#I love the many scars he got omg

[toastee-roastee]

Welcome to the old man club

Will you ever drawing Dimentio without a mask? I would like to see some drawing with your own design or see what you think it looks like.

If we exclude the option of his mask being his face or there just being void behind it, I'd see him as a wrinkled ancient with skin disease. (which is a pretty common depiction but I just really like it)

I imagine he's older than Merlee but younger than Merlon.

[taegularities]

colour me in: the starry night | jjk (m)

Summary: You anticipated the trip to Jungkook's hometown with a thrilled yet nervous heart – and upon your arrival, your emotions prove justified: because as the days pass, you realise that gentle joy awaits just as much as ancient pain.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating; angst, fluuuuuff, smut ➳ warnings: fluff fluff fluffluffulfufluf, flirting, daddy issues, arguments with his father, his dad is pretty much an ass and almost as bad as oc's mom, but his mom and brother are <3, ria <3, oc being a light in the dark, oc learns many new things, cursing, fighting, a lot of crying/tears, neglect, mental breakdown, panic and anxiety, anger, insecurities, too many mentions of nostalgia lmao, jealousy, mention of therapy, nara, christian yu lmAO, WEDDING TIME!!!, oc is so pretty (that jk loses it), alcohol/drunk stuff, more confrontations, making up, he loves loves loves her, childhood coping mechanisms; explicit sexual content: kissing, making out, oral (f. & m. receiving), teasing, eating out against the wall, bit of wall sex, drunk sex, manhandling omg, impatient koo, big dick!jk, dom!jk but this timeeee also sub!jk lowkey!!, tears of pleasure, masturbation, fingering, handjob for a bit, squirting, creampie, literally their orgasms are a MESS phew it's kinda hot lmao, moany/whiny/super turned on jk; no 'the ending' warning this time… just the whole chapter 🥺 ➳ word count: 45.9k lmfao pls do still read it tho ➳ a/n: this was supposed to be 30k i can just never shut up lol sorry <3 but this chapter honestly got me good. i cried sm writing it and i love them and i never want this story to end :') i hope you love it, too. thank you for supporting me at all times <3 i can't wait to hear what you think 🤍 ➳ listen to: dance me to the end of love by the civil wars (alt. version) | full collaborative playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

It’s going to be okay — Jungkook’s hand gently clasping your thigh wants to convince you of this, you know.

But you can’t deny that the presence of the family you so long awaited is affecting you — your pulse is quickening to a heavily uncomfortable pace. You know his mom; you don’t fear his brother; but his father… his eyes are inscrutable.

They scare you to no end. There he is; the power continuously shattering your boyfriend’s heart. And Jungkook must be well conscious of your distress; because a mere moment later, he of all people, the one who's supposed to seek comfort, says—

“Angel? Breathe.”

Your eyes swerve to the side and remember to blink; you only now feel that you're jabbing crescent moons into your palm, just when you realise the sharp impact. You uncurl your fingers and nod, letting him cover the faintly scarred skin with his hand.

Sighing, you ask, “Are you okay?”

“I am,” he says, nodding, as if he’s practised and polished this answer over the years, “nervous, but… it’ll be okay.”

“Yes… I know.”

“Let’s go?”

You pull the handles on your respective sides at the same time, setting foot onto the stranger soil for the very first second in your life. You can’t quite discern your gut feeling right now, but you hope it’s not the last.

Waiting next to the car, you watch Jungkook round the vehicle, squinting your eyes; the noon sun is burning right above you. He heaves the suitcases with a faint groan and you join him right away to fetch the rucksack you brought.

Holding it between your knees, you flash his family a smile and a slight wave, awkward and unsure about what to do until his mother steps down the porch and towards you. She’s elated, and you see the same sprinkle in her eyes as in her son’s when she closes in enough for an embrace.

Her arms are comforting around you; somehow, you’re startled by it. Takes you a second to reciprocate the hug, hopefully not long enough for her to question your receptiveness. But then you put your chin on her shoulder, shutting your eyes for the briefest of seconds until you open them to a side hug between Jungkook and his brother.

In the slowly cooling weather, she feels warm, a motherly love that blasts heat to your cheeks until she lets go. “Finally a woman, huh?” she breathes, her voice so sweet and kind. “A great alternative to all the testosterone.”

“I can imagine,” you respond; the thought isn’t too much of a stranger to you. “I spent most of the week amongst men. They’re barbarians.”

She laughs, just in the moment that Junghyun, Jungkook’s brother advances towards you. He offers you his hand and a radiant smile that resembles your boyfriend’s. In fact, he does look quite a bit like his younger sibling. Lopsided smirk, fluffy dark hair, handsome features.

Not a lot older. Kind as he greets you with a, “Miss Novaura herself, yes?”

The name makes you beam, inundates you with pride. You appreciate that he doesn’t revert to Charmante as most people have done throughout your life, but sees you as what you are and what you do now. The manager of Novaura, damn it.

Yes.

Has he been keeping up with stuff?

“And Miss Novaura meets the second Jeon himself!” you respond, but as he grimaces, you bite your tongue immediately. What did you say?

“When,” he starts, overly dramatic, a little like Jungkook, yet somewhat more extroverted, “was I demoted to the second Jeon?”

“Oh, I’m…”

Jungkook clicks his tongue from the side, shoving his brother aside in the most sibling-like manner you can possibly imagine. Then, he threatens, “Don’t do this, or I’ll take her away from you guys again.”

“What’s that mean?” you ask.

“It means,” Junghyun interjects, “that everyone’s been dying to meet you. Mom and I even told Jungkook not to spill too much about you, so we can see ourselves.”

Oh, the pressure. The nervousness from the past couple of weeks skyrockets. Yet, your charming self conjures, “Then I hope I don’t disappoint.”

Jeon Junghyun speaks on, babbling something reassuring that you’re certain could warm your chest if you had the capacity to listen. But you drift off quickly as the side of your eyes follows a movement in the back: Jungkook timidly, almost fearfully nearing his father.

You’re alarmed and you can’t tell why — perhaps because you don’t truly know their situation yet. You haven’t seen them interact. But at this very moment, you’re surprised when Jungkook and his dad share a light side hug, too.

The occurrence is frigid, but somehow, you expected even more frozen behaviour. Rare glances, absolute ignorance. Your mind envisioned a world that harboured true enmity, but you don’t think that’s quite what these two have been maintaining over the years.

In some sense, it’s worse.

Because rather than pure silence, there’s a deep distance that is still disguised as a surface level of closeness in a family. Faking it might just be more difficult after all.

There’s no conversation between them. Nothing much as Jungkook comes back to his mother to give her a warm, genuine hug, a rainbow to a drizzle in comparison. As if to receive what his father didn’t provide.

You follow.

You’re not entirely keen on a too affectionate interaction between his dad and you, but you still smile when he lifts his hand, shaking it kindly. From here, as the corners of his lips raise, wrinkles around his eyes that he passed onto his next generation, he looks like a terribly nice man.

He gestures into the house and you follow, listening as he asks, “Was the journey okay?”

You nod joyfully, mustering up all kindness for somebody you know hurt someone you love for so long. After all, Jungkook has done the same for you, no matter how many times your mother shattered you.

And in the end, it’s still his dad.

“Oh, yes, pretty pleasant,” you answer, clearing your throat when you hear the formal tone in your voice. “We took turns driving. And since I fell asleep, I guess I can still seize the rest of the day… if you want to?”

You turn to Jungkook as the sentence fades out and he nods with raised, stirred eyebrows. “Yeah! It’s what we’re here for.”

His father smiles, a flat hand signalling towards the living room to invite you to rest for now. Matters seem normal so far; for a moment, you allow yourself to believe he isn’t so neglectful after all. Even with all your trust in Jungkook, you try to imagine a scenario in which he perceived his father’s distaste as something wrong.

You’re incorrect.

It doesn’t require more than a couple minutes and a bit more mingling until you recognise amidst the smalltalk that he doesn’t behave the same with his younger son as he does with Junghyun. There’s lightness in the way he converses with the latter.

Jungkook only moves around you and his mother; no particular intention to really connect with his dad. Understandably so. Their gazes barely meet.

Not even when his father’s tone drops as he approaches Jungkook, uttering a seemingly obligatory, “You alright? Is the job good?”

“Mhm,” Jungkook merely responds.

The interaction is awkward and quiet, yet too noisy for the lovely room. You focus on the homely furniture and small-town-vibed interior as you wait for the brief dialogue to conclude. You’re not at a place to intervene yet.

There are pictures of the family, yet fresher if you could judge. The ones showcasing memories are probably somewhere you can’t see yet; you’re buzzing to finally skim through his childhood pictures.

You listen in. Quiet again, conversation already at an end.

Jungkook’s fingertips graze yours, giving a short head tilt, wondering what you’re thinking about. His beam is different when he looks at you now, a much more blissful alternative to the timid words he voiced just a couple seconds ago.

But you can’t really answer when his mother emerges in the room to wave you towards the kitchen, eager to converse, yet suggesting, “If you want, you can freshen up before dinner.”

But you reject the idea kindly, flashing your best smile as you respond, “I’m excited to be here, so we can just talk a little for now. I’ll go wash my face after dinner!”

She nods slowly, politely, a the-guest-is-king-sort of gesture before you add, “How have you been?”

The family joins at the dinner table one by one; nobody interferes or barges into another’s turn. Only listens. You’re used to chaos from events and parties you used to attend, everybody dying to have the last word, to outsmart another.

This family is as patient at a conversation as you’ve witnessed in your boyfriend. They’re lively, interested; maybe there’ll be more of an ecstatic family tumult when you get used to them or when more people join. At the wedding, probably.

You’ve seen something like that with your friends, too. Especially on this vacation. You did fall into disorder quite often.

Yet, it differs from your usual experience. No discomfort. No fear of odd questions.

The Jeons aren’t out to reveal your little secrets, but to understand you as a person; so you appreciate the natural flow of the dialogue when Jungkook’s mother answers, “Just tired. The wedding preparations are tedious, and it’ll probably only get worse.”

“Yeah? You’ve been helping out a lot, yes?”

“Yes, somewhat. The bride… Gayoung, she’s close with us and relies on us a lot. And on top of that,” she shakes her head at this point; rolls her eyes as she turns on the stove, stirring and heating up some meal, “she’s getting cold feet.”

“Oh man,” Jungkook adds, chuckling a little, unsurprised, “wedding is definitely on, though. She always gets nervous. Almost missed her first day at work years ago,” he turns to you, “she’s a vet, and she was terrified of hurting the pets, but… everybody trusts her with their pets’ lives now.”

“Awh,” you voice, “I can imagine how stressful that must be. I’m pretty good at managing stuff, though, so if you need any help—”

“No way, you’re not here to work. You can do something else?” His mother looks over her shoulder, pondering. “Paint?”

“Oh, I do paint sometimes, but I’m not very good at it.”

“She is,” Jungkook argues, hand lifting to rub your back, “but she’s an even better writer.”

His father chimes in, arms folded, “Oh, I think you can get a ton of inspiration here, then. There’s a flower field nearby if you’re interes— what?”

Stopping when Jungkook interrupts with an exhale, he tilts his head at his son, and you follow his gaze, watching thick eyebrows kiss. “I already took care of that, but… way to spoil a surprise.”

Ah. You see the hostility increase with each second. You wish you could diffuse the moment; tell Jungkook to ignore everything that might irk him.

Instead, you only sneak your palm to his knee, imitating his rub to calm his nerves. He must be tense. He always must be.

“I wasn’t spoiling,” his father argues, “was just an idea.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” you intervene, patting Jungkook’s thigh. He looks at you just briefly, but it suffices for some of his muscles to relax. “I don’t know much anyway. Spoiler-free zone!”

It’s the best you can do. So you keep trying; diverge the topic to other aspects of your life when Junghyun asks about your job and the efforts connected to it. About the joys and hardships of it. About how your parents are doing — burdensome topic, yet a must to master. 

Then they speak about the passage of time in the city, and how it compares to this place; how the family perceived the differences and how their current life differs from their past here.

You learn that they still feel more connected to their hometown; obvious when considering the fact that they spent most of their years here. Initially uncertain about moving, they still decided to be closer to their children and the world’s opportunities.

The city called and it kept them.

You know it kept Jungkook the most; or maybe it was you who shackled him there, too.

“Apart from the obvious differences,” you start, “I can’t comment much on it yet, but… I’ve been really interested in being here. Super nervous.”

His mother coos, scrunching her nose the way he does, assures that there’s no need to be nervous; that this wedding might end up being the kindest you have ever been to. Adds, “Speaking of. Brought a pretty dress?”

“Oh, of course,” you say; your toes curl in excitement. “I’d show you right now, but I promised to keep it more or less a secret from Jungkook.” You wiggle your eyebrows at him. “He’s seen it, but not me wearing it.”

“Ah. Is it that pretty?”

“It’s pretty amazing.”

She steps closer as the dish simmers, playing with a couple strands hanging in Jungkook’s eyes. His lips twitch upwards, and his cheeks colour in a blush when she says, “Well, knowing this guy, you’re out to give my boy half a nervous breakdown, I see.”

“I’m trying to, really.”

Your answer is light-hearted, but a mere moment late. You can’t help but wonder what she means by knowing this guy. Then again, you presume a mother usually witnesses her children’s lives; watches them fall in and out of love.

You don’t like how the realisation makes you feel, but you smile it away either way.

And it doesn’t help when Junghyun seems to catch onto her statement, too, saying, “By the way… I’ve heard that at the wedding, we—”

But the interruption is sharp. Unnatural, abrupt, his mother’s voice strange when she interjects, “Ah. Listen. Let’s serve dinner, and we can talk more when we eat. A hand?”

You don’t know what it’s about, but you attempt your best to not be nosy. You can’t even guess it, so it’s probably easiest to let it go. To only stand up to help a little, Jungkook and you handing things around until you’re seated again.

She still scolds Junghyun silently, eyes wide when she sits next to him; perhaps it’s a surprise for Jungkook or for you.

You won’t spoil it. Focus on the food.

And despite the early tension, you survive dinner, albeit occasionally cut by things Jungkook’s father remarks and by Jungkook’s responses of retaliation. Like—

“Honestly, you not liking these is a perk,” Junghyun comments when Jungkooks puts the green beans aside, snatching them immediately.

His father is quick to deduce, “Didn’t you love them?”

Jungkook’s smirk is immediate, accompanied by a shrug and a click of his tongue, and a somewhat passive aggressive, “Yes. Fifteen years ago, though.”

It’s odd, the mixture of anger and fear. He reveals his agitation in his short answers, but he never extends them to something that might provoke a bigger fight.

His father then says, “I’ve never seen you put them aside.”

To which Jungkook mutters, “Should’ve looked more then, right.”

“That’s unnecessary.”

“Okay.”

Tense. Quiet. Gulping.

But you get it over with, breathe and touch through it all until the plates are cleared, stuffed in the dishwasher, the clock ticking. Jungkook leads you to the porch that his family greeted you at earlier. You intertwine your fingers deeper, hoping for some solace between the irate words exchanged.

His shoulders stand slightly higher than usual, eyes a little unfocused. You squeeze his palm, and he laughs when you bump your shoulder against his. Tapping his foot against the porch, he says, “This is where we were having a barbeque this summer. Remember when I called you?”

As if you could forget. Those calls got you through messy, forsaken summer days. He lets go of your hand to tug you into his side, tight in his embrace, and your voice grows a pitch when you answer, “Yeah. You were drunk.”

“I was.”

“And you still called me. Burned your finger, right?”

He scoffs. “I barely remember that. I just remember seeing you on the video call and… missing you really bad.”

You glance into his face, opting him to do the same. Eyes half on his lips, half on his pupils, staring to and fro, you ask, “You don’t miss me now, though, right?”

“Hm… I don’t hope I’ll ever need to again.” As he presses into your arm, you cuddle in. He nods towards the small front yard, “They were playing Linkin Park here. And way back, when I was like seventeen, I’d smoke here sometimes.”

Your eyes blow wide; you can’t imagine his gentle fingers holding a cigarette between them, but then again, you kind of can. He laughs at your surprise before he continues, “I know. Rebellious phase. It was stupid, because Mom would smell it right away and then ground me.”

“Damn, Kook.”

He nods, lifting a shoulder as if to say my bad, and then kisses your temple. Asks, “You feeling good?”

“Yeah. I really like it here so far.”

“Good.”

“Are you?”

“Yeah. It’s okay.”

“Good,” you echo, just for him to do it, too.

“Good. I think we cou—”

Pause. 

Because the feast of interruptions continues still. A sudden, shrill call of his name reverberates across the streets, and you flinch, following the sound on the right before detecting somebody walking up to you.

You haven’t seen her yet, but she’s glowing; hair open behind her, just the top half held at the back with a butterfly claw clip. The breeze swirls her bangs, and just from the exhilaration in her voice, you can tell who it is.

Jungkook lights up equally when he squints his eyes and recognises her, loosening his grip around you as he exclaims, “Hey!”

“Helloooo!”

And then he lets you go. You watch the endearments unfold. He says, “Didn’t expect you here today.”

“Me neither,” she says, and he laughs; you join in, already curious. “I was going to binge some show, but Junghyun texted saying you’d arrived.”

She catches up with a somewhat heavy breath, widening her arms when Jungkook steps down from the porch and engulfs her in a firm, heart-warming hug. Loving, decades old.

They oscillate on the spot, and she rubs his back until they let go. She doesn’t waste a minute until her eyes drift to you; they’re so expressive, dark yet glimmering. They prove your assumption when you see her joy towards you immediately.

The moment begins a little awkwardly as the stranger approaches you with uncertainty about what to say, but then she asks, “Is it okay if I hug you, too?”

You giggle. Goodness.

“Gosh, sure!”

And you’re delighted to the bone. Her touch is warm, inviting. They all are. You’re not used to it; why does it make you sentimental? You don’t know her. You’ve never spoken to her. Why the clump in your throat?

Weird.

“Ria,” she introduces, “I’ve heard so much about you. Really, it’s a common thing to say, but I’ve been really excited like… man, why did you come so late when he was sooo whipped in the summer already and—”

Your face heats up impossibly; this thought of a passed summer that called upon a million unknown emotions and words and encounters and yearning… you might never get over it.

Jungkook gives her a playful whack on her clothed arm, eliciting a prolonged Owhhh. You lift a protective arm over her to jest back, and she gasps, infinitely pleased. It helps her open up more, because it seems that she doesn’t need more than this to suggest, “Can I take her?”

Wrinkles form on his forehead as he raises his eyebrows in confusion, and she, nearly jumping at her spot, explains, “Show her around a bit. We’re having dinner soon and then I won’t be able to move, so…”

Jungkook blinks, unsure, looking between her and you until you urge, “It’s okay. You drove most of the time, too, so try and rest a bit.”

Your reassurance helps; either way, you don’t think you would’ve gotten to much more today anyway, no matter how much you hoped to seize the evening. You’re beat from the last day and the terrible night and the tiring journey and the filling meal.

Taking a walk is all you can imagine to do right now.

Maybe he’s on the same wavelength as you, because the nods come slowly but surely. “Sure. Go. I’ll come later to bring her back.”

Ria places a sweet hand on your back, urging you forward and speaking back, “Gotta make sure I don’t kidnap her, what?”

Her house is nearby. The first of the conversation goes by similarly as it did in Jungkook’s house, but the moment she announces the arrival at her own home, your calm demeanour changes to a rather terrified one.

She’s not going to…

No.

Because she promises, “I’m not taking you inside, no worries. I wouldn’t overwhelm you like this.”

Your chest relaxes. You guess meeting one family officially, as if you’re being evaluated for marriage, might suffice. While sure her family’s as lovely as the other, you don’t want the overstimulation.

So instead of urging you inside, she takes you to the small cottage next to her house. Their property is a little bigger, the area spacier. You soon find out that the little house she’s taking you to isn’t some guest thing, but houses dozens of farm animals.

You didn’t think there was something to the cliché you heard about small towns; yet, the reality is much more endearing. How oddly cheerful the animals seem, even though you know the fantasy is just a fabrication of your mind.

You don’t know what they’re thinking or feeling.

One of the hens clucks as Ria picks it up, looking at you with big eyes as she says, “I thought you guys would come early in the night and then just sleep. I didn’t know you’d arrive so much earlier.”

“Oh yeah!” you say, hands in the back pockets of your jeans, “We left the hotel at noon.”

“That’s crazy.”

She bends, letting the hen go, and the little thing instantly rushes away. You flinch, stepping back. You’ve never done this before; you try to keep your cool, but you’re so inexperienced, mesmerised by your surroundings.

This place is so different, so much quieter, more serene. You understand the nostalgic vibe of romance movies set in towns like this. You’re suddenly thrown into The Notebook and into Footloose. Into everything that evokes warmth.

“What is?” you ask.

“Just. It’s so nice to meet you. We have so many guys here, so it’s cool to be with a girl for once.” She takes a deep breath. “And I love Kookie and I trust his judgement. So when he told me about you, I told him to get you here right away. It took you so long.”

Her tone is frisky, but you feel bad. Not quite because you let her wait, but because of why you waited yourself. Because of the breaks and pauses and the split hearts that you needed time for to sew again.

The weeks of insecurity and then the trials of life.

Something in the pit of your stomach stirs at the memories; you can’t believe you’re standing where he fell for you first, despite the distance. Where he reached for you through the rain and the clouds and the stars, and called to listen to your tears and your pleas to return.

You can’t believe it. In fact, yes, you believe it as little as her.

“I get it…” you say, “we have quite a few guys in our group, too.” You wait, watching her nod as she inspects the last of chickens running into the cottage. Then you ask, “What did he tell you about me?”

“What he told me? Mmmh. I mean, it’s difficult to say. He spoke of you highly, but I think his main focus was on not hurting either of you. Very, very worried about how things might play out.”

Yeah… yeah, it sounds like him.

You don’t answer; shift your eyes to the grassy ground. You hear her voice lift a pitch as she says, “Man, too many guys is simply too much, though, seriously. And then having to deal with Kook all the time must be so exhausting, too.”

Laughter erupts out of you, and you shake your head, “I mean, he’s a brat sometimes. But he’s the best man I know.”

“He is a good guy, yeah? I’m so glad.” She nods again, affirmative and positively confirming. “He’s always been. It sucks sometimes that he lives so far away.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, but she shrugs her shoulders, waves off your concerns. “I take it you’re not interested in living in the city?”

Her eyes narrow when she looks into the distance, met with the lowering sun as if it entails the entirety of her beloved town. It’s probably part of it, though; the one sun she’s known all her life, despite the same star rising and setting everywhere in your vast world.

“Not really,” she says, “I like it here… Even though so many left.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Some people I knew…”

You can imagine. Two faces flash into your mind, at least. Not that you like half of the thought; but it’s automatic, and so is your statement, “I feel like I know at least two.”

She seems surprised. Tilts her head, blinking, hands on her hips. “Really?”

“Yeah, well…” You avert your eyes, fearing an abundance of transparency. “Jungkook and Nara.”

“Oh.” Ria’s blinking fastens. She didn’t expect this; neither did you. But in some sense, it was inevitable, dropping Nara’s name here. “You met Nara, huh?”

“You say it so… weirdly.”

Her hands lift and she immediately works on objecting to your assumptions, “No, I mean. She’s nice! I liked her growing up. I just wouldn’t have mentioned her unprompted. There’s no need…” She studies your face. “He doesn’t either, you know? Talks about you mostly.”

You don’t know what to say. You gathered this much; but a very strange feeling in your chest presses against your heart, and you can’t quite decipher why. You shove it aside as best as you can, and then breathe it out, thankfully admitting, “That’s relieving.”

“There’s no need to worry. I think he and you will have a good time here and bond more than ever.”

You nod. You don’t feel like responding; not because you don’t like her or don’t want to. Your throat is tied, and you can’t really think of or form a productive thought. So you just keep nodding, smiling until a hen pops out again.

Ria, pushing away a stray strand of her dark hair, points to the little, excited animal, wondering, “Hey, have you ever held a chicken?”

“No!” Ah. Good tactic to distract you, considering how many times you mentioned this minor wish in the past weeks. “But I want to! Told Jungkook like a hundred times.”

“Okay,” she waves you closer and you dare to approach, hoping to neither hurt the hen nor yourself. You have absolutely no clue about these things. “Come here then. It’s not hard.”

It’s not. In fact, the process sounds logical, facile; but your hands are shaking, and often enough, animals seem to understand negative emotions when targeted. But Ria proves a good teacher.

Shows you to near the hen calmly, moving slowly to not startle her. She instructs you to soften your voice as much as possible, kindly noting that you’re soft-spoken enough to not worry about it. And then, once close enough, she demonstrates placing a hand around the tiny body, securing the wings to prevent flapping.

You imitate. Or try to, at least. It doesn’t work right away, your nervousness intruding; but at some point, you manage. You use your other hand to support the body, lift the hen gently. Hold it close to your body to give her a sense of security, much as Ria lectured.

Ria is patient, amazing, despite having done this probably a thousand and million times. Adjusting to your lack of knowledge, praising you, acknowledging your effort.

Her giggle is mellifluously sweet as she watches and hears you gasp; she applauds, but stops right away when she detects the third presence amongst you.

She calls, “Ah! You’re finally here.”

