’re all set-up, Mom.” Naree walks closer to you and you turn, seeing her glance at her watch. “I need to get to work soon.” 

You hum and Naree still stands in spot, as if deeply contemplating. 

“Mom…I–” 

“Have fun with the kids.” You mutter, “Take them to nice places, places they want to see.” 

She nods, not lingering for a moment longer as she reluctantly turns around – leaving you all by yourself once again.

It's… unsettling. 

Everything follows a schedule and each day repeats, constantly. You’re told when to eat, when to sleep, when to do something fun – as they would like to call it – and the worst part of it all, you’re surrounded by strangers who know each other all too well. 

You, in the meanwhile, have been already quoted as being too quiet and solemn, something that makes you want to wrap up into yourself even more. You were never good at connecting with new people, regardless of where you were. 

Namjoon was always the sociable one, effortlessly commanding a room with his charm and charisma. You would sheepishly stand next to him, but he would always manage to include you somehow, making you feel less cut off from others. 

You let out a sigh – perhaps the only time you actually feel comfort is through the night, tucked underneath the streets with a book wrapped around your cold arms, sniffling as you’re surrounded with unfamiliar things in an unfamiliar room and attempting to lull yourself to sleep. 

Because moments like those are where you finally get to welcome his presence wholeheartedly.

You blink,squinting your eyes and raising your hand to block the sun. 

Except it’s not the same hand you’re used to – rather it’s no longer wrinkled, with your veins popping out and hands no longer tremoring. 

They feel strong, and you open and close your palm a few times astonished.

A pair of small legs tumble into your own and you gasp, glancing down at the boy who has the same features as your husband. 

He grins widely, “Mommy!”

“Haneul?!” You harshly whisper, raising the boy before lifting him into your arms. He looks no more than four years old. 

Haneul is four, which means can only mean– 

You are thirty-four. 

Glancing around, your eyes are snapping around frantically – taking in the expansive backyard which you barely would step in anymore, now littered with Nayoung and Dambi’s toys. The house that you left behind, just recently newly renovated upon your insistence. And your son, who looks up at you with wide eyes, as if you’re his entire world. 

You attempt to hold him close, biting back the sobs that threaten to take over you. 

A loud yelp resonates through the air. 

Your breath hitches, knowing that voice from anywhere. Whipping your head around, your legs are stronger, and you take long strides without needing a cane, carrying your son in your arms.

For there’s a small shed in the corner of your backyard and if you’re right, if your memory doesn’t fail you. 

The shed needs to be fixed and Namjoon took upon the task himself. 

The door goes flying open and his back is the first thing you see. 

“Not again…” He sighs, a hand planting against his forehead. There’s a bucket of paint that’s fallen to the ground, along with patches of the white colour sprayed against his ankles. 

You slowly set your smiling son down, who giggles and runs to his father. Namjoon instantly looks down, his hand reaching out that Haneul eagerly takes. 

Your voice comes out in a choked whisper. 

“N-Namjoon?” 

He turns with a huge smile and you’ve forgotten. Forgotten how crystal clear your memory once was, knowing his dark hair, crinkled eyes and dimpled smile anywhere. How much that smile hasn’t changed at all, fine lines maring around the corners instead, next to his grey strands of hair and weakened eyes. 

How despite the years – he’ll always be the same man you fell in love with.

“Y/N.” He deeply enunciates, concern etching onto his features.

“You’re crying, what– …” He takes long strides towards you, whispering as his hand makes contact with your cheek, “What’s wrong?” 

You sniffle, the tears pouring down as you’re no longer able to hold them back. 

Namjoon nearly stumbles back when you grasp onto him, wrapping your arms around him tightly. He hugs you back, comfortingly resting his head against your forehead. 

“I-I missed you.” You sob out, not wanting to let him go. 

“Missed me?” Namjoon softly chuckles, threading his hand through your hair. “I’ve always been here, Y/N.” 

He separates you from him, holding onto your shoulders as he tenderly looks into your eyes. 

“I’m always here, Y/N.” 

You’re suddenly pulled away, away from his comforting embrace and eyes as a white light flashes over your eyes. 

You jolt awake, hearing only the faint sound of the heater echoing through the unfamiliar room. Reality crashes down onto you, painfully reminding you of your current location. 

The other side of the bed remains cold and empty.

The days churn by, and you are as miserable as ever. 

You sit quietly by the side and stare out the window, hearing a few others engage in conversation in small groups. There was something about doing a painting activity, but you had paid it no mind, too focused on the garden outside and grasping onto the book that sits on your lap. 

“Before I came here, my husband passed away three years ago.” A voice from afar begins. It comes from a woman, who appears much older than you. “It happened so quickly, I-I didn’t know how to deal with it.” 

There's a man sitting next to her, spotting a collared shirt and dark black hair. He looks younger than both of you, and he somberly listens to her. 

“How long were you together?” He wonders. 

“Fifty-five years.” The woman sadly chuckles, “We spent every day, every moment together…and then one day he was just gone.” 

Your heart clenches, no longer staring out the window. You don’t mean to eavesdrop, but you’ve learned it's difficult when you’re surrounded by so many others, stories from so many different phases of life pouring out effortlessly in a single room. 

“I’ve heard it all,” She continues. “That he was in a better place, that I would heal with time, even that his time was bound to come soon….I-It hurt, a lot.” 

You watch as tears fill her eyes and her sadness fills the small space you’re in, a lump in your throat starting to form. You attempt to pucker your lips, threaten to silence yourself as much as possible, but the words spill out with far too much ease. 

“My husband…” You suck in a breath when her gaze falls onto you in surprise. “He…he passed away, about a year ago.” 

Her features twist, understanding deep within her eyes. 

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” 

You give her a half-smile and she presses forward, “How many years?” 

“Forty-seven.” You state, adding with a sad note “We never got to fifty…”

She solemnly nods and something in her gaze is just too much, alleviating the tension that has been festering and brewing within you. 

“He was kind, a little clumsy and forgetful, but still very kind.” You remorsefully chuckle. “Sometimes, it’s scary, like he’s never existed…and other days, I want to see him again, almost like–”

You silence yourself, eyes clamping shut as a deep ache within your chest just spreads and amplifies. 

A voice tugs you out of your thoughts. 

“Like what?” It’s the man next to the older woman, his gaze still on you. 

Your voice comes out in an anguished whisper, “Like how he visits me in my dreams.” 

It sounds strange and bizarre, you know this. But you’re startled when you glance up, only to find that woman giving you a kind look and the man softly smiling, as if he finds the notion to be pleasant. 

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” He piques, “Seeing them again, as if they never left to begin with…” 

You stare at him in bewilderment, attempting to muster words up. 

But he beats you to it. 

“Five years.” He informs, like he knew what you wanted to ask. “Since my wife’s been gone.” 

You shake your head, not fully realizing his circumstance. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to assume–” 

“It’s okay.” He lets out a low chuckle, “I look much younger than I actually am.” 

You hum, acknowledging it right away. Alongside appearing younger, you notice his disposition appears to be the same as well, being much laid-back compared to anyone else you’ve seen here.

“What’s your name?” He asks, “I’ve seen you a couple times, but I think this is our first time talking.” 

“I-I’m not one for talking much…” You note, but he quirks his head to the side, like he didn’t believe that. “And it’s Y/N, Kim Y/N.” 

“I’m Jung Hoseok.” He introduces, gesturing to the woman next to him. “This is Lee Haewon.” 

She directs a friendly smile towards you and you attempt to return it back. 

“How old are both of you?” You wonder. 

“I’m eighty-five.” Haewon answers, squinting her eyes at the man, “Last I remember, Hoseok is sixty-seven.” 

“Seventy, Haewon.” He politely corrects, but with no malice. Almost as if he was expecting for her to get it wrong. 

She deeply exhales, shaking her head in exasperation. 

“My own name is going to be next.” 

“Don’t worry about that.” His eyes flicker to you, “When the time comes, we’ll be here to remind you again.” 

You nod in assurance and she warmly smiles, placing her cold hand on top of yours. You slowly grasp onto it and Haewon doesn’t move at all, instead ushering for you to sit closer to them. 

For once, the weight on your chest feels a bit lighter. 

The next day, you’re placed in groups again. 

However, this time the head of the home brings out various board games onto the tables, to which everyone requests for different ones and are soon creating circles. 

Despite the head asking for you to join this time, you sit in the same spot you had previously sat at, right beside the window as your eyes take in the others playing. 

The loud sound of a chair screeching against the floor startles you. 

Hoseok looks up with an apologetic smile, a packet of cards in his hands.

You watch with bafflement at how he sets up the deck before you, leaning over to hand you a couple of them. 

You take them reluctantly, wondering why he was here when he could just play with someone else, observing him lean back in his chair and cross his legs with a furrow in his brows. 

Now knowing his age, it was easier to spot his older features. How, despite having better functioning legs compared to you, his back is slightly hunched, shoulders beginning to cave in. How, despite having a majority of darker strands, there were noticeable specks of grey in his hair. How his eyes have to so occasionally squint to look at the cards, a hearing aid poking out from his right ear as he tilts his head. 

You also don’t fail to notice how as his brows furrow in concentration, two small dimples poke out from the corners of his cheeks. 

“Your turn.” He calls out, having placed a card down. 

You quickly look down at the cards, reluctantly placing one down. He continues to stare at his own intently. 

“You know, it was nice of you to talk to Haewon.” He mentions. 

You shake your head, “It wasn’t much, I was just talking about my husband anyways.” 

“It meant more to her than you think.” He exhales, placing a card down. “Most folks here either ignore her, or tell her to just move on.” 

A knowing smile crosses him, “I think we both know it isn’t as simple as that.” 

“It never is.” You quietly mumble, placing a card down yourself.

Hoseok hums at that, putting another card down. You glance around warily, wondering why you hadn’t seen Haewon yet. 

“By the way, where is she?” 

“Asleep, I overheard that she felt tired.” Hoseok does a half-smile, before it’s replaced with his usual nonchalant expression. 

You nod, curious about their proximity, “Have you known her for long?” 

Hoseok shrugs, “A bit, I just got to know her in the past couple of months. You know, the good ol’ chit chatting with one other while being in the same room.” 

His straight-forwardness catches you off guard, shocked by how settled he was.

“You seem pretty comfortable being here.” You note, observing him as he glances up. 

“I have to be.” He states with a lop-sided smile, “It’s the same for everyone here. After all, nobody came because they wanted to.” 

You freeze, forehead creasing as you stare at him blankly. Hoseok’s gaze lands on you, confusion running through it.

“Y/N?” He ponders, wondering why you weren’t playing your turn. You snap out of your daze, placing your cards down. 

“I-I just remembered something I needed to do–” You quietly say, slowly rising to your feet and locating your cane. “Maybe you should play with someone else…”

For a split-second, Hoseok tosses his cards and rises to his feet, as if to halt your steps. But you’re already walking away and he falters, slumping back down into his seat

His eyes are tinged with an indescribable emotion. 

You don’t know if you can be here any longer. 

But there’s nothing you can do about it. The days pass by and no one comes for you, no one tries to see how you are, how you’re feeling and it dawns one simple resolution to you. 

You’ve been abandoned here. Forever. 

The next day arrives and you clench your jaw, stepping out of the suffocating room that has been starting to feel more like a decorated prison than anything else. You wonder if you should come up with some excuse of staying back, preoccupying yourself with anything else rather than the activity of the day. 

But that’s until you’re informed you’ll be taken to the garden. 

Taking a step outside, it’s absolutely serene. There’s handfuls of well-maintained roses, peonies and tulips flourishing, all lush and blooming around the home. It’s both tranquil and inviting, the head informing you that there were watering cans, shovels and new seeds to be planted for everyone. 

You secure a can right away, propelling yourself forward with your cane towards the peonies. 

A small smile lines your lips. 

“Y/N!” 

You spin around, in the midst of cooing and feeding your one year daughter as she babbles on her high chair. 

Namjoon stands at the door, huffing with a wide smile on his lips. 

He raises his hand, a single purple peony sticking out. 

You gasp in astonishment, “You finally grew one!” 

“I did!” He exclaims. It had been months since he had been trying, your home littered with his bonsai collection until he wanted to try his hand at outdoor planting. 

He dashes over and scoops you in her arms, making you chuckle from his victory. Grabbing onto your hand, he edges you to follow. 

“Come on, you need to help me water them!” 

Laughing, you grasp onto Naree, letting him guide you. 

The water pours out from the small canister, sprinkling delicately onto the small petals. You watch with so much fondness, for so much love for the flower, as your hands continue to tremble. 

It slips from your hands and smacks against the pavement. 

You watch as the water spills everywhere and with a huff, quickly attempting to grasp it. But your knees violently shake, and your hands tremor far too much. You attempt again and again to bend down, but your attempts are all futile, more and more of the contents emptying and spreading out. 

Tears unknowingly prick at your eyes and your breathing is heavy, limbs aching from the sudden physical exertion. 

The smooth metal gently glides across your fingertips. 

You blink, confused eyes glancing up to meet Hoseok’s softened ones. You’re left frozen as he carefully tips it, his hand grasping the canister against yours and letting the water rain over the peonies.

You let him guide you, the water running through the remaining ones before it empties. 

“Wait here for a moment.” He directs you to a bench, holding your hands as you carefully descend down onto it. 

You observe as he saunters over to the hose, filling it with water again before letting out a satisfied hum. He then manages to grasp onto a handful of seeds and grabs onto a small shovel. 

He returns to you, “You should plant some too.” 

You quietly nod and he reaches his arm out, as if gesturing for you to hold on. You grasp onto him and he slows his pace, walking at yours. 

Everytime, you point at a certain spot, he leans down, making a hole into the dirt before dropping the seed in and sealing it with fresh water. He does it along the edge of the garden, right where the window to your room should be. 

He lets out a loud huff with the last one, chest rising and falling alarmingly. 

Your eyes widen, having completely forgotten his condition of age. 

“I-I’ll go get you some water.” 

Hoseok opens his mouth to protest that he’s okay, but you’re already propelling yourself forward, cane frantically hitting against the pavement.

He wheezes, letting out a couple of coughs before you’re standing near him, a water bottle in your hands that he gratefully accepts. 

“Are you okay?” You ask right away and he nods, turning to the flowers. 

“They’re beautiful.” He states and you hum, the wind weaving through the air. 

“I love peonies.” You quietly admit, and Hoseok grins, handing you the water bottle. 

He takes a couple steps forward, drawing closer to the older batch. Among all the colors, he snatches onto a bright orange peony, handing it to you with a soft smile. 

You bring it closer to you, the corners of your mouth upturning. 

It reminds you of the warm hues of the sun. 

Your hands tremor and shake, bone sticking out from your softened skin. It doesn’t help that the joints within your bones are incredibly stiff and deeply ache with each movement. 

A frustrated sigh escapes your lips, and the needles looped in yarn falling down to your lap. 

Hoseok chuckles, reaching out and grasping onto where you’ve left off, attempting his hardest to cross them, pushing one needle into one end and looping it around. 

“You’ve missed a stitch.” You point out and he frowns, noticing the small hole he’s created instead. 

“Now how did that happen?” He deeply ponders, and a small smile tugs on your lips as he carefully inspects the placement, staring at it up and down. 

“You have to loop it carefully,” You softly explain, reaching over to place your trembling hand on his, “It should go through this stitch and then you let go of it to create the knot.” 

He follows your instructions, observing as you slowly tug his hand away from the loop, letting it unravel into a perfect stitch. 

Hoseok beams, throwing a grin in your direction and you look at him amused. 

“I think we make a lovely team.” 

You smile lop-sidely, “I don’t know, it’s more of me telling you what to do.” 

“A very important role.” He notes, raising the yarn up in his hands, “After all, this is now our group project.”

You chuckle at that and he gazes at you fondly, eyes crinkling.

“Kim Y/N?” The sound of your name has both you and Hoseok glancing up, “There’s someone here at the front foyer asking for you.” 

Your brows furrow, but then you catch the sight of a familiar silhouette. 

You scramble up from your seat, vision fixated on the backside of the person. Hoseok notices, immediately rising to his feet and handing you your cane, observing as you attempt to hurriedly stride over to the desk. 

“Naree.” You whisper, watching your daughter turn around wide-eyed. 

“Mom.” She steps forward, and you don’t hesitate to reach out, enveloping your trembling hands tightly around her shoulders. 

“You’re here, you’re actually here.” Your eyes are glossy. “I-I thought you left me by myself, I kept thinking about–” 

You freeze, surveying the way Naree’s eyes downturn, face void of expression. 

It doesn’t take long for you to connect the dots. 

Your voice cracks, “You’re not here for me, are you…?”

Naree sighs, “I was just on my way to work, and thought I’d stop by to see you.” 

“That’s all?” You mutter, but Naree latches onto your arm. 

“Mom.” She chides, but you don’t even want to look at her, “Isn’t this all better for you? You’re not lonely anymore.” 

“You’re wrong.” You feel more abandoned than ever. “And this all isn’t better for me, it’s better for you.” 

Your words are venomous and the corner of Naree’s mouth twitches. 

