#*a shit ton of drama and angst* | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

taegularities · 3 months ago

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colour me in: palette | jjk (m)

Summary: Breezy mountaintops and turquoise oceans are even more enchanting with Jungkook by your side. Yet, throughout your vacation, you realise — even once you've left the lofty peaks and liberating waves behind, you'll still elevate each other to new heights every day.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating; tiny hints of angst, crazy much fluff, smut ➳ warnings: okayyy. a shit ton of fluff. vacation with their friends!!!, kissing, singing, sexual tension, slippery soccer lolll, bit of acrophobia, someone flirts with oc, bit of jealousy, lots of taeun and yoonmin moments, new dynamics!!!, mountains and beaches, jimin/jk moments :'), deep talks, some insecurities, bunk beeeeds lol, mention of homophobia, small arguments, anger, talk about passing of time; explicit sexual content: hotel room sex :O, light spanking/ass stuff, kissing and making out, teasing, neck kisses!!, jk never gets enough, bit of manhandling, pussy slapping, big dick!jk, soft dom!jk, oc is soaked, they're both wearing their shirts/naked downstairs tho (impatience sigh), oral (f. & m. receiving), bit of mouthfucking, soft and rough sex, mention of sex toys, slapping with his dick ig, masturbation, spit, edging?, choking, he likes her bewbs and a$$, squirting, they ruin the hotel room bed lol, showering together; the ending 🥺 ➳ word count: 32.6k ➳ a/n: gosh, it's been mooonths. did y'all miss them as much as i did :') the distance really brought me closer to them. some more of my soul in this chapter <3 there'll be angst ahead, so enjoy this one thoroughly and with all your heart. thank you for all the support, too <3 i can't wait to hear what you guys think 🤍 ➳ listen to: can't help falling in love by haley reinhart (alt. version) | full collaborative playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

DAY 1

“Bunk beds… Fu. Cking. Bunk. Beds.”

Jimin scarcely seems impressed with the change in plans that the hostel is forcing your group into. You haven’t quite yet deciphered what’s going on; you’ve been waiting in the lobby with pursed lips and tired eyes, Jimin at the front desk, discussing details that he’s now groaning about.

“Wait… what?” Eun asks, eyes scanning the group members, all equally confused.

Jimin, as agitated as you haven’t seen him in a while, plumps into one of the lobby’s upholstered sofa chairs, massaging his forehead, seemingly preparing to narrate a tale without a happy ending. He sighs, raising his hand as if to teach calculation to a child, and starts explaining.

“We’d booked three rooms, right? But one of them has a leak.” Short pause; Taehyung clicks his tongue. “So now they offered to keep one with the queen size bed and then get another room with two bunk beds. We’d pay less. Or. We keep the other two rooms with the beds, and still pay for the bunk bed room since one couple will still need it.”

“Same price?” Yoongi inquires, aside from Jungkook, the calmest in the room.

“Oh my god,” Eun whispers, matching Jimin’s drama-loving freak, “this is… we’re being robbed.”

“So,” Yoongi tries again, a deep voice interrupting your best friends’ growing hysteria, “we just pay less and get the bunk bed room for four people, no?”

Eun and Jimin stare at the man as if he’s uttered sheer nonsense; Eun’s eyes squint, questioning how he’d dare separate her from her boyfriend. And Jimin, his expression equal to Eun’s, directs the disbelief between his eyebrows directly at his lover speaking.

But as the options start to waver, Eun sighs, leaning back in defeat as she mumbles, “I guess…”

“Yeah, and then, who’s getting the queen sized bed?” you ask carefully, likely initiating another feud; but what else can you do? You need to resolve the issue on hand and you’re dog tired; you need to nap for an hour at least. “How do we decide that?”

“That’s the question,” Jimin declares, rubbing his hands before he announces, “I think we’ll have to fight for it, folks.”

“…How?”

Multiple pairs of eyes drift to the ceiling in thought, attempting to come up with a fair idea or some game. But their schemes are probably too intricate, building scenarios that aren’t feasible in this very situation; you can already tell.

That is, until Taehyung speaks up, slapping his thigh as he finally answers, “We’ll just go the easiest way we know.”

The fact that Jungkook and Yoongi puff out a breath of air is understandable; as Kim Taehyung’s closest pals, they’re bound to know which thought lit up his brain. But by now, even you understand the man’s tactics well enough, and before you can verbalise them, Yoongi does.

“…Wait. You want to rock paper scissors this out?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“We just pull names? Or spin the wheel? There are plenty of sites on the Internet.”

“No,” Jimin again, “I don’t trust any of you to not manipulate this.”

Voices soon mingle, offended by Jimin’s distrust, retorts flying around such as, “Oh, thanks for this,” or “Why would we manipula—”

“Come on!” Jimin defends, cutting through the cacophony of arguments. “We’re all a bunch of newlyweds! Nobody wants to sleep without the other.”

Well… maybe he’s not wrong there. Over the last several weeks, you’ve grown accustomed to your boyfriend’s warmth next to you; under your head; beneath your palm. His breath against your cheeks and the chin in your mane.

Which is why you tilt your head in slight, approaching worry, leaning into Jungkook’s embrace, his arm over your shoulders. You look at him until he stares back, telling him as the others argue, “This is terrible. I just got used to sleeping with you and…”

But he shakes his head in reassurance, blinking slowly. Gently grabs your hand off his chest and intertwines your fingers, promising that, “It’s okay, babe. Whatever game they want to play, we’ve got this.”

If he says it, you must believe it. Losing would be counterproductive for this trip; you required this time-out with him for the sake of your sanity, considering the weight of the past months.

And thinking about it, you’ve gotten used to his presence too much to sleep without it. You reminisce about the nights he hit the gym late, barely finding time throughout the day as he worked on his exhibit pieces, permanent smudged hues colouring the sides of his hands.

And you, exhausted from work, grazed the other side of the bed with a half sleeping, half restless mind, waking up time and time again to find the mattress empty. Whenever he did come back, sliding into the sheets, you’d notice.

Notice everything.

How he’d kiss your forehead or your temple, whispering your name or a soft, “Hi, angel,” without really expecting a response back. He’d pull you half on top of his body, chest rising with your head atop as he sighed and then, eventually, drifted off.

You think that once or twice, you even heard him breathe a nearly inaudible confession, starting with your new favourite letter L.

But…

It seems that today, luck isn’t quite on your side; different from what he foretold, you haven’t got this. Because mere five minutes later, you’re staring into a group of shaking heads and devastated faces.

Jimin and Yoongi have lost already; and when it’s time to decide between the remaining of you four, it’s not you who breaks into cheerful laughter but the couple you’ve decided to regard with a pout for the rest of the trip.

Unnecessary to mention that Tae and Eun dash into their room once they’ve received the key, quick enough for their suitcases to collide with their soles as they roll behind them. The two remaining duos, among them a sighing Jungkook and a disappointed you, trudge to the bunk bed room without any rush.

Jimin and you sulk your way through the hallways, but Yoongi and Jungkook, you soon notice, remain familiarly posed. You don’t get it; aren’t they upset about the separation?

Your boyfriend at least is still sporting an encouraging smile when you open the door to the frustratingly compact room. The two pairs of bunk beds have a sufficient distance between them, but the beds themselves barely fit a person. You’ve been played so bad.

“And what if we do take the second double room and let fate decide between us?” Jimin suddenly suggests, and you nearly buckle, ready to get into position and lift your fist for another game.

But Yoongi pushes between the two of you, clicking his tongue, “Nah. It’s just two nights, we’ll be moving on after that anyway. Besides,” he sets his suitcase against the left bunk bed, claiming it, and ruffles through his long, dark hair, “we can’t leave the last couple all alone here.”

You smirk in mock, tilting your head, “Ha-ha. You’re way too sure of victory. You wanna try right now, Min—”

“Come on,” Jungkook tries, two heavy hands settling on your shoulders before he moves them down and rubs your shoulders in affection, “solidarity, baby. It’ll be fun.” He moves in, close to your face, kisses your cheek and then whispers into your ear, “We’ll have our room at the beach. And then a whole week just for us, remember?”

Oh, as if you could forget.

Jungkook’s hometown will be the third and last stop of your vacation, a wedding and a childhood bedroom awaiting you. You can’t predict what those days in the countryside will bring, but you refuse to think about them; not because you’re reluctant to go, but because you want the place to surprise you.

Nevermind that the thoughts still seep through all the time; the pure elation.

Your face warms at the thought; you’ve communicated it a million times and will say it a billion times more — you don’t think you’ve ever been this pumped in your life.

No — do not think about it. Let it come to you… carpe diem and all that.

You jump back into the moment, right into the banter, placing your suitcase on the floor and opening it to rummage for today’s outfit. As you shamelessly lay open your entire wardrobe, including some of your best lingerie, you tease, “Okay. I’ll save up my energy. More tonight, boys.”

Jimin blows a raspberry at you; Yoongi waves you off with a grin; and Jungkook barely reacts to you. You assume he’s tired from all the driving, requiring rest more than you, eyes half-lidded.

But if you were in his head, you’d know that he’s long dissociated from the conversation, blending out words, movements, reactions; rather, he merely observes your smile. The playful crease between your eyebrows. The curve of your lips as you speak.

Blinking slowly; lucky for the force of nature wafting into his life like a brisk autumn wind.

Lucky, knowing that somebody could actually care so much.

The pullover doesn’t feel as soft and smooth between your fingertips as it looked from afar. You don’t think you’ll take it. But the beige cardigan felt like a shawl made of accumulated feathers against your body; and Jungkook approved of it, too.

You’re liking the village; maybe it’s the overall dreamy and magical vibe it emanates. It’s redolent of cosy nights spent in front of a fireplace, a hot tea cup warming your palms as you study the view out of a small window, the far-reaching blankets of snow.

And the scent of wooden houses and cinnamon travels through this place — you can’t describe it, but you urge to take all the earthy colours with you.

The pink dress, however, hugging your body like second skin, is bright, the opposite of the cardigan you’ve already settled on buying. It’s a fall dress, comfortable and adaptable to any situation.

You turn in front of the mirror, inspecting your ass, your curves, checking the length and the material for possible flaws. And once you’ve convinced yourself, you push the curtain aside, seeking a second opinion from the man patiently sitting in front of the changing room.

Upon seeing you, his eyes brighten the way they did the last couple of times. Even when he didn’t quite like the item you chose, he seemed happy to just see you. But this time, his pupils flit from button to top, the sparkle in them already obvious as he says, “Damn.”

“I take it you like it as much as I do.”

“Do one of your three sixty spins.”

He loves those. Enjoys it when you present yourself with that treacly smile of yours, arms angled and slightly in the air. And when you come to a stand again, the dress still sways, your eyes questioning, sweet, pure. Jungkook finds joy in this; he could look at you doing this all day.

You keep asking, “Are you bored? Wanna go somewhere else?”

And he always responds, “No. Show me another one of the dresses.”

But no matter how boundless his enthusiasm, he can’t control his occasionally occurring ticks — you know they’re a sign of a nervous mind, watching his fidgety self card through his hair or move his leg or cross and uncross his arms.

So you ask, “You okay?”

“Hm? Yeah. Yeah, I think I’m just tired,” he explains, “driving all day made me drowsy.”

Well, okay, that could be a reason. He does get restless when he craves his bed. Kudos to him for still enduring your slow ass at shopping. You hum before you remind him, “I told you to let me drive.”

“Yes, but…. I like driving,” he shrugs his shoulders, pouting a little, “and you were having fun.”

Honestly—

Fun is a way to call it. You pluck at the hem of the fall dress, recalling the morning with a fond but slightly guilty smile.

“Okay. Lean back now.”

The road was challenging, Jungkook’s voice too quiet to prevail over the music, and you too reckless. Despite the chaos, his grin was telling — though the crinkles and dimples disappeared when half your body turned towards the backseat; right when the car approached a sharp curve.

A harsh hand pushed your beaming self back into your seat, and he spat a single warning, “Angel!”

You’d separated the large group — Jimin was driving the other car, alternating with Taehyung. The journey wasn’t awfully long, but you still went the fair route and split your circle in three versus three, Yoongi residing in the back of your car.

Your car because you’d be driving on to the wedding anyway, and Yoongi would then proceed the vacation in Taehyung’s vehicle. But while your excitement for Jungkook’s hometown didn’t dim a single bit, you were a little sad that you’d be leaving earlier, not getting more time with Yoongi.

Because he vibed. With the right people, you heard, and now witnessed, he vibed.

He sang along with the music in confidence, flashing gummy smirks, DJ-ing with you. Sharing the same taste in music as you, the moments were never dull, 80s classics chiming before modern hip hop took their place. Yoongi likes J. Cole particularly.

The two of you were exhausting, but you did pamper the driver enough to not let your annoying self become too obvious. As in, feeding Jungkook snacks whenever you could, indulging in his favourite music when your tracks ended, offering to drive.

Jungkook remained in a good mood most of the way, but nearing the end, he got edgy, tired, even disregarding Yoongi’s sarcastic suggestion to drive wordlessly.

It took you a moment to understand — Yoongi isn’t a bad driver at all, as you’ve been told by himself, but he’s still not fully healed yet. None of you would make him and he wouldn’t risk it.

Mad respect to Jungkook for suffering through your shenanigans and then still being your anchor as the trouble about the rooms began at the hostel.

You’re a handful — but he has confessed a hundred times before that he’d rather have that than an empty palm.

“No wonder you’re tired,” you tell him, flattening the already crinkle-free dress before you add, “Poor Jimin and Yoongi. Were separated in the cars and now in the hostel, too.”

“I mean,” Jungkook starts, “they both seemed to have a good time on the way, though. Other than that, have they even made stuff official yet?”

Good question. Barely occurred to you yet. You think back to the last couple of weeks, to each of the weekend meetings that you’d summon everybody to in order to discuss the trip. Nothing was said then. Nothing has been said since this morning, either.

So you say, “Kind of by just being with each other the way they are, right? To be honest, I didn’t even think about it. For me, it was already official… didn’t think it’d need an announcement.”

“Maybe you’re right? It’s as much of a secret as we are.”

You break into a grin. “Right?” And then, you straighten your stance, once more turning to show off your ass, too, just for good measure. “What do you think?”

“Oh, you should buy it.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, it’d be good to look at and then fun to rip off.”

You roll your eyes so hard, they nearly disappear from his sight; partly to hide the effect his words practise on you — face hot, chest tight, legs crossed to ease the physical feeling that emerges.

And then, partly to remind him of where he’s sitting right now — not far from an elderly lady who’s currently side-eying you. Weird; just a minute ago she was smiling at you. Ah, decency.

“Ugh, can you only think about that?” you joke, right before wiggling a finger. “This one’s expensive. You’re not ripping off shit.”

“Hey, don’t scold me. You’re just as bad!”

“I’m not! In case you don’t remember, I totally resisted when you offered to come into the changing room with me.”

“Ah, ahhh,” he teases, cocking an eyebrow, “in case you don’t remember, only very reluctantly.” You can’t suppress the laugh, and he joins, familiar creases around his stellar eyes. “But seriously, you look gorgeous.”

“Right! I’ll wear it to your next exhibition, okay? Or the party you’ll definitely host once you’ve established yourself as the nation’s biggest artist.”

And that’s when he finally gets up, groaning a tiny bit before he slaps your ass and rubs it, delighted at your yelp. Challenges you, “Decide whether you want to be cute or sexy. I can’t handle both.”

“But you do every day,” you say, sulking. But your expression returns to normal when he pinches your butt, and you click your tongue, “Okay, okay. We’ll see what you can handle once we get to our next destination.”

Where you’ll finally have your own bedrooms. Your peace. Your mattress to be demolished.

Excited doesn’t do this feeling justice.

Jungkook must be thinking something similar; at least that’s what you ascertain from the way he tongues his inner cheek, shaking his head. You don’t provoke him further — only blow a kiss before you saunter back into the changing room.

You purchase the dress, stepping into the fall air, and move your head left and right in search of the rest of you. You ask, “Have you seen the others? I think we lost them at the souvenir shop, but they might be nearby.”

“Yeah, they went into another souvenir sho— wait, that’s Eun, isn’t it?”

You squint into the distance.

God, this place is like a Christmas market straight from 90s movies. Traditional and homely, domestic and gentle. Oozes some type of warmth that defeats the slightly chill breeze by miles.

And you’re so loving the shops. They’re small, their owners as hospitable as you haven’t met in ages. They talk to you, treat you like one of their own, never attempting awkward conversation and always providing their honest opinion. The lady you just bought the dress from even told you to visit again.

Shit, and the stalls! They’re popular spots; the backbone of the tourism in this area. Sell all kinds of snacks — candied fruits, hot drinks, gingerbread. October hasn’t ended yet, but you crave your golden Christmas lights.

Somewhere not too far, you finally recognise Eun and Yoongi, too, standing at the punch stall, ordering. Thinking about it, it’s been a while since you ate or drank — and just imagining the fruity flavour, you can’t help but suggest, “Ohhh, I should get some, too. Wanna come?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer right away. Your suspicion from before somewhat returns; his thoughts don’t seem to align with yours right now. In fact, you guess them far away, pondering about anything but punch.

You’re moved to ask again, but before you can utter a word, he answers, “Hmm, no, I think I’ll get a coffee a bit later. I’ll go find Jimin and Taehyung in the meantime, though? You go get your punch.”

You blink at him, not sure if you should try again. But when you can’t find a reason for any deviation in mood, you give him the free space he might need, telling him, “Okay. You know where to find us if you need to.”

“Got it,” he says, leaning in to kiss your forehead, and then walks away when you do.

Just once more, you turn, gaping over your shoulder in confusion; but he seems okay. Occupied by the view, craning his neck to look at the mountain nearby, at the very peak you’ll reach tomorrow.

So you turn away, only for him to regard you a moment later.

Jungkook watches as you reach your friend, Eun’s arm cheerfully wrapping around your shoulders, welcoming you in. You give the stall owner a knockout smile, and once distracted enough, Jungkook directly charges for the shop the two of you walked past earlier.

It’s still mostly empty when he reaches it. One young man, much like him, is standing inside, discussing an object lying on the pult between him and the seller. Jungkook glances through the store window, spying the object of his desire, and then walks in.

Enduringly, he waits for the other man to finish. Seems he is a customer, too, buying his grandmother a gift for her birthday. And it looks like he’s more or less firm on his decision, because not even two minutes later, he has thanked the woman behind the counter and left.

Jungkook, equally determined, points to the purchase he’d like to make, making small-talk with the woman now and then before she disappears in a small room at the back and packs the object.

And Jungkook waits… waits calmly until a voice breathes a, “What you doing?” into his ears, scaring him to death. The woman leans back, peeking, alarmed as she asks in an accent, “Everything good?”

Jungkook waves her concerns off. Lets her work. Turns to Jimin as he says, “Goddamn, dude. Don’t do that.”

“You look like you saw a ghost. Are you hiding something?” he asks, right before the lady walks out and presents the pretty packaging and small bag to Jungkook. “Oh! Is this for me?”

Jungkook pays with a scoff, carefully placing it in his bag and then laughs, “C’mon.” And once the rucksack is back on his shoulders, he bids his goodbyes to the seller, leading Jimin outside and whispering as if you could hear, “Alright. It’s for her. I’ll give it to her at the wedding.”

“Damn, a little present for the date at a wedding? You’re down bad.”

“How did you guess that?” Jimin chuckles, patting Jungkook’s back as the younger one smirtles. Soon telling Jimin, “Not a word to her, though. Or anyone. Okay?”

“My lips are sealed.”

That’s it. At least for a while. Both pairs of hands pushing into their jeans’ pockets at once, they trek side by side in silence, head moving left, right, up and down. It’s awkward until it isn’t — until Jimin collects some courage and then spits, “Listen.”

Another pause. Just for a moment. Enough for Jungkook’s tremendous eyes to look up, a finger scratching his temple as he hears Jimin articulate words he never expected, “I know I said my piece that night already, but…” A grimace, kissing his lips, then, “I’m really sorry for doubting you so much at first. I should’ve given you a chance much sooner.”

Well, fuck.

For weeks and months, Jimin refused to trust him with a steadfast resolution. Didn’t waver even when you attempted to convince him otherwise. There was a prickly dislike in the man’s eyes that irked Jungkook, and frankly, saddened him a little.

But the night you drunk-called him, begging to come back, minutes before he chauffeured all of you home, something shifted. Jimin’s stance towards Jungkook had seemed to change, at least. Actually a grateful occurrence to think back to, considering how much Jungkook fucked up at that time…

“But you have given me a chance now,” Jungkook defends, Jimin nodding, “and I appreciate that just as much.”

“You remember what I said to you back then?”

Of course… he might remember each detail of that night forever.

“Of course,” Jungkook echoes, “you said you were growing fond of me. Trusted me.”

“And I meant it.”

“She said you said it because you knew she was fond of me.”

Jimin chuckles, the sound high-pitched and pleasant, melodic. “Well, I guess that’s true to some extent. But it’s definitely not just that.” He reviews his thoughts; then, “It’s more so the fact that you came back.”

That he came back.

Jimin doesn’t mention that he came back because you called. Because somewhere within, he must know as well as the man beside him that Jungkook was going to come back anyway.

Nobody here doubts his feelings for you. And in some way, this is a reassurance of trust he didn’t think he needed.

“And in hindsight,” Jimin speaks on, “while I disagree with what you did before that,” a sting in Jungkook’s beating heart, “I think your reasons were selfless. Lack of communication here and there, but… you want her happy, right?”

There’s no debate about this.

“So much,” Jungkook immediately agrees, “it just doesn’t make sense, you know? That someone like her should be sad.”

“I agree. And you came back, that’s what it is. You’re here. I think I was fond of you because you gave her a sense of… safety.” He shrugs his shoulders, hands still buried in his pockets. Gives a glance to the variety of passersby. “Making her feel protected and like she was worth something when others didn’t. And in turn, you gave her something to fight for, too.”

Something to fight for… someone to fight for.

How hard is it to wrap your head around the fact that somebody thinks you worthy enough to combat the world for?

Jungkook’s heart stirs. A sudden affection for your friend awakens. No. His friend, too.

“You’re just half as bad, huh?” he says, urging another laugh out of Jimin.

“No, you.” More snicker. “But seriously. Since we were teenagers and she was first confronted with… all the issues around her, she’s repeated to me everybody has demons to fight. A couple weeks ago she said it again… added that you do, too. No details, no worries!”

He raises his hand in defence, and Jungkook shakes his concerns off, mumbling that it’s okay, that it’s true.

So Jimin continues, “But just… whenever you might feel like you’re not doing enough — because let’s be real, we all do sometimes — remember that you make at least one person happy.”

Crazy. This is crazy. An alternate reality, for sure.

“I never expected to hear this from you, but… I really am thankful, Jimin.”

Jimin nods before he stops, as if remembering something. “And if it helps. I’m really glad you joined us here. I mean you know Tae and Yoongi better, but Eun loves you.”

Jungkook titters, shy as Jimin nudges his arm, but silencing when he looks ahead, not early enough to stop Jimin’s addition, “And by the way, she’ll love that. Will feel like the bride, probably—”

Jungkook grits his teeth at the very last word, as if staggered by another ghost appearing in front. Jimin’s eyes follow Jungkook’s, eyes widening a couple inches as he realises his mistake; met with your bright gaze as you near the men with Eun and question, “What are you guys talking about?”

You’re so cheerful and curious, impossible to resist. Jimin’s lie nearly doesn’t come out, but when it does, it happens smoothly enough, “He was just gushing about your dress. Told me how he already knows you’ll be the talk of the night.”

“Come onnnn,” you urge, your smile falling, replaced by a scowl, “this is so weak. I know you, Park. That’s not what you were talking about.”

“It is!” Jungkook chimes in as shamelessly as he can. Guilt floods him — but there are certain sacrifices that are necessary for love, aren’t there? “I told you many times how hot you look in it. I did, you can’t contradict that.”

Jungkook’s acting might be getting better, but you still squint your eyes, still pulling a face. But it seems they are conspiring against you; Jungkook clearly sees you give up. Understand that you won’t get anything out of them.

Besides, you love surprises. You won’t ruin it for yourself.

So you wave the white flag, only saying, “I don’t really believe you, but okay,” before turning, gripping Jungkook’s hand and adding, “Listen. You don’t get to drink a good punch every day. Screw the coffee, try it for me. Yoongi is still there.”

And as the two of you walk away, Jimin follows, ignoring Eun’s curious look. Focuses on how Jungkook turns to him just a little, smiling in mischief but also in something like…

Friendship.

Jungkook has been babbling his mouth dry. You know of his temporary hyperfixations; alternating between cooking twice a day, karaoke-ing his way through a lazy weekend or playing Overwatch for four hours straight and of course, you.

Tonight, it’s gimbap.

You’ve heard a ton about it today; from his favourite kind to how it’s made to failures in his past as he first attempted them. Anecdotes and urges.

When you went to the restaurant earlier, he inhaled a gigantic portion of jjajangmyeon, followed by kimchi-bokkeumbap that he partly shared with your still hungry self. His idea was to order some gimbap as another course, but his grunts and groans revealed that he was done for the night.

Or so you thought.

Because hours and a trip to the old town and its popular fountain later, he’s still craving them, restless on the hostel lobby couch as he says, “Do they have room service or something? Do they sell gimbap?”

His attention is directed towards Jimin, the main organiser of your trip; everybody’s been posing questions today as if he’s studied the town and journey to the tiniest detail. Jimin rubs a palm over his tired eyes, sighing before he speaks.

“No, this isn’t a very luxurious place anyway,” he explains, “and besides. You’re making me hungry, too.”

Jungkook leans into him as he asks, “Aren’t you quite close with the receptionist?” Pause. “Do you think they’d let us take a couple things from the kitchen and make it ourselves?”

“Wow, you really are craving it,” Taehyung mocks, but Jungkook skillfully ignores him.

“Jungkook, this is a lot of special treatment to ask for,” Jimin then claims, waiting for a response, but nothing comes back.

You lean forwards when your friend shakes his head, trying to understand what’s going on. And when you find Jungkook’s big, twinkling eyes staring longingly, you know he’s gotten to Jimin, too. Because the latter sighs again, adding, “If you charm them, maybe.”

“Come on. I know how to charm people,” he says, regarding you with a wink, a flick of your chin and a click of his tongue, all at once. You whisper a playfully indignant Damn, watching him get to a stand.

He’s brave, you must say; for an initial and past introvert, good food certainly makes him courageous. Jimin first gestures towards the reception, mumbling a, “Go ahead,” but barely a second later, he’s on his feet with a deep exhale, hearing Jungkook say, “Decided to help me?”

“Only because I’m hungry, too. Can make them together.”

Whatever scenario you just witnessed, it could’ve been one from a sitcom. Those little filler scenes, there for comic relief. But what strikes you the most of all is the dynamic you just watched emerge.

You’re surprised to the core; these two, doing something together? Peacefully? Voluntarily?

As your eyes bolt from the duo to the hanging guitar at the wall and then to your friends, you let out a tiny laugh, delivering a short head tilt before you deduce, “That’s new.”

It’s quite a show, the one you observe from here. Your friends are already too groggy to converse, instead indulging in the scene: Jungkook and Jimin as they converse with the receptionist, leaning in, telling the young man about their day.

Then, the quiet plea, as sweetly uttered as possible; you know these two. You know they’re pulling out the biggest, brownest eyes the world shall ever see, the mellowest voices outing their plea — and to your utter surprise, the receptionist gives in.

Leads them to another room, probably the breakfast hall, and around five minutes later, they reemerge.

Your group giggles when they come out with a wink, Jungkook forming a tiny ‘Oh’ with his mouth, as if to whistle without ever doing it. They don’t come back to you yet; settle on another table at the back instead, hands full of ingredients. There’s more room there for sure.

They spread the stuff across the table, rolling up their sleeves. You can’t really hear their conversation from here, but Jungkook says something and Jimin smirks back with a slight shake of his shoulders. Then, they start, but not before choosing a playlist to play quietly as they attempt the gimbap journey.

You can’t believe it. What an odd sight — but good for them.

“That’s rare indeed,” Eun lets slip before she turns back to you and the group, falling back into the couch.

You nod, looking through the round. Different from the two across the room, the atmosphere here is dead. So you wait; wait for an opportunity until Yoongi, opposite from you, gives you one. His eyes roam the room, soon stopping at the guitar from before. He regards it entirely, like a piece in a museum.

You ask, “Hey. Do you play?”

“Hm?” Yoongi looks back at you, puppy eyes in full effect, and then switches between you and the instrument. “Ah. Yeah, I play sometimes.”

“He plays all the time,” Taehyung corrects.

Yoongi raises a hand in something like defence, humble as ever as he says, “I’ve been learning. But I think I have gotten better, though there’s still a long way to go.”

“Any song you enjoy playing the most?” you ask, leaning in.

“Ohh, you’ll like this.” His eyes are widening, waking, sobering up. As you see new stars being born in his dark eyes, you know you’ve introduced the right topic. “You like oldies, don’t you?”

“I do, actually! How do you know?”

Taehyung chimes in, “Jungkook told us. Like literal months ago.”

Perhaps it’s the new sentiments you’re still accommodating yourself to, but you feel the heat filling up your entire chest, moving up to your cheeks and providing warmth in the eye of this autumn.

You peek at your boyfriend and your friend, catching them falling into a goofy cooking session. Jimin grabs the dark soy sauce bottle, attempting to pour the liquid on his plate with the most dramatic expression you have ever witnessed, only to realise a moment later that he hasn’t even opened it yet.

Both of them break into an embarrassed and amused chuckle, Jimin shaking his head, and before you can melt into the leather couch, you look away with a smile.

“Wait,” you say, “in which context? I’m nosy, and now I want to know.”

“He said Yoongi would like you because your favourite song is… what was it again?”

Taehyung directs his gaze imploringly to Yoongi, but it’s Eun who answers fondly, “It’s Can’t Take My Eyes off You. Ever since… always.”

You cock an eyebrow at Yoongi, teasing, “So is it true? Do you like me then?”

“I adore you.”

Your face heats up more. “You didn’t tell me what you like playing the most.”

“I would say I enjoy…”

“Or wait. Don’t tell me. What if you played it?”

“Now hold on—”

Energised, you take a stand, throwing a look at the receptionist who locks eyes with you at just the right moment. You point to the guitar, and he lifts his hand to gesture, “Go ahead, please.”

You take the guitar off its hook, grazing over the smooth, wooden surface and skimming the strings for a tiny moment. Relishing the familiar feeling. And then, encouragingly, you hand it to the man of the hour, telling him, “I know you want to.”

Yoongi is uncaring and unapologetically him, but he’s just as shy when met with attention. Yet, you know him enough to understand he often does whatever somebody asks of him, so you’re barely surprised when he flashes a thin-lipped smile and agrees, “Yeah. Alright.”

He situates the guitar on his lap carefully, treating it like a newborn as he mutters at the same time, “What should I play? Maybe this?”

His fingers strum a few chords that you don’t recognise, tough ceasing when he starts working on tuning the guitar. It takes a moment; a time you spend in silence, watching Taehyung for a second as he props up his head, eyelids half closed.

You shrug your shoulders, telling Yoongi, “Whatever crosses your mind first.”

He doesn’t answer, handling the instrument. He’s focused, his lips slightly apart, his expression impossibly composed. He murmurs another, “This should do,” and when he plays just the first three chords, you already know what he’s chosen.

Sounds like an acoustic version of the song. Like it could be played at a wedding, plucking the strings in the background as the bride marches to her groom, fitting the theme of the song.

“Which one’s this?” Eun asks, leaning into Taehyung who’s barely alive at this point. The music probably doesn’t help.

But apart from him, most of the heads turn, even if just very few present. There’s a quiet couple near Jimin and Jungkook’s table, smiling at the pleasant intrusion. The receptionist puts his lower arms onto the counter, listening in.

And then, eyes still fixated on the fingers skillfully mastering each note, you clarify, “Dance Me to the End of Love. Leonard Cohen originally, but this seems like a very… calm version of it.”

Yoongi nods a little, never stopping the music, but adds, “The Civil Wars. Covered it.”

“Right.”

The ambiance changes immediately. You wish you could lower the lights, embrace all that you hear, save it in your eardrums like a memory stick could. From afar, you notice luminous eyes directed at you, blinking slowly, hands still working, but giving you some momentary attention.

Is Jungkook thinking the same as you? If he stood now, gently pulling you into the middle of the room, would you care who watches as you dance? Could this be the magical moment that soon awaits you in a very near future? Swaying at the wedding…

You break the longing gaze when Jimin nudges Jungkook’s elbow, chin nodding towards your group as if the latter isn’t already watching. It seems they have advanced, nearly done with their endeavours. Not too long until they can join you again.

Another minute passes until Yoongi proceeds to the bridge and the peak of the song, and then another until he’s reached the end. Calm, soft thrums. Fading slowly, snapping you out of something you didn’t know just yet.

Heavy affection crowds your chest, lifting all sorrows off your heart. You’re filled with fondness. Empty of pain. Weighing everything and nothing.

Yoongi looks up at you with another awkward smile, still humble, his lips a straight line. The few people in the room applaud quietly, and as he puts the guitar down, you ask, “And how did that feel?”

“Surprisingly…” Yoongi angles his head, and then changes the movement into a nod. “Comforting.”

“Isn’t that special? Feeling something through the very music you put your soul into?”

It’s how you feel when you write. Probably how Jungkook feels when he draws. To possess something, be it creative or not, that floods you with joy like this is priceless. You think back to when you wrote your first poem. Or when you crafted your very first short story.

The memories are blurred, but you remember the feeling. Putting the dot at the end of the very last sentence. And then, you remember more than just this.

Remember when your father taught you how to play the piano, too, and remember when he—

“You play?” Yoongi suddenly asks, and you look up in surprise.

Oh. What? Your eyes widen, eyebrows lifting, mouth wanting to ask what he said, even though you know exactly which question he posed. But you soon break into a satisfied grin.

“How do you know?” you wonder.

“You talk like you do.”

“I didn’t want to give any spoilers,” Eun confesses from the side, comfortably closing into Taehyung, “so I didn’t say anything. But I’ve heard her play.”

“Ah,” you voice, “not often. Was I any good?”

“As much as I remember.”

Your eyes wander back to Yoongi, the man already working on handing you the guitar over the table between the two of you. You puff out a breath, nearly declining, but then recall that he did this for you, too.

So you grab it for the moment, explaining, “I… I play a little. Dad taught me the guitar and a bit of the piano when I was younger.” You mimic Yoongi’s gestures from before, making yourself comfortable with the bottom of the guitar on top of one leg. “Always enjoyed the guitar more, though. Felt productive, feeling the cornea on my fingertips.”

“Damn…” Taehyung makes, and you smile at him, nodding as if to say, “You’re alive, too!”

“Then you should definitely play something,” Eun says.

“You’re all okay with that?”

“Please,” Yoongi confirms, gesturing for you to start, “you don’t need our permission at all.”

So you nod. Getting used to the steely feeling, preparing mentally as you don’t need to tune the guitar anymore. You start the song in mind, an equally important oldie as Yoongi’s piece; and then you go another brave step further as you start humming.

You wish Taehyung, Jungkook or Jimin could do that for you. They’re better singers. You’re alright, certainly not a pro, singing your words rather quietly when you do start. But it provides you with deep relaxation, and you inwardly hope your voice does the same for the others.

“Wise men say, only fools rush in…”

You don’t know why you chose this song. You don’t know why you didn’t settle with your usual choice. Something about the moment and the starry night urged you to pick out this very melody, holding onto the charm and spark tingling in the air.

Yoongi, an introvert among so many extroverts in your circle, is the one who chimes in soon, singing the chorus and then moving to the third verse. You entrust him with the latter, giving you time to open your eyes that you didn’t realise were shut.

You see the two boys at the end of the room finally emerge, slowly treading towards you with full plates. They plump onto the free seats right under the wall where the guitar previously hung, placing the gimbap in the middle of the table.

Taehyung helps himself to one portion, Eun soon following, but Jungkook…

Jungkook seems to have forgotten about it. He walked to you from one spot to where you sit, but as he looks at you now, you wonder how he moved at all. So mesmerised, like a flawless statue, bambi eyes filled with a tenderness you thought only exists on TV.

If you could guess, you’d say he’s looking at you like… like he’d die for you.

Love. Yearning. Affection uncurbed.

He cradles his cheek, putting his elbow on the arm of the couch, lost as if he’s dreaming. He could fully throw you out of balance just now. If you hadn’t played this song with your father a dozen times, committing each movement to memory, you probably would’ve long failed.

You shut your eyes for a moment enough to catch yourself, hearing Yoongi finish another chorus when you suddenly hear another switch in voices. Jungkook, singing the outro, so effortlessly and tenderly; the tone so angelic without even trying.

You could fall asleep. You could fall deeper.

You never knew you could.

Jungkook is the living proof that, despite not being the biggest sap to walk the Earth, you’ve grown fond of his little gestures. You didn’t think you could feel so shy over the way he kisses the air in your direction, expression so hazy.

A couple months ago, you would’ve never expected not to roll your eyes over his little, gentle antics.

But you’re not. Instead, you’re trying not to let show how much he affects you, nodding towards the applause before you ask, “So I take it, it was good?”

“Good?!” Eun blurts in disbelief, leaving it at that with a shake of her head.

“You keep surprising me, angel,” Jungkook admits, “I don’t know what to do with this anymore.”

“With what?”

He’s close enough for his mouth to kiss your cheek, an eyebrow lifting in tease as he puts a hand on his heart. This time, you do roll your eyes, albeit still going in when he gives your lips the tiniest peck.

Your heart is still in the process of accelerating when he asks, “You chose the right song, didn’t you?”

Yeah. A little dose of Elvis’s Can’t Help Falling in Love fits the situation quite well, doesn’t it?

You merely answer with a flattered smile, nearly going in for another, longer kiss; another touch in your own little bubble, suspending time and the world. But your manners demand differently, so you resist, leaning back.

Only taking his hand until the group comes alive a little more, feasting on the midnight snack that the men handled pretty well. The group changes up with time, seats abandoned and taken, switched with another, the guitar cautiously passed on to Yoongi again.

And then they sing some more. You listen, head on Jungkook’s shoulder, dozing in and out of sleep, in and out of his embrace.

Taehyung is soon encouraged to sing a couple, gorgeous snippets of Fly Me to the Moon, a signature song for him and his baritone voice, as Yoongi and Jungkook assure you. You don’t know when this became a session of nostalgic karaoke, remembering a time you never experienced.

It’s how you pictured these nights to end. Nearly falling into a slumber before the day concludes.

Surrounded by a warmth incomparable to a bonfire; one you’ve been yearning for your entire life.

The end of the night begins with an argument.

Yoongi and Jimin are busy preparing themselves for bed, surprisingly cool-headed after the tumult this morning. They don’t struggle with choosing their comfort in the room, while you pull at Jungkook’s leg as it dangles off the upper bed.

“I’m going to come up,” you warn, trying to tickle the bottom of his foot before he crosses his legs, smirking down at you. “And I will be so annoying.”

“Is that news?” he wonders, and you open your mouth wide in surprise, hearing a chuckle from the couple behind you.

“Babe. I called shots on the upper bunk.”

“You did not.”

“It’s a lot more fun up there. And I thought you’d like sleeping down there.”

Jungkook’s eyebrows kiss, his expression questioning as he asks, “What made you think that?”

Well, now that you think of it, your presumptions were flawed. You assumed he wasn’t too picky, always a deep and peaceful sleeper at home. Defeated, you shrug your shoulders, telling him, “You had a mattress on the floor when you moved into the apartment.”

“That’s… an impeccable argument. I can’t even respond to it.”

The sarcasm drips out of his voice like a damaged tap, and once he shifts to the wall, pressing his back against it, you understand your half childlike, half playful pleading won’t work. So you only tilt your head, squinting his eyes at him, and then drop onto the bed below him.

“Don’t you fart, though,” you tell him, registering a goofy laugh with a fond smile. It’s okay. Maybe tomorrow. Either way, it’s worse than not having him beside you at all.

Yoongi switches off the light, ready to sleep as he falls into his bed with a groan. It was a long day and you walked miles, so you understand his fatigue. You expect for them to snore within a moment, but to your astonishment, Jimin starts a conversation not a minute later.

“We were lucky with the weather. I bet it’s raining back at home.”

Oh… have you finally grown into the type of adults who smalltalk about the sun and the clouds? The precipitation and humidity?

Jungkook answers, “Closer to the equator. The weather is best over here in the fall.”

Then, Yoongi, “Hopefully it’s as nice at the beach, too.”

“It better be,” Jimin chimes in, “I’ve been looking forward to our game for ages. I’ll play in the rain if need be.”

“Oh god, can you imagine?” you add, switching to your left side, hands under your temple. You’ve been thinking about the game just as much — chaos with a big fat portion of craze. “We wouldn’t even be able to get up if it rained.”

“We’d get nowhere,” Jungkook confirms, and you imagine him nodding towards the ceiling, arms under his head.

“That’s what. Doesn’t it sound fun? Wouldn’t matter anyway… the rain would at least kill my competitive side, you know?” Jimin jests, and you already send a prayer above. Not for rain, but for bright sunshine; you cannot miss the ruthless, cut-throat battle that will emerge.

And as if you predicted it, knowing very well who strives for a win and who doesn’t, Jungkook challenges, “Your competitive side means nothing if you’re gonna lose anyway.”

“Dude. Be careful. There’ll be nothing but regret if we end up being on the same team,” Jimin says.

“True, true,” you hear Jungkook respond, just as Yoongi lets out an amused snicker, aligning with your muttered, “Now, that, I wanna see.”

The banter and chatter proceeds for another couple minutes, up to the point where Yoongi needs to shush the quartet. Your laughter ebbs down after his reprimands, morphing into content and tired sighs.

And once the conversation has more or less died, you wonder, “Do we need to sleep? We could just stay awake and talk all night.”

But your suggestion proves redundant — because barely two minutes later, your breathing evens out, calm as you finally drift away. Not a single word anymore. Jungkook rolls over his bed, casting a brief look at you, not quite seeing your face in the dark, but understanding that you’ve fallen asleep.

You can’t stay silent for this long; and you’re not moving. Jungkook clicks his tongue, fond but a tease as he jokes, “I drove all day and still she falls asleep first.”

Yoongi and Jimin’s laughs are cautiously quiet, exhausted, soon giving way to deep breaths like yours until they’ve fallen asleep, too.

Weirdly, it takes some time until Jungkook can join your land of dreams. There’s a strange yearning in his chest that he’s well used to by now; it thoroughly sucks to not have you by his side. And… is this too much?

The affection poured into and onto you, is he doing too much? Feeling too much? Why are his fingers itching and his chest not warm enough, despite the pleasant weather?

You’ve really done a number on him.

The minutes prove long, soon stretching to what he perceives as hours. Jungkook doesn’t know how much time has passed and he refuses to fish out his phone again; the light of the device will only postpone sleep, and he cannot use that for the trip tomorrow.

“Man…” Jungkook quietly complains, letting his left arm swing between the bed rails.

Sleep isn’t an entity to grace him just yet anyway; because as around an hour passes, he hears a sound from below. Sheets shifting, a light groan from you. You sigh audibly, soon going silent, and when he thinks you’re off again, he hears a couple seconds later—

“Kook?”

No, he must be insane. It must be insane how his heart stirs at your tiny, wispy voice. You wash over him like… relief.

“Baby,” he calls out in a whisper, once more moving to look at you — or the darkness below. “You’re awake?”

“Can’t sleep properly. I really hate sleeping in other beds…”

“Right? Me too.” He reaches out for you, hoping you’ll notice the movement, and when your soft fingers get ahold of two of his digits, he breathes out in gratification. “And… I miss you here.”

You hum, rubbing your thumb over his palm, mumbling, “Isn’t it ridiculous? How we can’t go a night like this.”

“Hmm…”

“I miss you, too.”

Patience is a virtue he hasn’t learned yet when it comes to you.

He could wait hours for a hall in the museum to fill. For a visitor to comment on his pieces. He could sit in a room with his father, attempting a conversation; could attempt his whole life to sway your mother’s thoughts. All possible.

But you… distanced from your touch and your lips, not feeling your breath as he does every night is…

Pretty damn shit.

“Wait,” he murmurs, pulling his fingers out of your grip. He hears you mutter a small, “Huh?” as he moves, careful to not hurt himself in the dark.

For the smallest moments, he uses the light of his display to navigate through the limited space, never daring to turn on the flashlight to not wake the entire room. And once he’s touching the ground, agile as a cat, you understand what he’s trying to do.

Quietly, but inefficiently, you protest with just half a heart when he climbs into your bed, telling you to scoot. You say, “Uhm, I… Baby, I don’t know if it’s a good idea—”

But you don’t seem to have much of a say in this matter — because you’re soon outnumbered by Jungkook and his obsession with you, shifting on the bed until you’re nearly pressed against the wall.

He wraps an arm around your waist before the tight space can suffocate you, soon leaning back a little — close to rolling off the mattress? — and pulling you close. The embrace catches your breath more than the cramped area, but it stops your complaints, too.

Winding a little more, you soon find yourself breathing against his chest, a heartbeat right underneath. Your arm reflexively sneaks around him, hugging him close before he laughs and teases, “You were saying?”

“I… I was saying you feel so warm.”

“Mmmh,” he hums, towing you in impossibly close, planting a kiss on your head before resting his cheek against it, “you are, too.”

“Do I feel better than your bed up there?”

“A lot better.” His palm flattens over your back; the scent of his shampoo, his fabric softener and him dizzies you. “Makes me feel a bit less sorry about keeping you awake.”

“Don’t worry,” you sigh into his soft cotton shirt, feeling the lines of his pecs against your lips, “Am exhausted. I’ll fall asleep fast. Especially like this…”

“Oh… glad to be of service then.”

You nod, rubbing his shirt between your fingertips as he moves his hand up and down your lower back, just a little. He yawns against your hair; you know the telltale signs of a drifting mind.