Your eyes follow hers, heart lighting up as you hold up the chicken carefully and nearly shout in uninhibited excitement, “Kook, look!”

His hands are in his jeans’ pockets; his walk idle. One of his eyes is squinting shut until he steps into the shadow, a tender smile playing around his lips before you realise that it looks… sad. Doesn’t reach as far. No crinkles around his eyes.

“Aren’t you the cutest, munchkin?” he responds before dropping into a crouch next to you. He seems brighter upon seeing your face, but you still keep wondering… What just happened in the house?

You don’t know. You don’t want to ask yet either.

So you only set the hen down, lowering her until she’s balanced and waddling — waddling? — away. You wrap your arms around him, providing a flicker of warmth. You don’t know what made his face fall like this, but you want to at least attempt to lift his chin again.

God. What a start to the first day. Is it odd to feel scared?

“Wanna go?” he asks, a thumb brushing the corner of your lip.

You hum, “I’m getting tired, yeah…”

“Then we can go and rest? And sleep if you want to.”

It’s early… but laying down and staring at the ceiling doesn’t sound too bad right now. Maybe he needs it, too. So you agree, pressing Ria to your heart once more and promising to return to her.

She’ll be at the wedding, too. You guess you’ll see everyone multiple times anyway; but as rude as it may sound, the thought of warming into this man’s body doesn’t allow you to bother with the world right now.

His steps are slow as you walk to the house. Eyes drooping. He might not notice; he’s been here so many times. But his presence, combined with the things you see, make your heart swell.

Maybe because you want to be there for him; maybe because you still can’t believe you’re here. But you perceive everything as if for the first time.

The cosy garden and the flower beds. A small-town house sitting on a quiet, tree-lined street. It’s more on the simple side, painted in warm hues, a light beige. Charming. You remember everything being charming.

The snug living room, the tender, partly wooden and partly modern kitchen, the clearly old and handmade dishes. A fireplace. Wooden floors. 

You haven’t seen the rooms yet, but as he leads you upstairs, you imagine him doing the same this summer as he approached his bed. He walked these same steps, a narrow and short hallway, opening the door to an inviting childhood bedroom with you present in his device.

Yearning.

But the man from the summer isn’t all you see. In fact, the place reminds of time travel; you soon recognise just how signature Jungkook everything is.

Because the moment you enter, you see him in everything. Like, in the soft quilts on his bed; he wouldn’t use them today, but you imagine a shy Jungkook and you imagine big eyes, small hands pulling the sheets over his body to cuddle into a warm night.

The window overlooks the backyard; the sunlight filters through the sheer curtains. It’s still just the middle of the evening. But you find it hard to want to leave this simple comfort. Lived-in, sweet.

Reminiscent of a youth.

Like a soft tune of a ballad. You don’t know what it is that makes you feel this way.

The cosiness? The pictures on shelves? The slightly tilted roof of the room? Or the posters reminding of a world a decade ago. It hasn’t been this long, if you think about it, but to you, all of this still tells a story.

“What’s this?” you ask, opening a random drawer and grazing rolled up paper, large, stowed away.

“Posters, I think? I haven’t seen or opened them in ages. Maybe we can—”

He pulls and rolls them out, glancing for a bare moment before he undos the action with a sudden bright red on his cheeks. You try to catch a glimpse, “What?”

He doesn’t answer, so you take the poster from him, only needing to open it halfway through to see a pretty face, followed by a swimsuit and a snatched body. Ah. Is this…

“Victoria’s Secret?”

“Shut up,” he instructs, and you hold yourself back, watching him, blinking until—

You puff out some air, nearly spitting as you laugh, teasing, “You were that type of guy, yeah?”

“Shut up,” he repeats, prying it out of your hands before he throws it into a corner. “I had this up for like two weeks. Forget it.”

“Never threw it away, though.”

“Never thought of it.”

He scratches the back of his head, a tilted smirk on his face, and you can’t help but want to keep annoying him. But he needs far more than this right now, and you’re not here to get on his nerves. So you walk up to him until determined arms wrap around his waist, kissing his chin.

“You okay?” you ask.

“Well…” He’s quieter than he’s been in the last few days and it disheartens you. Somehow fatigued, eyes halfway closed. “You know.”

You do know. Or perhaps, you don’t, but you can well imagine.

You’re not sure how he took all of this day in, day out for so many years, but you understand the weight of the situation a lot better now. Of course your mind would be rewired if you hurt this much all the time.

Whatever you’re seeing now is a fraction of what he experienced.

“It’s going to be okay,” you remind him again.

“Yeah.” He sniffles. “Hey. I have a little surprise for you tomorrow. It was spoiled a bit, but you’re right.” A peck to your nose. “You don’t know anything yet. But you’ll like it, I think.”

You don’t doubt it; you guess it helps, not being aware of much at all. Waiting for the surprise.

But then again…

When you look at him again, excitement flickering in those tired eyes of his and a hand pushing against the small of your back lightly, you think that you know a couple things at least.

“Okay. Hold on. You’re definitely going too fast!”

“This is too fast? You should’ve seen Junghyun and me racing years ago.”

You lower your head in an attempt to hide it from the wind, seeking his sweater; it’s impossible from this angle. You’re at the front, surviving between his arms as he navigates the bicycle recklessly. 

The wind slaps your face, cooler this noon than yesterday. The bike writhes on the road, and you yell out, “Man, I’ll die!”

“Baby!” he exclaims back.

His laugh is louder than the gust as you hold onto his moving thighs and then realise it’s of no help. You shift your hands to the front of the cycle, wondering when it’ll hit an unforeseen rock and tip over.

“Hey,” he tries again when you only scream back, “have you never been on a bike before?”

“Of course I have!” You resist the urge to add a curse. He’ll kill the two of you. The streets are steep, probably a hill, going downwards. “Just never two people at once.”

“I did it a lot! With friends, and mostly with Gureum.”

Gureum… his dog. You have yet to meet him.

“Gureum?” you repeat.

“Yeah! He’d sit in the basket and… and enjoy the wind. Eyes closed.” He pants between cycling. “I told you, no?”

But your thoughts are elsewhere, chin dropping to your clavicles as if not looking could save you. “Fucking hell—”

“Okay. Okay…”

The bike stops abruptly, and you yelp, shutting your eyes tight and preparing yourself to die. But death doesn’t come; a tap to your hip does. His fingers hold you, calming you, words the opposite as he orders, “Alright. Get off my bike. You can walk the rest of the distance.”

Between the sniffling and the reclaiming of control of your trembling legs, you register the surprising command, and mumble, “What?”

“You heard me, sweetheart. I’ll wait at the flower field.”

You dare a look over your shoulder. His expression is serious, an eyebrow cocking. You want to retort something snarky, tell him you’ll stay on if he just slows down, for the love of God; but instead, you look ahead, and decode the view immediately.

The grass is high and the place wide. You’re right where the field begins, the road more narrow here, only really enough for cyclists and walkers. You roll your eyes, getting off as you tell him, “You’re terrible. We’re already here.”

He laughs, dropping the bike to the side carelessly before he reaches for your messed up hair. Fixes at least the front of it, flattening it in the back. You’re glad there’s no mirror around.

Then, he proceeds to grab your hand, a finger pointing to the place and says, “Look around.”

You do. It’s widely open and empty. A decent amount of flowers; you imagine a plethora of them in the summer and the spring. Now that fall is in full effect and it’s a little colder here than on your coastal vacation, you reckon that this isn’t usually all how the field looks.

But it’s beautiful. In the far, far back, you see the forest expand. Slightest traces of autumn foliage. The leaves will fall and entirely bare the trees soon.

“This is so pretty,” you say.

“Right?”

“Was this the surprise?”

“I mean,” he cards his fingers through his hair, but as he grabs the willow wicker from the larger cycle basket, the mane is blown back into his sight just a moment later, “yeah. But the actual surprise is a bit further down the field. Come.”

He guides the way, and you put your all into deciphering what he might be hinting at, only for him to say, “Don’t look so hard. You will see it in a moment anyway.”

The laugh he elicits is sweet, a thumb touching the back of your hand. Your shoulders drop in relaxation, and you shift your attention to the grass and the flowers, trying not to stomp on any of those that are still left for this fall.

A couple feet forward, you tell him, “You know I still need to meet Gureum.”

“I know. He was with Ria since we can’t really take care of him when we’re away.”

“You could take him to the city.”

“I’d do anything to be able to. But Gureum is… a free dog. He wouldn’t enjoy life in a smaller apartment after running around for so long.”

Ah… You feel the opposite still; jumped from a large cage into a homey, sheltered cube happily. But you get it; the freedom here doesn’t compare to a crowded city, does it?

“But,” Jungkook continues, “Ria said she’d bring him over this noon, so he should be there when we get home.”

“Damn. Why am I more excited about this than necessary?”

“Oh, you should be. I am, too… he’s my old boy.”

The oxymoron grants you a smile; to a parent, a baby stays a baby. Most of the time, at least. Jungkook feels something for Gureum, and even a stranger, lost and unknowing, could piece this bit together within a heartbeat.

“He’s old?” you wonder.

“He’s twenty years old. A bit slower now but… the same amount of love in his heart.”

One shall learn how to love and be kind from Jeon Jungkook. Then again, he’d be an excellent example, but a bad teacher. Wouldn’t know what to say. Wouldn’t be able to really pick out what makes him so pure-hearted.

He just is… He just is.

“I can’t fucking wait,” you say, inspirited.

The sight changes along with his expressions as you walk down the field. From happiness to a smile to excitement and then contentment. The flowers mostly disappear, giving way to something you don’t really recognise.

Orderly rows, bright green leaves and… more plants? As you inbreathe the air, however, you swear you recognise the sweet and fresh scent. Even from here, it’s distinct and special.

And when you trudge closer, finally glancing down, you understand.

Jungkook…

He took you strawberry picking.

You see them low on the ground, clustered, ripe and red. Pretty. Enough to warrant a dozen adjectives; yet, you only whisper, “Wow.”

He waits… then waits more. Lets your eyes scan the area and the fruits, permits you to take in what he probably reckons you’ve never seen before in this form. And he’s right — you haven’t.

“You like it?” he questions. “I was unsure, like… maybe you’re underwhelmed?”

Your head turns towards him at light speed. “What? I’m not. I’ve never seen anything like this before,” you confirm, repeating your thoughts, “I am definitely not underwhelmed. This is… this is something my younger self craved.”

“Oh— Really? How so?”

You hum. Think back to late nights in the back of your bed, a room larger than what you needed, yet smaller than your imagination. Smaller than your heart.

“I read stories,” you tell him, “fairy tales. Watching tales of love in the countryside. We don’t have these places in the city, do we?”

Jungkook’s hand, on your back a second ago, travels up to the back of your neck, touching it gently. “I guess you’d have to find a farm.” He stares ahead where you do, still standing there, unmoving. Then, “Angel?”

“Yeah.”

“You said you went on a field trip to a farm, right?”

“I… can only really remember once in school. Kids were shitty.” You spoke about this once; last month, he promised you’d see Ria’s farm, too. Funny that she actually did show you. “And my parents weren’t really interested in that stuff. Which I do kinda get because many city people aren’t.”

“Mhm, I can understand.” He shuffles his feet, presumably a little sad for you, regarding the long row of strawberries stretching to his right. You’re about to crouch and try without a clue what to do when he, instead of commenting on things much more, asks, “Okay, so. Wanna pick strawberries?”

“Yes!” You rub your hands, taking a step forward, but pausing again; you could start anywhere. “Will you show me how?”

“Of course.” He hums, looking for an easy spot with an accumulation of easy-to-pick fruits; then, he lifts his jeans by a couple inches and lowers his body. “Look. You can crouch or kneel.”

You give your clothes a lookover. Just some everyday jeans; they should be able to take some dirt. In actuality, though, you might’ve joined him on the ground anyway. So you do, kneeling with your hands on your thighs, obediently listening.

“You look so cute.” He chuckles, the back of his fingers barely grazing your cheek for a moment. As he sniffles, his chin nods towards the plants, hands reaching for them. “So. You gently pull the leaves aside and just pick the strawberries. Avoid those that aren’t red, though, okay?”

His pinky touches parts of an unripe strawberry still in the ground, and he explains, “You’ll know that one’s ripe when it comes off easily. Like this,” he tugs at it, “isn’t ripe. Won’t come off so well. Mmmh. Let’s try this one.”

You follow his movements until he settles for a particularly pretty and seemingly juice berry; with ease, he plucks it off by grasping the stem and twisting a little, and says, “See? You could eat this one right now. But… basket?” You shove it towards him and he throws the berry inside. “We’ll wash it before that.”

It’s quiet and sweet here as he works on explaining the process to you. An atmosphere you haven’t ever witnessed anywhere before. It’s probably different in the spring, but you’re alone here; even if someone’s around somewhere, you can’t see them from where you sit.

And it helps you focus: on how concentrated he looks, lower lip pouting, crouching easily with his sweater sleeves rolled up. It’s unusual how his tattooed hand works on the plants. Your first imagination of such a task always involves straw hats and dungarees.

“Try it, too,” he then instructs.

He puts a gentle palm on your back as you get up from kneeling, now crouching as he is, and cast about for a couple good pieces. Whenever you think you’ve found one, you seek confirmation in his eyes, repeating, “Is this okay?”

And he always promises, “You’re doing well. Look,” he inspects one of your choices, “picking the best even.”

“You’ll have to eat mine, then.”

“Sure will. I knew you’d be so good at this.”

You’re surprised; you never saw yourself doing this, even though you yearned for a life so different than the one you lived. Until you stepped off his bicycle twenty minutes ago, you had never come up with such an idea. All the more reason to be thankful to him.

But you do wonder why he’d perceive something like this far before you did, so you ask, “Really? Why?” 

He uttered the words so casually, pupils fixated on the basket; he might not have noticed how immediately you reacted. Because he hums now, looking at you with immense eyes, matter-of-factly spelling out, “Because you’re gentle. This called for you.”

Because you’re gentle. Because you’re gentle.

The reasoning, so clear to him, repeats in your mind. It’s not as obvious to you; it’s been a while since you thought of your qualities, and in the last months, being gentle often meant the same to you as quietly enduring.

So you’re touched, silenced by the lump in your throat; such an easy sentence, but so filled with  knowledge about a person that only truly occurs with the purest of affections.

As you stare at him, you feel the fondness spreading over your countenance as much as the leaves tickling your ankle; you hold the current strawberry delicately as you conclude, “That’s why you brought me here, yeah?”

“That too.”

Oh.

“What else?”

“You can’t do this every day,” he argues, “I want to show you new places and things.”

You graze the vulnerable skin of the strawberries collecting in the basket, watching it fill enough to feed a couple people. Grabbing it, you lift your body with a smile. For a minute, your knee aches from the crouching, and your brain gathers the sensations into one to create another core memory.

Lost for words, you merely tell him, “Thank you, Kook, I…” You heave the basket to your chest, touching his hand as he rises, too. “How do you even come up with all this?”

“How I come up with it? Hmm… I guess you make it easy to do.” He laughs, and you follow, reading your mind as he voices the same thought flashing through your brain. “I know I’ll be so nostalgic about this someday. In ten years, maybe.”

Cheeks hot despite the autumn wind, you register the butterflies immediately. Right under the basket, underneath your skin, like a swarm awaking from metamorphosis. The fact that he thinks ahead like this, paints a distant future with you… wanting you for this long drives you insane.

Jungkook’s voice always lacks uncertainty when it comes to you.

Mellow when he speaks to you, gentle even when he asks, “More?”

“Mmmh… yes. Can do a few more. And it’s fun.” So you do; picking and plucking until you can barely carry the basket anymore, already wondering what to do with the bunch until you pop the idea, “Can we eat some of these?”

“Now?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course. Gotta wash them, though.”

Which isn’t as easy as it sounds. It takes you a good moment to find a water tap on the wide field; one only crosses your way when you travel back to where the bike stands, proving as dysfunctioning and broken.

And only once you’ve reached nearly the end of the field and already detect the narrow path that you cycled along from afar, your luck strikes. You wash a handful of your harvest and place them neatly at the top of the rest, right above a handkerchief Jungkook whipped out from his pocket.

The grass isn’t high everywhere; you find an ideal spot for a brief, spontaneous picnic, pleasant and comfortable; a fluffy blanket of nature. You watch ladybugs and ants crawl over blades of grass; not too much more, considering the season.

Jungkook works through the content of the basket, soon holding a piece to your mouth, “Take this,” he says, pushing it through your parted lips; waits until you’ve chewn most of it. “And?”

The initial taste is good, but the aftertaste dramatically makes your world quiver. Whatever you’ve known about food and fruits so far must have been a hoax, because you can’t fake the way your eyes widen and your voice raises in pitch, delighted as you say, “This is… so damn good.”

“Right?”

“They don’t taste like this in the city!”

“Yeah,” Jungkook chooses a smaller one from the collection, throwing it into his mouth as a whole, “these are fresh. No bullshit berries.”

“No bullshit berries indeed. So good.”

“You picked good ones!”

“But this is a curse, too!” you exclaim, urging a laugh out of him that he transforms into a kiss to your temple, observing as you munch the strawberries as though encountering them for the first time. And you pout as you say, “ Keep me from eating them all. I want to take the rest home.”

“Sure, don’t worry. We can put them somewhere and take them back on the last day.”

“Hm? Oh. No, I meant today. Home, your house…” You realise your mistake. “Sorry.”

Only, he doesn’t deem it a mistake for a moment. He didn’t think you’d feel this cosy this fast — but it was what he’d hoped and opted for, so it’s a win either way. His family as your home, him as your home.

He thinks, you finally do feel at home. It took you years of endurance, didn’t it?

“Home, yeah?” he mutters. “An apology is the last thing I’d want, angel. You’re home, alright.”

You wish you had an equally meaningful answer; whatever you might babble now, you don’t think you could do justice to the soft tone he settled on. You can’t even outdo his gaze, so round, eyes so big on his otherwise clear-cut face.

What you can do is smile. Draw closer until your shoulders touch. About to taste the strawberry-flavoured, red tinted lips before a sudden motion drowns your plans.

The bunny flits over your feet; you’re sure it jumps onto yours for a moment and then uses them to push itself off into the grass, journeying on. The yelp it elicits out of you merges with the startled sound Jungkook emits.

His elbow lightly hits the side of your breast, and you pull your legs into your chest as self-defence. But it’s gone as fast as it appeared, and barely a second later, you’re watching it hop away, little ears disappearing in the distance.

“Well,” Jungkook breathes, “at least that’s normal. I’ll tell you about my snake encounters later some day.”

A hand on your chest, you exclaim, “Oh my God. You know what?” You calm down your lowkey panting, hand falling back into your lap, “Maybe you were right. We’re home for sure.”

“Oh… yeah?”

“Yeah! Totally looked like you… thought we were back home.”

Jungkook laughs out, head throwing back, and then, amidst his giggle, he throws a “Shut up” at you. The tackle nearly pushes you to the ground before his lips attack your face all over; making out on a countryside field wasn’t on your bucket list, but you sure as hell will add it only to tick it off.

His tongue really does taste like strawberries. His lips are sweet; the hand on your waist careful yet explorative. If the grass wasn’t this cruel, tickling all over your body, you’d probably remain here for the next hour.

Let him strip you bare. Kiss you into the earth. Nobody’s here; you don’t think you’ve ever fantasised of such a moment before, but suddenly, you don’t mind loving him right here.

But maybe he’s fostering the same thoughts as you, pulling back with a little groan when the blades prick his cheeks and closed eyes. Endurance isn’t easy right now; and you have a lot planned for the rest of the day anyway.

So you pull yourself together, and nod when he finally asks, “Wanna go?”

Somehow, it takes you a little longer to get home than it did to reach the field. Perhaps because he’s cycling uphill now, or maybe because the sun is at its zenith, warming the colder day. The comfort makes you want to stay in this moment, have his voice laughing next to your ear.

On a bike swaying when he loses focus, rolling dangerously to tease you on purpose.

And when you get back to his house, you’re greeted with yet another surprise. It’s fluffy and sweet and white like a cloud, living up to its name. A tongue sticks out, tail wiggling, right at the door when Jungkook opens it.

Gureum is small, smiling as far as you’re aware of a dog’s joy. You once heard that upon seeing their owner, the same hormone floods their tiny bodies as a human’s when they fall in love. Gureum must feel much like you do when Jungkook comes home.

You understand.

Understand when Gureum jumps up to Jungkook’s legs, licking his human’s face when your boyfriend picks him up. Jungkook’s voice changes so much that you barely recognise it; you’ve never heard him talk like this. Higher, lovelier, slurred to imitate the language babies speak.

The affection is unfiltered and crystal clear.

Jungkook’s smile brightens until it reaches its maximum, bunny teeth flashing, the laugh erupting so deeply from his chest. Authentic. Eyes nearly closed as he calls Gureum’s name, plays with his face, as if communicating with a child.

Twenty years, and he still thinks of him as his baby. Sometimes, all golden stays.

“Baby,” he says after a while once Gureum has stopped licking his face, introducing, “this is my Gureum.”

You set the basket down next to the door, reaching a careful hand to Gureum’s head; but he’s cooperative. Lets you easily. “Hi Gureum,” you whisper, “nice to finally meet you. You’re so cute!”

“He’s a little sick these days, but,” Jungkook gazes down again, kissing Gureum’s ears. “He gets through it so well, doesn’t he? Yes, he does.”

The laugh is real. The affection is real. Tender and deep-rooted. He smooches him again, and then puts a cheek to his warm fur. You’ve never seen him like this. You’ve never fallen deeper.

“I missed you so much, too, buddy,” he says, “so, so much.”

You swear you see Gureum cuddling into Jungkook’s chest. Doesn’t move even when you’ve settled in the living room, resting from the journey. You’d drafted plans for the rest of today, but it doesn’t seem they’ll separate, and you don’t want them to.

You can wait. Things can wait.

You sit by Jungkook’s side as he pets him, his head soon on your shoulder, one hand in the white fur, the other holding yours. It’s how you remain for a bit.

In hindsight, albeit never having plucked strawberries before, today wasn’t some grand adventure across the world. You didn’t strike a deal at work or fight off some paparazzi hiding in an unexpecting corner. And you didn’t climb a mountain.

But you guess that’s what you craved all your life. Somehow, this is better than any crazy escapade.

The serenity that comes with a mundane moment. A love that consumes you and a love that helps you commit the most casual of acts to memory.

Maybe this is enough. An old couch lightly creaking as you move; a cloud blinking as you caress its head. Surprises to help you experience saccharine afternoons.

You remain for a bit, and then remain a little longer.

Ria came through the door not too long after you’d returned, ready for the evening plans. She’d promised to accompany the two of you to the centre of the town, giving you a tour of the most important and ancient of places.

You learned about the town’s only drapery seamstress and the best flower shop. Much as it so occurs in 70s and 80s movies, you met the son of a mechanic. He told you he’d be inheriting the company one day, and that it was okay because he never intended to leave anyway.

Ria’s eyes suspiciously widened as she spoke to him, and she lingered for a moment longer than you did after your farewell. The guy had forgotten that there was work to do by the time she finally bid him goodbye.

Jungkook’s eyes squinted at the sight, but not even he could hide his endeared smile. Pressed into Ria’s shoulder with a teasing hum.

You rewarded yourself for the day’s many steps with some soft serve in front of the city hall, talking and delivering anecdotes until the sun started setting.

As the evening concludes, you’re the last to appear at dinner. His family is already sitting here, politely waiting and sweetly welcoming once you’ve washed up and hopped into the dining room with a vibrant smile.

You’re in a good mood. Evidently so; the scent of strawberries and the taste of his mouth still linger, and you’re still coming down from the high when you chime, “I’m sorry for being late.”

“Don’t worry about it at all,” his mother assures, “we just sat down.”

“I really wanted to help, though.”

It’s true. His mother has been nothing but the ultimate host. You wanted to prove productive and useful, but then Eun had called to check in on you and delayed your plans.

“Hmm, you know what?” his mother utters, pouring you some Jjamppong. “The wedding isn’t until one, so we could get up earlier and make strawberry jam in the morning? If you’d like.”

The wedding has been in the back of your mind constantly, slowly sneaking to the forefront with an intense nervousness. You’re timid because of how it’ll turn out, how people will perceive you, if they’ll talk to you. How Jungkook will look at you.

How much love might spread; how much certain people might tone down their resentment.

Learning yet another skill such as making jam might just be the best distraction. So you nod wildly, only interrupted when Jungkook asks, “Can I join, too?”

But you change the movements of your head to a shake, jesting about quality time and whatnot until he surrenders, “Alright. Way to shut out the boyfriend and son, I see you.”

“Speaking of food,” you say, pausing, slurping a big bite of noodles; they’re spicier than you’re used to from city restaurants. Better, too. You point your chopsticks to your dinner. “May I have the recipe?”

As his father and brother indulge in their food, acting as quiet listeners, his mother answers, “I’m sure Jungkook has it. I’m offended he never cooked it for you, since they had it a lot growing up.”

“Offended indeed. You learned this?”

“Oh, this?” Jungkook’s eyebrows, hitherto sporting a crease between them — a telltale sign of a well-eating Jeon — relax. “Yeah! I was learning when I was like, what, fifteen?” He seeks approval from his mother, who soon nods. “I fully butchered it when I tried it for the first time.”