“How can you say that?” Naree sharply rebuttals. The two of you don’t notice all the lingering eyes watching your interaction, including Hoseok’s. “I want you to come back, but I discussed it with Seojun and we agreed you’d be happier here.” 

“And where was I in this decision?” You snap. “Or are Seojun’s words now more important than mine?” 

Naree’s nostrils flare and she looks like she’s had enough. 

She shakes her head, mumbling to coax herself. “Here I thought that dropping by was a good idea.” Her gaze is directly on you, hurt swirling in her eyes. “But now I’ve realized I made a big mistake.”

Naree turns on her heels, her fists clenched and rage enveloping every fiber of her being. You don’t make a move to stop her, simply staring at her backside and the growing gap each of her steps creates. 

There’s a deep ache within the center of your chest, one that expands and spreads, consuming you completely as your daughter abandons you once again. 

***

Everything feels like it’s crashing down. 

You’re seated within your room, having dismissed yourself and leaving your knitting session with Hoseok behind. You desperately needed to be alone, mind plaguing over and over with the image of Naree leaving, disappointment and rage embedded into her being. 

You wonder if you should have reached out, should have begged, for her to take you alongside with her. To take you back to the home you once shared with Namjoon and your family, wanting to feel the familiarity and the warmth that home contains. 

A sci-fi book rests within your lap, fingertips clenching onto it. You wonder if he can see everything, hear everything about the family you’ve created leaving you behind, casting you away like a mere thought that shoulders over them. 

Thick tears drop down, staining the paper of the book in your hands. Anguished cries leave you, shoulders shuddering as everything crumbles. 

You want to see him again, want to wrap your arms around him as he holds you comfortingly, want to have him shield you away from all these terrifying thoughts, ones that are absent of him. You hate how fast he was taken away, and wonder why he couldn’t have just taken you along with him.

A soft knock resonates against the door. 

You peer up, cheeks stained with tears and breaths coming out choked. You quickly set the book down, raising your sleeve to wipe away any existence of them. 

Padding slowly through the room, you wrap your hand around the knob and carefully open it. 

Hoseok stands in front of you, gaze downcasted and shoulders hunched in. It takes you by surprise, never having seen such a lack of optimism in his form. 

He looks up, eyes welling with tears. 

“Y/N.” He chokes, orbs widening at your appearance. “I-I can come again.” 

Before he can turn, you reach out, barely managing to graze his shirt. 

The expression he holds draws fear out from you. “I-Is everything okay? 

He pursues his lips, like he was attempting to prevent himself from tearing up, before he breathes out the words. 

“N-No, not really…” He sniffles, a lone tear escaping him. “H-Haewon…Haewon’s gone.” 

Your breath hitches, features twisting. “S-She just passed an hour ago…in her sleep.” 

His shoulders slump, eyes squeezing shut. 

“I-I couldn’t say g-goodbye….”

You step forward, arms wrapping around him in an instant. Hoseok shrinks within them, harsh sobs shuddering through his body. Tears unleash from your eyes, fisting the material of his shirt. 

You don’t know how long you stay like that, wrapped around in your collective grief. 

You are dazed. 

You find out that aside from being widowed, Haewon only had one son who was in a different country. He doesn’t come to the funeral, and it’s simply attended by a few individuals she had the opportunity to connect with at the old age home. 

Which includes you and Hoseok, standing next to each other in black clothing as you watch her casket be buried alongside her husband. Hoseok is silent the entire time, eyes empty.

You knew you weren’t as close to her as Hoseok was, but Haewon was a woman that had given you compassion when you had been desperately searching for it, not even hesitating to listen to your story. She shared the experience of having lost her husband and you recall Hoseok mentioning that she wanted to see him again, even if it meant being in the next life. 

You didn’t speak much to Lee Haewon, but she was such a crystal clear reflection of you – a woman dwindling with so much grief that she could barely hold. 

Her casket is completely buried and you reach out as Hoseok shudders, a tsunami of emotions hitting him all at once. Your wrinkled hand slides in with his, clutching onto it. He squeezes back tightly, as if you were the only thing anchoring him to reality. 

You quietly part together, bidding her your final farewell. 

Something is never the same in you after Haewon’s passing. 

It’s difficult to explain, the tightening sensation that coils around in your chest with no means of stopping. Your mind flashes back to instances with her, the kind and friendly smile she would always adorn. Or the way her hand was cold but still so warm, ushering you to come closer to her. 

It’s crushing, unable to bear with how fast life moves, clutching onto those whose time is no longer needed on earth. 

And it’s coupled with another feeling, one that is more erratic and rapid, making you nearly hyperventilate the more you sit in your room, the more you stare at the unfamiliar walls encasing around you at all four corners. 

It feels like it’s all you’ll be left with, bidding your own time goodbye within them. 

Which is why you leave, heading out your room door and into the garden. You don’t want to follow a schedule, or do activities, simply asking for permission to escape for a brief moment so you feel like you can breathe once again.

And it seems like you’re not the only one with the same idea. 

Hoseok sits on a bench a bit farther from the garden and house, his backside facing you and against the sun that begins to rise, peeking through the grass and illuminating its rays through the orange sky. 

It draws you in, and you walk forward in a daze.

You slowly sit down, back resting against the wood and setting your crane to the side. Hoseok’s attention flickers over to you. 

You quirk up a soft smile, “Couldn’t sleep?” 

He blinks after a moment, shaking his head with a sigh. 

“No….no, not really.” 

You hum, knowingly. “The sunrise is beautiful.” 

He nods silently. 

You sit in silence, enjoying the breeze wafting through the area and the way the clouds move rotationally, drifting through the clouds. The orange hues morph into the briefest of purple, light spreading over your skin and remaining within your irises. 

You suck in a sharp inhale. 

“Kim Namjoon.” You state as Hoseok turns to look at you, “My husband, who left me a year ago. He was followed by Kim Naree, my daughter, who left me a month ago.” 

His eyes find your own. “And then followed by Lee Haewon, who left us a week ago.” 

Your voice breaks. “I-I don’t know if I can handle anyone else leaving me...” 

Hoseok’s hand reaches out, placing it on top of yours. 

The corner of his mouth remorsefully curls up. “Don’t count me out so easily.” 

You smile, for the first time in weeks, and the sunrise takes over the sky. 

Taking up the opportunity, you vocalize all your innermost thoughts, “I’m not sure if I exactly belong here…I know I feel less lonely at least, but I don’t know if I can stay anymore.” 

“You want to leave.” Hoseok states, like he understands. 

Your words hold an infinite amount of weight, “I-I’m just…terrified. Terrified that I’ll be spending my last days here.” 

“Where do you want to go?” He genuinely questions. 

“Home.” You let out a low chuckle, “If that’s even possible anymore.” 

“It can be.” Hoseok softly smiles, two dimples showcasing on his face.

You reach out, clasping onto his head. “Come with me…please.” 

You know it’s a completely selfish request, especially when he seems to be much more comfortable here. 

But you forget that Hoseok has lost as well, defeat encasing the man more and more as the days draw out. It seems like you’re still his anchor, drawing him back before he’s completely gone. 

His hand tightens his hold on you. 

“Let’s go home,Y/N.” 

You stand in front of your home. 

It wasn't easy coming here. You had to be granted permission to leave the vicinity and it wasn’t the simplest task for Hoseok either, needing to prove the two of you would be functional to do so. You suppose you could have laced it over with a visit, but you couldn’t stay any longer, not there anymore. 

A shaky exhale leaves you and Hoseok reaches out, lacing his fingers with yours and having a comforting smile. 

You knock against the door. 

The door comes swinging wide open and you’re confronted with the sight of your son-in-law. 

Seojun stares at you blankly, as if you were a mere ghost, glancing between you and Hoseok in disbelief. 

“Nice to see you again.” You state, stepping into the household. It looks the same – the same couch, the same curtains and the same memories. It’s almost like you never left to begin with. 

“You’re back.” A voice acknowledges from the staircase, and you look up. 

Your eyes lock onto Naree’s, who stands in the long hallway, arms crossed and holding a hardened gaze. 

“You look like you’ve been well.” You reply with a smile, but her gaze is concentrated on the man standing with you. 

“Who is this?” She questions, and your eyes widen. 

Hoseok immediately steps up with a friendly smile, “My name is Jung Hoseok. It’s nice to meet you.” 

Naree stares at Hoseok’s outstretched hand, not moving to shake it or say anything back. After years of raising her, you know exactly what her response means. 

She’s inspecting him, wondering why you showed up out of the blue with a man near the same age as her father. 

She doesn’t say another word, simply turning her back and walking into the kitchen. It makes you want to almost laugh, how it doesn’t take her much effort to easily disregard you at this point, so much that it doesn’t even hurt and you simply just expect it. 

Seojun glances between the two of you, clearly taken aback with the situation and unsure of how to react. 

You walk past him, heading up the staircase with Hoseok. 

“I’ll be in my room.” You declare, the door shutting behind you. 

***

All of it has been moved. 

Despite the house not changing, the people have changed, and so have the contents of the room you once shared with Namjoon. 

All of his belongings are gone, stowed away in airtight boxes. 

Like he never even existed to begin with. 

Your shaking hands reach out. “No…no, no–”

You stumble, collapsing onto the ground. 

“Y/N!” Hoseok reaches forward in an instant, steadying you. 

“Everything’s gone, Hoseok. They moved everything–”

Tears are streaming down your eyes and Hoseok is clutching onto you as you sob. 

“Shh, it’s not gone.” He coaxes, reaching out for one of the boxes. His hands are tremoring but he still claws at the tape, unraveling the plastic back and tossing it aside. The box unfolds and he shifts it over to you, wanting you to see your husband’s things first hand. 

You catch sight of one of his jacket’s.

Reaching out, you gasp onto the material, staring at it in awe. It was one Namjoon used to love to wear, tossing it on when you would ask him to go out on walks with you, or consequently the one that was placed on your shoulders when he noticed you shivering in the wake of fall. 

You wrap it around your arms, the amount of comfort from the action easing your heart a bit. 

Hoseok softly smiles, shifting over another box. He opens it to reveal a stack of books, distinctly looking similar to the one you always carried in your lap. 

“Did he like to read a lot?” He ponders, and you nod, curiously looking over his shoulder. 

It all snaps – and the excitement washes over more quickly than you can stop it. 

“He did.” You lean over, grasping onto a title, “This was one of his favorites, he used to read it all the time. And this one,” You pick up another title, “He used it for his final thesis back in college, and asked me to read it with him.” 

You chuckle, tears still streaming down your eyes. “He was always so smart, but asked me to check over everything he did.” You turn to Hoseok, who has softened eyes, “He was just an overthinker, you know? And I knew I always had to calm his mind somehow, so I would make him tea often when he was working.” 

Hoseok simply watches. Watches at how much love you pour out for your late husband, how much adoration is in your voice and the tenderness in your eyes. It’s something he’s only had the pleasure of experiencing once in life, and it’s not something he’s found easily in others. 

Namjoon is truly your soulmate.

“H-He would ask what magic I would p-put in it….all the time.” Your voice cracks at the end and Hoseok’s eyes shoot up into alarm. 

“Y/N?” He shifts closer to you. 

“I-I….” You squeeze your eyes shut, the realization donning faster than you can stop it. “I-I just can’t.”

“You can’t what?” 

“I can’t.” You gasp out. “Namjoon, he’s….he’s everywhere.” 

You can see him everywhere – in the things you hold, in the memories you’re left with, in the hopes and dreams you once had together. Your entire life had been constructed around him, and it’s something you didn’t notice until you were sitting in that very same room you shared, surrounded by his entire essence. 

It's like you’re experiencing the grief all over again, except this time it’s worse because you’ve realized what you’ve truly lost. 

Hoseok feels his own heart shattering into pieces. He can’t explain how much he knows exactly what you’re going through, how much letting go was an impossible task when you’ve had years and years, an entire timeline spent with someone after an eternal promise of forever. 

A tear streams down his own eye and he moves closer, wrapping his arms around you and leaning his head against yours. 

“H-Hoseok, I-I can’t….” You whisper, “I can’t live the rest of my life here. In only the memory of Namjoon and with a family that just doesn’t want me anymore….I-I just can’t do it.” 

Hoseok shudders, letting out a small hum as you spill all your fears out to him. 

“I-It’s okay, Y/N.” He manages to get out, “It’s okay to feel this way. I-I can’t even explain to you how normal it is to.”

– or how familiar. – he wants to say. 

You sob and he parts from you, gazing into your eyes as he cups your face. 

“What do you want, Y/N?” He earnestly questions. “What is your heart telling you?” 

“I just want to leave….and go somewhere far, far away.” Far from here. 

It almost sounds like a ridiculous fantasy, but Hoseok nods. 

“How far?” He seriously ponders, “Like can we get there by bus? Do we need to take a train?” 

The corner of your mouth curls up. 

“Maybe by train. Buses are horrible to sit on for long hours.” You note with a sniffle. 

Hoseok frowns, “You make it sound like we’re so old.” 

“We are old, Hoseok.” You chuckle and he grins at the sound of it.

“Really? Say that again for me, I didn’t hear you the first time.” He turns his head, showcasing his hearing aid. You lightly hit his chest, before resting your head against him. 

“I’ll take you wherever you want to go, Y/N.” He whispers in reassurance. 

Reaching his hand, he lifts you up, ensuring your balance is okay. You keep your hand in his, tightening your hold on him. 

***

You regain yourself, and Hoseok carefully holds onto you, taking you slowly down the stairs. He matches his steps with you, watching as your foot slowly descends down one step before planting his own down, your cane granting you the momentum. 

Naree stands by the door, arms crossed and appearing to be waiting for someone. 

Hoseok glimpses at you tenderly and you nod, alerting her attention to the sound of your cane against the ground. 

She deeply sighs, “I have time to drop you back once you’re–” 

“I’m not going back.” 

Her brows furrow “What do you mean?” 

“I’m leaving, Naree.” You declare, and that’s when her eyes snap onto yours and Hoseok’s interlaced hands. 

There’s disbelief in her eyes, “You’re leaving with him?” 

You nod and Naree shakes her head, as if her entire existence is being questioned. 

“Mom, how could you?” She spits, “It’s only been a year since Dad passed away.” 

“Naree–” 

“I know you were feeling lonely, but out of all things this?”

The door suddenly widens and Seojun emerges, two little girls by his side. 

Nayoung's eyes light up, “Grandma!”

“What’s going on?” Seojun interjects and Naree squeezes her eyes, shaking her head. 

“Oh nothing, just my mother betraying my father.” She snaps, and his eyes widen.

He pushes Nayoung and Dambi away, “Girls, go upstairs.” 

Nayoung begins to protest “But Grandma–” 

“Go.”

She doesn’t say another word, simply downcasting her gaze. Dambi follows, but you can feel their gazes linger on you, and there’s nothing more you want to do in the moment then to bring the two girls into your arms. 

“Naree, don’t do this.” You whisper, but her clenched fists are enough of an answer. 

“Don’t do what? Be upset that my mother found someone else that isn’t my father?” She huffs, “How could you do this, Mom?” 

She turns to Seojun who comforts her and you shift uncomfortably, wanting to disappear. 

“With all due respect–” A previously silent voice pitches in, “I think you’re being incredibly unfair.” 

You stare at Hoseok, who still holds a warm look in his eyes. “I’m not replacing your father, if that’s what you’re concerned about. Y/N still loves him very much, just like I do my wife.” 

“But it wouldn’t hurt to consider that your mother has been by herself for quite a while and that hurts.” Hoseok sadly smiles, “Much deeper than you could possibly imagine.” 

Naree looks at him startled and Seojun is baffled. There’s a silence that lingers and Hoseok tightens his hold on you, slowly heading towards the door. 

“It was nice meeting all of you.” He simply responds, before leaving altogether. 

There’s a multitude of words ready to tumble from you. 

“Hoseok, I–” 

“You don’t need to explain.” He insists, but then he shakes his head, as if suspended in disbelief. “I just can’t believe how they were treating you...” 

You wince, finding yourself agreeing with his words. It seemed like all your doubts, all your fears, were cemented right in front of you and now you know. 

You don’t belong there anymore.

You’re about to turn and tell Hoseok that you should collectively leave now, the desperation of going far away reaching a complete high, but that’s when your eyes catch onto movement.

“Hold on.” you quietly say, and Hoseok sends you a confused look. You carefully trudge your cane forward, slowly walking to the side of the house. 

You freeze. 

There's a silhouette of a tall man with dark hair standing by the garden, right next to the peonies and with a giant bag slung over his shoulder. His backside gives you so much whiplash at how distinctly familiar it looks and as if in a trance, you continue to move forward with furrowed brows.

You pause, the disbelief sinking in. He snaps his head around at the sound of your cane, narrowed eyes widening. 

You whisper out his name, breath coming out shaky. 

“H-Haneul?” 

You had almost forgotten just how strikingly similar he looks to Namjoon, just how much he could easily be mistaken for a younger version of the man. 

He widely smiles, expression brightening at the sight of you.

“Hi, Mom.” He takes long strides towards you, embracing you immediately. You wrap your arms around him tightly, a joyful smile on your lips.