The two of you have gotten used to this. It’s said that pressing something comforting against your chest, such as a pillow or stuffed toy, works wonders on an insomniac mind. You guess that’s what you are for each other.

Even when you’re not home. Even when the space barely suffices for one body.

Which, as you brood over his sudden presence next to you, reminds you—

“You wanted the upper bunk bed,” you tell him. Nothing more; he understands without you needing to elaborate.

He chuckles as quietly as possible to not wake your friends, his hand slipping under your shirt and feather lightly pinching your sides. Not enough to hurt, but enough to tickle you. You nearly yelp, muffling it against his clothes in time.

“Shut up,” he says, thumb running over where he nipped you. “Okay. Do you know why I wanted you to sleep down here?”

You smile. You’re not stupid. As your vision became blurry, your mind shutting just a while ago, the realisation dawned upon you as the seemingly last thought of the night.

“I think I do…” you admit. “I think I figured it out.”

Because.

Because you’ve fallen out of bed one too many times. Because of some days, when you weren’t nestled in his arms as you are now, not caged in solidly, overworked and stressed. Or when you let go of each other in the middle of the night.

And that’s when you rattled down the bed. Just once or twice!

You never got injured or anything, getting away with perhaps a tiny bruise. What was worse was the fond laughter you tolerated when you told him about it, or when he was there and realised. Worried sick, inspecting your body, but still shaking his head in amusement.

Chuckling as he pushed back your hair, but relieved when he found nothing out of the ordinary.

“I’m not gonna risk your clumsy ass to fall off a bunk bed,” he says.

“There’s a raili—”

“Still. One never knows with you. In any case… you’re not getting hurt on vacation, okay?”

You could coo right here, right now. Whisper his name a million times in disbelief and absolute gratitude, melt into him, dampen his shirt. Jungkook is a thoughtful being, alright, but it’s insane that with you, he thinks half a dozen steps ahead.

Mind empty of a response as worthy as his, you settle on a joke, “Is that right? We’ll see about that once we play the game.”

You finish your sentence dramatically, and he answers with a breathy, “Yeah, yeah,” as he kisses your temple. Careful to keep his back off the ladder leading up to his bed, you keep him in your hug, soon detecting in a whisper, “I really mean so much to you.”

“Mhm… So very much.”

It’s too dark to see his expressions clearly; you see him move, see the white of his eyes a little. But even without it, you know he’s blended out the world when you look up at him. You know he’s staring back quietly.

You know what he’s feeling as the tip of his nose touches yours, the bangs of his growing hair grazing your forehead. And when the finger under your shirt draws circles on your skin, touching you so gently, you feel your heart in your throat, hear it in your ears.

Pumping, pumping hard when you see the silhouette’s mouth part before it arrives at yours. Kisses you tenderly. Doesn’t rush or force his tongue in, just lazily moving.

He cradles your face a moment later, raising your head some more, tilting it as much as possible. The kiss is more like a sequence of innocent pecks, but maybe that’s why the moment feels so intimate.

Because there’s no impatience. No other sentiment but adoration.

As he moves back again, he doesn’t talk right away. Takes a deep breath. Then—

He brushes your tresses aside, away from your temple as his thumb rubs against it gently. His lips hover close to yours, and much like the ever-blooming tiger lily on his golden skin conveys, he whispers, “Love me?”

Your heart.

This treacherous thing — cries and flutters, punctured and whole at once. You’re constantly breathless and speechless, so you wonder how he manages to say, “Please love me, too.”

Doesn’t he know how easy that is? Doesn’t he know who he truly is, what his stardust of a soul is made of? That he was born to be loved. That he’s not responsible for those who do not, rather a ray of serene moonlight who doesn’t need to show anyone that he’s just that.

“No need to beg,” you tell him, “you’ll never need to beg.”

Another beat of silence. He’s smiling, you know. Keeping his heart at bay as much as you are guarding yours. Does he think the same way about you as you do about him?

Of course. Probably. In some sense, you were in the same sinking boat, surrounded by an overwhelming, troubled ocean of doubt; waves of self-hatred drowning you. You know exactly what it’s like to get used to being unloved by everyone; and then to learn to be loved again.

You clear your throat, feeling his body relax; your head returns to his chest, and you say, “You know. It might be a bit uncomfortable, but we could make it work. It’s not that tight—”

“In theory. But we wouldn’t sleep well, right?” he ponders.

Wrong. You soon prove him wrong, unpredictable as you are half of the time when you’re not being familiar to him like the back of his hand.

Because your words soon become slurred, silent not much after, your breathing calm and warm against his chest. Your tiny fist still holds onto his shirt, the blanket alternatively slipping either off him or you.

So he waits until your grip around him loosens. Then, presses a light kiss to your lips, carefully moving away and out of your bed. Ignoring how you hold onto him until the last moment, scared you might awaken again; murmuring in your sleep as you tend to do.

He gently rubs your fist until you uncurl your fingers around his shirt; if he doesn’t do this, he’ll stay here all night. Instead, he furrows his eyebrows in chagrin and yearning; and when your hands move back under your head, he finally bids the first day goodbye and climbs back up.

Eventually descending into dreams of you, too.

DAY 2

The air is much colder up here than you thought.

You can’t recall ever having been on a mountain before; considering your country’s geography, a very ordinary thing that you never really got to experience. Your parents were fans of beaches all over the nation and the globe; didn’t enjoy heights, but depths.

You knew that early on.

Satisfied, however, you hide your mouth in your jacket. You’re glad Eun talked you into packing a thicker jacket and gloves, giving half a dozen logical arguments like the amazing lawyer that she could be. It was fun, packing suitcases together via video calls.

But the wind still hits your ears harshly, and you curse as you get off the cable railway, “Damn it.”

Jimin rubs your arms from behind, the ecstasy clear as day as he cheers, “Come on, no pauses now! We finally made it.”

That you did. No turning back. You’ve wanted this for so long. So you follow the others, walking beside Eun. Her legs are slightly longer than yours, and her steps wider. She proceeds a little faster, so you soon hook your arm with hers, urging yourself to catch up.

You’re relieved when you reach a small platform overlooking not much but the mountain lift and all the stops till the ground. Down below, you recognise the entrance you bought your tickets at.

Sometimes, along the descent of the mountain, you spot people hiking. They don’t take the lift; they trek up and down, with these cool hiking sticks of theirs.

Jungkook and Taehyung didn’t come with you. Or rather, they’ll arrive a bit after you. Namjoon rang up Jungkook just before you got ready to leave, asking for his apprentice’s time. Something about the gallery and the exhibit.

Yet, extremely sorry, Namjoon told him he could call back later, but Jungkook insisted on listening to what his mentor had to say, presuming it was urgent enough for an interruption in his vacation. And Taehyung stayed with him — partly to not leave him alone, and partly because he’s always dreamed of making an acquaintance with an art connoisseur like Namjoon.

Taehyung apparently has a big thing for art. The only reason Jungkook let him stay at all.

Because when you suggested the same, he rejected your idea without flinching once, prompting you to enjoy these valuable days instead of hanging around at the quiet hostel with him. It took some persuasion and a tender, “Angel, as much as I want you here, I won’t be able to talk to you anyway. I’ll be there in no time.”

So here you are now, content when cold but pleasant air caresses your face. You take in the high trees and the picturesque mountain range; somewhere in the far back, at the horizon, there’s another higher, snow-capped mountain.

And you look for a while, arms wrapped around your knees. Eun remains in a similar position, enjoying the moment; Yoongi and Jimin decide to bask in their joy by capturing the experience in snapped pictures.

Ten minutes later, your group decides to walk on, tramping up a short distance to a bridge Yoongi mentioned earlier. And you guess that’s where your serenity ends.

Because the bridge isn’t as short as you thought. Moves a little, mostly solid, but… holy shit, were you this high up all the time? They say don’t look down in moments like these, but you can’t help, and God, there’s an immeasurable distance between you and the ground and—

It’s not immeasurable. No, you’re an idiot. But you still can’t help it; stare down, gulp.

You reach to the railing with a careful hand. Why do they… how do they…

The others are doing it so easily. The other tourists. And Jimin; moving over it effortlessly, swaying a bit, but airing a sweet laugh. And then even Eun and Yoongi, initially struggling, make their way over, slower than Jimin but courageous nevertheless.

Okay… okay.

You push your phone extra deep into your bag, blinking before you take a deep breathe, repeating a mantra three or four times before you—

Scream.

The surprise of a new voice directly behind you is unwelcome, absolute horror in a moment like this. You flinch hard, reacting, barely hearing the “See?” over the wind before you slap the sudden hands off your shoulders. Your knees are shaking and you’re uncertain who the fingers belong to, but you’re still ready to fight.

The voice isn’t; the startled gasp reveals as much.

You turn, only to find your boyfriend’s eyes ripped open, lips parted. He puffs out a breath, equally frightened at your reaction before his expression turns apologetic. Baffled. Both at once as he exclaims, “Sorry! Sorry, baby.”

“Kook! Timing,” you blurt, scowling in distress, yet immediately holding onto his waist once you’ve grasped the reality enough.

“Angel…” he starts, looking into the hell below. “Are you scared of heights?”

No time to be sarcastic; you don’t have the breath to. So you admit, “A little.”

“I didn’t know,” he breathes, another apology in his words. He kisses your hair to soothe your worries; in some way, it works, even if not enough right now. “I’m sorry. Do you want to go or just stay here? We can stay here.”

His gaze is worried now, and he nods to reassure you, holding onto you. Behind him, Taehyung emerges, comprehending the situation and studying your countenances within the next three seconds until he asks, “All good?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook promises, “you can go ahead if you want.”

“Mmmh,” Taehyung hums; doesn’t sound too sure about leaving the two of you here. “You need a hand? I can go ahead, Jungkook follows.”

Uhh…

“Is that a good idea?” you mumble.

“It could be.”

Could be? And if it isn’t?

Then again. You’re here for a reason. You’d be disappointed with yourself if you just stood here, ruining the chance not only for yourself, but Jungkook, too. You look at him, and he shrugs his shoulders, signalling that it’s up to you.

So you decide, “No, I’ll go. I came here for this, and I don’t know when the next opportunity will arise. Fears exist to be conquered!”

“Hear, hear!” Taehyung cheers, just as Jungkook praises, “See? That’s my girl!”

It helps you, their way to motivate. Cautiously, you place a hand in each of their palms, moving one step after another. They’re determined to take care of you, constantly checking if you’re okay. And it works at first. But.

The bridge seems endless, and the fright yearns to return to you bit by bit. Halfway through, your surroundings look scary enough to put you off balance; you hate that you’re not holding onto anything solid, basically standing freely.

If one falls, all of you do — which, in truth, is sheer impossible. The railing is high enough. But your brain isn’t quite computing properly right now. You let go of Taehyung’s hand, grabbing the railing, but still clutching Jungkook’s grip.

“Go ahead,” your shaky voice commands; and Taehyung nods this time, no other choice left. “It’s okay.”

“I’m right here if you need me,” he vows before walking on.

Jungkook puts an arm around your waist, a human safety rope. His voice is so insanely steady as he spurs you on, “Imagine it’s the amusement park, yeah? Wanna guess the remaining steps? I think it’s… uh… thirty more till the end.”

You exhale, then inhale. Look in front of you instead of down, blinking rapidly before you let out a trembling laugh and counter, “Are you kidding… Looks like a hundred.”

He chuckles with you as you suck in another breath, straightening your back, fixing your gaze on a big rock on the other side. Thinking about how such a vast number of people take these steps every day offers you some courage. Leaves you brave.

So this must be safe, right? Logically seen. You gulp, and then, with your full chest, estimate, “Forty-five! I say forty-five steps.”

And then, you count together. You’re amused when Jungkook curses as you reach twenty without the end anyhow approaching. And just when you take your thirtieth step, he shakes his head in defeat, telling you, “Should know better than to compete with a munchkin.”

You guffaw awkwardly, howling over the wind, “This is actually fun,” not noticing that he’s barely holding you anymore when you jump over to the mainland again.

“What a journey, huh?” Jungkook praises, patting your back. “I’m proud of you. It’ll only get easier from here.”

And it does. As you move on, you soon reach another platform, spiral stairs leading up to the top. It looks a little like the remainder of an old stone tower, half broken, not too high. The stairs were clearly broken; lighter, fresher patches indicate that they were evened out.

Okay, you can do this much, at least.

In fact, you’re the first to climb up, Jungkook treading on your heels, fingers still entwined with yours. And up there, your mouth drops — the view stuns you, frozen in place. The wind blows more fiercely here, but the moment is worth the strong, cold pull of the gust.

Jimin, having reached much before you, must have seen you, because you hear him say, “I know, right?”

Everyone is scattered up here, leaning against the stone wall protecting you from falling. Other tourists are eternalising the moments in pictures, through talking and kissing. Tae and Eun are pointing into the distance, Jimin and Yoongi going around, laughing.

Holy shit. The euphoria filling each one of you is inevitable. Poignant somehow.

You’re above the foggy clouds.

In the far-flung distance, you see the turquoise ocean, merely a day away from wading through its waves; levitating on the sparkling water; thinking back to now and how numerous the miles between are.

And the forests — they’re thick, vast. You wonder what animals inhabit them. Bears? Wolves? Birds you’ve never seen before? Deers and does that have the same eyes as him?

Even the mountain range looks like the sea from here. Is this odd to say? Like high waves, green and dark blue and white and cloudy. So many valleys and so many peaks. Some of them hidden behind the clouds like before.

The birds are flying so close to your heads. And the sun isn’t at its highest point anymore either. You see the horizon coloured in a yellow-ish, orange-ish hue, indicating the nearing sunset.

This was your goal anyway. You wanted to come here late because of these very colours, occupying yourselves with other sights in the morning and the early afternoon. Because you wanted to see what nature bestows upon you.

The mountain will soon be closed for tourists, and in less than an hour, you’ll be heading back down. But you don’t feel any hurry. Nothing matters.

“This…” you finally whisper as you catch yourself, “makes me wanna cry.”

You put your hands on the chest-high stone wall. Jungkook’s arms make themselves home around your body, pulling you in, pushing him close, telling you, “Then cry. Isn’t that what catharsis is about?”

“It’s just so pretty.”

“It is.”

“Like… is this really our world, Jungkook?” You shake your head against him, ruining your hair as his chin moves against your scalp. “The same we saw a few days ago. Those cars and the pressure and the rushing people. All the stress we endure. Or even, our cosy apartment.”

You fill your lungs with the crisp air, more thankful for it than ever. “There’s so much more.”

“There is, right? A lot more,” he confirms.

“Look at this,” you say, chin gesturing towards no particular spot ahead, “wherever there aren’t people to fuck things up, there’s peace like this.” You sniffle; whether due to the temperature or sentiments, you can’t say. “What if we became nomads?”

His laugh is as sudden as your statement, differing so vastly from the rest of the poetry you spat.

He concludes, “I think you’ll really like it back home.” You’re confused until you understand he means his hometown; to that, you nod enthusiastically. “There are so many wonders out there like this one. I want to show you the prettiest places and the prettiest things.”

“…Do you already have something in mind?”

“Of course I do,” he responds matter-of-factly, tapping his finger against your stomach. “I just won’t tell you yet.”

“Ha. I wouldn’t want you to.”

You swallow when he moves in, kissing your cheek, his breath pleasantly warm against your ear. You wait for a second, indulge in the feeling, permitting yourself to believe you’ve transcended this realm and entered another.

But as you hear everyone else’s voices again, laughing and joking and teasing, you remember you’re still very much here, on the same Earth you know. With your everyday thoughts and lives. Which reminds you…

You turn to the side to look at him, his face in immediate proximity to yours. You ask, “What did Namjoon want?”

“Oh, just needed to discuss a couple things. Exhibition.”

“Sounded super urgent, though.”

“I mean, it kinda was,” he answers, catching the strands of hair that the breeze blows into your face, tucking them back, “he needed a status update. We also spoke about the style the gallery collector likes and—”

“Wait. You’re still sticking to your own style, though, right?”

His heart thumps, violently enough to nearly drop out of his chest. When trailblazing artists, already enjoying a remarkable reputation, preach about the relevance of support, this is what they must mean.

Behind someone who does something significant for the world in any way, there’s somebody soothingly rubbing their backs in bad times. Embracing them in success. Pushing them forward, lending them bravery.

You.

You’re who they must be talking about. Unshakably by his side.

“Of course, angel,” he says, “I think having your signature style is always the most important aspect.”

“Good. You’re the coolest, Kook. Just so you know.” His smile is telling, rendering the humble click of his tongue that follows ineffective. He holds you tight, lips close to your temple as you say, “I still don’t know what you’re painting.”

“I will never show you my paintings until an exhibit rolls around. Mostly because you’re my muse. My girl.”

He must think that this doesn’t wreck you inside out. Puts you back together, pieces of puzzles reunited that you didn’t know were lost. You feel something new all the time; is this possible? Surely, there can’t be this many emotions anyway, right?

If you didn’t feel it with your own heart, you wouldn’t believe it…

“But…” you begin, “you’ll let me see those that I don’t inspire, right?”

“Of course. Always.”

Breathing comes easy to you up here. So you do it again. And again. Taking in the oxygen, so entirely different from the one in the city; and soon, you mutter, more to yourself than to anyone else, “This really is pretty.”

He doesn’t answer. There’s no answer to this. Whatever his mind is conjuring and his heart trying to convey doesn’t just have to do with the nature stretching in front of you. Of course it’s gorgeous. Of course, your world’s unique.

Of course, it’s home, and home feels warm, pleasant, familiar.

There’s no doubt that the sight and the moment evoke something rare in him. But he’s seen these things before; when he was younger, he was used to this. What he’s never been used to is people like you.

Those who match nature's fierce, distinctive personality. Those who grow carefully and selflessly; like the trees offering shelter to birds. Or the bees serving as pollinators to provide nourishment for so many creatures out there.

Jungkook doesn’t answer right away because the right response doesn’t come to him immediately. But when he does, he collects his breath, and then voices—

“I love you, angel.”

Your heart skips one or two or three beats. You look at him again.

“People climb mountains, watch the world from above, need to see forests to figure out how good life can be. And that it can be worth living,” he says, his voice velvety soft. “But I feel that way with you every day, you know? I do… I do love you so much.”

You want to say something. You want to pour your heart out. Keep staring at his gentle eyes, serving all confessions at once. But interruptions are expected; so you’re briefly displeased but not surprised when you’re pulled out of your daydream.

Taehyung is gathering the crew behind you, asking for a group picture. You’re soon caught in a short, harmless commotion until everyone has collected at a spot, and you stand in position, yet not before gracing Jungkook one more look.

Mouthing something.

And he sees. In this split moment, he sees and smiles.

If he could be honest… whatever, those mountains. Whatever, them and the adrenaline that comes with them. All the natural phenomena. You’re enough, too — a force of nature, too.

He doesn’t need any mountain peaks when you bring a new high every day.

The lift is crowded as you make your way down again. They stuffed it to the brim, much until a stranger urged staff to stop pushing people in. You’re moved to one end of the cabin while you watch Eun and Jungkook forced into the opposite corner.

Yoongi, Jimin and Taehyung will step into the next, and you’ll wait at the exit.

Since it takes barely five minutes to reach the bottom, you don’t fight for a spot next to Jungkook and Eun. Instead, you look down into the depths, waiting until the vehicle finally finishes its dive.

The chatter in the booth is peaceful, but plenty enough for you to blend out any words the other two utter to each other. In that sense, you don’t hear it when Eun says, “You’re both glued to each other, huh?”

Jungkook’s wide, wondering eyes ogle into hers, surprised as he asks, “Is that… bad? Too much?”

“Well, definitely much,” Eun laughs, “but very sweet, too. By all means, don’t change.”

“Ah. Ahhh, that answers one of my questions at least.”

Eun looks at him in curiosity, though entertained and maybe even a little baffled that she’s ever been the object of his attention in any way. So she voices, “Oh? Which one’s that?”

“Just confirms that I have your blessings.”

Eun catches his admission as a popular line from a million movies before, immediately puffing out a laugh. She didn’t anticipate this, out of all things; blinking, somewhat flattered even.

“My blessings?” she repeats. Her smile, combined with the appearing crease between her eyebrows, dips her expression in something that reveals, “Are you joking?”

Which is presumably why Jungkook’s thought shrinks the very next moment, pupils shaking just a little as he mutters, “Well… yeah?”

“Okay. And what if I didn’t give them to you?”

She raises her chin as if in arrogance, but the immediate giggle reveals the playful joke. She shakes her head again, patting his bicep, smitten when his speechless self voices, “Uhm…”

“I’m just messing with you,” she clarifies, watching one corner of his lips rise. “But also, why is it needed, you know? Would you leave her if I didn’t bless you two? Or stop loving her?”

Jungkook’s surprised about the L-drop; of all people, Eun must have known from the very beginning that he loved you. There’s no bewilderment in her voice; she emits the word casually.

He blinks, albeit discarding all preceding hesitation immediately as he admits, “No.”

“Exactly,” Eun agrees, wiggling a finger with a wise, subtle nod on the side, “you don’t need my blessings. If you’re sure about her, you don’t need anyone’s. I’ll trust the process.”

That’s it.

No ominous warnings, no playful best-friend-threats. She trusts in his certainty as much as he does; and where would the two of you be, what would all of this be if he didn’t? No. Not a trace of doubt.

Not if every smile matching yours expresses a silent I adore you. Or if every exhale against your shoulder reveals a promising I want you.

Not if everything he’s still about to do breathes a whisper of a soft I’ve been thinking of you all this time.

“But,” Eun continues; Jungkook’s ears perk up, “if you need to know. I do adore you two together. I know I tease you and stuff, but I’ve never seen a cuter couple.”

“Ah. Even cuter than you and Tae?”

“Much. We’re not the sappy kind. Or well, he is, but… you’re straight up sugar. Makes me sick.”

Jungkook laughs, spying over his shoulder, seeing a glimpse of you as you look out of the window in wonder. “Well, she makes up most of that sweetness.”

“Maybe. God,” Eun exclaims as if agitated, and when he looks at her again, her teeth are gritted, eyes squinting hard before she opens them again. Adding, “Sometimes I wanna grab her face and squish her.”

“The most precious, right?”

“Isn’t she?”

Somebody to kill for. Somebody with a face that doesn’t fit tears. The world did you wrong, but you exist to be happy. You’re deserving of it; you could be the most enthusiastic soul if the universe allowed you.

No, fuck it. Fuck the universe.

He’s here, right? He can do it, too. Guard you from harm; keep your smile plastered there.

And as if reading his mind, Eun continues, “I’ve always hated seeing her sad. She deserves the world, and shit always hit the fan when she was so close to finding the joy I always wanted her to have. Does this sound dumb?”

No, it doesn’t. In fact, Eun’s very truth pricks his heart like a fine needle. Because in a sense, he was also once a reason for stripping you off that happiness; but he’s made up for it. He so deeply hopes he made up for it.

“It sounds just right,” he says.

“I don’t know if you already know, but you won’t meet anyone purer. Not saying this as her best friend… it’s true.” She shrugs a shoulder, as if to dismiss the corny statements; she truly isn’t a mawkish one. “So it’s a big deal to say I want you close to her.”

Her eyes shift away from him and straight to you; there’s a gap between all the people, allowing a glance at you. And when Jungkook follows Eun’s gaze, you seem to feel it somehow, his eyes like Cupid’s arrows in your back until you meet their attention.

Your lips promptly form the most saccharine smile, an unsure hand lifting; somebody next to you immerses themselves in the brief interaction, looking to and fro between Jungkook and you.

And Jungkook waves back, watching your chest rise and fall in satisfaction rooted in nothing but the untroubled moment. Right there, you hold not one but two hearts hidden. His bleeding organ thumps, but it’s as if he hears it from where you stand.

Slowly, stare dropping to his feet, he nods, love clumping up his throat, a barrier for the words wanting to escape. Instead, he basks in the things Eun said, repeating them over and over in his head until he merely susurrates—

“Thank you, Eun.”

“Here you are.”

Jungkook is soft-spoken, his voice mellow; a textbook definition of a lullaby. Which is possibly why you’re so surprised when it breaks the fall air so loudly, echoing through the empty space.

You flinch before you reflexively turn, watching his body tower on the other side. The lights of the swimming pool illuminate his face, and even from here, you recognise the bright, gorgeous, twinkling eyes immediately. They’re not hidden behind his bangs this time; his damp hair is pushed back.

Maybe you could focus on that unusual sight of his forehead if there wasn’t the entire rest of him. Hands in the pockets of the open bathrobe he’s sporting, mere boxers hiding his most important parts, but the rest of him naked. Tits out, abs sharp.

You flash him a smile from where you’re floating, pushing yourself off the edge and swimming towards him. You see his reflection in the water, blurry, moving, somewhat funny. As you near him, he drops to his knees, crouching for a second before dipping his legs into the pool. Sitting down, remaining there, waiting for you.

Getting ahold of his calf, you pull yourself in for the last few feet. He reaches out without hesitation as your shoulders collide with his legs underwater; gentle fingers tuck your soaked hair behind your ears.

“I was looking for you,” he says.

“Oh, I just got here a couple minutes ago. Making the best out of the remaining time.”

“Yeah. I just showered for a few minutes, too.” He pauses. Looks around the vacant pool save from the two of you, humming before he asks, “Hey, do you need a moment to yourself?”

Your eyes widen as you look up, his expression suddenly cautious, as if he’s intruding your personal space. Curiously, you merely voice, “What?”

“Just. I know there’s been a lot of interaction these days, so I get it if you need a break.” His finger moves to his temple, drawing circles in the air. “My battery almost ran out, too.”

Oh. Oh…

If there was a way to hide your flattered smile, you still wouldn’t. God, if he knew how rare of a person he is. How uniquely humane. If he knew that not everybody’s ready to offer space despite knowing that somebody requires it at times.

You know enough people who put the blame on themselves; deem themselves victims. If you can’t be there for them, it’s something they have done wrong. Not the fact that you need peace, a moment to yourself.

Jungkook knows. Jungkook understands.

Has seen you run out of energy and crave a quiet evening. But you immediately shake your head, touched, “Oh, no. I actually knew you’d find me here. Hoped for it.”

“Is that right?” he says, relieved, grazing your cheek as you put your chin onto his leg. Muscly, thick thighs, yet like a pillow.

You nod. Look up to him properly, a little distracted, very mesmerised. It’s outrageously insane, how he’s perched there like he’s allowed to. As if it doesn’t clearly state in your book that it’s illegal to look this way, that it should be retaliated somehow.

“It’s been a while since we were alone,” you tell him, “feels like we didn’t have many moments to ourselves.”

“Then, this is convenient, isn’t it? An empty pool in the evening. Very cliché.”

You laugh a little, tilting your head and ignoring the goosebumps that arise when he touches the sweet spot behind your ear. Hands exploring. You respond, “Others are probably too tired to be here. Or too cold. We’re the only crazy ones here.”

“It’s warm enough, though,” he argues, sniffling, as if to contradict his point — there’s something funny about it. “I bet it’s wet and grey back home.” A click of his tongue, watching you nod in agreement; after a beat of silence, he wonders, “Are you looking forward to tomorrow?”

Exhilaration inundates your chest without a warning, as is common with this very conversation topic. You can barely fathom that you talked about this for weeks straight, and now you have only a few hours left until the awaited day finally breaks in.

Jungkook must be seeing the change in your pupils, because he smiles when you do, nodding with an open mouth as you cheer jubilantly, “A lot! It’ll be a long day, we’ll be exhausted, but… got a feeling it’ll be worth it all.”

“Yeah, but like. I think we can rest a lot after that, though,” he explains, flashing a wink to your astonishment. “My childhood bedroom is cosy.”

“I’d hope so. We won’t be leaving it.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes in jest before he agrees, “Of course not. Duh. Except for the wedding.”

“Except for the wedding… sure,” you repeat, as if reluctantly.

As you put both your arms on top of his thighs, Jungkook uses the moment to let his stare dawdle; right there where yours lingered two minutes ago. His head moves slowly, taking in the wide, endless view behind you.

The sky above and the stars attached to it. The tiny mountains far away and the forests next to them. The world looks as wide as it truly is, stunningly bedazzling; infinite from where he sits here with your touch so close.

There’s a sense of disbelief in the fact that, despite the crazy vastness of the world, it’s you who found your way to him, inches away. If luck exists, this must be it, right?

But he doesn’t say any of it — don’t you already know? What if he lovebombs too much, frightens you away. So instead, his fingers shift to your face, much cooler to the touch than before, and he queries, “Aren’t you cold?”

You shake your head, however, stating, “Not yet. Or… maybe a little. You can help me warm up?”

Jungkook cocks an eyebrow in disbelief; something about the way he looks down at you with such power lets something in you loose that floods your entire body. You wouldn’t mind if he…

“Isn’t this another cliché?” he asks.

“How so?”

“You’ll make me jump in, huh? Or no, wait. You’re a brat,” he establishes as if remembering just now, rethinking his choice of words. “No… you’ll pull me in.”

“What? I won’t.”

“How do I know that, though?”

“I mean, technically, you don’t, and yes, I realise that doesn’t help,” you blabber, tone shifting when he shakes his head with a laugh, “but, you did just shower. I wouldn’t want you to waste more time showering afterwards.”

He looks sceptical to no end; squinting his eyes, biting his lower lip, furrowing his eyebrows — the whole package. Leaning in, he lets you know, “I don’t trust you this once, but…”

And that’s where his sentence ends. The words unspoken are replaced by another movement closing the gap between the two of you. He grabs your chin, moving your head up, bending his back enough to draw closer to your lips.

The phantom touch and his warm breath cause a strange, crackling sound somewhere in your brain — a bulb going out, your mind breaking. Shutting down. But your body lights up as he cradles your face, every single inch of your skin craving his all.

The knowledge about his affection and that he yearns for you like no other man on Earth blurs your reality, as if you don’t belong into a utopian world like this. As if you’re from another corner of the multiverse, incredibly lucky by accident.

Weird, weird how all of these thoughts trigger disbelief and thorough rapture in you, but how empty-headed you are at the same. Almost enough to fully lose yourself until—

The man leans back, intentionally teasing you, just a little but enough for you to fall out of your immersion. You chase his lips for a second, long enough to make him laugh. But as you find your composure, looking at the shit-eating grin, you land a decision.

“Unfair,” you say, pouting, predicting for him to coo, which occurs just a moment later.

You remain at your spot, not a lot of options either way as he still holds your face. Then wait. See him get a hold of himself before he mutters, “My pretty angel. Pouty little sweetheart of mine, hm?” twice, then thrice and then closes in again.

Thumbs skim the apples of your cheek, nose rubbing against yours, his own scrunched. He looks so happy with himself, but so charmed by you, too, squishing your face as if handling cuteness-aggression.

Calls you plenty of pet names as he kisses your nose, your cheek, your earlobe and then moves in for an actual kiss.

Only this time, no matter how much you yearn for his lips, rosy and wet and sweet and tender — you can’t let him beat you. So you prepare for the retaliation you considered before, and just as new goosebumps arise on your arms, wanting the kiss, you suppress the desire and—

“Fu—”

The curse falls out of him suddenly, just a second after he closes his eyes and you use the moment of weakness to put your hands at the back of his neck. Pulling him in without a warning, watching him lose balance and splash into the pool.

He struggles a little underwater before he breaks the surface; hands reach for you with an intent to revenge, but you dodge him. He gasps, shaking his head, going through the trouble of wiping the water off his eyes before opening them.

You swim away a little, carefully, just to be sure; watching him cough a bit before he laughs. He can’t help but scoff, more curses falling out of him, but never towards you. Only a reprimanding, “Angel, you’re— you brat." Another cough. "You’re too much.”

And as his eyes finally land on you, he immediately charges for you, jaw clenched, teeth gritted, but pure amusement gracing his features. You try to get away, but he’s faster. Moves in the water as he strips himself off the bathrobe.

The image makes you choke.

How ethereal yet sinful of a moment. Tempting as he pulls it off his strong shoulders, revealing the bulging bicep, throwing the bathrobe to the side with an absolute indescribable, fiery aura.

Teeth pull at his lower lip before they instantly release it. Then the tongue, running over glistening lips, eyes hooded, the bathrobe sitting where he did without him even regarding it. Like a villain who sets a house on fire and then walks away without looking, badass to the core.

Fuck, he’s broad. And fuck, he’s coming right for you.

You try to flee, hysterically laughing, probably too loud; but he’s a fast swimmer, arms soon around your waist, wrapping around you, tugging you in. He whispers into your ear, “Talking about clichés, baby, huh?”

As he holds you there, you swallow some water, spitting it out right away before you answer, “Well… there’s a reason why they’re clichés.”

“Not wanting to waste my time showering, my ass.”

“You’re saying it sounds like a bad idea?” you whisper, breathless as he kisses your shoulder, his soft voice muttering a little, “What?” before you clarify, “Showering with me?”

“Nah. Stop planting this thought in my head,” he says, lips continuing at your neck, kissing it gently first before he morphs the touch into a wet, open-mouthed kiss.

You try to stay afloat, but god, you’ll drown if he keeps that up. But then he adds, much to your already existing misery, “Stop or I swear, we won’t even make it to the damn shower. Understood?”

“Beast—”

“You say as if you don’t know me already. Don’t you know?” he asks, pausing, kiss moving to your jaw. “That I get like this with you?”

“I… I do, so well. Not even this is surprising to me.”

You press yourself into him harder, feeling the bulge hardening below, right against your thigh. Your hand drops from his shoulder to his slim waist, further down until it gives his hard-on the slightest of touches. He groans; gives you a head tilt as a warning.

Then kisses your cheek. The corner of your lips; tickles you, pinches your waist. You engulf him a bit more, trying not to pull the two of you underwater, swimming and floating. It’s hard, though, and harder even when he tickles you again.

He must understand, because as you push him away, swimming away a couple feet, he doesn’t tow you back in. Lets you go as your vision blurs, the movements of your arms hectic enough to push more water into your eyes.

You dip below the surface for a second, regaining control, and when you’re up again, you hear his voice farther away, urging, “Come on.”

And once you see him again clearly, he’s already wading to the edge where you stood when he scared you. Right where the view to the town is the best, the pool and roof separated from the depths by a high glass wall.

You follow slowly, stroking for a moment — but it doesn’t take you long to pause again halfway through. Gliding, you watch his arms coming up and settling on the edge, muscular and mountainous like the range far away. Hair wet, water drops drip onto his already doused back.

And in front of him, a lake you couldn’t see from the other side of the pool.

Then, the mountains, like the one you went on. A village and fields and up above, a painting of stars. Millions and millions of them. Sparkling, alive, dead, moving, closer, farther… burning and bright. Reflecting in the lake, along with the moon.

His head moves to the side, probably looking for you; but you don’t move yet, just admiring the side profile for a little longer. Gorgeous, lips formed as if drawn, a clean-cut, razor sharp jaw. Golden back, broad.

As he peeks over his shoulder again, doe eyes searching for you, you finally swim towards him the moment he pleads, “Come, baby.”

And you do. Put your hands on his shoulders again, kissing his back, his neck, his shoulder blade before you settle right next to him. Imitating his position.

He says, “One could almost forget that we’re leaving in two hours. Ahh, I want to stay here.”

Right. Your group decided to check out in the late evening tonight — an exception at this hostel — to make the most of the day on the mountain and at dinner. But in a while, you’ll set out for your new destination. The beach calls for you.

You’ll check in late at night over there, and then remain at the new hotel — no hostel this time — until the day after tomorrow.

“Yeah. Just a bit more,” you say, sighing before you let him know, “By the way… I do feel a lot warmer now.”

“Good,” he says, although you don’t miss the beguiled smile he flashes as he looks away, “anything for you to not get sick.” He nudges your elbow with his. “Not before the big day.”

No, not the big day. If anything, you’re even more overjoyed over it than tomorrow. And nervous — oh, so nervous. You don’t think you’ll feel any different until the day rolls around.

What will happen at the wedding? What’s the atmosphere like in a smaller gathering? What does the magic of such a place elicit? It must be so different from any event in the city.

Could it make you fall in love with him with further desperate urgency? Seeing him standing there, admiring you in your dress, thoughts whirling as the couple of the night promises each other eternity. Does the romantic serenity of a wedding make hearts of those in love burst more?

No. You don’t think it’ll make you fall for him harder — because you don’t need a wedding for that.

A moment like this suffices.

Yet. As you stare ahead, fixing your eyes on the clouds, you remember something. Curious as you think back to the first day and ask, “Hey. What did Jimin mean when he said I should be excited for the wedding? What does he know?”

Jungkook sighs, shaking his head at your friend’s slip-up. He smirks, and then says, “Well, you’ll see at the wedding, right?”

“…Jungkook,” you challenge, and he looks at you so innocently, hiding whatever secret he shares with Jimin. But you don’t fall for it, ideas already brewing in your mind; one blurted as you ask, “Did you get me something?”

But he’s unfazed — a good actor. “Wait up,” he says, “if you’ve got any theories, keep them to yourself, though! You’re too smart for me.”

“C’mon, as if.” You wait. Wait a bit more, pupils shaking, just slightly distracted when he frees your cheek off your hair again, giving you a chaste peck. “Wait. Oh.”

He chuckles, a little lost in you as he copies, “Oh?”

“Jeon Jungkook… are you proposing?”

And that’s when he breaks into a laugh. A loud one, Jungkook-esque, sweet and genuine, with his eyes nearly closed, mouth open wide. So, so enchanting as he says, “I did not expect that. But sure, that’s what it is.”

“Well, that cancels it out.”

“Oh, baby…” He pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger, moving your head to look at him, kisses you again, just for a fleeting second. “You’re so cute. So, so cute. I love your cute ass so much.”

Butterflies, butterflies, butterflies.

They never cease. You don’t think you’ll ever get over this word. You don’t think there’s a way to get used to Jeon Jungkook confessing his love — his love — for you.

Ugh, he drives you mad. Into absolute insanity.

Sucks you out of breath, your heart palpitations reasoned in him. Your body craves him; not cold anymore at all. Tingling and wanting.

Starved for him, you look into his dark eyes, intrigued by the wet bangs, and with all the patience you can muster, you finally whisper, “Let’s go and hurry to that damn hotel. Hm?”

DAY 3

You love packing your bags, but you hate reorganising them. Like, stuffing back dirty clothes because there’s nowhere else for them to go, changing your initial order.

You won’t empty your suitcase for that one remaining day anymore; you’ll only be here for another night anyway.

But you want to separate the worn stuff from the clean one. Thankfully, your suitcase is spacious enough; after all, there’s no chance in hell you’re having your soon-to-be-messy swimsuit reside right next to your resplendent dress.

Yawning as you rummage through your things, you shoot a fleeting glance at the ticking clock at the wall. It’s only 8 o’clock in the morning. Breakfast has already started, but you and the others longed to sleep in, agreeing on a 9 AM meal.

But for some reason, the two of you already awoke about half an hour ago; nevermind that today’s schedule doesn’t begin before noon.

For some time, you merely lay on your sides of the bed, enjoying each other’s company, brief kisses here, modest touches there — until you decided to make yourselves useful. Still tired, yet unable to fall back into sleep, being productive was all you could do.

Albeit, you’re distracted. Your mind keeps drifting, your heart still pounding thinking about the shower last night, taken right as you checked in and found your room. Not as tired from the busy day and the two-hours-drive to the hotel anymore when he touched you.

You still feel the ghost touch of his palm around your neck; glistening lips exploring your cheek and your jaw.

And… there are bruises on your leg somewhere, reminiscent of when he dragged you into bed, keeping your thighs apart with a grip passionately aggressive. Loving yet brutal. Uttering admissions that still coat your flesh with goosebumps.

Shit, are you grateful for the proper room. All to yourselves at last.

You cover your naked thigh. The oversized shirt barely hides his effect on you, but he seems rather distracted anyway. Of course he is — whenever he spies the lavender dress, like now, he becomes one hell of a goner.

He fishes it out by ruining some of your tidiness, the folded top and two shorts falling out as he pulls the dress from underneath them. You complain, “Hey!”

But he’s still examining the gown, shaking his head once again as he did the last few days whenever he caught a glimpse of it. You still remember his reaction when you first brought it home, presenting it to him but not yet putting it on.

You assured him you looked hot in it beyond hell, but that he’d have to wait to actually see you wrapped in it.

His eyes were still wide, alright. Mouth drooling. And you understand — when you first laid eyes on it, you knew it was made to be yours: soft, pastel pink hue. Dreamy and ethereal. Shit, you can’t wait to wear it.

Apparently, he can’t either.

Because he declares, “You’re gonna be so fucking pretty in this.”

“You told me.”

“And I’ll keep doing so. My god, I’ll need to keep an eye on you all night!”

You laugh. “Ah? Why?”

He shrugs a shoulder, explaining matter-of-factly, “Some of my friends there are still single. Gotta shield you from their shit. I mean, they loyally respect me, but then again… it’s you.”

“Oh, oh,” you voice, tutting, “and the girls? Are some of them single, too?”

“Well, I guess so, but—”

“Nothing but. I’ve seen you in a suit before, mister. What if some of them are girls from your high school? What if they had a crush on you? Fuck it, they all probably did,” you ramble, and he listens, lips twitching; he forces the laugh back. “No, you’re sticking by my side that night, Jeon.”

You raise a finger, wiggling it like a warning, blabbing the most ridiculous, “No running away with other chicks.”

“As if, you idiot,” he jests, “even if I got shitfaced as heck and you carried me home and I didn’t realise it was you? And you pretended to be somebody else — I’d still tell you that I need to go fetch my girlfriend.”

You cover your mouth as laughter fills the air; you’re sure your eyes are sparkling at the fantasy, and your voice changes, euphoric to an unknown extent as you say, “Oh my god. I so want to witness that one day. I’m gonna try to get there.”

“I believe you. What else will you be wearing? This? Wait,” he asks, picking out a silk and lace lingerie from the side; baby pink. But you snatch it out of his hands as he adds, “Is this part of your attire?”

“Well, now you ruined a perfect surprise.”

“What! I don’t think I did, though? Wait for my reaction. It won’t be any less than you expect.”

You smack your lips in faux disappointment, but in truth, you get it very well. Seeing him always feels new to you, too.

You brush your hand across the fluffy carpet as he eyes the dress once more, waiting until he’s folded it neatly again, putting it into your suitcase. Then, he leans against the bed, observing as you get back to work.

Your lips open, pouting a bit. You give the sweetest, most genuine reactions; how you form an Oh with your mouth when you like something you brought. Or how disgusted you look when you’re reminded of your two-days-old clothes again.

You mutter, “Gonna have to ask your mom if she’s okay with me using your washing machine.”

“She will be, for sure.”

“I’ll even hang them to dry myself.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm! Shit, Jungkook. I’m so excited!” you exclaim, fingers moving fast over your stuff, and he keeps watching. “I wanna tattle about you with your mom! And I can’t wait to meet Ria, either. She sounds so cool and—” You peer up at him, and when you catch him smiling, you wonder, “What?”

“Nothing, just…”

He shrugs another shoulder, already moving to close your suitcase. You watch with an innocent curiosity in your eyes, hands on your knees as he pushes it away. He reaches for your wrists to pull you closer until you’re between his legs, your own crossed, obliging wordlessly.

Then, he speaks again, “Can you kiss me? Really wanna kiss you.”

He always wants to kiss you. And staring at these rosy, pretty lips of his, arched so prettily, you don’t think you fare any better.

So you’re walking on air when his hands settle on your waist to tickle you, forcing you to relocate them down to your hips. You ask, “Do you ever get enough?”

“Hmm… Do I look like I do?"

“I mean. Do you really just want to kiss me, baby?” you inquire, but he’s already onto pecking your lips, pulling at them. You place your arms around his neck. “Your eyes look just like they did yesterday.”

“Ah, really?” A featherlight kiss on your neck. “So I won’t have my wish granted?”

“You… You’re stupid,” is all you say before you prove him wrong — diving in, locking your lips, moving them slowly against his, in unison.

You tilt your head immediately. Kiss him deeper, seeking his hair. His hands wander to your back, and you arch it when he hauls you closer. Your tongues come into motion at the very same time, a touch intense enough for him to breathe a sigh that you feel, that you hear.

And before you know it, you’re moving further; straddling him. He pushes your shirt up, only to the small of your back; the other hand moves down to your ass, nothing on you but your underwear. And considering it’s a string, not even that matters.

He has free reign to your rear, squeezing and slapping lightly. At which you lean back, breathless, giggling a little as you watch him move back in — trying to catch another kiss, eyes drooping and lips parted.

But when he realises you’re pausing, not granting him what he needs, he looks up into your eyes. You say, “Thought so. That’s,” you touch his hand over your ass, “what your eyes said. Even after you wrecked me just last night, huh?”

“Sorry,” he mutters with a grin — but his expression soon changes. Back once more against the bed, he promises, “I… if you don’t want to, we don’t have to though. I’m okay with just organising our stuff or chilling.”

Oh, the way he touches your heart…

You blink, affection in your pupils reflecting in his. You coo, and then call, “Oh, baby…”

“No, seriously. Whatever you’re comfortable with, my love.”

“I’m… I’m comfortable with you, you know? If I ever feel like not doing something or disagreeing with you… I’ll be honest with you.”

He silences for a moment. Keeps gaping at you. Then, “Do you feel like you can?”

But no matter how deep his insecurities are, your answer is immediate, “Always.” Swift pause. “Kook, I— I know you still fear I could distance myself from you. I see it, but… I won’t. As long as you’re willing to stay, I will, too.”

“I will. I promise. And I’ll never ever do anything to hurt you again. Not on purpose… okay?”

Hmm… you wish these moments were rare. It does happen ever so often that he seeks reassurance and vows; your companionship, regardless of what lies in your pasts. To know you’re here despite all the despites.

But if you need to, you’ll keep dispeling his fears all your life.

So you say, “I know. I know.” Brushing through his hair. “And I want this.”