Junghyun chuckles. “Even I remember.”

“Yeah, you refused to help!” Jungkook complains, whining when Junghyun hits his brother’s elbow with his own. “And I burned my wrist and had the wound for ages. Couldn’t do much in P.E.”

Much as yesterday, it seems his father hasn’t learned; because as you feared, it’s only now when he melts and intervenes. You almost surmise he’s provoking on purpose when he queries, “When you were fifteen when? I can’t remember any wounds.”

Jungkook scoffs. “Are you telling me I’m making it up again?”

“No, I’m just saying I don’t remember.”

“That’s because you were at work and didn’t pick up my many calls. Mom was sick that week… It's why I wanted to cook and learn at all.” He nods towards his brother. “Junghyun remembers because he went to a friend and then rushed home to bring me to the hospital. None of it sounds familiar to you, does it?”

Jungkook lists and narrates the happening with a flat voice, as if recalling items still left to purchase for tomorrow’s meal. He’s stirring his soup and his father is stirring everyone else’s, uncaring as he responds, “I didn’t know.”

“It’s fine. You probably didn’t care.”

“Nonsense.”

Another, “As much as the last years,” added to the mix, you opt for his hand under the table again, but he pulls away. You’re left dumbfounded, looking at him in surprise. This has never happened before; he’s never been upset in such a way.

As if to signal, “It’s fine. It’s whatever. Let me deal with this.”

But he can’t deal with it; you see the beginning signs of a rising chest and a decreasing appetite. Nobody just plays with the content of such a rich soup for this long; least of all a foodie like him. He’s busy looking at it, propping his elbow on the table.

You stare for a little longer, and then turn back to your food.

It sounds like it’s over. And it’s quiet; maybe you could interrupt with something else, change the course of the conversation. But his father isn’t done yet.

No. You notice everybody else’s irritation when he opens his mouth to speak again. They sigh, forming a line with their lips when he emits a question that leaves even you in disbelief, “Why are you saying this?”

“Come on,” his mother tries, wanting to ease the tension, but Jungkook is faster.

“What? I mean, I don’t know?” he starts, once again an equal amount of fear and annoyance in his voice. “I barely ever hear from you, Dad.” With each word, he grows more daring, at the end of his capacities when he eventually curses, “We live in the same city, for fuck’s sake—”

“Jungkook—” Junghyun interrupts.

“What? It’s true. Even the last hundred times, Mom visited alone. Could’ve at least come over and said Hi to my girlfriend.”

“I’m here now and saying Hi, though,” you try, weakly smiling.

“And he’s here, too. How grand of him.”

Fuck.

“Stop the attitude,” his father warns, “you could’ve come over plenty of times, too.”

“Are you hearing yourself? News flash, I did. I tried to talk to you, too. If I was still fourteen, I’d still be apologising. Oh, or is that what you want? Is it what you want?”

“What are you talking ab—”

“I’m talking about how I really wanted to tell you about a shit ton of things. Like when Nara and I broke up,” amidst the already tense moment, your heart pains for a second, “or when I graduated. Or when I was having a really fucking hard time this summer and needed somebody and then when I fell in love and needed to tell somebody, and… where are you all the time anyway? Who fucking knows — I don’t!”

It worsens and worsens. Crashes and burns; every word splits the air in the room. You don’t know how to save the moment anymore; maybe you’re not supposed to. You can only lend him courage. Perhaps he’s supposed to finally say all this.

But it’s hard to listen.

Because as the waterfall of grief cascades, you hear Jungkook’s voice quiver. He’s about to break. Right here, in front of everybody, you’re about to witness the woe this man inflicted on him all his life.

And you see it; see parts of this very torture when his father reveals who he’s become over the decade. The one Jungkook described to you; empty of empathy and understanding.

Because again, he renders you in shock when he speaks again. Fucking nasty, nitpicking and focusing on only one aspect, attacking somebody’s pride.

“Get a grip over yourself! You graduated in arts — you didn’t conquer the world. And you hold a grudge when—”

“I hold a grudge? I do? You’re the fucking one who shunned a kid because of a mistake and—”

“I do not want to hear about this. Not again.”

As their voices grow, so does your heartbeat. The anxiety is unbearable; you can barely imagine the one spreading through Jungkook’s chest. His face is red, neck hot, veins about to pop. If you could, you’d slap your hands over your ears.

But you can’t listen away; can’t ignore the panic, either.

“Please, stop,” you say, moving, but Jungkook frees himself of your grip again, stands. You attempt again, “Stop it, baby.”

But he won’t listen, mind somewhere else entirely.

“You won’t blame me for shit you did years ago, you can’t—” his father insists, but…

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Watch your mo—”

“Or wha—”

His father’s face, similarly scarlet as his son’s, grows a shade darker at the shameless counter, and his large hand lifts in slow motion for you. Comes down with a thump, intending to slap the wooden table, but hitting the edge of his small kimchi bowl again.

It flies up inches into the air before suddenly rolling off the table, aligning with you and soon falling onto your lower arm with a painful impact. It topples down onto your knee before it meets the ground and shatters into a handful of pieces.

You gasp and shriek, more out of surprise than pain; but Jungkook’s reaction is immediate. He bolts towards you, protecting you from whatever danger might be left. Pulls you off your seat and away from the shards as dead silence befalls the room.

It’s filled with your shaky breaths and the way his mother and brother shove their chairs back, hands reaching for you. Jungkook keeps you out of their reach. Looks at his father for a couple seconds; then to the kimchi on the ground; then back to him.

You can’t see him properly until you move to glance at him, wanting to keep his anger low, but… you don’t think you can do much anymore.

The fire in his eyes is blue.

And his voice is strained but furious when he finalises through gritted teeth, “You are fucking insane.”

This time, the man doesn’t answer. You hear his wife utter something as if scolding him before she speaks up and offers to clean up the mess. But Jungkook shakes his head, “No need. He can do it.”

Then, turning to his father, he repeats, “You’re fucking insane. You’re a terrible parent and we all know and only you can’t admit it to yourself. I just didn’t think you’d develop into a terrible person, too.”

Still long fingers around your wrist, he moves you towards the stairs, rounding off the fight with one more, “Don’t fucking get near me or her, do you understand? Fuck.”

So many words exchanged, but it was the stupid kimchi covering your pyjamas to make him topple over the edge. You feel guilty, but you don’t. It’s the man downstairs that has so fucking much to reflect on.

God. You wanted this vacation to relax Jungkook, to soothe you, to turn the first painful half of the year into something glorious.

But…

Then again, didn’t you expect this? Weren’t you scared of this?

Didn’t you fear the exact manner in which he now leads you to his room, in which the slamming of the door rings in your ears, his hands in his hair?

He’s let you go and stranded in his room. It’s odd, the way you stand here, clothes dirty and the grief dirtier. 

You walk towards him cautiously, watching him shiver, and reach for his wrists in turn this time. It’s a featherlight touch, but you feel the tremble underneath your fingers. And you instantly notice when he starts coming undone. When his lips shake, too.

Even with his head lowered, you recognise the wet waterline, and how it takes a handful more heavy breaths until you hear the first sob. You hug him. You hug him right away. Hold him close and closer.

You make a weak attempt at pulling him to the bed, but he’s already in the process of breaking down, his body getting heavier, falling. The carpet offers solace as his knees suddenly hit the ground. His arms hold onto your hips and his face buries in your chest.

When his breathing turns irregular, so does yours; you feel like the world is splitting and the sky crashing down. 

His leg comes in touch with your messed up clothes, and when he looks up into your eyes, he’s already crying. A trail of tears courses down his cheeks as his pupils suddenly shake, looking for something, asking you, “Did he hurt you, baby?”

“Kook…”

“Let me see, you must be hurt, you— you were just wearing these thin ass slippers without socks, right? The fucking bowl shattered and…”

“I’m okay, Kookie. I’m not hurt, I promise.”

“No, but… it fell on you, it must— did it bruise your knee?” he continues hectically, inspecting you, never seeing anything. He cradles your face, still crying and sniffling, shoving his pain aside to make sure, “Please tell me if anything hurts, ‘kay? I will get something, I’ll— dunno, fucking smash his fucking face, I’ll—”

His mind is going haywire. A proper downward spiral, and you don’t know how to stop it. What the fuck— what the fuck…

“Jungkook— Jungkook, please,” you try, lowering his hand, but he won’t stop searching for signs of injury. “Baby, please.”

“Why is he like this? I just… man, I am trying, angel.” His voice falls at the last word; your heart fractures at the same time as it tries to keep his intact. “I am trying so hard in life for him to like me, and you… you’re here, so I thought he’d behave and instead—”

“I know. It’s okay.”

It’s not, but you can’t say it. Can’t say how much the meaning behind your stained clothes hurts. How much it connects to what the weeping man in your arms feels; how he looked forward to this, planning ahead, a surprise for everyday without anticipating such ruin.

And he’s as clueless as you. More broken than you ever anticipated. Resembling the burst dish one floor beneath you, holding you like an anchor, crying into your chest.

He keeps repeating the same things as you repeat yours, soon mumbling his words of trying and trying and constantly trying. Of wanting to be loved. Attempting to understand if it’s too much to ask for. Is it?

Why can’t he love me?

And you whisper back, He loves you. He does.

It’s easy, falling into such misery. There were moments not too far in the past where you were on the receiving end of such pain, and he was your life vest. You don’t know if you’re keeping him above the surface as well as he did, because you keep susurrating the hopeful mantra to him.

But he keeps believing—

“No… no, he never fucking did. Wh—who treats someone like this?”

“Some people forget, you know… how to show affection. Sometimes, they deem their pride more important. It says nothing about you.” You lift his chin, heartbroken upon detecting his reddened eyes. “Everyone else in this stupid world loves you.”

“Your mother doesn’t either…”

“My mother? The woman who hates literally everyone?” You smile, trying to make him imitate it, but he doesn’t. You brush his cheeks and then his hair. “I do. I love you. I knew who you were even when I was unbiased.”

“Didn’t you… hate me, too?”

Once again, you try a faint smile. Not for him to join in, but because you’re reminded of a foolish friendship; it had already long bloomed into more when you’d finally named it one.

“Not for a second,” you say.

Break in discussion. He’s still shedding tears, snivelling. Stays frozen like this, all of him unable to move except for his lips. They mutter, “I don’t ever want you to get hurt. He can do whatever the fuck he wants with me, but…”

“Yeah. I’m okay. We’re okay.”

“I love you,” he maffles weakly, “I love you. I love you.”

“I know. I love you, too.”

You feel as though offering solace to a child. As if he’s shrunk into what he used to be, in the very room he used to sulk. The trauma still belongs to a kid, and when hurt, he’ll turn him into one, too.

You hate it. Hate that his sorrow still belongs to such a young heart. That he never processed it.

Before you came here, you spoke about it. And once you’re back in the city, you’ll have to figure things out further; the time constraints just before you drove away didn’t allow you to take much into consideration.

You can only cry now, can’t you? Detest the dampness in your own eyes. Stay right here until some sign occurs, lifting you up from the ground.

And it does fifteen minutes later.

The knock is gentle, just two of them, and you tell Jungkook to wait, that you’d be back in a minute. As you stand, his back is bent, his head lowered. As if he’s sleepwalking or slowly fainting.

You shut your eyes for a second; then open them again.

Behind the door, his mother awaits. In her soft hands, she’s balancing a tray holding some food. She lifts it towards you, tells you, “The two of you barely ate.”

Upon a closer look, you realise that her eyes are swollen, too. The view nearly forces you to tear up again, your face seethingly hot. You want to hug her. Want to tell her you’re sorry. Instead, you only touch her shoulder, and mutter a grateful thank you.

“It’s okay.”

She sounds so pained. You wonder if she said something to her husband. Reprimanded him, cried for his son, grieved a childhood and life that could’ve been.

But she doesn’t say any of it, and neither do you mention it. You only agree, “It will be. Are we still making jam tomorrow?”

“Yes. Tell Jungkook he can come if he wants to.”

“Yeah… I was thinking that, too.” You stare down to your food, never noticing how she peeks past your shoulder. Sees her son unmoving on the floor; she knows she can’t do more than you are right now. So she only nods when you repeat, “Thank you so much.”

You wish her a good night, bringing the food to where your boyfriend sits. Put it down in front of him.

“Sit upright, baby?” you ask him, crushed by the sight of swollen cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. His lips are parted, his breathing still stagnant; he only stares at his food until you push the tray closer to him and say, an attempt at a smile, “Let’s eat a bit. Mother-in-law brought it for us.”

No smile back, but a sniffle. The crying subsides just a bit as a shaking hand grabs the spoon, slurping the soup before he can even think of the noodles. He eats a little, slowly, surely. You help when he needs it, feed him a bite, encourage him to one more.

Every other minute, he cries again. You wipe the tears away, try to make him eat more.

His father fucked him up. You knew about the issues and demons Jungkook combatted. Of course his mentality suffered; of course there are parts of him that might never heal… But you never quite understood the full effect. 

His father fucked him up good; got him so bad. Parts of both of them are so ultimately ruptured, aren’t they?

Whenever he winds down, you eat in silence, right there on the ground on top of the old carpet. When he can’t swallow anymore, still some left in his bowl — Jungkook barely ever doesn’t finish his food — you move up to the bed with him.

You kiss his hair repeatedly, as if it could heal him just a little, to even the tiniest percentage. You don’t know how much of an effective bandage you are to him, but you know you’re doing at least something.

Because he whispers another I love you before the gut-wrenching sounds of his sobs have finally faded out, still echoing in the room. His tiny, shrunk voice says, “I’m looking forward to tomorrow with you.”

And somehow, it pains you even more. The hopeful tone; the wish for a day to not hurt.

“Me too, baby,” you say, “it’s nobody but us, okay?”

“Yeah… yeah.”

And that’s it. It’s all you can do for now; understanding the heavy heart the night cursed you with.

But as you drift away, you keep pleading. Pleading and pleading and pleading for a better tomorrow without getting a promise back.

To your chagrin but least of your surprise, Jungkook doesn’t join your jam-making session the next morning.

When you stirred awake for a little bit, eyes still sleep-drunk and body falling, your phone flashed seven thirty in the morning. Not ready to start the day yet and doubting anybody else had gotten out of bed, you cuddled into his body, and he, while deep in his slumber, must still have noticed.

Pulled you in more, smacking his lips and sighing a little, a warm hand at the back of your head. Secured in his embrace, you fell asleep again.

Only to awake two hours later without him by your side. You’re already washed up and somewhat sobered up from sleep, and you’ve looked on the first and ground floor. You can’t find him.

His mother informed you that she and her husband would be leaving to join the wedding earlier, to help out with the preparations and make sure the plans all sit. You offered your help, but she claimed they’d be okay, and that you can still use the morning after the jam lesson to rest.

Perhaps Jungkook has embarked on a journey then, using this time to do something in the early morning. 

Once you’ve walked into the kitchen, greeting his mother with a smile and a good morning, you ask, “Nervous for the wedding?”

“Mmmh, kind of,” she answers, locking the phone she held, putting it aside to sip her tea, “but it should be good since we took care of most of the stuff pretty well. It’ll be wonderful. Except the damn Wedding March — we couldn’t settle on any song but this.”

“I can’t wait. I bet it’ll be beautiful.” You take a seat in front of her, hearing the sounds of the TV and quiet conversations. Among the voices, you recognise two, but his is neither of them. You’re not interested in joining. So you look at her, scratching your temple as you inquire instead, “Where’s Kook gone?”

Her forefinger points downwards, another blow to the tea and another swig. “Basement. I brought him some coffee, but he seemed busy and quiet, so I left him there. But,” her voice grows louder, enthusiastic, “you can go! Maybe he’ll be okay with that?”

Hmm…

“What did he go down for?” you ask.

“I think he was looking for something.” Now, she lowers her tone again, lower arms on the table. “He also just… did that sometimes when he was younger, or after a fight.”

After a fight.

Like the breakdown last night. You understand.

You should probably walk down and check — but then again, this has seemingly been a coping mechanism ever since he was younger. So perhaps, you need to let him be for a little; give him a chance to entangle his thoughts and regain some peace.

You repeat your decision to her and she nods in understanding, throwing a glance to a huge jar on the kitchen counter. You’re ready to deliver an answer before she even asks, “Want to help out then?”

“Sure!”

The process is a patient one. Reminds you of when Jungkook told you how to pick the strawberries yesterday; gently, sweetly, with a tender touch and an even more delicate voice.

Jungkook’s mother takes the fruits out of the jar with care, explains to you to mash them and cook the jam with absolute soothing composure. The minutes pass so serenely that you imagine preparing meals with her on a cold winter evening, pleasing your soul to ensure not only a good night’s sleep but lasting quiet of the soul, too.

You add the sugar and lemon juice to your mix, stirring and boiling the delicatesse before you put it in sterilised jars. She shows you how to sterilise them at all; you didn’t think or know that such a step was necessary at all.

The making of it doesn’t take too long; forty-five minutes tops. As you scanned the internet just before entering the kitchen almost an hour ago, it said it takes barely half an hour. But she demonstrated it all to you slowly, unrushed.

You’re thankful.

“Have you ever made jam before?” she asks as you admire your creation.

You shake your head. “No… I don’t think I’ve tried such a thing at all. It’s fun making things on your own. I mean, I do like to cook sometimes, but I’m nowhere on Jungkook’s level, I don’t think.”

She chuckles, nodding as if to confirm. Then clarifies, “Yes, he’s enjoyed being involved in the kitchen ever since he was a teen. Especially before he left town and realised he’d have to cook on his own.”

You giggle with her, like with a friend or a trusted figure. It’s so consoling, talking to her. Fun, smiles intact, still present when she asks, “How are the two of you doing? I mean, you did move in together quite fast, so I’m just wondering.”

Yes; she doesn’t need to spell it out. You get it — you’ve heard about this.

So-called relationship experts claim that taking decisions in the honeymoon phase isn’t too healthy, warping your sense of reality and perception of the other person. You don’t disagree, but you guess in this case…

“Honestly, it’s been good,” you respond. “We have a couple heated evenings where we argue about stuff, but… it’s been healing. And he offered to move in when I really needed it.”

“Yes, Jungkook told me.” Oh. “You weren’t at a very good place before. Please don’t mind.” You shake your head in reassurance, urging her to go on. It’s his mother; it’s fine to tell her if any of you is struggling. “I’m glad you’re there for each other because he wasn’t at a good place either.”

You nearly don’t dare to ask; in a way, she might know her son better than you know your boyfriend. Maybe; maybe not. You fear a disheartening answer when you ask, “Do you think he is now?”

But she, careful as ever, tells you honestly, “It’ll probably take time to get over things, but— it’ll be okay. Things seem a little better, though, if you want my neutral POV.”

“Ah… okay. That helps.” You play with the white-dotted red band around the jar. Your mind circles around a million questions that only she might be able to answer; yet, cautiously, all you query is, “Do you ever… have you ever spoken to him? Or his dad? About all the things…”

You reckon that if he’s talked about the two of you before, he probably mentioned spilling his secrets to you, too. At least from your perspective, it’s obvious that he entrusts her with his heart.

And once again, she affirms, “I have. Often. Even before the two of you came. It’s why I told you to take your time getting here.”

Ah… Makes sense now. So that’s why you had to roam the hotel until noon a couple days before. You sigh.

She continues, “It just doesn’t end well most of the time, so… And I’m not a good talker. I don’t know what to say anymore after so many years. Both want me on their side, though Jungkook never persists on it.”

She’s so wrong. Both she and him.

Jungkook has told you for months that he’s bad with words; yet, he comes in with every word ever written by any bard, singing poetry to you and bandaging your heart when needed.

You remember…

I’m not good with words, baby. And I don’t know how to ever properly verbalise something like this.

You sigh again. Tell her, “I understand. I also wouldn’t expect you to go against either of them.”

“Sure. But… It's difficult sometimes. Seeing how broken some of our bonds are.”

You’ve used and formed this word so many times before. Broken. For him, for you, for the world. Hearing somebody else share these sentiments and confirm your fears hurts.

And you’re out of words, wishing for a higher power to grant you a curing skill. If you could lift somebody’s burden with a single touch, just the way you’re reaching out for her hand now, you’d be busy circling the globe at all times.

“I’m so sorry,” is all, however, you can offer.

You hate how helpless she is. You urge to say something more, to hug her and promise that the world always regains its colours at some point. But you remain like this, watching the jam in the jars; hearing her say—

“You know. Jungkook has my number. I don’t know how much you and your mother still talk, but… you can talk to me, too, if you ever need to. I mean, I’m a mother.” She laughs at this part, raising a shoulder to her chin in pride, “And you’re part of him, so you can be part of us, too.”

Your eyes, locked onto the jar until now, flit up to her, and you blink to keep them dry, admitting without another thought, “I might actually cry.”

“Oh. Awh,” she voices, lifting her hand from underneath yours to cover it again. “Don’t. I didn’t mean to be all kitsch. I meant it.”

Gathering your prior thoughts into words, you puff out a breath, sporting a reprimanding look as you say, “You’re so wrong. You and your son, you always know what to say.”

Teeth flash again as she grins; she looks so innocent and pure. “Well, where do you think he got it from?”

Shit…

“Thank you…” you mutter, body already twitching, yearning to bolt forwards until you finally dare to ask, “Okay. May I… Can I hug you?”

“My goodness, love. You don’t need to ask! C’mere.”

You instantly tear up when she pulls you in. Last time you met, she left a fleeting touch. You barely knew her then; in some way, you don’t know her much now, either. But this… this is impactful.

The way she presses you into her; her chin on your shoulder. The slight pat and then the following rub up and down your shoulder blade. So warm; so salving.

One or two more pats, with a little more impact this time, she gently moves you back by your arms again, sucking in a breath as she suggests, “Alright. Wedding time, yes? We should start getting ready.”

“Yes. But…” You hesitate, wonder how much you can interfere. But then you diminish your mental concerns, and simply utter, “If you don’t mind. May I suggest something?”

You walk down the steps to the basement.

The light is on; other than what mainstream movies might suggest, they’ve set up the interior of the basement prettily. The few furniture — a table and a couch chair, as well as a couple common chairs — is a light beige, the wallpapers light, flowery.

He’s in the middle of the room, on the ground despite the many options to sit, sifting through pictures and objects lying around him. When he detects you, he flinches a bit, eyes big, moving suspiciously as if to hide something.

But you guess he’s just startled; and once he catches himself, he calls your name, wishing a sweet, “Morning, baby. Sorry for leaving the bed.”

“Oh, hey. It’s your house, you can do whatever you like. Besides, your mom and I had the time of our lives.”

He smiles brightly. You love, love, the wrinkles around his eyes. “Made some groundbreaking jam, yes?”

“You’ll see when you taste it.” You walk closer, recognising photo albums and frames. Yet, you ask, “What are you doing?”

“Uhmmm, just looking through old stuff.”

The pictures are flipped, upside down from where you stand, so you round his body, legs folded on the floor. You come to a kneel, and just when you’re close enough, you see the pure sugar spilled in front of him.

It’s in the form of fat baby cheeks. An open, surprised mouth. Then, in form of a photograph of a toddler crying. The same tremendous eyes and the same curve of his upper lip. A tilted smirk on one of them, just the one you know.

They’re adorable. You dissolve at the sight; at seeing him in a red vest, holding a half chewn corndog, tiny fingers forming a peace sign, and an unsure expression as if he’s seeing the world for the first time.

He does this often. Zone off like this.

Not rarely do you tease that he’s trudging through his first life, but he often refutes your theory with an immediate expression of shock. Chuckles back that it never feels like he’s loving you for the first time.

“Why are you looking at these, Kook?” you ask, hands on his shoulder before you settle your chin on one of them, cheek to cheek.

“Just so. I knew there was a picture of my cousin somewhere, too. Look.” He shoves aside some of the photographs on top, fishing out a very old one. “This is her. Gayoung.”

A lovely girl next to him, clearly older. They’re both holding car toys; he’s busy indulging in it, laughing, not noticing the flashing of the camera. But she’s staring right into it, caught off guard, eyebrows high and mouth open.

“I can’t believe she’s getting married today,” Jungkook says. “She’s like a daughter to my parents, but… I didn’t get to talk that much with her anymore when she grew into an adult. Was more with Ria. And then I moved, too. But… it’s still crazy. I still remember her as a young but older sister.”

“Of course. Time’s pace of passing is pretty strange. Very fast.”

“Yeah…”

He throws it back into the pile, shutting two of the handful of photo albums. Humming, he flips a couple pages of a third album; your eyes follow as he combs through them. You almost don’t notice when he pauses, and when you do, you understand why.

It’s another old picture, Jungkook tiny, mouth wide open to say something as he points towards the camera slash photographer. And he’s in the arms of somebody who’s undeniably his father. The man looks more like Junghyun than Jungkook.

But they seem happy here. His big hands are firm on Jungkook’s body, holding him lovingly and smiling at him with even further tenderness.

Jungkook remains on it for only a split second, but you get it.

You replay his mother’s words in your mind, and suddenly, you remember; a revelation clears up like a sunny day after a fog, and God… you remember.

And still, you act like you don’t. Like you haven’t understood that he’s here to reminisce about a life when things were still okay; when he still felt loved. Reliving moments when shit hurt less. Of course he’s here; it makes sense, so directly after a fight.