You separate from him, attempting to get a good look at your son. “I-I can’t believe you’re here…” 

He warmly grins, eyes flickering over to Hoseok. You immediately turn, a bit flustered. 

“T-This is–” 

“Jung Hoseok.” Hoseok outstretches his hand with a smile. 

“Kim Haneul.” He states, shaking his hand with a similar smile. He gestures to you. “I’m her oldest.” 

Hoseok nods understandably, “It’s nice to meet you, Hoseok.” 

He grins and you’re a bit taken aback at Hanuel's gesture, naturally giving back the same courtesy that was given back to him. 

He hasn’t changed one bit. 

“Could we talk?” He mentions, gesturing between you. You nod immediately and Hoseok politely smiles, stepping towards the front to give you some privacy. 

Haneul holds your hand as you slowly walk, guiding you onto the bench in the backyard. He waits as you sit down, taking a spot by you. 

As glad as you are to see him, you’re curious.

“How are you here, Haneul?” 

“I came by to visit.” He explains, “I managed to get a couple of days off.” 

You nod, “Naree… she told me you were in an old age home.” 

“I see….” You fall into silence and Haneul quietly watches you from the corner of his eyes.

“Was it your choice?”

“At first, it was.” You exhale, “But then Naree never came for me, and when she did, she wanted me to stay–” Your words grow smaller, “And now, I just can’t go back anymore….”

Haneul lifts his hand, placing it on top of your wrinkled one as you heave, eyes getting glossy.

“His name is Hoseok.” You sputter out, wanting to rid him of any worries, “We met at the care home and got closer. I feel better with him around, and he understands me, but I’m not trying to replace your father in the least–”

“Hey, hey.” He softly says, “Who said anything about replacing Dad?” 

“Naree did… and I don’t blame her.” 

Her words have you thinking twice, wondering if everything you were doing was just wrong. 

Haneul frowns, “Mom, Naree’s husband isn’t dead.” 

“Don’t say such things, Haneul.” You chide. 

“Mom, listen to me.” He fully turns to you, taking your worn out hands in his stronger ones. “Dad’s gone, and you’re all by yourself now. You don’t owe anyone anything, especially not at this age.” 

He knowingly grins, “What was the advice you had given to me before I left?” 

The memory is still crystal clear to you. “That life was too short…and that you should be living your own, without fretting over the family.” 

“And you told me this after Dad’s passing.” He persists, “Why can’t you give yourself the same consideration?” 

You slowly nod, taking in his words. “You’re right…”

But then an amused chuckle leaves you and his eyes widen. 

“You know, you sound so much like your father that it’s actually terrifying….” 

He looks amused, “Well, he was one heck of a wise man.” 

He laughs and so do you, feeling your chest grow a bit lighter.

Haneul exhales, something in his gaze abruptly changing. 

“Mom, you’ve gotten older. The last time I saw you, you weren’t this weak.” He admits, “I just really want you to leave while you’re still able to.” 

You look up at him, water welling up in your eyes. There’s an unsaid message sent between both of your eyes, one that you unfortunately understand very well. 

This very well may be the last time you see him. 

You advance forward, wrapping your shaking hands around his shoulders. He leans down, holding onto you in a loving embrace. 

It makes you wonder where time went, where the boy that was running around the house with giggles and helping his dad with fixing the shed went, becoming a fully fledged adult who you could express your deepest concerns to, and lean on as you grew brittle. 

***

Haneul walks you back to the front, exchanging a smile with Hoseok who had been patiently waiting for you. He reaches his arm out and you hold onto it. 

Haneul enters the house again, insisting to bring the bags you had packed. You discuss with Hoseok about your plans moving forward, but the door comes bursting open. 

Two young girls come forth, tears in their eyes.

“Grandma!” 

Nayoung launches herself at you, embracing you immediately. Dambi is behind her, eyes flickering all over your form. 

A small chuckle leaves you and Hoseok smiles at the interaction, watching at how you comfortingly rub their backs as they sob into your floral dress. 

“U-Uncle Haneul says you’re leaving…” Dambi mumbles out. 

A sigh slips out from you and Haneul emerges with remorse on his face, appearing like he attempted to keep it a secret but couldn’t to no avail. 

“I am leaving.” You’re completely honest with them. “I know it’s hard, and I’ll miss the two of you greatly, but I….I need to go.” 

Nayoung and Dambi look at you thoughtfully, nodding their heads, “And I won’t be alone either.” 

You turn to Hoseok who smiles, causing both of the girls to be captivated with his appearance. 

“Will you be looking after Grandma?” Nayoung wonders and he softly nods, a certain fondness in his eyes you haven’t seen before. 

“I will be.” He says, “Someone has to remind her not to be so stubborn.” 

You exasperatedly shake your head with a chuckle as Hoseok grins, but Nayoung moves closer to you, a dimpled smile on her lips. 

“I’ll miss you, Grandma.” She whispers, hugging you. “Please be happy.” 

You’re astonished at her words, wondering just how obvious you had been. You know the saying that children have a tendency to see everything and there’s something that shines in Nayoung’s eyes that makes you sniffle, hugging the girl tightly in your arms. 

Hoseok helps you with your cane and you clutch onto him, afraid that a part of you will never want to leave if you didn’t. You watch as the two girls wave their hands at you, huge smiles on their lips. Haneul stands by the door, leaning against it with a grin. 

You wave back at them, even noticing Naree by the window, sticking her eyes out despite her crossed arms. You want to chuckle, amused how obvious your daughter could be at times. 

Taking one look back, you see all that you’ve built with Namjoon. Your house, your children, your grand-children, the years and years of your lifetime all showcased within your field of vision. You smile, wondering if the man was still alive, how he probably would have been standing alongside them, ushering you to be on your way already. 

Turning around, Hoseok holds onto your bags, a smile on his lips. 

You take his hand with your own.

The next couple of days are a bit of a blur for you. You find out Hoseok had booked a train for you into the nearby city, one that wasn’t luckily drawn out for too many hours. He calls a cab to pick you up and you’re soon in front of train tracks as he holds you, slowly helping you on. 

You spend the rest of the duration looking out, watching at how buildings, greenery and the life you once knew whizzes by. It makes you wonder when the last time was when you’ve done something like this, recalling the last trip you ever took was with Namjoon and years before the two of you had started finding it difficult to do. 

You arrive after a couple of hours, your joints aching a bit which prompts Hoseok to seat you down onto a bench, attempting to find a water bottle for you to drink. It amuses you a bit to see others glancing at you, seeing a much older couple traveling together rather than a youthful one. Instead of energy and fresh eyes, they see peacefulness and serene ones, and it all the more makes you want to smile once more, no longer feeling like you were being trapped or held back somewhere. 

You arrive at a small residence that Hoseok took care of.

He turns to put the bags away and you clasp onto his wrist. “Hoseok.” 

He glances at you and you sincerely look at him. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t mention it.”He warmly smiles. 

“What should we do now?” You ponder, “Everything I said was completely on a whim, but I still don’t know–” 

“Hey.” He softly calls out, slipping next to you and placing a hand on your own. “Don’t stress too much about it. I’ve booked us this place here to stay for the week, and you can take your time before officially deciding where to go.” 

You stare at him in surprise, feeling so grateful that he is here with you. 

“Okay.” You quietly say and he gets up with a grin, moving to unpack a bag. 

That night, you lay awake on a bed adjacent to Hoseok. He doesn’t sleep next to you, but still remains in the room, the sound of his soft breathing echoing off the walls. 

Your mind is brimming with endless possibilities, and for the first time ever, you fall asleep with a smile on your lips. 

You desire a home. 

A home. A place of comfort – a place that welcomes you with open arms and loosens the tightness in your chest, a place that allows you to breathe easier and fills you with warmth, a place full of solace, one which soothes your aching heart. 

It’s not much, a small house out by the fields and close to a meadow, far out from the city and next to an expansive lake. The wind ever so breezes over the numerous flowers collecting in the open fields and the sun is always shining over, reflecting over the pools of water. You have your occasional neighbors, mainly families that harbor residences nearby to spend their idle time. It’s always interesting when they run into you, assuming an entire family to be inside only to find an elderly lady smiling back at them. 

It was something you didn’t get instantaneously, searching around for the exact spot you wanted. In a way, you still thank your late husband for always advising you to keep money on the side, indicating that you would need it one day for when he was gone and you would always chide him not to bring the bad thoughts into mention. It led you to a place you would have never in a million years thought you would have ended up at, and never with the amount of pure joy it’s brought. 

You desire a home, and somehow, just somehow, you find one in Jung Hoseok.

He takes you everywhere you desire, whether it is walking down the borders of the lake, to watching the skyline of the far city. He’s always two steps ahead of you, picking up your cane when it stumbles and interlacing his hands with you, letting you lean your weight against him. He assists you with your gardening and sets up two rocking chairs outside of the cabin, sitting down for hours with you as you read. 

He’ll joke that his legs are getting too shaky when he walks with you, or that the tremors in his hands are always at a constant beat. He’ll smile with fine lines marring his forehead and the creases of his eyes when you chide him, just as he insists that he has no reason for his constant remarks around you. He’ll look at you tenderly, watching as every word spills out of you, even after you recall an eternity of memories with someone else. 

There comes a point where your small thank you’s disappear altogether, and you clasp onto his hand instead. 

“It’s so beautiful.” You whisper, watching the rays of the sun descend, catching a warm hue of orange all over the meadow. It transcends over the horizon, illuminating the delicate lines on your face and specks of your irises. 

Hoseok hums next to you on the bench, your arm around his. He watches as the sun slowly dips into the horizon, the orange submerging before a cool blue takes over. 

“It is.” He murmurs, “Kinda makes you think how small you really are.” 

You let out a soft laugh and he grins in your direction. 

“You always have such a way with words.” You remarks. 

“Well, I think it’s one of my best qualities.” He retorts, “Aside from knitting, of course.” 

You shake your head as he chuckles. The sun completely disappears and he glances at you. 

“Say, how about we head in and I brew us some hot tea?” He suggests, slipping his warm hands within your cold ones. 

You stare at him for a second, expression impassible. Hoseok frowns, a deep crease forming between his brows.

“Y/N?” He ponders at your silence. 

“I’m so lucky to have met you.” 

Hoseok blinks, but the words tumble out much faster than you can stop. 

“I was so, so alone, and absolutely terrified that the rest of my life would be like that.” Water surfaces in your eyes, “But then I met you and I never realized how much I missed this feeling of…being alive.”

A bright smile stretches on your cheeks, “I’m so happy, Hoseok.” 

You don’t have a chance to swipe away your tears, his arms coming to encase around you in an instant. A gasp leaves you, but Hoseok tightens his hold and you lean against him, arms slipping around his back. 

“Y-You don’t understand…” He whispers, voice cracking that makes you stiff with alarm. “You don’t understand how much I feel the same way.” 

He separates from you, irises glossed over. It’s a look you’ve noticed before in his eyes, a look that speaks volumes compared to his usual warm and cheerful disposition, a look that even terrifies you to a certain extent, encased within anguish and longing. 

You wonder if it’s the same look he had been seeing in you the first day he met you. 

***

You’re seated on Hoseok’s bed, watching him filter through his cabinet. 

You’ve been here a handful of times, mostly nights where you weren’t able to sleep and he sat by your side until you did. Or moments where you would ponder about him, coming by to say good morning or wondering if he had eaten already. 

However, you’ve never been here in the wake of the night, watching him open up his belongings with an unwavering gaze in his orbs.

He halts after a couple of seconds, treading slowly towards you before planting himself beside you on the bed. 

Sharply inhaling, he hands you the photograph in his hands. 

A young woman immediately flashes before your eyes, a kind upturn to her eyes and a warm smile on her lips. She appears to be within her late twenties, curly locks falling to her shoulders and dressed in a bright orange dress. 

Even through the lack of light, you don’t fail to miss the ring that sits on the third finger of her left hand. 

“Jung Euna.” Hoseok somberly confirms, “My deceased wife.” 

Your eyes widen instantly. 

Aside from the first time you were alerted of her presence, Hoseok has never spoken about her. You had never questioned him either, knowing better than anybody else the sheer grief that came with losing your sprouse. 

And in a way, a part of you always knew, being painfully aware of it since the moment you’ve met the man. 

His warm smile has always seemed to carry the weight of the world. 

“She was really pretty.” You add with a smile, peering up to see tenderness in Hoseok’s expression. 

“She was.” He hums, “I had actually liked her since high school, but I was always too nervous around her to confess my feelings.” 

You nod, and he continues. “But then one day, I was working at a department store and she walked in. Recognized me within seconds.” 

“–I knew I couldn’t let the chance slip away from me again, so I asked her out. To my surprise, she agreed right away, as if she had been waiting for me to ask.” 

He beams, “She was stubborn, but very loving. Not a day goes by without me thinking about her.” 

Your brows lift, wondering if this is how you sounded when you talked about Namjoon. If you held so much love in your eyes, so much nostalgia in every word you spoke, so much sparks of joy in your expression. 

“We…we never had kids.” He brings up, as if he knew what you were wondering. “Rather…we couldn’t have kids.” 

Shock crosses your features and Hoseok grimly smiles, “Euna…she had a miscarriage. And then we found out she couldn’t have kids anymore, and it was devastating.” He sighs, recalling the memory like it was yesterday, “We fought, a lot. She kept telling me to divorce her, or to find someone else, because she knew how much I wanted to be a dad and have kids of my own.” 

“But you see, I’m just as stubborn as my wife. I told her I wasn’t going anywhere and that it didn’t matter at the end of the day. That I didn’t vow to be with her in sickness and health at the altar for no reason, and that my desire to be with her was stronger than she thought.” 

“Euna cried a lot. She would always cry in moments like this, not realizing how clear it was that she was suffering. So, I stayed with her and we were together for years, until her death.” 

You let out the breath you hadn’t known you had been holding, “C-Can I ask….” 

A small smile curls on his lips. “Of course you can.” 

You dart your gaze at the photo, knowing this isn’t easy to talk about. “Euna…how did she…?” 

Hoseok harshly swallows, all his wounds reopening before him. “She got diagnosed with stomach cancer. We luckily caught it right away, but Euna…she got sick, very quickly. It soon turned into going back and forth into the hospital, getting treatments and scheduling surgeries, and she got better. She looked so healthy, even started smiling again and–” 

Hoseok shudders, raising a hand against his eyes. You shift closer, wrapping an arm around him as his body trembles, sobs escaping him. 

“Hoseok…” You whisper and he glances up, agony pouring out from him. 

“S-She was better, Y/N.” He chokes out. “I thought it was all real. I thought I could take her out of there, bring her back home and everything would snap back into place again, but then it s-spread…” 

You hug him tighter, squeezing your eyes shut. 

“She was gone...” You complete, “…in the blink of an eye, like she never existed to begin with.” 

Hoseok doesn’t respond, still within your arms and he knows he doesn’t need to. Not when you understand his pain so well, not when his feelings mimic yours, not when the gap in his heart that his wife left is so similar to your own, feelings of loneliness dispersing everywhere. 

That night, you lie down next to Hoseok. 

Your head rests against his chest as his breaths even out, his hand clasped onto yours. The tears have long dried but the anguish is still there, a deep furrow to his brows as he sleeps. 

Peering upward, a soft smile lingers on your lips at the photograph he holds close to his heart. 

You lean down, handing Hoseok a warm cup of tea. 

His hands reach out in an instant, a kind smile on his features. 

“Thank you.” You return it, before sitting yourself down on a chair opposite to him with your own cup. 

It had been roughly a week since that night, and Hoseok looks brighter, almost more optimistic, if it were even possible. You weren’t sure after the second night passed, his eyes remaining swollen and a somber aura surrounding the man. You hadn’t left him alone for a split second, even as he continuously insisted he was alright, accompanying him on morning walks and holding onto his cold hand. 

Hoseok had chuckled when you pushed him over, sliding into the opposite end of the bed and draping an arm around him. He smiles gently when you rest your head against his chest, listening to his slow heartbeat. His eyes turn tender when you dreamingly question about Euna, curious about her likes and dislikes, the way she spoke or the way she laughed, using him as your source to an individual you’ve never met, but feel like you know everything about. 

And he does the same for you, asking for you to show him a picture of Namjoon one day. You pluck onto an album you had kept safely stored away, one Hoseok already knew was yours from how tidy it was kept and it was always situated next to your books, the very ones Namjoon would read. 

Hoseok sees everything. Pictures of you and Namjoon smiling, much younger and with so much excitement dwelling in your eyes. Photographs of a new ring settled on your finger, bursting with so much happiness. Photographs of you crying, holding your nearly born son in your arms. 

Hoseok sees your entire lifetime before his eyes, peeking at a question that has your eyes sparkling.

“Do you think we could have met?” He glances at the photograph of you in dark robes, a wide grin on your lips as you hold your college degree. “Like bumped shoulders at one point?” 

“I don’t know.” You truthfully confess. You had lived such different lives, never once bumping into the man. It makes you wonder if you would have ever met him, having not gone to the old age home. 

“We’re what? Five years apart?” He marvels, deep in thought, “What if you were revisiting college? And you just happened to stumble into me, freshly into college?” 