“It won’t hurt? We just did last night—”

“If it does, we can stop. I always want you. Besides…” You circle over his lap, your hips a tease. You feel the bulge stir. “I can’t blueball you.”

Jungkook smirks in the way only he’s able to, clutching your butt again, and you catch your lower lip with your teeth. He states, “Brat, acting like it’d be the first time.”

“You’re just… so hard already. Can’t do this to you. Or me. Not today.”

“Babe… you being so sweet makes it worse. And this isn’t even its final state, you know?”

“Of course I know.”

Oh, of course you do. Whenever you think it can’t get crazier, he negates your beliefs. Well equipped as he is, your man, the thought suddenly makes you want to unwrap him again, like a gift crafted just for you.

He’s in a black tank top; tattoos reach up to his shoulder, muscles flexing as he holds you. You touch them, sneaking further to his wrist, and then take the plunge and lead his forefinger into your mouth. Then, you suck.

Upon which his eyes immediately shut. He draws a deep, shaky breath, barely exhaling much of it when you twirl your tongue around the tip of his finger. Absent-minded yet fully aware, he shakes his head, taking a moment to compute before he pulls his digit out again.

His cock twitches beneath you, much as a last warning.

And a second later, out of the blue, there’s a hand on the nape of your neck while the other shifts to your buttbone, pushing you to the ground with his body in tow. You fall flat on your back, his face right above you. Lips crash against yours again, strong hands pinning your arms down.

“You’re so brave,” he deduces, “like you forgot yesterday.”

“I could never. Maybe… maybe I’m just trying to repeat it.”

“Oh… smart, smart. If that’s your wish.”

Cocky, how he tilts his head and winks. How he pushes your thong aside without a warning, already damp, freeing your pussy before his touch collides with it. Fondling with it; making you release a pleased sigh. Gaze still set on you firmly, fingers running up and down. To the clit.

You’re already out of your good mind; but you attempt a fair approach; a mutual effort in which you try your best to push his shorts down. He’s not wearing anything underneath… you know because he threw them on last night after the chaos that ensued, wanting to rush to you. To sleep in peace.

And he’s well aware of it, because as it slides down to his knees, he dares a step further. Fists his cock and replaces his fingers when he drags the tip up and down your heat. You sigh again before it contorts into a moan, gripping him, pleading, “Kiss me again?”

“Not yet. I wanna see you wind.”

“Why…? You’re so mean—”

“Just now. Come on. Look at me.”

You do. You’re met with a hungry beast who’s yearning for you, simultaneously so soft — easing you into this, not dipping his fingers in just yet. Discovering how you feel; how soaked you get; how far he can already proceed.

He might be craving you, but he’s not stupid; he’s cautious. Gauging your reaction.

This man… this man…

“Want me to push it in?” Jungkook then questions, making your eyes rip open; you didn’t expect the inquiry this soon, but you’re not opposed to it at all.

You nod, eyebrows furrowed. Your voice is feeble when you agree, “Please.”

“Please, yeah?” he repeats, just the head prodding your entrance — but then, he chuckles. “Baby. Take care of yourself when I can’t. I can’t fucking think, you know? But even I know you’re not ready yet.”

“I…”

“Just a bit more, okay?” He slaps your pussy; you wince. “Wanna get up and undress?”

“No,” you instantly blurt, “want you like this. Right now. I don’t care about the shirt.”

“Right… so that’s how it is.”

He leaves the two of you just the way you are, except kicking off the bothersome shorts. Pushes your shirt up to your tits, too, stopping right underneath the mounds, still covering them. He leaves it there, dizzy about how your nipples perk against the white shirt, just above the Kakashi Hatake print.

Huh.

“Is this my shirt, by the way? You stole it, didn’t you?” he gathers.

You pretend, playing the innocent lamb, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I can’t believe you. Stealing my clothes… and my perfumes,” he recollects, his voice going up and down. He’s referring to the time you used his cologne just to keep his scent close; once. He was very amused by it. “What’s next? My heart?”

Only that you already exchanged both of yours. He knows, because he can’t really feel his own heart beat, but yours. After all, your chest houses his thumps, not his.

But he still clicks his tongue; kisses down your body, caressing your sides, and then shoves your panties aside. He spits on your pussy so indecently, in a manner so filthy that it affects your entire body.

The sharp tip of his tongue is the first to taste you. The first to intrude. Lightly and softly, he attempts a touch, anticipating a reaction that he barely needs to wait longer for than a nano-second. Because your body blooms immediately, your pussy constricting.

There’s never a single reason for him to react with surprise; if anybody in this world understands your body as well as you, it’s him. He knows you to the tiniest detail; so why the astonished, “Oh? Oh, oh…”

Then again, maybe that’s all that’s necessary to set the mood further; he doesn’t elaborate on it, nor does he ask any questions. Instead, he French kisses your cunt with the techniques he’s mastered to the core. With each time you spend with him like this, he gets better.

Because he knows when to draw back, when to return. When to kiss you again, when to pull at the nether lips. Or when to nibble just lightly, when to use his tongue. It’s obvious in the twitches of your legs, and how he needs to keep them in place each time — hence, the bruises.

Your head lifts when he angles your right leg on the side, enabling better access to where he wants to drown. And when he comes back, he seems starved; maybe he needs that promised breakfast soon to come. Or maybe not; maybe he’ll feast on you enough.

Because he’s thorough; does enough work on you to divulge, “Maybe I was wrong and you are ready after all.”

“…M-maybe.”

“Wish we’d brought the sex toys. Man, I want to…” He touches your clit, painting patterns, a steady and diligent artist’s hand; and you can’t help but imagine it’s the vibrator he often handles. “Wouldn’t that be good?”

“Don’t… do this to me.”

A smug chuckle. “Sorry, bae.”

Ever since he gave you the damn toys months ago, he’s teased you about them constantly. And ever since you started inhabiting the same walls as him, he’s prompted orgasm after orgasm. God, the last few weeks alone, he’d revel in your whines.

Overstimulating, keeping you awake on weekends, battering your cunt and your nub. Nerves on fire. Tears of pleasure and sobs of exhilaration.

“Jungkook…” you start. He hums, but your brain blanks; you think about whatever you were going to say until you remember and jabber, “We’d never get t-to breakfast then.”

“So? I’d still be having mine.”

Thought so.

“But…” you argue, no clue why at all. “They’d be waiting.”

“I think they’re just as bad as we are. C’mon.”

You laugh before you mewl; insane when he buries himself in your sex, tongue in a whirl, plump lips operating so agonisingly skilled. He heaves your legs onto his shoulders; everything feels wet and warm and dirty.

Nerves burning again; your entire neural system is alight like a torch, buzzing like electricity.

And you want to close your legs but you can’t.

The motion only covers his ears, much to his disdain as he says, “Stop… I can’t hear you like this,” before dragging his tongue down again. Pushing your body up, he grips your ass, pulling the cheeks apart before he licks over the string just for a moment. Then suggests, “What if we added something to our collection one day? Hmm?”

His thumb toys right over your clenching hole; you grasp for a breath, airheaded as you admit, “I… don’t know yet.”

“Fine. There’s time.”

There is, but you want it to pass faster. Want him over you, around you. And maybe he can read your thoughts after all, because a second later, he’s uprighting himself; once again slapping his dick against your drenched mess. Hiding it between your folds as he rubs it up and down.

Then moves it side to side rapidly, helping himself, pumping until he’s grown impossibly solid. On his knees, he shifts on the mattress until he’s kneeling right over your face, and you raise your head, mouth ready and open without a single command necessary.

He’s chuffed about your keenness; breathes out a laugh as he drags his cock between your lips and onto your tongue. You’re rigorous, his good girl, sucking right away.

Fuck, he savours the moment much like you are; watching the saliva drip down your cheek obscenely. It covers his dick, much of it enveloped by your mouth; the picture of you barely being able to take half of him in this position yet trying sends him into pure madness.

And when your tongue teases his slit and the head, he thinks he’s dying and being reborn.

“I’m dying and being reborn, babe. What the fuck,” he repeats, immediately regretting it when he realises he spoke it out loud; because you’re right beneath him, eyes foggy but the sudden giggle entirely contrary.

“Glad to hear.”

Jungkook uses the separation from your lips to back away already; any longer and he’ll have to help you rinse out your eyes. He leans down again, kissing you, hips aligning with yours as he prepares for the next step.

He’s gentle as he places your hands on his shoulders, and you already understand why. Already make yourself comfortable, getting into position as if for war, already realising that you need him to kiss you or your scream will shatter the building—

“Careful now,” he still warns, right before he reads your wish off your eyes and dives back in for more making out. You nod; you know. Your neighbours don’t need to—

Fuck.

Fuck, how big he feels when he digs in, not even fully inside yet.

Isn’t it just a bit more than the head so far? You bite your lip when you hear yourself whine, suppressing it, eyes watery. Your mouth transforms into a thin line, but Jungkook opens it with his finger; telling you, “I don’t care who hears.”

Okay. Okay. Then… you’ll stop holding back, right? You moan and call his name, hearing in his tender sounds and overjoyed, endlessly breathy and quiet laugh that he’s loving it. He asks, “Can I go farther in?”

“Thought you’d never ask…” Yet, it doesn’t happen. He refuses for some reason; which is why you work towards him instead, your hips upthrusting. Pushing at his ass, knowing how much he’s enjoying your helplessness. You say, “You are mean.”

“Mhm… especially to you, right?”

“Especially to me,” you laugh. “You say you love me and then edge me? Prove it, won’t you?”

“Ohhhh no.” He drags out the syllable, a sudden change in his tone, as if you’ve purposely teased him to a challenge. A you did not just say that kind of vibe. “You will not doubt that I love you. Fuck no.”

He buries his face in your clothed tits, kisses the spot between them; one hand envelops your left side before he lets go and gets serious. Kicks his shorts away and then— bottoms out. His balls clash against your ass, your eyes rolling back. His words ring in your ears.

And then, he’s already dragging himself out before plunging back in. Hard. Remains like this. Then out again; all the way in again, harder. Repeating it with a hand on your neck; but the moment, much to your irritation, doesn’t prolong at all.

Jungkook must have been quick to make a decision to torment you today when you first kissed him ten minutes ago. Because he fully draws back, leaving you empty, a hand on the back of your head as he mutters his thoughts to you, “Am craving this mouth… Get up.”

You, like his personal doll with a sudden lack of feminism in your body, get on your knees without hesitation. Your hands remain between your legs, as if waiting for him to put a leash on you; rubbing yourself against the soft carpet until he stops your antics and grips your cheeks.

He urges you to open up, pressing in, and when you do, he doesn’t wait to shove his cock in again. This time, he helps you out: goes back and forth, fucking your wet tongue, and then moving his length until the tip prods your inner cheek. He angles it like a fishing hook, bringing it out of your mouth and then back in again.

And you’re careful to suck diligently. You taste yourself, fighting for breaths. Look up at him, take him like your last meal on Earth; touch his balls as he relishes in your gaze. When your hand encases his dick, that’s when he stops moving, glancing up to the ceiling as if praying.

You slow down; wait as he catches his breath, and then ask, “What do you want me to do?”

You’re not always this forlorn. Sometimes you take matters into your own hands, no questions or permission necessary. You often knock him back onto the mattress, straddling him, riding him into the sunset.

But you want to submit today; that’s the mood you perceived. That’s what his eyes reveal and what your body itches for. Something he wants, too: to destroy you, to fuck you senseless.

And he notices the shift. “My god, would you look at that,” he drags, hardly believing that you’re looking at him like this. “Bed. Lean over it.”

You listen; of course you do. Your knees press into the carpet, upper body flat on the bed. Ass out, arms on the mattress.

He touches you gently; first your back, then your hair, and then your arms. Finds the right position, and then rams himself into you. You barely expect it — the intrusion is sudden, happens in one fell swoop.

His legs cage in yours, and he soon pushes yours together, dying for further friction and for you to feel it more intensely. Your eyes flutter shut, and your previously lifted head falls, your cheek against the sheets.

You move with them as he thrusts into you, and you hold onto the fabric to remain in place. Perhaps he sees your efforts, because he’s soon determined to help — or to rile you up further, you can’t say. He catches your arm, just one, pinning it to your back.

A heavy hand falls onto the soft flesh of your ass once. And then, he raises your upper body until it’s glued to his chest. An arm wraps around your tits, two fingers pinching your nipple as he drills into you from behind.

As you yelp and heave breaths, you hear him say, “You wanna know, huh?”

“I…”

You’re not sure what he’s talking about, but you allow him to air his rage. He leans in, kisses your neck, wants to know, “What’s that like? You okay, baby?”

“I’m okay… I’m so okay—”

“And so pretty like this. You’re always… so pretty. I’m so fucking lucky.”

“I want to see you.”

“How did I…”

“Kook—”

“I know. I know you want to,” he says, but he takes another minute to fuck you hard, fast, revved up, and you don’t complain. Not even when two of his fingers slap your cunt, multiple times, rapidly until he repeats, “I know. Would you turn around for me? Sit here?”

How couldn’t you if he asks so nicely, right?

Your legs are shaky and trembling as you take a seat on the edge of the bed, much as he commanded. It’s high enough for him to fuck you standing here; but he doesn’t go in right away as you thought. Instead, he kneels in front of you, forehead to forehead, sentimental all of a sudden.

Did you wanting to actually see him change something? Did it remind him once again that you’re not just what you used to be? A way of passing time, a company to quench each other’s thirst?

Then again, you know Jungkook. He never forgets. Never forgets what you are to him.

Repeats each time just as he is now, “How did I end up with you?” Every time. Tells you every time that he cannot fathom his luck, that you’re more than he’ll ever deserve. He adds, “You want me to prove it to you?”

Oh…

That’s what he—

This time, the kiss is short-lived, albeit urgent. His hand cradles your face when he moves up and slides back home. He fucks you softer first, not as beastly as before. But you guess the distance is as irksome to him as to you, because he soon bends down.

Puts his hands on your ass and shifts your body on the mattress until you’re on your back, laying in front of him. Just the same position as before on the ground, but cosier; it’s easier to hover above you now, scanning your face like you’re the only star in the vast, expanding universe.

The only source of light in this darkened room.

“Hey,” he calls, even though you’re already looking at him.

He grazes your temple, tender as a flower petal. His eyes are a melting, dark brown, almost black; you think you see yourself in the reflection, even though it’s impossible in a setting like this — maybe that’s what he means when he says you reside in him.

Your existence in his chest, your eyes in his.

“I love you,” he then proclaims, “and I’ll show you all the fucking time if you need me to.”

“I… I want you to…”

“Good. Good, baby. You know I’ll do anything, right? Not just this and not just now. I’ll do anything for you.”

You half-smile as he says it, as much as possible between your moans; you don’t know what else to do, because nothing else suffices. Not an I would, too and not an I know.

So you say nothing; only raise your eyebrows and widen your eyes, showcasing every shred of affection you harbour. You keep looking at him until the thrusts force your eyes shut again. And this time, you don’t need long to fall into a series of gasps and outright craze.

You understand you’re close when he pleads, “Can you touch yourself? Please?”

And it helps — considering that you’re already riled up like not once in the past days, the next minutes pass fast, and the end is immediate. The familiar stars soon block your vision, your body quivering; you barely realise what happens and when it happens.

Nothing, but bliss bliss bliss…

Until you very clearly feel the liquid underneath your ass, the sheets soaked, all of it wet. You hear Jungkook laugh, absolutely satisfied. Your eyes rip open and you ask, “What happened?”

But the question is redundant — because as your mind clears, you gather what it could be.

You ruined the sheets. You’ll have to come up with a good ass excuse and ask the receptionist for a new blanket for your room. Fuck. A hell of a guest you are.

“You squirted all over my dick,” Jungkook still clarifies.

“I’m sorry…”

“What? No. It looks… it feels so…”

He doesn’t need to finish his sentence; it seems that the thought alone hardens his cock and balls impossibly. Enough for him to follow your example, letting go. He shakes his head, silences, and then moves in to kiss you hard; to fuck you harder.

He shoves you into the mattress repeatedly, navigating in and out of you so easily that you think he might slip out. But he doesn’t; instead, he spills. Spills hotly, abundantly. You know the bed is soiled forever.

Somehow, you’re even sorry for anyone who might book this room next; but somehow, as guilty as you might feel about it, you feel better for yourself. Then again — it’s fine, right? You’re probably not the first to make a mess of a room like this.

Making out with you one last time, Jungkook remains like thi, not wanting to move as his dick still pulsates and twitches, softening just slowly. Doesn’t want the liquid to leak if he moves out. Maybe thinking the same about the room as you.

His next question, however, is an entirely different one, “Do you believe me now?”

You titter. Even now, even after witnessing each of your reactions, your boyfriend won’t let the thought go. Set on what he feels for you, he’ll probably prove it to you an entire lifetime long.

You promise, “I always will. From anyone in this world, I’ll believe it the most from you.”

“My baby,” he coos. Waits. Then sighs before he says, “Okay, enough of that distraction. We have breakfast to catch. I bet you, five more minutes and they’ll knock.”

“Oh… uh-oh. Quick shower and then hurry?”

“…Great idea.”

Only, the shower isn’t as quick as you anticipated — the two of you are silly, reforming your shampoo hair, giggling until the knocks occur and you bolt to the breakfast hall. The others are already eating; by the looks of it, they’ve just started, though.

Yoongi is the first to speak after you’ve exchanged your polite Good mornings. In fact, he scolds rather gently, “You guys are late. We need to be at the beach by noon, don’t forget.”

“Yeah, we just…” You shrug. “We were organising our suitcases.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook nonchalantly confirms. “Forgot the time.”

Your excuses are so casual, so careful, your eyes busy as they watch your hands smear butter and jam on your toast. Only, you’re not as casual. Your friends fall silent. Their stares alternate between Jungkook and you as the two of you pass a knife or comment on the food.

No word until you hear Jimin gasp and look up at him. His expression seems amused, and you know he’s about to say something bold before he actually does—

“Oh, you fucked… You had the time to?!”

THE CHAPTER ISN'T OVER YET!! PLS READ 👇🏼

1k block limit, beloved. you can read the remaining 10k of the chapter in this reblog!! the reblog begins with a new scene <3

#jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #bts smut #bts fluff #jeongguk smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts x you #bts imagines #jungkook fic #bts angst #jungkook angst #jungkook

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chimivx · 3 months ago

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That one fucked you over last year, this one is fucking you over this year, you had no idea she was involved with him, someone over here has been lying to you, you didn't mean to end up in that ones bed, he told you he loved you... Does anyone even trust anyone anymore?

👫 -> college!teez x fem!reader/oc {frat/sorority} #️⃣ -> 11k (part ONE of ten) ‼️ -> 18+, sexual content, drugs/alcohol, college life, all the drama, heavy angst, infidelity adjacent moments, mean boys, mean girls, mentions of anxiety/depression… IF I MISSED ANYTHING PLEASE LET ME KNOW!

september 3rd ~ tuesday ~ 8:03 a.m.

“Up!”

A perfectly manicured hand in the shape of a fist pounded against your bedroom door, the noise funneling straight into your hungover brain, the pain sharp as you lurched forward in your sheets. Pushing your hair away, you drug your hands over your face and around your eyes, groaning at the leftover makeup that came off on your fingers. Looking down at yourself, thankfully you were in sleep clothes, but you don’t remember putting them on.

“Get up!” The fist pounded on the white wood again, four times. It was Yeji, your sororities newly elected president. She wasn’t your first choice, but your former president graduated last year. Yeji wasn’t anyone’s first choice actually, nobody voted for her or vouched for her, she was handed the position because she was the Paris Hilton of your generation.

No one dared say that to her face though, but she knew it anyway. Her great-grandfather had a shit ton of money, which meant her grandfather had a shit ton of money, which in turn left her father with a shit ton of money, and after all these years and the plethora of businesses they own… People knew who Yeji was. She was your age, twenty-one, and in your year. You’ve gone through the last two years of school with her, and now you’re a few days away from starting your third with her as your president.

“Meeting! Now! Up!” She was strutting up and down the hall, circling the staircase, and banging on your door again. The heels she already had on at eight o’clock in the morning hit the floor with a persistence, you could hear her when she rounded the wood floors once more.

A groan sounded from the bed pushed to the wall opposite of your own. “If she doesn’t shut the fuck up, I swear…” Rubbing your eyes for the second time, hoping to clean up what was left under them, you toss your rumpled sheets off your legs and slip out of bed.

“Come on,” you sighed, pulling sweatpants over your bare legs. A sleep shirt made it on, apparently pants did not. You weren’t as coherent as you thought last night. Another groan came from the bed of messy blankets and piles of pillows. “Tori,” you said, hearing the heels from the hall make their way around. Pulling your hair into something a bit nicer than whatever mess you woke up with, you take to your roommate's side and pull her blankets off of her. “She’ll be back if we don’t go out there now.”

“You’re lucky I put clothes on,” she laughed to herself, rolling over. A smile lit up her face as she stretched her arms over her head with a yawn.

Rolling your eyes you folded your arms over your chest and shrugged. “I think I’ve seen more than Mingi.” Tori squeezed her eyes shut and breathed through a laugh.

“He’s so-”

“I know.” Cutting her off, you shared a laugh with her through your glare before gesturing to the door. “Let’s go.”

Tori sat herself up and messed with her tank, yanking it toward the diamond in her bellybutton. Situating her long brown waves into the quickest, yet prettiest pony, she eyed you while you attempted to clean yourself up in the wall length mirror in between your beds.

“What’s up your ass?” She peered at the door as the high heels clicked closer.

Fixing your hair for the second time, you grit your teeth and sighed. “Nothing.”

Tori narrowed her eyes. “What’d Yunho say to you last night?”

“Nothing,” you said, turning to her once you were satisfied with your appearance. Tori has this ability to wake up and go, doing little to her hair or face, able to move on with her day. It was effortless, something you’ve been trying to achieve since high school.

She pursed her lips. “Alright, but I thought I saw-”

“Up!” Yeji’s fist hit the wood and Tori solved the issue herself.

“We are!” The shout echoed in your ears and most likely worsened either of your headaches, if she had one. She was able to bounce back like she didn’t outdrink you mere hours ago.

“All I needed.” Yeji’s passive aggressive tone seeped through the cracks of the door and sunk into your skin like needles. “Be downstairs in two minutes.” Pressing your sweaty palms to your sweats, you looked at Tori who was questioning you with a brow.

“You really don’t like her,” she said as Yeji walked away.

“Never have,” you whispered. “She didn’t earn her position. Four months ago she was chugging beer with us in ATZ’s basement, and now she’s this?” You hoped your gesture toward the door was enough, emphasizing the heels and the power she was trying to exert over you on her third day of presidency. Since you’ve been back she’s turned into a complete snob.

Tori bobbed her head, letting her eyes dance around the bedroom you’ve both turned into your own. “Yeah, she’s a bitch.”

“Always has been,” you snapped.

“You sure it’s not ‘cause-”

Turning your back to her you cut her off by pulling the door open. “Let’s go,” you said, ignoring her soft laugh.

Stepping out into the hall that wrapped around the staircase in a square, all the other doors were shut, all seven of them. The old Victorian styled home had been renovated entirely too many times that the vintage appeal was almost nonexistent. The eight rooms on this second floor had all been converted to bedrooms back in the 1990’s completely wiping it of all its historical semblance.

Chestnut brown hardwood floors infested the building, on both floors, in every room, and every wall had to have been repainted white dozens of times. The layers were apparent on the wainscotting, it was obvious there was wallpaper beneath the cheap job the previous chapter member’s tried to pull off as nice.

At least photos hung on the plain walls. The sororities history, your history, was plastered high and low for everyone to gawk at. Every year a portrait was added, since the sorority was established. You’ve been in two of them so far. The first was taken when you and Tori were freshman, two little bright eyed recruits paying your dues before you were given the chance to join as full fledged members. Sophomore year, just last year after official recruitment, you and Tori were in the first official row with Yeji a few heads over.

Last year there were ten more girls in the photo. Six had graduated this past spring, and four were freshman recruits who didn’t come back to school, or turned down their chance at recruitment. Rumor has it it’s because Yeji’s name was on the letter instead of the former president who they dealt with last semester. A rumor you chose to believe.

Only one freshman stayed. Her name was Mina, and she was exceptionally smart. Studying pre-law here at Nasara, on her recruitment registration she made a note that this school was her fathers alma mater. That fact coupled with her crazy GPA throughout her school life, she was an automatic in.

And thank god, too. As your, chosen by Yeji, Vice President, she made nine.

There were nine of you in this house when there used to be nineteen.

Sorority life was becoming some obscure way of spending your time at college, not many people wanted to do it anymore. Throughout the summer you had to hear through Ryujin, the only standing senior this year, that Yeji had been losing her mind asking her for help, some sort of direction on what to do, how to build this chapter back into what it once had been.

ITZ used to have around fifty members at all times.

This year you were down to nine.

Making sure Tori pulled the door shut behind her, not needing prying eyes in your business, the door beside yours is yanked open. In black basketball shorts and a matching sports bra Ryujin steps out with squinted eyes, glaring toward you and Tori. Messy bangs hung over her forehead, her shoulder length shaggy hair pulled behind her head in a terrible bun.

“Hey, she’s alive,” Tori joked, following you to the staircase. Smiling at Ryujin who teetered behind you, several inches shorter than Tori, just about your height, you laughed as she smacked a hand to your roommates tattooed arm.

“Didn’t think Isla would be able to resuscitate you,” you said quietly, descending the grand staircase with both of them in line with you. Ryujin drug the back of her hand over her mouth and shook her head vigorously, pointing up at Tori.

“If she didn’t make me play Jongho in flip cup I’d be fine,” she sneered from behind her teeth. Tori slung an arm around her shoulders, laughing as she did. “No!” Ryujin half laughed, trying to shove her off. Looking to you for help she said, “One on one! You know how big that motherfucker is?”

Nodding, you stepped off the bottom stair and scanned the first floor for life. “I do know how big that motherfucker is.” Voice low, eyes pointed, when you turned to face your friends you were met with a set of curious eyes and equally annoyed ones.

“What’s your problem?” Ryujin asked, letting Tori squeeze her. Anyone friends with her knew that if she was letting you touch her, you’d better get all your time in before she never let you touch her for another two weeks. Tori pressed her cheek to Ryujin’s forehead, playing up her gushiness with a hum. That triggered it. Ryujin nudged her away with her hip. “Were you sick? What happened?”

“No, I didn’t drink that much,” you breathed.

Tori tossed her arms out at her side, unaffected by Ryujin’s shove. “She hates Yeji.”

“Don’t we all?” Ryujin looked up at her. Pointing her eyes back to you she did a onceover and curled her lip. “Oh, wait, ‘cause-”

“No!” your voice echoed down the hall that stretched along both sides of the staircase. Folding her arms over her bare middle, Ryujin smirked, nodding once. Then, she was off, turning the right corner toward the sitting room.

Double doors lived on either side of you and Tori at the bottom of the stairs, ahead of you was the front door, double latched and locked always. To your left was the living room, the common area where you’d all hang out or do school work, and to your right was the dining room. A long wooden table stretched along the middle, on top of a dingy carpet bought by a chapter centuries ago it seemed. That was the only room that held the most vintage vibe, the chandelier hanging over the table was original, it was different colored stained glass and beautiful.

Down the hall to the right was the sitting room where all of the meetings happened, where Yeji had a desk and shelves and more space to do her job as if she didn’t already have a room to herself in a house with three vacant bedrooms. To the left there was the kitchen and a bathroom shoved into what would be the maids quarters if it were hundreds of years ago. The walls were layered in white paint down here as well, with more recent photos of the sorority hanging up.

“Not gonna talk about it,” Tori said for clarity. Sharpening your glare, she cringed. “Got it, alright. You won’t hear it come outta my mouth ever again.”

Groaning, you bounced your knees once and snatched her wrist, pulling her down the hallway after Ryujin, straight into the room where all of your sisters were waiting for you. The dark haired girl had already found a spot beside Isla, her roommate, on the couch pushed against the wall in the back of the room. Sporting tired eyes and a slightly mussed up slick back, Isla fought to keep her head up.

Yuna, the chapter's Treasurer, fought to keep her head up as well. Nestled into one of the sage green velvet lounge chairs with a high back, dressed in the same shirt she wore last night, she had her chin in her hand and her elbow on the velvet.

Three heads turned to watch you and Tori walk in, your roommate giggling as they spun in sync. Chaeryeong, the chapter’s Secretary, a Criminal Justice major with the cutest nose, gave you the tiniest smile. Lia, luscious black hair in Pre-Med, sat up straight on the edge of the couch to the side of Yeji’s wood carved desk. Mina was the only one to say something to you, giving you the sweetest good morning before tucking her dark brown bob behind her ears.

The three were not in attendance at ATZ's party last night.

Four if you count Yeji.

Lord knew you were not counting Yeji.

“Sisters.” The wretched voice began the second you and Tori were planted on the floor in front of Ryujin and Isla. Yeji, flipping her ombre hair over her shoulder, hair that was already curled and set into place, rounded her desk and sat in the leather chair behind it. She did already have heels on at eight in the morning, heels and little lavender sundress.

“Madam President,” Ryujin muttered, pulling a smirk out of you and a laugh from Tori. Chaeryeong flipped open a notebook she had on her lap, the click of her pen wiping your lips of any amusement.

This really was a meeting.

Yeji smiled at Ryujin, leaning onto her desk with her elbows. “Thank you, Ryujin,” she said, tone in defense. “That is what I am,” she scanned her eyes about the room, “That is the role that I am here to fill, to be a leader for you. All of you.” Chaeryeong scribbled away in her notes. “We’ve been here for three days and I’m already concerned for our future moving forward.” Tori hit you with a side eye, one you returned holding in a laugh.

Ryujin grumbled. “Yeji, what happened, can you just tell us straight up?”

“Course!” Yeji grinned, her smile somewhat sadistic. Opening the laptop that sat before her, she spun the screen around and then worked at her phone, tapping a few buttons before a video popped up on the bigger screen. Tori reached a frantic hand over and clawed your forearm.

“That’s Mingi’s Instagram story,” she whispered. “Why are we watching Mingi’s Instagram story?”

Music pumped through the speakers, familiar sounds from the night before coming back to you. Boys were shouting, girls were singing, people were dancing… Tori had a red cup to her lips, downing the contents before throwing it toward Mingi who held the phone. With a lick of her lips and a raise of both her arms she cheered for herself as Mingi praised her. She started dancing along to the music and Mingi’s voice said, “Almost caught up to me, baby,” right before the screen went black.

Tori’s grip loosened on your arm. Looking at you, then Ryujin and Isla, who had dozed off, she faced Yeji for the reason why, but your president was silent. Tapping a few things on her screen, another video played.

Yuna and her chocolate curls were posing with San, identical music blasting in the back like Mingi’s post. She stuck her tongue out and threw up a peace sign, then laughed and focused on someone off screen.

“Here.” It was Jongho’s voice. San adjusted the camera so he was still in frame, keeping Yuna and Jongho just over his shoulder. The boy showed off his jaw that could cut glass, then smiled as he watched his friends take a shot in the camera.

“God, it’s gasoline,” Yuna cringed, grabbing her mouth, dropping the cup into Jongho’s hand.

The screen went black.

The room was silent. Yuna, from the chair across the room, sent the four of you a glance, all of you collectively wondering the same thing.

Where the hell was this going?

“Yeji-”

She didn’t let Ryujin finish, she played another video.

Wooyoung’s Instagram story. Tori turned her chin to look at you this time.

His camera focused on a group of girls dancing with him, every single one of them tagged in the video somewhere. Then, he flipped it around and wore a smug grin as he weaved through the bodies congregating in his house, searching for something.

“Do you see everybody over here having a good time?!” His voice carried through the video, flipping your stomach over. His face appeared on the screen, his tan skin and his perfectly curved nose. “ATZ, baby!” He flashed his teeth and bit his lip. The camera flipped over as he approached a dark corner, and there you were.

Sitting on the arm of the leather couch with a red cup in your hand, your legs were stretched over Yunho’s lap, his arms folded over your knees. One of his frat brothers, Vernon, stood behind you, leaning over the back of the couch so he could involve himself in your conversation. He was partially spotting you where you sat, his hand occasionally tapping your back to keep you in place if you leaned back too far.

You didn’t drink that much.

“What the fuck goes on over here?” Wooyoung asked, the three of you looking up at him at once, confused. Yunho, mid sentence, shook his head and tried to smile because the camera was on him. Vernon hid his face and ducked out of frame.

“Bro, you can’t do that,” he muttered off screen.

Narrowing your eyes, you glared at him. “Fuck off.”

His gasp would’ve made you laugh if it was seven months ago. “Chill, baby, what do you mean!”

“Fuck off,” you said without a change in your face. Yunho took his lips between his teeth and glanced at your lap. Wooyoung came closer to you.

“I just wanted to ask you a question.” You could hear his pout through the screen without needing to see it. Raising a brow in response, he hit you with, “How’s your brand new president? Yeji at ITZ? Is she as good as she promised?”

“You tell me,” you said without missing a beat. Wooyoung’s laugh sent chills up your spine where you sat on the floor with Tori’s hand clamped to your wrist. “How good is President Yeji?”

The screen went black.

Chaeryeong had stopped scribbling. Mina, jaw popped open, stared at you. Lia chewed on an acrylic nail and waited for Yeji to say anything else. Ryujin tapped your shoulder with a socked foot and breathed through a laugh.

Yeji snapped her laptop shut and placed her phone on the desk. Folding her hands in front of her she pointed her fox-like eyes toward you and lowered her chin. The stance was terrifying. Her ability to tear a person apart in seconds was mortifyingly impressive. Under the impression that it was your turn, that you broke a house rule, Yeji seemed ready to unload her presidential take on the situation by kicking you out.

“Repeat after me, sisters,” she said, tone eerily calm. The three who weren’t hungover snapped up straight. “I wear ITZ letters with pride.”

Looking at Tori, you parroted Yeji’s statement. ITZ’s Mission Statement. The rules. The insane paragraph you had to memorize to get recruited. Your friend gave you the smallest shrug and focused back on the president.

“It is my mission, my duty, to honor the members of ITZ, my sisters, by living up to the standards set in place by our sisters before us. Leading by example we support, encourage, and lift our fellow sisters up. In doing so we support, encourage, and lift the world up. One person at a time. We promote unity, and friendship, while receiving a higher education, to relay to women everywhere that, ‘Yes, we can.’”

After a few minutes the room fell silent, only Yeji’s eyes scanned the faces before her. Mushing her lips together, her red lip stain, she fluttered her lashes and smiled without flashing her teeth. She gave Chaeryeong a glance and the secretary flipped open her notebook.

“Sisters, it seems we have a problem,” she sighed. Some form of a pout graced her lips. “I think we’ve forgotten what it means to be a part of a sisterhood like ITZ. We’ve felt it, haven’t we?” Lia bobbed her head. Mina took Yeji in with worried eyes. “Look around,” half the girls listened, “How many of us are here?”

“Nine,” Lia said, and Ryujin snickered.

“Nine,” Yeji smiled at the girl in front of her just to spite the senior. “Thank you, Lia.”

“You’re welcome.” She nibbled at her cuticles.

“There may be nine of us in the room, but how many of us are actually present?” Yeji looked to Yuna, then to Ryujin, then to Tori, then to you. “Aurora.” Addressing you by your full name she got you to shiver with a smidgen of fear. “Can you tell me where the five of you went last night?”

Gulping, you said just above a whisper, “ATZ.”

Yeji’s stare intensified, if it were possible. “ATZ,” she shimmied her shoulders, “How fun. What did you guys do there?”

Tori’s grip had loosened on your wrist, but she didn’t move it.

“We went to the party,” you said, keeping your eyes locked on hers. “They throw one almost every night the first week back, you’ve been-“

“You went without the rest of us knowing,” Yeji tilted her head to the side, paying no mind to the sentence she interrupted. “Were we not invited?”

Ryujin mumbled something under her breath and shifted on the couch behind you. Tori gave her a glance and a small smile.

“Everyone is invited, there’s… there’s no invites,” you narrowed your eyes. It was a college party. A college party that was basic information to everyone who attended. ATZ threw their week-long back to school ragers every single year. It was their fraternity’s tradition. Everyone at Nasara has been to an ATZ party. Even Yeji.

“Hm,” she smushed her lips together. “Guess we missed that. Did you guys have fun?” The way her brows closed in on her forehead sparked a fight or flight feeling in your gut.

Taking a breath, you smiled. “We did.” Gesturing toward her laptop, you said, “Couldn’t you tell?”

“We support, encourage, and lift our fellow sisters up,” Yeji snapped, repeating the mission statement. “None of what I saw reflected ITZ’s mission at all.” Pointing her eyes to those who attended the party, she said, “Now that we’re halfway through our first week I think it’s the perfect time to set some new rules into place. Rush is coming up, recruitment happens soon, and I’ll be damned if I acquire any more girls with the mentality half of you have. ITZ is a respectable sorority and I intend to keep it that way.”

“Is that what you were thinking when you fucked Wooyoung in Hongjoongs bed?”

Ryujin’s words suffocated you from behind. They wrapped around you and yanked you six feet under. Tori’s hand clamped down on your wrist tight. Shaking her away, she pulled her hands into her lap and shot you a look.

“ATZ is off limits!” Yeji’s voice packed a punch. Her smirk grew as gasps tumbled through most of your lips. “We are through with them.”

“How? They’re literally the brother frat, Yej.” Ryujin sat forward, placing a hand on your shoulder. Her version of an apology.

Tori lifted a hand. “I work with Mingi, how am I supposed to do my job?”

Clenching her jaw, Yeji took a breath through her nose and attempted a normal smile. “We’ll do our jobs. We’ll throw the mixers, the dinners. We’ll host the fundraisers together. We’ll do it all. But, under no circumstances will any member of ITZ ever be seen with a member of ATZ.” Not a soul attempted to counteract, not even Ryujin. “ATZ is off limits. No parties. No sex. No posts. Nothing.”

september 3rd ~ tuesday ~ 12:47 p.m.

Mina sat at the end of the dining room table, a book in one hand and a pencil in the other as she scribbled into a notebook while her eyes scanned the text. The title on the leather bound book was illegible, completely worn off by years and years of use. She’s clung to this same book for a year now, she’s been seen with it since she started here, it came with her from home.

“And I don’t know what the fuck her problem is,” Yuna whispered beside Tori, leaning toward Ryujin sitting across from her. “Ever since we’ve been back she’s been so uptight.”

Mina paid no mind to the whispers happening a few feet from where she studied. The table was long enough to provide ample space for everyone, the sophomore was often found here working her time away. Her brown bob laid effortlessly at her chin, curving a bit outward, showcasing her beauty.

“She’s already had me run through our plan for the year, like, eighteen fucking times,” Yuna bugged her eyes out of her head and Tori snickered. “She’s driving me nuts!”

Ryujin cocked her head toward you. “You and Aurora could swap complaints.”

“I have nothing to say,” you whispered, shoving a nail between your teeth, keeping your focus on Mina. It was as if she was in the room alone, like she was used to background noise. Lifting a finger to flip a page in her ancient book, she used the same finger to tuck her hair behind her ear, then glanced to her paper to circle something she wrote earlier.

She spoke when spoken too, but not out of punishment, or fear of. She was study focused, always, you’ve all learned since she was in high school. Her GPA was higher than every being’s at this very table. The girl was a genius, she was quick witted, but not only that, she was kind.

The chatter ensued around you.

“Well, what does Isla have to say about this?” Tori asked Ryujin, twirling her wavy hair around a finger. There had been plenty of time after the meeting for you all to process what had happened, and to shower. Tori made it a point to blow dry her hair, curl it, and gloss her lips, snapping a selfie in the mirror between your beds to send to Mingi.

Ryujin, with her feet on the chair, shrugged her shoulders. Her shaggy hair hung at her shoulders now. “Fuck if I know,” she said. “She’s been worse than last year. Even this summer, I can’t remember when she wasn’t drunk.”

Yuna furrowed her brows. “Is it still her brother?”

Ryujin shook her head, glancing to her bare knees before she said, “It’s never been about that, they’re close. I mean, he’s far away, we all know that, so… Maybe it is DK.”

“She was the one who chose to go to school here,” Tori said, pursing her lips, leaning onto the table on an elbow. “Maybe she should’ve gone closer to him.”

“She came to Nasara to do something for herself,” Ryujin lowered her chin. “What did she tell you all at recruitment, you all were there with her. She wants to be her own person, not be forced into the ‘I have a famous older brother’ box. Her grades weren’t bad last semester, but she hasn’t had a sober minute since she’s been here. Last night Vernon and I couldn’t keep her on her feet.”

“Vernon plays baseball,” Tori said matter of factly, and Ryujin bobbed her head. “Does he know DK?”

“Everyone knows DK,” Yuna smirked, tapping Tori’s ankle with her sandal. “That's why all the boys can’t leave her alone.”

Tori’s expression pulled into one of worry, her eyes darting between Ryujin and Yuna. “That’s… not good.”

“Vernon usually ends up around her,” Ryujin said. “He’s a safe dude, and a huge help. He doesn’t really drink too much, he’s like Yunho.”

Mina peered up, curiosity in her eyes. You glanced away quickly, looking at your friends.

“Yunho’s a safe guy, too,” Tori nodded, and Yuna agreed. Turning to you, your roommate asked, “You were hanging with him last night?”

Taking a breath, you hummed in response, feeling Mina’s eyes on you. “We were hanging, yeah.”

Tori smiled, then sat back in her seat and glanced toward the sophomore at the end of the table. “Mina, you agree, don’t you?”

The girl blushed in real time, right here in front of you all. The old book found the table, and she smiled. “I wasn’t listening… Sorry. What did you say?”

“Yunho,” Tori said, and Mina smiled wider. “You were so listening, silly.” Yuna laughed, finding it all too cute. “Go ahead, how is he?”

Shifting in her seat, Mina folded her hands over her lap and studied the room, then met eyes with each of you. “He’s very nice,” she said, voice as gentle as snow when it falls. “I’ve never met anyone like him. That probably sounds insanely naive, but it’s the truth.”

“Not naive, I think it’s sweet,” Ryujin said. Yuna and Tori shot her a look and she laughed. “What?”

“Miss big, scary, lesbian, hates men and all relationships thinks it’s sweet!?” Tori’s tone had you all laughing, even Mina.

Ryujin rolled her eyes. “It’s sweet,” she said, shooting Tori a look before she turned back to Mina. “You guys are made for each other, I swear.”

The smile that washed over the sophomore tugged at your heart.

“He came to my house this summer,” she said, eyes full of adoration. “He met my parents, my brothers… We all had dinner together, and then we went out to a park to watch the sunset, and we just… talked.” The four of you were silent watching her relive her summer night in real time. Tori and your friends wore the smallest of smiles, but her words churned your stomach over. “We shared so much with each other,” she nodded, then shook her head, “I trust him. He doesn’t care that I don’t like the parties, or that I don’t drink… He kissed me that night.”

Tori’s gasp threw you all backward, then straight into fits of laughter.

“Fuckin’ Christ!” Yuna shouted, whacking a hand at her arm.

“I’m sorry!” Tori clamped a hand to her neck, throwing her head backward. “It’s so innocent and cute!”

Ryujin almost snorted. “Nothing like you, I fucked him when I met him!”

Reaching across the table, slapping a hand onto the wood, Tori’s eyes went wide, her grin even wider. “I did, you know what? And I have NO shame about it!”

“Yeah, well, hope you fucked him last night ‘casue now there won’t be any of that anymore,” Ryujin crossed her arms. Tori’s face fell. The way she sat backward and looked at her lap made you pop out your lip. Taking a hand to her shoulder she leaned into your touch and shot you her puppy dog eyes.

“Ror, what about you?” she asked, then she blew air out of her glossy lips and blinked. “You’re probably happy with these rules now, aren’t you?”

Eyeing the girls around the table, everyone curious aside from Mina who turned back toward her work, you took a deep breath and shrugged. “I like ATZ parties,” you nearly whispered. “I really think this is going to suck.” Gesturing toward Yuna and Tori with a nod, you said, “Plus, you two still have to try to work with them, so I don’t understand how any of this is going to work out.”

“Yeji’s insecure,” Ryujin spat. She pointed her dark eyes at you. “But, I do think if you didn’t say what you said… On video… For Wooyoung’s thirty thousand followers to see… We wouldn’t have to deal with this.”

Turning in your chair to face her, you screwed your brows together and cocked your chin. “I’m to blame!?” You tossed a hand toward your friends to your right. “These two were on video, too! I wasn’t making a total fool of myself.”

“Hey,” Tori frowned, nudging your leg with hers. You gave her and Yuna an apology with your eyes, then sighed heavily. “Maybe you should talk to Yeji and sort this out.”

“How?” you rolled your head backward and almost let out a groan. “She’s doing it on purpose. Now that she’s got this power she’s going to control us all, turn us into her little minions. I told Yunho last night that ITZ was gonna turn into Yeji-TZ.”

“Where’d you guys disappear to? I couldn’t find you until you told me you were ready to leave.” Tori met your eyes as you breathed.

“Outside. The noise was nauseating, Wooyoung pissed me off, and I had too much on my mind.”

Your roommate reached over and smoothed a hand over yours. “Valid,” she said, pulling her lips into a tiny frown.

“She wants a better image for us,” Ryujin said, going over what had been discussed in the meeting this morning. “She wasn’t wrong, we need more girls. I’m a little worried about what recruitment is going to look like this year.” The senior looked at Mina. “We need more girls like that.”

The door to the dining room pushed open with force, the glass windows rattling as it swung into the white wall. Isla, freshly showered, but still staggering on her feet, wandered around the table to Ryujin’s side, where the senior pulled a chair out for her.

“And less like this,” she whispered with a nod toward Isla. “Just watch what you guys say, especially on social media.” Ryujin wrapped an arm around Isla who leaned on her shoulder. “As much as I deliberately hate following rules… It’s Yeji. She’ll do anything to look good. Keep your mouths shut about her and once recruitment is done we’ll be back in ATZ’s basement. I’m sure of it.”