He seeks comfort in moments he barely remembers to escape the pain he recently suffered.

You’re out of damn words. This shouldn’t be happening to anybody.

You hug him from behind, arms around his chest. Attempting to ease his possibly disturbed soul, you ask, “Hey. Do you know that you’re the sweetest being alive? These pictures cause cavities. Good that you kept them from me.”

“Oh, yeah?” He turns his head slightly, lips grazing your nose, warm breath falling on it. “Coming from my munchkin herself.”

“I mean it! You’re so cute. And look at these cheeks,” your finger gestures towards a chubby baby, “they’re still so soft, by the way.”

You press your face against his, squishing his scarred cheek, and he states under a laugh, “You’re too much.”

“Too much of a fool for you, yes.”

He clicks his tongue, though playfully. You hear in his voice and see in his beam that he’s delighted, flattered, loving and loved. You ask, “Are you feeling okay now?”

To your relief, he nods. “I’m feeling better, I guess. Looking forward to the wedding. And your dress!”

“Oh, I am, too. I was going to show it to your mom just before, but… I want you to be the first to see it.”

“And then you say I’m not the luckiest man alive.”

“I just said Ashton Kutcher is. Mila Kunis is pretty cool.”

“Shut up.”

You pause, watch him tidy up; after a minute, you tell him, “You should’ve joined when we made the jam. Could’ve been fun, too.”

“Yeah… I mean I thought about it, but. Then I was like, maybe it’d be good for her to get to know you, like, unfiltered. She’s always careful not to be weird around me.”

“Ah. That’s kinda sweet, though.”

“Isn’t it?”

You nod against his cheek; then, drum lightly against his chest, a peck to his ear, getting to your feet a second later as you ask, “So… are you coming up? It’s a little after eleven. We should probably get ready soon.”

“Yeah, I’ll be up in some. You should go first, though. I’ll need a bit less time.”

You’re already taking steps towards the staircase leading up, but you can’t refrain from throwing one last tease, “You sure? Not sure with your skincare routine. Have you even eaten?”

“Yes, I did. Don’t be a brat.”

You lift your lips to a last provoking, tight-lipped smile before you ascend to his room. The dress is still almost flawless between your clothes. You heavily worried about damage in the few days you travelled, but aside from a few spots that need to be ironed out, it’s as gorgeous as ever.

Flattening out the creases with a borrowed iron, you soon rummage in your suitcase for the curling iron and the rest of your make up. You look at the mess scattered on Jungkook’s table, wondering where to start.

Make up, probably.

Okay. you have one, two chances max to try what you want to achieve. The goal is to remain casual, natural and humble; considering your dress, you cannot overdo it. You don’t want to look excessively over the top. Want to keep your essence under the make up.

So you keep it lowkey, pretty much content with the results before you slip into the dress.

And when you look into the mirror, you nearly squeal. You don’t struggle with your appearance. But while you’ve largely been satisfied with how you look, you did occasionally find things to possibly improve.

Normal. Doesn’t everyone deem certain spots flaws, regardless of whether they actually are?

But today… today you’re sparkling. You’re happy; in love with what you accomplished.

If you could, you’d immediately rush down to him again, show you the results. But it seems you don’t need to — because half a minute later, you make out his voice outside. He’s talking to his brother, laughing about something; seems the rest of the family is leaving. The door shuts just before you hear him moving up the stairs with quick steps.

And… when he finally opens the ajar door to his own room, his body locks at the spot, as if somebody screwed his feet into the wooden floor.

The reaction is easily imagined; most often seen on TV. You didn’t know how real it was, but then again, clichés always have an origin in real life, don’t they?

You’re surprised, a little shy by how he looks at you. And how he looks in general — black trousers hugging his snatched waist and well-formed hips. The white dress shirt is still in progress, collars up, suit jacket not yet on.

And he’s olding something in his hand that you can’t recognise.

He looks breathtaking and mesmerising, despite missing half of the preparation still. Fuck… fuck, fuck, fuck.

Does he feel the same about you? Probably.

Because he curses, “What the fuck.”

Like a statement, not a question. You touch the silky soft material of your dress, widening your eyes as your quiet voice asks, “What?”

“What are you even?”

You burst out into a brief, fleeting laugh at the question, repeating, “What I am?”

“Like, a fairy or something. Shit, it’s as if I’m getting married.”

Another near-squeak falls out of you. But you can’t blame him this time; you chose this attire carefully.

The sheer chiffon fabric, light and airy, sparkling; it called your name the moment you saw it. Floor length, lavender, spilling to the floor like a waterfall; a spicy slit on the side that Jungkook’s eyes remained on for just a tiny heartbeat longer, you know.

And off-the-shoulder sleeves; most of the back bare.

Sheepishly, you ask, “So you like it?”

“Like, I—” he starts, yet stops. He blows a raspberry. “You’re so pretty. You’re the prettiest. Oh my God,” he exclaims, dramatically touching his forehead, “I need to keep other’s eyes off you. Look at you!”

You laugh out loud, a hand on his wrist to keep your balance, no other productive response in your bright pink entangled mind than, “Babe—”

“No, seriously. Okay, I concur. It was right for me to wait to see you in the dress. Getting a heart attack as we speak.”

Your cheeks still glow brightly when you wiggle a finger at him, disappointed that there is no reality show camera pointing at you to hear you say, “If your boyfriend doesn’t react like this, girl, you don’t want him.”

You instinctively move to the buttons of his sleeve, helping out, resisting the urge to give in and fix his collar, too. You want to see the end result so badly, but he’s still missing the tie and the jacket. 

So you settle on merely touching the buttons over his chest, nodding as if approving before you say, “You already look so good, too. You know, maybe it’s you who should hide behind me today. What if some middle school girl crushing on you jumps you?”

He chuckles. “They can try.”

“They? Well, shit.”

“I’m kidding.” He lowers his chin, bringing your knuckles to his rosy lips, kissing one or two of them. “Hide me, then.”

“Mhm… Do you need help getting ready? With the tie or something?”

“Oh, it’s okay. You can lean back for a bit, tell me a story or something? I shouldn’t take too long.”

It’s a ritual of sorts. Sometimes, when you wait for the other on a date or dinner night, the faster one acts as the night’s entertainer. Sings songs or tells stories or plays DJ or serves the latest, hottest work tea.

You tell him, “Okay. But before I do,” your hand wanders down to his; it’s stubbornly closed around an object, dangling on his side. You uncurl his fingers. “What’s that you got there?”

“Oh, I…” He comes to life, as if he forgot that he was holding it at all. He lifts it between your faces, straightening his palm, and presents you something incredibly sparkly and nostalgic. “It’s part of the reason I went down at all. With my mom’s permission since she wore it at her prom…”

Damn it. Both of them deceived you.

“You were looking for it?” He nods; your heartbeat accelerates as you urge, “And…”

“And I got it for you.”

Words, you notice, are only your specialty when you’re jotting them down and narrating a story from within your mind. When it comes to answering to the grand gestures he always makes you fall in love with, you’re such a zero.

Odd, considering how he, in contrast, has claimed over and over again that he’s not as eloquent as he’d like to be. But you’ve long figured out that if he was to preach the truths he holds in his heart to an audience, the stage would drown in a flood of tears within minutes.

You reach for the shiny, pearly, flowery accessory. It’s rose-gold, a little vintage, clearly older, and so strikingly beautiful. It looks like…

“A comb… for me,” you say. Not the one to untangle your hair. The decorative type; fancy and gorgeous. He nods again, lets you take it between your fingers. “Why?”

“Just,” a shrug of his shoulder, “I wanted to give you a little something to remind you of this place and the love you got here. Besides, it’d look so pretty on you.”

A reminder that you’re loved. You wonder — who thinks of these things? Does anyone else in this universe heat up their girl’s chest like your boyfriend does?

They can tell you what they want; you’re the luckiest being alive. And in return, you want to love him as much as nobody has ever loved before.

You whisper, “Thank you, Kook… Your mom is okay with this?” Another enthusiastic nod of confirmation. “Thank you so much. I— I wish you could see yourself the same way.” You squeeze it in your hand to feel it properly, then open it again. “This is so pretty.”

“It’ll suit you.”

“Yes?” Softly, you hand it back to him, turning to the mirror, with him right behind you. “Do you want to put it in?”

“Ah… I can try.”

“Right there?” You point to the back of your head; to the braid in your loose half updo. “Near the hair pins I used. The comb might hide them well, too.”

And he does his best. Regards your hairdo focused, eyebrows knitting in concentration, so gentle with it. No getting stuck, no intentional tugging.

“Wait,” he then says, tapping his trouser’s pocket, and then fishes out his phone for a picture. He shows it to you; the accessory sits there perfectly, not crooked or ruining a single wisp of hair. “How’s that?”

“You did it so well. Thank you, Koo.” You face him again, smile bright and endless. “Your turn?”

“Yes.” He rubs his hands, looking around. “Let’s get this over with. Give me feedback, okay? And tell me a story?”

You take a seat at the edge of his bed prettily, coming up with a short tale about personified instruments and what they’d symbolise. The guitar for the heart and the love in it, the drums for thunder and the excited pulse of the soul.

“The flute for the breeze and dreams?” Jungkook adds.

And you urge in a thrilled tone, “And the violin for the rain and longing. They’d learn from each other, right?” You sigh. “I’ll think about the piano, too. Can’t figure it out yet… it could be a lot.”

Jungkook nods, distracted and interrupting the story when he asks for brief comments on his progress. Barely any feedback, though; praises largely.

You watch as he slips into the rest of his clothing and gels his hair back — it’s grown quite a bit since the press conference in September. You get to your feet, amped up when he finally claps and rubs his hands in anticipation a bit later, announcing that he’s ready to leave.

And you’re still euphoric when you jump into your car, letting him drive through the streets he knows much better. His fingers wander to the passenger seat every now and then; minutes after the last scolding, you keep reminding him to keep his hands on the wheel.

I want to kiss you so bad, but your damn make up won’t let me today, huh?

A tease here, a flirt there.

You feel like you could do anything. The sky's the limit. And it soon proves that the statement has never rang truer, even if in a vastly different context now.

Because once you reach the wedding — your metaphorical sky —, Ria is already standing at the parking lot, waving the moment she spots the two of you stepping out of the car. From afar, you already see the wedding’s venue; a lake in the back, a huge tent and a field at the front.

The parking lot right next to it, but still a couple minutes of a trek away.

Ria’s parents indulge Jungkook in a conversation about something you barely register right away, and she gestures towards herself, hugging and greeting you with an odd half-smile.

“You look so pretty,” she says, and you beam benignly, returning the compliment.

She’s rocking a dark blue dress, sleeveless, her hair in a loose bun. Wavy strands frame her face. But somehow, she looks demotivated. Worried to the slightest, though still mostly cheerful. So you ask, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah! I just wanted to tell you something. But don’t freak out, okay?”

Well, shit. Doesn’t start as you imagined, does it? You glimpse over to Jungkook. He’s laughing from the heart, button nose crunched; why is she not telling him, too?

Your chest feels tighter; the usual human response to a menacing statement such as hers. You upright yourself, take a deep breath, ground yourself as you encourage, “Yes? I won’t. What’s up?”

“Well… we’re in this town and like, people know each other. And since we’re all in a very close circle here, I just wanted to say that,” her face changes; she kind of grimaces, as if apologetic for something, “Nara came, too.”

Ah.

Ah…

The sky's the limit, and you reached it, and now you’re kind of crashing.

Well. You never thought about this; but it makes perfect sense, doesn’t it? Of course she’d be here. She was part of this town and Jungkook’s life for so many years, so naturally, she’d be familiar with his relatives, too.

Besides, even if she hadn’t been with him… Didn’t Jungkook and Ria already establish with you just yesterday, when you were inhaling your ice cream, that this small town strives on familiarity?

Meetings at the town hall, the shop owners’ affection for most of their year-long customers. The Stars Hollow vibe you already recognised.

Ahhh…

So that’s what Junghyun might have been trying to tell you on the first day, too. You remember his mother interrupting.

How annoying. You did not want to feel annoyed. Maybe it would’ve been better if Ria hadn’t told you; if you’d bumped into Nara randomly and suffered the temporary heart attack. Or perhaps, you wouldn’t have seen her at all…

Come on. Unrealistic.

Fuck, you feel childish. There shouldn’t be any burning in your chest or an uncomfortable warmth in your cheek. You shouldn’t be feeling the urge to run over to Jungkook, to actually hide him behind you.

To rush to his ear, whisper your worries, make him promise that he only loves you and won’t ride into the sunset with her.

Delusional, paranoid concerns that you wouldn’t entertain on any normal, sane day; then again, the news Ria delivered wasn’t going to leave you unbothered anyway. This whole thing around exes really sucks.

“I… I shouldn’t spiral, though, right?” you answer, your voice a little weaker. Ria immediately nods, though still not relaxing the wrinkle between her eyebrows. “I mean, of course she’d be here. This is her place, she was born here and…”

Ria takes your hands in hers, assures, “I promise you it’s nothing too bad, okay? Nara and Jungkook have been here at the same time before and literally nothing happened.”

What? When?

“When?” you echo.

“Uh, like last summer? He only came down for a couple days, though. College exams and stuff.”

Ah… you wouldn’t even know. Back then, you’d only encountered him once, at the blurry frat party that you spent in locked rooms and on tiled roofs. When you sang together and spilled your hearts to each other.

For the very first time.

Whatever he did before or after that… how would you know?

Only, you feel even sicker at the thought that after that party, and after he allegedly met Nara here again without anything literally happening, he still linked with her back in the city. Still shared his nights and sheets with her.

Does this count as nothing happening? What if the time here evoked something? What if it happens again?

Fuck, what if it happens again?

“I’m going to panic,” you tell Ria.

“What? No,” she exclaims, though instantly lowering her voice, rubbing your arm soothingly, “it’s okay, I promise. He didn’t even think of it. Either that or he doesn’t care ‘cause he didn’t mention her once.”

“But now I might keep thinking about it.”

“Seriously. Fuck, I feel bad for saying it—”

“No… no, it’s okay. You should’ve.”

“Okay, look. It’s honestly fine. She’s nice, she won’t do anything shady; not if she knows about y’all.” Another caressing touch to your shoulder. “I just wanted to warn you. Please don’t feel startled. I’m here, okay? I’ll smash his nose if anything happens.”

She looks to the side. The other conversation has seemingly ended, too, and you swallow as Ria’s parents wave her over. She says, “Okay. Gotta go, but I’ll meet you guys inside and reserve seats, okay? There’s just limited assigned seating.”

She pats your coat-clad arm, and then walks away. 

Well. Okay.

You guess you’ll have to get over this one way or another. You focus on your clothing. Focus on how you look, how Jungkook looks. The weather, the tent many many feet away. Your boyfriend’s gaze on you as he walks back to you, offering his hand.

He pauses when he sees you, asking, “Is everything okay?”

“Hm?” you hum. “Yes. Just nervous, I think.”

“Me too.” He flashes the sweetest grin known to mankind, genuinely excited, childlike joy. Tilts his head at you. “You seriously look so fucking pretty. Like really, really.”

You smile.

Okay…

It should be alright. Jeon Jungkook is so in love with you; damn it, he even peels your oranges for you when you don’t feel like doing it. You need to trust the process; need to hold onto your excitement.

Okay.

You glance at the event warming up in the far. Halfway through, people have gathered, standing on the grass or the man-made path. There’s still a bit of time; so naturally, they’re still busying themselves with conversations.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

You’ve met her before. This isn’t different.

You look down to where his and your fingers intertwine; put particular attention to the way he holds you. Firmly, as if protecting and loving and keeping you close at the same time.

His smile lifts your spirits a little, the wind enclosing your mind and easing it. You nod only slightly, telling yourself it’ll all be good — and then, let him tug you towards the wedding.

The wedding is as bustling as you expected. It’s bright, colourful, flowers draped over the place in abundance. Even before you enter it, the huge tent leaves you breathless, gasping.

They put so much effort into this; it’s clear as day. Jungkook’s mother isn’t around, but the moment you lay your eyes on her again, you’ll praise her for what she helped mount. Somehow, the beauty nearly makes you forget that you’re among pure strangers.

But that at least one familiar face is roaming here somewhere.

You take a deep breath.

All these people know each other. They probably grew up together, know the ins and outs of the town, have gathered at weddings and funerals and school events. You don’t know how well you’ll be able to integrate, but you do hope for their support.

It’s not too much to ask, you reckon.

At least not when Jungkook pulls at your hand and the two of you into certain directions, coming to a stand multiple times when he sees a person or two calling him to them. Some are old school friends; some adults he knew when he was a child.

Candy store owners. Somebody who sold him his first scooter. Or a pal he used to share his banana milk with.

The sentiments are clearly there and they bask in them, but none of them ever forgets about you. Jungkook introduces you, tugs you into his side, enskies you with praise. And they respond with kindness and interest; tell you he’s mentioned you before.

You remember. Jungkook told you how his friends spoke about you or saw you on TV, eager to meet you — they react according to the excitement he foretold, and you reciprocate it with ease. Very sweet.

Yet, it seems that even in a small town, or especially in a small town, enmity runs just as deep as affection. Some people remember friendships, others still resent rotten memories.

You soon meet the first one of the latter kind.

He’s standing near the entrance of the spacious tent; you glance inside, unsuspecting, not a single familiar face in sight. You don’t notice him until Jungkook does, coming to a stand, walk interrupted as the guy exclaims, “Jeon Jungkook! My goodness, Jungkook—”

You meet thick eyebrows, long-ish dark hair, full lips. He’s handsome, his smile bright. 

And his voice is mellow and sweet, and at certain tones, it reminds you of Jimin’s; then again, some syllables come out much deeper. You don’t know who he is; of the pictures Jungkook has shown you, he wasn’t in any of them.

“Hey,” Jungkook greets, somewhat distant. You don’t think standing here is his first choice, but your boyfriend is as polite as can be. Even waves towards the guy, and tells you, “This is Christian. Barom, but he lives in Australia now, so.”

“Hi,” you reach out a hand, “nice to meet you.”

The accent is heavy and somehow cursive when he responds, “Likewise.”

Jungkook is definitely not delighted about him. Follows the touch of your hands, then your gaze up to Christian’s face. You notice it before Jungkook can probably even think of it: the odd look the stranger throws at you.

Up and down. Smile telling. Uncomfortable.

And when Jungkook suddenly does catch it, he intervenes, “You came all the way from Sydney?”

“Yep. And you came over from the city?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook answers. You barely register it, but you’re certain he’s been pushing you behind him inch by inch; but you remain at your spot. You can deal with this. “We were on vacation before, but I was gonna come anyway.”

“Nice. And wait, sorry, you were…?”

You recall never introducing yourself; but you’re positive he’s figured out your relationship to Jungkook just by the steadfast grip around your palm. But Jungkook still officially voices your name and informs him, “My girlfriend.”

Christian must be seeing or hearing something you aren’t — strange since it was him who asked — but he laughs, teasing, “You’re being defensive.”

“I’m not. I literally just told you she’s my girlfriend.”

“Lucky. You look pretty together.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

You have not a single clue what’s going on. Jungkook is never really rude, so there must be something about this Barom or Christian — he’s never mentioned him before.

Then again, you guess growing up in a tight space comes with all sorts of relationships. Christian is probably the sort that never earns a mention until actually met with the person themselves.

It’s funny though — in some way, the rejection seems one-sided. As if Jungkook is still holding something against him and Christian remains uncaring; while it might not be a universal truth, you’ve experienced that those utterly calm are often the ones at fault.

And Jungkook isn’t an angry human being. He’s kind. Patient. Needs a reason to be mad.

Christian doesn’t take the hint when he smiles, a heavily tattooed hand patting Jungkook on his shoulder as he suggests, “See you later then? Let’s take a picture or get a drink afterwards.”

Jungkook only stalls for the tiniest seconds, but you know him — he’s probably already made up his mind. You look between the men, baffled by the nearly visible bolts shooting from one pair of eyes to the other.

“Sure,” Jungkook eventually says, your hand still in his, and works on moving to the coat check and then to the chairs without adding anything else.

You don’t inquire yet what this was about as you walk, catching glimpses of the priest, of the stranger guests and of the people lingering at the front of the tent. You’re busy gauging Jungkook’s eyebrows, observing as they relax more the further he gets away from the guy.

And neither do you need to pop the question when you’ve settled somewhere in the middle-ish, you on his right side, Ria on the other. Next to her, her parents that you briefly met when you brought her home yesterday.

Previously turned on her seat, she now uprights her body, hooking her arm with Jungkook’s as she whispers to him, yet clearly enough for you to hear, “Was that Yu Barom?”

Jungkook nods. “Christian Yu now. Yup.”

“Right.”

They nod, understanding each other wordlessly, but you’re still floating in between a couple theories and the actual sentiments. So you lean in; you’ve become one of the gossipers at a wedding, you guess.

“Okay,” you start; the two of them stare at you with the same big puppy eyes. “You don’t seem to like him.”

“Oh, we don’t,” Jungkook bluntly admits.

“Why?”

Jungkook smacks his lips. Eyes drift to the roof of the tent, the polyester fabric swaying in the gust. Then, they shift to his cousin, presumably seeking approval, because she shrugs her shoulders, gesturing with her hand and says, “Oh, go ahead.”

So he explains, “His little cousin was a constant problem for Ria. Same age… harassed her and all. Constant flirting and phone calls and didn’t take the hint, just an uncomfortable dude in general.” He pauses, shaking his head. “I had to threaten him for him to get lost. And Christian didn’t like that.”

Okay, now you definitely feel like somebody indulging in tittle-tattle. Some more and you’ll be one of the aunties. Your mouth gradually opens as he speaks, and you emphasise, “No way.”

“It’s true— the guy was on a break from college for just a month and decided to argue with a fifteen-year-old.”

“What? Did you get into a fight with him?”

“Nah.” He pauses when a group of random three girls in green dresses walks along the aisle, even though they’re barely facing you, sending a perfumed breeze towards you. Then, “Not a physical one. But it was a bit messy. Didn’t like that night.”

“Me neither,” Ria confirms.

Of course he didn’t like it.

He’s largely non-confrontational. You’ve learned this much in the time you’ve known him, and have given the fact utmost sense ever since he revealed his innermost fears. Jungkook keeps quiet; he dreads repetitions of a direful past.

Yet, initiating and risking a conflict for his baby cousin increases the respect you harbour for him.

People are cruel; but Jeon Jungkook is good-hearted to his core, no matter how flawed.

You touch the back of his hand, caressing it when he says, “Stay with me tonight, okay? And if you can’t, then do come to me when he nears you.”

“Okay.”

His eyes meet yours, concerned but also suspiciously fiery when he states, “Because like, I really didn’t like how he was looking at you.”

Ah…

“Hm?”

“You didn’t notice?” he asks, his voice higher, thick eyebrows closing into each other again. You lift a thumb, clearing the crease and his stress. “I almost plucked his eyes out.”

Of course you noticed. You just didn’t think it irritated Jungkook to this point.

“Oh— Kook—”

“No seriously,” he stresses, turning his hand to get ahold of two of your fingers, “guy was sweet half his life and then tried stuff with so many girls. I wouldn’t be surprised if he approached you again, so please stay away from him, okay?”

“Yes, baby. But I wouldn’t let him do shit anyway. Don’t worry.” You nudge his shoulder. “And don’t be jealous. Have you seen yourself?”

He rolls his eyes at the accusation, but there’s a sliver of a smile on his face and relief in his gaze. You guess hearing you say it does wonders to him; sometimes, you truly praise the connection between you, based on a clear foundation of trust and communication.

Well… at least now.

“I’m not jealous,” he insists, “it was just gross how he looked at you. Fuck this. Not with my girl.”

You can’t help but break into a chuckle, way too loud for your row. You slap a hand over your mouth, careful not to ruin the lipstick, and nearly give into the urge to release his pout. But it’s too sweet — it can linger for a second.

Removing your hand, you near him until your mouth grazes his, assuring, “I love you,” before you peck his lips curtly. He still looks a little grumpy, though. Your man. “It’s okay, baby.”

The grip around your hand intensifies. It doesn’t seem it will vanish for the rest of the night. You sure hope it doesn’t.

And you’re immensely grateful for the luck you’re enjoying. Not only because of this place’s beauty and the palm holding onto yours — but you haven’t seen Nara either. In fact, you become hyper aware of how much you’ve been thinking of her.

Like; what is she wearing? How is she doing? Is she thinking about Jungkook; expecting him here; feeling a sort of way? Is she imagining his smile and how she saw it in this very town so many times, dedicated to her?

And did Christian ever flirt with her, too? Did it irritate Jungkook?

You’ve been thinking it all dead.

Unnecessarily so if Jungkook hasn’t even mentioned her, never sought her out. Instead, he’s busy protecting his girl from past bullies.

In all honesty, you’ll probably cross ways with her still. The guest list isn’t endless; the place vast but not infinite.

But for now, you forget about her, trashing all thoughts and possibilities. Shake your head. Breathe it out. Relieve your chest.

You diverge into conversations about anything and everything, reminiscing about yesterday and the places you saw. Listen into stories Ria and Jungkook tell: about injuries, about pleasant nights and about the fights they had.

Ria was like the sister Jungkook never had; Junghyun was a good older brother, but when seeking another opinion, she was on speed dial. Sometimes, growing up in a certain environment makes all the difference — hearing a girl’s thoughts at all times might have made Jungkook the way he is.