You fondly smile at the sentiment. You can imagine it so clearly – a younger Hoseok, appearing curious with his surroundings as he glanced around, attempting to locate his classes. You, a couple years older, coming back to meet with one of your professors. 

“You would be lost.” You state, playing into his fantasy. “I bet you would try to ask everyone around you for directions…” 

“–until I encountered you, your confidence taking me away.” 

You laugh, smile stretching. “I would wonder why you would be asking someone like me–” 

“Someone who would be too stubborn to say no.” He grins and the image flashes before you can help it. 

“E-Excuse me?” The man mumbles, appearing to be in his early twenties. “I’m supposed to go to the Art building, but I’m not sure which way that is.” 

You turn in surprise, not having expected to be approached. In fact, your gaze was concentrated forward, attached to the office before you. 

“O-Oh.” You’re caught off guard. His eyes are flickering everywhere and you muse he could really use the help. “Of course, it’s the black building just down on the right.” 

“Thanks.” He kindly smiles, and turns in the direction of your instructions. 

You widely grin, “It wouldn’t have been anything big. Just a couple of words exchanged.” 

Hoseok halts, swiveling with wide eyes. 

“Sorry, did you say something?” He ponders, and you softly shake your head. 

“Don’t worry about it.” You mutter, “I do hope you find your class, Hoseok.” 

He nods, peering at you in confusion. You watch as he departs, whispering underneath your breath. 

“See you in a couple of years.” 

Hoseok is leaning back in his chair, a soft smile on his lips. 

“A tad unrealistic?” You were amused that he let you stray so far off, not halting the train of thoughts coming to you. 

“A bit,” He chuckles, “but I didn’t want you to stop.”

You share a knowing look, holding onto your tea cups. 

A soft knock resonates against the door. 

Hoseok gets up first, gesturing for you to continue drinking your tea. You watch as he slowly pads over to the door, revealing a woman standing with a young girl before your eyes. 

You recognize them immediately as a family that lived nearby, noticing them frequenting one of the homes during the summer. 

The young girl looks to be roughly seven to eight years old, eyes flickering around and hands fidgeting. At the sight of her mother eyeing her, she speaks up. 

 “Um…m-my ball. It went into your garden.” 

Hoseok softly smiles, leaning down to gently pat her head. 

“Let’s go retrieve it, shall we?” He implores, and the little girl follows behind, slowing her pace to keep up with his steps. 

You walk outside to the garden, standing next to her mother. Fondness spreads through you as Hoseok looks around with the girl, a tenderness to his eyes that has you smiling as he gives the ball back to you. 

Her mother draws your attention. “I’m so sorry about this, I didn’t think it would end up here.” 

“It’s quite alright.” You reassure, “Hoseok doesn’t mind either.” 

“I’ve seen you around a couple of times.” She inquires, “Did you come here recently?” 

You nod, “I wanted to move away from the city.”

She hums understandably, “That’s nice. Both you and your husband seem very loving.” 

Your eyes flicker. It had been so long since you had heard such a statement, long having buried it with Namjoon when he passed. 

“He’s not my husband…” You correct, and the woman’s eyes widen, like she hasn’t been expecting that response from you. 

You pursue your lips. You truthfully, never had an answer. Not when Naree had accused you of replacing Namjoon, not when you would encounter the other neighbors and they would inquire about you, not when there was no envy on either one of your parts when Namjoon or Euna were mentioned, just understanding of the deep love you both still hold onto to. 

Namjoon is your husband. He will always be, keeping a special place in your heart that no one else can ever fully take or replace. 

Hoseok is your radiant sun. 

His smile is comforting. His arms are warm. His presence feels so reassuring and makes you feel less lonely in this world that only has you left behind. 

He's your solace – the embodiment of your pain and understanding at the same time. 

“Hoseok…” You whisper, “He’s…he’s my partner.”

Through the thick and thin, through the laughs and the tears, through the comforting embraces and the anguished recollections. You are glad to have met him, to have experienced these new memories with him, and to have created a new path, one in which you will spend the rest of your life in together. 

Hoseok glances up with a grin, the little girl holding her ball and giggling at something he said. His eyes lock on yours and it’s almost like he knows, he knows what is dwelling inside them. 

He’ll always be your partner for eternity. 

Time is the most valuable thing to exist in the world. 

It can be a matter of a mere seconds, spinning away like loose strands without any control. It could be a matter of a few years, spanning across months at a subdued pace. 

Time is so very valuable, and you’re grateful to have spent it with Jung Hoseok. 

“Hoseok….” 

It’s your voice, weakly calling out to him. He’s by your side within a matter of seconds. 

“Y/N.” He whispers, a smile spanning on his lips with many lines creasing. 

He’s gotten much older, the dark strands of hair turning completely gray, a deep hunch caving in his back more. He wears hearing aids on both ears, enough to still hear your low murmurs from your bed. His eyes have gotten weaker, a pair of glasses resting on the bridge of his long nose. 

He still looks like the man you’ve spent so many years with. 

And what years they were. You had basked in each other’s presence, being so utterly peaceful with him staying by your side. You weren’t lonely, you weren’t numb, you weren’t terrified anymore, you were simply content. 

Even when your legs had started losing their ability. Even when your memory began to fade, panic settling in on not being able to recall anymore. Even when your skin paled with time and you had become bed ridden. 

Hoseok held onto you. Hoseok reminded you, pulling out albums for you to see. Hoseok lied down with you, letting you rest your head against his chest. He coaxes and consoles you, keeping you in one piece even though the years were threatening to crumble you. 

Even as he watches your chest slowly heave, voice growing weaker by the minute. 

“Hoseok…” You croak. He’s leaning in right away, despite having machinery that allows him to hear. “T-Thank you…Hoseok….” 

He chuckles, eyes glossed over. So many years had passed and you still had the need to express your gratitude 

“I should be thanking you.” He brings up, “Thank you, Kim Y/N. For all these beautiful years.” He whispers, as if singing you a comforting lullaby “For letting me into your life and staying by your side.” 

His voice cracks, but he still smiles.

“F-For letting this old man be your partner, for the rest of the time you had left.” 

You slowly smile, and he squeezes your hand, like he knows you feel the same way. 

“Hoseok….” You heave out, “I-I’m…I’m a little scared…” 

“I’m here, Y/N. I’m here.” He whispers, leaning his forehead against yours and shaking in your grasp.

“I-I wanted to go….” You croak, “For so long….I-I wanted to see him….” 

A low chuckle escapes you, “But not anymore.... strange, isn’t it….?” 

Hoseok is sobbing, shudders escaping through his body. His hand is clasped around yours, eyes filled with water 

But he keeps them open, wanting to encapsulate your last image into them. 

“You’ll be okay.” He chokes out. 

A warm smile graces your lips. It’s the most content he’s ever seen you, and it makes the center of his chest ache infinitely. 

A moment of silence passes as Hoseok recollects himself, leaning back to gaze at you. 

He calls out for you. 

“Y/N?” 

Your lips barely move, the shallow breaths leaving you all too soon. But you keep your gaze concentrated on him, letting him know you are still listening. 

A tear manages to slip from Hoseok’s eyes, but he still smiles, like he always does. 

“Say hi to your husband for me.” He whispers. 

It’s the last thing you hear before a brightness filling your eyes, his hold on you being the strongest it’s ever been. It rushes in, pulling you away like a tide. 

Your hand slips through his hold, and your eyes shut forever.

#hoseok fanfic #hoseok angst #bts hoseok fanfic #jhope fanfic #bts jhope fanfic #bts jhope angst #jhope angst #hoseok older couple au #bts elderly au #hoseok elderly au #bts older couple au #bts jung hoseok #jung hoseok #bts fanfic #bts angst #bts imagines #bts scenarios #hoseok x reader

[rhaasted]

one job

another fic, except it's d/ick g/rayson (n/ightw/ing!) this time around ! thank you for the rq, and as always, i'm up for more!

Dick had agreed to do a small favor for Damian.

This proved to be a huge mistake.

•

"...but Cleo ruined the furniture, and Alfred insisted we move her back to a room with older furniture... at least until we get her a scratcher," Damian went on. Cleo, the little devil, was an adorable British shorthair — a new addition to the Waynes, she'd been plucked off the streets by Damian due to his unending soft spot for all sorts of animals.

"Grayson." Damian eyed his brother suspiciously, the elder distractedly rubbing the back of his neck as they walked down the hall.

"Hm? Oh, right."

Damian sighed exasperatedly. "Father and I have some matters to speak of... she must refrain from ruining the furnishings. Even if these are not as valuable, she will need to be taught that she cannot just claw into them as she pleases." Dick could tell from the way Damian spoke that he had become very fond of the little troublemaker. "Can you watch her in the meantime?" Dick couldn't remember the last time he'd been around a cat, let alone had an allergy attack. He could totally handle this, no problem.

Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that things wouldn't go as planned. He rubbed the bridge of his nose slightly. "Sure, Dami.. uh, but I don't really think..."

"I will only be gone a few minutes. All you have to do is keep an eye on her." Damian spun on his heel and strode out the door, closing it with a decisive click.

Dick sighed. A few minutes shouldn't be so bad. "Hey, girl.." Dick smiled down at his brother's new furry friend. She was beautiful. Soft gray fur, big blue eyes looking up at him curiously... urgh. Just looking at her made him itch. He crinkled his nose to keep the tickle at bay. Resisting the urge to pet her, he turned around, putting his hands on his hips. He could wait a few minutes until Damian came back. Anyway, couldn't people grow out of allergies or something? Maybe his nose would be less reactive this time around. He walked over to a bookshelf, skimming the titles before feeling something soft on his leg. Peering down, he realized Cleo had taken a liking to him and was playfully brushing her tail against his leg. He stiffened slightly. Once again bringing up a hand up to rub the bridge of his nose, he exhaled quietly. Cat hair teased his nose so much, it was almost unbearable..

He promptly cleared his throat before stepping away from the small feline. She didn't seem to get the memo and followed him, mewing as she drew close and rubbed her face against the fabric of his pants. "Alright, you're cute and all, but that doesn't mean you can get away with everything." His breath wavered as she circled him. Maybe taking allergy medicine late would be better than never. A pink flush crept across his cheeks as he pinched his nose shut. The irritation had built up unexpectedly quickly, and the sudden assault on his sinuses was almost too much. Tears pricked his eyes, his breath beginning to hitch. "hh-! hH-huhh, h'ih! ihht-" he breathed slowly, trying to stave off the inevitable. His nose twitched and he narrowed his eyes. Too late-!

"ihh-! kh'tsSSHhieu!" He blinked, startled at the sudden itch. "hh- hht- soohhH-! hHKSHhiu! ffh- fuck, haAHT'SHIIUH!" He rubbed at his nose a little harshly, feeling the irritation spread across his face. He really should have taken something for his allergies. "rhh'shieu! ht'kshiu! uhhH- hah, hHk'shiue! TsSHHIEW! ahht'SHIU!" He brought both hands up to his face to cover the rapid bursts of sneezes. Massaging his nose wasn't helping much, and the fit wasn't showing any signs of slowing down. A shiver ran up his spine in anticipation. His muscles strained with every sneeze, shoulders tensing before every tickly expulsion. "hh'shiuu-! aht'SHIUU!" Each sneeze bent him forward, his nares turning more pink with every swipe from his knuckle. "hhhg-! hH’RREHHSSHU-!" He couldn't have held them back if he'd tried. Not that he was one to stifle, but... well. This was a lot more than he'd been expecting. Cleo, finally bored, hopped onto a large chesterfield couch near the windowsill. Light poured into the room through the window. Breath catching, he realized he could see dust floating around. He'd seriously underestimated the amount of dander — and cat hair — polluting the entire room. His nose twitched desperately. Hell, he could see it in the air-!

The buzz at the top of his nose spread down to his septum. His chest heaved with a huge breath, preparing to release a wet "hH-CHHISHU! Heh, hR'SCHH! RR'GHSHH!" He sneezed uncontrollably, each one rushing out more unrestrained than the last. Sniffling, the fit left him panting. He hadn't expected it to take so much out of him. His throat itched, and he coughed into his fist, putting one hand on the corner of a chair to steady himself. The tickle was incessant, forcing him to cover his mouth with his free hand, releasing a less-than-satisfying "hddt-nshHIEUH!" At this rate, he'd never stop. His grip on the chair tightened involuntarily with each wet release. "hihhH’YYIShHUE-!" Another sneeze forced his knee up as he bent over. He had to get out of here.

Scrrritch.

Turning, he blinked dazedly and tried to focus on the direction of the sound. His eyes landed on Cleo trying to use the sofa as her personal nail file.

Christ.

Rubbing his eyes with his fist, he decided to bite the bullet and pick her up by the scruff. He didn't want to startle her, all he needed was for her to behave. This was less than ideal. No, this was probably the worst case scenario. His nose was completely pink now, cheeks flushed, eyes filled with allergic tears. His nose began to run, increasing his urge to sneeze tenfold. He practically shook trying to hold the sneezes back. "C'mob Cleo, do-hhn't make things hard." Being so close to her made it even harder for him to keep his breathing steady. He couldn't- he had to-

"hHidjSHHEU-! rhhIIHSHUU!" An urgent sniffle triggered another— hH'yhH'DzZSHIUu-!"

Just then, the door opened, Damian stepping inside tentatively. "Grayson?"

Dick pulled the collar of his shirt over his nose, sneezing again. Gently handing Cleo to her rightful owner, he shuddered at the cat hair on his hand. Damian didn't even try to hide his distaste. His mouth quirked into a frown, masking the worry he felt.

"Get a hold of yourself. What is the matter?"

Dick threw his hands up helplessly as another sneeze wrenched itself from his body. "iihdSHIEUHH!" he groaned. "Think I mighhht be allergic.."

"Tt. The boy wonder brought down by a bit of fur. I will go inform Alfred of your... problem."

"Ugh, he's going to kill mbe," Dick mumbled with a finger under his nose.

#sneezefic #allergy sneezes #snzfic #sneeze attack #sneezeblr #sneeze kink #sneezefucker

[flock-talk]

my nephew insists i ask Newt's Mom instead of googling his question so.. "how to parrots not drown in the rain? their nose holes point up."

we both love your blog. its the first thing he wants to look at when i babysit <33

This is something I have never once considered, fabulous question!

Parrots possess what's known as an Operculum, it's a keratinous flap inside the nares (nostrils) that basically acts like a little doorway. It will block out things like dust, seed hulls, and water! The operculum is visible if you take a peek down their nostril, you may see what looks like a little bump and that's it! It's far more prominent in some species than others.

image source

The little yellowy white dot in the nose!

i mean good luck trying to spot this in Toto's nose, he's hiding secrets under that moustache!

In parrots this is not a foolproof system as they do not spend much time underwater so their operculum is not as watertight, some water may still sneak by. In those cases the bird will do a little sneeze to blast the water out of nose! In birds that do a lot of diving and fishing the operculum is able to fully shut the nostril and stop water from entering.

I do imagine when it rains they likely find shelter pretty quick to prevent this issue as well, leaves on trees will provide great cover from heavy rainfall! And when it comes to overnight most parrots will be nesting in hollowed out tree cavities that keep them nice and dry or bunched up in a well sheltered tree/ structure.

#operculum #anatomy #beak #nose

[nuatthebeach]

like passing notes in secrecy

gifted to @foreverginevra for simply being an angel. you are the queen of hinny banter, so i thought i would write something to commemorate that <333 comment here on AO3

"Harry."

Grunt.

"Oh, Harry. At least pretend like you aren't sleeping during class."

"Relax," Harry's voice comes out groggy, clearly in the midst of a soft snore. "Ron's got my back, doesn't he?"

"Yeah, no, totally," Ron says in support, dangling the feather of his quill against the sensitive nares of Harry's nose.

Harry sneezes, earning a few startled glances from his peers around him. Hermione laughs. "Sod off, the both of you."

"Not our fault you make it so easy," but Ron acquiesces and puts the quill away.

"I'll keep that in mind the next time you fall asleep in Transfiguration."

"Hear that, Hermione? Fighting words."

"Alright," Harry retorts, slumping forward on his palms, watching the words "14th Century Wizarding Economic Bubble" grow blurry as his eyes start to shut once more. For once, Harry wishes, he would like to spend a single History of Magic class without being subjected to the monotonous tunes of Professor Binns' lectures. And as amusing as it was in his first year, he's bloody tired of watching yet another student hock a loogie through the ghost's translucent bum. He's starting to feel bad for the old man. Er, ghost.

He is just beginning to doze off when he hears the rusty doors from behind give way, echoing loud enough to even startle their professor mid-speech, the words "volatile consequences of the 1378 Soap Blizzard" falling flat on his tongue.

His shriveled eyebrows shoot up like sun-dried beans, comprehension lining his ancient face. "Right, everyone. I have got a treat for you. With the fifth year O.W.L.s right around the corner, we are taking a stronger initiative this year to give students a better opportunity to learn from their older peers and take notes in higher level classes for a few days. Professor Flitwick has generously offered to sacrifice a day of teaching so that his pupils can sit and observe for today's lesson. Please leave a few spaces for them to attend at ease."