Tori pulled her phone out of her pocket and smiled at a message.

Mingi.

The two weren’t officially dating, but if freshman and sophomore year taught any of you guys anything, it was that Tori and Mingi were exclusively for one another, and that made this new ATZ Off Limits Rule all the more annoying. Yeji knew Tori and Mingi had a thing, Yeji knew that Mina and Yunho were on the start of something.

The start of something great. The start of something that yanked your heart into the depths of yourself because you were onto the start of something great your sophomore year.

Something great that Yeji swooped into the middle of and messed up.

For weeks he was after you. Teasing you, flirting with you for hours at ATZ parties, challenging you to drinking games, wanting to be paired up with you for fundraisers and events. He made it a point to be the first to send you a text on your birthday, and then to be the first one to post about it. He beat Tori by seven minutes.

You knew he was trouble, he had a reputation.

Wooyoung was the only member of ATZ to have bad rumors about him circling Nasara’s campus. But, it was the typical shit one would automatically assume. He didn’t call a girl back after they slept together, or he flirted his way into getting a girl to do his homework for him only to sleep with her and never call her again, or how he almost got a professor fired because they allegedly had an affair so his grades would go up.

Everyone is pretty certain that last one is false, but you’ve never heard him publicly deny it.

Either way, you ignored all the red flags he was blatantly waving in your face. Weeks into his games, you fell. Hard. Under the impression that he had fallen too, obviously the reason why he was playing these games with you, you opened yourself up to the idea of him, the idea of being with him, and your heart loved it. Legitimately loved it. Your friends at ITZ were excited for you, and some of the boys you were close with at ATZ were into it too. Though one warned you, Yunho, you took it upon yourself to ignore him.

You could trust Wooyoung. The way he looked at you, the way his hands would linger on you, how he’d shower you with compliments and turn you into a blushing, giggling mess… You could trust him.

Until you couldn’t.

ATZ threw a party the night before Spring Break, just months ago, at the beginning of this year. All of ITZ was in attendance, even Mina, the wide eyed freshman recruit who quickly found comfort at Yunho’s side. It was hours into the night, drinks had gone down too easy, everyone was exhausted and ready for break, and you were about to leave with Tori in hand. Searching for Wooyoung, asking every person you passed if they’d seen him, they shrugged and sent you on your way.

Yunho, sitting on the stairs with Yeosang and Seonghwa, was the one to press his lips together and nod behind him. Dragging Tori along with you, she pinched Yeosang’s cheek on the way up and ruffled his wavy hair. Calling out for Wooyoung, pushing every door on the second floor open, they were all empty, so you trekked up to the third, spinning up another staircase. Tori was babbling on about the fun she and Mingi were having when you pushed Hongjoongs door open at the same time Yeji was yanking it open.

Tori’s laugh of disbelief had never been louder.

Behind Yeji’s devious smirk and trashed composure, Wooyoung stood there shirtless, zipping up his jeans. Unfazed, he had glanced up at the opening of the door and smirked as well. He pulled his shirt over his head and brushed past between you, making a god awful joke about how three girls were after him now, being sure to look down at you with purpose before returning to the party.

The rest of the semester went as expected. Short, sweet, and fast. Or, it was just that you were so focused on ignoring almost everybody that it felt that way. You took your finals, Yeji was appointed future president, and you and Tori packed your room up.

You only attended one ATZ party after the return from Spring Break, one you hovered around Yunho at. The go-to would be Tori, but she and Mingi were attached at the hip, it was impossible to get between them.

“You didn’t tell him what happened did you?” Ryujin looked at Tori’s phone, to which your roommate cringed. “Oh, Tor, come on.” Yuna sighed with the senior.

Tori clicked her tongue and half laughed. “What was I supposed to do? I tell him everything!”

“As disgustingly sweet as that is, you were supposed to not tell him,” Ryujin said, looking your way. “Least not until Aurora fixes this.” The look you gave her made her laugh. “Just go say you’re sorry or something, kiss her ass.”

“Ryujin, I’d rather kiss yours,” you smized, and Isla showed signs of life with a giggle. “Oh, she’s conscious.” Isla picked her head up and flashed you her dazzling smile.

“I am,” she said. “I don’t remember last night.” The four of you swallowed your smiles for her sake and simply voiced your concerns with quiet sounds that got her to giggle again. “Think I’m still drunk or somethin’.”

Ryujin took the hand of the arm around her roommate and gently laid her head back on her shoulder. “Close your eyes, Jagiya.”

Yuna’s mouth fell open. “Don’t call her that.”

“She’s the only one… who can,” Isla mumbled, slapping a hand against the table, startling Mina who glanced up from her book for all of two seconds. “Stupid ass name,” she muttered, her eyes shut, full thick lashes splayed out on her smooth as silk cheeks. “Stupid famous parents… Naming stupid ass kids… Brother gets Seokmin, now he’s Dokyeom… What do I get?”

“She’s not okay,” you whispered, and Ryujin shook her head. “What can we do?”

Things were quiet for all of eight seconds, until Mina spoke up.

“It could be a good thing,” she said, catching all of your eyes except Isla’s. She blinked and gulped. “The ban.” Her volume dropped exponentially. “The ATZ ban. Even though I know you’ve got…” she gestured to Tori, then herself, “We’ve got… Boys. It gives Isla a break from parties, and gives us more time here, right?” Yuna spared a glance toward the three of you, gauging how you were supposed to react. “We can all help her get back on track. I know a few easy ways to start the process.”

Yuna pursed her lips. “How?”

Mina put down her book. “My mom. She’s been sober for a really long time though, but she’s been open with me and my brothers about her struggle. It’s like a literal gene that can get passed down, so any of us could have it. My two older brothers have a different dad, and he’s a former addict, so they’re doubly careful, but… I think I can work something out to help Isla.” The small smile she gave all of you felt like a sin after what she had just spilled.

Ryujin moved Isla’s hair from her face, the girl's breathing having gotten heavier since she laid down. Giving Mina a smile, she nodded in appreciation. “I think that’d be awesome.”

Mina nibbled her bottom lip, picking her book up. “You’re not as scary as you appear to be.” Laughing with Yuna and Tori, the three of you lost it as Ryujin’s jaw fell open. The sophomore, smug as ever, focused on her notes.

“Not as scary as I appear to be,” Ryujin repeated in a whisper to herself. “Noted.”

september 3rd ~ tuesday ~ 11:19 p.m.

“I can’t believe he hit thirty thousand followers over the summer,” Tori mumbled from where she was splayed over her bed. Laying on her back, her long brown hair fanned out behind her, she scrolled on her phone, tapping away at the screen. “They go up little by little everyday.”

“You keep checking?” Lifting your eyes from the schedule in your hand you laughed as she shot you a cheesy smile. She rolled to her side, her hair brushing over her bare shoulders. The tank she put on for bed was dark blue and had Nasara and ITZ on the front in white graffiti letters. Half of last year's car wash fundraiser outfit.

“He’s the first out of all of us to hit thirty thousand, Ror,” she said to you like you were out of the loop, like you too weren’t actively watching Wooyoung’s Instagram all summer.

Glancing at your schedule, the many bullet points of assignments and work needing to be done by the end of the semester plaguing you with a knot in your chest, you sighed and shook your head. “Vernon has almost fifty thousand, Tor.”

“He’s a baseball player, Ror,” she narrowed her eyes. “And he’s being scoped out by so many MLB teams right now. He’s only a junior and these managers want to pull him out of school so he can play for them. That’s how good he is.”

You gave her a glance, circling the assignment for an essay in the middle of the second sheet you held onto. “You sure do know a lot about Vernon.”

Tori focused back on her phone and giggled at something. Typing a mile a minute, she tucked her hair behind her ear and adjusted the stud in her nose before looking back up at you. “I just ask questions.” You met her gaze and raised an eyebrow. “Not for social advancement, Aurora, because I care, that’s why.”

A smile pricked at your lips, one that made her whine and tip her head backward. “I’m just saying! All of the guys at ATZ have always had more attention on social media. And, for the record, he’s not the first to hit thirty thousand, Yeji hit thirty thousand followers when she was like, in high school, or something. She’s closer to two hundred thousand.”

Tori flopped onto her back and turned her attention to her phone. “Whatever, I wasn’t counting her. She’s on a whole different level than any of us are.”

“Unfortunately,” you grumbled, flipping through the rest of your schedule.

Tori lifted her head. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. No one has to mean it like that, no matter what it’s gonna hurt.”

Putting her phone down she sat back up and swung her legs over the edge of her bed, the fluffy comforter shifting beneath her. “When are we going to talk about it?”

“Never.”

“Ror, you gotta talk about it,” she said, sliding to her feet. Padding over to your side she sat on your bed and tucked her feet beneath her. She snatched the syllabus from your hands and tossed it to the floor, the pages unraveling, spreading all over the carpet. Ignoring your protests, she grabbed onto your shoulder. “I am not going to spend the rest of this year pretending that last semester didn’t happen. He hurt you.”

Jolting at her words, you turned your glare to ice. “He did not hurt me.”

She pitied you with her eyes. “He led you on… For months. He did things, and said things to you that-”

“That don’t matter!” The cackle that tumbled from your lips had her tilting her head to the side. “The things he said don’t matter, he didn’t mean them! We can drop it! I get it!”

Tori took her hand away from you and folded it in her lap over her smooth tan legs. Nodding, she pursed her lips and looked at your papers on the floor. “Okay,” she breathed, hopping off your bed to clean up the mess she made. Trying to shuffle the papers into some kind of order, she put them in your outstretched hand and crossed her arms over her middle. “It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t matter. We’ll find you somebody else, you at least deserve to get laid, it’ll help with this,” she gestured toward you, “Bitchiness.” The word came out of her in an almost whisper.

Pushing a quiet laugh through your lips, you shook your head. “Don’t worry, I-”

A knock from the window behind you, the only window in the room next to your bed, sent you flying to your feet. Heartbeat skyrocketing into the atmosphere, you grabbed onto Tori and whipped yourself around to face the glass while she laughed.

“Who the fuck!?”

“I told him not to knock,” Tori said, calm as can be.

A silly smile watched you both. Dark hair pushed to the side and an earring dangling from one ear, the black, form fitting t-shirt he wore clung to his chest, the silver chain around his neck just meeting the collar. Beautiful honey skin and deep, big brown eyes full of pure, innocent joy.

Mingi.

Turning your chin up to look at Tori who was grinning like a sap, you smacked her arm and pulled her out of her daydream. “What the hell is he doing here?” Shushing you, Tori wiggled herself out of your grasp and leapt onto your bed on her knees. “How the hell did he get up here?!” Shushing you again, Tori maneuvered the window open and crawled out onto the rooftop. “What the hell is going on!” Now it was Tori and Mingi who shushed you.

“Come here,” Tori said, waving you toward her. Looking at your bedroom door, you took a breath and rushed toward it to click the lock into place.

“This is so stupid,” you muttered, climbing onto your bed and out onto the roof of the porch below. Tori and Mingi were sitting closer to the edge. It wasn’t too steep, if anything it was pretty flat, but the ledge was still intimidating. Using your hands and feet you brought yourself closer and stopped beside Tori. “Can someone tell me what is going on?”

“Hi, Rora,” Mingi said to you with a smile, leaning in front of Tori to tap a fist to your arm. His deep, lively voice typically captivated you, but close to the edge of the roof like this you didn’t have much energy to appreciate it.

“Hey, Mingi,” you sighed, digging your fingernails into the shingles underneath you. Tori had her fingers on Mingi’s jewelry, toying with it, not caring she had her feet hanging off the edge of a rooftop.

“These new rules of yours are interesting,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “Yeji seems like she’s so much fun.”

“Oh, the funnest,” you half laughed, keeping your body still. “Is that why we’re on the roof right now?”

“Yeah,” Mingi gave you a lazy smile, then answered to Tori who whispered something unintelligible to him. He put a hand on her cheek and nodded his head, his brows furrowing low as he reassured her. Looking back to you, he said, “We wanted to see for ourselves if it was true.” He laid his head over Tori’s and smiled. “Sometimes this one’ll make shit up and I can’t tell if she’s for real or not.”

“Hey!” Your roommate nudged his head away and tapped his solid chest. Mingi looked down at her and laughed, leaning in to press kisses to her cheek. They really were the cutest, both able to match each other in energy and wit. They fit together, they always have. They made sense.

Gulping, glancing away around at the ground, your eyes scanned the green grass. “We?” you asked, feeling your confidence take a slight nosedive.

Where there was Mingi, there was a-

“Hey!”

Startling both you and Tori, fluffy, dusty brown hair and glasses popped up underneath the edge of the roof. The most endearing sideways smile accompanied his bright eyes.

Where there was a Mingi, there was a Yunho.

Tori, ecstatic, reached a hand out to mess with his hair. “Yo! I didn’t know you were coming with him.”

Whipping your head, your glare made her giggle. “You knew they were coming?” you sneered through your teeth.

“I knew Mingi was coming,” she said, biting down on her bottom lip as she nuzzled her head under his strong chin.

“Wonderful,” you whispered, turning your focus back to the boy hanging off the roof. Behind his glasses he studied you. His eyes were as dark as Mingi’s, but not as dark as Wooyoung’s. Yunho’s had life, stories to tell, and they were sweeter than chocolate.

“Hi, Rory,” he said quietly, adjusting himself so that his broad shoulders were in sight. Wearing a t-shirt himself, it didn’t quite cling to him like Mingi’s, but it still definitely caught your eye.

“Hi, Yunho,” you breathed, ignoring the smirk that started to grow on his lips courtesy of your wandering gaze. Narrowing your eyes just slightly, he wiped the smug look in an instant. “What are you doing on my roof?”

“Came to say hi,” he said, elbows spreading out to the side to keep his balance. By now Tori and Mingi were lost in their own little kisses and whispers to care what you and Yunho were discussing.

“Cute.” You tilted your head and held eye contact with him for another few seconds until you had to break away. He was intense. A certified genius with a mind so deep you’d need centuries to figure him out. He was on a different level of the world, he always was, and he always has been, ever since you met him.

Almost like Mina.

Pure, sweet, kindhearted Mina.

“We were talking about you today,” you said and laughed internally as his expression wilded out. “Me and my girls.” He wore his wide eyes with pride, the expression never changing until you said, “With Mina.” Then, he shifted into a display of softness, like the mention of her name cured everything wrong within him.

“How is she?” he asked, his melodic voice as gentle as the lashes that brushed his skin.

Sliding your hands over your ankles you held his focus and nodded. “She’s great,” you whispered, and he released a breath. “She’s disappointed with the new rule, of course, she can’t see you anymore.” Yunho clenched his jaw. “We heard about your amazing summer, Yo, you’re a proper gentleman, you know that?”

“Oh my god!” Tori exclaimed, reaching a hand over to grab onto one of Yunho’s wrists. The wide eyed boy snapped his neck to look at her, escaping your scrutiny. “You’re the cutest, ever! Spending time with Mina’s family? Treating her so good? Yo, you win. This year, at least.” Tori, with a gasp, whirled back to her boyfriend. “We have to do the Sweethearts Formal. It’s official.”

Mingi smiled, brushing a few fingers over Tori’s hair. “Whatever you want, babe, you tell me what to do.”

“We’ll do it after recruitment,” Tori spoke with her hands, gesturing toward every single one of you at some point, “That way we’ll have more guests, but we can open it up to the entire campus.” Mingi’s eyes lit up watching her speak. “Pay an entry fee, experience Greek life for a night, and we’ll make it spectacular, then they’ll be interested and want to join.”

Mingi threw an arm around her back and pulled her close, pressing a hefty kiss to her lips. “My girl’s a genius,” he sighed when they parted, sending a glance over her shoulder toward you and Yunho. He lingered on his friend for a few seconds longer.

“We’ll have ITZ and ATZ there,” Tori said. “Everyone has to have a date.” Grazing Mingi’s chin with her thumb she smized. “You are mine,” she glanced behind her, “Yo can bring Mina.” Then, she faced you. “We’ll find you a date,” she bobbed her head. “Don’t worry.”

Squinting at her, you mumbled, “I wasn’t worried,” and Yunho huffed a laugh.

Tori turned to Mingi, their noses nearly touching. “What about Seonghwa, isn’t he available?”

Yunho cleared his throat. “He met someone at the end of last semester, pretty sure he’s taken.”

“And I’d love to not be in cahoots with the Vice President,” you said.

Tori frowned. Mingi eyed his friend. “Damn, okay, well what about Yeosang?”

“I dunno if he’ll be into it,” Yunho curled his lip and Tori sighed audibly.

“You’re not making this easy, Yo,” she said. “We may as well just pair you with Wooyoung, Ror.”

You met Yunho’s eyes in a flash, the two of you looking away from one another just as fast. “No thanks,” you said.

Tori pouted, her bottom lip poking out. Lifting a hand she messed with your hair and said, “We’ll figure something out.”

The air went quiet. A sickness started to settle into your gut. With the happy couple beside you and Yunho in front of you, nothing about right now would make it go away.

“I need some water,” you mumbled, using your hands and your feet to scoot backward toward your open window. All three of your friends followed you with their gazes, two heads turning while another watched with the tiniest frown.

“Will you come back?” Tori asked, hope written on her face.

Swinging your legs into the window, feet planted on your blankets, you shook your head. “Nah, I have to get ready for bed.”

“Okay,” Tori smiled.

“Night, Rora,” Mingi said, giving you one of his infamous silly grins. With a wave toward him you smiled, then glanced at Yunho. You didn’t want to decipher what he was telling you with the worry in his brows.

You slipped onto your bed without a second thought and hopped to the floor, hurrying for the door without a look back.

Shutting it with ease so as to not wake the entire house, your bare feet took you down the grand staircase into the dimly lit first floor. Eerie at night, the usual creaks didn’t spook you, your mind was too occupied with thoughts of the boy dangling off your roof.

The nice boy, the good boy, Yunho.

The one you’ve been close with since you joined ITZ and he was being recruited into ATZ. Freshman year you had one class together, a mandatory Literature class he blew through with shining colors and outstanding marks. You’d meet up to do homework, to share notes, to practice readings with one another. Yunho quickly became a close friend, and Greek life only brought you closer.

He’s a genuine person, he always kept his word, sometimes annoyingly so. At parties he’d be the one to stay sober, or the one to only drink a little to help keep the peace. He was ATZ’s Secretary, it was his duty.

But, when Hongjoong, their president, told him he could let go and enjoy himself on certain nights, boy did he let go and enjoy himself.

Turning the corner at the bottom of the stairs you tiptoed toward the kitchen, surprised to find the light above the sink on. Every other light was out, and Mina was sitting on the edge of the island counter. You thanked your lucky stars that your bedroom was on the other side of the house, otherwise she’d have seen the boys sneaking up.

Her back was to you. Wearing silky pink pajamas, a tank and shorts, she sat with perfect posture and a little bowl of ice cream at her side. The slight wave in her short hair told you she had washed it, letting it air dry in place. Imperfectly.

It almost felt wrong to see her in such a state. But, that wasn’t why your stomach churned.

“Hey, Mina,” you said gently, hoping not to scare her. Turning the slightest bit, her bare face gave you a smile. She was so naturally beautiful. “Don’t mean to intrude.” Rounding the island made of old, green chipped painted wood and marble tops, she took a spoonful of ice cream into her mouth and slid you the bowl.

“Have some,” she said, taking her fingers to the hem of her shorts. The ballerina painted tips caught your eye. Every detail so put together, so meticulous and strategic, but in the purest way possible.

Looking down at the white ceramic full of a scoop of vanilla ice cream, you breathed a laugh. Sensing your hesitancy, Mina took the end of the spoon and put a bit of the desert on it, holding it up to feed it to you. She moved with intent, always. A type of sincerity you’ve yet to experience until you met her.

“My mom would share a scoop of ice cream with me and my brothers before bed almost every single night,” she said. With that, you took the spoon and let the sweet vanilla kiss your tongue. “It was our thing, the five of us.” You listened to her talk, admiring how comfortable she felt to be able to share these family things with you. “My dad, he would be so funny,” her small laugh made you smile, “He’d act surprised every time, like he wasn’t catching us doing it every night.”

Giving her the spoon, she took it and made herself a scoop, popping it between her lips without care that you’d just eaten from it.

“Do you do this every night?” you asked, propping your chin in your hand. Mina licked her lips that always seemed to rest in a smile, and nodded.

“You’re the first to catch me,” she said, moving her foot to tap your thigh with her toes. Sharing in a quiet laugh with her, you took the spoon as she handed it to you. “Have some more, it feels weird to eat it alone.”

“Okay,” you whispered, taking a spoonful, “But only ‘cause you said so.” Mina folded her hands and her feet together, letting them swing off the edge, her legs polished and smooth like the rest of her. After a bite you looked up at her and asked, “Do you miss them? Your family?”

She thought to herself for a moment and shifted her focus to her manicure. “When I’m here I do.” Looking at you, she blinked a few times. “That’s why I wanted to join a sorority. When you live in a house barely big enough for all of the people inside of it, moving to a giant campus where you know nobody is scary.”

“Valid,” you whispered, giving her the spoon so she could take her turn.

“It was the six of us, always,” she continued, scooping away at the ice cream. “With the occasional Uncle, or my older brothers’ dad, or their cousins… The house was always… full. I loved it. Me and Wonwoo, you know, even though these people weren’t our blood relatives, we loved them. They were family.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I think I was looking for that when I joined here. To live under one roof with you girls. I didn’t get to grow up with sisters. It’s nice to have so many of you around.”

Putting the spoon down, unsure of who’s turn it was, you gave her a look and half a smile. “I love your life,” you said, and a lump began to form in your throat. “You’re… real.” Mina, flustered, looked down at the floor. “I’m serious,” you giggled. “Most of these girls here come from money, or they’ve got fans on Instagram, and some only care about scamming their way to the top and being the best… But, you’re here ‘cause you want to do better for yourself.”

Mina adjusted her posture. “I do,” she whispered. “My dad went here, he graduated from here. I want to do what he did, I want to be what he is.”

“He sounds like a good man,” you said ever so quietly and her face lit up.

“He’s incredible,” she whispered. Taking her hand to her lips, she held back a laugh.

“What?” you questioned, smiling with her.

Shaking her head she let the giggle loose. “You don’t wanna know what I thought of… What I have been thinking of.”

With that sort of laugh, you knew exactly what she was thinking of.

“Tell me,” you tried to maintain your smile.

Pressing her lips together, her giddy grin had an innocent, childlike feel to it. A school girl with a crush.

“He reminds me of him, a little,” she said, her fingers nervously playing with the hem of her silky shorts once more. “Yunho,” she whispered, nodding. “And I know it could be weird to say he reminds me of my dad, but I think… I think every girl looks for that, doesn’t she?”

Taking in what she’s said, you hummed, then gave your shoulders a shake. “I’m my dads only daughter. His only child. I’m pretty sure he wanted me to be a boy, and it’s shown my entire life.” Mina pouted. “Oh, no, I don’t want sympathy. Please, don’t.” Grabbing onto the spoon you messed with the melted ice cream in the bowl, eyes focused on it.

“Okay,” Mina said. “If you want to talk about it, I’m here for you.”

You huffed a laugh, letting go of the spoon, the rattling of the ceramic sending a jolt down both your spines. “You come from a family that does that, talks about it. I don’t.” Meeting her eyes, you longed to shy away from this conversation. “I’ll be okay.”

She nodded, averting her gaze elsewhere. It was quiet for a few seconds, then she asked, “Can I ask you something?”

Taking a deep breath, you let it out more harshly than anticipated. “Of course,” you said. Maybe talking about your family would be easy with Mina. Dissecting your childhood or the way you were raised was reserved for therapy, somewhere you hadn’t been since high school. You weren’t a fan, you had no intentions of going back. Mina made it seem easy though, it could be possible this was all you needed. A listening ear. She was nice enough.

“You were with Yunho at the party last night,” she said, sending your entire nervous system into fight or flight. Maintaining face, praying to God you didn’t react, you simply bobbed your head in answer.

You were with Yunho at the party last night. Yunho was the first person you attached yourself to last night. Yunho was the only one looking for you last night. Yunho was the one you stepped outside with last night, because the noise was nauseating, Wooyoung pissed you off, and you had too much on your mind.

“I didn’t want to ask earlier because everyone was around, and I’m not sure I need them all to know my business right now, especially when this Yunho thing is still… up in the air,” she babbled on and on. “It’s just that… We had such an amazing summer.”

You had a somewhat amazing summer, too.

“We went on so many dates, he took me everywhere I wanted to go,” she sighed between thoughts. “He had a great time with my family, my brothers, he understood us, how we were. He… kissed me.” Your heart skipped a beat. She blushed when she looked at you, and you wanted to crawl into a hole. “He didn’t push me farther than I wanted to go. He was respectful.”

Breath was caught in your throat.

“I thought it was too good to be true,” she laughed, kicking her feet. “You know frat boys, the stereotype they’re forced into. Sleazy, sneaky… Not him. Not Yunho.”

Yes, him.

Yes, Yunho.

She still had a question to ask you.

“Then, what’s up?” Trying your utmost hardest to keep your voice from shaking, you smiled at her when she looked over at you.

“He hasn’t… reached out,” she said. “Since we were preparing to come back, and since we’ve been back… I’ve barely heard from him.” Her brown eyes were shining in the single overhead light. “I guess I just wanted to ask you if he was okay? In the video’s… I saw you with him, so I just wanted to see if you knew anything.”

Swallowing hard, you gave her a shrug of your shoulders, feeling the walls of the kitchen tighten around the two of you. “I don’t… I dunno. He seemed okay to me. I’m sorry, Mina.”

She looked at the floor. “It’s okay,” she said. “Just figured I’d ask.”

“Give him time,” you said quickly, sliding out a hand to touch her wrist. “Maybe coming back has just been a lot, they’re going through the same stuff we are. We need recruitment to go well, for everybody.”

With the smallest smile Mina glanced at you. “You’re right. Thank you.”

And as the nerves roiled in your belly, you released her wrist and gave her your best smile. “Anytime.”

NU home ✧ nice for what masterlist ✧ talk to me ✧ thank you for reading <3

you do not have permission to copy or translate my works without my consent.

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queers-gambit · 8 months ago

Text

Now and at the Hour of His Death

prompt: any who say, "it's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all," were never loved by him.

pairing: Osferth x female!pregnant!wife!reader

fandom: The Last Kingdom

word count: 6.1k+

note: fuck you, Netflix.

warnings: you already know - author needs therapy, projects hard, pregnant wife, Lord’s name in vain, Christianity (obviously), and a fuck ton of fucking ANGST because fuck your feelings. hurt NO comfort, drama, oneshot, cursing, canon-typical violence, injury, and blood. character death and spoilers - yeah, i'm giving you THAT scene. requires maturity and caution. good luck.

also please note: NO, i do not age Osferth to be 16 - that's just a reference age for when he eventually runs away from the monastery.

again, you are missing nothing if this upsets or triggers you and you choose to skip. value your wellbeing, my angels. author is not responsible for the media YOU choose consume, but still, as usual, MDNI

"You should not be doing this sort of work," Ingrith's voice scolded you, and when you turned, you saw the blonde woman standing with her hip cocked and a stern expression. "It's bad for your health to be in such filth, we've stable boys for this sort of chore."

"I do not mind," you sniffled in the brisk air, shoveling the horse shit of the stable into a muck bucket to be dumped into the fields later. "It keeps me busy," you grunted lightly, sure to bend your knees when lifting the pitchfork, "keeps me humble," you listed, dumping the waste to grin at your friend, "and keeps me young."

"In what way?"

"Reminds me of my childhood," you eased, continuing your work. "I slept in a stable from the ages of 4 to... Oh, shit, I guess I was about 16 before I left The Loft."

"What?" She breathed in confusion. "Never knew that."

"Yeah, yeah, true story," you beamed at her, still shoveling shit. "I slept in the stalls with the horses, sometimes in the grain rooms - basically anywhere I could since my work didn't include official room and board, so, I had to make do with what was available. Then, one day when I was about ten, Old Man Rivers said I could use the hay loft if I cleared it out, fixed the rotten planks. Stayed up there till I was about 16, and after that, I kinda ran away."

"Old Man Rivers?"

You nodded, "My mother lived on his homestead, but she was real sick, you see. So, he kinda took me in without assuming responsibility for me," you cleared your throat, shrugging, "let me stay in his barn if I worked with the horses and livestock for him."

"Why would you want to be reminded of that?"

"Seems simpler when I look back."

Ingrith sighed, "C'mon, put the pitchfork down. Come help me prepare the rabbits. The scouts say the men aren't too far off, they'll want a hot meal."

You chuckled with ease and set your pitchfork aside, giving a hearty pat to one of the horse's necks as you passed by to exit the stable. Ingrith made sure you washed up before you were both mounting rabbits on the rack to start skinning them.

"Could I ask something?" She wondered after a time.

"Anything you'd like."

"Why'd you run away? From Old Man Rivers?"

You laughed, "I was in love."

"Oh, you and Baby Monk go that far back, huh?"

"Try even farther," you teased. "Our mothers were friends, and when I worked in the stable, he was in the monastery, but when he came to me, saying he couldn't do it any longer, I couldn't let him go alone. Life was supposed to offer more than what we were given, so, we set out to find the legendary barbarian, The Dane Slayer," you teased, both giggling, "our Lord, the legendary, Uhtred of Bebbanburg."

"And all this time...?" She smiled, watching you shuck hide like you've done it your whole life. Ingrith inferred you probably did.

"Yeah," you eased, "all this time, he's been by my side. Kept me close, never left me behind. The others weren't too sure about me on account of being a woman, they told us to piss off a few times - but they came around after Osferth refused to send me away."

"He's a good lad, Osferth," she nodded.

"Arguably one of the best ones," you agreed, nudging her arm gently, "but look who I'm telling, right?"

"Oh!" She giggled, swatting at you loosely before going back to your work for a moment. Suddenly, the townspeople of Rumcofa stirred to life, and over the voices, you heard them announcing their Lord's return - which meant all of your men were home. You both grinned and breathlessly left your post, Ingrith pausing a young lad to ask, "How many return to us?"

"Does it matter? Come, c'mon, let us see ourselves!" You all but squealed, overwhelmed with excitment; eager for your own reunion with the man you've loved since you were a young lass.

"Warn the alehouse!" Finan was heard shouting. "Osferth's thirsty!"

"Jesus," you laughed, dodging around the procession of people waiting to greet their warriors on their return home so you could approach the white gelding your husband rode.

His face was absolutely priceless when he caught sight of you. As Osferth eagerly dismounted, your hands smoothed over the small swell of your belly - purposefully wearing a dress that accentuated your ever-changing figure. "Am I dreaming?" He laughed, a stablehand taking hold of his horse so his hands were free to caress your belly. "Oh, my God, I'm not, 's real, oh, God," he beamed, laughing with you. "You're pregnant? Truly? Yes? I-I am not - I am not being deceived?"

"No, my love, I guess our prayers were finally heard."

"OH-HOOOO!" You heard Finan holler as Osferth finally pulled you in for a sweet kiss; both ignoring the Irishman. "Lord! LORD! Uhtred! Hey! Did you hear!? Baby Monk's got some spunk in 'im afta all!"

"Oh, God," you laughed against Osferth's lips, but he was quick to shush you with another breath-stealing kiss.

"A baby Baby Monk! AHA!" Finan was still laughing, your husband's hands caressing both your cheeks when he pulled back just in time for Finan to descend. You grunted lightly when his heavy arms dropped over both yours and Osferth's shoulders, his laugh still booming as he gave a squeeze and cooed, "Oh, congratulations, yah two love birds! Wasn't sure you had it innyah, boy!"

"Don't be so rough with her, Finan, for God's sake," Osferth scolded, nudging his friend to get out from under his arm.

"What?" Finan looked at you gobsmacked. "Sayin' I gotta treat yah different now or somethin'?"

"I didn't say that," you told him prettily with fluttering lashes, fist quickly balling up to jab him in the weak spot of his armor - making him grunt and wheeze. "Aht-aht!" You warned with a pointed finger when he flinched as if to retaliate, "Can't hit a pregnant woman."

"Oh, yeh li'l shite," Finan laughed, Osferth pushing him towards his wife so he could stand in front of you and command all attention.

Osferth took a moment to simply look at you; thumbs gently tracing over your cheeks in sweeping motions, a slow grin breaking across his lips. "This almost doesn't feel real... But how I have to praise God for this blessing. A baby," he breathed.

"A little you and me," you agreed softly. "Sound okay to you?"

"More than okay," he chuckled, pecking your lips, "sounds like a lifetime together."

"Good by me." His nose nuzzled up yours, the sweet moment broken when he sighed sadly; eyes shut and smile dropping. "What is it? What's wrong, love?" You asked, stepping into his embrace so you were nuzzled into his neck and his arms were wrapped around your form in a vice.

"Uhtred means to move us again," he whispered in your ear. "Brida, she... She's got Father Pyrlig, and - "

"What!?" You snapped, rearing back slightly to pin him under your hardened glare. Pregnancy hormones would surely give Osferth whiplash.

"My love, I did not - "

"Brida's got Pyrlig? Fuck are we standin' here for, let's go!" You reached for his hand, ready to march off.

"Uh, no, no, no, no," he pulled you back to him; anchoring his hands on your hips so you could not escape. "You are not going anywhere. Not now - especially now," he glanced at your still-growing bump. "The men will go, you know we will return, but you have this new responsibility, and that's keeping this little one safe. For us," he smiled at you.

You huffed, "I'm not unfit to do what needs done, Osferth."

"I did not say you were unfit, but look at the timing of it," he frowned. "I should've been here when you learned, but I was not, and I am truly so sorry for it. Look, I do not know how long this venture will be, but you know I will return. We've waited for our family for far too long, I will not jeopardize this - so I will return. If you go with us, and something were to happen," he shook his head, "my angel, I would never forgive myself. So I need you to stay here, stay safe, if for nothing else but for me."

"But Pyrlig - "

"Will be saved," he assured.

"And Brida - "

"Will be dealt with," he eased, chuckling lightly. "My angel, you worry too much about everyone and yet never about yourself."

You pouted, "Well, why is it just me meant to stay back? This is your child, too, Osferth, and should have the right to meet them! You can't always control what happens, accidents are real, what if you don't return - "

"Don't think like that - "

"But it's a real threat to us - "

He agreed, "Of course, but - "

"Yeah, I know," you nodded, cutting him off, "we serve Lord Uhtred. This comes first, and I'm not - "

"I've made a vow to him."

"You made one to me, too, you know."

"Angel, please, don't do this. Do not ask me to choose," he begged with a frown, and you caved.

So, with a sigh, you nuzzled into his embrace and relented, "All right, yes, fine, go after Brida and Pyrlig. And when you find them, tell him I am waiting for his safe return, he is dearly missed. Ideally, I'd have him birth our child."

"Of course," he breathed, finding a small reprieve of relief that you did not fight him further about leaving - about choosing which vow to fulfill: the one to his Lord Uhtred or the one to his wife.

Both made to God.

Luckily, Osferth married his best friend and you were never one to pick fights with him. You liked the harmony you had; the peaceful environment you had both cultivated to preserve the trust and love you built through the years. He was genuinely one of a kind; a man who walked many lines between faith, humanity, right, wrong. He was the voice of reason, constantly striving to do better than he did before, learning all he could as if a rag soaking in water. For all he was, Osferth has always been enough for you, and for that reason alone, you never felt the need to argue.

To fight. To voice contempt.

"Question," you perked up, smirking at him as your pregnancy symptoms ran a little wild, "think we've time to, you know, really give our thanks?"

"Angel - "

"What?" You grinned. "You fucked me on the alter all those weeks ago and look - your seed stuck. We might as well go give thanks in the same manner, just to really show God how thankful we are for this blessing he's given us."

"Think the Devil's gotten into you," he laughed.

"Or your child is ruining my hormones," you countered, his lips meeting yours in another passionate display of his excitement.

"C'mon," he whispered, taking your hand, and leading you to the chapel - thinking you were being sneaky, but your matching giggles made Ingrith and Finan beam at each other.

"He does know she can't get more pregnant, right?" Finan teased, flinching when Ingrith smacked his upper arm.

"WHY!?"

"My angel, please - "

"What the fuck is going on, Osferth!?"

"I'm trying to explain - "

"The Queen? The fucking Queen is dead in our village! How can that possibly be explained!?" When Osferth didn't answer, just sat in the wooden chair before the shared hearth of your humble home, you snapped, "Well!?"

"Are you finished? May I speak now?"

With a huff, you nodded and gestured for him to speak; arms crossing around your swollen tits. He explained to you the reason for Haesten's arrival, the wagon his men toted, and why he brought the Queen's dead body to the settlement of Rumcofa. He told you Haesten wanted to keep the peace when King Edward found out, claiming Uhtred's son-in-law, Stiorra's husband, Sigtryggr, had ordered this death - thinking war would surely roll over his lands.

You never knew Haesten to be a generous man, nor much of an honest one, but it seemed the severity of the situation made everyone eerily on-edge. Uhtred dispatched his men; leaving Finan and Osferth in the village with you, developing a plan that would save both Saxon and Danish life. And yet, it was all futile when evil forces worked against good.

You didn't feel safe in Rumcofa anymore, there was a stench in the air; tension that mounted to embrace all residents with discomfort. Something was about to happen, but nobody knew what. You didn't claim or pretend to know what was happening, but Haesten's abrupt appearance spelled danger for everyone involved. So, as a security measure, you kept a long sword buckled around your swelling waist and a dagger strapped under your skirts. With Lord Uhtred gone, there was no invisible fence protecting Rumcofa - leaving it up to you, Osferth, Finan, and Cynleaf to pose as guard.

Yet you'd never be enough.

Like the surf over sand, a group of angered men descended on Rumcofa. "Who's men are yah?" Finan asked, you lingering at Osferth's side to watch the interaction from a short distance.

"We come from the King," a burly Saxon replied, your head cocking in interest - swearing you've seen him before. "Dane murderers are hiding here and you must hand them over."

"You're mistaken, sir," you kindly offered, the man's eyes shifting over you, "because we live in peace. Any murderers have surely moved on from here. We do not host them."

The man growled, "Don't think that's true, love."

Finan held a hand back at you, meeting your eyes and nodding simply. He turned back for the man in fur, diverting, "Of course, my men will attend to it."

Finan turned from the group, his eyes connecting with yours as he passed by. There was urgency, a quickened pace he adopted; having no intention to hand anyone over, wanting to remove these men without bloodshed. However, that was a distant thought because Father Benedict tried to assure the Saxon leader that nobody in Rumcofa would murder Queen Aelflaed.

You wanted to step in when the Saxon evidently didn't know about the Queen's demise - getting in Benedict's face and demanding to see what he spoke of.

"No, no, no," you muttered nervously, "he can't see the body, love, no, no, no, this is bad. Very bad."

"We can't stop Father Benedict without altercation," Osferth whispered back, keeping a tight hold of your hand, just watching the group. "If something happens, you need to get yourself safe."

"How do we truly know they're from Edward? What credentials do they have?" When Osferth shook his head, you worried, "Got a bad feeling 'bout this, angel."

Then the violence began.

The strange men took charge when their leader walked away, starting to physically harass the citizens; making both you and Osferth step in to try and diffuse the tension. You pushed men off unarmed women, got in between them and the children, did what you could without drawing a weapon.

When a man shoved you away from him, Finan wrangled him away, sneering, "Get yer hands off of her!" He kept the violent men at bay for a moment, telling you, "You need to go, darling - "

"Not now, Fin, look around us! We need to contain the situation, you'll need all hands you can get," You snapped, the two of you forced to part way.

Osferth panted nervously and looked left and right, turning to meet the Saxon and demand, "Tell your men to stand down!" But then, his eyes squinted when you joined his side to pull him back a step or two, recognizing him just as you did.

"I don't think they're here for the Queen, love," you heaved for breath in warning, still backing him up. "They've planned this."

"Finan!" Osferth barked, "These men have been here before!"

The Saxon roared over the fray, "Danes of Rumcofa have murdered our Queen!" His men jeered in anger, making Finan brandish both swords and for Osferth to push you back further from the attention. "Do your duty and rid the cockles from the wheat!"

You were left no choice. Osferth and you both armed yourselves, starting to fight off the Saxons as their leader demanded Danes and Christians be separated. You were unable to help, engaged in battle, but Young Uhtred gathered the Danes and begged Father Benedict to declare the church a sanctuary - thinking it would save lives.

It was only leading the Danes to slaughter.

The Saxon, Bresal, punched Father Benedict when he tried to stand in the way; his men holding Young Uhtred in the doorway to let their men enter the church the Danes were gathered in. They forced Young Uhtred to watch the massacre - men, women, and Danish children all slaughtered with no escape. No hope. No answer to a single prayer. Nobody to stop this bloody situation.

You fought on, Osferth, Finan, and Cynleaf doing their best to protect you by keeping you in the middle of their wee group. But you still got plenty of action.

"This is madness!" You cried out, slicing a man's throat open. "We need aid! We need more men!"

"This way!" Finan encouraged, "We must cut a path for Ingrith! Check the docks! Check the docks!"

You and Osferth ran towards the water, Cynleaf not far away. You searched for Ingrith, but you had no time to linger; engaged one-on-one again, forced to protect yourself and unborn baby. Not a minute later, you saw Ingrith on horseback, being stalled by a Saxon and for your husband to rush to her aid. He punched the man away from the horse, you hacking at another enemy, in time to see Osferth engaging with two Saxons - one being the leader, Bresal.

It all happened so fast.

You were already racing towards them when the unexpected. Osferth was battling on two fronts, holding Bresal at bay, fending off the other Saxon, screaming for Ingrith, who only managed a few paces before the Saxon's dogs spooked her horse. The noise was deafening; people screaming, crying, dogs barking, horses whinnying, swords singing as they clashed.

You watched it happen in slow motion.

You sprinted faster than ever before.

"INGRITH!" Osferth bellowed in worry when her horse reared back and dropped her to the dirt. It left an opening for Bresal to stab his dagger into Osferth's lung - freezing time and wrecking your world.

"NO!" You screamed, Bresal smirking at you and yanking his dagger free. Osferth wobbled, eyes wide as he met yours, the Saxon walking away as Osferth dropped to his knees. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no! Oh, God, no, no, you can't take him - not yet! Please, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no," You repeated, sliding on your knees in the dirt to catch him. "No, no, oh, my God, no, Osferth, no, please! Not now, not now, please, no, God, no! Don't do this! Please, please, please," you rambled, readjusting to better hold him, hearing Cynleaf and Finan yell for Baby Monk, too. You raged at God, "You can't take him yet! You can't have him! He's mine!"

But you heard nothing except your husband's labored breathing.

"An-Angel, angel, my angel," Osferth choked, wheezing and crying as he couldn't hold himself up and completely slumped back into your body. He pawed at your arms in an attempt to get closer.

"No, no, no, you're all right, you're okay, you're okay, my sweet love, you're all right," you insisted, hands stained in his blood as it poured from his wound. You knew it was essential to add pressure to a wound, but also, that this was all futile. Yet you needed to try. "Hey, hey, hey, look at me, just look at me, sweetheart, please, only look at me, nothing else matters," you pleaded with him in a rush, the lads sprinting to where you held your husband to your lap.

Nobody interrupted you.

"Where's the wound?" Osferth sobbed, trembling, blood spurting from his mouth; going paler by the minute. "Angel, please, the wound? Where's the wound?"

"No, no, no, don't worry 'bout that, hey? Don't you worry, you just keep looking at me," you sobbed, holding his neck and cradling him to your swollen belly. "Just at me, my love, okay? Just look at me - don't look anywhere else, okay? Nothing else matters."

"H-How bad? How ba-ba-bad-bad is i-it?"

"You're going to be all right," you lied to Osferth for the first time.

"Oh, my God, oh, my God," Osferth repeated through his tears and fears, "I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die."

He held onto you desperately, sobbing, you slowly rocking. "No, you're all right, Osferth, it's okay, just look at me." You caressed his cheek, smearing blood, but locking eyes. "My love," you whispered, "listen to me - "

"I don't wanna die, please, please, angel, my love, please," he coughed, holding your arm tightly as if it would give him life. "Don't let me die," he wheezed, "don't let me die, my love, please, please. Don't let me die, I don't wanna die. I-I wanna meet our baby, please, I want to meet our baby, I want to be a father. Don't let me die, love, please, I-I wanna be your husband longer - "

"You'll never not be my husband and you'll never not be a father, hear me?" You sniffled, trying to smile at him. "Don't you worry, you're gonna be okay, you're okay, Osferth. You'll always be my husband, nothing will change that - I swear."

Blood pumped with each beat of his frantic heart, making it gush over your fingers. You didn't even feel it.

"Please," he choked, more blood bubbling from his lips, "don't let me die, I don't wanna die. Don't let me die, please, not now, not when our baby isn't here yet, please, I just wanna meet 'em, be a family, I wanna stay with you, don't let me go. Please, don't let me go, I don't want t'go! Don't let me - "

"Shh, it's okay, you're okay. I'm here with you. I'm right here, Osferth, you're not alone, you're never alone. I'm here. I've got you. I'll always have you, I won't ever let you go. Never."

He sobbed harder. "I don't wanna leave you. Please, I don't wanna go, I don't wanna be without you - " But the words choked him, a splatter spraying across your face when he coughed; you didn't even flinch.

"Listen to me," you begged, "I commend you, my dear, sweet husband, to Almighty God, and entrust you to your Creator."

Finan was heard behind you, retching jarring sobs as you read Osferth his death rite prayer. "Don't let me die," Osferth begged still, as if you held that power.

He had always looked at you as if you hung the sun and stars, and now, as if you were his very reason for living. You hated God in that moment for forcing you two through this.