Thoughtful, respectful. You have encountered sexism a million times — not to mention just minutes ago, checked out so shamelessly — but you don’t think Jungkook has such a notion even in any crevice of his heart.

You’re fond and happy when they laugh together; her crinkles match his. Their laugh contagious.

It still echoes and fades, slowly and lovingly when the tent quietens. All heads turn, but you don’t see much from here. Maybe a couple moving bodies at the entrance. Someone coughs, interrupting the silence and lowering their head, and the moment allows you a peek at the sensation.

The bride is waiting, holding a bouquet. Her father is touching her veil to fix it despite having nothing to fix; but she doesn’t notice.

Gayoung is glancing ahead, breathing in. Everyone’s eyes remain on her, but your head turns to follow her eyes. The groom is already standing there in a standard groomesque position, hands folded, upright like a post.

He looks insanely nervous. His shiny boot taps the ground, lips parting and unparting. And he’s blinking; then forming a circle with his mouth, releasing the pent-up tension.

She hasn’t moved yet. The ceremony is yet to begin.

But even before all that, as people indulge in the sight and wait for their eternity to start, Jungkook has already mimicked your turn, fingers still intertwined. When he speaks, you flinch; you didn’t notice his voice this close.

He’s looking at the groom, too, before he settles his gaze on you. Stares with affection in his gems that bursts your heart, splinters your ribs and implodes your chest. You know he’ll say something to fade out the entire crowd before he actually says it.

“Can I tell you something mainstream?”

You hum, “Hm?”

He regards your digits, plays with them. “If you ever choose to marry me…” Your heart stops. “I’ll look just as tense as him.”

“Would you… want to marry me one day?”

“It’s just a thing people do, right?” he questions. “Whether it’s like this or in any other way— I’ll spend my life with you anyhow.”

I’ll spend my life with you.

Not a question. Not a need.

But a confession. A goal. A plan. 

You don’t get to answer when the first tunes of a guitar play. It’s a song you recognise; paints a smile onto your face. The melody is soft, slow, so gentle. They didn’t choose an orchestral track or the usual Wedding March after all.

It’s a song.

Jungkook’s eyes blow wide, and he immediately seeks yours. Mutters into your ear, “Do I know this?”

“You probably do.”

“Wait—” He listens in. Pupils roll up as he ponders. Then, “Didn’t someone sing this in the lobby this week?”

Almost. It’s why it delights you so. You already had half an idea back then, and you managed to somehow incorporate it into this wedding without really being part of these people.

“Yoongi played it on the guitar,” you clarify, “I suggested it to your mom this morning. I guess she liked it enough to forward the request so spontaneously.”

“You did? Then she must’ve…”

You can’t decipher what he’s thinking. His stare is fixated on the passing bride, her slow steps, the beam she wears as she nears whom she’s decided to be the rest of her life.

You can’t peep into his brain, but you notice when he tilts his head. See the tiny gap between his lips and the way he catches the groom blink away tears the moment you do, because Jungkook smiles at just the same moment as you do.

Gayoung lowers her head when she comes to a stand in front of his still-fiancé, and then delivers the most magnificent, most mesmerising grin. She’s happy, you know. You don’t think you’ve seen this intensity of joy a lot of times in your life.

You recognised it when Jungkook woke up still in your bed after the blue night. When he opened up to you, vowed to stay, brought you to his home. When you announced to the world that you’d be his to remain, that you’d do what you enjoy.

When you got home that evening, and he kissed you right against the door, deemed you crazy, deemed you his.

You haven’t seen this very happiness much in your life, but you’ve seen it in him. And you’ve felt it in your chest. Growing, blossoming, never wilting.

The couple at the front speaks its vows like a song. The words are melodic, poetic, and you’re almost entirely sure that they’re not rehearsed. It’s all real. The love in them and the memories in them, accompanied by the liquid bliss swimming in his and her waterline.

No, you haven’t experienced this too many times before. You’ve felt it. He’s felt it.

And you don’t need to know much more than this; don’t need to know what he’s thinking to understand what he means when he says—

“This… this is it.”

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

1k block limit as always!! you can read the second half of the chapter in this reblog!! the reblog begins with a new scene <3

[luveline]

omg would die for a concussion fic with remus <33

—your concussion causes moderate memory loss, and you forget some very important details about your relationship with Remus. fem, 1.3k

“This is nice.” 

You toy with the ring on Remus’ finger, turning it around and around and around. With your weight bearing down on his right arm and your hand secured around his left to stop him from moving, there isn’t much he can do besides say, “Yeah?” 

“I love when guys wear rings.” 

“I had a suspicion.” 

You wince as stars flash through your vision, pausing in your toying to press your face into his chest. 

“You okay?” he asks. 

“I can see black and white spots.” 

“Oh, no,” he says sympathetically. “Close them, dovey. Take a breather.” 

The chair under you is uncomfortable, your back aches, your head twinges, but Remus is comfortable to lean again. He’s wearing one of his big hoodies, old enough to feel like brushed cotton under your cheek and against your nose, decals washed away. He steals his hand back to pat your shoulder, an image of patience. 

“Sorry. This isn’t a good second date.” 

Remus leans down to talk near your ear. “Dove,” he whispers, “this isn’t our second date, remember?” 

“It’s not?” 

“No, sweetheart. But that’s okay.” 

“You’re really handsome so I don’t want to mess it up.” 

“Mess what up, the date?” he asks. “You didn’t mess it up, it went very well. It was a year ago, but.” He smiles, his breath warming your face, his arm hot around you and securing you to his chest.

“A year ago?” 

“Yeah, a year ago. We went to winter wonderland and the bookshop by the train station and you wouldn’t let me buy you any books.” He laughs softly. “But I got you one eventually. A couple by now, at least.” 

“That’s nice.” 

“You’ve bought me a hundred more, it’s awful.” 

You raise your head to squint at him. “I have?”

“So many,” he whispers, dipping his chin down to kiss your nose, to your wide-eyed delight. “But you let me look after you in other ways.” 

“Let you?” 

“Yes, let me. It’s part of…” He cups your cheek quickly. “Sickness and health and everything. I have to keep you happy.” 

“Ah.” His ring is warm on your cheek. “Sickness and health, like we’re married.” 

“Something like that.” 

You straighten up as someone behind you coughs aggressively. A little further down a baby cries against a mother’s chest, and the TV plays a quiz show you’re starting to hate. Moving your head has black haunting the sides of your vision again, the light seeping in from the automatic doors too much to handle. 

“I’ve asked Sirius to bring you some sunglasses.” 

You turn around. “Sirius, that’s the one with the motorbike?” 

“Yeah. He should be quick. But maybe they’ll have called you in again by then and we can go home.” 

That’s right. You’ve been seen once by a doctor for triage, and sent back out again when they deemed you only mildly concussed, no bleeding on the brain, but an X-ray ordered for safety's sake anyways. That’s what you’re waiting for. Remus is waiting with you, because he’s a very nice man. 

“Sorry if I’m ruining your Saturday.” 

Remus’ hair falls from behind his ear as he lifts his head properly. “I think you might be having a worse day than me, so I’ll forgive you. I'm joking!” He tucks that stray strand behind his ear unsuccessfully. “You could never ruin my Saturday. I’d spend the entire bank holiday weekend in here with you, I only want them to look after you so I can finish the job.” 

Heat like a kiss on each cheek. You bring your hand to your nose, overwhelmed. “Really?” 

“We spend a lot of time together, sweetheart. I know you don’t remember right now, but I love you.” 

“You do?” 

“Don’t tell me you can’t feel that.” 

You look at him with the sunshine caressing the side of his face, his three mean scars and his scattered beauty spots. He has thick eyebrows, light brown eyes in the sun like honeyed tea, and a playful smile. More frown lines than smile lines, but the beginnings of crows feet speaks to some joy, at least. You bring your thumb up to a small wrinkle and stroke it, before tucking his hair behind his ear. It’s too short to stay put for long. 

“I love you,” you say surely. You do, even if you can’t remember more than your first date. 

He’s a good kisser, you remember. He’d pulled you back from your door and kissed you like you’d stolen the breath straight from his lungs. 

“I know.” He brings your hand from his ear to kiss. Gentle, he strokes your knuckles, his thumb turning a golden ring where it sits on your marriage finger. 

“It’s really like we’re married, we have matching rings,” you laugh. 

He holds his hand up between you. “We are married, lovely girl.” 

You steal your hand back. He waits without hurry, though a line of concern marks his brow. “Are we? When did we get married?” 

“Only a few days ago, but we’re married. This wasn’t on the honeymoon agenda.” 

He takes your hand with care and shows you the gold ring on your marriage finger to match his own, aligning your hands. The colour hadn’t seemed important a moment ago, nor the placement, but now you’re seeing them you realise you’d made a small misjudgement. It’s not like you’re married at all, you simply are. 

You frown. The way he’s holding your hand feels familiar, though the idea that you’re married is preposterous. You can’t remember any ceremony or reception, a proposal, nothing. There’s simply blank space there, which isn’t very nice. But… 

You’re not scared. You haven’t been worried once all day. 

“You have a concussion,” he says quietly, practised, like he’s said it to you before. “And it’s resulted in some amnesia, but it’s going to get better very soon.” 

“We’re definitely married?” 

“Unless you’ve changed your mind.” 

“I don’t want to change my mind.” You fluster quickly with what you’ve said, looking down at the hospital’s linoleum flooring. 

Remus takes your hand where it lays on your thigh and squeezes it. A thread of memory tugs at the touch; you remember this. His tender concern. His constant support. 

“Then you don’t have to. Whether you remember me or not, I’m here to look after you, okay? I’m right here.” 

You nod without looking up. His hand knows yours no matter what you remember, rubbing at all the best parts, holding with the perfect amount of pressure. 

“You okay?” 

“I guess our second date really did go well.” 

“Better than I could ever explain.” He tugs at your hand until you look at him, his head already ducked to keep you pinned by his gaze. “You’re like my shy girl all over again. I forgot how nervous you used to get.” 

You can see the Remus who became your husband and the one who scared butterflies into action every time he looked at you coalescing. “You’re really good-looking,” you explain. 

“And what do you think you are?” He rubs your hand. “You’re beautiful. Can I have a kiss, dove? Is that okay?” 

You squeeze your eyes closed. You’d been fighting stars in your eyes anyways.

When Remus kisses you, your body responds to his touch like it knows him. Your heart thuds against your ribs, your lips know exactly how to move and when he’s going to turn his head. Love for him shines through it. His love for you makes your chest hurt, his chaste kissing like a straight shot of oxytocin. All your worry saps away. 

“Feel any better?” he asks knowingly.

You remember enough about his teasing to withhold an answer. He kisses your cheek, his smile unmissable on your skin. 

[slut4menig]

Guys my age

Paring: Luke Castellan x Curvy AphroditeFem! reader

Req: hii can you please write a prompt in which Luke is 19 and reader is 16 and he thinks the age gap is too much as doesn’t see her as anything more than the kid he is counselling, but she’s an Aphrodite child so she doesn’t mind the chase, you can make it smut or not iyw!! also do you maybe mind making the reader like chubby/curvy? i love your work!! 🫶🫶 - 💜 Anon

ofc u can be!!! also omg i actually kinda hate this but whatever… hope u enjoy!

Warnings: MDNI, big age gap, cursing, drinking, use of smoking, reader implied to be curvy

Luke Castellan, a 19-year-old at the infamous Camp Half-Blood, stood tall and pretty almost like a loyal dog, and that made it near impossible for anyone to resist his charm, he’d had a go at almost all of the girls at camp half-blood, including all of my beautiful half sisters.

His unruly curly brown hair framed his handsome face, and deep brown eyes, which seemed to look straight into my soul whenever he gave me a task, even something as simple as asking to clean my dorm, held a hint of mystery. A small scar on his upper cheek added an intriguing touch to his otherwise perfect appearance. Luke is the epitome of a golden boy, capturing the hearts and attention of girls of all ages, young and old.

I’m only 16, luke had never dare even batted an eye at me last year but this year, I came back to camp, determined for a chance to stare into those beautiful eyes and have it mean something for him too. Since last year, i’d started to… well develop. My body had formed into a nicer shape, i certainly grew into myself. My chest was definitely a lot bigger, I started using normal bras, no more training ones. My thighs were thick and beautiful, something many men wished to be suffocated with.

“hey gorgeous girl, you’ve certainly grown up” My half sister Silene winked at me, I only ever see her at camp and I was packing my stuff into my bed. I rolled my eyes and huffed at her.

“Silene seriously? i haven’t seen you in a year and that’s the best you’ve got?” I immediately hug the girl as she chuckles quite a bit at my sharp tongue, we all start talking to our other half siblings and that’s when one of them goes

“hey y/n, you do realise you’re now technically old enough to be going to the bonfire party?” my half sister smirked

The bonfire party was tradition, 16 and up campers, it involved heavy amounts of marijuana, alcohol and other illegal shit. It was an excuse for people to get drunk and hook up and deeply regret it the next morning or so i’ve heard. It’s almost like a “back to school” party but instead it’s back to camp. It happens on the one night that Chiron is away and Mr D is in charge, of course, you bribe him with some alcohol and suddenly everyone’s happy.

“yeah uhh i’ll go, we should start getting ready then i guess?” i say, a bit on edge of what’s about to happen.

As i’m getting ready, i’m being handed a black lacy corset top showing off my double d tits extremely well, i look in the mirror and smirk, this is one of those times i KNOW i looks good. I wore a mini skirt along with it, sure i looked like a slut but hey? what can you do?

I enter the Bonfire, the glow of the fire casually illuminating my face in a perfect light. In hand was a red solo cup with… tequila and some other concoction i’ve been handed, i take a sip and spot him. Luke Castellan, my camp counsellor and the man I was practically already on my knees for. He made his way over to me and looked me in the eyes.

“Y/n? wow you look… grown up” His eyes clearly wandered around my tits a lot more than they should’ve, and he almost looked as if he scolded his self for looking but i wanted him to, this whole outfit was for him

“oh yeah? in what way?” i smirked and slightly tilted my head, trying to seduce the boy infront of me

He cleared his throat and came back to eye contact “You’re uh.. you’re taller” no i wasn’t, it was a blatant lie, i hadn’t grown an inch over the year, i knew what he was talking about and smiled to myself about it.

“Let’s play truth or dare!” Luke and I both turn our heads to a very drunken silene who’s perched up on the table, some guy with his arms wrapped around her waist and mouth colliding with her jaw.

And who was anyone to say no to my beautiful sister? Soon everyone found themselves sitting in this circle, bottles of Tequila, Vodka, Whiskey, Jäger and other liquors in the middle of the circle, ready to be there for whoever backed down from a dare.

“Clarisse, truth or dare” An Apollo girl slurred, looking into clarisses eyes from across rhe circle. Clarisse smirked and in return took a sip of her drink.

“Dare” It wasn’t surprising, her choosing dare.

“I dare you, to kiss me” the apollo girl smirked at clarisse, they obviously had tension and clarisse made her way over and kissed her, passionately i might add. The entire circle cheered and cheered.

Clarisse suddenly averted her gaze to me, we’d been friends for a while now whenever I hung out with silene she would be there.

“y/n, truth or dare?” I felt myself nervously stare at her, a group of maybe 25 people waiting on my reply to this one simple question she’d asked. It wasn’t that hard of a question so i gave a simple answer.

“Dare” I wanted to play it safe, truth was too much for me right now, I knew it would end up in me having to tell a huge secret and I just wanted a casual night, nothing too crazy, which was why i was baffled as to what came out of Clarisses mouth next.

“I dare you to spend 7 minutes of heaven with the person you think is the hottest, and don’t try bullshit your way out of this lovebug” Clarisse was obviously feeling happy with herself, she was tipsy as one could be. Actually no, she was just shitfaced.

I felt my body begin to grow weak and i scanned my eyes across the room, except i found one thing. No matter how hard I looked around the room, my eyes were always drawn back to Luke castellan. The man himself.

“uhh luke…” I said, everyone cheered and Luke looked at me a bit confused as to why I’d chosen him. Nevertheless we walked into a secluded spot in the woods.

“Y/n I uh… why’d you pick me?” Luke looked at me as he leaned against a tree and i stood there looking up at him

“why not, they said to pick the hottest person there” I shrugged, trying to come off as nonchalant.

“You do realise you’re far too young for me, sweetheart?” Luke muttered at me in a deepish voice.

“I know but what did three years ever do to anyone?” I smirked, it was time for me to use the powers my mother gave me and capture this boys beautiful heart.

“Y/n i- i was- no! still am, your camp counsellor, you don’t think this is a little weird? you coming onto me.. I mean, you’re hot but” Luke said conflicted with his own thoughts at this point.

“Oh would you shut up castellan I saw you looking at my tits earlier, don’t act like you’re surprised i’m coming onto you” I smirked at him, giving him doe eyes and fluttering my lashes

“you’re such a brat, you know that? you need to shut up, it will get you killed someday, that pretty mouth of yours” Luke furrowed his brows and almost scolded me

“how about you make me shut up?” I wrapped my arms around his neck and whispered this seductively into his ear.

“oh I can think of a few ways” Suddenly I felt Luke’s warm tongue slip into my mouth, his deep kiss sending sparks to my pussy.

he pushes me against a tree, his hands roaming over my body possessively. “Fuck, you're so young and pretty, tell me, you ever fucked anyone?” Luke continued to say as he slipped his hands to the back bit of my corset top

“n-no, i’m all yours” i managed to breathe out, goosebumps trailing over my body from his cold hands unclasing my top.

His hands reach under my bra, feeling my soft skin. He leans in, kissing my neck, my collarbone, as his hands grope my breasts. His hot breath against my skin sends shivers down my spine. “that’s perfect pretty girl, let me take care of you okay?” luke then continued to kiss my forehead and unclasp my bra

He looks up at me, his eyes filled with desire. "You have no idea how much I want to fuck you right now," he says, his voice low and husky. He starts to slip his hand up my mini skirt, his hands shaking slightly. “I bet your pussy is so tight and wet...”

i groan at his words, whimpering at the boys touch. “I- do it…”

“I can’t, I can’t ruin something as perfectly innocent as you” Luke looked at me in the eyes, piercing me with his gaze

“i’m less innocent than you think you know” I trailed my hands to unbutton his jeans and i watch his eyes widen

“what did you lie on your book log in elementary school?” he chuckled trying to distract himself from his hard on being revealed

“yknow i hump my pillow most nights wishing it was your dick” i whispered in his ear, i could feel the head flush on his face as his erection was poking into my thigh.

“fuck… pretty girl… that’s so hot, i wanna fuck you senseless, show you what a man is” he collided his lips to my collarbone and sloppily kissed it, his hands making his way to my soaked panties, rubbing it through them

“all soaked for me, pretty?” he looked up at me as i nodded, biting my lip to hold back a moan. I felt him slide my underwear off and crouch down, i felt the warmth of his hot breath against my sticky wet pussy, his tongue beginning to lap it, finding my clit and sucking on it with a pop.

I became a moaning mess, begging for mercy and for luke to continue fucking my hole with his tongue just the way he did. “mmmph~”

His hands spread my thighs wider apart as his mouth works its magic. His tongue swirls around my wet, throbbing flesh, sucking and licking with expertise. I can't help but moan loudly, my fingers tangling in his hair to pull him even closer. “Luke... please...”

He can feel my body shaking with need as he continues to eat me out, his own arousal growing with each moan that escapes my lips. He sucks my clit hard, his fingers sliding inside me, curves up to rub against my G-spot. “Come for me, baby...”

His fingers pump in and out of me in a rhythm that matches his tongue on my swollen bud. The sensations overwhelm me, and I dig my heels into his back, shamelessly bucking against his face as I shatter, screaming out his name. “Luke...Luke...”

As I reach my peak, something inside me breaks. I convulse hard, and suddenly, a rush of liquid gushes out of me, drenching Luke's face. He moans approvingly, lapping up every drop like a thirsty man.

I become red from embarrassment and stare at the man in horror.. “oh my god luke did i- did i just pee on you?” Luke did nothing but grin at me, his wet face glistening in the moonlight

“No baby, it’s called squirting and it was the hottest thing ever” he grabbed my hands away from my face

After cleaning me up with his tongue, Luke gently lifts my legs over his shoulders, positioning himself at my entrance. He looks into my eyes, his own filled with a mix of desire and tenderness. “Okay, beautiful girl, this is going to hurt, but I'll be gentle”

I look up at him, tears welling in my eyes. He smiles softly, "Good girl. It'll start feeling good soon, I promise." He leans down to kiss me, his hips pulling back slightly before pushing in again, deeper this time.

As he continues to move in and out of me, his pace picking up slightly, Luke leans down to take one of my hardened nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it. His thumb finds my swollen bud, rubbing it in time with his thrusts. "Luke... oh god, Luke..."

I cry out as my orgasm hits, my vision blurring, my body trembling. Luke doesn't stop, fucking me through my climax, his own need evident in his face. "Fuck, pretty girl, you're so fucking tight right now. I can feel your little pussy squeezing me."

As he thrusts into me, his pace becomes erratic, his breathing heavy. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum, Y/n. I don't know where to put it all," he groans, his eyes wild with need. "Where do you want it, huh?"

I gave Luke those oh so beautifully innocent doe eyes he’s currently corrupting, i batter my eyelashes and whimper as i speak

“I want you to do it inside of me luke” Luke’s eyes widen at the prospect but doesn’t have time and gives in.

“You’re lucky i can’t say no to those beautiful eyes of yours baby” With a low growl, Luke buries his face in my neck, his body convulsing as he spills inside me. He jerks his hips against me several times, unloading more and more of his warmth into my inexperienced core. "Oh gods."

He pulls out and we both lay there breathlessly.

“that was a lot more than 7 minutes…” i whisper sheepishly as i catch my breath and put my clothes on

“i’m sorry i had to be your first time… you do know we can’t be together right? i mean you should really be with a guy your age?” Luke refused to look in my eyes as he slipped his boxers on

“but guys my age aren’t… you”

[bizbat]

can you PLEASE write jason coming to you instead of anyone else. like i need that sooo bad please :)))

p.s i love your writing soo much. youre so talented, i am constantly giggling as i read

Always You . . .

🕸️Spiderverse Masterlist🕸️

🐼JJK Masterlist���

~ Jason Todd x Reader

~ Reader's appearance is not described

~ Wc: 1.086 K

~ This took forever omg, but yesterday I got food poisoning so I finally got some time to write this. Not my proudest work but wtv.

~ You can find more of my works here.

Above all else, he'll always come to you.

Contrary to popular belief, Jason Todd can be gentle. You've seen it, in the way he slowly flips through whatever book he's reading so you can read it over his shoulder, or how his fingers softly caress your thigh when you're seated beside him as if you're made of glass, or in the warm way he smiles whenever Damian says something the reminds him he's a child.

He's gentle now too, his head resting in your lap, his shirt torn and soaked in what's now dried blood. You can barely keep your eyes open, but you promised you'd watch over him while he slept, just in case something went wrong and he choked on his own blood or vomit.

You had that same nausea when he first came to your apartment at five in the morning, the bile rising in your throat at the smell of metal and the sight of blood gushing out of his gaping-

Just remembering is enough to keep you awake.

It . . . hurts, for many reasons, knowing that he puts his own life in danger for people he doesn't even know. You don't know why he does it, all you know is that for the next week and a half, he'll take a break to let his stitches heal at least a little bit. It's never enough, though. He'll crawl back to you in a few weeks, a sheepish smile on his face and his stitches popped open.

You'll roll your eyes but you always fix them for him. It's become a routine. Not one you're exactly fond of, but a routine nonetheless. It gives you something to look forward to. Sometimes it doesn't feel fair. The fact that he's always on the brink of death when you see him, that he's always covered in scars and wounds and gashes, and above all that, the fact that he only seems to come to you to sew a bullet hole shut or wrap a broken arm.

It does get exhausting, but who are you to complain. At least he trusts you, that's what you tell yourself. He comes to you because you're the only person he lets get that close to him these days, because you're the only person who won't chew his ear off. All things you've told yourself. He comes to you because maybe, possibly, potentially, somewhere deep deep inside, he loves you. That's your favorite excuse.

"You're really pretty, have I ever told you that?" You're so deep in thought you don't even realize those deep cerulean blue eyes are now studying your contemplative expression. When you calm your beating heart you turn your gaze back to his. "I thought you were sleeping?" "I was," He wraps his arm back around your waist, holding himself closer to you. "But you were tuggin' on my hair."

You hadn't even realized you'd been running your fingers through his hair until he pointed it out, though at some point in your thoughts it seems your hands had begun twisting around the raven locs. Upon said realization you immediately pull your hand away, only for him to reach out and pull it right back. "I didn't mind it that much doll." His smirk is enough to clear your mind.

He slowly rises from his position, moving to sit beside you, resting most of his weight on your shoulder with a groan. His hand reaches to his side, where a particularly nasty gash resided, thankfully sewn shut by you. Once the pain subsides he moves his hand to check your handy work. "Not bad, not bad at all." He turns that stupid smile back to you and it fries your brain. "Getting better and better every time."