The response to this from his fellow sixth years is varied. Some highlights include: "That's a treat?," "Poor fifth years," "I doubt it was much of a sacrifice," "If they really wanted to help students, they would give a few days off, but instead they give more?," and "They never let us attend higher year classes." The latter comment is, of course, from Hermione.

But all of this commotion is background noise in comparison to the whirring in Harry's ears, head swinging this way and that as his eyes begin to search, fingers thrumming in anticipation on the desk in front of him. There's only one person he knows, or even cares about, from fifth year who was lucky enough to enroll in Flitwick's midday class, owing to the fact that she is his favorite student after all -

A cauldron slams to the right of him, and he jumps in his seat. He almost falls over as his suspicions are quickly confirmed.

"Oh, great. A class with my little sister. Only managed to escape one for six years."

Ginny, red hair swept into a high ponytail with the exception of two strands that gently frame her mischievous face, sticks her tongue defiantly at her brother. "Miss you too, wanker. And no one was going to sit next to you, don't worry." As she lowers herself into the empty spot next to Harry, he feels his heart beat three times the normal speed, a grin splitting his face in zealous two.

"Wide awake now, are we, Harry?" Hermione smirks, something irritatingly smug in her expression.

"Glad to have you here, Ginny," Harry cuts in, trying to shift the focus away once he sees Ron frowning, "Though I can't say you'll say the same soon."

"Are you kidding me?" Ginny leans in, her flowery scent inviting him to gravitate toward her magnetic pull. "After that kitten-sneeze I heard through the door? It would be my pleasure."

Harry sheepishly smiles, but at least Ron is laughing, sufficiently distracted. Cheeks flushing pink, he says, "I'll try to keep doing embarrassing things to please you, if it helps." 

Ginny winks before half-heartedly taking out some parchment and ink, pretending to listen to Professor Binns as he drones on and on about…well, to be utterly frank, Harry has absolutely no idea. This time, not for the usual reasons, he thinks, eyes flitting to the girl he's fancied for the better half of the year, the girl who makes him giddy and laugh like no one else he's ever met, the girl he’s hardly had any time to spend with one-on-one because her brother likes to hover after practice, the girl who is newly oh so single…

Hermione is right. Harry has never been more alert and engaged in a lecture in his entire life. Especially for this class.

It's why he gets a bit discouraged when he sees Ginny writing lecture notes on her parchment, giving him the idea that she's perhaps not so distracted as he currently is by her presence alone. We've never sat together in a class like this before… Harry forces himself to sit upright, promising himself that he is not going to distract her from her O.W.L.s studies because if it's important to her, it's important to him.

All of that resolution flies through the roof, though, when she suddenly nudges the piece of parchment to him, and he sees the words It's been five minutes, and I'm already so fucking bored scrawled in black ink.

Harry releases a loud chuckle before slapping his hand over his mouth, eyes wide. Hermione glares at the two of them. Ginny snorts.

Ron looks over at the passing note and mouths "unfair," but other than that, no one in the class seems to notice.

Harry takes her quill in his hand (he never bothered taking out his notes to start with) and begins writing.

Me too. I got some kip earlier before you all arrived.

She smirks. Some beauty rest? It would explain the right half of your hair jutting out.

He rolls his eyes, mussing his hair in place as she quietly laughs. Believe it or not, it was way worse before.

I believe it.

They pause in their back and forth, eyes facing the front as they sit in companionable silence. His cheeks feel like flames, the way he's utterly giddy to have her next to him. He'll sleep when he's dead, he thinks, nerves firing every time her shoulder brushes his.

It's another seven minutes when Harry gets her next message, and he peers over, feeling the dizziness that usually accompanies a hearty cheering charm.

Speaking of shite history lessons, I did some research on my own the other day.

He flashes her a questioning look, already amused. You? Research?

She drops her jaw in mock-indignation. Hey! I'm no Hermione, but I can be smart sometimes. Besides, this ended up being a worthy venture.

That's not what I meant. You're brilliant, he writes before nervously glancing over at her and rushing the words, And do tell.

It’s a fun fact, if you will. I’m sure it will come as a surprise to you that Salazar Slytherin is a sleazebag whose wife was only slightly less worse.

He laughs, making efforts to be quieter. That's an attention grabber.

Isn't it just.

"If you lot are done giggling like schoolgirls, you'll find that your parchment is almost running out," Ron hisses to them, ignoring Hermione's shushing gestures.

Ginny leans over, and Harry fights the urge to dig his nose into the sweetness of her hair. "Ron, your fly is calling, it says it's cold outside."

"I'm not falling for that," he retorts the same time that Hermione says, "It's zipped." Hermione flushes as Ron comically covers his…er, bits, and Harry bites his tongue to avoid chortling.

He nudges her shoulder with his own, heat crackling. Ignore him. Continue.

Right. Ginny takes out another roll of parchment. Well, it's a bit dark.

I know nothing of the sort.

She flashes him a smirk. It honestly might be a bit darker.

Okay, NOW you are offending me.

Ginny snorts. Here goes. So, Slytherin's wife was madly in love with him, right?

Sure.

But he had loads of affairs with a number of women, one of them his own niece.

Sounds like our lovely, resident pureblooded killmonger.

Gets worse. To get back at him, one of the many things the wife did was kick his most beloved under the table any time she'd have dinner: his dog. Harry gives her a strange look. Yes, I thought he loved snakes too, for… She flits her eyes at him before looking down. …obvious reasons but apparently, wizards loved dogs then too.

Don't make me sympathetic toward Salazar, of all people.

I'm not trying to. Doesn't change the fact that he legit cared more about the dog than his own wife. When he had to test a poison on the dog, he was completely inconsolable and didn’t blink twice when people suggested the same for his wife. When they eventually died, people grieved more for the dog than the wife. Rumor says the dog is even buried with him. But his wife doesn’t lay anywhere near the graveyard. Ever since, wizards are in constant fear that we will love dogs more than our own people. And that's the story of how we're only allowed a cat, toad, owl, or rat. No dogs.

Harry snorts, smirking and shaking his head.

Wow. That story was just the right amount of dark and humorous. You really do get me.

Don’t you forget it.

Their eyes meet, alight with mischief, as he feels a wave of appreciation for her and - randomly - Professor Flitwick, who orchestrated the very circumstances surrounding Harry's delight. Then, it's his turn to grab the quill, nudging his chair closer to hers, grinning stupidly as their feet press gently against one another’s.

Onto more lighter topics…

Oh, yes, please.

You remember the vampire who wanted my biography at Slughorn's party, right? Well, he sent an owl, asking me for a blood sample.

Now, it is Ginny who lets out a snicker. Heart pounding, he scribbles a bit more, suddenly desperate to hear more of her tingling laughter: I sent in one of Ron's blood-flavored lollipops. Don't think he could tell the difference.

That's a lighter topic??

Compared to dying dogs? Sure?

To be fair, vampires are hot. Wait, can he take my blood sample? Harry rolls his eyes.

A few moments later, she looks over at him, a competitive look gleaming bright in the spark of her eyes. It’s the same look she gets when she’s about to eviscerate her opponents on the Quidditch field. It’s the same look that drives Harry mad, makes him dream great, ambitious things in his sleep and worry over certain dormmates noticing the consequences the next morning. Also I didn't realize this was a competition over who has the darkest sense of humor.

Her expression is razor-sharp, electric, blazing, beckoning for him to dive into her flames and burn. He runs the hand that's not holding the quill through his hair, positively melting as he watches her stare tracing the path of his fingers.

Everything's a bloody competition with you, he writes, fast like his heart is racing to escape his body, to be out into the open, to be seen. I beat you once in Exploding Snap, you beat me five. I eat something spicy, you dump the whole sauce. I breathe, you breathe harder.

That last one is because I've got short legs. But you're pretty competitive, too.

At that, the words spill like dark paint, longing, pining, a reflection of everything he’s been feeling since October this school year. Maybe longer.

I know. It's why this works so well. Why we work well together, and thenhe halts, ink bottle spilling over slightly as he uses his quick Seeker reflexes to catch it before more embarrassing damage is done, siphoning up the small mess as best he can with his wand. He scrawls, rapidly, On the pitch! We work well on the pitch. Because. He racks his brain. Competition. Fuck.

He's absolutely terrified to look up, to assess her reaction; she still hasn't bothered reaching for the quill at this point, and he thinks it's over, this is where she's going to reject him, and it doesn't even matter to him if her brother, his best friend, would approve if she doesn't, and he feels blood empty from his brain like rainfall - but Ginny is now reaching for the quill, calmly dipping it in the ink bottle and prints neatly, confidently:

I think we work well together off the pitch too.

His eyes shoot up to hers, courage filling him like air to a balloon, and under her self-assured gaze, he inflates. He feels warm, warm all over because this has to mean something, this must be a sign for him to make a move, and fuck, she’s already close to him, her freckles lining up the gentle pert of her nose, her chocolate eyes on his lips, and - speaking of lips - his are subconsciously dipping toward hers…

Suddenly, he hears noise around him and sees many of the fifth years stand up. Ginny stiffens for a few seconds - sighs and pulls away, assembling her things together and pursing her lips.

Heat grazes the tips of his ears.

"I suppose this is it,” some of her first audible words since sitting down. He’s anxious, nervous - but when she meets his searching gaze, she gives him another one of her determined looks and he gets the warm feeling that the next time he attempts to kiss her, she’ll be the one leaning in.

He shivers.

"Ergh, thank Merlin."

"Hush, Ron. She barely talked all of class.”

“I could hear her devilish laughter, couldn’t I? That’s hardly better.”

“…It’s not like Harry was any worse.”

“Yeah, how many rolls of parchment did they go through? And how much does one need to talk about Quidditch plays, really?!”

Harry decides not to pay attention to the irony of Ron’s outburst. Besides, both of them really couldn’t be talking anyway since they had been playing tic-tac-toe on a bit of parchment themselves (how Ron convinced Hermione to do something un-school related in the midst of class is beyond him).

Even still, he hates how wistful he sounds to his own ears. "Leaving already?"

"Yeah," she says, glancing down at her watch. "We were only supposed to be here for an hour. But it was fun, you know…” Her grin is all-encompassing. “Seeing what it would be like if we had more classes like this…if we were in the same school year.”

He grins, cheeks flushing, wondering how it is that they are always on the exact same page. “I don’t think I’d get any work done.”

She winks. "I take that as a compliment."

"You should." He doesn't know what causes him to say it, but all day, his courage’s been on the forefront when she's around him. She’s electricity and he’s a wire, begging her to light up his days. "I…really like not getting work done with you.” And he should really stop talking now.

Her brows skyrocket, those lips that are perpetually in a smirk teasing him to take refuge in her warmth. "See you later, Harry. And we can do more of…not getting work done together. Whenever you’d like.”

He prays she doesn’t take notice of the subtle shift in his seat at that particular sentence.

"I hope so,” he croaks, “See you."

She squeezes his shoulder one last time and exists the hall. As Harry faces the front again, he tucks all four rolls of written parchment in his cauldron. For safekeeping, of course.

They are the most valuable notes he’s taken all school year.

#hinny ficlet #hinny fluff #hinny banter #harry x ginny ficlet #hbp missing moments #part of the daylight universe but FVCK ao3 for not letting me gift individual chapters i am furious

[two-red-lungs]

Ayooo. It sounds kinda cringe but eddie munson x vampire reader???? Or something like that. Or just x GN reader. That would be rlly swag of you :D

NO BC THIS IS PERFECT I was like "man I really wanna write a little about the Lost Boys/Stranger Things fic I'm working on, but IDK if the asker knows the Lost Boys" but you DO so sorry I am taking creative liberties w/ this imagine.

"Big Storm Coming" (Eddie Munson + LostBoys!Reader)

Your brothers were rabble-rousers. Nare-do-wells. It made settling anywhere... difficult, when the police kept getting on their tails. They set fires, caused public chaos, spray-painted walls. Hell, you spray-painted walls when you were bored enough. Eternal life was excruciatingly boring.

Like clockwork Max would chew them out, probably throwing one of them across the room in anger, and then move all of you to a new town.

Probably for the best. David brought death with him everywhere, he was messy and angry like that, and Dwayne, Marko, and Paul followed his example. Usually leaving you and Star to clean up the disaster.

So, really, moving to Hawkins felt like any other clan migration. Low population, sleepy police force, lots of bored teens "prone to going missing", as David had put it with a tight, toothy smile.

Marko had cackled when Max said he was enrolling everyone in highschool to "keep you outta trouble". He thought it was a joke.

It was not a joke. When you tried to protest Max told you to shut it or he'd lock you out on the porch come sunrise.

You all went straight from Max's van doors to the school entryway. A half-second in the sun, shielded under jacket lapels and long hair.

It was, admittedly, pretty fun, blowing open those doors on your first day. As much as you had a love-hate relationship with your blood brothers, you had to admit they turned heads. You all did. Wild rocker hair, manic self-assured grins, spike-studded boots. Rock-and-roll, baby. The sea of hallway students parted for the five of you.

Paul and Dwayne, as usual, were flirting with any girl that came within five feet of them, taking bets on who'd get a number by the end of the day. But with Star home with Laddie and David glowering at everyone like he wanted to massacre everything and then hang himself, you were pretty much on your own.

Great. School, again. A year of faking interest in American history and just waiting for a drained corpse to be found in the woods.

And then. AND THEN. Hawkins High, shithole in the middle of Indiana, gave you the gift you'd be desperately hoping for.

"Principal's office, NOW, Munson!" A teacher screamed nearby, flinging open a classroom door and shoving out a tall, wild-maned, leather-jacket clad man. The man flipped a double bird to the closed door, shoved his hands in his pockets, and turned around to start trudging down the hall.

Freezing in place when he saw you. Two individuals, nearly identical in style. Outcasts. Lost, maybe.

An incredulous grin spread across his face, dark eyebrows disappearing up into messy fringe. "...Holy shit." He said with a disbelieving laugh. "Look at you. Rock on, man."

He introduced himself as Eddie Munson, blood thumping under his ivory-pale skin and smelling like American Spirit cigarettes, and all at once you were hooked. He was clearly excited to see someone else with a patch jacket sporting bands he knew. He asked you if you wanted to smoke sometime. You blindly agreed, distracted by that warm smile.

And as he walked away down the wide hall, saying "Boo!" to a passing group of freshmen girls and making them literally jump, two things were made utterly apparent to you.

One: Eddie Munson was going to save your high school experience from being the most boring thing ever.

Two: he needed to be protected from your brothers at all costs. None of you were allowed to be happy. To make friends. They destroyed those sort of things out of envy, of jealousy. And you would not let Eddie be a tally mark in David's kill ledger.

Thank you for the prompt: if you guys like this concept, please let me know! I'm considering a longer, multi-chapter crossover fic with Eddie/reader and the Hawkins gang VS Max's boys.

#eddie munson x reader #the lost boys #eddie munson #stranger things imagine #stranger things s4 #my writing

[sneezygiant]

Almost 700 words, tried to do second person

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

"Gaaaaaar!~" You sang in a sing song voice as you trotted into the bedroom, grinning up to the lazy giant who was lounging on the bed. You waited until Garrett's attention was on you before before You beamed wide and told him "I got a new perfume! it was even on sale! I wanna know your opinion on it." you chuckled, unable to wipe the grin on your face. Your grin grew wider as Garrett gave a playful grin back at you.

  "Didja now? does it smell real nice?" He asked in a playful purr, leaning slightly off of the bed so he could pick you up by the back of the shirt, dropping you onto his pillow. You didn't have any time to react as you were soon pinned to the pillow by your boyfriend's large nose. Garrett gave your stomach ticklish pokes with the tip of his nose, making you giggle and squirm before he started to sniff and snuffle at you playfully.  You could feel the flexing of his nostrils as he gave each deep sniff he gave, making you laugh. Garrett's breath was warm as it washed over you, in and out, in and out. One playfully deep sniff after another, Garrett taking in the lovely scent of the perfume on your being.

 That was until the playful sniffs turned into a quick, confused sniffle followed up by two more distracted sniffles. Looks like the perfume was bothering Garrett's sensitive nose. that wasn't your intention, but it was a nice bonus.  Now just because you wanted to see Garrett sneeze, didn't mean you wanted to be sneezed on. Though, when you tried to wiggle away, you found yourself stuck.

 "Gar, Honey? let me up." You said through a nervous laugh, patting the side of Garrets nose, jostling his nostril piercing a bit.  The only answer you got was a needy sniffle, and the first soft hitch of Garrett's breath.

  "hiihhhh..."

 "Garrett let me up." you whined with a bit more urgency, though you knew it was pointless. You knew that every sneeze from the giant demanded his full attention, left no room for any other thoughts. You  were doomed to get sneezed on, and there was nothing you could do but watch. You watched Garrett's beautiful brown eyes flutter, you could see tip of his nose and his nares go a soft pink as his nostrils flare, you could feel every little twitch his itching nose made...and if you were honest with yourself, you'd admit that you loved it.

You loved how Garrett's pointed ears flicked downwards, and how you could feel the gentle outline of a fang as his lips part slightly to allow a gasping hitch against your abdomen, making you shudder.