"May you return to Him who formed you from the dust of the earth. May Holy Mary, the angels," now, you choked on your words, emotion clawing your throat, but still continued, "and all the saints come to meet you as you go forth from this life. May Christ who was crucified for you bring you freedom and peace." You sobbed, "May Christ who died for you admit you into His garden of paradise. May Christ, the true Shepherd, acknowledge you as one of His flock. May He forgive all your sins, and set you among those He has chosen. Amen. Please, please, say amen, Osferth, say it, please!"

"A-Amen - Amen!" He coughed, trying to get closer to you, nestling into your warmth as he felt impossibly cold. "Don't leave me, don't leave me, please, please, I don't wanna go, I don't wanna be alone. I can't go without you, please, don't let me go - don't let me die, angel, please, I can't go without you. I-I’ve never been without you my whole life, I don’t wish to start now. I love you. I-I love you, please, don't let me go, I love you. I need you."

"You'll never be without me," you promised, face coated in blood, grime, dirt, and ash; all streaked with your tear tracks. "You will always be my husband, hey? Hear me? You're always gonna be with me, I will never be apart from you. I'll love you forever, Osferth, I won't ever stop." You felt your chest cave in as you sobbed, "Please, don't you leave me - "

But Osferth was wheezing and panting, only staring up at you. "I only need you," he whimpered, "I've only ever needed you, I can't do this without you. Please, I can't - I can't go without you. I don't want to leave you, I can't leave you, please!'

"So don't leave me," you sobbed, him still clawing at you in desperation. "I love you more than life, Osferth, please, don't leave me, okay? Don't go. I love you so much. Being loved by you was my greatest pleasure in this life, I want our child to know your love, too, Osferth, please, don't go."

"I-I wanna meet our baby, I wanna hold 'em, love 'em," he repeated. "Please, this can't be the end, don't let this be the end. W-We have so much more - we were supposed to have eternity together, my love, my angel, please! This isn't the end, I can't - I can't go without you!"

"You're okay," you soothed uselessly, rocking more prominently. "Just stay with me, my love, okay? Stay with me. Don't go. Only look at me, all right? You hear me?" You sniffled, caressing his cheek. "You're the best thing in my life, Osferth, yeah? Understand me? Where you're going, y-you'll be welcomed a hero, with open arms. You'll be my own angel. My real angel. The reason I keep going for our child. An-And you'll stay there just for a little while until I join you, okay? You'll watch over us, me and the baby, right? Our own angel? Hey? 'Cause you'll never be part from us - you'll never be apart from me. You and I are a forever sorta thing, we'll never be apart, we'll always be part of each other no matter what."

Osferth lost his words, eyes widening and pulling you closer.

You just soothed, "I'm here with you, my love. I'm here, I've got you. You're not alone, I'm right here, I have you. I've got you. I love you. I love you so fucking much, Osferth, okay? I love you more than anything, you're my everything. I love you," you sniffled, breaking down in worse sobs, repeating, "I love you, I love you, I love you so much, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry I wasn't faster, I love you, this shouldn't be happening. I'm so sorry, I should've come faster! I love you, I'm so sorry."

With his last breath, Osferth choked, "L-Love y-y-you."

"I love you," you hushed, bending at the waist to rest your forehead on his, "I love you so much. You're gonna be okay, you're gonna be all right, you'll be safe - where you're going, you'll be safe. I'm so sorry, my love... I'm so sorry."

You felt him go still. You felt the last of his breath exhale, his body deflate. You felt his soul detach from his body.

You froze.

"Oh, my God," you breathed, pulling back to look down at his petrified features. "Oh, my God, no, no, no. God, please, please, give him back," you sobbed, "give him back to me! Do not take him! It's not his time, you selfish cunt! Give him back! It wasn't supposed to end like this! Give him back to me, please! Please! This isn't how this was supposed to happen! We promised eternity together, please! Let us have that! Let us be together, give him back to me! I need him!"

Your shrill hysterics were heard all over Rumcofa.

Finan sobbed into his wife's arms behind you, Cynleaf knelt to slowly extend his hand onto your shoulder. "I'm so sorry," he offered, but you pushed him away harshly; knocking him into the dirt.

"No! I don't want your fucking condolences!" You snapped, holding Osferth tighter, "I want my husband! I want my husband back! Can you give him to me? Can you, Cynleaf? Can you give him back to me!?"

"No - "

"Then you have nothing to offer me! I want nothing else, nothing from you! I only want him!" You looked away from the young lad, finding Osferth's wide open eyes staring up at you. You whimpered, "I only need him, so, please. Please, give him back to me. Please. I need him, I need him, I can't do this without him, please, God, don't do this. You take so many lives, why add him to the mix!? Give him back! C'mon," you begged the cooling body, "c'mon, love, get up. Get up for me, please, just wake up. Come back to me, get up... Get up, Osferth, get up! Please! WAKE UP!"

But Osferth never moved. Never blinked. Never drew breath. And God never answered your pleas. Your dress was saturated in your husband's blood; a pooling puddle seeping into your knees, bodice drenched, his baby moving in your belly. You wailed into the still air, holding your husband tight to your chest; mouth agape to release the terrible screams of anguish, tears never ending, rocking on your knees. You didn't know what to feel... But devastation was prominent.

You wept until your throat went raw, jaw tender from your open mouth. "I'm so sorry!" You repeated, "I should've been quicker! I should've been at your side! You shouldn't have been alone! This is my fault! This is all my fault, I shouldn't have been away from you. I should've been with you, you did not deserve this end. Please! Forgive me, wherever you are, forgive me, I did not intend for this, I shouldn't have left you, I should've been at your side, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault, I'm so sorry."

"No," Ingrith whispered, "no, do not say this is your fault, you did nothing - "

"Exactly!" You snapped at her, eyes ablaze, her husband silent. "I did nothing, I wasn't with him! I wasn't where I was supposed to be! And he was stabbed because of you!"

Finan whispered your name in reprimand.

"No! How many times have you rode a fucking horse, Ingrith!? And now, today, the time it truly matters, you fall; you posed distraction," you sobbed, crumpling in on yourself. "He was distracted by your fall... This shouldn't've happened, this is all wrong!"

The trio just watched you, knowing your emotions were raw and unwavering, that your words did not have meaning because your husband had just died in your arms. Hours passed, you did not move. Hours passed, your husband did not return. Hours passed, and your heart shattered with each passing breath you selfishly drew.

Because living felt selfish now without Osferth.

"Sweet one," Finan whispered, the sun setting, "we should move him. Bring him to the church so Benedict can pray."

Your head shook, "No."

"Darlin', we have to - "

"No," you whimpered, "because if you take him to Benedict, it's real. If we move, he's truly gone... He can't be gone, Finan," you sobbed, meeting your friend's eyes. "If you move him, he's gone, I'm not ready to say goodbye, please. Please, don't take him from me."

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, "but he should be laid to rest."

"Don't take him from me," you begged, a new wave of tears starting. "I just - we were supposed to be a family. We were supposed to have this baby, and now, it's just me? This cannot be, so please, don't take him from me, I only need him back. Give him back to me, Finan, please, I can't be without him."

"I know," he nodded, gently encouraging you into his embrace. It meant you had to let go of Osferth, something you did slowly and gradually, leaning into the Irishman's chest. "All right, I got yah," he whispered, looking to his wife. "C'mon, stand with Ingrith. I'll carry him."

"Be gentle," you sobbed, feeling Ingrith grip your arms to help heave you to your feet; watching Finan scoop Osferth over his shoulder. The change of position made more blood splatter to the dirt, your heart stalling in your chest when you heard the mess.

You felt your soul shriveled and hidden somewhere deep in your chest, following as if in a trance. You watched Finan and Cynleaf slowly lower Osferth to the ground with the other dead Danes, feeling yourself drop to the ground in shock.

Seeing Osferth amongst the dead made it so much more real.

"It's all my fault," you sobbed, Finan moving to your side, "it's all my fault, I got him killed. I should've been quicker. This is my fault, my fault, I did this, 's my fault."

Finan knelt beside you, bringing your foreheads together to hold you tightly and let you sob into his embrace. "You didn't do this," he promised, "you did nothing wrong. You are not at fault. Do not carry this guilt."

You sobbed without reprieve.

Young Uhtred halted Father Benedict from praying over the Danes, telling the older man they had different customs, but looked back at you. He asked your name softly, wondering, "Do you wish for a prayer for... Him?"

Even Young Uhtred couldn't stomach the truth, avoiding using Osferth's name out of sheer disbelief.

"That'd be nice," Finan agreed, turning to sit beside you and hold you under his arm. You leaned into his embrace, head to his shoulder. "She read him his death rites when... It happened."

Young Uhtred nodded, bowing his head, leading, "Our Father, Who art in heaven, Hallowed be Thy Name. Thy Kingdom come, Thy Will be done, On earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day, our daily bread, And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."

Then, you joined from under Finan's heavy arm, sobbing through your words, "Hail Mary, Full of Grace, The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now, and at the hour of our death."

Benedict finished, "Glory Be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit. As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end."

Together, you, Ingrith, Young Uhtred, Benedict, Finan, and even Cynleaf ended, "Amen."

Feeling the most level-headed, Ingrith stepped in and directed the men; informing that Young Uhtred should lead the remaining Danes to Daneland, Finan and Cynleaf would meet Uhtred on the road, and she would accompany you to Wessex - where Osferth could be laid to rest at the place of his birth. Then, the people mourned together for their fallen.

Finan disagreed initially, telling his wife you were his responsibility now that Osferth was passed. But there was no way you could continue with the company, not in your pregnant state. Finan didn't like the idea of you being without him, considering you close to a sister; something of a best mate, someone he couldn't turn his back on - no matter the situation. However, he understood the predicament and finally agreed to part ways, but not before he untied Osferth's crucifix and latched it around your neck. At the gates of Rumcofa, before separating, Finan gifted you his rosary; thinking it might bring comfort in his physical absence.

Years from then, you would bring up a single son named Gabriel (a name your husband favored, a name benefitting an Angel) under Lord Uhtred in his birthplace of Bebbanburg. You never remarried. You never even so much as looked after another man with lust. Gabriel would grow into a handsome warrior and a devoted man of God, satisfied on tales about his father; being painted as a man of honor, integrity, and bravery. Osferth, too, was a man of God, a man of the sword, and a man of his word... Until the very end. And when your time came, you were brought back to Wessex to be laid to rest with your husband; your son having a son, naming him Osferth, and knowing, both his parents shined down on him in pride.

It was a comfort for everyone to know, somewhere in the afterlife, in God's warmth, you and Osferth were reunited; looking just as you did the day you parted from one another.

requesting rules and masterlist

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hyukaslvr · 8 months ago

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strong enough | J. Jungkook (2)

<series masterlist

pairing: Jungkook x (f) reader

genre/tags: idol! Jungkook, idol! reader, idiot exes to lovers, slow burn ; k-drama feels (our beloved summer but not at the same time), angst, drama, fluff, smut

warnings: foul/explicit language, alcohol consumption, unhealthy coping mechanisms, feelings of helplessness, insecurities; commitment issues & emotionally constipated characters, panic attacks, reader is harsh towards Jungkook, Jungkook is a meanie!, mentions of old abuse (major trigger warning!!), talk about blood and wounds

w.c: TBD

series summary: you and Jungkook have too many personal problems, during and after your relationship and it keeps getting brought up. you both had tried multiple times to ignore the fact you were both struggling mentally and physically due to your workplace, but you always run back to each other. maybe one day, one day you'll get back to each other, with all your problems handled, maybe not. all you want is for him to shine like he always does, all he wants is you.

a/n at very bottom!

the mirrors of your practice room were foggy, the heat radiating off of your whole groups bodies as you worked your hardest to perfect all the choreographies to your newest album. you worked especially hard since last week, you took a long time to really think about what happened.

“we both know you’re just as messy,” Jungkook spat at you, you bit back your tears and fought your conscience screaming at you to walk away. this isn’t something you would just walk away from, not with your boosting ego.

“this is why we won’t work out, Jungkook, you’re acting like a bitch. fix yourself, i’ll fix me. i thought you were doing better, but it seems like you’re still the dick you were during all our fucking arguments,” you grabbed your belongings and starting walking away from his frozen figure, his words hitting him like a brick in the face. you came out here with him hoping you could talk to him, make him remember the reason why you weren’t communicating things or in contact, but he just proved to you why you shouldn’t have came.

Jungkook sat back down, right where you sat, thinking over things. anytime he would see you, he felt this rage build up inside of him. the rage coming from nowhere, yet appearing whenever your pretty face shows up in his sight. he hates it. he swore to control his anger, the way he acted when things didn’t go his way, but apparently anger management isn’t enough for him.

it’s not that he hates you, he adores you, he loves you. but sometimes, he feels like he can’t stand you. you act like you have everything in your life sorted out, when you don’t, not without him. it might be toxic of him to think of you that way, but it’s true. you know it’s true, deep inside and past your wall that you’ve built up for no one to see behind your cute personality set for the stage. only he knows the real you, at least he thinks, and he knows you have a shit ton of problems just like him.

Jungkook clenches his fists, his knuckles turning white at the thought of how he spoke to you. you don’t deserve that, but at the same time, he rightfully believes you need someone to put you in your place sometimes. but at the same time, you wish someone would knock some sense into Jungkook and make him grow up, even if he grew up way to fast, he still is childish as ever when it comes to talking about things.

you snapped out of your state of thought as one of your members patted your back, telling you to drink up some water before starting again. you wiped your face with a towel before gulping down half of your bottle, tossing it on the floor, and starting up again. thank god that you have therapy tomorrow, you thought as you stand in position once again, waiting for the music to start up.

“he said that to you?” your therapist questioned, jotting down notes quickly so you can speak more about how you felt during that moment. you felt angry, sad, all of the above. out of all people you thought would understand, Jungkook was the one you felt would. yet, he opens his mouth and speaks mean words towards you like he always did when he was struggling, never able to control what he says. but who were you to talk, you did the same things, but you were for sure better at controlling it.

“i thought we were ready to talk about why we actually broke up, i thought i was to say at the least, he for sure wasn’t,” you sighed, picking at your skin around your fresh pedicured nails out of habit. it breaks your heart, seeing him that way, he only acts like that when he’s in a deep place. you can visualize him going home, and immediately changing into work out clothes, beating on his punching back until the chain gives out, his knuckles bleeding with open wounds.

but then again, who’s ever ready to talk about a long relationship ending? at the time, walking to the park in the freezing cold, you felt ready. you walked high and proud as you were side by side with the man whose heart you constantly break. maybe he did have the right to act that way, but it still hurts coming from him. yeah, you had to figure out your shit, but so did he, so him acting like that felt hypocritical.

“darling, no one is ever ready to talk about why relationships end the way they end,” she starts again, it’s was like she was reading your mind as you sat there quietly in thought, “maybe you should of waited, but know you know for sure that now isn’t the right time to get back together, no matter how much you both want and crave it,”

“we’re like the same person, at least i like to think so. i just want him to understand why i do what i do,” it makes your head hurt thinking about reasons why he couldn’t try to understand you at the least, it was the least he could do along with loving you. he was always so unreasonable with mental health.

“just give him some time to think about what he said and how he can fix things over time, time heals everything,” bullshit.

you felt like a mess, sitting in front of the vanity mirror as you get your hair fixed by your stylist, her sweet smile as your eyes reached hers in the mirror comforted you in the slightest, you just had to get through tonight and then you’ll be able to be alone in your dorm room, in the comfort of your own bed.

“feeling anxious?” your leader lets her head fall on your shoulder, smiling at the glitter in your inner corners and poking your cheek in awe, “you’ll be okay, at least you’re pretty and have curly hair,” her finger twirls the curl resting in the small ponytail in your hair, letting it boing back to place.

once your stylist was done, she spun your chair to face your leader, who bent down to fix the curls in your face, cupping your cheeks once she was done and smiling down at you, “i just wish to be home right now,” you sigh, practically melting into her hold and she squishes your cheeks in response. you wanted to cry, the amount of promotions you had this week drained every last bit of emotion out of you.

“just put a smile on that frowny face of yours, get out there and look as cute as you always do during fansigning, we’re gonna have a party tonight!” you groan in response, she lets go of your face to cross her arms across her chest, noticing your negative response to the idea of partying, “what’s wrong with getting wasted after all these promotions? it’s not like anyone else will be there,”

that was a lie, you sat in a corner of your shared house with group after group showing up and partying, while you just wanted to be in your bed. maybe if you get drunk enough, you can dance with a random and have some fun tonight, you thought while staring at your other members already claiming other males to dance with. the lights flashing making your head hurt, as you stood up to get another glass of your drink.

there was yelling going on around you, but you chose to ignore it and downed half of your cup before heading towards your room, planning on locking your door and drowning all the noise of the party out with music. but your heart and feet stopped when hollers from the front door caught your attention. the person who took feet away from you, you wished to disappear out of his sight. no, it wasn’t Jungkook, right about now you wished it was instead of the monster who stood close in front of you, but far away at the same time

Choi Jaehyun, also known as the dick that cheated on you, also known as the abusive alcoholic you had dated, also known as the reason for the way you were now. one little glance towards his way made you gag, in shock and disbelief that he would dare to even show up here. the first thing he did was grab a beer, like he always did at his house after hitting you like you were the cause of all his problems.

it makes you ache, your heart especially knowing you loved his shit ass self at one point, thinking that he would change if you just covered up all the marks he would leave on you. after that relationship was over, your leader swore at you to never get back into another relationship until you got over him. you were over him, to say the least, but not over the way he made you feel. he made you feel worthless, ungrateful, unworthy, like a weakling.

“you think you deserve to be out there in the spotlight, like the bitch you are?” he spat in your face, his hands close to your face making you feel like something was coming towards you.

“baby, please just sit down and listen to me-” another smack hit your cheek, the tingling burned and made you call out in a cry, “jaehyun! please, stop and just have a drink-” you gasped out, the tears burned your eyes but slightly cooled the heat of your cheek.

“drink some more, is that what you fucking what? you want me more drunk so you can run away again?” he grabs your cheek hard, pulling it as he backed you against the cold of the refrigerator. you tried to focus on the loud humming coming from the damn thing, instead of the burning sensation of his hand pinching at the same place he just whacked you, “you’ll never be able to get away from me, not again, baby,”

the tears flowed from your cheeks, his body now facing you as your memory fades away to a new one standing infront of you currently. the look of his face, like he didn’t expect you to be at your own groups party, what a fucking idiot. before he could walk towards you, you grabbed your drink and stormed past him, ignoring the ringing affect his call of your name had to your ears. you told yourself, that where ever he was, you weren’t going to be, never, ever again.

you left the house in nothing but a thin jacket, you walked until your legs gave up on you. once you sat down, not knowing where you were or where your legs were walking you to, you looked up at the dark sky. the lights of the stars twinkling above you, giving you some comfort of the unbearable memories you had. you wished you could just deleted everything, every moment you had that with sick man. but it stays with you, like a parasite eating away at your skin.

you sniffled as you calmed down, whipped out your phone to dial someone, anyone to come get you and to be in the comfort of someone’s arms. you scrolled and scrolled, hoping to see someone’s name that warmed your heart at the sight of it. your eyes scoped around your contacts, hoping for anyone’s name to pop up.

Park Jimin. you quickly dialed his number, knowing he would pick up in a heart beat, like he always did for you.

“are you sure you’ll be okay on the couch? my bed is just as comfortable, even more at that,” he spoke as softly as you remembered, he tucked you into the couch and making sure you were comfortable enough to sleep away your puffy eyes.

“i’ll be okay out here, Jimin, i promise,” Jimin was the only other member, besides Hoseok, who knew about you and Jungkook. he allowed you to come over time to time when ever you and Jungkook would have problems, problems that were always better than what Jaehyun ever put you through. you believe that why you always went back to him, back to the comfort of his aura because he truly loved you. he loved every bit of you, but he couldn’t handle every bit of you.

Jungkook would never, you thought as you rolled over, facing the back of the couch as Jimin accepted the fact you chose the couch over his bed and went upstairs to get some sleep for himself. Jungkook had his angry issues, but he would never show abusive tendencies towards you, no matter how mad he was. he never raised a hand towards your way, he never laid a finger on you. it took you awhile to trust him, but that trust never once left even after you left him multiple times. but, to never bring up the memories that made you feel like a burden, you never once mentioned your past relationship, no matter how many times Jungkook would beg to talk about your exes.

“you should start writing in your journal again, _____” Jimin spoke over his shoulder, his hands working on making your eggs the way you loved them, “i know that helped you at times like this, even if i don’t know what actually happened for you to end up 10 minutes away from my place,”

“it’s better not to talk about it, for my sake,” he nodded in agreement, letting you know he won’t budge any information out of you since he knows the way you looked when he picked you up from the random street you sat at. you always wanted to tell him about your past, what changed you into the mess you are now and why you can’t seem to stay stable at any current time of the year. just because it happened years ago, doesn’t mean it doesn’t affect you to talk about it, even if you trusted someone with your life, “you know what? that might be a good idea,” you spoke up after the minute of slience between you both.

you’ll write about everything bothering you, maybe you’ll be able to pick at the pieces broken inside of you to figure out how to handle all of your problems with Jungkook, but mainly yourself. you always need to put yourself first, your therapist would tell you, no matter how badly the other person is struggling, and you stood by that.

you never wanted to leave Jungkook, you never wanted him to feel like he wasn’t good enough for you love. you wanted him to feel like he was on the top of the world with you, to make him feel important and loved the way he should. what he doesn’t know, is that he was the reason you wanted to get better. he always told you, that you deserved everything heading towards you that was good. if the good was getting better and becoming healthy, hell yeah, you deserved that shit like it was a grammy.

so once you got back to the dorms, letting all your members and your worried leader know that you were at a good friends house after the party, you headed to your room with a fresh new notebook, ready to jot down all your feelings and thoughts that you let eat you alive everyday.

to my past, fuck you, sincerely. you deserve nothing, you don’t deserve to take over my life. i will get rid of you, i will get better, i deserve to be happy, i deserve to become a butterfly instead of moth. moths are pretty, but trust, i will be a beautiful monarch.

cheesy, you know that, but it’s true. so true that you continue to write until your hand cramps around your pen. you will get better, it just takes time, but time definitely does not heal everything.

a/n: i low-key hate writing angst, but here we are! this is a reminder that you are not alone if you’ve ever went through abuse or trauma with abuse, you will always have people out there for you and you have help too. there are hotlines on top of hotlines, please don’t be afraid to speak up about it, no matter what. i love you all, and never feel like you can’t reach out to talk to me, dm me about anything! you are all worthy and beautiful and deserve the best🩷. here are some hotlines: 1, 2, 3

taglist: @loumin908 @heartjiminie @cuntessaiii @parkinglot-nights @minsoa97kor @jkgirlfr @lavendersugarplum @gaebestie @whoa-jo @kp0pficdump @yunholuv @skzthinker @shwkoqp18 @veemegatron @joonsproperty @jk97bam @dna-black-and-blue

COMMENT TO BE ON TAGLIST!

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ichorai · 1 year ago

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hell, yeah ; roman roy ; part four (m).

pairing ; roman roy x f!reader

synopsis ; pain was an old friend for the both of you.

words ; 18.0k

themes ; fluff, angst, drama, slowburn, smut, childhood friends to lovers

warnings / includes ; depictions of mental and physical abuse, mentions of death, unprotected penetrative sex, a lot of sexual/suicidal jokes and general foul language, tons of business talk, talks of nazis/fascism/conservatism, really morally grey shit, roman’s implied demisexuality, kendall & reader's popsicle war, mencken himself is a warning

series masterlist. main masterlist.

A conservative political fundraiser weekend was the last place on earth you wanted to be, but hell—Logan wanted you there, so who were you to say no to the boss? Besides, hubs like this were always good to sniff out who would be the most dangerous people on the red spectrum.

The hall was decked out in lavish decorations—chandeliers and golden ornaments and marble statues every which way you looked. It was full to the brim with mingling politicians of all kinds: the kinds being old white men, or…

Hm. Seemed like it was practically all old white men other than a handful of women wandering around. White women, of course.

You and Shiv locked eyes for a moment. Though the two of you shared many common political interests, at least much more than the rest of the family, you often found yourself on the opposite ends of agreement. But today, in a sea of men with confederate flags for dicks, the two of you found solace in one another.

“You can smell the panic,” she told you. “Berlin Bunker vibes.”

“They’re scrambling,” you replied. “Nobody was expecting this. Maybe they should’ve.”

Beside you, Roman cuffed your shoulder. “Ooh—the libtard and the soc-commie. How does it feel to be spelunking in the elephant’s asshole?”

“Calling me a communist isn’t the insult you think it is,” you told Roman, rolling your eyes.

“Mmh. I’m sure they would’ve loved you in the 1930s.”

Shiv crossed her arms. “We’re just corporate observers.”

“The weekend isn’t over yet—we’ll get our white cis-male stank all over you,” Roman commented snidely.

It was then that Greg came up to the group, expression muddled with confusion. “Hey, guys, some guy with an undercut just called me a ‘soy boy’. What, uhm, I don’t really know what that means? What is this, actually? Like what’s everyone here for?”

“It’s just a nice political conference of like-minded donors and intellectuals,” Roman told his cousin.

“I wouldn’t call them intellectuals, exactly,” you said with a frown. You were pretty sure half of these men owned podcasts talking about how toxic masculinity is fake, and the other half were so old they didn’t know how to turn the brightness up on their own phone.

“We’re picking the next president,” Tom piped up, which made Shiv arch a brow.

“That’s not… that’s not really how it works.”

Roman shrugged. “No, sure, but… it kinda is.”

“Is that—is that constitutional?” Greg queried, looking around worriedly, suddenly wondering if he was participating in yet another illegal activity.

“Welcome to the one percent, Greg,” you told him with a sigh. “Where you don’t have to worry about the constitution anymore.”

Roman pinched your cheek. “Awh, look at you, embracing the right-wing traditions! I love that for you.”

Wrinkling your nose, you swatted his hand away. “Six months till election day and still no candidate. Surprised everyone hasn’t unanimously agreed on putting the vice prez up on a pedestal.”

“Steady old plow horse, huh?” Roman said, directing his gaze to the old vice president, Dave Boyer. “He licks his lips too much. Like a—like a cartoon bear when there’s a picnic hamper nearby.”

You laughed at that, and Roman shot you a grin.

“I’m going to go take a tour. Check out the fresh meat,” he told you, and you nodded.

“I’ll be near the entrance if you need me.”

With that, he set off to mingle, hands shoved into his pockets to stop him from his habitual itching and scratching.

“Who are you thinking?” Shiv leaned forward to ask.

“Boyer. Seems the most obvious, easiest choice,” you replied, meeting her scrutinizing stare.

“Are you saying that because he is the easiest choice, or because he’d be the easiest to win against?” she asked with a sharp smile.

There was a momentary pause. “Why, who do you think they should put up?”

“I say we go blue.”

Your mouth fell open as you struggled to find the words to respond with. “Shiv, that just—that’d never work.”

“Why not?”

“You realize ATN is fucking—it’s fueled by everything right-wing! For us to suddenly bat for dems would bring nothing but angry conservatives and we’d lose a fuck-ton of shareholder money.” You shook your head. “Look, Shiv, I don’t like them as much as you do. But forcing your dad to swing blue is just a terrible idea.”

Her features hardened. “The least we could do is try. Right?”

Before you could respond, Roman came hurrying back, phone clutched tightly in his hand. He shoved the screen up against his sister’s face. “Did you know about this, you withholding bitch?”

“Uh, what?”

“You know Glyn, the, uh, the Brexit pervert?” Roman said, gesturing to the tall British chap with a large nose. “Yeah, he just sent this to me—apparently our mother is marrying Peter Munion.”

Both you and Shiv doubled with surprise. “What?” she asked. “Who’s Peter Onion?”

“I don’t fucking know. I wonder if that first-born fucker knew,” Roman said.

“I mean, if you guys didn’t know, I’m sure Connor wouldn’t have known, either,” you ventured, glancing over at the eldest sibling chattering to two other politicians about abolishing taxes.

Snorting, Roman replied, “No, the other first-born fucker. Kenny Dick.”

“Ah. Right.”

“Call him.” Shiv nudged her brother.

With a hum, Rome whipped his phone out and called his brother, putting it on speaker phone for the two of you to hear.

“Yeah, what?” Kendall’s voice came through on the second ring.

“Hey. Just wanted you to know that new dad just dropped.”

There was a brief crackle of silence. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Mummy’s getting married, you dingus.”

“Did you know?” Shiv leaned forward to query.

Roman snickered. “Of course he didn’t know, Ken bores the shit out of mom.”

You remembered one Christmas when you were children, the family was exchanging gifts—Kendall had set down a little red box in front of Caroline so she could open it. Something hand-made? You’d always wondered. The wrapping was shoddy. It was forgotten and pushed off to the side in favor of prettier, more expensive-looking presents. You were pretty sure Caroline hadn’t even seen the gift. Or maybe she did. Maybe she just didn’t care to open it. Nonetheless, Kendall, thirteen years of age, didn’t try to give it to her again. That night, when the servants were tossing away all the stray wrappings and ribbons, you caught sight of the crumpled red box chucked into a black garbage bag. You didn’t dwell on it, because Roman had heckled you away soon after to ‘watch’ Shiv play with her new dollhouse.

“What are you even talking about?” Kendall asked. He sounded angry. “You mean, she’s marrying Rory?”

“Uh, no. She took the view ‘Fuck Rory’,” Shiv said, glib.

Sneering, Kendall abruptly changed the subject. “Hey, Shiv, is it true you’re at the hate-fest? Burning books and measuring skulls down in Virginia?”

“Yeah,” Shiv deadpanned. “What are you doing with your weekend? Planning to send us all to jail? Your favorite past-time?”

Before it could escalate into a full-on argument, Roman pulled the phone close to him and said, “Alright, just wanted to let you know that Mummy still doesn’t love you. Bye, Ken!”

With that, he hung up.

“Do you think your mom is going to invite me to her wedding?” you asked, wrinkling your nose at the prospect of going all the way across the ocean when you had so much work piled up. “And would she be offended if I didn’t come?”

“Oh, she’s definitely inviting you. You know how she is. Needs everyone who knows of her existence to see how rich and pompous she is. She’d have a grudge against you if you didn’t come,” Roman told you.

You frowned, and Roman laughed.

“We can be each other’s date. It’ll be fun. Don’t worry about it.” He rubbed your shoulder, and began leading you off to the bar to get some drinks.

“Your mother would love that. Us, being each other’s dates? She’d gloat in our faces that she’s known all along,” you mused with a grin, before leaning against the counter and asking the bartender for your preferred drink.

“Or she’d be too self-absorbed to notice. And it’s okay for her to be that way because it’s her own wedding.” Pulling a sour face, Roman shook his head. “Blegh. I can’t believe she’s actually marrying someone named Bunion.”

You laughed softly. “Munion.”

“Whatever.”

Before either of you could say anything else, a figure approached the bar, standing just beside Roman.

“Hey guys,” said Mencken. “What’s up?”

Both you and Roman turned your heads to him. He shot you a glance, noting the unimpressed raised eyebrow.

“Oh, okay. Yeah, it’s the—it’s the ghost pepper. The spicy new flavor, Mencken.” Rome gave the taller man a onceover, drawing a long sip from his glass.

Mencken’s keen eyes darted from Rome to you, and back to Roman, scrutinizing. Burning. You couldn’t quite gauge what he was thinking, but knowing all the hot bullshit he liked to spew on the internet, you were sure it’d be nothing good.

Him as president? That’d be like putting a mask on Hitler and crowning him King of the nation.

“So what’s your deal? Most people here want to fuck me or kill me.” Mencken asked, leaning against the bar. “I’m hoping it’s the former.”

You weren’t quite sure if that was directed to you or Roman, but you were disgusted, either way.

Roman clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth. “Ooh, wow. I always found it hard to care about politics, so… I trust in Y/N to have enough opinions for the both of us.”

He gave you a fond pat on the shoulder and you spared your friend a stiff smile.

“Right, Y/N. It’s nice to meet you,” Mencken said, sticking his hand out.

Staring down at his extended palm, you took a second to consider flat out ignoring him. But, not wanting to cause a scene, you shook it firmly, nodding curtly. “Likewise,” you lied.

When you pulled away, you made the conscious choice to discreetly wipe your palm onto your pants.

“I’ve heard a lot about you. The both of you, actually.”

“Oh, really?” you deadpanned, straightfaced.

“Tabloids never shut up.”

“They hardly ever do.”

Mencken crossed his arms. “To be honest, I always thought you two were just a PR stunt. You know the vibes… look away from all the sexual harassment, because the prince and princess of Waystar are being all snuggly at a charity event! But now that I’m looking at you in person…”

His words struck a nerve within you. A muscle in your jaw twitched.

Roman laughed, nervous. “We aren’t—we aren’t, like, a thing. I mean we—we kind of are, but we’re also not really—”

The older man whistled sharply, lifting a hand to stop him, as if he were a dog. “No need to explain to me. I’ve been down that road many, many times.”

“Roman and I are close,” you told him, voice steely. “The details are none of your, or the public’s concern.”

The way Mencken smiled was wolfish. Greedy, almost.

“Alright, here’s my party trick,” he said to the two of you. “Tell me who your enemy is, and I’ll tell you who you are.”

A part of you wanted to laugh. Where did he get that from, an alpha male, raw meat-eating youtuber’s podcast?

Roman sucked in a breath, amused. “Oh-kay. Let’s put a pin in that one.” He took another sip. “I’ve seen your poll numbers. You’re dark-horsin’ shit. Are people buying your whole… thing?”

Facism. That’s what Roman was alluding to. This man was a fucking fascist. The two of you were entertaining a fascist! You couldn’t believe what you’ve come to.

Mencken chuckled. “They better buy it. Or I’ll send them to the Gulag.”

“Jesus Christ,” you hissed, wrinkling your nose.

“No, no, no. Not work camps. Just—summer camps. It’ll be like summer camps,” Mencken said.

“Summer camps but with beatings, right?” Roman asked, unsure if the man beside him was joking or not.

“No, no. Shh—no beatings.”

Mencken winked. He fucking winked! To your surprise, Roman laughed, genuine and chesty.

“Wow. Tough crowd, huh?” Mencken said, meeting your unamused eyes. “You always struck me as the quiet little country mouse. No wonder you’re sticking to the big-gun citymen.”

“Well, I’m sorry if I don’t find labor camps all that funny,” you remarked, drumming your fingers along the countertop.

“I’m just kidding. We’re joking around.” He elbowed Roman’s arm. “Is she always this uptight?”

You had to admit that it stung just a bit when Roman tipped his head back and laughed. “It’s what I like most about her. Ain’t that right, schnookums?”

You sniffed in disdain, shrugging off his hand when he placed it on your shoulder. You weren’t a huge fan of how… warm Roman was to him. It felt vile, and it felt wrong.

Tilting his head, Mencken smacked his lips together and started up, “So, uh… do you guys know yet? Who takes over?”

Roman stopped sipping his drink and set it down. “What’s that?”

“When they send the old battletoad off to the hoosegow.” His eyes glinted. “Your dad, Logan. Admiral Grope Boat.”

“Yeah, no, he’s not… that’s actually not happening,” said Roman. He scratched at the back of his head.

Mencken cackled at that. “Hah, yeah, that’s right. Stick to the line. That’s good.”

The two of them smiled at each other.

A sudden pit of nausea started curling within your stomach.

Boyer and Salgado approached the bar, striking up a conversation with Mencken, effectively roping his attention away from the two of you. You downed your drink and leaned against Roman with a mild hum.

“I really thought this event would be more interesting,” you admitted.

Shoulders shaking with his chuckling, Roman asked you, “What, did you think there’d be a gun-slinging showdown? Old western-style?”

“Well, yeah. What else do conservatives do?”

The two of you snickered under your breath.

It was then that Shiv came to stand by you, ordering a drink for herself. “Hey. What’ve you guys sniffed out?”

You offered her half a shrug, glancing over at Mencken. With a lowered voice, you said, “A lot of rotten apples in the orchard.”

The siblings both hummed at that—Shiv in agreement, Roman in amusement.

“Look at us, playing nice,” you overheard Salgado tell Mencken. To your credit, they weren’t quite using their inside voices. “People might think we liked each other.”

“Hey, I’m a conservative! I like tradition,” Mencken protested. “I doff my cap to vice president Boyer’s years of loyal service.”

“Thank you. I believe you used to call me Martin Van Boring.”

Mencken grinned. “Hey, come on! No, I still call you that.”

Nodding, Boyer shifted to speak to everyone else gathered around the bar. “Listen, Mencken and I may differ in some areas, but, uh, we both agree that this is the party of the working class now.”

Shiv pulled an incredulous face, scoffing loud.

“What? You don’t agree, Shiv?” Boyer asked. “All the richest counties in America are blue. The Democrats and tech hold all the wealth.”

“Oh, yes, because everyone here is scrounging through their couches for loose change,” you snidely commented, coolly meeting Boyer’s gaze.

The old man licked at his lips, gesturing vaguely with his hands. “Come now, I’m talking about the general public. We don’t count.”

Why not?

“I just think some of us get so high off of owning the libs, we forget to talk policy,” said Salgado.

Mencken snorted. “Yeah, Rick loves to talk policy! What he does is he memorizes a National Review issue from 2012 and then recites it back to you. Cool policy, bro.”

This made Salgado frown. “Mmh, Jeryd hates to talk policy because it would mean, you know, having one.”

Roman whistled sarcastically. “Sick burn, brosef!”

“Oh, no, no. We’re kidding. We are!” Mencken insisted. He smiled at you and Roman. “We like each other. I listen to his speeches every night. Yeah. They help me drop off.”

Out of the three politicians, you had to admit that Salgado was the most appealing. Sure, he was a pushover and really only concerned about his public image rather than what he was promoting, but it was better than Mencken the fascist and Boyer the conservative lip-licker.

“Maybe it’s boring talking about populist solutions for working families,” said Salgado.

“Rick, come on! You jerked off to Reagan’s headshot for thirty years, and now you’re Tom Joad?” Mencken jeered.

Rolling her eyes, Shiv told you, “God, this shit is so fucking boring.”

Overhearing, Mencken gave the woman a onceover. “What’s that?”

“Hm?” Shiv met his gaze. “No, I’ve just—I’ve seen your thing quite a lot.”

Mencken uncrossed his arms and then crossed them again. He was frowning, brows knitting together—evidently he didn’t quite like being tested.

“And what’s that? What’s my thing?”

“Youtube provocateur bullshit,” Shiv told him with a bitter laugh. “Aristo-populism. ‘Rape is natural, it’s all red pill, baby.’ I’m just—I’m just so fucking over it.”

“Have you read Plato?” asked Mencken.

Oh, God. Was he really pulling the philosophical literature superiority card? Was he being serious?

“Yeah,” Shiv said in a mocking voice. “Remind me, what happens?”

“Oh, read Plato! Read Plato!” Mencken told her, his manner condescending.

“Don’t want to!” Shiv exclaimed. “I don’t fucking want to!”

Salgado cut in, “See, he doesn’t actually want to have a conversation. He just wants to yell loud enough to get on ATN.”

“Nah! Fuck ATN,” Mencken said. The room fell silent, and all eyes were on him. For a moment, he looked at you and Roman, the two of you watching him with muted interest. You wondered if he was seeking both of your approvals. “No, really, ATN is treated as a bulwark, but it’s dead. It’s basically a pudding cup at 5 PM in the nursing home. It’s status quo bedtime stories to maximize shareholder value.”

Though you didn’t want to agree with any of Mencken’s sentiments, you had to admit that his take on ATN was a valid one. ATN was hardly a reliable source, with its heavy right-wing influences. To you, it was merely a station to feed into the delusions of the older conservative generation. At the thought, you looked over your shoulder to Logan, seated on a table not too far from the bar. You only saw his back, but you wondered if he was listening in.

“Honestly, it doesn’t speak to me,” Mencken continued on. “Doesn’t speak to the people I talk to.”

“And who is it you talk to?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Mencken stared at you for a moment before answering, “People who want to see the truth. See the natural order of things.”

“Natural order. Wow,” you whispered under your breath. With that, you ordered another drink. You couldn’t listen to all this bullshit sober.

Mencken nodded. “Logan Roy was an icon. But, you know… he’s no longer relevant.”

“Do you recognize this fucker?” Roman asked, shoving the phone in Shiv’s face.

“Nope,” she said.

You peered over his shoulder to see the wedding invitation on his screen, zoomed into his mother’s fiance’s face.

“Fucking jelly-boned, low-T, pip-pip cheerio fucker,” Roman muttered as he shut the phone off and slid it back into his suit jacket’s pocket.

You pressed the button on the elevator to go up. Logan had called all of you up to the royal suite to discuss options for the next red presidential candidate—something you weren’t at all looking forward to. “He doesn’t look all that bad. Do you think your dad knows?”

The doors slid open and the three of you filed in.

Roman tilted his head. “No. But we have to stop the wedding, right?”

Both you and Shiv exchanged incredulous looks.

“Stop obsessing over Mom’s new husband,” Shiv told her brother. “Just get over it. Who cares?”

Narrowing his eyes, Roman asked, “Get over it? It just fucking happened. My mother’s marrying some dickhead, crooked-toothed turnip man.”

“His teeth looked quite nice in the picture, actually—” you began, before falling silent at Roman’s loud groan.

“What’s wrong is how little you care about it, you frozen bitch,” Roman commented off-handedly, making Shiv roll her eyes.

“Oh, poor Rome! His dreams of porking Mom are slipping through his little lubed-up fingers!” she leered, snickering a little.

A frown crossed your features. “It’s okay to care about it, Shiv. I mean… it’s your mom.”

“Something she often forgets,” she murmured, and that marked the end of the conversation.

The elevator rolled to a halt, the doors opening once more to a grand hall. The door to the suite was all the way down, and the three of you made your way there in contemplative silence. Logan was inside to greet you, along with Tom, Hugo, Connor, and Greg (who was awkwardly lingering by the curtained windows).

“There’s a lot of chat flying around. A lot of flapping,” your godfather said once everyone had settled in. “We need one voice on this, or we could fall apart and hand it to the fuck-fuck donkey gang.”

Donkey gang, obviously meaning the democrats. You spared Shiv a look—she was seated away from her husband, frowning down at her hands.

“So… who do we like?” Logan asked.

Shiv cleared her throat and said, “Shouldn’t we kick it around for a bit? Feels like it’s poised, so if you and Petkus come together, and the other donors follow, it just—”

“Exactly,” Logan deadpanned. “We’re picking. We haven’t got all night.”

Occupying one of the long sofas all on his own, Connor put forth, “I like Connor Roy.”

The room lapsed into silence for a few seconds. Roman smiled, amused.

Calling back to the short conversation you had with Shiv earlier, she said, “Honestly, Dad, I think you go Dems.”

Immediately, the two brothers in the room reacted with incredulity.

“Wow,” Connor scoffed.

“Jesus Christ! What, are we all going to hold hands and sing kumbaya next?” Roman exclaimed. Then, he sat up straighter. “Uhm, I… I kinda like Mencken? But—I know he’s kind of shitty, so if it’s now, I guess I’d say Boyer. But can I also just say that I don’t like Boyer?”

Though you were not at all happy that Roman was leaning for Mencken, you had to agree that Boyer was a safe choice. You crossed your arms. “Hard pass to Mencken. I say we go Boyer. Vice is nice, no?”

Shiv sighed loudly.

“What? What’s with the fucking attitude?” Roman asked.

The redhead held her hands out. “Okay, look, no disrespect, but Boyer was yesterday’s papers. The Dems will run on change and blow him away.”

“Ooh, Mrs. Politics,” crooned Roman. “How many big races did you win as a consultant? Four? Three? Did you win two? One?” He held up his middle finger.

She scowled. “Roman, Boyer is not a winner, and we know that.”

“Okay, then, should we talk to Mencken?” he asked. “See if we can deal?”

Vehement, Shiv said, “Uh, can I just say something? Mmh, no. Mencken is an integralist, nativist fuckhead. He’s toxic! He’s fucking—he’s ‘medicare for all, abortions for none.’ And his idea of diplomacy is shooting roe deer with Viktor Orban and then starting the trade war with China! Look, I know that there’s the carnival bark, and there’s the fucking show, but he’s outside the American political tradition. I think we have a responsibility as Waystar—”

She was cut off when Roman began humming the national anthem.

“Fuck you, Roman!” she spat out.

You put a hand on his arm, and he stopped humming. “I know my opinion here means little to nothing, but… I don’t like Mencken. He’s radical, and he’s dangerous. I’m not saying we swing blue, either. I’m saying we stay safe with Boyer. Our position right now is… precarious. It’s the best option we have.”

Logan studied you, and nodded twice. He was never one for safe options, though. You knew that full and well.

Both Roman and Shiv burst into an argument then, lobbing insults back and forth at each other. Tom stared blankly at the ground, looking even more exhausted than he usually did.

“Stop being a dirty little pixie whispering swastikas into Dad’s ear!” Shiv ground out.

“Boom! There you go again! So fucking route one!” Roman exclaimed.

The scowl on her face deepened. “I’m not saying it’s going to be the full Third Reich, but I am genuinely concerned that we could slide into a fucking Russian Berlusconied Brazilian fuckpile!”

Raising his brows, Roman shot back, “You have a trophy husband and several fur coats. I think you’re gonna be fine.”

“Tom,” Logan said, seemingly unaffected by the harsh bickering. “Who do you like?”

“Me? I, uh… I think Shiv talks a lot of sense. I also jibe with Salgado.”

Blowing out a breath, Roman said, “You jibe with him? Pretty sure that’s racist, Tom.”

“Salgado is another safe alternative,” you said. “Just not… not Mencken.”

This made Roman nudge his elbow into you. “I thought you were all about giving people chances! Mencken, he’s… you and him have a lot of beliefs in common, actually!”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“You’re, uh, both against free-market capitalism! That counts for something, right? Why don’t you just give him a chance?”