It does make you smile. You weren't always so good at fixing him up. He'd come in almost every night needing you to patch him back up. It took awhile for you to be able to get him back in shape so fast. "Jay," A long while, actually. "I . . . I've been wondering?" You slowly proposition him. "Yeah? About what?" He is genuinely curious, and he knows that look on your face. He sits up, taking his weight off of you and resting against the arm of the couch.

"Just-nevermind, actually. It's stupid." You hold your hands in your lap. "It's not." He hates when you do that. When you shut yourself down before he even gets a chance to answer. "Ask me, I won't be mad." He leans in closer, his hand on your knee, and he strokes it how he always does. It takes a second to gain back your confidence. "Why-why do you always come to me when you're hurt? I just mean wouldn't it be better to go to Bruce, or Alfred, or I don't know, a doctor?"

The only thing worse than his smile is his laugh. Like an icy breeze on a hot summer's day, or a dark cold wave crashing down on a yellow beach. It warms your heart and makes you feel stupid for asking in the first place, all at the same time. "Why would I go to any of them? I like you." He likes you!!! You were right!!! "Because I'm not a professional. I can barely give you stitches, I don't know what I'd do if you were-if you," The quiver in your voice breaks his heart.

He wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest. "You don't need to worry about that. It's never gonna happen," He grabs your chin between his forefinger and his thumb and brings your gaze to his. "You take care of me, too much for me to be risky about that." You think you believe him, especially when he presses a kiss to your lips. Though you've tasted it a thousand times, you still wince at the taste of blood still clinging to his chapped lips.

He laughs when you grimace. "Sorry," He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He's quiet for a bit after that, silent as he holds you. Before too long he speaks again, breaking the, admittedly, uncomfortable silence. "I . . . I dunno why I always come to you. I guess I just . . . like it here. I like you." He's not looking at you when he says it, but you know he's being honest, and knowing him, he's understating.

It's enough for you, at least until next time. You relax into his body, satisfied. "I like you too Jaybird. I like you a lot."

[08luvmailz]

⌨︎ ⁩◞ HERO FANBOY — ! ❪shoto todoroki❫

SYNOPSIS ୨୧ ! which a certain hero from ua crushes (hard) on a idol ! headcanon, ooc shoto

FANBOY SHOTO! He wasn't interested in kpop activities, heck he hardly known anything about kpop in general.

He started knowing about them because of his brother natsuo who bought a heck ton of albums and blasting music in his room.

He side-eye his brother when he's screaming because he got your WINK-PHOTOCARD, as he keep screaming " omg! ITS SO SPARKS "

he saw the photocard and he was like " oh she's pretty " but disregard it afterwards BUTT

DIDNT KNOW HE WOULD FELL THAT HARD

he saw one of your recent comebacks on tv because his brother is streaming it and gahdam ur fucking SPARKLING ON STAGE.

At first he started knowing your group, YOU FIRST then streaming your group songs, your debut solo, collabs. streaming your group shows and music bank AND ALL THOSE

started buying albums too with natsuo. FINALLY HE HAVE SOMEONE IN THE FAMILY WHO WILL BE IN DEPT FOR LIFE BUYING ALBUMS

Natsuo asked who is his bias without hesitation he said your name, bro was smirking so bad at his lil bro BECAUSE YOU ARE THE MAKNAE OF YOUR GROUP, also half japanese and same age as him.

Bro was blushing whenever the camera pans at your face and smirking and doing that HE WAS GETTING HOTTER THAN HIS QUIRK

have a well known kpop stan twitter account who always make short comment about you but ICONIC because of how pure and sweet it is

doesnt know it but actually fell inlove with you NOT BECAUSE OF UR FACE (its a plus on him) but because of your determination and hard work, humour and personality is just CHEFS KISS

no one knows about his obsession welp it almost slip up when he accidently unplug his wired earphones to his phone AND SUDDENLY BLASTING Nobody knows by your group.

he lied he is just a casual listener

defends you on twitter, he looks like a soft boy but damn he is a beast on roasting BUT FAILS CAUSE HE CAN ONLY CUSS AT THEM

dedicated to buy front row tickets when your group finally have a concert there at your hometown

BRO WAS FIGHTING FOR LIFE AT THE POOR CONNECTION

bro brought the vip tickets for him and his big bro (with his dads money ofc, not like his father would know)

bro brought the 2 tickets for each day

won a fancall with you once but DAMN IT HIS HERO STUFF IS GETTING ON THE WAY

poor bby sulked the whole day that he missed the call, he was practicing his lines and tone for you

brought many batteries for his lightstick

make sure he is lookin good (not like he isn't good looking)

bro wake up early asf he want to be there as fast

bro became popular fan after one pictured him as the guy from the (group name) concert at jpn

he didnt know he bacame popular, he just saw his face 3 days after the concert on stan twt

BRO WHEN YOU TWO MAKE EYE CONTACT HE HAS HEART EYES

BRO WAS WHIPPED ASF

you are one stubborn fuck saw this cute guy with a scar and went through the barricades even though security was trying to get you back in stage cause its just a sound check and your safety too

Bro you came closer to him and saw his instax reaching for you. MADE A HEART CHEEK AT HIS FACE AND CAME CLOSER TO HIS FACE

bro almost want to faint right then and there.

you went after that he was kinda sad but happy he got a selfie WITH HIM

making this his lockscreen and making a frame of this treasured photo

You kept stealing glances at him and interacting with hand language, asking if he already eat lunch or just blantly flirting with him

LUCKIEST FAN

natsuo kept pushing his shoulders for every interaction at their section BUT MAINLY YOU ARE FOCUSED ON HIS BROTHER

bro when he came back from school BRO WAS BOMBARDED WITH QUESTIONS LIKE

" I DIDNT KNOW UR A FAN TODOROKI! " " WHY DIDNT YOU TELL ME UR A FAN, I WANT TO BUY TICKETS TOO " " i didn't know todoroki listens to kpop " "BRO DID U HAVE PICS AND VID OF (your leader name) "

was now known as poker face but listens to puppy love by (groupname)

After that twt post of him being a handsome fan THEN PEOPLE STARTED SAYING HE WAS THE KID FROM UA, ENDEAVOR SON AND ALL THOSE SHIT

have an article of him now being the hero fan boy

boy he didnt give a shit about them, he just wanting to chill

but that didnt start there

your member posted on weverse a video of you taken, watching the sports festival and chanting HIS NAME AND BETTING THAT HE WOULD 1st PLACE

bro became the luckiest fan alive

saying he is the luckiest fan and hero and all of those then actually GONNA MEET YOU

you have a campaign like a collab with a hero AND THAT IS HIS DAD

participating on a event JUST TO SEE YOU

he did and boy was he nervous

he kept stuttering at the end of his sentence

then because actually friend with you, a little bit touchy side BUT HE IS A GENTELEMAN just subtle glances and touches

got your number and him posting a selfie of you two on twt (he made another acc just to post boast that picture)

after that he was well known as the hero fanboy who will soon in the future marry his idol

that woud be a story in another time <3

[daenysx]

omg just read all of your aemond fics and 😭😭😭 actual perfection !!!! thank you for sharing your writing!!

not sure if this is a type of request that would interest you but maybe modern!aemond finding out you somehow got injured? not a creative prompt but we love a protective/possibly overreacting aemond with some fluff hehe 💙

thank you so much for reading them, angel, i really hope you like this <333

modern!aemond targaryen x fem!reader

cw; stitches, reader cuts her hand and needs stitches but nothing graphic

it was a nice plan overall, really. you were sure everything would go alright, imagining the perfect outcome as you keep moving in kitchen.

well, until you had a work accident anyway.

"can i call my boyfriend real quick before you start?" you ask the doctor as you sit down, your injured hand feeling numb with all the adrenaline.

"of course." she answers. "we can start after."

you take your phone, press aemond's contact, and beg internally for him to be available. you don't think you can get your hand stitched without him honestly and the idea of him being in a meeting right now makes your stomach turn.

"hello?" he answers. "sweetheart?"

"hi." you say, your voice coming out weaker than you intend to. "is this a good time?"

"of course." he says. "what happened? something wrong?"

he's picking up the clues quickly, first of all why do you sound like that? and second why is he hearing some weird noises on the background?

"um- i'm at a hospital right now." you say, biting your bottom lip, telling him the name of the hospital after that. you need to lay out the details nice and slow, otherwise he'll drive like crazy to be here. "i was cooking dinner and i cut my hand."

"are you okay?" he asks, concern dripping from his voice. "what will they do?"

"the doctor's saying i need stitches." you explain. "i'm okay, i just- can you come here if there's nothing important you have over there?"

you hear some noises like a pushed chair and grabbed keys, aemond suddenly starts breathing quicker. "you are crazy if you think i'll work when you're literally getting stitches." he says. "i'll be there in ten minutes, okay?"

"aemond, please drive safe." you say, because it should normally take at least 15 minutes to get here from his office. you know he won't listen, he tends to be very irresponsible of himself every time you call him and tell him you need him.

"don't worry about me." he tries to reassure you and you hear him starting the car. "only ten minutes, okay, sweetheart? i'll be with you."

"okay." you say.

he keeps his promise really well, and only after ten and a half minutes you see him walking with huge steps towards you. not that you were counting down the seconds. the doctor is a lovely lady, she tries to keep your mind occupied as she cleans up your wound.

"it's a deep cut, but it's clean." she says. "i'll make sure you don't feel anything."

"thank you." you smile weakly. "oh, here he is."

aemond is by your side in a second, his eye quickly inspecting the situation. "are you okay? are you hurting?"

you shake your head. the doctor smiles. "i don't really feel anything right now." you say. "it was just a bit bad when i first came in."

"and the stitches?" he asks, looking at the doctor.

"she will need only a few of them." she answers. "don't worry, we'll make it quick and painless."

she starts doing her job, asks you politely to look elsewhere. aemond holds your other hand as you watch him, it's a bit weird knowing you're being stitched but not feeling it. the worry lines on aemond's face look ever most prominent.

"i'm fine." you give him an easy smile.

"how did it happen?" he asks, softly.

"i was planning on preparing a dinner table." you say. "we've been relied on take out lately, so i wanted to cook you something nice."

"baby." he says, his voice carries too many emotions.

"it's okay." you tell him. "it can happen to anyone, really. i won't even get upset if i have a scar. just another story to tell."

"it may leave a faint scar in time." the doctor says. "but nothing too big."

"that's good enough."

aemond clearly thinks that is not good enough but he won't tell this when you're getting your hand stitched. he only squeezes your fingers. he'll make sure you don't touch knives until you heal, that's all.

"and we're done." the doctor says. "let's wrap it up, and then you can go."

"thank you." you and aemond say at the same time. the wrapping doesn't take long, you're ready to leave the hospital in five minutes.

after the doctor telling aemond instructions about the bandages and the stitches, you walk to the exit. you're glad it's over for now, and your hand still doesn't hurt really. aemond waits by your side until you settle down on the passenger seat.

you expect him to close the door and sit down on his own seat but he doesn't. instead, he turns you to his side by holding your thighs gently and cups your cheeks. he gives you the warmest kiss on your forehead.

"i was terrified." he confesses, almost whispers.

"i'm sorry." you say. "it was an accident."

"i know, my love." he says, putting another kiss on the side of your head. "you don't have to say sorry, it's not like you did it on purpose."

"and now we need to order something again." you say, giving him a mocking pout. "i wanted to eat something homemade tonight."

he smiles at your dramatics. you're right of course, you've both been too busy with work lately and relied on ordering pizza or sushi, or something else. he thinks cooking together can be nice now that he left work early and you want something cooked in your own kitchen.

"i'll cook anything you want for us." he says. it's a good promise.

"you sound pretty confident." you laugh.

"you need to help me with the recipes, of course." he says, coolly. "anything with knife, i'll do it. you can only do harmless things if you want to participate."

you pull him to yourself to give him a kiss. he immediately surrenders, any teasing words he has in mind is gone with your lips on his.

you think he'll look really good wearing an apron.

[hazbinwhoree]

omg im INFATUATED with this guy!! is it possible to request for a fallen angel reader x Adam concept? i've had that in mind for sometime now,,,smut or not is up to your choice! i'm perfectly happy with anything!

Fallen Angel

(Name) had done the one thing that landed angels a ticket straight to Hell. She asked questions. “Don’t ask too many questions,” Adam had told her. She clearly hadn’t listened.

They were at her trial, and Adam felt sick to his stomach as Sera read the verdict.

“For treason, the punishment is The Fall.”

“I didn’t commit treason!” (Name) cried as two exorcists closed in on her. “Please, Sera!” Sera looked away, troubled. She hated her job sometimes.

An exorcist kicked her to the floor while Sera opened a portal that looked down upon Hell. (Name) cried and begged and Adam had to look away as her wings were brutally torn off. Her scream would haunt his nightmares.

He looked back just in time to make eye contact with (Name) before she was thrown into the portal. Adam was doubting the greatness of Heaven.

Angels weren’t supposed to interact with The Fallen, but Adam couldn’t stay away from (Name), even if she wasn’t in Heaven anymore. With his status, no one questioned his coming and going from Hell.

The first time, right after (Name) had fallen, Adam found her in a ditch made from the impact of her wingless body hitting the ground. She looked different. Horns replaced her halo, a sharp tail replaced her wings. Her skin was more ashen and less lively. Adam hated seeing her like that.

But he had to get used to it because that’s what she was now. She was a Fallen, a demon. But Adam loved her so much that he forgot all previous prejudice towards The Fallen and demons.

He visited her once a week to avoid suspicion from Sera. He watched her settle into her new life and even work her way into becoming an overlord. That took Adam aback. In Heaven, (Name) had always been adamantly opposed to one owning someone else’s soul. Now she owned twenty.

They were sitting in (Name)’s shitty apartment during one weekly visit, when (Name) suddenly blurted out, “Why don’t you touch me anymore?”

Adam was gagged. “What?”

“You don’t touch me anymore. You don’t hug me, you don’t hold me, you don’t fuck me. Is it because of what I am now?”

The question broke Adam’s heart. It was true, he hadn’t touched her since he held her right after her Fall. It wasn’t really intentional, it had been almost subconscious. But it had obviously been on her mind and bothering her for a while.

“Babe, it’s not like that–” “Then what’s it like?”

Adam sighed. “I have no issue touching you. Swear it.”

“So touch me.”

Adam stood from his seat on the couch and walked over to (Name). He got up in her personal space, standing toe to toe, and he towered over her. She opened her arms expectantly, and Adam gently pulled her into his.

(Name) let out a long, shaky breath, and Adam realized just how much she needed this. His hands gently brushed over the scars on her back, exposed with her outfit. (Name) sniffled. “Are you crying?” Adam asked. “You pussy.” (Name) laughed through her tears. “Shut up.”

Adam grinned. He hadn’t realized how much he missed this. But of course, he had to go and ruin the moment.

“So what was this about me not fucking you anymore?”

[frogchiro]

Omg ur centaur könig got me thinking about a waternymph! reader who takes care of a local waterfall which she had been born into by the soft ripples splashing on the shore of the small lake, small bundles of flowers and cloaking trees practically it shroud it from sight and any passing adventurers. You're alone, the lake can't hold more than a single one of you and you can't help but feel lonely..

SO YOU MAKE IT A POINT TO TAKE TO ANYONE AND EVERYTHING THAT SOMEHOW MANAGES TO WALK PAST OR FIND UR RESERVOIR

You chat up to a passing chimera called Farah, then another few harpies which had flown by looking for her, another pretty nymph, a few satyrs who tried to be cheeky and get you to come out of the water despite your flustered protests. It's that you couldn't, you just find it odd! You protest despite their little teasing tugs, hands wrapped around your bicep to pull you up where instead, you mischievously pull them down and get them doused and their flutes ruined. You even meet a hulky centaur who seems very sleep deprived, with many other nymphs toddling around him! You greet them with an excited smile and you all immediately become BESTIESSS you help them refill their water, and even let them bathe in your spring, you even manage to talk to the massive centaur who is actually quite polite and curious about you. By the time they leave, you're all basically bawling your eyes out and hugging and despite their insisting you join them, u just can't leave ur little spot like that:( they leave and u wave them goodbye with a chirp and a song. You somehow met the formidable minotaur who had managed to escape the labyrinth, scarred and dirty and helped him bathe and drink some water. He returns the favour by catching you a deer for a nice, hearty meal and some wine which had been left by the entrance of the labyrinth he'd left, forgotten offerings. He leaves after a month of recovery and it's just as teary. But it's alright! U don't mind..:(

Until all of a sudden, when you're just happily sunbathing on one of the tilted rocks in the middle of the small lake, napping on your side,, when you're practically jolted awake by arguing! Uh oh, everyone you've ever met is back and arguing on the lake side about who exactly means more to you(in a more comical way, not in a weird boyfriend girlfriend sort of thing?? Idk how to explainnn) like:

"Well, she combed our hair and gave us forehead kisses!" Arguged one of the many nymphs, pointing at the band of satyrs who looked like they were going to shank someone with their flutes. "So? She played in the water with us!" One of satyrs snaps, giving the girl a mean mug. "How stupid! She let me drink from her personal cup, fools!" The chimera yelled. "Yeah, same!" The harpies tried to butt in. "I stayed with her for a month." The minotaur adds as well, his voice rumbly. Alongside them are myriad of other creatures you didn't even know you had made such an impact on, it would make u cry lf happiness if not for the fact they're still arguing. They all are rather passionate about ur happiness, and they all want to be the cause of it:((

And all waternymph! Reader wants to do is just take a nap..but first priority in her mind! Hugs and reunions! Fuck your arguing! You want to hear about everyone's adventurers! So, with a cute smile, u get everyone to set up around the lake and that night is filled with a ton of fun festivities, drinking and a lot of wrestling among different species(for fun and competition, it's actually really funny to watch!)

SORRY FOR THE LONG SPAM BUT THIS HAS BEEN COOKING IN MY MIND FOR SO LONG<<33 I LOVE UR WRITING SO MUCH I JUSTTTTT MWAH MWAH UR AMAZING!!! MUCH LOVE XOXXOO

It's very much okay darling, I don't mind!! Thank you for all the love and I'm sorry for not responding earlier :((

I hope you guys enjoy the read and please send me more of your thoughts on nymph!Reader and CentaurKönig♡♡♡

[mack-devereaux]

Hiii i wanna ask if ya can write something with Vince? Maybe him getting into a fight (so hot i love it) and hin hurting his wrist are something? And reader taking care of him afterwards. Plleeaassee

Vince Dunn

Omg this is my first request!! I’m so sorry it took so long! Also check out my other fic about Vince. I think they have a similar vibe. But This has no relation to that one. I had so much fun writing this. Just a reminder this is a work of fiction and my imagination, this is not based on true events. Thank you to the anon who requested!

Picture is from Pinterest, no triggers except for cursing and mentions of blood. I think that’s it! Enjoy!

When Vince first moved to Seattle he was excited. This was a brand new team and he had more opportunities to make a name for himself as one of the more aggressive defensemen in the NHL. He had always had a temper on the ice, even in his early days in high school and in the OHL, and he was good at running his mouth. He was always respectful to the medical training staff and the coaching staff, he never took his anger or frustration out on the people who helped him get back on the ice.

Did he cause the fights on purpose? Maybe.

Was he mad about being hauled into the cute medical trainers office to get patched up? Absolutely not. He enjoyed talking with y/n and getting to know her a bit better.

Did he cause fights just to see her? No, he truly has a passion for the sport, he just sometimes got a little too involved with the banter sometimes. However a perk to all this was those few minutes alone with y/n. Although she never really spoke to him much outside of work and was always very quiet he knew how passionate she was about her job. No matter what she was always so attentive to the injury and informative about what she was doing to help said injured player.

Y/n loved the energy of the home games, she typically didn’t get to travel very much with the team, only to close games, but something about the atmosphere of home games had her just buzzing with energy. Most of the time she got to watch the game from the tunnels, it was the perfect spot to see most of the game and it was easy to drag injured players back to the locker room to tend to the injuries. Tonight’s game was a home game against the Colorado Avalanche again, a team known to get the Kraken a little riled up. Just the week prior Vince had gotten himself into quite the scrum and ended up with a cut on his nose while playing against the Avalanche.

*flashback to a week prior*

Y/n was sitting in the medical room at Ball Arena, going through the medical kits organizing some of the supplies. She had heard the roar of the crowd and immediately knew there was a fight that happened. Shortly after that, the third period had ended. Hearing the players stomping down the tunnel shouting and cheering she already knew who was headed her direction.

“Vince..” y/n sighed pulling all her medical supplies back out.

“Don’t act like you aren’t happy to see me” Vince chirped at the girl.

“You’re gonna have some serious damage to your nose if you don’t stop” y/n said as she was washing her hands and throwing her gloves on “I’m surprised you don’t have a permanent scar from how many times I’ve seen it busted”.

“That just means you are doing a great job babe. I’ve got you to thank for keeping me looking good” Vince smiles.

Y/n rolled her eyes and turned around trying to hide her blush. Knowing this was the exact reason as to why she fell for him. He was just so charming. He knew exactly what to say and that’s why she could never date him. That and the fact that she technically worked for the same organization as him. Were they coworkers? No, but surely it was still frowned upon. At least that’s what she told herself anyway. As she was cleaning off the blood from his nose she caught herself admiring him. He truly was one of the most beautiful people she’s ever laid eyes on. Once the bleeding stopped she checked for other injuries, and sent him to be with the rest of the team.

“Promise me you’ll keep out of trouble for at least the next week” she called to him as he walked away.

“For you? Never.” He added with a wink.

*present*

Five minutes left in the third period and y/n had gotten to watch maybe 10 minutes total of the game. Partially because she didn’t like seeing Vince fight much, and because the players definitely kept her busy. This was probably the most bloody noses and knuckles she had tended to in her entire career. Normally the crowd goes crazy and encourages fights, and she definitely enjoyed that. But for some reason she couldn’t stomach seeing Vince getting hurt. I guess she had Cupids arrow to thank for that. After a few more minutes gloves went flying, curse words were being yelled and the crowd went wild. Reluctantly she looked over in front of the players bench and Vince had thrown a Colorado player on his back.

“Oh for fucks sake Vince” she muttered under her breath.

“You got him or do you want me to take care of him this time” the head medical trainer asked y/n chuckling and shaking his head.

Y/n looked across the ice as Vince and the Avalanche player got tossed in their respective sin bins, she sees that Vince has his helmet off and is holding his wrist.

“I think he hurt his wrist, do you see him messing with it?” y/n points to Vince.

“I’ll take a look when we get back there but I’m sure he’s fine. I think you can handle it after that” the trainer says as they walk back to the locker room.

After the game y/n was in her office waiting for Vince, it had been nearly 40 minutes since the game ended. What was taking him so long? She knew Coach had told him to stop by after their after game meetings and interviews. While she was waiting she decided to tidy up and clean a bit. As she was cleaning her desk she found the puck that Vince had signed and gave to her earlier that year.

*flashback to late last season*

Y/n was standing behind the players bench. It was the last home game for the season, then they were headed into playoffs. Looking onto the ice she watched the players warm up and interact with fans. Vince was watching y/n as he was skating in circles, getting a boost of confidence he picked up a puck and signed it with a note. Smirking he passed by and shouted “hey y/n! Catch!”

Panicking y/n shot both of her hands in front of her face as the head medical trainer caught the puck before it smacked her in the face.

“Really Dunn?!” Y/n shouted.

Vince grinned and skated off, shaking her head she looked at the puck she noticed it said “hey pretty girl” with his signature. Blushing she shoved it in her pocket before she could get scolded.

“Oh he’s so got it bad for you” the trainer said.

“Leave the chirping to the players would you” y/n muttered “besides it’s not like I can date him anyway.”

“Technically…”

“Don’t tempt me” y/n sighed “my heart can’t handle the heartbreak that comes with that one.” She continued to watch him skate around and talk to his teammates with a huge smile on his face.

*back to present*

Y/n smiled at the memory. Not knowing she wasn’t alone, because of course Vince would walk in at that very moment. Leaning up against the doorframe Vince coughed snapping her back to reality.

“My God Vince, now you choose to be quiet? You scared me” y/n shoved the puck back into the drawer.

“I’ll make sure to knock next time” he softly smiled. He totally saw that she still had the puck and it definitely boosted his ego.

“Let me see your wrist” y/n said.

“It’s fine” he muttered.

“If it’s fine let me double check then” y/n challenged.

Vince walked over and sat down on the bench in her office, while reluctantly holding his wrist out. He watched her face as she examined his wrist.

“I think if we wrap it for tonight and tomorrow you should be fine, but the swelling needs to go down significantly before you play again. I’ll clear you for practice but you have to be easy on your arm for the next few days” y/n said as she was grabbing the necessary supplies.

“Thank you for taking care of me y/n, I’m sorry for fighting” Vince whispered.

She smiled at him as she sat down and started wrapping his wrist. Knowing full well that he was watching her face closely the entire time.

“I’ll walk you to your car” Vince said.

“I’d appreciate that, thank you” y/n said as she turned back to him after putting the supplies away. With yet another boost of confidence Vince grabbed her by the waist and pulled her face to his and kissed her, she immediately kissed him back. The kiss was short and sweet. Electricity shot through her body and she felt as if she was on fire. After pulling away y/n whispered “we should go.” Neither of them saying anything as they left the arena. Vince was feeling defeated for the first time in a long time, why hadn’t she said anything? Did he over step? Did he make her uncomfortable? A million more discouraging thoughts ran through his head. Him not knowing she was in shock and on cloud nine all at once. Y/n unlocked her car and opened the door. Before she got in she turned to Vince and pulled his face to hers and slammed her lips onto his. Vince cockily smiled into he kiss and pulled her into him as he slipped his tongue into her mouth. After a few minutes they both pulled away, breathing heavy and trying to get as close as possible to each other.