 "hUuuuuuuHhhh! HuuuuuUUHH! HHHUhhhh!!" Garrett gave out three desperate hitches, eyes squeezing shut as his expression drew into a slight snarl. There was a heavy pause, just before Garret exploded into a sneeze.

"HURRRRRShhhhhhHHOOUU!'uh...."

luckily it was a dry sneeze, but you still got misted by the spray. The sneeze was instinctively followed up with a sniffle, bringing even more of the itchy scent into the giant's nose. Garrets whole face scrunched up against you, no though behind his drooping eyes as his lips parted in uncertainty.

" Gar! Gar! let me up!" you yelp, giving the side of his nose a smack as you hoped for any glimmer of awareness. Luck seemed to be on your side, as Garrett gave a couple confused blinks before he carefully rolled onto his back before his maw opened wide, his nose scrunching and twitching, head tilting back, and his eyes fluttering closed once again.

" HUUUUhhh!! HHUH! HURRR'SHOU!'uuhh...snnnnfff...HUH!....Hiiiiiiih? HUURRRSHHHOU!...SNF!....guh...snf....'scuse me...sorry bout that." Garrett murmurer after two more quick sneezes towards his chest, and away from you. A deep red blush peppered itself across his cheeks as he scrubbed a finger against the underside of his nose. He knew you liked his sneezes, and that mere fact flustered him. you also knew he was embarrassed about sneezing on you, for easily giving into the sneeze.

You offer a gentle smile at your giant dork, gesturing with your arms for him to come closer. He readily does, being careful not to inhale too much of the tickly perfume. You carefully hug onto his nose, giving the tip of it a loving kiss. Garrett gave a soft purr and a dopey smile in return, carefully nuzzling his nose into you, being careful with his breathing.

" No reason to be sorry Garrett, you know I love your sneezes." you tease him, a sly smile gracing your lips as you give his nostril a playful trace with a single finger, giggling when he gave a soft huff of protest.

#sneeze blog #sneezeblr #snzg/t #snez #snz scenario #sneeze #sneeze scenario #sneezefic #sneezygiant #Second person sneeze #pov #Garret the sneezing giant #micro/macro #micro/macro sneeze

[ohbuckie]

Nare I feel like becca asks him and he cries

this is also so sweet :( they’re facetiming one day and she’s telling him about the plans she’s already mad for the wedding and she’s like ‘yeah i was hoping maybe you could sing something?’ and he’s like ‘what do you mean’ and she’s like ‘i don’t know like a tasteful love song or something. i really want you to be a part of it not just a guest’ and he tears up and is like ‘i’m really flattered becca but are you sure?’ and she’s like ‘yes obviously i’m sure why would i offer if i wasn’t’ and he’s like ‘okay shut up i get it’ and is just silent and has to stop tears from falling while they keep talking <33

[terrainofheartfelt]

Date + Tears

requested by anon

Dan’s ears catch on something over the sound of the TV, the noise of a slight, muffled sniffle, and he turns just in time to see Nate swiping at his eyes. 

“Nate? Are you crying?” he doesn’t mean it to come out so amused. Well, that’s not entirely true. 

“Shut up,” Nate deflects, hand still on his face.

“I mean, it’s fine. I just didn’t know you liked this movie that much.”

Nate scrunches up his nose, defensive. “Just because I have a soul, babe –”

“Nate, I’m kidding,” Dan says placatingly, stretching out an arm. “C’mere.”

Nare grumbles something under his breath, but he still lets his head drift down to Dan’s shoulder, fitting there perfectly, and Dan lets himself hum along to the waltz tune Christopher Plummer is playing on screen. 

Nate half-heartedly thumps him on the leg. “Rude.”

Dan laughs, turning to press his lips to the top of Nate’s head, and he melts that much further into the couch and Dan’s arms. “I can play it later if you want. Dig out my guitar”

He catches a glimpse of Nate’s reluctant smile as he answers. “I don’t know if my heart could take it.” 

“Mmm, you’re right, honey,” Dan says seriously, “I’d butcher it. Better to leave it to the experts.”

“That’s what I’m saying. Respect the artistry, baby.”

“Just you wait, when we get to ‘Climb Ev’ry Mountain…’” Dan trails off, wiggling his fingers in front of his face to mime tear tracks. 

Nate laughs, the sound sparking happily in Dan’s chest like a mission accomplished, and they turn their attention back to the movie, waiting for the promised moment. 

One word prompts

#gossip girl #nate archibald #dan humphrey #dan x nate #*prompts #these are all skewing very fluffy and I aint sorry

[jay-notabird]

Haha I did a thing

Found files — a creepypasta-inspired story.

[A woman steps into the frame, only a chair and a brick wall behind her is present, and the whirring of the camera can be heard.]

My name is Lucinda Knowles 

I am 22 years old.

I have been living by myself for 4 years.

I am to finish college in a month.

My life is anything but easy.

I work a part-time job while still going to college,

Plus I have to be extra careful.

There is a murderer in our town, and people

Believe he stalks women.

If I stop updating he found me.

[The footage abruptly stops, going to the next tape.]

My name is Lucinda Knowles

My favourite candies are Werthers Originals.

I only take streets with more than four people on them,

I never take alleyways.

I always make sure to change my schedule.

One night I go straight home, the next I go to eat.

I always make sure to change up the path I take,

The mart I shop at,

And the restaurant which I dine in.

I never stay out past 9:30

And I always lock all doors.

I have a feeling this won’t stop him,

He’s watching me I know it.

I wouldn’t be surprised if he is watching

Me right now.

[Tape 3 starts to play, revealing the room has changed. We now see a bed, light gleaming from a window on the left and two doors on her right.]

My name is Lucinda Diana Knowles.

I live in a small studio apartment on Nare's street.

Yesterday while I was walking I saw him.

He seems to be hanging around my college.

He’s not as frightening as I imagined,

Though I only saw him for a fraction of a second.

He seems to be wearing a type of mask,

And a blue hoodie.

I’m not sure what he wants, he ran off.

[Tape 4 plays, revealing the same girl holding her graduation plack, a big smile on her face.]

My name is Lucinda Knowles.

I graduated last week.

I majored in English with a master’s degree.

There has been no sign of the man lately,

I think he has finally left to terrorise a new town.

Hopefully, I’ll update you soon.

[Tape 5 plays, this time we see the girl turning on the camera before sitting in her bed, a tv plays in the background before she turns it off with the remote]

My name is Lucinda Knowles.

I check the news every day after work.

Today I turned on the news

To some, well– bad news.

He’s back, and even closer than before.

He is now near my work.

I think he knows, but I can’t be sure.

I- I’m scared, I have a real bad feeling

About thi–

[A knocking is heard and the girl turns her head quickly, standing up and briefly apologizing to the camera. There is a pause and nothing is heard but the shut of a door.]

[Footsteps approach, seemingly going behind the camera, before the tape ends.]

[Tape 6, the camera turns on to see a different room. The girl sits on a chair with her hands tied, tears streaming down her tired face.]

[The girl looks frightened for a second, staring at something outside of the camera’s view.]

M-my name is Lucinda Diana Aea Knowles,

I go by Luci for sh-short.

I am 22 years old,

I have a master's degree in English.

I work at M-Marcy’s Diner,

And I live on Nare’s street.

I check the news every day after work.

I constantly change my schedule.

A-and I was still caught.

My favourite candies a-are Werther’s Originals,

And I play volleyball in my spare time.

[There is a pause, the girl looking behind the camera.]

P-please I don’t want to do this.

[A man steps into view and holds up a scalpel, pointing at the girl.]

N-no! Okay, okay, I’ll do it.

I– If anyone finds these, I’m already dead. 

Don’t come looking for me.

#creepypasta #eyeless jack #creative writing

[usernare]

hi again, guys. my commissions are still open and i rearranged new prices for this month of february. instead of 10 cents per gifs, i'm back to 8 cents. which means that 100 = $8, 200 = $16, 500 = $40, and so on. if you're interested, you can find more info at the source link and samples of my work under the read more. thank you <3

#gif pack commissions #gif commissions #rp commissions #gif pack #gif hunt #gif icons #rpc #rpt #gif sale #shut up nare

[nervousmonolith]

Okay shut up i adore your anime fruit as well, don't you dare apologize for that. I just love fucked up little creature fruit designs with all my heart (bonus points if they're silly)

- nare

I ALSO LOVE THE SILLY GOOFY LIL CREATURE DESIGNS

#monolith mumbles #he is a creature #but also two colored hair goes so hard

[tantawans]

LAKORNLADIES EVENT: best character growth ↳ warisa - rong tao naree

"Risa chose to be a single mom. Risa took off her high heels and started wearing shoes that she feels more safe in. Because she now knows who to live for in the days ahead."

#the entire show i was like girl if u dont end up single i will scream #she did not disappoint me absolute legend <3 #the amount of risa/pete fanvids make me sick like he was literally abusive shut up #rong tao naree #lakornladies #lakornet #♡

[quosterswampdregs]

Will your snzfic on Keirie be posted here? I'm from discord, It was a really good read!

This was based on a collection of scenarios offered in a discord group, featuring my character Kei, or Keirie. Their ideas were grouped into a 2200-word-long fic with plenty of trunk-related material, and snz content.

Thyme’s Running Out.

Keire was home early from one of their regular meets. As such, they placed down their bag of colorful flags with their long trunk, which slumped against the sofa of the apartment room. The city was alive just outside their door, and for once, they were glad to shut it out.

“Aughh, I’m famished,” they grunted, voice deep and soggy with laziness after such an eventful meet, “I should probably make something to eat instead of ordering food all the time…”

Sautéed vegetables it was, then. With a trunk as dexterous as an elephant’s, they could essentially work with three limbs, in the way they carried themself around the kitchen. Fresh produce was unearthed from the fridge simply by opening the door and feeling around with that lengthy appendage—their trunk snaked into the refrigerator, nostrils wide as the flexible muscles and sensitive hairs brushed up on various items. They would sniff and snuffle, up until a tomato reluctantly rolled towards the vacuum, and fit flush under the ball of their nose. The ‘fingers’ that African elephants had at the tip of their nose closed and enveloped the fruit, and it was pulled out for further inspection. Telling by how the trunk returned to the fridge without the tomato, it had been accepted.

Snrk! Snnoooft. Sucking against the cold surface of the inner fridge and leaving behind foggy prints against glass and hard plastic with the shape of nostrils, Kei searched by smell for a bunch of carrots, tied off neatly by a blue rubber band. Their nose found the orange stalk first, tapping it and giving it a few dedicated sniffs. Their septum pressed to the tip of the carrots, and by then, they raised their brows in recognition that this was a vegetable they needed. They sniffed, but the thin, delicate, bristly leaves and stems were quickly stuffed into their nostrils from the carrot’s green.

Kei blinked a few times with a start. They could see their pale, freckled trunk—half of which hidden away by the edge of the fridge—begin to flush a sneezy shade of pink. Their nostrils quivered and trembled at the irritating foliage that was currently tickling and teasing their inner nose to hell and back.

“Hddihh…! Ihh…th-that tickles,” they breathed quietly, brows arching upward with a tight pinch. Their cheeks flushed rosy—they weren’t expecting to be feeling so sensitive at this very moment, but they weren’t objecting to the feeling either. They flexed their nostrils purposely, using their muscles to grab at the base of the actual root itself, before pulling it out, lifting it to eye level, and double-checking that these were carrots tickling their nose so thoroughly.

Indeed they were—their nose was pink, going on salmon, shivering nostrils clasping and wriggling defiantly from the soft, delicate leaves that teased the rims of their nostrils and no-doubt smothered the immediate inside.

As much as they were guiltily enjoying this feeling, they didn’t want to sneeze—not yet, at least. Their trunk curled to get a more steady grip on the carrots, at least until it was on the counter beside the tomato. They slowly removed their trunk from the leaves, and one was stuck, a stray leaf at the base of their right nostril, until an untimely sniff sucked it up. Kei began to hitch suddenly and delightedly, feeling it brush and paint halfway up their nostril, which made their nares drool and salivate. A wet gasp made them curl their trunk up into a coil—that was their best method of hold back, hands-free—and they sighed, unraveling it to daintily expel the leaf with a single chuff.

String beans, bell peppers, onions, and broccoli were either pre-packaged or easy to fumble with, and with their nose still pleasantly tingling, they extracted a large cutting board to properly shorten the sizes of the mixed veggies. They filled a large bowl in the stainless steel kitchen sink to their immediate right—one nostril pressed against the cold bulb of the faucet handle, and the fingers clasped the divots before turning three times. Then, they nudged the curved faucet handle so it was hovering over a steadily filling bowl using their firm, flexible, narrow septum. Only then, with an apron around their hips, did Keire begin to cut.

Kei didn’t particularly like their trunk too close, subconscious or not, and the veggies were cut solely by hand. Batonnet slices for the carrots, thick and firmly organized, mirepoix assorted segments of onion and tomato, and julienne-like matchstick slices for the bell peppers. One done, knife aside, they began to scoop and grab at the assorted cubes and sticks with their trunk. The carrots rattled on the bitch cutting board as they were pulled towards the suctioning sniff of Keire’s gaping nostrils, filing four-by-four into both their nares. Once most of them were in, they lowered their trunk into the now-overflowing bowl of water to let the carrots float in the wash of the faucet. They washed their trunk in the process, tears pricking as water flooded up their large snout and made them red, before clearing out.

Rinse—quite literally—and repeat. Onions and tomatoes next, the sharp sting of freshly-cut vegetables flooding their nose, before being washed away, and the bell peppers, too. Upon unloading the narrow matchstick slices into the water, Kei felt a particular fluttering itch in their right nostril. They grabbed their trunk halfway up, curling their nostrils towards their eye to peer inside the fleshy, pink cavities. Ah! One stray bell pepper was lodged back there, much further back where they were more sneezy and susceptible to the hitches that came. Their cheeks flushed again—there was great appreciation for being able to see your own nose twitch and react in your hands to something that made it itch. Goodness knows how many hours they’d dedicate to teasing their large nostrils with a feather just to see them quiver in desperation—anyway!!

Giving themself a start and shaking out their head, they blew a singular, sharp chuff of air, but with no result. A second, a third, nothing. The vibrant scents of bell pepper were really getting to them now, flushing half of their trunk a nice coral strawberry tone. Their thumb plugged a nostril, rubbing the unoccupied nare between a thumb and forefinger as they blew again. They hitched playfully when they felt it rattle around a little!

“Oh come on, this is r-ridiculous,” they chortled and rubbed their septum with a knuckle, “h-hheh! Huhh…don’t sneeze…ihh…”

Slowly, they pinched and grappled with their trunk halfway—thank goodness for its flexibility. With a wringing squeeze and pull, they were able to slowly slide the stray pepper slice out to hold in the fingers of their trunk, washing it off under the running water before popping it into their mouth. Crunchy, and satisfying—in more ways than one!

Trunk fidgeting from denial twofold, olive oil coated a hot pan using their trunk to pour; it left their trunk’s septum just a bit slick afterward, but nothing all too concerning. The water was trained from the vegetables, and once dry, they were placed into the pan for cooking. Similar to the air vents above the stove sucking air and smoke from the stovetop through the system, Keire’s nostrils hovered over the dish, pulling in the comforting scents of caramelizing onions and peppers into their own system. Elephants were known to be great cooks for their acute sense of smell alone.

It smelled good, but good wouldn’t cut it. Salt, pepper, minced garlic, oregano, basil, thyme; these were the ingredients of true culinary success, and they sat neatly about nine feet from the floor, above the countertop to their left in neat rows far out of arm's reach. From their viewpoint, they couldn’t exactly see the labels unless they were to step back, so their trunk lifted far above their head to delicately fumble about for the right stuff. Each came in individual shakers, the sealing caps removed for the sole purpose of easy access to the holed blockers.

“Snrrrft-! Hm…cumin…snff snff!! Rosemary….snft! Salt, pepper. There we go…” Kei uttered mindlessly, eyes half-lidded to focus on their sauté as their trunk curled daintily around the salt and pepper shakers. Suctioning on the sides of both shakers, which sat flush against their nares, they lowered their trunk and tilted it to administer a healthy dose of salt and pepper simultaneously. The two shakers were placed off to the side, and up the trunk went once more. Garlic was grappled with, oregano was observed with caution, basil boosted the fragrance overall, thyme—

“snnRKKDT!!”

Kei blinked a few times in surprise upon being overwhelmed by the sharp scent of thyme against their nostrils, the container rattling until it plunged halfway into the leftmost one. They lifted their trunk suddenly, watching the lodged shaker as it slowly, teasingly emptied itself into their long snout. They could feel the soft, feathery flakes of thyme dance and frolic down deep into their twitching nose, which shivered and trembled with newfound inspiration to sneeze. There was so much, maybe it was something about watching the shaker slowly empty itself while upturned, knowing and feeling that it has nowhere to go but down into their reddening nostrils.

“Ehh!! Hhdk—hhiihh- hh-hHheh!!” Their nostrils gaped, and to both their dismay and delight, the shaker trembled and fell deeper into their nostril, to where its base was flush against the nostril itself, completely plugged up.

The burner for the stove was turned off, and Kei staggered back. Their hands, shaking, rushed up to the base of their trunk, trying their hardest to pinch it shut and keep any more thyme from making them cry and huff.