You pinched the space between your brows. “Rome—”

Before you had a chance to finish, Roman was addressing Logan. “Dad, I know you came to the market to get a nice milk cow, but we found ourselves a fucking T-rex, okay? He’s box-office. The guy is fucking diesel. I mean, he’s good on camera. He’s fun! He’ll fight. Viewers will eat out of his hand. No downside.”

“Uh, right, no downside. Let’s just invade Poland, Dad!” Shiv scoffed. “His chief of staff broke a kid’s jaw at a rally!”

“If we don’t come to an accommodation, we get outflanked and we lose the ATN dollar machine when we need cash to fight Tech. Right? Shiv wants her way, I want my way, Connor wants his way, so that’s even.”

Vehemently, Shiv protested, “It’s not fucking even! My opinion counts for more!”

Everyone looked to her, miffed. She sounded more like a child than anything.

“No, it does! It just fucking does! I know this! People hate Mencken. They fucking hate that guy!” Shiv lowered her voice, as if just realizing that she was yelling a notch too loud. “You have to look at the climate.”

From the windows, Greg raised a hand. “Do I—do I get a vote?”

“Oh, sure, buddy. You get to vote at the election with all the other folks,” Roman told his cousin, humorously.

“Yeah, well, I just thought I’d get a… bigger vote in here?”

Ignoring him, Hugo said, “Boyer is likely to be flexible over the DOJ.”

“Not if he doesn’t win,” Shiv said. “Which… he won’t.”

“Isn’t that what you want?” you sighed. “You’re blue, Shiv.”

“My personal politics and the company’s values are on opposite ends of the spectrum,” she clarified. “I have to put the company before myself.”

“Okay, we’re hearing rumors that the case is weakening,” Hugo said. “No one big is likely to do jail time. With the notable exception of Tom, of course. Sorry, Tom.”

Visibly, Tom’s shoulders seemed to stiffen, but he nodded nonetheless. “No, please, Hugo… understood.”

Shiv turned to address her father again. “If you don’t go blue, Dad, then at least we have to be backing Salgado.”

This made Connor audibly groan. “Ugh. Señor Dickless. Captain of the Tampa Bay Cuckaneers.”

“Look, I don’t like him. He’s a neocon pretending to be a paleocon, but he at least talks base!” Shiv said.

Roman clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Wow. I think you’re so brave for picking the brown man. I think that we should get you a medal! A special medal for white women who like brown men.”

“Wow, okay. You’re just being racist! You’re being racist now!” Shiv said, swinging her incredulous gaze from you to her father.

In a mocking tone, Roman said, “Oh, yeah, I’m a good girl! I pretend to care about people because nobody ever cares about me!”

“Hm. Roman, do you have anything you wanna tell Dad? A message from Mom, maybe?”

He recoiled, frowning. “Uh, yeah, wow. Fuck you! Thanks, I do.” Roman looked to his dad, and he could feel the familiar fear creeping up and seizing his ribcage. It helped that you’d shifted your hand to lay over his, but only barely. “Mom’s getting remarried.”

Logan nodded, contemplative. “Hm. To Bertie Woofter?”

“Ooh, no. To Peter. Peter, uh, Peter Munson.”

“Munion,” you whispered.

“Peter Munion,” Roman corrected.

Anger clouded over Logan’s eyes. “You’re fucking kidding. The seat sniffer? Christ. He’s been hanging around for forty-some years!”

“Yeah, and, well, she’d love it if you came to their big Tuscan wedding.”

“Ooh, La-di-da,” Logan said, sucking in a deep breath. “And they sent you as their messenger boy?”

He laughed and laughed. Roman shrugged.

“Okay,” the old man finally said. “Back to it, then. Who are we picking?”

“I guess there are other names,” Hugo offered. Connor coughed pointedly into his fist, but nobody paid him any mind.

Firm, Logan said, “We have to be united on this. It’s a disaster if we splinter.”

“Salgado has great narrative,” Shiv said.

Scowling, Roman spat out, “Quit butt-huffing Salgado! We all supported your little DC lemonade stand, but this is the real fucking world. This actually matters.”

Lip curled, Shiv replied, voice dripping with venom, “Roman, you just love the boot because you like to be kicked by it.”

Clearly hurt, Roman sucked in a deep breath and picked a piece of lint off his pants.

Connor coughed again, and Logan finally asked him what was on his mind.

“Nothing,” the eldest son said. “No, it’s nothing.”

As if to entertain a ludicrous notion, Logan smiled. “What about Connor?”

“I do believe that idea has good promise,” Connor exclaimed. “I do!”

“I could see it,” Logan said. It was strange seeing him smile in such a way. You couldn’t quite decipher its genuinity. “Kids?”

With a slight snicker, Roman raised his brows. “Uhm… sure, I don’t know.” After a pause, he straightened and asked in a more serious tone, “Wait, but, like—really?”

“It feels very…” You winced, sending Connor an apologetic look. “Very nepo baby? Very rigged.”

Roman shrugged. “They’re all fucking weirdos, anyway. Why not?”

“I mean, he’s a good-looking kid,” Logan said. “He’s smart… in his own way. Fucking Joe Kennedy did it for his boys, no? So let’s get him in there with a smile and a shoeshine and get Ron and everyone behind him.”

No way the matter was settled. Shiv crossed her arms, eyes darting every which way in an incredulous manner.

“I would fight so fuckin’ hard for this family, Pop,” Connor told his dad, warmth spilling over his features.

Logan casted his gaze over to his daughter. “Siobhan. As a political consultant… what do you think?”

“Well, no huge name ID, but the family name will be a factor and… uh, he’s got no track record.”

“Nothing to beat me with,” Connor emphasized with a charming grin. “I’m a clean skin!”

They yammered on some more, and Roman rubbed his knuckles along his hairline, seeming stressed. He pulled out his phone and shot out a few texts really quickly, thumbs flying across the keyboard.

Finally, once he put the device away, Roman shook his head. “Okay, but, are we being serious about this? We’re talking about trying to make Connor president?”

All the warmth drained from Connor’s face, replaced by a marring frown. “It’s a big tent, Roman. Why don’t you just come in?”

“Sure. Right. I might just call the guy who waxes my balls, he would be a great president, don’t you think?” Roman retorted.

Shiv interjected once more. “If we’re talking about this seriously, I really think we need to take a look at Salgado. Can I bring him up here without being fucking shot?”

Connor rolled his eyes and Roman groaned.

Finally, Logan’s eyes landed on you.

“You’re for Boyer, Y/N?”

You sat up straighter. “I think he’s safe. Most conservatives like safe. Or, at least, the illusion of safety. Boyer can give them that.”

There was a second of a pause, before Logan nodded. “Hugo. Call Boyer.”

“Well, if Shiv gets to bring up soggy Salgado then I wanna see if we can tame Mencken, okay?” Roman asked just as Hugo handed Logan the phone. In a quieter voice, Roman leaned forward to whisper to just you, “I arranged a meeting with him tonight. Come with?”

You reared back, eyes narrowing. “What? No, Roman.”

“Please? Just… you don’t even have to say anything. Just hear him out. What if he’s not all that bad?”

You blew out a steely breath. Meeting with a fascist was certainly not something you ever thought you’d agree to do.

Begrudging, you muttered, “Fine. But please, Roman, don’t be serious about him. I’m begging you.”

Roman gave you a half-shrug, which didn’t quell any worries you had one bit. “We’ll just see how the dice rolls.”

When Boyer finally picked up the phone, the two of you lapsed into silence, listening in on the conversation. His voice was groggy, as if he’d just been woken up. He didn’t sound too happy at Logan’s request to come to the room.

“Oh… and my fridge is empty, Dave. I don’t suppose you could bring me a Coke?” Logan said. You raised a brow in surprise whilst Roman smiled down at his lap. It was a power play—a reminder to Boyer that he ate out of Logan’s palms.

“Did you mean to call room service?” the vice’s voice crackled through.

“If you don’t have a Coke, is there something else? Could you, perhaps, fire the deputy attorney general?”

“Fire the deputy attorney general?” Boyer parroted, twinged with disbelief.

Logan smiled, laughing. “I’m kidding. Come on over. Have a chat. If it’s convenient, of course.”

Five minutes later, Boyer was at the suite’s door. You had no time to listen to his talk with Logan, because Roman was already up and pulling you out the door. He spared no explanation to Shiv, who watched the two of you leave with suspicious eyes.

You took the elevator a floor down, where Mencken’s room was.

Roman was the one that knocked, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet anxiously.

“Come in!” you faintly heard Mencken’s voice say. Both you and Roman exchanged looks, yours warning and his pleading, in a sense.

He wanted so badly for your approval.

The two of you stepped in, met with an empty hotel room. It took you another moment to realize that the bathroom door was ajar, Mencken standing in front of the mirror with just a towel hanging over his hips, shaving foam shadowing over his chin and jaw. He was dragging a razor through the white foam, a smile to his lips upon seeing the both of you.

“Hey, guys. Glad to see you again.”

Roman smiled back, leaning against the bathroom’s door frame while you lingered behind him.

“So… I—we just wanted to chit-chat a little bit. That was funny earlier, by the way. You tripping the light fantastic on Grandpappy’s nutsack.”

Mencken hummed. “When I called your dad bullshit? Did that bump?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve never seen that before. That was fucking hardcore,” Roman commented. “Y/N isn’t a fan of ATN either, as it turns out.”

For a moment, you sent Roman a half-hearted glare. He’d said that you wouldn’t have to say anything.

“Ooh. Waystar’s princess, not liking Waystar? How meaty.” Mencken tilted his head back to shave the nooks and crannies that were harder to maneuver around. “Good for you, though. The thing is… this monkey don’t dance.”

Roman laughed, pointing at him. “This monkey right here? The monkey shaving in a hotel bathroom?”

“That’s right.” Finally, Mencken rinsed off the last bits of foam from his face, wiping off the excess dampness with a towel. There wasn’t a single nick on his face—you thought of the many times you’ve watched Roman shaved, when he always somehow managed to garner a dozen or so tiny cuts along his jaw. Mencken turned to face the two of you.

“Listen, I did want to talk to you about something. Fuck it, I’ll just come right out and say it.” Roman eased into the bathroom, leaning against the wall opposite Mencken, tugging you in as well. It was a strange feeling—you’d never had a meeting in a bathroom before. Wrinkling his nose, Roman said, “Fascists are kind of cool… but not really. So, is that, like, gonna be a problem? Will it be a thing?”

It unnerved you when Mencken sighed, stepping closer to the both of you. So close, in fact, that you could smell the shaving cream he’d used. Your brows furrowed in distaste and fixed your stare on the tile down below your feet.

“Seriously? Me? I just… I don’t have a lot of boundaries.”

Evidently, you wanted to snap. But you kept quiet.

“St. Augustine, Thomas Aquinas, Schumacher. I’ll borrow from anyone. To restrict me to that label is just… it’s not right, is it? You know, if Franco or H or Travis Bickle had a good pitch, fuck it!”

This made you tear your gaze away from the ground, meeting Mencken’s stare head-on. He was much closer that you realized, and that made you all the more uncomfortable.

“H?” you finally croaked. “As in—?”

He spared you a wolfish smile. “I’m a fully-fledged, small-dicked Democrat.”

“I don’t think you are,” you challenged.

This made him tilt his head and bark out a laugh. “Which one? Small-dicked or a Democrat? Because I can tell you now that neither of those are true, sweetheart.” Your unamused countenance seemed to only fuel him further. “A well-regulated election is a transmission frequency for God’s grace, really.”

“Holy shit,” Roman whistled. “You really are a Christian, aren’t you?”

“Well, no, no, my only thing is like—who’s the stakeholder, right? I’ve been tending my little garden for a hundred years, and then forty new guys show up in the back of a truck, playing their boombox. When it’s put to a vote, they decide to, uh, give my farm to themselves. I mean, it’s ridiculous, right? Maybe we should be putting in before we get to take out.”

There was so much to pick apart with his ideology. So many flaws, so many weak-links. But you didn’t say anything.

Instead, Roman asked, “Okay, well, who gets to join?”

“People trust people who look like them. That’s just a scientific fact. They will give more tax dollars to help them,” Mencken said. “And I know you look nothing like me, ma’am, so I’ll just say it plain and clear. I don’t trust you, and you don’t trust me. But that’s just part of the thrill, no?”

You recoiled back into Roman. “What the fuck are you talking about? What thrill? Can you just—back up a bit? You’re all up in my fucking personal space.”

Your scowl loosened just a tad when Mencken raised his hands and took a step back. He snorted. “Sorry. Don’t cancel me. Or do. I don’t think it matters much, right?”

He was right, but you didn’t say it.

“I like this country,” Mencken admitted. “I do. I like the people in it.”

“Not all the people, though, right?” you carefully asked.

“Of course, not. And don’t get all high and mighty on me. You can’t say you like all the people in it, now can you?” You opened your mouth to say something, but he cut you off. “We aren’t too different, you and I. Roman… I see why he’s taken a liking to you. You have some sense about you.”

You gave Roman a questioning glance, wondering what on earth he’d said to Mencken through text.

You clenched your jaw. “I’m not here for you,” you finally breathed out. “You can’t sway me, Mencken.”

“Oh, we’ll see about that, sweetheart.”

Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, Roman finally intervened before you could get too heated, “In terms of, you know, this thing we have… there’s a thing here, right?”

“Mhm.”

“I get it. You’re fucking 6G and we’re Betamax, but you need us, I think. Our news, our viewers, those fucking almost-deads. That’s a big slice of pie,” Roman explained.

“Well, if I’m the nominee… are any of them really going to vote against me?” he asked.

Half a shrug lifting one of his shoulders, Rome said, “No, but… it’s going to be a fucking shitshow going into the convention. I think you could really use our push.”

You weren’t happy about any of this. But Logan had already called Boyer. The deal was done, right? You’d walk back up to the suite, and the next red-wing electee would be picked. This was all… for nothing.

Right?

Mencken nodded. “And I think you could use my push.”

“Maybe,” Roman admitted.

“Where are you in all this?” Mencken asked Roman, curiously. “What’s the little forgotten Prince doing?”

Roman made a nervous, whooshing sound. “I’m, uh, you know. I’m creeping on the come-up.”

“Oh, yeah?” Mencken glanced at you, as if to decipher whether or not he was telling the truth. You betrayed nothing, looking back down at the tiles.

“I’ve got some ideas for ATN. Sluice out the fucking porridge and add some sriracha. Poach some of those TikTok psychos, you know? E-girls with fucking guns and Juul pods. Give me some straight-shot blacks and latinos. That’ll get a few generations turning heads. No more of this fucking… pillows and bedpans. We’re strictly bone broth and dick pills. Deep state conspiracy hour but with, like, a fucking wink, you know? It’ll be funny.” Roman clapped his hands together. “The whole show is kinda set up for the star. President Jeryd Mencken.”

Your face soured.

“I like that,” Mencken said, stroking his freshly-shaved jaw. “I like that a lot.”

“Well, I don’t. Good fucking luck, Roman.” With that, you straightened your shoulders and marched out of the bathroom, needing to get away from the two of them. You needed air. More importantly, you needed to get up to the suite and ask if they’d settled for Boyer.

The two men stood in the bathroom, silent for a few moments.

“I think she likes me.” Mencken smirked.

Roman scratched at the back of his head. He was really hoping you’d see the better side of Mencken, like he did. He just hoped that you weren’t too angry with him. You hardly ever got mad, but when you did, it always felt like the end of the world to him.

“Right… can you, uh… come up and say hello or something to him? My dad?” Roman glanced at the door. “Oh, and bring a can of Coke with you.”

Logan chose Mencken.

That night, you crawled into the cold hotel bed and cried. You felt so… so trapped in a life that you didn’t want to live. You briefly wondered what would happen to you if you quit your job entirely, but you pushed the thought away almost as quickly as it came. It wasn’t something you liked to entertain.

Half an hour later, you could hear your door opening.

Right. You’d forgotten that Roman had asked for another set of the key card to your room. You quietly wiped your tears away, grateful that it was too dark for him to see.

He slipped in behind you, sliding his arms over your waist and pressing his nose into the back of your neck.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked.

You chose not to reply, pretending to be asleep.

“It’ll be good,” he said, eventually. “He’ll be good. I promise. His dick is big enough for the both of us.”

You shifted your foot just a bit, but that was enough for Roman to know that you were awake.

“Stop ignoring me.”

“I don’t want you here,” you murmured.

There was a shuffle behind you. Roman cleared his throat. It was so unbearably tense.

“If it’s Mencken you’re worried about—”

“I don’t want you here,” you repeated, a warbling edge to your voice. “I love you, Roman. Please leave.”

He went stiff. One second, then two, then three.

“I love you, too,” he finally said. It was said with no joking tone, no playful quips, no inappropriate remarks. It wasn’t often that Roman told you that he loved you, at least compared to the number of times you’d say it to him. Maybe it was because he never knew if you meant I love you, or I’m in love with you.

And with that, he slowly slipped his hands off of you, and got back onto his feet. He made a show of leaving the key card on the nightstand, before making his way out of your hotel room.

He shut the door behind him, standing in front for a minute. A part of him wanted you to open up and beg him to come back. An even more delusional part of him expected you to do so.

Instead, Roman could hear your muffled sobs ricochet from behind the door. Something within him seized up. He turned on his heel and left.

Kendall had invited you to his birthday party, to your surprise. After all that transpired between the two of you, you hardly expected to be wanted at his party. Though, from what you heard, it was hardly a personal affair.

It didn’t seem like your kind of event, honestly, and you hardly had a reason to go. You loved Kendall, but you could tell him that any other day of the year, when he wasn’t surrounded by fucking vagina-entrances, childhood treehouse replicas, and miniature Wu-Tang dancers. Though, Kendall told you to keep that last bit on the down low. The dancers were meant to be a surprise.

But you weren’t at all planning on going.

That was, until Logan decided otherwise for you.

There was a problem with GoJo, and Logan was pissed that Matsson hadn’t shown up. Something about blatant disrespect, he’d said.

“He’s going to this fucking party, isn’t he?” Logan had barked. “Huh? Where is he? Getting his nails done? Asshole whitened?”

Roman squinted at his dad. “I think we just have to court him a little, is the thing—”

“Bah. No. It’s bad fucking juju to start like this,” Logan snippily said.

You quirked a brow, knowing Logan was never one to be superstitious.

Shiv and Roman both tried to broach more options, but Logan shut them all down. “The deal makes sense. It’s a great deal. But he won’t make the deal because he’s being an arrogant prick.”

“Fine. Yeah, sure, Matsson’s an asshole. But should we really burn our only parachute because of that?” Shiv stressed.

Logan leaned back in his seat, regarding his daughter. “It’s just smart business, Shiv. I don’t want to pay over the odds. And eventually, the market will make him make the deal.”

You shook your head. “The market has plenty of better hands to deal him.”

“Someone can make a better offer, and we’d be screwed,” Roman agreed.

“Dad, we have a scale issue. Our streaming platform is for shit, and we have nothing that looks like growth,” Shiv added on. “This gets us consequently into streaming, into sports betting—social media! We have a little window. Miss this, and we end up being pilot fish nibbling leftovers from Bezos’ fucking teeth. Dad, please. If you don’t want to talk to Matsson, fine. But let me.”

“Let us,” Roman interjected. “We can all do it. He’s gonna be at the party, right? We’ll go.”

“You’re going?” Logan asked, raising an eyebrow at Shiv.

Her eyes darted from her father to her brother. “Mhm.”

Heaving out a breath, Logan nodded. “Y/N, you go with them. Don’t go in too strong. This is a black box, and I don’t want to overpay.”

You wondered if Logan wanted you there to help broker the deal, or if he wanted you there to make sure Roman and Shiv didn’t start clawing at each other’s throats.

Shiv nodded, muttering something under her breath, and darted out of Logan’s office to make some preparations. That just left you and Roman standing in front of Logan. The air between the two of you was still tense since the whole Mencken debacle.

You were about to step out as well, before Logan said, “Since you two are going, might as well give him this in person.”

He slid over an envelope. The three of you, along with Gerri, had discussed its contents: an offer for Kendall to cash out of the company for good. Roman glanced at you, and you used your head to gesture for him to take it.

“You think he’ll like it?” Roman asked his dad, who offered him half a smile and a shrug.

When he turned to look at you, the glass door was ajar and the spot where you were standing a moment ago was vacant.

Roman’s palms were sweaty. This was about the fifth time he’d wiped them down the front of his suit’s pants, hoping they’d just air out on their own by the time he got to your door.

They didn’t, but Roman found himself shrugging it off. You’d seen much worse than sweaty palms when it came to him.

It was an hour before the party was supposed to start—more so if he wanted to be fashionably late, didn’t want to seem too desperate—and he rang the bell.

It’d only been a few days since the two of you properly spoke, but Roman missed you. He found his nights staring at your number, thumb hovering over the call button. He’d sent about a dozen texts since then, but none of them were replied to. Sure, the two of you had gotten into fights every now and then but they never lasted long.

And Roman was determined to get you to stop ignoring him.

When the door swung open, you peeked through, not at all ready yet for the party. Roman snickered upon seeing your eyeshadow only done on one eye, curlers in your hair.

“Looking hot, fuck-face,” he whistled. To his relief, your features softened, and you stepped to the side to let him amble in. Even in your current disheveled state, you knew he was telling the truth.

In truth, you’d missed him more than you could ever admit. It took a great deal of self-restraint not to reply to his strings of texts, especially once you were given time to cool off after what had transpired in the hotel bathroom. He was your Achilles’ heel, in a way.

“What do you want?” you asked, not even bothering to face him as you shut the door and made your way further into your home, standing in front of your mirror vanity to resume doing your makeup.

Roman watched your reflection in a near somber manner. “Well, I was just thinking, since we’re going to Kendall’s little birthday bash, we could go togeth—”

“No,” you found yourself saying without a second thought. “I can go myself.”

With a sigh, Roman stepped forward, leaning against your vanity so he could look at you instead of your reflection. “I just want to talk. This—whatever’s going on between us—it fucking sucks. I miss you.”

For a second, you let your eyes meet his. You didn’t say anything, simply carrying on with drawing your eyeliner.

“You’re not gonna say you miss me, too?”

“Of course I missed you, Rome.” There was a sort of bitterness to your words. “That doesn’t make me any less mad at you.”

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I went down the Mencken road. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. But, cross my heart and hope to die, I genuinely believe he can help us. And, like, what’s the worst he can do? Just because he becomes president doesn’t mean he can do fuck all. I’m just with him because we’d all benefit from him helping out the company.” He scratched the back of his head whilst giving you, as he would so eloquently put it, fucky eyes.

There was a long stretch of pregnant silence. You’d finally put down the eyeliner, shifting to stand directly in front of him, your chest brushing against his.

“What can I do?” he whispered. He couldn’t help it—his eyes were fixed on your lips, parted and glossed. “What can I do to make it up to you?”

You smelled so damn good too—Roman felt like he was going delirious. He chalked it up to not being around you for a long while. That was probably why. His hands reached out to rest over your hips.

“Not much you can do now. What’s done is done. Your dad settled on Mencken—there’s no changing his mind.” You tilted your head, so close now that your nose was brushing against his. He briefly wondered if you could feel the way his heart was slamming imprints against his ribs.

You were just a hair’s breadth away from kissing him. You were so fucking close—

Until you pulled away with a smug little grin, far enough so that his hands fell away from you, going right back to fixing up your makeup. “I can look past Mencken for now. Mostly because I can’t see someone like him actually winning the election. But I’m absolutely not saying that I’m with you on this. I’m just saying we can put aside our… differences. If he just so happens to win, I’m counting on you to have your hand up his ass, and my hand would be up yours. So we’re good, for now.”

“You fucking tease,” he grumbled, chuckling slightly. “What was that about your hand up my ass?”

“Awh,” you said in a mocking tone, one of your feet kicking up to knock against his shin. “Did you manage to get a hard on without me even touching you?”

Roman rolled his eyes. “Fuck off. And no.”

He was lying. He definitely had an erection, and the both of you knew it.

“Did you want me to kiss you?” you asked abruptly, starting to pull out the curlers in your hair.

His mouth went slack. His mind was moving too fast for him to formulate any coherent sentences. Instead, he laughed a bit, before it tapered away awkwardly.

“Yeah?” he finally replied, more of a question than anything.

“You don’t sound sure.”

“I’m sure,” he haughtily replied.

“Okay,” you said, though you didn’t look convinced. Another roller came out.

“Don’t believe me?” Roman placed his hands over your hips once more, and yanked you close. “I’ll kiss you right here, right now.”

A brilliant smile danced across your features. “That a promise, Romey?”

With that, Roman leaned forward and slotted his lips over yours. It was tentative and soft and—surprisingly sticky. Your lip gloss, he registered a second later, tasted like strawberries and honey. A content hum slipped from you and you wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him back with just as much vigor. Your nose slanted against his, foreheads knocking together.

You were the one to pull away first, laughing lightly at his hooded eyes and the way he chased after your lips. A second bout of laughter overtook you when you saw the glossy, tinted smudges across his mouth.

Shoulders still shaking, you pulled out a makeup wipe and handed it over to him, silently gesturing to his lips.

“The color doesn’t suit you,” you rasped, though you kissed his cheek to leave a faint mark there, as well. “That’s a first for us, you know?”

“What?”

“Kissing.”

Roman looked at you strangely as he wiped away the remnants of your gloss. “We’ve kissed millions of times. Mostly you, because you’re obsessed with me.”

“Yeah, but… not like that. Mouth to mouth. It was always a line I didn’t wanna cross, you know?”

He toyed with a brush laying on your vanity. “Why not?” he asked, his voice sounding a bit more unsure. “You afraid I’m gonna give you cooties?”

“Well, because we’re…” You paused, gesturing between the two of you. “We’re friends. With occasional benefits, I guess. I didn’t know if you were okay with it.”

Lifting a shoulder, Roman offered you a smile. Friends didn’t sit quite right with him. Not anymore, at least. “Well now you know. You can kiss me all you want.”

You huffed in amusement, before pulling out the rest of the rollers in your hair. All you had left to do was put on your outfit, and you were good to go. You wondered if Kendall would be happy seeing his siblings at his party, when you knew for a fact that he hadn’t invited them.

“I’m gonna go change. You want me to help you out with that?” You looked down at his tented pants with a raised brow. “No blow jobs, though. Don’t wanna ruin my makeup.”

This time, Roman was the one that laughed, loud and chesty. He sucked on his teeth, as if debating his options.

“How much time do we have?” he asked.

You glanced over at a small clock hanging on the opposite side of the room. “We’ve got forty-five minutes, maybe? If we wanna get there before Matsson gets bored and leaves.”

Roman clapped his hands together. “Great! More than enough time.”

The two of you ended up fooling around for a bit longer than you’d anticipated—he’d humped your ass with you bent over your couch, then finished by jacking off onto your back. You were grateful that you hadn’t yet changed into your outfit for the party, having stayed in a comfortable white shirt that you shucked off and threw into the laundry bin.

To your surprise, he seemed earnest enough to want to try fingering you, and you shyly told him to go for it if he wanted. A permanent flush fixed over your cheeks as you gently guided him to do what felt best. His thumb over your clit, his fingers sheathed deep in your cunt. He was good at it, mostly because he was clinging onto your every plea like it was gospel. You came with a drawn-out moan and your teeth sinking into his shoulder.

You managed to squeeze in just one more handjob for him since he somehow got hard again while fingering you, whispering filthy nothings into his ear as he whined, eyes rolled into the back of his head. To your curious delight, you’d found that Roman really liked being called a good boy.

Only after all that did you manage to change into a semi-formal dress, touching up on your makeup since a lot of your lipstick had smudged onto Roman. In turn, Roman headed to the bathroom to wash up a bit, comb back his hair, some strands had come loose during your little excursions, and straightened out his suit.

“You ready?” you asked, peeking into the bathroom. The two of you were a bit later than you would’ve liked. “I want to make a stop at the corner store before the party.”

“What for?” he asked, curious.

“Last minute birthday gift,” you replied, hopping slightly as you strapped on your shoes. “Let’s go, Rome. You look hot, I promise.”

He smiled at your reflection, and took your outstretched hand.

Upon arriving at the large venue, the woman in front asked to take everybody’s coats and phones. To which, Roman told her, “Yeah, fuck off, I’m not doing that,” and walked right past her.

You gave her an apologetic smile, shedding your coat and handed it to her. “Sorry, I can’t hand you my phone. Company policy.”

With that, you jogged to catch up to Roman, chatting with Connor, who had also chosen to cling on tightly to his coat. Beneath it, you saw that one of his arms was in a sling.

“Oh, Con, what happened?” you asked, waving hello to Willa.

“Nothing, nothing. Just ranch stuff,” the older man replied, nonchalant.

Roman snorted. “What, a horse didn’t want you to fuck it?”

“He had a fall,” Willa said, and Connor immediately protested.

“You make it sound like I’m ninety years old. No, Maxim and I just got some polling results. We shared a Cognac, and then I slipped doing a little Irish jig.”

“Oh, okay. Ranch stuff. Got it,” quipped Roman.

You stopped in front of a tunnel-like entrance, the walls lined with soft pink.

“This feels disgustingly Kendall,” Shiv said, and the two of you laughed as you strolled in. “So… where’s Tabs, Rome? She busy?”

Arching a brow, you looked to Roman. You knew that his relationship with her had fizzled out, especially after the… corpse sex debacle.

“Yup,” Roman said, clearly not comfortable discussing it with her.

She grinned, snickering. “Again? Did you kill her?”

“We’re actually—we’re not really seeing each other anymore. She was just a bit boring. That’s all I’m saying,” Roman said. His eyes darted to you, and you offered him half a smile.

“Mmh, yeah. Because you find sexual intimacy boring, don’t you?” Shiv pressed, which made both you and Roman frown.

“As if you’re the catch,” Roman snapped back. “You’re more fucked up than me, you know! Seems like Y/N and I are nicer to each other than you are to your own husband.”

Shiv looked between the two of you, expression immediately souring. “You’re so fucking annoying,” she muttered, before turning to mutter something to Tom.

By the end of the pink tunnel, a woman dressed in a cartoonish nurse uniform greeted the group. “You’ve just been born into the world of Kendall Roy!” she announced.

“Oh, Jesus,” Shiv huffed.

Roman turned back to look at the pink tunnel. “Oh. So if we’ve just been born, then that must be mom’s…?” He shifted his weight back and forth by the exit. “You’re telling me I’m repeatedly entering my mom’s vagina right now?”

You snorted in amusement, nudging Shiv. “These your mom jokes just keep getting better.”

She hummed. “Cold and inhospitable. It seems to check out.”

“This is my mom’s cooch, just so you know,” Roman told the nurse. “And you’re implying that it’s massive, so, uh, might wanna get Kendall to see if you can tighten my mother’s vagina.”

The group shuffled off, leaving the poor nurse to gather her wits and greet the next few guests approaching.

“Where’s Matsson, you think?” Shiv asked.

“Probably standing in a corner somewhere, monitoring his biometrics from his watch,” Roman scoffed.

“Don’t you think we should find Kendall before trying to find Matsson?” you queried, looking around the crowded room in hopes of finding Kendall somewhere amidst the dancing throng. “I mean… it is his birthday party, after all.”

Nodding, Roman said, “Yeah, good thinking. Let’s just get it out of the way.”

Shiv managed to track down one of Kendall’s assistants, asking her where he’d be. She pointed up the stairs, where the VIP section was. Thanking her, the three of you made your way up the stairs whilst the rest of the group stayed down to mingle.

The second floor was a bit less packed, but there were still dozens upon dozens of famous figures mingling about. It wasn’t hard to find Kendall amongst them, sticking out like a sore thumb with a birthday crown perched on his head, laughing with his girlfriend, Naomi Pierce, by his side.

His eyes met his siblings’, and he scrambled to take the crown off, dropping it onto the nearest waiter’s tray.

“Woah, woah, woah. Wait a second. Who let you guys in? This is friends only!” he exclaimed.

Shiv made a pitying noise. “Awh. Shouldn’t it be empty, then?”

Roman cackled. “She beat me by one second.”

“Happy birthday, old man,” Shiv said, giving her older brother a sharp smile.

“Just to say, I’m only here because I heard there was going to be a five-dimensional catastrophe, and I want to watch you crash and burn,” Roman told him.

Features mellowing, Kendall stepped forward and spread his arms out wide to give Roman a hug, which he reciprocated with no complaint.

However, he did have to squeeze in, “Man, it even feels like you’re old. You sure you’re only forty? You look like shit.”

Despite his harsh words, Kendall pulled away with a genuine smile. He was happy that his siblings were here, even if he hadn’t invited them.

He hugged you next, and you reached up to kiss his cheek with a smile. “Hey, Kenny D. Happy birthday—I brought you a little present.” You reached into the cheap plastic bag from the corner store, brandishing a strawberry popsicle, still in its wrapper. “It’s probably a bit melted but if you popped it into the freezer for ten minutes or so, it should be good as new. Sorry it’s not much.”

Kendall’s expression seemed to soften, recalling how the two of you would always argue over the last remaining strawberry popsicle during the summers you were still little children. When you would grab it from the freezer before he could, he’d tug on your pigtails and call you mean as you denied ever taking them, and you’d hide the wrappers in Rome’s room so he’d never know it was you. But he could always tell from the sticky red on the corners of your mouth and your sugar-highs that seemed to last for a little too long.

“No, this is…” He took the popsicle from you, staring down at the wrapper. “This is perfect. Thank you. I really appreciate it, I do.”

You nodded, pointedly watching as he pocketed the popsicle. “No problem. I promise not to take this one from you.”

Kendall laughed, then looked to his brother and sister. “Really? No card? I’m disappointed.”

“Sorry, I couldn’t find one that said both ‘happy birthday’ and ‘get well soon’,” Shiv crooned. The smile on Kendall’s face faltered.

“Well, I’m glad you guys came. It says a lot,” he finally said.

“It was a ten minute drive,” Shiv deadpanned.

A part of you wondered why Shiv was being particularly brutal today, especially on Kendall’s birthday. Nonetheless, the two of them awkwardly hugged, Shiv patting her brother’s back a few times.

Connor and Willa ascended the stairs a few seconds later, waving hello. They greeted the birthday boy with hugs, and the smile returned back to Kendall’s face, though it wasn’t quite the same as before.

“So, what do you guys think? Sick party, right?” Kendall asked, arms spread.

Squinting, Roman glanced back downstairs. “It’s cool, but, uh, did you ask for Mummy’s permission to use her, uh… squatch?”

Kendall shook his head a bit, seeming puzzled. “What, from, like, a copyright perspective?”

“Well, it’s just, you know—call me old-fashioned, but I think you should ask before constructing a giant replica of someone’s vagina,” Roman off-handedly said.

“I’d definitely want to be informed before someone decides to make an artistic rendition of my privates,” you chimed in agreement.

“Duly noted,” Roman said in a faux British accent, and the two of you giggled under your breath like schoolgirls.

Kendall, miffed, nodded a few times. “Yeah, okay. Yeah. I can—I can send mom an email. But, relax, will you? Yes, Roman, you can take it home with you.”

Roman pumped a fist into the air at that, and you both burst into another round of giddy laughter.

Rolling her eyes, Shiv said, “Okay, so, tell us. Who else is here?”

Kendall made a show of looking around at the dozens of famous celebrities loitering around the VIP section. “Who isn’t?”

“Your dad,” Roman said.

“Your mom,” Shiv told him.

“Your wife,” Connor added.

“Your kids?” you put forth, more as a question than anything.

“Any real friends,” Roman chimed again.

With a smile, Shiv said, “I mean, business folks, sure. Stewy? Honestly, we could do with building some bridges. So, uh, Lawrence Yee? He here? Lukas Matsson?”

There it was. She name-dropped the golden goose.

“Yeah, yeah. They’re all here, somewhere,” Kendall assured, gesturing around vaguely. “I have something to show you guys, actually. Come on.”

The siblings and you followed him down a winding hallway, which gave way to black-out curtains, and past that, it seemed to be an art gallery of sorts.

“Hey, Dad wanted me to give this to you,” Roman said, handing Kendall the envelope. You eyed it warily, wondering how Kendall would react to the offer.

“What is it?” the older brother queried, shaking it lightly, as if expecting something inside to rattle.

A dismissive sort of smile fell over Roman’s face. “It’s, uh, an iTunes gift card and a couple of your baby teeth. It’s nice. We hope you like it.”

Kendall looked at you, silently asking for confirmation. You nodded, hesitant, but that seemed to satisfy him enough—he pocketed the envelope to open up for later.

“Okay, guys, let me show you some shit. C’mon.” He beckoned everyone into the art gallery, before spewing into a long tangent about all the people he had to collaborate with in order for things to work out.

Instead of paintings and sculptures, which you’d typically see hung up in galleries, there were newspaper articles and headlines plastered over the walls.

The Cincinnati Standard: Waystar Chairman, Kendall Roy Elected President of World Federation!

Boston Daily Express: Wife of Tom Wambsgans Arrested In Sweep of City Street-Walkers!

The Correspondent: Connor Roy Elected President [of shitting his bag]!

The NY Globe: Failed Youngest Roy Sibling Dies in Tragic Jerk-Off Accident!

Both you and Roman stopped to stand in front of his article. You shot him an amused glance. “Who were you jerking off to, do you think?”

“Don’t worry, fuck-face, there’s a lot of Roman to go around,” he said, leaning closer to read the smaller text.

Your grin grew wider, gesturing to the paper. “Not for long, according to this.”

“It’s not a bad way to go.” Roman bumped his shoulder into yours. “Yours is going to happen any day now, I can just feel it.”

Your brows raised, and you turned around, surprised to see your own article plastered large and tall right beside Connor’s.

New York Journalist: Disgraced CEO’s Goddaughter Kicked Out of Company—Adopted Into Communist Parties!

“Wow,” you breathed out. It wasn’t all that bad, really.

“You like it?” Kendall asked the two of you.

“You’ve got people in here picturing me jerking off, so who’s the real winner?” Roman sneered.

Shaking your head, you told Kendall, “I can’t even imagine why you’d have an entire room dedicated to this at your birthday party.”

“It’s—it’s unique. An extrapolation into the near future,” he said. “People dig it.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” Roman replied, clapping his shoulder, before wandering off to read the other articles.

Connor threw a large fit about his article, unhappy with the way he was being portrayed as an unserious candidate.

“You did actually shit your bag, though,” Roman said. Kendall guffawed and the two brothers began laughing together, at Connor’s expense.

His scowl deepened. “Yeah, you know why? Because I took you two fucking assholes on a camping trip because Dad couldn’t be bothered! That’s why! I ate some bad fucking fish! This is bullshit, Kendall!” He yelled that last sentence, to which Kendall quickly reassured him that he’d have it taken down.

You remembered Roman telling you about the camping trip, the both of you only barely teenagers. It was harder then, being friends with them—boys were particularly mean at that age.

You remembered asking if you could come along. Kendall told you that it was a boys trip. Only boys were allowed, and you most certainly weren’t a boy.

You remembered Roman asking if you could somehow fit into the cooler so he could sneak you on the trip. Even now, you weren't quite sure if he was just joking or if he was being serious. Nonetheless, you pushed him away and told him to have fun sleeping on rocks and eating stale jerky that tasted like dirt. When you sniffled, Connor put a hand on your shoulder and told you that there’d be many more camping trips in the future. To your knowledge, they never went again.

“Alright, guys, I gotta circulate. Lots of people to talk to. We can check in later, yeah?” Kendall rubbed his hands together. You briefly realized that this was the first time you’d seen him genuinely happy in a long time.

“Yeah, yeah, you go on ahead,” Shiv said, urging him on.

“It’s a great night. I’m happy you guys are here. Fucking… best birthday ever.”

With that, Kendall hurried off. You and Roman exchanged glances, mirrors of pity and guilt.

Half an hour of asking around later, Shiv managed to snag down Matsson’s location in this never-ending venue of birthday bash.

“Don’t fuck this,” Shiv warned Roman, to which he rolled his eyes and gestured for her to lead the way.

The three of you traversed up a couple more flights of winding staircases, turning left into a massive hall, where a giant replica of a treehouse was erected, leading into what looked like another secret passageway. You narrowed your eyes, seeming to recognize the little carvings on the wood by the base of the tree. Younger Kendall often went into the yard whenever he was angry, whittling away his frustrations onto the bark. You and Roman used to play pretend that they were ancient runes when he wasn’t around to hear you.

“I think a forty year old man who rebuilt his childhood treehouse should immediately go on the sex offender registry,” Roman snidely commented, eyeing the massive structure.

Two burly guards blocked the entry way.

“We’re with Kendall,” you said as you tried to sidestep them, but one thrust his arm out in front of you.

“Do you have a rainbow band?” he gruffed.

Roman guffawed. “Yes. I’m a walking fucking rainbow band.”

It was then that Kendall’s head emerged from behind the guards, eyebrows raised.

“Hey, guys. You done downstairs?”

“Mhm. These guys aren’t letting us in. Ain’t that crazy?” Roman asked pointedly. “Do you mind if we took a gander around your mental disorder?”

Kendall laughed, though it sounded forced. “Hah. Yeah, good one. That’s funny, Rome.”

“So are you gonna let us in, or what?” Shiv butted in, clearly impatient.

“That’s, uh…” Kendall smiled, almost apologetic, almost triumphant. “That’s not possible.”

You tilted your head, wondering if Kendall somehow found out that the three of you were after Matsson. “Not possible? Why’s that?”

“You hiding something from us in there, Ken?” Roman jeered. “Nude selfies you don’t feel comfortable with showing? The angsty romantic poetry you wrote when you were seventeen?”

A frown flickered across his face. “Well, okay, the thing is—the treehouse is for cool people, and you guys… you guys aren’t cool. Sorry, Y/N. You know, I would’ve given you a band if they weren’t here with you.”

“I’m flattered,” you said in a flat tone.

“Wow. The coolest grown man’s treehouse I’ve seen in quite a while,” Shiv snippily retorted, which made Roman snicker.

Holding his hands out in a placating manner, Kendall told the three of you, “Okay, no, seriously guys. Sorry, but, like… all jokes aside, there’s actually a real issue here, and I need to be discreet, because there’s a lot of celebrities around, and if you guys were in the treehouse, it would be kinda—kinda wouldn’t feel like the treehouse, y’know?”

Shiv scoffed.

“You’re a nazi lover,” Kendall deadpanned, pointing at his sister. He jutted his finger to Roman, then you. “And you’re a nazi lover. And you’re heavily affiliated with them. Me, on the other hand, I’m a defender of liberal democracy.”

“Lovely. You afraid of getting canceled on Twitter, Kendall?” you asked, crossing your arms. You let the words spew out without really thinking over them. “Or are you scared to show all your ad-sponsored, money-grubbing buddies up there who kicked you to the ground and spat on your corpse? It’s not a good look, is it?”

Appearing crestfallen for a moment, Kendall shook his head. “You’re being—stop. I didn’t expect you to stoop down to their level, Y/N.”

“Jesus, are you going to let us in or not?” Roman huffed.

“What, to see Matsson?” Kendall finally asked.

There it was. He knew.

“That’s why you’re here. You’re trying to push a deal,” he muttered.

“Who fucking gives a shit?” Roman asked. “What’s the difference to you? I just want to talk to him.”

Shiv nodded. “You know what’ll happen if we do talk to him? Either we strike out with nothing, or we succeed, Waystar benefits, and your net worth goes up by several hundred million dollars.”

“You’re welcome,” retorted Roman.

“Okay, yeah, but I have to weigh that against the consideration that no losers allowed,” Kendall said, shrugging.

“God, you’re such a fucking child.” You rolled your eyes, the two other siblings following suit.

Trying to step up again, Roman said, “I’m going in. This is fucking stupid.”

Kendall grabbed at his brother’s shoulder, pulling him back, and turning him around to face away from the treehouse.

“Oh, my God. Did you see that? I just got moved.”

Roman tried again, and the two got into a catty, near indiscernible argument. Kendall pushed, and Roman stepped back, before leaning in again.

“You really gonna get so worked up over a treehouse?” Kendall hissed. “That’s fucking lame, man.”

Finally, Roman stepped away, his shoulder bumping into yours. “Fuck. Wow.”

“Don’t let these guys in. This is my treehouse, and they shouldn’t be here,” Kendall warned the guards, before slipping between them, making his way back into his treehouse. “Oh, and, thanks for the offer, guys. Great headfuck from Dad. Really fucking cool of you.”

You thought the buyout would be good for him. A naive part of you had even thought that he’d simply accept it with no complaint. Lord knew it was more than enough money to sustain him several lifetimes.

“Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable,” Roman groaned. “Now what?”

Curious, Shiv looked over at the two of you. “What was Ken talking about? What offer?”

You and Roman exchanged looks. “That was nothing,” Roman dismissively replied, shrugging. “It was just a little move to ease him out of the holding company.”

“What? And—you two didn’t think to tell me?” she just about snarled, brows drawing together.

“It’s just an offer, Shiv. You would’ve found out eventually,” you sighed, rubbing the spot between your brows, the beginnings of a headache starting to fight through.

“Whose name was on the paper?” she asked, head tilted.

“Mine,” Roman sighed. “It’s just a name, though. It’s nothing.”

“Okay, so why wasn’t I the name if it was fucking nothing?” she demanded. “Historically, who owns the fucking company has been of some interest. It’s not nothing.”

Tired of the conversation, Roman told her, “We handled it. You wanna figure out the financing, or something? It’s all there.”

A muscle in her jaw twitched. “Yeah, that’s fucking great. You guys are so adorable. Fuck you. Fuck this.”

She stormed off, heels clanging loudly against the staircases’ steps.

A few seconds of silence lapsed by before you reached out to take Roman’s arm. “You ready to go steal some rainbow bands?”

He used his free hand to cup your face and tug you closer, landing a loud, obnoxious kiss onto your cheek.

“I fucking love us,” he hummed.

The two of you began to walk around, eyeing all the guests who happened to have bracelets on.

“I do, too, Rome. I do, too.”