“Thank you for walking me to my car Vince.”

“Let me know when you get home so I know you’re safe.”

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[liliannadelaphinehartifelt]

Hi there,

Saw your post about Cajun/cowboy Alastor and OMG! I don’t have many ideas other then maybe he plays poker for souls or something like that and maybe a reader comes into town and is just as good at poker as he is. And he cannot seem to win, leading him to become mildly obsessed over winning their soul.

Thats all I have as I don’t know much about cajun/cowboy stuff.

I’ll let you know if I have any other ideas!

Thank you!

Alastor - [ ACE OF HEARTS ]

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A/N: Omg, I love your take on cowboy Al! It got me thinking about it for days. I have never played poker, so I had to watch multiple YouTube videos to understand the game while writing this. Hopefully, it came out accurate enough! Also, this is a very, VERY traumatic/smut-heavy fic I'm working on, so please be aware and know I don't endorse anything I write.

WARNINGS: [ NSFW ] + [ MDNI ] + [ MATURE THEMES ] + [ FEM READER ] + [ GUN PLAY… ] + [ SLIGHT DUB CON….eventually.] + [ SLIGHT/IMPLIED AGE GAP ] + [ MENTIONS OF GORE/BLOOD/CANNABILISM ] + [ KIDNAPPING…sort of?.. ] + [ PARENTAL PHYSICAL AB*SE…eventually..] + [ ANGST/TRUAMA…]

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**Cowboy Alastor** is known for his record of killing, is a skilled bounty hunter, and is far from a decently moral one. Everyone assumes his motives, guessing who his next target is and if he’ll ever feel guilt for what he does to them.

He doesn't.

What kind of demon would he be if he did…

Besides, the people he kills owe him in one way or another, all in debt to the red demon by their stupidity and lust for life, so he feels nothing for them when the time comes for the price of their deals to be paid.

Alastor arrives for them in the dead of dry nights, taking their last breath with a single bullet to the head or a clean cut across the throat. Their pleas do little to affect his decision.

“A deal is a deal…”

He reminds them that escaping a bloody end is impossible, already solidified by their selfish desires, and no amount of begging will change his mind. They curse his name, glaring at the grin on his face as he draws nearer with deathly intent in his eyes, and it only grows as he derives pleasure from their refusal to cooperate.

The riches, the riding, and the roughness he endures daily are nothing compared to the satisfaction he gets from killing. Others may deal in chasing oil, farming land, and cattle, but he stakes his fulfillment in the business of blood.

**Cowboy Alastor** dabbles in gambling when he's not off-striking deals with lowly souls or wreaking havoc on those he deems deserving.

Every city south of New Orleans with a bar or saloon welcomes his visits and not by choice.

Those who don't meet his standards or demands of hospitality drop from the face of the earth at his will, burning to a crisp full of the dead occupants who so lightly offended him, and never to be rebuilt out of fear he'd return to demolish it again.

He surely would, but no one has yet to test the theory in fear of a painful death by his hands.

Alastor leisurely travels the expanse of Louisiana's countryside, partial to riding wherever the wind blows, but he’ll always return to the rumbling city of New Orleans.

Whether for personal reasons or because his beloved mother wished to see him, it becomes second nature for the deer demon to reside there randomly. It was his hometown, after all, and he preferred the taste of whiskey from a familiar place over foreign alcohol in far-off dusty taverns he'd never visit again.

The saloon he fancies sits opposite the central townhouse, a tall building at the end of a main street that never seemed to rest.

Lafitte’s Blacksmith Bar

Summer nights brought out and drew in more people, filling the bar with patrons who knew of his deeds and those who’d only heard scarring stories about him through the ladder. The knowledge of a red reaper roaming the towns of Louisiana varied, but their fearful respect of him was abundant the moment Alastor stepped foot into the bustling bar.

He was there, in good spirits for the most part, but still an impossible threat they couldn't brush off.

**Cowboy Alastor** greets the silent patrons with a sly grin, tipping his hat to the fear-stricken owner who eyed him from behind the packed bar.

“Don't let me interrupt the fun, Cher. I'm not here to cause you trouble… that's if you're kind enough to indulge me.”Alastor chuckles, not waiting for a proper response from anyone as he stalks over to his usual spot in the smokey parlor.

A group of cattlemen stiffen in their seats as he walks by, all grabbing their drinks as swiftly as possible before leaping up from their table to avoid him, and their skittish actions cause Alastor to laugh as he settles into a particular backroom booth.

It was customary for people to keep their distance from him, some deterred by his striking appearance while others simply didn't want to risk involvement with a known killer. He saw nothing wrong with their aversion, glad that his reputation proceeded him, but there were those single few who saw him as a challenge rather than a threat.

Poor fools…

Mortal or not, he ran into them regularly, welcoming their duels like a bored child getting a new toy to destroy, and though he knew they'd fail to win against him, he'd never turn down a good game.

Ever…

**Cowboy Alastor** lets the saloon wind into chaos again, humming along to the melody of music and rowdy singing while getting comfortable in his secluded spot.

His hat rests low on his head, shielding most of his red gaze from those who look his way, only leaving the view of his Cheshire smile and effectively signaling his oddly calm demeanor. Alastor slipped his riding jacket off, tossing the tailored burgundy clothing across the back of the booth, his leather and suede black gloves following suit.

“What a day it's been…” he mumbled while flexing his long fingers, relaxing his posture while leaning back and rolling his neck until a soft ‘pop’ was heard.

Consequently, the tension tangled in his limber body from riding all day unraveled. Alastor sucked his teeth at the feeling, licking his lips as a satisfied groan left them, and just as he sat forward again, the owner hurried to his table with a bottle of alcohol and a tray of cigars.

“Your usual, Al,” he split out, setting the items in front of him with shakey hands, and Alastor clicks his tongue at the nervous tick. He'd come to this bar for years, and the old man still trembled in his boots around him. The poor fool wouldn't dare admit his fear either, rushing off as soon as he reached for the bottle, and though some might consider his retreat rude, Alastor found it amusing.

Flattering, even.

**Cowboy Alastor** drinks slowly, letting the whiskey burn his tongue and drowning the malt taste with languid drags from a cigar.

Eyes scan over him, women whisper about him lustfully under the rowdy music, and the men keep their senses about them with happy trigger fingers.

Because as they say: “Red Reaper, Red Reaper. The devil's solemn deal keeper. Beware him & the hell he seeks…”

Alastor imposes his intensity, grinning at those who stare too long, watching the women who drink him in with an equally sultry stare, and daring the men to throw a bullet his way with a knowing smirk. He invites trouble, waiting for it like a preying snake in tall, dry grass, but after some time, he assumes no one in the saloon will accept his invitation.

That is until you step in, looking lost among the worldly thrills of a bar but unafraid to venture further into it with an air of certainty surrounding you.

**Cowboy Alastor** makes no move to approach you, laid back as ever, as he observes the gentle way you speak to men who drunkenly approach you. They make offers to dance, almost crowding your more diminutive form as you trail to the bar.

“Sorry, boys, but I'm here on business, not pleasure. Now, run along..” you wave them away playfully, purposely flirtatious but avidly stern.

He expects them to continue bugging you; you're a doll, after all, prettier than most women he's seen. However, the men retreat politely, leaving you be as the owner approaches your side, and you immediately turn to hug him despite his apparent concerned expression.

Alastor observes the exchange closely, reading your lips perfectly while sipping at his drink, and it's all too easy for him to assess the situation.

The daughter of a businessman returns home after finishing school in the north, wanting to visit him at work as a pleasant surprise, but he's far from happy about a young lady like yourself being out late at night in a place like this.

You're too mannered to be seen around the patrons, it's dangerous for you to ride alone in the evening, and your father isn't pleased you intend to stay out to celebrate your school completion.

He tells you it's best to go home, that he'll come with you, but you insist on staying and remind him, “I'm not your little girl anymore, Daddy!..” The older man can't seem to rein you in, having to drop the lecture as a small brawl breaks out in the corner of the saloon, which draws his attention immediately, and this leaves you to wander the scene freely.

A perfect time for Alastor to reel you in close and personal…

**Cowboy Alastor** whistles when you walk past his area, catching your attention with a short, soulful melody, and you quickly notice him in the dim back room.

“Hi there, lil’ lady. Searchin' for somethin'?” He inquires playfully, tone bordering sensual, and his grin slipping into a closed smile as your gaze settles on him.

You’re curious, not scared of him like most are, and the moment he speaks to you, questions race through your head.

Who is he?

How have you never seen him here before?

Why, in God's name, is he sitting away from the masses?

Is he a rider, a hunter, or maybe a convict?

It was hard to tell from a distance, so without a second thought, you flashed him a gentle smile, gradually approaching where he sat, “Hello, and who might you be, sir?” You chirp a greeting, resisting the urge to bite your lip as he stares into your wandering gaze.

Alastor assumed you’d been away from the South too long to realize who he was, that your father's earlier warning didn’t sprout from overprotectiveness but rather fear of his presence.

You didn’t see him as a threat, nor a danger, but a new face in an old town.

He chuckles, putting out his cigar after taking a particularly long drag from it, blowing smoke past his lips with a coy hum. You blink as the convoluted air fans your face, unbothered by it and itching for a taste of tobacco yourself. It’d been a few years since you’d let loose, not allowed to frequent bars or act unladylike in the limelight of northern modesty.

“A loyal patron, but it’s been some time since I’ve paid this place a visit.” He answers you politely, an odd trait that most men only reserved for themselves but refreshing to experience.

“Oh, well, that’s nice to hear, but your name is what I would like to know.”

A tender smirk stretches your lips, a red hue dusting your cheeks as he tips his hate apologetically before uttering a response, “Alastor Hartifelt. A pleasure to meet you, Miss…” he pauses, quirking a brow at you expectantly, and you take a moment to analyze him further.

You've heard your father utter his name many times before your departure to the north. He'd described him brutally, having less than pleasant things to say about bounty hunters in general but especially about the man in front of you now. You'd heard people talk of his deeds, deals, and evil.

He was dubbed the ‘Red Reaper’ for a good reason, lurking around in the bitter nights and drawing blood from one poor soul or another in his travels.

Supposedly, he was a terrifying monster, but you'd always found beauty in the demented. It was one of the reasons your father had sent you away, but fortunately, the influence of the posh upper class did nothing to change your consciousness.

Besides, the rumors had failed to mention how attractive the red reaper was, let alone dashing. He seemed nice enough hadn't flashed his weapon, threatened, or catcalled you disrespectfully.

So, you found no harm in telling him your name, “Y/n L/n. It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Hartifelt.” You blink slowly, drowning in his red eyes, unconsciously swaying where you stood, back to a wall that hid your presence near him from your father's eyes and the curious stares of others.

Alastor glanced at the space beside him, silently asking that you join him, but unlike most women, he rarely took an interest in, you didn't move until he asked you outright.

“Would you care to join me for a drink, Miss L/n? I'd like to have your company for a while..”

He doesn't speak any louder than needed, using every bit of charm he has to lure you in, and you let him believe he's succeeded with a sensual laugh and purring laugh.

“Why, I thought you'd never ask..”

**Cowboy Alastor** asks a lot of questions. Subtly gathering information about you that he has no use for.

You give him answers; some are lies, others are indiscriminate truths, but you can't bring yourself to be completely honest with a stranger known for his cunning. He keeps your glass full, pacing the liquor with you, reveling in your gentle laughter after every sip, and softening faster and faster the longer you conversed.

You kept your wits about you as best as possible, inviting his fleeting touches but never going further than whispering in his ear or tapping a finger under his sharp chin when he'd stare too long.

Alastor didn't mind your soft hands on him, nor your lingering gaze and confident provocations. He absentmindedly returned the gestures just as boldly.

Your fifth glass of whiskey was running low, and without a hint of hesitation, he refilled it alongside his own. You watched as the amber liquid filled each glass, utterly relaxed as he spoke to you tenderly, “You say your father sent you far up north. May I ask why?…”

He peers at you, sliding the transparent glass into your waiting hand, and you chuckle wryly while taking a sip. “Daddy says it was for my good. You see, my mother is a stickler about manners, and I didn't have much of any growing up. Ironic, seeing as I was raised well enough.” you paused, frowning at the memory of your strict but loving mother.

She was lovely to look at and kind most of the time, but her ambitions for you outweighed her patience. Alastor noted the haunting sadness in your eyes but said nothing as you continued, looking out into the crowd of patrons fussing about as you did.

“My mother died a few years back, leaving daddy to handle me, and when he realized he couldn't manage the business and a daughter, he sent me away. Couldn't blame him either; I was getting into trouble left and right and had some bad habits on the rise, too.”

His ears perked at the words ‘bad habits’ leaving your lips, naturally drawn to knowing a mortal's darkest secrets, so he pressed for clarification.

“Bad habits, you say? I couldn't imagine a sweet thing like you havin’ such things.”

You scoffed, glad your cheeks were flushed from the alcohol buzz to mask the blush his comment invoked, “Well…I did. Still do if I'm honest.” you admit in a hushed tone, knocking back the last of your drink before glancing his way.

“It's hard to resist doing things you're good at.”

Alastor leaned back into the seat, drink in one hand, the other fixing his hat so it sat back on his head. The adjustment gave you a peek at his fluffy red hair and the distinctive blood-marked x on his forehead. You thought to ask what the mark meant but saved the question for later, as he agreed with your statement.

“Very true, ma chere. Although I'm one for killin’, your passion may not be so grizzly and easier to alleviate.”

“My father thinks gambling is just as bad as killing. It doesn't matter if he's addicted to it himself or not. If I do it…I'm the devil's daughter in his eyes..” You roll your eyes, an action that jolts a nerve Alastor hasn't felt in years and subconsciously doesn't ignore.

“Gambling? That's your unproper poison?” he narrows his gaze as you nod lazily, a few ringlets of your hair falling from its pinned-up style as you do, resting on the skin of your shoulders and neck.

Soft.

Your locks look soft and silky to the touch, tempting him to run his fingers through it, across your skin, and, god forbid, under your dress.

A heavy breath settled in his chest at the possibility, a familiar rush coursing through him as you moved your lips to speak, “Yes. I see a stack of playin’ cards, and I just can't help myself. I got rather good at playing too but when you beat everyone in town at it people start to be less kind about your reputation.”

You laugh, attempting to make a light-hearted joke but ultimately grimacing at the mention of lousy sportsmanship from others. You couldn't help winning a challenge in poker, and many saw the talent as disgraceful, which prompted I'll rumor about you.

“That's a shame, sugar. Everyone deserves a chance to play a good game of their choosing.” he feigns concern, meeting your curious eyes as you shift to face him, “Everyone except me if my father has anything to say about it. Still, I suppose it's best I let it go…” you sigh, grabbing the bottle of whiskey to pour another shot.

Suddenly, you freeze, feeling his body heat invade your space. Alastor tilts his head down close to yours, breathing in your scent discretely before pressing his lips to the lobe of your ear as he mutters into it, “Why don't you play a game with me, chere? One lil’ round for fun… right under your daddy's nose, hm?”

The burn of excitement seizes your body, a shakey breath leaving your lips as his voice settles in your mind, inviting you to indulge his offer. That same heat pooled in your core with every second he spent in your space, inhaling the scent of bourbon and sweet sugar cane grass he rode through radiating off him, words just as inviting and addictive.

For a horrifying, well-feared killer, he sure did entice a woman like any natural-born gentleman…

It was a deathly combination you knew he often used, killing or not, and though it'd be wise to avoid his idea, you didn't want to risk missing an opportunity for the thrill.

It'd been so long, too long, and what's the worst that could happen?

Losing to him?

You'd never lost to anyone before, and you were confident that fact wouldn't change -even going up against the Red Reaper himself.

**Cowboy Alastor** relishes when you utter a ‘yes’ to his offer. His grin widens menacingly for a split second as he sets his glass down next to your empty one, conjuring up a meticulously detailed deck of playing cards and placing them on the table.

“You can choose which game we play, sugar…”

Alastor shifts away from you, letting you regain your composure and watching as your delicate fingers reach for the top card of the deck.

“Poker. A favorite of mine..” You didn't think twice before answering him, admiring the red and black ace in your hand, wondering where he acquired such personalized playing cards.

“Poker it is then, chere,” he smirks wickedly, removing his hat entirely to set it on the table before gingerly plucking the card from your hold and sliding to sit opposite you while dishing out equal amounts of cards between you.

Your eyes light up under the oil lamp's golden hue, studying the flick of his hands as he worked, trying hard not to wander up to his piercing gaze. Afraid he'd immediately see your attraction to his nimble hands, well to him in general, and use it against you somehow, so your focus remains on the hand dealt and not him.

As you both plucked your respective set from the table, studying the cards intently, you asked the singular most crucial question every poker match was built on.

“What will the bets be,” Your innocent inquiry earns sultry laughter from him, filling the air, raising feverish chills on your skin as he stares at you through half-lidded eyes.

“I prefer bargains of the soul, my dear. The use and price of one's existence is always more valuable than money, don't you agree?”

xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxxx xxxxx xxx

A/N: Don't be mad AT ME, GUYS, PLEASE. I HAD EXAMS LAST WEEK. I'm SORRY FOR DROPPING OFF THE FACE OF THE EARTH… sort of, but I'm back now (please do hate me :((( ). Uh, so I might merge “Down in the Dust” with this because both stories kinda originated in my brain at the same time. However, since this is a request, I wrote a two-part tangent smut as a sort of prequel to the other fic! Also, the phrase “Save a horse. Ride a cowboy” will be unironically used…I'm sorry (I'm not lol) ❤️

[ BONUS CONTENT + ] VOLUME WARNING!!! 🗣️

Fun fact: In the South, we have a rule that if you take a cowboy hat and end up wearing it, they catch you with it (preferably in the mutual interest of getting to know each other). That cowboy gets to fuck you (hopefully, but technically you're initiating a flirting game wearing their hat, lol). It's a cute concept and one any Cowboy Alastor enthusiast should think about. ❤️ credits to the creator.

[lexikamics]

Luka Character Analysis

While all the characters in alien stage deal with some theme of control given the fact that they are literally pets I wanna explore how Luka deals with this theme specifically.

This is all my opinion and I would love to hear if u disagree or have anything to add cause I loveeee talking about this stuff. I’m probably just restating a bunch of stuff other ppl have said but I think I got some new stuff here… hopefully.

Main points

1) he’s a designer baby

2) his branding location

3) his heart

4) his age

5) his training

6) how this control leads to him manipulating others

7) other things

Luka is THE designer baby

Luka’s biology is not even something he can control. Even his genetics were designed by aliens showing how not even his nature and bodily functions is not something he has autonomy over.

Luka has surgery scars possibly from treatments done to benefit the aliens.

(From Luka’s bday post) Luka looks towards possible attempts to create him or recreate him IN HIS BIRTHDAY POST. This image always has an affect on me omg..

“Luka was born this way because I created him” (the guardian interview thing)

Luka’s Branding

All of the other main characters in alien stage have their brand either on their arms, neck, or shoulder area. This is why it’s odd that Luka’s branding is on his hip. This could mean a lot of things and probably does but my ongoing analysis is this. Brands are meant to be seen, they exist so people can look at them. Lukas is the only one with a brand in a place that stays hidden.

To me this is because the aliens like Luka because he appears to want to participate in Alien stage. He appears to enjoy being on stage and barely even wears a collar. In the same vain his brand is hidden as Heperu, his alien, doesn’t want other aliens to see Luka’s reluctance. He places his brand in a place inconspicuous so that the aliens can pretend Luka has control over himself. This is aided by the extent of Heperu’s control as it is so ingrained in Luka that even if it isn’t acknowledged Luka has no other choice but to obey. The fact that Luka can appear so willing is proof of just how much agency he lacks.

Another advantage of his branding placement is that while it remains hidden to other people it is obvious to Luka. It is very easy to see something on your hip when compared to you neck. The brand is to remind Luka he is under control while not reminding anyone else.

(Guys I couldn’t find the bigger version) when getting branded Luka lifts up his shirt while others seem unconscious or constrained. Showing just how deeply Luka is controlled that he willingly helps getting branded in order to give himself the illusion of a choice.

His Heart

Luka has immense control of his heartrate like his first song is literally called “ruler of my heart”. (For this section I assume the amount of purple on his finger correlates with the pumping of his heart.)

Luka was trained since birth to control his heart rate and fear. This reflects how even his most basic and unconscious actions are manipulated in order to benefit Heperu. It shows how collar or not he is under Heperu’s control.

An aspect of this can be seen in the flashbacks from All In when after the incident with Hyun Woo his finger tips turn purple. Whether Luka is surprised by this because it shows he was able to change his own heart-rate for the first time or because his heart-rate changed without him allowing it is ambiguous. Regardless it shows how even during important emotional situations Luka is always striving for more control over his heart just as Heperu had intended.

(Both images from the interview w Luka)

His Age

Luka is 30 years old. All the other competitors are in their early twenties, a time in your life when you are still not completely independent. Many people their age are in higher education and may still live with their parents. While other competitors should definitely have much more independence then they do they still are children in a way. Overall compared to the other contestants Luka is supposed to be in a stage of his life with much more autonomy. This further reflects his lack of control as he is at an age when he should be in control of himself and still has less freedom than a toddler.

Training

Growing up Luka has been under much more training than most. Heperu often trained him or outreached doctors and specialists to help make him into Heperu’s image. Heperu himself even notes it more extreme than what most aliens do showing how even compared to other humans Luka has very little agency as most other aliens simply enroll their humans into Anakt Garden.

(guardian interview)

(Interview with Luka)

Luka’s diet being monitored also shows how Heperu controls all aspects of Luka and how this harms Luka.

How this leads to Luka being manipulative.

This affects the way he interacts with the stage. I’ve seen many people say he manipulates his fellow competitors to survive and while I think this is in part the reason, given how his popularity already protects him I don’t think it’s the main one.

Luka controls his heart rate not only because he was so thoroughly taught to but because he wants to himself. Being able to have complete control over his body and actions brings him comfort as he has usually has none. His heart rate is something that only he can change which leads him to control it heavily and this pattern continues outside of his heart as well.

On the stage Luka does the same thing. He manipulates the performance and his performance mate for the sake of simply being able to. It’s clear his owner has no control over his performance. He seems shocked when Luka is beat up by Mizi while Luka clearly had pushed her to do so. The stage is the only place Luka is given autonomy and as such he wants control to the fullest extent pushing him to control every aspect of the stage, including others.

This is seen when Luka frowns as soon as Till notices Mizi as suddenly the round is out of Luka’s control.

In a way it’s a self fulfilling prophecy as his whole life Luka has been controlled to benefit Heperu and now the only way he can achieve any sort of control is by doing exactly what heperu wants. To gain control of his heart he has to give into his training. To gain control of the stage he has to win. Even the control Luka does have has little power. He can do what he wants but it changes none of the effects.

(Lukas interview) shows Luka is less focused on survival on stage and instead performance and control.

The whole comic where Hyuna describes singing as the one place she has control over herself to Luka describes this rlly well. Especially as when she does this the text is placed over Luka singing showing how he himself uses singing as his only pathway to freedom. This is even further explored in the last panel where Luka says that Hyuna is his. While interpreted as something sweet by Hyuna it definitely could have darker undertones when considering Luka’s tendencies to control anyone he can, or even foreshadow what happened to Hyun Woo.

Other stuff

Theory:

Now we’re getting into theory territory. The resistance has attempted twice to rescue someone. Both happen to be on Luka’s matches. Luka specifically led to Mizi’s ability to be rescued, directly pushing her to fight him which led to Hyuna having the chance to take her. It is possible Luka could be working with Hyuna.

With this theory you could also explain the moment where Luka gets upset when Till notices Mizi. If Luka is aware of Hyuna’s plan and Mizi being in the crowd ruined it, then it would be reasonable that he would accidentally break his mask by showing his distress at this.

This is definitely a reach of some sort but I think the concept could still be interesting as it implies Luka could’ve escaped with Hyuna but instead chose to stay to help others escape, or due to brainwashing. Possibly leading to Hyuna’s complicated feelings towards Luka. Overall though Hyuna and Luka’s relationship needs to explored a lot more before any of this could be close to true.

Character profile

Luka is the only character whose profile shows neither his likes nor dislikes, this could represent how due to the extreme control Heperu has over him he has been unable to form his own identity or express any of his opinions.

The end

Anyway that’s my rambling. Definitely missed some stuff but hoped you liked it. Thank you for reading this. All this is my opinion and I would love to hear critiques and other opinions please anything if it means more content.

[dokoni-mo]

Crave: Part Three || William Afton x GN! Reader

summary: Your first time with him.