Sndrrk, sniff, snort, their trunk was out of control, and a bit of the flittery fragments of leaves came spilling out the other nostril when it arced down to nuzzle its septum against their finger.

“D-don’t sn’deeze,” they swallowed, cheeks flushing up as they did; it was inevitable, and they knew it. They tried to grapple with their squirming trunk to uncork the shaker from their nostril, but their large fingers and sturdy nails were no were near dexterous enough to get around the oil-slickened rim to pull it out. The fidgeting only made it slide deeper, and at that point, there was no point in trying to wrench it free. Each movement and shiver and shake made them hitch, knowing more and more dosages of thyme were teasing and tickling down their entire cavity. It was fruitless—that knowledge of hopelessness was enjoyable, sure, but they knew what needed to happen nonetheless. Their fists clenched tight at their sides, their ears curled in to shield their flushing face somewhat, their knees bent inward as if crumpling under their lifting trunk that flared and quivered in anticipation.

“Hggh…hhihh..! Iehhh…! HEHh! Iihhhheshhuhh…!”

Keire was known for having average sneezes, strange in elephant standard, and their first sneeze fit the bill exactly. However, upon hearing up for the second, they felt their chest puff and inflate, causing a slight gear back with tears positively rushing down their face.

“Hhhhuhh…hhehhHh..ehhHh! hEEISSHHHHUHHd’uuhhw!!”

Violently snapping their trunk down, the vial of thyme went ricocheting off the patterned floor tiles and the lower cabinets, the empty bottle leaving a trail of dried leaf flakes in its wake as it wiped over their shoulder and splooshed into the kitchen sink.

They held their nose with both hands—there were more to come, for sure. Each was segmented by one or two deep, desperate gulps, sometimes even three, and clouds of thyme came rushing out from their left nostril with each spraying sneeze.

“H-hDTKkssChhH!! Ihh…! Hhuh-hURRSHHhhuh!! HhHIGSChhhhuhhw!!” The last three were by far the most productive, leaving their trunk pleasantly spent and drooling with specks of thyme. They pulled up the apron wrapped around their waist, smothering a gurgling blow into it with mindless intention.

“Goodness,” they uttered with satisfactory defeat, looking down to their apron and their palms, “huh…guess I have too much thyme on my hands…”

#kei the elephant #furquo fic #furquo art #snzblr #sneeze fic #sneeze art #sneezeblr

[kushami-hime]

Umbrella (OC Snz Fic)

I did another fic! It’s short, sweet, to the point, and finally I used my OCs for once lmao. 

Aiko and Daisuke are over here if you wanna see em~

Anyway! Enjoy some sneezy Tsundere Tanuki.

 ~ "Hhh-Hh...!" "Mm?" "Hepp'SHHiyyuuuu!! Guuhh...SSnnNNff!!" The soft clack of Oxford loafers patted the drenched sidewalk where two figures walked along. Three or four feet separated them, making one believe that perhaps, they weren't trekking through the downpour of rain together. A shame they'd have to traverse this horrible weather with only each others company, considering the fact that they hated each other's guts. Not all of the time, but still. The smaller female drummed her fingers on the handle of her pink umbrella, which she held over her head securely to keep at least half of her gyaru-styled school uniform dry. She'd spent far too much time touching up her makeup and hair to have it ruined by measly rain. Not to mention the chill. Even the thick, heavy jacket she dug her chin into had trouble keeping it at bay. Whereas she was better off, her companion was utterly miserable.

The taller, brown haired man was soaked through, wearing a thinner jacket and plain clothes. His white t shirt had begun clinging to his toned chest and he could feel how the rainwater was soaking his toes and feet through both his shoes and socks. The scowl on his face was enough to cause passersby to swerve out of his path to avoid his ire. His strong arms rubbed against one another across his chest as he tried to retain some form of heat, but to no avail. His black and brown hair stuck to his face, almost preventing him from seeing what was ahead of him. And speaking of his face, he was relatively pale, but his brows were knitted together in utter irritation. Something that just screamed "I'm done with this shit". But his nose was much worse off for the most part. Twitching, wiggling, and spending half of its time squished upwards in an allergic salute. The rims of his nostrils were turning an obvious angry pink color while they flared largely at the cold air. "That pride of yours is gonna get you a nasty cold, Dai-Chan~" The girl commented, a smirk spreading across her thin lips as a fang poked out. The man hissed in response, "Shut. UP. Aiko." "Oh come on. We've still got another 10 minutes to walk before we reach Shizuko's place. Just get under my umbrella or else you'll probably have her worried sick..." Aiko retorted, "Then again...it already sounds like you're coming down with a-" "HekK'SshYYyuuuooo!! Hh-! HeHh'SHHYYUUuuoo!" "...cold." Daisuke sniffled wetly against his sleeve, also drenched and soaked through from the rain. He didn't care much for appearances in front of his rival kitsune, but Shizuko was another story. He groaned, disgusted with himself as he stopped under an awning to try and regain control of his body. Aiko sighed as she stopped as well, collapsing her umbrella and sitting down on a bench, also covered by the awning. Daisuke groaned at her as she plopped down to take a seat, "You can just keep going, I don't want you to wait on me." He snarled at her, though rather pathetically since his nose wouldn't stop sneezing. Aiko smirked at the miserable Tanuki. "And miss the show? Absolutely not." As if she couldn't piss him off more than he already was...Aiko certainly had a talent for making people irrationally angry for shits and giggles, "Please, go on! Pretend I'm not here! Oh and...you might need this." Digging through her pastel shoulder bag, she whipped out a baby blue colored handkerchief and held it out to him. Though, Daisuke hesitated. Not just because of his pride, but because of another incoming sneeze that he was much too tired to stop. His hands twitched as he lifted his head up to the cloudy sky overhead. Nose streaming, nostrils flaring and twitching, and the inside of his nares were coated in a fine film of slimy mucus that was sure to go flying within moments. His eyes became cloudy and glazed over, as if he were put into a sneezy trance. Daisuke's shoulders shook with shivery, ticklish hitching breaths as he held his hands up in front of his face. "Tsk, not with your hands, you animal." Aiko scolded him. She rose to her feet and offered the cloth up to him, but he seemed much too busy sucking in much needed air. The fox groaned in annoyance, "Here, just-" With one swift movement, Daisuke snatched up the handkerchief, with Aiko's hand still holding it, and released a powerful two sneezes while narrowly doubling at the waist. "HH-ISSHHHmmpph! Hh-! EHH-SSHMMmmpp-!!" Aiko could feel how wet his palms were to the touch, and how freezing he was in comparison to her warm hands. She could feel the moist, warm snot shoot out of his nose even through the thick fabric that he clutched to his face. Chills rocketed up and down Aiko's spine as she yanked her hand back, staring at him with wide eyes. "W-what was that?!? Are you trying to get me sick, you ass?!" She squealed towards him, rubbing the palm of her hand against her skirt. There was no time for any sort of smart assed remark. "Hh-! Hah...-!! Hhih-! Hhh-!" Daisuke clutched the slightly used handkerchief in his trembling hands while practically putting on a show for his rival. Aiko glared daggers at him, face flushed pink at the sight before her. Why did he have to look so damn hot while he was suffering?! It wasn't fair to her! All she could do was wait until he was finished, but she couldn't take her eyes off of him...Desperate moans poured out of the shivering man as his usually strong and unphased nose writhed and twitched against the cold, wet air. His dark eyes almost went cross as he gave into his bodies one desire. "Hep'SSHYyyyuuu!!" He shot forward with a desperate sneeze, almost missing the hankerchief entirely as he geared up for another...or 3. His head reared back as he gasped for air between whimpers, a pair of fangs popped out into view as Aiko took a step back...this was going to be bad. "Hh'eH...Hah-!! HEh-! EHHTSSsch'uh!! Hh-! Hpt'SHHiiyuuu!!" With the messy explosion of the second sneeze, there was a sudden popping sound. Instead of it being an indication that Daisuke had hurt himself, it was a sigh that his human disguise was slipping. It was easy for Yokai such as foxes and tanuki to walk around as if they were born human. It was as natural as breathing. But holding up that disguise would be a bit more challenging if he couldn't regain control of his body. A pair of round, brown ears sprouted from the top of his head, as well as a long, fluffy tail. Just as quickly as they popped out, they were gone in a puff of smoke. Good thing no one was around to see his slip up. "S-shit-...I-Hhih!! Hdt-SSSCHhuu'UH-! Uggh...Guuuhh..." He gave a gurgling, wet, stuffy sniffle afterwards before blowing his nose into the handkerchief loudly. The sound was thick, wet, and absolutely miserable. He sniffled again, having momentarily relief as he could somewhat smell again without his nose immediately dribbling snot all over the place. He offered the handkerchief back to Aiko, ignoring her flustered state as she groaned, "Keep it, you need it more than I do..." She muttered, glancing up at the rain clouds, "It's getting worse...are you suuuuure you-" "Fine." "Eh?" A dumbfounded expression found its way onto the girls face a she stared at him, "That fever must be setting in early or somethin, huh?" "Shut. Up." Daisuke snarled, sniffling again and cringing at the wet, thickness that had once again settled in his head and made any attempt at breathing through his nose near impossible. As the rain worsened, Aiko stepped out into the downpour and smirked, offering him her shelter under the umbrella. He tiredly rolled his eyes at her before pressing the handkerchief to his now dripping nose, and joined her as they continued to walk to their destination. His steps were irregular as Aiko slowed her pace so he wouldn't be left behind. He just barely fit under her umbrella, having to crouch down as she lifted it higher to accommodate for the man who usually towered over her with a sense of superiority. With a side glance, she noticed the allergic salute he gave, rubbing madly at his nose with his wrist and getting a good look at the messy, sticky rims of his reddening nostrils. Who knows how much gunk was packed in there, and how much MORE there would be with the next few days? His tired eyes glanced down at her, "Stop staring at me. Watch where you're going, weirdo." Aiko pouted at him, rolling her eyes, "I'm just enjoying your misery. What's so wrong with that?" She responded with a cheeky grin. Daisuke scoffed at her, giving a wet and gurgling sniffle before gasping. "I-I gotta...-! Hhh-! HeHH'EYYSHHHhhyuuooo!!" He doubled over at the waist, his reflexes much too slow to catch the sneeze with the handkerchief, spraying both his fingers, and part of Aiko's shoulder. The fox violently shivered, a sense of euphoria shooting through her nervous system and traveling to every cell of her body. Her eyes bugged out of her head as her face flushed violently. "W-...!! Cover your mouth, you brute!!" She howled at him, contemplating the option of pushing him out from under the umbrella and into the pouring rain. With another gurgling sniffle, much deeper and grosser than the last few, Daisuke rubbed his nose with the handkerchief, "Part of me knows you liked it." He suddenly said, hiding his smirk behind the cloth over his face. "And what if I DID? That's no excuse!" She snapped back, "JUST for that, you lost umbrella privileges." She muttered, walking faster to leave him behind. The man grumbled as his head was met with the familiar downpour of rain. "Excuse me? I could just take it fromb you if I wanted to..." Daisuke grumbled with congestion clouding his voice. "Yeah right, not in YOUR pathetic condition." "What’d you say you damn brat?!" "Wow, Daisuke, are you going deaf too?" "You little...-!" Like an old married couple, the two continued to bicker and chase each other through the rain while on track to their destination. Luckily, Aiko would change her mind and allow Daisuke back under her umbrella...for today, at least.

#snzblr #snzfucker #snz kink #snz ocs #sneeze kink #sneeze fic #snz fic

[pikapeppa]

oh my dear smut goblin goodness.

okokok. i am asking for smut, obviously. but i feel the need to provide context before begging for asking for this scenario.

my first intro to your writing was via your Eyes Wide Shut fic featuring Nare and the boyband that never was. then i read your Felaris fic. THEN i devoured Inadvisable. i love Nare and Athera, truly. but Tamaris? she’s my girl. if she were flesh and blood i would 1000% want to be her friend and struggle with the massive crush i have on her willingly because she’s a survivor in all senses and curly haired women need each other.

all that said, i am HIGHLY curious to know what a Tamaris-centric foursome or threesome with the men we want but cannot have would be like. like. HIGHLY HIGHLY HIGHLY curious. 👹👹👹👹👹

kloveyoubaiiiiiiiiii ❤️❤️❤️

BABE. MY LOVE. LISTEN. Any excuse to write more Felassan is one that I will happily take.

Forgive me for taking this prompt and turning it into a stupidly long and smutty prequel to The Love That Grows From Violence. I couldn't include Abelas because it would be too OOC for both him and Tamaris, but two ancient elves is moreeeeee than enough to play with, don't you think? 🍆😉

Pikapeppa's Dragon Age Day drabbles prompt fills: Prompt #4

Solas/Tamaris Lavellan/Felassan threesome: Dream A Little Dream Of Me NSFW, <13k words. An excerpt is here; the full fic is on AO3.

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Tamaris wasn’t much of a dreamer.

She meant this both literally and figuratively. In the literal sense, it was unusual for her to dream when she fell asleep. On the rare occasions that she did have a dream, the details usually fled her mind within seconds of her waking up.

In the more figurative sense, Tamaris considered herself to be a pretty grounded sort of girl. She wasn’t the kind of person to indulge in stories about heroic deeds or people swooping in to save the day. She was, after all, a Dalish elf whose brother had been dragged away by the Templars, and then who had been unwittingly forced into becoming the figurehead of an organization that had undeniable ties to the fucking Chantry, whether they admitted it or not. She was a living testament to the ironic injustice of life and the absence of heroism, so of course she was skeptical. Sure, some people might call her cynical; Dorian liked to joke that her success as the Inquisitor was out of sheer spite rather than goodwill, for instance. But either way, it came down to the same thing: Tamaris wasn’t a big dreamer, neither when she was asleep nor when she was awake.

Solas was working on that, though — on the sleeping kind of dreams, at least. He was the only person in the Inquisition who knew that Tamaris was able to see and speak with spirits — aside from Cole, obviously — and he was the only person who had ever been happy to hear that Tamaris had any sort of magical connection to the Fade, feeble though that connection was. He’d been teaching her gradually how to strengthen her ties to the Fade, how to focus her spirit-talking ability and channel it into other sorts of magic, and lucid dreaming was one of the methods that Solas had been trying to teach her.

‘Trying’ being the operative word here. Tamaris was doing her best to follow Solas’s instructions on clearing her mind and focusing on her breathing before they went to bed, but in all blunt honesty, her attempts at lucid dreaming thus far had come to shit.

When she expressed this concern to Solas, however, he merely smiled. “It will take a great deal of practice,” he reminded her. “I told you that it would.”

“It was always easy to talk to spirits, though. I never had to practice that,” she pointed out. “And that’s when I was just a kid.”

“You were truly fortunate to be born with a natural talent for contacting the denizens of the Fade,” he said. “Your ability to channel magic beyond that is going to be a matter of trained skill, however, and that—”

“Takes time, I know.” She sighed and shoved a hand through her unruly curls. “Okay, fine, have it your way. And thanks for the lessons,” she added. “I know I’m a cranky bitch about it, but I’m grateful, honestly.”

“I know, vhenan,” he said softly. “Relax, now. Settle your mind.”

She scoffed as she snuggled into bed. “Are you going to tuck me in next? Bring me a cup of warm milk?”

“If you like,” he said mildly as he slid into the bed with her. “Although warm milk has been known to result in dreams about cheese.”

She snorted. “I’ll take it. A dream about cheese is still a dream.”

Solas chuckled, then extinguished the bedside candles with a gesture of his hand. “Goodnight, Tamaris.”

“‘Night,” she said, and she settled onto her side. Solas sidled up behind her and pulled her back against his chest, then draped his arm snugly around her waist, and Tamaris contentedly curled her fingers into his before closing her eyes.

All right, she thought. Focus on breathing and picture someplace familiar. These were the main points Solas had told her to keep in mind about this lucid dreaming thing: to keep her mind on the in-and-out of her breath, to acknowledge and gently let go of any other thoughts that crossed her mind, and to try and imagine, with as much detail as possible, a place that she found familiar and relaxing.

The place that she chose to imagine was the Planasene Forest. She’d spent much of her childhood there, clambering around in ruins with her clanmates and her brother Marin, and aside from having a decent orientation in the forest as a whole, Tamaris had particularly detailed — and fond — memories of some special places therein. So tonight, just as she did a few nights a week, she followed Solas’s advice and imagined an area of the Planasene Forest.

She inhaled slowly, and she pictured one particular landmark: a redwood tree whose trunk was more than a meter in diameter. The tree was vastly old and huge, and most memorably of all, its trunk bore a few knots toward the base that kind of looked like a face with two big black eyes.

Tamaris exhaled slowly while thinking about that tree. It stood at the edge of a small grassy clearing that was usually dappled with patches of shade even in the height of the day, thanks to the thick canopy overhead. There was a stream some twenty or so paces north of the tree, and another thirty or so paces down the stream, there was a handful of boulders that you could hop across to get to the other side — if you didn’t slip on the moss and fall on your ass in the water, of course.