Eventually, the two of you managed to snag down a handsy couple who looked much too busy sucking off each others’ faces to care about their stupid rainbow bands. They handed it to you two with no question and you thanked them with a smile whilst Roman snidely told them to use protection. He was one to talk, really.

The guards also gave the two of you a lot of trouble, but after a bit of charm from your end and a bit of light threatening from Roman’s end, the two of you were finally in the damned treehouse.

“I’m scared we’re going to see detailed exhibits of Kendall’s sex life up there,” you uneasily said.

“Nah, I think I just saw Anne Hathaway passing by. No way Kendall would embarrass himself like that around this crowd,” Roman snorted. After a second, he tacked on, “But I wouldn’t put it past him.”

Almost at once, your eyes landed on Matsson, huddled up in a dingy corner and playing a shoddy tapping game on his phone. He looked next to miserable, utterly bored out of his mind.

“Bingo,” you whispered, nudging Roman with a grin.

Once the two of you approached him, his eyes didn’t even bother lifting from his screen. But his brows raised in acknowledgement upon hearing Roman’s voice.

“There you are, fucking hiding from us. You little sneak, you. Like a human VPN.” Roman took the seat adjacent to him, and you sat across from the two. “How you doing?”

A disgruntled noise fell from Matsson’s lips. “Eh. I’m alright. I’m just, uh… you know. You fill in the blanks.”

Your lips downturned slightly. You hadn’t spoken to Matsson personally before, but the two of you had gone to the same conferences before in the past—you were never overly fond of his character. Lazy, erratic, a pure dick-jerker. But you knew he was integral to hold up the company, so you swallowed any and all complaints you had about him.

“I hear you. Yeah. Fucking life, right?” Roman drawled in response, attempting and failing to mimic Matsson’s nonchalance.

“I just wanna find a good pussy and get out, you know?” Lukas muttered. For a brief moment, he looked away from his phone, to you. “You down?” he asked.

Rearing back in surprise, you briefly wondered if he was high on something. He probably was.

A nervous laugh slipped out of you, and you gave Roman a wide side-glare. “I’m not here to get laid.”

“Hm. Pity.” There was lust in his gaze, and you felt a wave of nausea roll over you.

To diffuse the tension, Roman quipped in a high voice, “Yeah, well—pussy’s great. Mhm. You see my mom’s at the front, there?”

Matsson snickered lowly. “Yeah. You seen my mom’s? It’s not… it’s not great.”

Roman laughed, and you begrudgingly cracked a smile at that, too.

“Wow. Yeah, sure, I’m not gonna delve too deep into that one.” Roman leaned forward. “Question—my old man got a little bit grumpy this morning, but you weren’t trying to humiliate him, right? I mean, fucking everyone says we’re the last big legacy content library, and you’re the last fucking super app streaming platform. We fit, obviously. Right?”

Finally, Matsson put his phone down to regard the two of you. He pulled a contemplative frown.

“People say we fit, yeah.”

You eyed Matsson warily, partially worried that he’d get bored of the two of you and go back to his phone. “You help prop us up, and we’ll turn GoJo into a gold mine. A tooth for a tooth.”

With guarded interest, Matsson sat up just a bit straighter. Instead of replying to you, he faced Roman and said, “She’s a bit… how do you get anything done with her around?”

An embarrassed, frustrated sort of flush heated your skin. It was beyond demeaning that he spoke to Roman as if you couldn’t hear everything he was saying. Was it because you were a woman? Because Matsson so clearly saw you as a piece of ass and nothing more?

Though Roman sent you an apologetic, slightly confused glance, he said, “Well, I don’t, really. But, uh, what are you thinking?”

Half of a shrug. “I mean, that’s great and everything, but I do have one small concern.”

“Yeah? And what’s that?” Roman asked.

“When will your father die?”

Roman’s brows flew up in shock. “When will… when will my father die?” he parroted, blinking himself out of his stupor. “Uh…”

The blonde man gestured vaguely towards him. “Like, I don’t wanna be rude, but—what kind of shape is he in? Are we talking less than a year or is it more like five years? ‘Cause if it’s five, that’s… that’s a long time. It would be better sooner, wouldn’t it?”

Roman broke out into a fit of laughter. A nervous habit, you knew.

“No, yeah, I’m laughing here, but, like—that is my dad, so, you know. Go easy there, tiger.”

Though you were well aware that Matsson clearly had a hard time speaking to you without getting a raging boner, you felt it important to voice, “Is Logan’s position on top a problem for you? For this deal?”

The corner of his lips twitched up when he spared you a look. “No, it’s just that I don’t like the idea of a man hanging over me. It’s not my world, media. Not my thing. But Logan’s death, it would… it would clear space.”

Clear space. How airily he threw about the term. A quick peek at Roman told you that he was just as uncomfortable as you were. He scratched the back of his head rather aggressively.

“Uh, I mean, we’re all obviously… hugely looking forward to my father dying,” Roman started, tapering off into a hum of forced laughter. “But, hear me out, there’d be another shape to this. How about you never ever have to speak to him? You could work out of Austin, Geneva, London, Stockholm, wherever. Totally separate corporate identities. And StarGo, we burn, obviously.”

This seemed to please Matsson immensely. It was no secret how shitty Waystar’s streaming platform was.

“Yes, yes. Please. Burn the codes and fucking acid bath those servers.”

Roman cracked a smile. “We can do that. We could do that together. I mean, GoJo, full bore. Our library, our firepower, our relationships for content. And, like, good shit. Not, like, gay moms and wheelchair kids liberal crap. Actual, popular, shit.”

A frown crossed your expression briefly. You never liked it when Roman got political. Nonetheless, you could see now that Lukas was listening intently to what the two of you had to offer.

“You won’t have to communicate with Logan whatsoever. None of your decisions would be intercepted by him—it’d be filtered through Roman, if need be. And, you know, if it’s beneficial for you, it’d be beneficial for us,” you told him firmly whilst maintaining eye contact. You wanted him to know that you were more than capable of holding your own.

It didn’t last long, however, because Matsson rolled his head back and blew out a sigh. “I hope you know that StarGo truly is a piece of shit.”

“It’s a huge piece of shit, yeah,” Roman agreed.

“I like to open it just to see how long it takes for the landing page to load,” Lukas said, lazily smiling. A quick glance in your direction, and he slapped at his knees. “Hey, Roman, you wanna go and take a piss on the app?”

A second’s pause. “What, like, literally?”

“Yeah.” Lukas got up to his feet.

Roman hastily stood as well, sending you an apprehensive look. “Yeah, okay, uh—” before he could finish, Matsson was already striding away.

God. You already couldn’t stand that man.

“Go,” you told Roman. “He thinks I’m distracting. I know. I’ll be around. You just go land a meeting with him, okay? Keep him interested.”

“Okay. Yeah. Are you—? Yeah, okay. You’re great, y’know? So fucking great.” Roman squeezed your shoulder once, before he shoved his hands into his pockets and jogged after Matsson, who was already halfway to the men’s bathroom.

A heavy pit sank to the bottom of your stomach. Everybody was dancing around you, the music pounding so loudly you could feel the base vibrating the ground. There was a distinct sting to the very top of your nose—a telltale sign that you were upset, even though you were doing your very best to push it down. It was times like these you hated being a woman working in an industry made for and surrounded by men.

With pursed lips, you got up to leave the treehouse, feeling incredibly out of place in there.

And so you wove through the crowds, until you saw Kendall walking down a hall with Naomi, his shoulders tensed.

“Hey, Kendall?” you called out, quickening your pace to catch up with him.

“What do you want?” he asked, bitter. “You wanna ask for a condom so you can go fuck Matsson in my treehouse? Sorry, I don’t have one.”

He did—he always kept one in his wallet, but you didn’t need to know that.

“Yeah, no, Roman’s doing that already.” You fiddled with your hands and his eyes softened just a tad, drawing his own conclusions that you didn’t care to spell out. “Hey, uh, sorry, this is a really douche-y thing of me to ask, but… could I have the strawberry popsicle back?”

Dumbfounded, Kendall fixed you with an incredulous stare. “What?”

You cleared your throat nervously, feeling your nose begin to sting more. You weren’t quite sure if those were tears pricking your eyes, or if you were just tired. “I’ll get you another one, I promise.”

The wrapper was still sticking out of his pocket. Melted, you knew for a fact, but you didn’t care. You wanted it, and you wanted it now.

“What? But this—this is my gift. You said you wouldn’t take this one.”

You were being an asshole. You knew it, and he knew it. “Kendall, just—just fucking give it over. It’s a popsicle! I can get you a million others after this.”

Then, you tried to reach for it, but Kendall sidestepped away from you, bumping into Naomi.

“Yeah, but this one’s mine. You gave it to me. What is with you?”

Your lip warbled as you inhaled sharply. “Please? I just—I really need it right now.”

There was a momentary pause as Kendall looked down at the wrapper sticking out of his pocket. In all honesty, he’d forgotten it was even there until you brought it up.

“No,” he finally said. “There’s refreshments and desserts all over this fucking place. You don’t need it.”

You bit down on the inside of your cheek. “Fuck you,” you eventually mustered, tears welling up over your waterline.

A large part of Kendall felt guilty, but he consciously took a step back away from you. “I have to go. My kids gave me a present. Rabbit wrapping. I gotta find it.”

“Eat a dick, Kendall.”

With that, he left.

You harshly wiped away any lingering dampness that spilled over your cheeks and hurried away. As you rushed to get to the bar, you caught sight of Shiv wildly dancing in the middle of the crowd, feet bare and hair tousled.

It wasn’t long before Tom came to join you, seemingly in a glum mood himself. He was saying something about Greg and his new fixation on Kendall’s assistant, but you weren’t quite listening, merely nodding along at regular intervals.

About half an hour later, Roman finally appeared, grinning so wide it was a wonder his face didn’t split in two. By then, Shiv had joined you and Tom by the bar, breathless and cherry-cheeked.

“You okay?” Roman preened. “Onlookers reported you having some sort of breakdown. People were anxious that you might have swallowed your tongue.”

A frown crossed her lips. “I was dancing.”

“Hm. I heard it looked like a cry for help. That right, Y/N?” Roman casted a look in your direction, noting your glum atmosphere. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Before you could reply, Shiv shook her head. “Fuck you. Did you speak to Matsson?”

“I’m trying to console my friend here, Siobhan—”

“Did you speak to him?” she gritted out again, completely disregarding his initial rebuttal.

Rolling his eyes, Roman leaned against the bar, his arm brushing yours. “Yup. I spoke to him.”

“And?”

“Don’t worry about it, Shivvy. I’ll handle it,” he snidely remarked. His arm pressed firmer up against yours. In a lowered voice, he asked, “You sure you’re good? You look all—mopey dopey over here.”

You didn’t quite know how to explain to him that you and Kendall had gotten into a tiff over a stupid popsicle, and you were sick of being reduced to the pretty woman men couldn’t take seriously. Even if you had vocalized all that, a large part of you doubted that Roman would understand any of it. He’d look at you all guilty and puppy-eyed, one of the few ways he tried to convey sympathy, and you’d kiss his cheek and tell him it was fine. That was usually how things went between the two of you, anyway.

“No, seriously, Roman,” Shiv just about growled.

“I’m being serious,” he shot back, clearly growing agitated that Shiv just wouldn’t buzz off. And also because you weren’t talking to him, and the two of you knew well how terribly he coped with that. “I’ll talk to Dad and see if he wants to loop you in, okay?”

The aggravation written plainly over her features seemed to deepen. “Just fucking tell me! This is important, and I might need to finesse.”

“Oh, you need to finesse? That’s so kind of you to offer! But, uh, how would you finesse something that’s already done, exactly? By ruining it?” Roman jeered, crossing his arms. “Yeah, y’know what, I handled Matsson. I understand him. I’m not sure you do.”

You simply watched Shiv’s face cave in with unbridled frustration. In a way, you understood exactly how she was feeling. Though, you supposed you were more folded in than she was, given Roman’s trust in you.

“You know what, if you wanna show off to somebody, maybe show off to someone who gives a shit. Look—even Y/N doesn’t wanna hear about it!”

The two siblings looked at you, and you lifted a shoulder in a shrug.

“If you landed it, that’s all I care to know,” you gently told Roman.

A nod, and a hum. “It’s all good. Matsson peed on my phone, but we got it. And listen, Shiv, you’re having a very bad day, I know that. What with hearing that you have to continue sharing an apartment with the old meat wardrobe, but, you know—try to keep your wig on.”

There was a certain fire to Shiv’s eyes, darting between the two of you angrily. “I’m the one in a functioning relationship. You guys are fucked up emotionally and using each other as crutches to feel better about yourselves.”

Now that… that struck a nerve. She was right, you knew it, but you never liked facing your and Roman’s codependency head-on. It was an uncomfortable truth that the two of you were quite comfortable not dwelling on.

“Oh, really?” Roman retorted. “I thought you were thinking about all the dick you were gonna ride while he was behind bars? Hm?”

“Oh, my fucking God,” Shiv hissed in incredulous disbelief. “You know what? Nobody likes talking about me fucking guys as much as you do. Why is that? Is that because you’re the COO who can’t fuck?”

This seemed to stun Roman into silence. His eyes flickered over to your silent form, staring down at your half-empty drink. Shiv caught the way he looked over at you, a cruel scoff hitching in her throat.

“Huh. Can’t even get it up for Y/N?”

A deep breath in, and Roman was quick to push the argument back onto Shiv. “Did you think Tom was going to go to jail?”

“No. I’m happy he’s not going.”

“Oh, I’m sure you are! You look really happy. Fucking rainbows and sunshine plastered all over you. Did you think he was, though? Just a smidge? Maybe Dad would go to jail, too? Oh, and maybe I’d go, too! And because Kendall’s all fucked up in the head, you’d… oh, you’d be able to sit on your little throne. It’d be all about you. You thought it was ladies’ night and they were playing your song, but guess what? You were wrong! All the men got together in the man club and we decided, sweetheart, everything’s fine, so just—”

A cord within you snapped.

“Roman,” you sternly barked out. “Shut the fuck up. We get it.”

“Don’t talk for me,” Shiv haughtily told you, before fixing her brother with a fiery glare. “He’s just using you as a messenger boy, but as usual, you’re too fucking dumb to see it.”

“Right. Mhm. It’s difficult for you, I know. It’s hard to have to do the dance for Dad because you just suck at dancing,” Roman sneered.

“You’re a piece of shit,” said Shiv.

Clearly on a roll, Roman just kept talking: “It turns out he loves it when I do the Daddy dance, but I guess that’s because he loves me.” He was feeding himself lies. Logan didn’t even have to do it anymore—Roman was desperate enough to believe it. “He loves fucking me, and he just doesn’t want to fuck you anymore.”

“What are you even talking about? You’re so fucking gross!” Shiv just about yelled.

The two fell into more bickering, but it faltered away when Kendall showed up out of nowhere. You glanced at his pocket—the popsicle wrapper was gone.

“Oh, shit. Look who it is! It’s birthday boy!” Roman greeted in a condescending manner.

Kendall looked upset—far more upset than when you’d confronted him about the popsicle.

“Neither of you should be here,” Kendall gruffly said. “You shouldn’t be at my fucking party.”

“Oh, God, you’re right. Someone call the cops. Intruders have breached the masturbatorium!” Laughing, Roman took your drink and finished what was left of it. You stared down at the empty glass with pursed lips.

Finally, you looked up at Kendall. “You find the rabbit wrapping?” you quietly asked him.

He didn’t answer your question. Instead, he stared at you for a moment before slowly saying, “I threw away the popsicle. Melted.”

That hurt a lot more than you would admit it did. “Oh,” was all you said.

Roman looked back and forth between the two of you, wondering what on earth he’d missed while he was up watching Matsson piss on his phone.

“You guys are full of shit,” Kendall said. “You came here to fuck me behind my back. You’re ghouls, and you’re disgusting.”

“Sorry. Whoops,” Roman replied, though he didn’t sound sorry at all.

Then, Kendall turned to call a few security guards lining the walls. “Can we get them out?”

“It’s a little late for that, buddy. I already spoke to Matsson. He hates you, by the way—laughs at you constantly,” Roman harshly quipped.

Shiv shook her head. “Just stop, Roman.”

“What? Go easy on the birthday boy?”

Stone-faced, Kendall stepped closer to his siblings. “Did you come here to see me at all? You didn’t, did you?”

Shiv spared him a sharp, unapologetic smile. “Well, we haven’t been getting along that great recently, so what do you think? You surprised?”

A mutter and a shake of his head. “GoJo was my idea,” Kendall said. “You stole my idea.”

Raising his brows, Roman jeered, “What are you, fucking six? Dude, you lost. No big deal, no need to cry about it.”

“None of it would matter if you bought out, Kendall,” you said, only barely loud enough for him to hear. “You don’t have to keep biting the hand that’s feeding you. The cage is open.”

A crackling silence. Kendall looked pained, for a second.

“You’re just a stuck-up cunt that can’t bear to see me win,” Roman said, deciding he wanted to have the final blow.

Kendall sized up to him, getting up close to his face. “You’re not a real person,” he said. “You know that? You’re not fucking real.”

Unflinching, Roman stared up at his brother. “Come on. Why don’t you hit me, maybe?”

“Rome—” you began, but he made a protesting noise.

“Come on, shitty Jesus! You know you want to. Just fucking hit me. Do it!”

Kendall watched his brother, eyes empty. Or full of despair. It was the same either way. With that, he stepped away and began to walk off.

“Ugh, look, I’m sorry, okay? Happy birthday—” Roman strode up to him and placed a hand on his back.

Accident or not, Roman pushed, and Kendall fell. He laughed, then apologized, then laughed again. Connor was there, all of a sudden, telling them to lay off each other.

All this time, you hadn’t moved a muscle. Maybe you were still mad about the popsicle. Maybe it was Matsson. Maybe it was the dysfunctional fucking family you were stuck in between.

Kendall forcefully yelled at Connor to take his coat off, and stormed off. Shiv left a few minutes later, mumbling out how much of an asshole they all were.

“I want to leave, Roman,” you told him, and his giggling subsided, finally.

“Oh, yeah—fuck, yeah. We did what we came here for. Let’s go.”

Down the stairs, out the vagina (or was it in?), and back into the real world. Roman was saying something, but your ears were buzzing with the aftershocks of the loud music.

You hadn’t even registered Roman telling the driver to fuck off, that he wanted to walk you home. Chivalry wasn’t dead, after all.

Once inside your house, you tugged your shoes off with a sigh and shed your clothes as soon as you stepped into your room. You just wanted to go to sleep.

Roman peeled off his suit jacket, before sitting down at the edge of your bed. “Hey, I have a proposition for you.”

At first, you genuinely believed that whatever he wanted to say was business-related. But upon looking at him, his dilated pupils, his mussed hair, his spread legs—his proposition was very obviously far from professional intent.

It was a distraction. A good one, one that you were more than willing to take. You clambered onto the bed, straddled his thighs and leaned over him, your nose brushing his.

“Yeah, Romeo?”

“Let’s have sex. Like, actual peen in vageen type of situation.”

You weren’t drunk, but you were tired, and yet you found yourself nodding with hooded eyes.

“You sure?” you whispered, low and raspy, as if you’d swallowed a handful of gravel.

High-pitched, he affirmed with, “Uh-huh.”

You brushed your lips over his, only barely there. Roman jerked forward to kiss you properly, but you leaned back. “Say it, Roman.”

He swallowed, throat bobbing. “I’m sure.”

With the green light, the two of you began to peel away the few remaining articles of clothing you had on, your mouths slanted hotly against one another as you ground over his growing erection. It wasn’t exactly a kiss—more like the two of you were just breathing each other in, sighs and pants and whimpers all.

His hands seemed unsure what to do. Clenching at the bedsheets, grazing over your side, groping at your bare breasts, pressed up against him. His mouth fell away from yours with a particularly loud whine, sinking lower to dig his teeth into your shoulder. You smelled like honey, but you didn’t taste like it. Saltier, more human. A breathless curse fell from his lips, muffled into your skin.

“Inside,” he pleaded. “Fuck, I need—please turn around—can I?”

It was hard to think straight when you could feel his dick twitching, the tip continuously brushing against your clit, sending electrifying jolts throughout your whole body. You hummed, rolling your hips over his one last time, before crawling off his lap towards the center of the bed, your back facing him. A part of you wondered if there was a reason why Roman wanted to fuck you in a less intimate position for your first time together. The other, more lust-addled part of you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Roman’s hands slipped over your waist, and he sank his throbbing cock into your slickened cunt with a pitching groan, tapering off into a whine.

“So fucking good, Rome,” you cried out once he began unevenly thrusting, pawing at your hips as he grew more desperate—close to his release even though he’d barely even begun.

The sex itself was—it was quick, to say the least. It was clumsy, as well—but he managed to reach over and rub tight circles over your clit, which elicited a choked cry from you. At one point, you swore you felt his lips on your back, but you couldn’t be certain.

When he came, fucking spurts of hot spend into you, you shuddered violently as your orgasm crashed not two seconds later, gasping into your sheets. He thrusted into you a few more times—he liked the overstimulation, your rumbling moans, the way his cum began to trickle down your thigh.

And, finally, he eased himself out, wincing as he sank into the spot beside you.

He panicked, just a little bit, when you pulled yourself away, getting onto your feet.

Noticing his jerky demeanor, you offered him a soft expression. “Bathroom,” you said as a form of explanation.

That made Roman relax a bit.

When you returned, you’d pulled on a comfortable white shirt, before slipping beneath the covers. The two of you laid together, staring at the ceiling, staring at each other, staring at your hands—intertwining together on top of the blanket.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked out, after ages of silence.

Your eyes darted up to meet his, molten brown downcast with shame.

“For what?”

A click of his tongue, a roll of his eyes. “For—for the shitty fucking sex.”

You barked out a laugh, and Roman appeared mildly offended.

“It was great, Ro. I actually came, which is more than what I can say for most people I’ve been with. Kudos to you,” you said, grinning cheekily.

“Really? It wasn’t too—was I—?”

“Roman. It was good,” you reassured, shifting closer so that you could press your nose to his cheek. “What do you want me to say? That I saw stars? My throat hurts from how much I screamed your name?”

This seemed to crack Roman’s insecure exterior, and he guffawed lightly. “You bitch. Fuck you.”

“Fuck you, too.” Another moment of silence. You let go of his hand, watching him carefully. “Roman?”

“Mmh?”

“Did you fuck me to prove a point? Because of what… what Shiv said?”

The air crackled with uncertainty. Roman squinted at nothing in particular.

Eventually, Roman crooned, “You know I’ve been wanting to stick my dick in you ever since we hit our first fucking round of puberty. You know that, right? That means we were little baby teenagers and I was fucking—fantasizing about dicking you down when I should’ve been doing my homework.”

It felt like a weight lifted off your chest—a weight you hadn’t even known was there. “Ew, Roman. You’re gross.”

He groaned loudly, dramatically tossing an arm up to cover his eyes. “Don’t say that. I’ll get hard again.”

#roman roy x reader #roman roy fanfiction #roman roy smut #roman roy fluff #roman roy series #roman roy ff #roman roy angst #roman roy x you #roman roy fanfic #succession roman #succession roman x reader #roman roy #succession fanfiction #succession x reader #roman roy imagine

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modanisgf · 5 months ago

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003. DRAMA

prev | next | masterlist

TAGS 🏷️ (OPEN) — @jayjj7 @saysirhc @sixflame438 @ajjilhan @amourjins @isither @sserajeans @greenniee @isabbellle @gayforalll @leeohknows @airice @yeetaberry127 @l0l44444 @inosfavgf @emphobics @edamboon @s3mz @newhairnewjeans @xen248 @nooneissheree @wintersgff @haechansbbg @gtfoiydlyj

a/n— can we tell this smau will have a shit ton of angst 🔥

#newjeans #newjeans fanfic #newjeans x reader #newjeans smau #newjeans haerin #haerin x reader #kang haerin #kang haerin x reader #newjeans haerin x reader #newjeans hyein #newjeans danielle #newjeans hanni #newjeans minji

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ominus-potato · 1 month ago

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Hi, just wanted some advice about fanfics on ao3, how do you write them? and how can I make my one shot fic impactful for the readers. I'm planning on making a fic but since it's my first time making I kinda don't know where to start.. It's fine if you don't know though! just thought of asking cause you're writing's really good imo.

Sneak peak of the next part of the Pining Mario series at the end!

Well when I write, I don’t do it on AO3. I draft my work on Wattpad and then cross-post it to AO3. This is because AO3 is a bit more complicated, can be dodgy with saving works and only work when I have Wi-Fi. With Wattpad, I can write offline which is very helpful. Some people also draft on google docs so there’s that as well.

In terms of ACTUAL writing, there are two ways to leave an impression on the reader. There’s the way liked with angst, pain and maybe a bit of comfort; and there’s the way of making a story so sickeningly sweet that the reader is gushing over every cute moment. The length of the story also plays a factor. If it’s under 4000 I’d recommend avoiding angst bc you don’t have much time to set it up and at it off effectively.

Personally, I pretty much never write angst unless I genuinely believe it’ll make a story better. I’ve read fics before where the author will just throw in a shit ton of angst for no reason other than to make the reader feel bad for the mc and it just feels really cheap. It’s hard to do angst right and it’s really tempting to just give everyone a super fucked up backstory and make them depressed or something but imo it’s just overdone to the point of exhaustion. It can make a story depressing and no longer a fun read.

Whenever I write angst, it’s a small part of a mostly fluff-filled story. Take the pining Mario series for example. 19,000 words of silly pining hyjinx with a few small drops of angst. Then have the angst bubble over a little in Shots and Cowboys, Mario has a small breakdown since we’ve been keeping up with the story from his perspective mostly. That then allows me to forward the story and give character a new motivation.

If youre going to use angst to get an emotional reaction, you MUST have good set up and pay off. Especially if it’s a longer story. Also, you don’t have to do this, but I’d recommend against adding angst unless it’s necessary. Don’t just throw it in there Willy nilly yk?

If you wanna know how I do my stories, I really enjoy making them sweet and adorable with a little bit of drama and comedy. Like “Love is not a foreign language” where it’s just Mario and Mr Puzzles being adorable as hell for 6000 words. Then the drama comes when Puzzles reveals he can understand Mario and that only leads to more cutesy love.

A lot of it comes down to the story you’re trying to tell and how you want your reader to react. When I write a story, I want my readers to be invested in the drama and rising tensions, enjoying the little spurts of comedy here and there and ultimately, finding the main ship really cute in the end. I try to make people happy with my work bc I write the kinda stuff I would love to read! Because if I would read it, someone else definitely would.

Also, I feel like I must add that I have only ever written ship stories. If you wanted advice on stories in general with no shipping then I wouldn’t really know how to advise you on that. I love relationships between characters. Whether it’s ships or friendships. It’s my favourite part of any fandom so it’s where I specialise in my work.

Sorry I don’t really have like a plan or anything. I just keep it all in my head, know a few plot points I want to hit, and write to them. I try to get around 3-5 plot points for my longer stories and then just 1 or maybe 2 for the shorter ones. I sometimes add them as I go if I think it’ll make the story better!

For example, my plot points in Shots and Cowboys were:

•Mario tries to buy Puzzles a drink

•Mario and Mr Puzzles are interrupted by Wren and Mario is jealous

•Mario and Wren do something to fight for Puzzles’ affection (IE, play pool)

•Mario looses Puzzles to Wren, sees them kiss and is devastated.

•Mr Puzzles thinks that Mario is heartbroken over SMG4 and promises to help him move on.

Then if I get any smaller points like certain ships, lines, dynamics or interactions I wanna add I just sprinkle them in where I can.

I don’t really have much advice outside of that. I tend to just think of a scene or an idea I’d love to write and then more ideas pop up around it. It’s just one major point that gets built around. IE, Mario being jealous was the premise of SAC purely just because there were a few jealous Puzzles stories and I wanted to see if I could switch the dynamic.

Sorry for the long wall of text. I just wanna make sure it’s detailed enough for you. Just make it up as you go along and write what you wanna read. I re-read my stuff all the time because I genuinely enjoy what I write and it gives me exactly what I want. Have fun with it!

And if you’re worried about it being terrible, I’d advise you to read my old Lego Ninjago fanfiction that I wrote when I was 13. My god it was awful. But it shows development!

First story:

Latest story:

Enjoy that sneak peak of the next part of the Pining Mario series :D

#smg4 #fanfiction #fanfic #writing tips #writing #ao3 #Wattpad #Marware #pining mario series #Ninjago

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doiefy · 9 months ago

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mad city // nct series

GENRE: sci fi, biopunk, dystopian, thriller PAIRINGS: features both x reader and mxm fics MEMBERS: johnny, doyoung, jaehyun, jungwoo, mark, possibly more to come!

note: if this series looks somewhat familiar, it's because it is! this is a massive rework of my old 'fight or flight' fic for doyoung, which I posted almost two years ago (pls don't read it, like 69% of it isn't canon anymore and I kinda hate it anyways). it's been a real struggle turning it into something I actually want to write for again (which involved changing the original plotline from x reader to dojae, for which I am VERY unapologetic, don't fucking touch me), but after a year or so of on-and-off planning, here it is. I can't guarantee that I’ll get these fics out super speedily, as I also want them to be very visual and will be spending a shit ton of time on graphics; but if you're interested in a tag list for any of these fics, let me know!

WHAT PEOPLE HAVE REFERRED TO AS THE SPLIT: the fracturing of life as it once was, the steady decline of the natural world, all perpetuating political tensions and rampant crime in two rival cities.

To the north lies Iameh, an urban paradise of impressive art and culture, resulting from centuries of mining and exploitation—a pristine exterior built upon the hardship of their southern neighbours. In one of their forgotten limestone quarries lies Siacia: Iameh’s shadow, their forsaken history, but a thriving metropolis nonetheless.

Siacia is all the blinding colours and deafening sound that Iameh is not, boasting citizens with supernatural powers and the most sinister advancements in biotech. From their empty mineshafts and grotesque lifeforms in the quarry lake arises Burner: the Siacians’ fuel, their weaponry, and their only chance against the genetic mutations that plagued them for generations.

But like all things that come out of the ground, Burner is exploited. It is quickly monopolized, used as a drug, turned into a bargaining chip by the Assembly, a loose organization of businessmen and mutants claiming to be Siacia’s ruling government. Those on the streets of the Quarry and its four cardinal faces know very well: what the Assembly demands from them must be given, lest they face their wrath.

So the fissure spreads and opens wider between the two cities, between all people—only a matter of time before one finds themselves dangling off the edge.

VOLUME 1: FIGHT OR FLIGHT

pairing: doyoung x jaehyun dark comedy with a side of angst, gay shenanigans and way too many dirty jokes.

KIM DOYOUNG HAS SPENT THE LAST THREE YEARS surviving the Quarry streets alone: hunting bounties for the Coffee Cow (a ruthless contract killing agency despite their name), making poor decisions at drinking establishments, and searching for his missing brother.

It’s on one trip to the bar that he runs into Jay: a charming, well-mannered businessman from the East Lanes, with a dimpled smile and particular taste for aged whiskey. One occasion turns into two into multiple—the two seeing each other more frequently with slowly-changing intentions, until the truth comes out. Jay, Jung Jaehyun to his close colleagues, is one of the Assembly’s founding members. Which, unfortunately, means he might have something to do with Doyoung’s missing brother, and makes him one hell of an enticing target.

The resultant cat-and-mouse chase across the city is as frustrating as it is exhilarating. But in a shocking turn of events, it reveals a destructive force beyond the both of them, one that needs their immediate attention and collaboration—regardless of who they are to each other.

anticipated release: summer/fall 2024

VOLUME 2: VIOLET CRAZY

pairing: kim jungwoo x f!reader, johnny seo x reader angst wrapped in drama, tumultuous relationships, a slow but sure descent into madness.

In the aftermath of Johnny Seo’s return, the city of Siacia is not as it once was. Tensions with Iameh are on a steady incline, Assembly politics remain a treacherous game, all while a new strain of Burner spreads through the streets like wildfire. You and Kim Jungwoo are most apathetic to the recent chaos—the two of you like two sides of the same coin, both endlessly spiteful, now embroiled in a feud of your own. For as long as you could remember, your relationship with Jungwoo was one purely of grudge and petty revenge.

But when Johnny begins his reign of terror, perhaps the two of you are in no position to be idle bystanders. Tragedy strikes Jungwoo’s family, and he has a reluctant change of heart. On the other hand, you remain by Johnny’s side, simply watching his flames burn hotter and rise higher. Merely overnight, your long-standing rivalry with Jungwoo has turned into a struggle for the future of the undercity. The inevitable resurfacing of your past, your forgotten history with Jungwoo, and Johnny’s inexplicable grip on you—it won’t be long before it all reaches a boiling point in the crucible.

And certainly not long before you’re forced to face the repercussions.

anticipated release: summer 2025

VOLUME 3: RIDE OR DIE

pairing: mark lee x gn!reader from meet-cute to heated romance. ride or die. madly in love to the bittersweet end.

Breakfast tea with magazines and tabloids. Clay-stained aprons and paint-smeared jeans. Afternoon tea with so-and-so, then back to the kiln and canvases. Dinner party with your fellow curators, handling flawless plates and dainty dessert spoons and immaculate champagne glasses—rinse and repeat, again and again, the routine of an Iamehan artist and socialite.

Quickly growing tired of all the glitter and glamour of topside, you take a trip back to your roots: the north faces of Siacia, where you can shed all the silk and cashmere in exchange for the nightlife you grew up with. Dancing wildly to rediscover yourself and inspire your art, that’s when you find your muse: Mark Lee, a VIP at the Obelisk Nightclub, blue-haired and bright-eyed, immersed in the stories you tell him.

You could stay with him forever, seeking thrills and adventure until you reach the ends of the earth. And yet, there is still much more awaiting: the unpleasant and the unideal, and the thwarting of your course by the stars above.

anticipated release: TBD

VOLUME 4: WHEN THE SUN SETS

pairing: johnny seo x gn!reader psychological horror turned body horror. toxic romance and a tragic end. (!!) mature content, including manipulative, toxic relationships and darker themes some readers may find disturbing.

Johnny Seo is a reasonable man. A patient man, certainly, never reckless, never cruel. Johnny is loving, the perfect lover. Devoted, and devoted wholeheartedly to you.

In the days and months after the Assembly’s establishment, he keeps you with him at every turn of the road: arm around your waist, head in the crook of your neck, always whispering and promising you better days. A sovereign Siacia is coming, he says. She will be free from the clutches of your northern neighbours, free to do as she pleases. You believe him—until one night, when he comes home bloody and beat-up, furious and unrecognizable.

Johnny Seo is a meticulous man. A calculated mastermind, certainly, never reckless until he’s perfectly sure, never cruel unless he has to be. Johnny is cunning, the perfect trickster. Obsessive, and obsessed with keeping your memory alive. Obsessed with keeping you with him, an eternal part of him.

anticipated release: TBD

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universallydestinytaco · 7 months ago

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….Ah screw it! I’m gonna ramble about this Charpim fic that isn’t The Little Mermaid AU. It’s got a lot of drama/conflict/angst/hurt/comfort plus it’s unapologetically queer you will see why.

First off, I have this fic idea where Pim is a drag queen performing at a nightclub and he has a platform online where he sings songs under his drag name for safety reasons, he comes home one night to find his place got robbed after coming home and he’s absolutely mortified….then he finds a clue in the form of a ring encrusted with a star sign and a birthstone. Now Pim has to crack the code and figure out who the hell stole his stuff! Oh and he also has to clear Charlie’s name when his girlfriend Zoey breaks up with him for something he didn’t do and to top it all off, Pim’s piece-of-shit sister Amy is instigating a shit ton of drama between everyone…and with all of this complete and utter f*ckery going on Pim decides he’s gonna put his foot down and not be so soft and submissive anymore. He’s gonna put his foot down, bite back and start putting the assholes in their place! Life is too short to just let people walk all over you. He also wrestles his own inner demons like his longtime jealousy over Charlie and Susan and the fact he is kicking himself over how he doesn’t wanna come off like he is using their breakup to get together with Charlie so he struggles to confess his feelings….also on a side note Pim FINALLY signs up for therapy to deal with his bottled up issues.

The fic’s working title is “Name A Bitch Badder Than Pim Pimling”. Any questions? (Yes I gave Charlie’s GF a name)

EDIT: So apparently in the Spanish Dub for SF Charlie's girlfriend is named Zoey and I made this post before that info became more well-known and prior I dubbed her as Susan....Zoey is a cute name OMG

#smiling friends #pim pimling #amy pimling #charlie dompler #charpim #angst #hurt/comfort #smiling friends pim #smiling friends charlie #smiling friends zoey #smiling friends amy #charlie’s girlfriend #drag queen!pim au

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back2bluesidex · 6 months ago

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✨Membership Exclusive Masterlist✨

Hello, everyone! This is Nika.

This masterlist is specially designed to introduce the membership exclusive stories that I will only be posting on my Patreon page. These stories have nothing to do with the works I have posted here (and I will keep posting here so don't worry) on tumblr, so there is no pressure of subscribing.

But you can join if any of these following stories intrigues you and if you want early access to series chapters, special drabbles and extended teasers. And also, I will be taking requests from my Patreon members. so yeah. that's that.

Thank you if you join and support me there. and if you don't I will be loving you regardless. 💖

Check out my main Masterlist.

Key: A - Angst, F - Fluff, S - SMUT, D - Dark

Kim Namjoon

Oneshots/Twoshots

Nothing yet.

Series

Third Time is a Charm [A, S, F] (Ongoing)

Summary: You met Namjoon thrice in your life. For the first encounter, you were his rival. During the second one, he broke your heart. As for the third time, you let him walk in again even when he brings no promise of healing what he broke. But they say, third time is a charm. Will that stay true in your case too?

Drabbles

Nothing yet.

Kim Seokjin

Oneshots/Twoshots

Nothing yet.

Series

Nothing yet.

Drabbles

Nothing yet.

Min Yoongi

Oneshots/Twoshots

Nothing yet.

Series

1. Words That Are Unsaid [A, S, F] [Completed]

Summary: In public eyes Min Yoongi aka Augst D is a member of an award winning Rap Trio, a notorious casanova who is embroiled in at least 4 dating rumors a year and a rude jerk. But to you, Min Yoongi is that pale skinny trainee, who looked out for you, the rookie you befriended beyond business hours, the handsome twenty-something you fell in love with and now your ex, who you still very much in love with. Breaking news is that he despises you, or at least that's what you think.

Drabbles (On members' requests)

Advantage of Kindness [A, F]

Request: Reader being Namjoon’s best friend, coming out of a long term relationship and started to hang out more with him and the members. Yoongi never really got to know her and was always really quiet when around reader. Basically needs help with his son, who’s still a baby while doing idol schedules. But is hesitate when having people around baby. Reader helps as she’s good with kids and yoongi falls for her.

Jung Hoseok

Oneshots/Twoshots

Nothing yet.

Series

Nothing yet.

Drabbles

Nothing yet.

Park Jimin

Oneshots/Twoshots

Nothing yet.

Series

1. Everything's Fair [S, F, A] (Completed)

Summary: Jimin has dated a shit ton of people. He has slept with even more of them, but never once he managed to fall in love. That was until you came into his life and managed to make him go head over heels with just one sight. Umm.. so what if you are his fuck-buddy's new roommate? Everything is fair in love and war. And Jimin only knows how to win.

Drabbles

Nothing yet.

Kim Taehyung

Oneshots/Twoshots

Nothing yet.

Series

Nothing yet.

Drabbles

Nothing yet.

Jeon Jungkook

Oneshots/Twoshots

Nothing yet.

Series

1. From Within [A, F, S] [Completed]

Summary: When you fell in love with Jungkook, you wished for your life to turn out as one of those clichéd fairytales, where two best friends fall for each other and live happily ever after. But were you lucky enough? Probably not because you had to watch the man taking vows, kissing the love of his life and promising forever right before your eyes. Unfortunately enough, now you are having to witness him breaking down bit by bit standing at his wife's funeral.

2. To Be Popular [S, Drama] [Ongoing]

Summary: You love everything about social media - apart from the ever-growing number of social media influencers. You don't understand how these people gain followers and admirers just by installing a camera and doing very basic things in front of it. And you despise how some of them can do anything to gain fame, to be popular - even if it includes uploading their bedroom scene in pornsites aka people like Jeon Jungkook. But when your company launches a new product and your department head tasks you with signing Jeon Jungkook up as an endorsement partner - you have no choice but to chase him like the corporate slave that you are. However, things turn worse when you embroil in a dating rumor with him and have to keep the game going for the sake of everything.

Drabbles

Nothing yet.

#bts smut #bts angst #namjoon x reader #seokjin x reader #yoongi x reader #hoseok x reader #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader #bts fluff #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts x reader #bts oneshot #bts masterlist #bts masterpost

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somebluemelodies · 1 year ago

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i love that there’s an ongoing theme with a lot of the qsmp ships (especially the canon/close to canon ones) that is just this typically serious, nonchalant character - likely with a heavy/angsty backstory - and a character who’s oftentimes silly/chaotic, dramatic, or simply exudes wet cat energy, with or without the angsty backstory

i’m mainly looking at spiderbit, fitpac, and pissa/phissa- read my nonsensical ramble under the cut-

spiderbit!! you have q!Cellbit: a former child solider and an ex-convict from Alcatraz bc he was a cannibal and essentially a crazed serial killer. and his husband is q!Roier, who spent his earlier days on the island flirting with anyone and everyone, has Drama Queen™️ tendencies, and has an alter-ego who lives a double life as a stripper and psychologist. i don’t think Chafaland is canon so we don’t have much of a pre-island backstory for him, if one at all. granted, q!Cellbit we all know that sometimes has the wet cat or chaotic moments, so different dynamics can be interchanged between these two

fitpac!! q!Fit comes directly from the anarchy hellscape known as 2b2t, and as far as i’m aware, has spent most of if not all of his life there. led wars, killed a shit ton of people… yknow, all that jazz. literal war veteran. and yet!! who softens him and literally makes him fucking blush but none other than q!Pac. yes, q!Pac literally got his leg eaten and was also put into Alcatraz but up until he got kidnapped a couple weeks ago, the sheer chaos of this man?? regardless of the angst?? and now he’s slowly healing and getting back to normal too?? a silly lil inventor guy fr

pissa (why was this the chosen ship name again?)!! idk what the hell is going on with q!Phil’s backstory other than that he’s an/the Angel of Death, so there’s whatever angst and/or drama that comes with that. but this man just wants to chill and take care of his kids. and then… you have q!Missa… the MOST pathetic wet cat (/affectionate) on the entire island. and yknow what? i love him for that! the way this man has acted with q!Phil since he returned? i don’t even think i need to elaborate

but on a more serious note tho, i love that the relationships can (and do) run so much deeper too

i’ve talked about spiderbit plenty, but i’ll keep talking about them bc they just mean sm to me. the way they balance each other out and complement each other, the way they’re always there for each other. the way their relationship is so heavily built on trust. these two have so much love and commitment for each other it’s almost sickening. meus pais </3

fucking fitpac man they grew on me so fast :’D there’s a certain depth and potential with them that makes me crazy. they way they could (and do) help each other and always look out for each other. the way that they, regardless of inadvertently or intentionally, help each other heal from all the baggage they each carry is just… ough. i need them to become canon at this point idc. they’re both clearly into each other i don’t make the rules. THE POTENTIAL

i really hope we get more pissa bc it’s literally so crystal clear they care about each other, regardless of how much distance or how much time has passed. and that’s big. just like fitpac, there’s so much potential with them too, even if their marriage is platonic. i just wanna see their dynamic explored more please and thank you. it’s been so long </3

ANYWAY that’s… whatever this was. did this make any sense? idk. these gay cubitos man, i’m telling you. gotta love the lgbtqsmp. if you read all that, thanks :D

#the things this server does to my brain chemistry #insane #anyways here’s to the cubitos and their love lives #qsmp cellbit #qsmp roier #spiderbit #qsmp fit #qsmp pac #fitpac #qsmp phil #qsmp missa #pissa #qsmp

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rakubalka · 3 months ago

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A Komatsu time travel au

(I know one fic who did something with time travel in this fandom but this here is less angst and more comedy)

Komatsu by some means in some way (probably a Back channel accident) somehow ends up in the past roughly 500 years ago , shortly after Fronze's death to a very very depressed (and suicidal) Midora that needs emotional support that Ichiryu (the only person whit both sanity and emotional intelligence other than Fronze in this family and at the only alive member whit both until he adopts Coco , and only when Coco becomes part of the family will there again be two people (we don't count Komatsu here) whit both sanity and emotional intelligence better than a rock in it again) can't provide at the moment (because of trying to deal with the human government and their bullshit) , Accacia fucking somewhere else whit the Nitro at the moment , Jiro emotional intelligence of a literal rock and Setsuno not being both close enough to Midora to properly offer comfort and also not enough emotional intelligence to be able to handle Midora in his current state .

Komatsu of course being Komatsu (whit fuck ton of emotional intelligence even if somewhat questionable sanity) offers Midora the emotional support he desperately needs along with starting the effort to make sure Midora isn't going constantly on an empty stomach (it's a tough battle he bravely faces every day)

The result of the efforts is that Midora becomes his Combo Partner (and down the line husband as they are a lot closer in age here) and Komatsu becoming Midora's emotional support chef for who he is willing to do for anything for , with Midora's motto being "What Komatsu wants Komatsu gets" and the Gourmet Corp agreeing whit (probably an actual) cult like belief , support and devotion

There are interactions with the rest of the family of course (other than Accacia for obvious reasons)

Komatsu and Ichiryu are gossip buddies and go for tea around once a month , sometimes that miss it but in exchange offer extra juice gossip (Ichiryu knows more about the Gourmet Corp inner drama than most of it's members and Komatsu know more about international politics that almost all of the best information sellers in the world) . Komatsu being the adorable innocent little gremlin he is (you do not expect me to believe that Toriko or Zebra didn't rub on him at least a little) is always more that happy to offer Ichiryu a little nudge by using food on any political rivals or enemy (not by poisoning it of course that would be disrespectful to the food but when you're considered by many , even the most religious of people as the second coming of Fronze The Chef God , you know you cook good)

Him and Jiro more than once stumble into some very strange things and situations while going on walks and hunts together and more than once questioned how they are both still alive after it . The two of them together just seem to make Komatsu's weirdness magnet powers become 100x times stronger for some unexplainable reason . It does however mean that they have some very strange and intesting stories to tell (to which young Teppei will be raised on , his favorite by far being the time they prevented a species of seasoning flamingos from becoming extinct while they were searching for a milk pear as a snack for the wild fresh White Russian and the berry fruit boar they caught, which is what in this timeline inspired him to because part of the gourmet police and help protect and revive ingredients)

Him and Setsuno do become cooking buddies and even have nicknames for each other (he calls her Setsu-chan and she calls him Ko-chan) , until The Cooking Festival comes then they become rivals ready to beat the shit out of each other with poor Zaus , Yuda and Chiyo being in the middle of it while also having their own rivalry going on on the side (it makes the festival way more interesting to watch and even more chaotic when this timeline Komatsu , Brunch , Starjun and Ootake happened whit their rivalry because of the CHAOS the will be raining on it ) [Also I can't decide what relationship between Jiro and Setsuno wound be funnier In this timeline , the options being a) they are secretly married whit Komatsu (or Fronze depending of when) being the officiator and had at least 1 child together who is Teppei's parent or b) they are in a queerplatonic relationship whit each other because they mach each other's vibes so well , because you can't tell me that the girl that was going in animal skin bikini as a fashion choice wouldn't think Jiro's hair might have been cool then and even now as a result they are bff , is probably Jiro's child godmother and Teppei will call her grandma because in his eyes she is his grandma ]

Centuries pass on until it's time for his friend (and himself to be born) and lo and behold Midora finds baby Starjun while he was going on a walk by the ocean . The adoption papers are written immediately with him and Midora as primary guardians with the rest of the family as immediate guardians if he and Midora die . Baby Starjun gets raised in a way better Gourmet Corp and regular playdates with his technically nephew cousin Teppei . Until he is about 10 and having time with Uncle Ichiryu and they and Mansun accidentally discover a everything trafficking traffic ring(like they seriously trafficked everything , you named it they trafficked it) the results of which were 5 new cousins (aka the kings and Rin) . Needless to say Ichiryu got a tongue lashing so strong King Slime thought they were under life or death danger and tried to protect him , which only made the tongue lashing even worse . After Komatsu was satisfied with Ichiryu and allowed him to rest did he see how young Zebra , Sunny and Rin were looking as if he had invented the bread , he knew from that moment on those 3 will make their new father's life miserable by trying to copy Komatsu just like how Star tries to copy Midora . Star and Toriko actually do know they are related as twin brothers , along with telling Toriko whose kids they are . Midora is delighted to be the broody middle sibling , meanwhile Jiro is having a mid(!?!?) life crisis of no longer being the middle sibling but one of the older ones .

He also adopted both this timeline version of himself by posing as a relative along with Ootake , he is also technically Branch other legal guardian so he takes him along rather regularly to the Gourmet Corp HQ(aka Midora's Castle) the result in which being Chaos . It was still somewhat manageable before Grinpach and Tommyrod appeared and became in a very short amount of time Starjun best friends and an even more chaotic influence on him , resulting in the chaos becoming even stronger .

Komatsu despite everything is happy with the life he built here and is ready to cook God when the time is up and welcome Neo on a family dinner with everyone . And to of course let his chaotic friends turned his nephew/niece/children/godchildren/great nephew/younger self/charges on the world and see them spread chaos on it while watching it with his Combo Partner/Husband

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mysafehaneul · 1 year ago

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IV.AQUAMARINE

CHAPTER 4: SHADOWS AND COURTS

A/N: I apologize for the late update a lot went down last week, my aunt passed away and a shit ton of family drama which left me very emotionally and mentally drained. I hope you guys like this chapter and i look forward to read your comments. Happy Reading!

P.S. Thank you for liking Aquamarine so far, every like every reblog means the world to me. I will be taking a Hiatus till October as I have my mid-terms at the end of September.

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

JEON WONWOO X READER

WORDS: 8.5k+

GENRE: ARRANGE CONTRACT MARRIAGE AU! ENEMIES TO LOVERS!

Angst, Fluff, Smut (in future chapters not this one).

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Choices and changes are two things that are constant in every individual's life. Choices a person makes in certain situations can lead to a change that could be for better or for worse, yet these are the two things that no one can escape. In the gentle twilight of the city, a melancholic shadow casts a shadow over the newlyweds. The day had been a whirlwind of emotions, a crescendo of joy and celebration that now seemed to dissolve into a distant memory, like the last fading notes of a haunting melody.

The penthouse, perched high above the bustling city, offered a view that would usually have captivated anyone. Yet, for Y/N, it was merely a backdrop to the emotions swirling within her. As she stepped into the luxurious space, her heels dropped to the floor with a soft thud. The scent of freshly polished floors, infused with a subtle lemony fragrance, wafted through the air. It was Wonwoo's home, a place she had never been before, and it felt unfamiliar.

Wonwoo watched her, his eyes tracing her movements. His tie loosened, his collar unbuttoned, and he observed her with a silent curiosity. Y/N's fingers brushed against her temples, undoing the carefully arranged hairdo that had adorned her throughout the day.

"Nice view," she offered, her voice carrying a hint of detachment.

"Thanks," Wonwoo replied as he headed to the fridge. "Care for some water?"

Her head shook in a gentle decline, and she ventured further into the spacious penthouse. Wonwoo followed, his eyes never leaving her. There was a palpable change in her demeanour, an echo of a grand celebration that had given way to a profound stillness.

"The post-wedding blues," he mused, his voice a soft melody.

Y/N nodded, her gaze distant, as if searching for something lost in the past hours. She settled onto the plush couch, her fingers absentmindedly playing with her earrings.

"Why do I feel like your father hates me a little now? Wonwoo inquired, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"After the stunt you pulled today, any father ought to," she retorted, her tone laced with challenge.

Wonwoo, taken aback by her directness, cleared his throat. Y/N's audacity both intrigued and amused him.

"Well," he continued, "it was an emergency''. He couldn't help but feel a sting of guilt.

"Hmm," Y/N hummed, her gaze fixed on her earrings. "I know you're going to maintain your vices, but didn't I tell you to do a better job at hiding them?"

Wonwoo's silence was his confession.

Their eyes locked in a brief, challenging exchange that made Wonwoo realise why she was so respected in her field. She was a force to be reckoned with, a fact he had always found exhilarating.

Fiddling with her earrings again, she cleared her throat. "Wonwoo..."

"Pardon, what did you say?" he asked, momentarily caught in his thoughts.

"Room. Where is my room? I want to rest; my legs are killing me."

He was quick to respond, his voice gentle. "Ah, right. The master bedroom is the left door from straight."

"You didn't have to give me the master bedroom. We would've moved to Serene Villa by the end of next month after we brought Noel here."

The room seemed to hang in silence as he mulled over her words, the implications of what she'd said sinking in.

"Right? So where is your room?"

"Where yours is."

The confusion was clear in her eyes as she sought clarification.

"Pardon, what did you say?"

"My room is where your room is. I forgot to inform the staff to clean up the home gym."

"Home gym?"

"Yeah, the home gym used to be the guestroom."

"So?"

"So, you have to either sleep on the couch or you can take the bedroom. But don't worry; I'll sleep on the couch. You can take the room."

"Of course, I will take the bedroom, Wonwoo. You have this huge house, and you couldn't manage to clear out one room for me? That too, for just one week before we leave for Zurich... unbelievable."

He removed his blazer and started unbuttoning his sleeves, as if the act of undressing would ease his fatigue. "Listen, two weeks ago, I didn't even think that I'd get married, okay? I said you could take the bedroom. What's the big deal? And what's your family's obsession with words whose literal meaning is tranquilly?"

"What's your family's obsession with naming their projects after plants?"

"It's been seven hours since we got married, and you're already coming after families."

"Well, you started it."

"Y/n, I am tired, okay? And I'm pretty sure you are too. I'll call Alexandria to clear up the room tomorrow. So please, you can freshen up and rest in my room. Or is it that you're afraid to sleep alone?"

You sighed, your shoulders drooping as you got up from the couch. He nonchalantly placed his blazer on the counter and took a sip from the cold bottle.

He paused, a mischievous spark in his eyes, and continued, "Well, technically, it's our room now. I can even hold your hand until you fall asleep."

You didn't have the energy to entertain his playful banter. With a weary expression, you turned and headed towards the bedroom.

"Wow, not even an offer to let me sleep on the bedroom couch? He teased.

You stopped abruptly, irritation bubbling up within you. "You have 17 housing societies and 6 hotels across the country. I'm pretty sure there's a bed available somewhere in your vast empire. If not, you can always return to the hotel where you took your little drunk, Mrs. Shoddy NDA."

A sly grin tugged at the corners of Wonwoo's lips. "It's quite a unique wedding night when the wife suggests her husband sleep elsewhere. If anything, I smell a little jealousy."

"Fuck off, will you?" She retorted and slammed the bedroom door with a resounding thud.

"Asshole," she muttered behind the closed door.

The exchange left him feeling like he had just been painted with a scorching stroke of her fire, leaving his senses tingling and his ears ablaze with her presence.

...

In the hushed serenity of the midnight hour, you emerged from Wonwoo's adjoined bathroom, wrapped in one of his bathrobes. There was a subtle irony in the fact that he hadn't even bothered to ask the housekeeper to unpack your suitcase. His room spoke volumes about him, a blend of textures and shades, with its textured black wall adorned with a round mirror that emitted a soft, captivating glow from the lights behind it. The room's centrepiece was the bed, perfectly centred on an oak platform, with a grey round carpet resting beneath it.

The room was a harmonious blend of white and wood tones, creating an atmosphere that felt distinctly Wonwoo. On the left wall, two captivating paintings added depth and character, while the bathroom on the right continued the motif of black and white with impeccable finesse.

As you walked into the bathroom, you couldn't help but admire its sleek design. The colour scheme of black and white continued here, creating a sense of modern elegance. The bathtub beckoned invitingly, promising moments of relaxation and contemplation. Large mirrors adorned the walls, reflecting your image from multiple angles.

The shower was enclosed in glass, giving it an open and airy feel. A smooth marble slab inside the shower caught your attention, and though you couldn't fathom why someone would want to sit in the shower, and you are being honest with yourself, you don't want to think about it either.

Every detail of this room, just like the man who occupied it, was a meticulously chosen piece of artistry. It felt as if you had stepped into his sanctuary, a place where every element was thoughtfully curated to create an atmosphere of serenity and sophistication.

The scent of his products lingered in the air, a reminder that this was indeed his domain. You could almost imagine him here, surrounded by the luxuries he had chosen for himself. Standing there in his bathroom, wrapped in his robe, you couldn't help but feel a strange mix of emotions. The room was a reflection of the man you had just married, and though it was foreign territory for now, you wondered how much of yourself you would eventually weave into this beautifully crafted space.

Your hair cascaded gently on the silk pillow, and while the bed was unfamiliar, it cradled you with a comfort you couldn't deny. The scent of Wonwoo, as if woven into the very fabric of the sheets, enveloped you. As you closed your eyes, the events of the day replayed in your mind.

Surrounded by your chatty cousin and aunt, talk swirled around your cousin's upcoming nuptials in Paris. Across the room, at the other end of the dining hall, stood Wonwoo, a glass of white wine in hand. The glint of the engagement ring you had given him caught your eye as he conversed with Chan and one of his cousins by the bar. Rachel, your trusted aide, appeared at your side and whispered discreetly, "I think you should see this."

You excused yourself from the table and joined Rachel on the balcony, where Wonwoo overheard your conversation with Rema when his family came for dinner. He was still within your peripheral vision, and as Rachel brought out her tablet and displayed pictures of Wonwoo carrying Eleanor into his hotel, you couldn't help but feel a surge of emotions.

You handed the tablet back to Rachel with a firm command: "Kill these pictures; make sure no one can get their hands on them."

"Yes, boss," she replied, and you returned to your seat at the head of the table, doing your best to mask the turmoil brewing within you. You ignored the puzzled gazes that were beginning to notice your intense demeanor, as if they could sense that something was amiss. Wonwoo seemed like he was about to approach you, but his father intercepted him, leading him away from the party to have a private conversation in the library.

You clenched your eyes shut, trying to suppress the unsettling emotions that threatened to surface. You reminded yourself that loyalty from Wonwoo was something he didn't owe you, except in the context of your business partnership and Noel's adoption. The weariness finally overcame you, and you drifted into an uneasy sleep, your restless thoughts still churning beneath the surface.

As you were on the verge of succumbing to slumber, the sharp ring of your phone pierced through the silence of the room.

...

It was a mere five minutes away from 3 a.m. when a distant voice called out to Wonwoo. Exhausted from the long day, sleep had come easily to him. Wonwoo was accustomed to living alone and even preferred it. At the age of 14, he had moved to London to study at St. Augustine Boarding School for Boys. Though he hadn't seen you since you entered his room, he was vaguely aware of your presence in his house. It provided him with a respite from his otherwise hectic and crowded life.

Before drifting off to sleep, his father's words in the Serenity Mansion library echoed in his mind. ''Y/N is important to us. I'm sure you don't want to wash your hands off that land. So, get your act together and make her fall—"

Suddenly, someone began shaking his body, calling his name.

"Wonwoo?"

''Wonwoo! Wake up!"

Startled, he jolted awake, momentarily disoriented about where he was and who was standing before him.

"Y/n," his voice hoarse from sleep and confusion, "what's wrong?"

You stood near the bed, your warm hand still resting on his forearm. He hadn't noticed his shirtless upper body. Your body language conveyed anxiety, as if something deeply disturbing had occurred. He adjusted his position, and you withdrew your hand, placing it by your side. He propped himself up with his hand behind his head and began to close his eyes again.

"Scared? Want me to hold your hand?"

"Will you shut up? I'm going to Switzerland."

This statement roused him fully.

"Why? Weren't we supposed to go next week?"

"We were, but Jeonghan called. He said that Noella's brother came to Noel's school. We don't know what he said to him, but he has had a high fever since last night and has been continuously calling my name. I have to leave."

You began to get dressed as Wonwoo followed you, still in a sleepy daze.

"I've called Racheal since my pilot is on maternity leave. I'll head to the airport and book a flight. I know this is all—"

"Y/n, please, let me process this. You're leaving for Switzerland right now. Okay, but can't you wait it out? Kids fall sick all the time; maybe it's just a cold. If he gets better by the morning, then we can proceed according to the schedule."

"Wonwoo, that kid lost both of his parents at the age of five. You can't compare his mental state with every other kid, and I'm informing you that I am leaving."

You emerged from the bathroom with your hair pulled back in a ponytail and your phone ringing on the bed. You walked over to the walk-in wardrobe and pulled out your suitcase. You answered your phone.

"Okay, bring it to the airport. I'll meet you directly there."

"Who was it?" Wonwoo inquired.

"My driver."

"Listen, Wonwoo, I know this is really out of the blue, but I have to go. Noel needs me. I'll be in touch, okay? Just tell everyone that there was an urgent matter I had to attend to at the Switzerland branch. We'll discuss Oasis after all of this wraps up."

Wonwoo threw his head back and exhaled through his nose. "Y/n, it's almost 3 a.m. in the morning. I've only had half an hour of sleep, and people with cameras are always hounding us. Are you even thinking about how they'll twist this?"

"I know, and in all honesty, I don't care. I bet if it were you, then no one would even bat an eye. So—"

You put on your mask and walked out of the room with your suitcase in tow.

"I'll be in touch," you called out before the sound of the door closing echoed through the now-empty penthouse.

Wonwoo sat down on the bed, threw himself back, and rubbed his face with his hands as he groaned. Why is she so stubborn? He got up to search for his phone.

....

Since when did he start caring about what others think of me or us? You retorted sharply during your drive to the airport. As you were hurriedly confirming your ticket at the check-in counter for the fast lane, you realised that only economy seats were available. With a resigned sigh, you took one. deciding that it was the best option under the circumstances. As you worked on your laptop, the announcement for boarding began.

The gate was on the verge of closing when you felt someone take the seat next to you. Glancing up, you were surprised to see Wonwoo. Raising an eyebrow, you inquired, "What are you doing here?"

He replied, "It would be very unbecoming if I let my wife leave in less than 24 hours of our wedding ."

Your thoughts from earlier hung in the air, and you muttered, "Didn't think you gave a damn about what others think.'' Wonwoo's expression darkened at your comment, realising that he might have overreacted.

Throughout the flight, both of you worked on your laptops, immersed in your own worlds. The constant drone of the plane's engines made you drowsy, and you eventually dozed off. Wonwoo, however, found it impossible to sleep on flights, especially in the cramped economy seats.

He glanced at you, your head resting on his shoulder as you slept soundly. He noticed the long, delicate lashes framing your closed eyes, and a soft smile crept onto his lips.

An older woman seated on the other side of him leaned over and struck up a conversation. "Is she your wife?"

Wonwoo nodded. "We got married today, or, shall I say, yesterday."

The woman smiled warmly and congratulated him. "She is very pretty."

Wonwoo couldn't help but agree with a smile of his own. "I know." He went back to his laptop, adjusting your head gently on his shoulder. As the plane soared through the night sky.

....

The sun hung high in the sky as you and Wonwoo stepped off the plane, greeted by the crisp air of Switzerland. You glanced at him, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. "I hope you brought sweaters."

Wonwoo chuckled, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "It's not my first time here, you know. I've been here thrice."

"Good for you," you replied, your tone light, as you led the way towards the awaiting car. "Our car is over there."

Victor, your lawyer and good friend who takes care of matters in your Switzerland branch, stood by the car, his tall frame and salt-and-pepper hair making him a striking figure. Rema, your attorney, would be working closely with him on this case.

As you introduced Victor to Wonwoo, his eyes widened slightly in recognition. "Well, Jeonghan is not going to like this."

"Jeonghan?" Wonwoo inquired, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

"He's Noel's Godfather," Victor explained, his expression revealing a sense of intrigue.

Wonwoo couldn't help but wonder why Jeonghan's reaction to your marriage seemed significant. Did he hold feelings for you, or was there something else that would make him react strongly to this news?

With Victor now aware of Wonwoo's identity and the potential implications, you all piled into the car. The drive through the city of Zurich was breathtaking, with picturesque streets and stunning architecture passing by.

During the journey, Wonwoo couldn't help but ponder Victor's cryptic comment about Jeonghan. He turned to you with a playful glint in his eyes. "Jeonghan, huh? Is there something you're not telling me about this Godfather?"

You leaned back in your seat, a sly smile playing on his lips. "Oh, you know, just a bit of friendly rivalry. He's probably just upset that he didn't get an invite to our whirlwind wedding."

''JJ hates staying out of the loop'' Victor added from the front seat.

You chuckled, "Well, it's not like we had a choice with that one. But we'll have to make it up to him somehow, as i come bearing gifts."

As the car continued its journey through the streets of Zurich, you couldn't help but wonder if Jeonghan's reaction would be the only surprise waiting for you in Switzerland.

...

Victor's sleek BMW glided to a stop on the cobblestone driveway, nestled in one of the quieter, less touristy corners - Enge. You tumbled out of the car with Wonwoo and Victor following suit, suitcases in tow. You approached the front cerulean door and swung it open, entering Jeonghan's and Victor's home. The decor was a whimsical blend of colours and styles, with a baby blue Persian rug that flirted with salmon-white walls. A light grey couch adorned with metallic golden accents sat regally in the centre of the room.

Jeonghan, perched cross-legged with a magazine in his lap and a coffee mug in hand, sensed your approach. He abandoned his reading material and cup, rushing over to envelop you in a bear hug, which you reciprocated wholeheartedly.

"JJ!" you exclaimed, your voice muffled by his shoulder.

He drew back, holding your shoulders, to examine you. "Good Lord, girl, were you on a sleep strike for the last two weeks?"

"Something like that," you replied, undoing your scarf. "How's Noel?"

"Well, the fever's still hanging around, but he's asleep now after the doctor gave him an injection.''

"Any idea why Nikolai was there?"

He shrugged. "I didn't get a chance to ask. The teachers just told me..."

His eyes wandered past you and locked onto Wonwoo, who had just entered the house. Jeonghan's eyes widened, and he couldn't help but voice his curiosity.

"Who's that hunk?"

"Who?" you turned, and then back to Jeonghan. "Oh, that's... that's Wonwoo."

"Your new assistant?"

You chuckled, shaking your head. "No, he's my husband."

"YOUR WHAT?!" Jeonghan's exclamation could have shattered glass with its sheer volume. "YOU GOT MARRIED AND DIDN'T TELL ME? I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS--''

"Jeonghan, calm down," you coaxed, leading him to the couch. "I know this may come as a shock to you."

"Ya bet," he huffed, settling onto the couch.

Wonwoo entered the house, his expression a mix of confusion and amusement. You signalled him to come closer.

"JJ, this is Jeon Wonwoo—my, my husband. And Wonwoo, this is Jeonghan, my best friend and Noel's godfather."

Wonwoo extended his hand for a handshake, which Jeonghan eyed sceptically before reluctantly accepting. "Nice to meet you. I've heard a lot about you."

Jeonghan just nodded in acknowledgment, folding his arms. “Nice to meet you too, and i heard nothing about you.’’He couldn't hold back his curiosity, though.

"How long have you two been together?"

"Oh, we met—"

"A year!" You cut Wonwoo off, your voice brimming with faux enthusiasm.

Jeonghan eyed you suspiciously before stating, "Why the sudden wedding? Are you pregnant?"

"Yes! And they're quadruplets," you replied sarcastically, a playful tone in your voice.

Jeonghan rolled his eyes. "You think you funny, huh?''

"Ya, I'm the funniest."

"You didn't—wait, how can you date for a year when you were here all the time—" Before you could respond, Jeonghan connected the dots himself. "Ah, so this is the reason why you went back home every two weeks, every alternate month."

"Hmm," you and Wonwoo exchanged amused glances he's so far from the truth, exhaustion showing on both your faces.

"I have a few questions..."

"And we'll answer them later, Dad. But first, I want to see Noel. Can you show Wonwoo the guest room? We haven't had a chance to rest since the wedding yesterday."

"YOU GOT MARRIED YESTERDAY?" You hurried off to find Noel, leaving a flabbergasted Jeonghan in your wake.

You turned the doorknob, granting access to Noel's room. The iron-man-themed décor caught your eye, with figurines strewn about the floor and notebooks scattered on his study table. You made your way to his bedside and gently began caressing his forehead. His cheeks were still warm and flushed, and he took short, pouted breaths in his slumber. The effect of the injection appeared to be wearing off as he stirred from his sleep.

"Tante," he asked, as if you were a mere hallucination.

"Hi, baby boy."

"How are you here?"

"How can I not be? When my baby calls for me, I must show up. Is that even a question?"

You were about to hug him when you remembered you were still in your airport clothes. "It's alright, bud. You can go back to sleep."

He tightly grasped your hand, his voice tinged with worry. "What if I wake up and you're not here?"

"Then pinch yourself awake from that bad dream and find me. I'll always be there."

He brought your hand to his chest, finding solace in your presence as he dozed off again. You reached for the intercom near the side table, and after a few minutes, there was a polite knock at the door.

"Enter."

A woman in her mid-40s, her auburn hair neatly tucked into a low bun, entered the room. Her sturdy build and professional demeanour spoke of competence.

"Hello, Leila."

"Good afternoon, Ma'am."

"How have you been?"

"Good."

"That's nice. Get me some cold water and two towels. I'll wipe Noel's body and take out his fresh pajamas. Also, prepare some chicken soup with carrots and onions. Don't forget to toast the bread."

"Madam, leave it to me. I'll take care of Little Master. You must be tired after such a long flight."

"It's alright, Leila. Just do as you're told. And send someone to clean my house, will you?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

She paused for a moment and then added, "Madam..."

"Hmm?" You responded without taking your eyes off Noel.

"I'm glad you're back early. Little Master missed you a lot. And congratulations on your wedding."

You met her gaze briefly, your expression softening, before turning your attention back to Noel and nodding in acknowledgement of her words.

After feeding Noel, you made your way to the living room, where Leila informed you that Victor had returned to his office, and Jeonghan was engrossed in his study, presumably giving an online lecture. With Noel still recovering, it wouldn't be right to move him, so you and Wonwoo would be staying in the guestroom for the night.

In the guestroom, you sat down on a seater near the dresser, your feet perched on a small table, your fingers pinching your forehead in thought. You could hear the shower running nearby. Closing your eyes, you tried to relax.

The door opened, and a body emerged from it. Wonwoo stood before you, wrapped in nothing but a towel cinched around his waist and another draped over his shoulders. Little droplets cascaded down his hair and chest as he walked towards you.

"You're here," he remarked.

"Yeah," you replied without opening your eyes.

"I thought you'd sleep somewhere else."

"Can't do. Victor and Jeonghan have no idea about the real motive of this marriage."

"I figured as much.'' Wonwoo turned his back to you, preparing to change into fresh clothes.

You opened your eyes, discreetly analysing the muscles of his back. "So, he works out, huh? Not bad."

"I can feel you ogling."

''Sorry, I didn't mean to."

"I didn't say I mind."

You responded with a nonchalant "hmm" and made your way to the bathroom.

"Do you not feel awkward after seeing my body?" Wonwoo called after you.

"Why should I feel awkward? You showed me your body."

"You have a response to everything, don't you?"

"Yes, that's how conversations usually go. If you want to eat something, there's an intercom near the side table on the right-hand side. Leila will bring it."

"Nah, I want to sleep. I haven't slept a wink since yesterday."

"Okay," you said and shut the bathroom door behind you. The bathroom still held the warmth from Wonwoo's shower. You quickly shed your clothes and stepped under the hot water, the sensation easing the knots and tensions in your body. In the midst of it, you couldn't help but wonder, "Why am I always so at ease in his presence?"

By the time you finished your shower, your body felt relaxed, but fatigue had finally caught up with you. You found Wonwoo sleeping curled up on the left corner of the spacious bed. Since it was a king-sized bed, you arranged the pillows in the middle and lay down on the right side without overthinking it. As you rested your head on the pillow, all conscious thought faded away, and sleep enveloped you.

....

The sudden slam of the door startled you, making you stir slightly. You felt a warm breath on your neck and a gentle weight on your waist. Just as you were falling back to sleep, someone hopped onto your bed, jolting you awake. Wonwoo's nose nuzzled into the back of your head, and his arms wrapped around your waist. Where did the pillow go? You didn't get a chance to wonder further when Noel sat on your stomach.

"Oomph, El," you grunted.

The sound of hurried steps echoed in the room, and Jeonghan's voice followed, "El, you shouldn't barge into a couple's room like that. You'll be traumatised for life."

He entered the doorway with his eyes tightly shut. "Aren't you an eloquent speaker, JJ?''you retorted.

"Are you both decent?" he asked cautiously.

Wonwoo groaned and moved his hand away from you, turning to his side and still sleeping. You were busy glaring at Jeonghan for the untimely intrusion when you noticed Noel staring down at the man's shirtless back. You patted Noel's thigh to get his attention, and he turned to you, asking in French

"Who is he?"

"He is my husband and your uncle."

"But I already have an uncle!"

"Who?" you asked, confused. A glance passed between you and Jeonghan, who stood by the door.

"He came to my school and said that he is my mama's brother, and he will take me to his house, where he lives with my grandpa."

"So what did you say?"

"I said I wanted to live with you."

A warmth spread in your heart as Noel laid down on your chest, hugging you. He continued, "But he said you won't want to live with me when you get married and have a family of your own."

Every ounce of drowsiness left your body, replaced by slow-building fury. "That would never happen," you assured him, rubbing his back as you gazed up at the ceiling.

"If you're awake, dinner's ready. Come and eat it, El. Let's go," Jeonghan said, his voice low and tinged with worry.

You looked at Jeonghan and nodded. Turning your face, you kissed Noel on the back of the head. As you did, you met Wonwoo's eyes, looking deeply at you with his tousled hair. He was still lying on his stomach, but his head was turned towards you, and your heartbeat quickened.

Before you could say anything, his phone blared, and he turned to pick it up. "Yes, Chan," he answered, his voice hoarse. You got up, carrying Noel in your arms, and left the room, the unresolved tension lingering in the air.

....

It had been a week since the two of you arrived in Zurich. After that eventful dinner, you, Wonwoo, and Noel went to your house across the street. Since Leila was your housekeeper, she took care of cleaning and occasionally cooked for Jeonghan, who preferred to cook for himself and Victor. That dinner had been quite a grilling session for Wonwoo. He found himself caught in the crossfire, with Noel and Jeonghan bombarding him with questions. The poor man had been munching on his lettuce like an innocent sheep, occasionally answering their inquiries. You and Victor exchanged empathetic glances at each other and at Wonwoo.

The next three days had been a blur, with both of you barely meeting each other. You were busy with work and meetings in your Switzerland office, while he worked from your home office. One evening, as you both sat down to eat together, he broached the topic.

"I know you said we'd deal with Oasis once all this wraps up, but I was thinking of holding an investors meeting on Saturday."

"I don't think so," you replied, leaning back and taking a sip of your drink.

"Why?" He asked, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

"I think holding an investor meeting face-to-face would be better," you explained. "Rich people have no lack of money to burn, but they do give preference to sincerity. If we both host a dinner at our new home and show them our sincerity towards the project and somewhat toward each other, don't you think that would be more beneficial?"

You paused, waiting for his response, and then added, "Isn't that also the reason you got married? To improve your reputation and win more investors for your new project in Kyoto?"

He nodded thoughtfully and raised an eyebrow. "I guess there's nothing wrong with that. Well, then, I'll inform Chan to arrange a meeting with the architects."

"Hmm," you said, nodding in agreement, and went back to your food.

It was the night before the trial. You were reading Noel a bedtime story about a wise old owl, an owl who listened to individuals and their problems. By the time you reached the second chapter, Noel was already asleep. Kissing his forehead, you left the room and noticed the lights were still on in the study. You assumed Wonwoo was working late again. Your impromptu change of plans had put a strain on his work-life due to different time zones, making you feel a little guilty. But then again, it was his choice to come here.

Rema had arrived that morning and was now sleeping in the room that Wonwoo used to occupy. Tonight, he'd be sleeping in your room. You had offered to take the couch, but he insisted otherwise.

You were done with your nighttime routine when you exited the ensuite bathroom and saw Wonwoo standing on the balcony, smoking a cigarette and talking on his phone.

He noticed your movement from the corner of his eye but continued speaking into the phone, "What's the point of living in one of the most secure and luxurious apartments in the country if you all can't even keep a woman from trespassing?"

He pressed his thumb against his forehead, the cigarette burning. "Well then, take care of it, Chan."

He ended the call and put the phone in the pocket of his relaxed trousers.

"Hello there, stranger," you greeted him.

"Hi," he replied, puffing out a plume of smoke.

You sat on the dresser to brush your hair, and he continued to gaze down at the park, visible from your balcony.

"Did work end early?" you asked.

He huffed a smile and said, "Does it ever end?"

You picked up your lotion and started applying it to your arms. You shook your head in denial and commented, "Tomorrow's going to be a long day. Since we've applied for the fast-track court, the hearing won't take long. I just hope—"

You took a breath and continued, "I just hope we get this over with and get Noel away from these people."

You felt a comforting hand on your shoulder, and when you looked up in the mirror, you met Wonwoo's eyes. His voice softened as he reassured you, "Don't worry. You've worked hard, and nobody can take Noel away from you."

You smiled back. "I hope so."

He nodded and made his way to the bathroom.

"Wonwoo," you called out, making him stop in his tracks. "What's wrong?"

He sighed, retracing his steps and sitting on the bed. Your eyes met in the mirror as he began, "Eleanor, Tresspassed, and trashed the apartment''

''And no one did anything?'' you asked, shock evident on your face.

''Well, she is the wife of politician Lee Joonsuk; only a man with a death wish would touch her''

''I didn't know you were suicidal, wonwoo''

''Look at you and your elite sense of humour. I meant in the legal sense.'' You nodded in understanding, but the curiosity got the better of you, and you asked, ''Whats her story?'' His head shot up, and he looked at you intently for a minute, then began to share his love story—how he had met Eleanor in college in London. She came from a poor family but aspired to have a career in politics. After working under Lee Joonsuk's party, she had drawn his keen interest, and before he knew it, he was returning from his grandmother's funeral to hear that his girlfriend was marrying into one of the most powerful conglomerate families.

For a few years, it seemed nice for her, but the spark eventually faded. Their marriage had turned into just another one in society. However, neither of them could leave—their marriage served her political career, and his wealth had no end.

"So, what does she want from you?" you asked.

He smiled ruefully. "Attention."

You had no words, but Wonwoo tilted his head and said, "Wow, I never talk about these things with Chan, and he's with me 22/7."

"22/7?" you inquired, confused.

"Yes, two hours for sleep," he explained, making both of you laugh.

"Well, I am the old, wise owl; people like talking to me."

He hummed and made his way to the bathroom.

....

The drive to the court was far from easy for you. Jeonghan, Victor, Rema, and you were all packed into one car, with Leila, Noel, and Wonwoo in another. Rema and Victor discussed and exchanged pointers, trying to keep the atmosphere as calm as possible. Jeonghan held your hand, providing a comforting presence as the tension mounted.

Finally, when your number was called, Leila and Noel were escorted to the witness room while the four of you entered the courtroom. Rema and Victor took their seats on the right, while the Bulavias occupied the left side. As the judge announced, "Case Number 432: Custody of Noel Hong, L/N vs. Bulavia," a wave of anticipation washed over the room.

Your eyes met Nikolai Bulavia's, a man with platinum blonde hair, a family crest ring, a sharp jawline, and a strong build. He looked at you with those same unsettling eyes that resembled Noella's. A sneer crept onto his face as he observed you, then he shifted his gaze to Wonwoo. You were determined not to give him the satisfaction of knowing he'd gotten under your skin, so you looked away.

Wonwoo, who had been busy typing on his phone, leaned in and whispered, "Don't worry, we've got this."

His warm hand rested above your knee, offering you the reassurance you needed in this nerve-wracking moment.

Judge Andrew's, a man in his 60s with a strenuous personality and gravel voice, commanded, ''Order in the court!''

The room fell into silence as the judge called for order. You sat nervously, flanked by Rema and Victor on one side and the Bulavias on the other.

Bulavia's Attorney stood up and walked in the centre of the room and began addressing the judge, ''Your Honour, we'd like to begin by stating that the existence of the child in question was deliberately kept hidden from the Bulavia family. We were not informed about Noel's existence until recently.

Rema, following the suit, countered, ''Your Honour, if I may, the decision to keep Noel away from the Bulavias was based on the explicit wishes of his deceased parents. They wanted to ensure that Noel was never exposed to the Bulavia family.''

Judge Andrews nodded and said, ''Let's proceed, please.''

Bulavia Attorney added, ''Furthermore, Your Honour, we'd like to argue that Ms. [Your Last Name] has an unstable lifestyle. She's constantly on the move between her home country and here, neglecting to be a constant figure in Noel's life and leaving him at the care of her friends and house help, and it appears that she only wants Noel because of the substantial property and shares left in his name by his deceased mother.

Rema, walking closer to the judge's stand, said, '' Your honour, that's simply not true. My client has always had Noel's best interests at heart. She is a renown businesswoman who travels due to work. The properties and shares were entrusted to him, and she's been managing them responsibly.''

Bulavia Attorney countered, ''Your Honour, we have reason to believe that Ms. [Your Last Name]'s intentions are not as noble as she claims. We request that these financial assets be temporarily placed under the Bulavia family's supervision until this matter is settled.''

'' Your honour, we vehemently oppose this request. It is clear that Noel's life was under threat from the Bulavia family. We have evidence to support this claim.''

Bulavia Attorney, who was quiet confident, is now left perplexed at this new revelation: ''Evidence? What evidence?''

Rema is standing, holding a folder. ''Your Honour, we have obtained CCTV footage from 2016 showing Mr. Nikolai Bulavia getting out of his car with a baseball bat. We also have medical records and photographs that depict the violence Mr. Nikolai Bulavia inflicted upon Noel's late parents. He even attacked Joshua, Noel's father, upon learning of his sister's pregnancy.''

The Bulavia attorney was now taken aback. ''Your honour, those incidents were isolated, and Mr. Bulavia deeply regrets his actions. But that doesn't justify Ms. [Your Last Name]'s decision to keep the child hidden from us.''

When Rema further added, "Your Honour, it's clear that the Bulavia family's violent history posed a threat to Noel's safety. We argue that his parents' decision to keep him away from this environment was justified.''

The courtroom buzzed with tension as both sides presented their arguments. The judge listened carefully, fully aware that this was a critical decision that would shape young Noel's future.

After a thoughtful pause, Judge Andrews began his verdict: ''I've reviewed the presented evidence and heard both sides of the argument. It is clear that there was a history of violence and danger to the child's life from the Bulavia family. While these incidents may have been isolated, Noel Hong's safety and well-being are paramount in this case.''

''Your honour, we assure you that we can provide a safe and nurturing environment for the child.''

Judge Andrews firmly cut Bulavia's attorney off. ''Nevertheless, the evidence presented suggests that the child's life was at risk in your presence. Therefore, the court rules in favour of Ms. [Your Last Name] retaining custody of Noel Hong. Furthermore, the financial assets will remain under her supervision.''

The Bulavias appeared crestfallen, while you and your legal team shared a collective sigh of relief.

The judge continues, ''I will also issue a restraining order against Mr. Nikolai Bulavia, ensuring he maintains a safe distance from the child and Ms. [Your Last Name].''

Rema, who was now standing next to you, whispered, ''We did it, Y/N.''

You nodded, tears of relief brimming in your eyes. Wonwoo, who had been a pillar of support throughout the trial, gave your hand a reassuring squeeze.

Wonwoo leaned to whisper, ''I told you we'd get through this.''

''The court finds in Favour of the petitioner, Y/N L/N, for the adoption of Noel Hong''

A wave of relief washed over you as you heard the judge's words. It was official. Noel was yours, and he was safe from the Bulavia family's influence.

Judge Andrew looks at you and Wonwoo and says, ''It is the court's hope that Noel Hong will now be provided with a loving and stable environment where he can thrive and grow.''

You nodded, tears of joy and gratitude filling your eyes. Wonwoo squeezed your hand, sharing in your overwhelming emotions.

And concluded, ''Congratulations, Mrs. L/N and Mr. Jeon. The court approves the adoption of Noel Hong by Y/N L/N, and we wish your family all the best for the future''

As you rushed into the witness room after the court's decision, your heart swelled with an overwhelming mix of emotions. There, sitting in the midst of this legal battle, was the small figure of Noel, your precious little boy. You spread your arms wide, your eyes welling up with tears of joy, and Noel immediately sensed the invitation. With a wide smile on his face, he practically leaped into your arms.

You held him close, feeling the warmth of his little body against yours, his heartbeat in sync with your own. In that moment, as you held Noel, you realized something profound. It wasn't just the fact that he was Joshua's son or Noella's child that made you love him so deeply. It was simply Noel, a bright and beautiful soul who had come into your life and filled it with an extraordinary kind of love.

As you hugged him tightly, you whispered softly into his ear, "I told you, Noel, no one can ever take you away from Tante." Your voice carried all the love and reassurance that a child could ever need, and Noel, with his small arms wrapped around you, knew that he was home, safe and cherished in your embrace.

As Wonwoo watched you holding Noel, something profound and deeply touching happened within him. He felt a crack forming in the walls he had built around his heart, a wall that had been constructed over years of self-preservation and ambition. In that moment, as he witnessed the pure and selfless love you had for Noel, he realized the depth of your character.

Beneath the surface of the successful and driven persona he had seen before, there was a person who was genuinely selfless. It wasn't just about protecting Noel for the sake of his inheritance or securing a business deal; it was about providing love, care, and a safe haven for a child who needed it.

This realization shook him to his core. It was as if he had stumbled upon a hidden treasure, a quality in you that he had never fully appreciated before. In that moment, Wonwoo couldn't help but admire and respect you even more. He knew he had witnessed something extraordinary and rare – an act of pure, selfless love that had the power to touch and transform the hearts of those who were lucky enough to witness it.

.....

The night was slowly settling in as Victor drove Rema to the airport. It left just you, Noel, and a dimly lit street outside the restaurant where you had dinner. As Wonwoo and Jeonghan settled the bill inside you stood there, a familiar figure started approaching, and your heart sank.

"Which part of the restraining order did you not understand, Nikolia?" you spat out, your voice laced with irritation.

A devilish smirk played on Nikolia's lips as he responded, "Unclench your claws, kitten. I'm just here to talk."

You crossed your arms defensively. "I never cared for the child, but to think that this little kimchi pest will be sitting on 3 billion worth of property is not sitting right with me."

"Then sleep on it; you'll get used to it," you retorted, trying to mask your unease.

Nikolia laughed and raised his finger as if to push your hair away from your face, but before he could, Noel clung to your leg, visibly frightened. You warned, "Don't you dare touch me, Nikolia."

His eyes flared with anger, and he hissed, "That's not what you were saying that night 8 years ago."

You smirked, your words dripping with contempt, "Hmm, I wish I did. Then again, how would I know what faking an orgasm felt like?"

A fire blazed in Nikolia's eyes, but he didn't respond immediately. Instead, he mumbled, "Ah, Y/N, if only you'd given us a chance. You would've been his real aunt and the queen of my empire, not some little hotel man's wife."

You looked him up and down and said, "I'd rather eat glass than marry you. And don't even compare yourself to my husband, Nikolia. He has more spine than you can imagine. A person who kills his own sister, leaving his nephew an orphan, all for the sake of his fragile ego. So, get away and get lost, Nikolia. I don't want Noel anywhere near your shadow, let alone you."

Before Nikolia could respond, an arm wrapped around your waist, and Noel left your side, running to Jeonghan for safety. It was Wonwoo, exuding an aura of intimidation.

"I think my wife asked you to leave, Mr. Bulavia," he said calmly but firmly.

Nikolia glanced down at you, then up at Wonwoo, and then winked at Noel. "Don't get so worked up, Mr. Jeon. I was just having a conversation with an old friend."

You huffed, retorting, "We were never friends."

Nikolia backed away, smirking. "Whatever you say, princess. Whatever you say," he replied before finally turning and walking away into the night, 'This isn't over Y/N'' leaving you, Wonwoo, and Noel in a state of tense relief.

.....

As the time for your departure from Switzerland approached, the atmosphere was heavy with a mix of excitement and sadness. Jeonghan and Victor had come to drop you off at the airport, and there was something they wanted to share.

Once you had all settled in a quieter corner of the airport lounge, Jeonghan cleared his throat, exchanging a glance with Victor. It was clear they had something important to say.

"We have some news," Jeonghan began, his expression a mixture of excitement and nervousness. "Victor and I are getting married soon."

You blinked in surprise, and then your shock transformed into a grin. "That's wonderful news! Congratulations!"

But then a thought crossed your mind, and you narrowed your eyes playfully at Jeonghan. "Why didn't you tell me this earlier?"

He chuckled, his smile wide. "Well, you didn't tell us you were dating someone for a whole year!"

You rolled your eyes, but it was all in good humor. "Fair enough. Well, I'm genuinely happy for both of you."

Jeonghan turned his attention to Wonwoo, who was standing beside you. "Take good care of her and my godson, alright?"

Wonwoo nodded, extending his hand to Jeonghan. "I will, don't you worry."

Jeonghan gave Wonwoo a firm handshake before turning to you. He pulled you into a warm hug and whispered, "He's a good guy, but if he acts up, you know who to call."

You nodded, feeling a lump in your throat, and then picked up Noel. Tears welled up in his eyes as he hugged Jeonghan tightly, realising that this might be the last time he saw his beloved uncle for a while.

There was a farewell filled with smiles and promises to visit each other soon. Finally, the three of you walked to Wonwoo's private jet, ready to fly back home, where new adventures await. Unbeknownst to you, the new revelation you're about to face.

....

Extra:

Wonwoo descended the stairs, feeling the pangs of thirst that late-night work often brought on. He noticed the refrigerator light flickering and remembered he had a late meeting to attend due to the troublesome time zone differences. As he made his way to the kitchen, he noticed Noel struggling to open a bottle.

Deciding to offer some assistance, Wonwoo approached the young boy. "Why are you up so late?" he inquired, causing Noel to jump slightly.

"I could ask you the same," Noel retorted.

Wonwoo chuckled softly. "Touché. Well, I was working. But wait, I don't need to explain myself to you."

Noel, still wrestling with the stubborn bottle cap, retorted, "Neither do I."

Seeing Noel's struggle, Wonwoo carefully lifted him onto a stool and took the bottle. After successfully opening it, he decided to pour himself a cup of coffee and sat down beside the young boy.

Noel looked at him and curiously asked, "Why are you sleeping in the guest bedroom? Don't married people sleep together?"

A sly grin tugged at Wonwoo's lips. "Aren't you seven?" he retorted, and he couldn't help but chuckle at the clever preception.

Noel added with a hint of playfulness, "I may be seven, but I'm not an idiot. I know things because Mama and Appa used to sleep in the same room."

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, intrigued by Noel's insight. "Well, I work late at night, and your Tante is an early bird."

Noel nodded knowingly. "Yeah, she does like to sleep a lot."

Curiosity getting the better of him, Wonwoo pressed further. "What else does your Tante like?"

Noel hopped down from the stool, discarded the plastic into the blue recycling bin, and started to amble away. He turned back briefly and quipped, "Again, I may be a kid, but I'm not an idiot to let you sweet-talk me into an investigation."

Wonwoo watched the boy walk away with a smile, finding Noel's wit and independence rather endearing. He sipped his coffee and mumbled to himself, "Like aunt, like kid."

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

A/N: Thank you again for reading see you all again with a new chapter in October.

msh

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