A childhood memory came to her mind: a time when Marin had bruised his ass so badly from slipping in the river that he had to sit funny for days. Then she remembered that she was supposed to be focusing on the details of the forest, not on bittersweet memories of her brother.

Focus, Tamaris reminded herself. Do what Solas told you. She took another slow breath and thought about the smell of the forest: that lush damp smell, slightly sweet with decay and ripe with impending rain. She exhaled slowly and thought about the rough and comforting texture of the redwood tree’s bark beneath her palms. She inhaled again, a slow deep inhale, and she thought about the feeling of walking through that clearing: the soft cool cushioning of grass beneath her feet and the dappling of shadows on her skin and her clothes as she padded softly across the grassy clearing.

She continued to breathe slowly and evenly as she made her way toward the huge redwood tree. Then, belatedly, she realized there was a man sitting at the base of the tree.

It wasn’t surprising that she didn’t spot him at first; he was mostly obscured by a hooded cloak, and there was something about his posture that somehow made him blend into the forest. But as soon as he pushed back his hood and looked up to meet her eye, she wasn’t sure how she’d failed to notice him before.

He was a Dalish elf with long braided black hair and unusual violet eyes. He smirked at her and gracefully rose to his feet. “On dhea,” he said. “Or should I say ‘on nydha’? It’s hard to have any sense of time here.”

“What do you mean?” she said.

He quirked an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

She gave him a chiding look. “I mean, what do you mean by ‘here’? It’s not that dark. It’s clearly the middle of the day.” She pointed at the leaf-blotted sky.

A slow smile lit his face — a slow and handsome smile, Tamaris noticed. “Where do you think we are right now?” he asked.

She frowned. “The Planasene Forest, obviously.”

His smile widened. He leaned against the redwood tree and folded his arms. “Is it, now? Look again.”

Tamaris eyed him suspiciously. He was acting awfully casually considering that they’d just met.

He raised his eyebrows expectantly, so she sighed bad-temperedly and looked around. Sure enough, it was the fucking Planasene Forest like she’d said. The clearing was there, and there was the redwood tree like usual, and around them was… it was the forest. But… it was the forest, wasn’t it?

“It seems off to you, doesn’t it?” he said.

She turned to find him standing closer to her than before. “Yeah,” she said slowly. “It’s… it’s not how I remember it.”

“Or maybe it’s all you can remember of it,” he suggested.

She thought about this for a second. He was probably right. Solas had told her to imagine the location of her choice in as much detail as possible, and she’d only been focusing on the redwood tree—

She suddenly straightened. She’d just realized where they really were. “We’re in the Fade,” she exclaimed.

“We are, yes,” he said. “Good eye.”

She ignored his teasing tone; she was too pleased with herself to be irritated. “Oh, fuck yes,” she said with relish. “It took long enough. I’ve been trying to find my way here for fucking weeks.” She planted her fists on her hips and looked at the amorphous forest with no small amount of satisfaction. Maybe it wasn’t the most defined dream forest in the world, but she’d purposely gotten here by herself, and that was what mattered.

The strange man laughed: a sound that reminded her somehow of a stream burbling over a bed of stones. “That’s an unusual response for a Dalish woman.”

She glanced at him. “How so?”

“I’m surprised that you’re happy to be here,” he said. “Most Dalish would be concerned about offending the gods or the demons by stepping into their domain.”

Tamaris narrowed her eyes at him. His tone was polite enough, but there was something mocking about his handsome smile that was starting to annoy her. “Aren’t you Dalish?” she asked.

“No, I’m not.”

She eyed him with growing confusion. “But you have vallaslin.”

“I do, don’t I?” he mused. “I suppose the Dalish weren’t the first to come up with facial tattoos. Or anything, really, aside from misguided myths.”

Stung, she turned to face him fully and folded her arms. “I’m sorry, did my being Dalish somehow give you the right to be a fucking asshole?”

He blinked at her, then huffed in amusement and rubbed his chin. “I’ve offended you.”

“It’s kind of hard to get off on the right fucking foot with someone if you make fun of their culture in the first two minutes of meeting them,” she said in a hard voice.

He cocked his head. “Has it only been two minutes? Time really is meaningless here.”

She scoffed and turned away. A second later, he was standing in front of her with his hands raised in surrender. “Wait,” he said. “I am sorry. Truly, I apologize. There’s no need to leave.”

“What are you apologizing for?” she said aggressively. If his apology wasn’t a good one, she was going to smack that smile off of his face.

“For jamming my foot so thoroughly into my mouth that it’s a wonder I’m able to make this apology at all,” he said. “I can practically taste the dirt from my own heels.”

She gaped at him, thrown off by his outrageous reply. Then, totally without intending to, she laughed.

He grinned — gods be damned, he really did have a nice smile. “Does this mean you forgive me?” he asked.

“No,” she retorted, though she was still chuckling. “It means you’re full of shit, but your bullshit is entertaining enough that I’ll let it go for now.”

“Excellent,” he said cheerfully. “In that case, I propose that we start again.” He placed one hand on his chest. “I am known as Felassan. And you are?”

She eyed him for a moment, wondering whether she should indulge his bullshit or tell him to fuck off. Then she shrugged. If this really was a lucid dream of her own making, then he must be here for a reason, and she might as well see where this went.

“I’m Tamaris. Of Clan Lavellan,” she added pointedly, just in case he decided to act like a dick again about her being Dalish.

Felassan bowed his head in a politely formal gesture. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Tamaris of Clan Lavellan,” he said, and he held out his hand to shake.

She reached out and shook his hand. Instead of releasing his hand right away, however, she peered closely at his face. His expression was pleasant and his unusual violet gaze was free of guile, but there was something about him that was poking at the back of her mind in a weird way.

“Do I know you?” she asked.

He didn’t reply right away. Instead, his eyes moved from her face down to her chest, then down the length of her body to her toes. By the time his bold violet eyes finished their slow perusal of her body and returned to her face, her heart was racing, and her blood felt like it was jittering in her veins.

He released her hand. “You don’t,” he said. “But you will.”

She stared wordlessly at him. That was bold as fuck. In fact, everything he’d just done and said in the past five seconds was so shameless that it almost defied belief. Who the fuck did he think he was to look at her in such a heated way? And to say something so fucking provocative? He was lucky she wasn’t punching him in the face right now.

She took a deep breath to calm her thrumming heart, then folded her arms. “Are you a spirit?”

“I can see why you’d ask me that,” he said.

She narrowed her eyes. “That’s not an answer.”

“What sort of answer were you looking for?”

“A simple yes or no would be nice,” she drawled. “You’re in the Fade, and you were here when I got here. So it makes sense that you’d be a spirit, right?”

He shrugged and tucked his hands in his pockets. “Your logic sounds pretty foolproof. Why bother asking me if I’m a spirit, if that’s what you think?”

“I… shit, I don’t know,” she said blankly. “I guess I was being polite.”

Felassan smirked. “It doesn’t seem to me that ‘polite’ is something you’re used to being.”

She laughed again without thinking about it. “Fuck you.”

He grinned. “Are you saying I’m wrong?” “No. Actually, you’re right,” she admitted. “Though if Josephine had it her way, I’d be well-mannered all the fucking time.”

Felassan huffed. “I don’t know this Josephine person, but don’t let her curb you. It would be akin to shaving the thorns off of a felandaris plant. It might be more pleasant to the eye, but removing its teeth makes it less than what it truly is.”

She eyed him in surprise. That was an unexpectedly incisive thing for him to say — and something she’d often thought herself.

She peered carefully at him. “Are you sure I don’t know you? There’s something about you that’s weirdly familiar.”

“I’m flattered that you keep asking me this,” he said. “It makes me wonder if you’re thinking about knowing me better.” His tone was faintly salacious and his eyebrows were quirked in a way that made her tummy squirm, and his dimpled smile was so attractive that it was starting to get annoying.

She purposely took a step away from him and planted her hands on her hips. “Are you always this forward with women you’ve just met?”

“Only the ones who are undressing themselves in front of me,” he replied.

“Excuse me?” she said tartly. “What the fuck are you talking about?” She glanced down at herself, then balked. Instead of the leather leggings and tunic she’d been wearing when she entered this dream, she was now wearing nothing more than a loose cotton shirt with a regrettably wide neckline.

She defensively folded her arms in case her nipples were showing through the thin shirt. And belatedly, very belatedly, she realized that Felassan’s clothing had changed too. Instead of being fully clothed including a hooded cloak, he was now wearing only a tunic and breeches — and the sleeves of the tunic, she noticed, were rolled up to his elbows in a way that somehow seemed purposely provocative.

Felassan smirked at her — an annoyingly knowing smirk — then turned away and wandered back over to the redwood tree. “So, Tamaris of Clan Lavellan. What brings you to this undeniably charming part of the Fade?” He peeled off a small piece of the redwood tree’s bark, then placed it in his mouth and started to slowly chew it.

She wrinkled her nose. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Trying to find a salve for a pain that has no solution,” he said with a smile.

She felt a funny pang in her chest. Felassan’s words were serious despite his smile, and there was a faint tilt to his eyebrows that looked almost sad. And somehow, even though she’d just met him, Tamaris knew that sadness wasn’t an emotion that often touched his face, even if he was feeling it.

She stared wordlessly at him for a second, unnerved by his answer and by her weird sense of awareness of him, and his smile eventually warmed to an expression of genuine amusement. “You haven’t answered my question. What brings you here?”

“I, um…” She gathered herself and stepped a little closer to him. “I’m — uh, trying to work on strengthening my magic.”

He seemed surprised by this. “Are you a mage?”

She shook her head and idly ran her fingers over the tree’s mottled bark. “No. I mean, not — honestly, no. I’ve got a talent for talking to spirits, and my boyfriend’s been teaching me to expand that into using magic in other ways.”

Felassan quirked an eyebrow. “Your boyfriend, you say?”

She gave him a mocking look. “Yes, my boyfriend. Does that disappoint you?”

”Enormously,” he said. “At the same time, it’s inconsequential.”

She gave him a disbelieving look. What the fuck did he mean by that? Before she could pick on him about it, he delicately spat out the piece of bark, then turned back to her with a smile. “And how exactly is this boyfriend of yours teaching you to strengthen your connection to the Fade?”

“Mindfulness stuff and meditation, mainly,” she said. “How to be more aware of my own ties to the Fade. And this, actually.” She waved vaguely at the forest, then leaned against the redwood tree. “I rarely dream, so he’s been trying to teach me how to dream on purpose. This is the first time I’ve ever been able to do it.”

His eyebrows rose appreciatively. “Congratulations are in order, then. This is a very good lucid dream for a beginner. I can only imagine the dreams you’ll conjure with more time and training.”

“Yes, that’s what—” She broke off suddenly and snapped her fingers. “That’s why you seem familiar! You’ve got the same accent as my boyfriend.”

“Hm,” Felassan said. “Where does his accent hail from?”

“Some little village in the north called…” She frowned. “Shit, I’ve forgotten what the village is called. Or maybe he didn’t tell me? No, that’s stupid, he must have told me. I’ll have to ask him again.”

“Interesting,” Felassan said. “And what is your boyfriend’s name?”

Tamaris gave him a challenging look. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I would,” he said. “It behooves me to learn the name of the man I’m going to be cuckolding.”

Tamaris scoffed. Cuckolding! He was fucking bold as brass! “You are fucking shameless, you know that?” she scolded. “What makes you think you’ll be doing any cuckolding?”

He took a step closer to her. “You tell me. This is your lucid dream, after all.”

Her belly flipped. Felassan was only a couple of feet away from her now: definitely closer than two strangers should be. Oh shit, and he was stepping even closer — close enough that her heart was jumping now at his proximity.

She forced herself to take a step back from him, but to no avail: her back hit the redwood tree. Then Felassan placed his palm on the tree beside her head.

Tamaris felt a distinct and shamefully familiar leap of excitement between her legs. Then Felassan spoke to her in a low and persuasive voice. “Come now, Tamaris, think about this logically. If this is your lucid dream, then everything that’s happening right now is of your making.”

“And what exactly do you seem to think is happening right now?” she said acidly.

“Well, first of all, you’re undressing me.”

“I am not…!” She wilted slightly; he was right. He was wearing nothing but his breeches now.

He smirked and went on. “Secondly, your body is a screaming provocation. You’re making it very obvious what you want, even if you won’t admit it.”

“Oh, really?” she snapped. “What makes you such an expert on my body?”

His smirk widened. Then, to her dismay and delight, he leaned in and brushed his lips to her ear. “Your nipples are so hard they’re visible through your shirt, and you’re rolling your hips. Am I to understand that that’s all meaningless?”

Tamaris tried to reply. Really, she did. But his voice was low and lilting and smooth, and the sound of it was having a totally unreasonable effect on her. Her tongue was glued to the roof of her mouth and her breath was trapped in her chest, and her heart seemed to have migrated down in her body to thump directly between her legs in an extremely distracting drumbeat of lust.

She forced her tongue to move. “Are you a desire demon?” she breathed.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he murmured in her ear. “You appeared out of the blue when I was on the cusp of going mad with loneliness. That’s usually when spirits of desire make their move.”

This actually distracted her for a moment. If he was a spirit, then why was he lonely? “Do spirits get lonely?” she asked.

“Are spirits so different from corporeal people, in your estimation?”

She let out a breathless laugh. “You really sounded like my boyfriend just then.”

He made a soft growling noise that she felt in her nipples. “Are you trying to make me jealous or to flatter me?”

“Neither,” she retorted. “I’m just stating a fact.”

He huffed, then lifted his other hand and brushed his thumb over her lower lip. “Maybe we should find something else for you to do with that blunt mouth of yours,” he murmured.

She ignored the throbbing pulse in her pussy and gave him a dirty look. “You’re trying to shut me up? That’s really fucking charming.”

He quirked a playful eyebrow at her. “How’s this for charming: kiss me.”

She blurted a laugh at how audacious he was. “No! You fucking rogue.”

A flash of a grin crossed his face. Then he abruptly tilted her chin up. “Kiss me,” he commanded.

Fuck you, she thought instinctively, but the scathing retort didn’t leave her lips. Instead, like a traitor to her own self, she wet her lips invitingly.

His violet eyes flared with heat. Then, with an unexpected degree of tenderness, he cradled her neck in his palm. “Kiss me, Tamaris,” he whispered.

She swallowed hard, then pulled his hand away from her neck. “I… I can’t.”

“Can’t, or shouldn’t?” he asked.

“Both. Either,” she said. “Take your fucking pick.”

Another beautiful smile lit his face. Then he sighed and trailed his knuckles along her jawline. “This torture is exquisite. You don’t know what it is to behold a flame so bright and to be forbidden from partaking of its warmth.”

She gave him a skeptical look. “I think you’ve just never had someone say ‘no’ to you.”

To her surprise, his carnal expression suddenly softened into that slightly melancholy look. “You’re so very wrong about that.”

Her heart twisted, and she gazed silently at him with an odd sort of ache in her throat. Why was she suddenly feeling sorry for him when they’d only just fucking met?

The melancholy in his face quickly faded back into a playful smile. “All right. I have a proposal for you. Invite your boyfriend to join us. It’s your dream, after all.”

She gaped at him. “Invite my — no fucking way! Are you nuts?”

“Why?” Felassan said with a grin. “Are you afraid I might seduce him?”

“Should I be?” Tamaris said archly. “Are you really a desire demon in disguise, then? This ‘bring your boyfriend’ bullshit sounds like the kind of cheap trick a desire demon would try.”

He chuckled. “I’m no desire demon, I promise you that. And I assure you that my only interest is in knowing you. If inviting your boyfriend here to watch is what it takes to enjoy the pleasure of your fiery warmth, then so be it.”

She laughed again at his audacity. “You think he’d just stand here and watch while you fuck me? You don’t know him.”

Felassan grinned. “He doesn’t have to just watch. He’s free to compete with me for your attention if he wants.”

She almost laughed again at how shameless he was. “You’re a fucking piece of work, you know that?” she accused. And honestly, she wasn’t convinced that he wasn’t a desire demon — especially since his proposition was actually starting to percolate in her mind now. The idea of Solas and Felassan competing for her attention, taking turns trying to one-up each other while pleasuring her? Actually, no, not just taking turns: at the same time.

Oh yes, now that was a nice scenario. Imagine if Solas and Felassan were fucking and licking and touching her at the same time, trying to outdo each other in their bids to make her fall apart into a pleasure-stunned mess…

A thump of lust made itself known between her legs, and Felassan smiled. “You like the idea, don’t you? You like the idea of me facing off with your boyfriend in a bid for who can pleasure you the most.”

“No, I don’t,” she lied.

He laughed: that annoying lilting laugh that sounded like a burbling sunlit stream. “Don’t lie to me, Tamaris. I can tell that you like the idea.”

“Fuck you,” she said breathlessly.

His violet eyes flared with heat. Then he stepped even closer to her: close enough that his chest was brushing against her hard and tingling nipples.

He skimmed his lips over her cheekbone, and she stopped breathing. Then Felassan whispered in her ear: “With great pleasure, if you’ll permit it.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” Solas said dryly.

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HAHAHA A CLIFFHANGER. I'M A DICK. The rest is here on AO3!

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