NSFW // smut

word count: 8,088

warnings: age gap relationship (reader is 20 while William is pushing 40), allusions to mental illness, allusions to dysfunctional parent-child relationships, talks of divorce and custody battles, smoking, will is a bit delusional, will has scars, corruption kink, usage of pet names, Will is a bit of a creep, obsessive behavior like REALLY obsessive, and possessive, sensual touching, swearing, Michael is briefly in this too, kissing, brief and faint sir kink, breeding kink, aftercare, also yandere vibes for a very little tiny bit, praise, body worship, fingering, virginity loss, premature ejaculation, dom/sub undertones, general smut lol

minors dni // please read warnings!!

a/n: omg omg my first fic back!! I had to polish off the rust (esp with writing smut) but i got so many requests for part three of this I just had to!! anyways I hope yall enjoy!! Ive tagged a few people whom I thought would like to read this, but if you'd like me to not tag you pls let me know! enjoy! (also just a little disclaimer, i do NOT condone this type of relationship irl!! this is just my take on being with Willy)

part one // part two // part four

~~

William could remember the first time he ever laid eyes on you. He remembered it as plain as day and recounted it often.

In fact, it was probably one of the most solidified memories in his mind. Even more so than the birth of his children, or even the day he married his ex-wife. He could recall every single little detail; what clothes you and him wore, what you smelled like that day, how you styled your hair. Every last little bit, he remembered. The first meeting is always important, yes. But this one was much more important to William. In a way in which he doubted anyone but you would understand.

For it was the first time in nearly all his life that William wasn't faking.

From very early on, William knew he wasn't normal. Or, at the very least, what everyone else deemed as normal. Even as a boy, William was hard to excite, or even get some sort of reaction out of. Toys, games, new friends, holidays; none of it was ever appealing to him. He found it all boring. It caused his mother great worry too. William could see the way she looked at him. Even as a boy, he knew what that look meant.

Perhaps that's why he began to lash out in his early years. That's why he was labeled a "problem child".

William had thought that if conventional means of joy and excitement couldn't elicit a response out of him, perhaps other means would. Lying, cheating, getting into trouble. It had some effect, he had to admit. The thrill of it all. He had gotten pretty good at not being caught, too. But, of course he would slip up some times. That's when the trouble arose. William was emotive, at last, sure. But no one liked it. At least, no one liked how it came about. His mother often scolded him. Teachers too. And, if William had a father that gave two shits, he was sure he would've received punishment from the man as well.

It was confusing. Terribly, terribly confusing. Couldn't he finally be happy doing what he loved? That's all his mother wanted, wasn't it? What everyone else wanted, too? For William to find himself, and be emotive?

Then why were they mad at him. Every. Single. Time.

It was frustrating. And, the more frustrated William grew, the more he acted out.

It was a balancing match made in hell. And William grew tired of it all. William accepted that in order for him to have peace, he must comply. Mr. Afton would have to wear a mask of his own face, and be what everyone wanted him to be.

Charming. Handsome. Intelligent. Charismatic. Great husband. Better father. Businessman. Inventor. Successful. Approachable.

William played these charades for nearly 40 years now. Enough to where the lines on his face grew deeper, and the roots of his hair turned grey. He played it through the unpleasant surprise that was his eldest, Michael. Then again at his wedding to that bitch Clara. Again though Elizabeth and Evan's births. Then continued after the divorce. And on through the custody battle. And on and on all the way to now.

Every. Single. Day. For 40 years.

William was tired of it but found no avenue to stop. If he dropped the act now, he couldn't even imagine the headache that would be the fallout of it all.

He had to keep it up. He had to. This was the life he made for himself. He made his bed long ago, and now he had to sleep in it. William was in a prison of his own making. That no one even knew was constructed. He hated that he got Michael out of all of his kids. He hated his business. He hated his neighbors. He hated his friends that weren't Henry. He hated his fancy house, expensive car, and clothes.

This life was his fate, and how unfortunate he was.

Or so he thought.

He didn't want to pay for Michael's college. William would never admit it out loud, but he thought that boy trying to make something of himself other than a minimum-wage employee was a joke. That's why he forced Michael to pay his own way. In reality, he told Michael it was to "make him more of a man", but William knew his son saw right through it. Michael could be smart, sometimes.

Sometimes.

Because Michael was, in fact, a minimum-wage employee at his father's diner, the young man couldn't afford much else than the local community college. Not that that was a bad thing to the young man; Michael didn't care that much. William wouldn't have cared either way, but Michael's compliance made things easier. And, being around other people his age, Michael was out of the house more often. This meant less fights that William would have to deal with weekly. It was a win-win all around.

And, when Michael was home, he would often be accompanied by one or two of his friends. William didn't mind, as long as his house was kept tidy, and no one made too much noise. Any distraction that would take his idiot of a son away from him was welcome.

If William was around when Michael showed up with a friend, William was polite enough to them. A smile and a how are you, perhaps even a question or two. Just small talk, enough to keep up his façade of good dad, better person.

That was until, years into his university, Michael brought you over.

William was in his house that day, doing paperwork at the kitchen table with a cigarette pluming smoke in the ashtray nearby. The Diner was closed whilst the state was doing their bi-annual health inspection. While Mr. Afton preferred to keep himself occupied to his workshop in the basement, he thought that perhaps a change of scenery could do him some good. Smoking in the basement made it stuffy down there, anyway.

He would later be so, so grateful for this decision.

From the opposite end of the house, William heard Michael's keys in the door, twisting the lock to let the young man in. Listening a second longer, William could discern two sets of feet walking along the wooden lining of his foyer, along with two hushed whispers bantering amongst themselves.

Mr. Afton breathed a quiet sigh through his nose.

Great. Michael was home. And dragged some other runt along the way.

William knew that in order to reach Michael's room, his son and his friend would have to go upstairs. And, much to William's dismay, the entrance to the stairs was positioned in such a way that his son and his friend would have to go through the kitchen.

Great.

Hearing the footsteps grow closer and the whispers louder, Mr. Afton leaned back in his chair, tamping out his cigarette in the process. Grey eyes situated on the paperwork in front of him, William put on his well-rehearsed soft, friendly smile, waiting for his son to show himself.

Michael was the first to round the corner, the care-free smile slowly fading off the young man's face as he saw his father sitting in the kitchen. Sensing Michael's presence in the doorway, William looked up from his work and to his son, his fake smile growing to make up for the disgust he felt.

"Dad..." Michael groaned, "What are you doing here? I thought you had work today..."

William chuckled, "Michael, I told you this morning. Inspection, remember?"

Michael rolled his eyes and sighed, looking around the corner of the door and saying a few more hushed words. Whoever his son's friend was, they must be shy. William couldn't blame them too much. Mr. Afton was probably the most popular guy in town these days, with the amount of business the Diner had brought in.

Michael turned his attention back to his father, "I have a friend over. Is that alright? Or are you gonna throw another fit?"

William clenched his jaw, "Of course, of course, it's no trouble at all! Just keep it quiet upstairs, yeah?"

Rolling his eyes again, Michael said a few more words around the corner before making his way to the stairs. William had dropped his gaze for a moment to fill in a few of his signatures. When he sensed that his son's friend had finally shown themselves around the corner, William looked up to give them a friendly smile.

Oh, and there you were.

Adorable, precious, beautiful, darling you.

The world around him seemed to fade away when William laid his pale grey eyes on you for the first time. Instantly, he knew you were the single most breathtaking creature he had ever had the pleasure of meeting. You put his ex-wife to shame ten times over. A hundred times, even. All of his past flings as well. They were nothing compared to you.

You were a timid little thing. William could tell by the pink on your cheeks and your hands clasped in front of you. You had a small, soft little smile; your lips so perfectly round and plump. The way your hair had framed your face made you look as if you were hung in the Louvre itself. Your eyes were kind, looking at the older man with a warmth William didn't know possible. Genuine warmth, too.

The way you looked at him. The way you carried yourself. The way you smelled, even halfway across the room. The way you smiled. The way those clothes hugged you in all the right places. The way your body curved and bent...

William swallowed the saliva building up the back of his throat. Without noticing, his lips had begun to part, but he was quick to fix it with a smile.

You gave Mr. Afton a tiny little wave as you shuffled awkwardly towards the stairs behind his son, your voice barely above a peep.

"Hi, Mr. Afton." You had said, "Sorry to interrupt you..."

Shit. Your little voice saying his name like that. It matched you so well.

William's smile grew as he leaned forward in his chair, setting his paperwork to the side.

"Oh, it's no trouble at all, love." He said in his thickly accented voice, "At least you're getting that one out of my hair for a while, yeah?"

William almost never made jokes at the expense of others. At least, not around everyone else. He kept his true feelings in his mind most of the time. He knew most folk wouldn't react too kindly to what he really thought of them. But you...

You didn't seem the type to need such filters. He could see it already. You were the type of person to tell it how it is, and not apologize for it. Just like how he wanted to be.

How interesting.

You let out a little giggle, covering your mouth with your hand. William could feel his jaw clench again. Why were you hiding yourself from him? He wanted to see your smile. Your laugh was so cute, surely your smile is too.

William felt himself still. William wanted to see it. Your smile. That was the first time he had ever wanted someone's smile. And the fact you laughed at his joke about his son...

"Yeah, well, it's not like I wanted to, but someone's gotta do it!" You responded with sarcasm, Michael's groan making you giggle to yourself again.

Without even having to force it, William felt a laugh bubble up from the bottom of his chest. He heard it reverberate off the walls of his shiny, sleek kitchen, and it surprised him greatly. Mr. Afton couldn't remember the last time he didn't have to force a laugh. Let alone a smile. All attempts from others just made him cringe on the inside.

Idiots.

Michael had dragged you up the stairs after your little joke, annoyed by the banter between you and his father. William's eyes were fixated on you as you disappeared from sight, watching as your cute little legs carried you up his staircase.

From your height compared to his kitchen counter, William could deduce that you were much shorter than him. If he had to guess, you'd probably only about come up to his shoulder. From the lingering smell in the air too, he could tell that you took good care of yourself. You were clean. Fresh. Supple. And, from the tiny bit of your personality he saw that afternoon, William already knew he liked you. In fact, it was from that moment on that William would think of you.

He encouraged Michael to bring over more friends in hopes that you'd come back. If you weren't in his house, William found himself wondering where you were. What you were up to. What your routine was. What he assumed to be an infatuation quickly grew. He begun to think of you more frequently. When sitting down for a meal, he would wonder if you would like what he had made. William wondered what such a cute little thing like you was doing in this nowhere town. Did you have dreams away from here? Is this were you wanted to be? He had never seen you in his diner before, he was sure of it. He would've surely remembered such a pretty little thing. Although, his diner was the talk of the town. For both adults like yourself and for children. So where were you?

You became illusive to him. You were full of mystery, and he had to know more. It would never be enough. He wanted more. William began drilling Michael about who you were. This was met by some animosity by the young man, but William didn't fucking care. Eventually, when Michael became obsolete of information, William took to other means. He would eavesdrop around the diner on the security cameras, hoping one of the other college kids in there would utter your name. It was slim pickings, but the thrill of it is what got to William.

Every single little thing he learned about you was priceless to him. He committed it all to memory, as if you would vanish if he had not. You were a plague to him. It was your name he thought of first thing in the morning, and it was the last thing he moaned quietly into the night. His fantasies grew dirtier by the day. He had imagined you in oh so many different scenarios. Different positions. Places. Outfits.

Everything about you was perfect to William. From the very top of your head to the very bottom of your feet. You were his soulmate. He just knew it. Every single little thing about you had been crafted just for him. Everything you did, said, perfection. He could be so, so good for you, just as you'd be so good for him. He made more than enough money to spoil you rotten. His house was big enough for you to move in. Not that you'd need the extra space. Of course you'd be sharing a bed with him. He wouldn't have it any other way.

Couldn't you see it? How you and him were meant to be? Couldn't you picture your budding life together with him? This is what all those years of suffering were for. To lead him to you. You were his everything. His sun, moon and stars. The oxygen he breathed. The food he ate. The ground he walked on. All of it.

You.

His precious, precious little bunny.

~~

William already knew he loved you. He did, he really did. He didn't have to fake that part about him. Loving you came as naturally to him as breathing. And with you pinned underneath him, Mr. Afton felt as if he was on cloud 9.

Sure, this isn't exactly how he'd plan things to go. He didn't want to have his first time with you on his couch. You were better than that. You deserved all the nice things he had to offer. But William wasn't too sure he could contain himself long enough to carry you to his bedroom. He had already waited so long to have you. Surely you wouldn't mind, right?

You didn't seem to, at the very least. As the man continued to grope and squeeze at your chest, his other hand ripping his tie off, he studied your face carefully. His pale eyes never left your pretty little face, not even for a moment. Your cute little hands were gripping the fabric of his couch, and soft little moans escaped past your puffy lips every so often. Your eyes were focused on his arm rather than his face.

He found this to be a shame. He understood that you were probably embarrassed, perhaps even overwhelmed. This was your first time with him, after all. Oh, but it just wouldn't do, little bunny. He wanted your eyes on him.

Where they should be.

After finally getting his black tie off, William used his free hand to slip underneath your chin, using his pointer finger and thumb to tilt it up towards him. Your glossy doe eyes met his, and he could feel an uncontrollable grin creep across his handsome features.

Just look at you. Not even five minutes in, and already so eager to please him. William could see how much you were enjoying yourself already, the pleasure of it all making the ache in his pants all the more tighter.

Patience, William, patience. The night is still young.

You are something to be savored. Not just a quick fix.

"(Y/N), my darling," Mr. Afton said to you, feeling the heat radiating off your cheeks, "keep your eyes on me. I want to see you, love."

William leaned down to kiss you again, feeling how your hands gently found a spot on his chest before he could do so.

"W-wait..." you peeped out, making William still his movements. He pulled away from you for a moment, his smile falling as he looked into your worried eyes.

"What's wrong, my love?" He asked, "Please, tell me. Do you want to stop?"

You shook your head, "N-No! It's just-"

William removed his hands from you, clasping your little fingers around his own, "Please, my bunny. Whatever it is, I'll fix it immediately. Please tell me."

Mr. Afton watched you like a hawk a you looked over your shoulder towards his door, the heat on your cheeks creeping down your pretty little neck at his words.

"It's just..." you whispered to him, "What if Michael walks in on us? He should be back any minute, right?"

Oh, that. The lie he told you. He had forgotten all about that, actually. William was glad you reminded him.

Mr. Afton pressed a small kiss to your fingers to ease your worries.

"Don't worry about him, my love." He said, admiring your features as if they were fine art, "It's all taken care of, I promise. Keep your focus on me, darling. On us. You can do that for me, hm?"

After studying his face for a moment, William watched as you nodded in response, making his smile widen as he kissed your fingers once again.

"Can we maybe just move, erm... this, somewhere else then?" You asked, "Please?"

Oh. So you did mind. William mentally kicked himself. Stupid fool. Of course you would mind. How could he have overlooked that? Stupid, stupid, stupid.

William leaned in and kissed your sweet lips one more time.

"Of course, bunny." He whispered to you, finally letting go of your hands. William got off from on top of you and planted his feet on the ground. Once he was secure, he leaned down to you again and slipped you into his strong arms, holding you bridal-style close to his toned chest. He felt his heart swell inside of him as you wrapped your tiny arms around his neck, nuzzling your cute face into his neck. Gently, the older man carried you through his house and into his dark bedroom, using one of his legs to push the door open.

Once inside, William gently laid you down on top of his bed, giving you a kiss before leaving breifly to shut his door. After he was sure that it was shut tightly, William turned his attention back to you.

Heat creeped down his face and neck when he saw his precious bunny on top of his bed. Oh, little one. If only you knew how many times he had pictured you there. How many times your name was repeated over and over like a mantra within these very walls. Even with all the fantasies William had played over and over in his mind, none of them compared to the real thing. Just look at you. So so cute.

And just for him.

Walking back over to you, William was sure to drink in the sight of you on his bed, and commit it to memory. His hands on autopilot, William unbuttoned his purple dress-shirt as he neared closer, exposing his chest to you.

You must've felt awkward being the only one with all your clothes still on. He saw how you went to shrug off your jacket, but was quick to stop you as he took his place on top of you once again.

Silly bunny. That was his job.

"Ah, ah, my darling." He whispered to you, gently taking your hands away from yourself, "No need to worry about that. Just let me do all the work, yeah? Just relax, and let me take care of you."

Mr. Afton saw that his words seemed to go in one ear and out the other. Your eyes weren't on him. Instead, they were lain gently on the expanse of his chest, going up and down over and over. The dim lighting made it a little hard to see exactly, but William knew what you were doing. Ogling him.

William wasn't sure how much harder he could get. Look at you. Precious little you, drooling over his chest. What a good little bunny. That's exactly where your eyes should be, little one. On him. And only him. He only had eyes for you, so wouldn't you do the same for him? Of course you would, bunny, of course. By the end of the night, you will. Mr. Afton is gonna show you so many levels of burning hot pleasure you didn't even know existed. Why? Because you'll be his. His bunny. No one else's. And if anyone dared try take you away, then well-

"How did you get these?" William heard you peep out to him, snapping him out of his trance.

He felt one of your little hands pull out of his grip, and gently trace lines up and down his chest and stomach, earning a shudder out of him. Elation ran through his veins, knowing this was the first time you had ever touched him. Touched a man like that, too. Slowly, whilst coming down from his high, William could recognize the patterns you were tracing.

Ah, yes. Those. He had forgotten about those, too. His scars. He hadn't even remembered to warn you first. He knew that at first glance, they did look rather gnarly.

But, still. You didn't seem to mind. You were his good bunny, after all. Of course you'd be good for him. Love him no matter what he looked like. Just like how he loved you.

While you continued to feel up his chest, William shrugged off the remains of his dress shirt and tossed it to the floor. He subsequently leaned down close to you, capturing your lips in another kiss. The following ones trailed down the side of your face and to your exposed neck, earning another whimper of pleasure out of you.

"It's nothing to worry about, love." He whispered to you, pressing more kisses to your skin, "Let's just say the early designs of my spring-lock suits weren't without their... flaws."

"Do they hurt?" You asked him, your little fingers finding a place on his shoulders.

William's breath fanned across your heated skin as he chuckled, "You ask far too many questions, bunny."

William gently bit down against the swell of your neck, earning another gasp out of you.

"Just, relax, little one." He said, his hands slowly working your jacket off of you and discarding it to the floor, "Do you want to stop?"

"N-no! I just..." you trailed off, your voice fading to a whisper "I just want you to be okay."

Mr. Afton picked his gaze up from your neck to look into your eyes, committing to memory the pink on your cheeks. Oh, precious, darling little bunny. If only you knew just how much he loved you. If only you knew just how you made him feel; the gravity of your presence around him.

The older man leaned forward to kiss your neck again, his large hand gently slipping underneath your shirt.

"My darling bunny," William whispered, "you're far too kind. So, so good for me. My bunny. Mine."

The brit's movements begun to get more frantic and passionate as his hand crept up to your chest, groping and squeezing from under your shirt. Your moans became more frequent in conjunction, along with the sheer amount of bruises and marks he was sucking into your soft, warm skin. Your hands found their way across his bare shoulders, one eventually travelling up to tussle into his dark brown hair. William rumbled out a groan from the back of his throat as he continued attacking your neck.

Once he was certain that you'd have plenty of hickeys in the morning, William detached himself from you and sat back slightly. His hand ran further up your chest, pulling your shirt along with it. Once your garment was halfway up your torso, William brought his other large, calloused to the base.

"May I remove this for you, my sweet?" He asked through half-lidded eyes, the tent in his pants growing more and more uncomfortable by the second. His mind told him over and over to just cut to the chase and pound you into the mattress already, but he dismissed the thought. He needed patience. William had waited for this day far too long to piss it away. He wanted to savor it. Stretch it out as long as possible. Not only for his selfish reasons, but for your sake too. You were a virgin, after all. He didn't want to scare you away, oh no. Eventually you'll get the hang of it, anyway. Don't worry about that, little one. William promises to show you how all of it is done. Show you just how amazing he can make you feel, and spoil you rotten in the process. Give you the treatment that only his bunny gets to have.

But, for now, slow and steady it is.

You looked him in his eyes as you gave him a timid nod, making another grin stretch across his face.

"Let me hear your words, darling." He said.

"Y-yes, Mr. Afton. Please... take it off." you responded.

Fucking hell you were so goddamned cute. Sweet bunny if only you knew just how many times he imagined your cute little voice saying those exact words to him. How long he dreamt of it.

Another shudder ran through the man's veins as he pulled your shirt off of you, leaving you bare-chested in front of him.

"Please, love," he whispered, "Call me William."

The tips of his fingers ghosted over the expanse of your chest and stomach, earning a shudder of your own under his touch. Leaning down, the older man pressed more open-mouthed kisses to your collarbones and chest and his hands crept down further, stopping at the hem of your pants.

"Though, if you're up for it," he continued, "I'm quite fond of sir as well."

Before you could babble out any sort of response, William gave a few more open-mouthed kisses to the space right above your pants, your hands finding a home in his hair again. Your soft whimpers underneath the brit made his kisses all the more violent, and his hands all the more wandering. They traveled underneath you, coping a few feels at your butt before slowly trailing down your thighs.

It was getting harder by the second for the brit to control himself. He wanted to go slow, he really did, for you. But he wasn't too sure how much longer he could restrain himself from taking you as his. Here you were, right where he had wanted you for so long. Moaning and whimpering underneath him just like he wanted you to. You were already so good for him, even without him having to coach you on what to do. You truly were made for him.

So, perhaps you would forgive him for picking up the pace a little bit.

Could you do that for him, bunny?

"How about we remove these next, yeah?" He asked you through half-lidded, lust-filled eyes, his fingers picking at the hem of your pants.

You nodded in response again. Embarrassed and bashful.

Oh, naughty naughty bunny. Didn't he tell you to use your voice?

"Words, darling." He reminded you, his tone soft yet laced with firmness. He didn't want to punish you, no. Not yet, at the very least. It was your first time, and William was a generous man. He could let you off the hook this time, bunny.

This time.

"William, please..." you breathed out, your voice barely above a whisper.

Mr. Afton had to take a long, deep breath through his nose to keep his eyes from rolling to the back of his head, a cold, sharp shudder running down his body. Begging him already? Oh, sweet little one, you were made for him. You were you were you were. You were what he was put on this earth for. Not his stupid fucking business, or being a father. No. Not at all. It was for you. He was put on this earth for you. To be your man. To give you every single little thing your precious heart desired. Money. Fame. Love. Pleasure. All of it. All of it for you. And oh did he have plenty to give you. You were his soulmate, he was sure of it. How else could you be here now? How else would he have happened to find you in this small, puny town? Amongst all these fucking idiots? You and him were meant to be, little bunny. Couldn't you see it too? Just look at you. William fits so perfectly on top of you, doesn't he? And you look so adorable underneath him with that blushy face of yours. His sweet little rabbit. His darling beloved. His sweet angel. His treasure. His love. His. His. HIS. HIS. HI-

...

Oh.

Oh shit.

Pressing a few more kisses to your belly, he snuck one of his hands down to feel around his crotch. The tips of his fingers were greeted by a small wet patch.

Damn. He really got carried away that time. First on his phone call with you, and again now? Could you notice? No, surely not. It was too dim in his room. His pants were dark too, so that made it all the more unlikely. You probably wouldn't care either way.

He was still plenty hard for you.

Composure, William, composure. Don't ruin all the fun before it even begins.

Making sure to settle down the many thoughts in his head, William gently lifted your legs and cute little butt off of his bed. Slowly, he was able to discard your pants off of you, giving your shins and thighs a few small kisses as his hands returned to the hem of your underwear.

"This too, love?" He asked.

Out of instinct, you nodded again, "Yes, but... what about you?"

William breathed out a chuckle. Silly bunny. Don't tell him you're becoming the impatient one now. As adorable as it was, William had to still go slow on you. Patience, little one.

"That'll be soon, rabbit." He told you, one of his fingers hooking underneath your underwear, "You are a virgin, yes?"

He already knew the answer to that. He just wanted to hear you say it.

"Yeah, I am... Is that a proble-"

"No, no, little bunny, no." He said in response, gently sliding your underwear down your legs and discarding it on the floor, "I just have to make sure you're prepared. Besides..."

William shifted his weight down so he was face-to-face with your lower half, guiding your thighs to rest on his shoulders. Looking up at you, he pressed his kisses into your soft flesh, throwing in a few bites for good measure as he cupped your heated sex in his palm.

"Your body is so beautiful, my love." He said, "I want to savor every part of you. My needs can come later."

William watched as your whined and squirmed underneath him as his hand made contact with your lower half, his cock aching inside of his pants yet again.

"I will warn you bunny," the brit said, "It may sting a little to start with, yeah? Are you okay with that?"

You swallowed the saliva that had been pooling in the back of your throat, "Y-Yes, that's okay. I trust you."

William let out a satisfied hum, "Good bunny."

Slowly, William trailed his hand downwards, the tip of his middle finger inching close to your hole. Mr. Afton had to swallow the saliva that invaded his mouth at the sight, worried about drooling on you and making a fool of himself. If he could focus, he would be able to tell that his hands were trembling with excitement. Oh if only you knew how long he had dreamed of this day. He was already halfway there. Halfway to making you his. He just had to make sure his precious bunny was ready first.

He didn't want you in any pain when he filled you up with his love.

William gave you a few seconds to get ready before he pushed his finger inside of you, immediately making your back arch and your hands find his shoulders and hair. The grip you had on his grey-brown locks was tight, but compared to the elation he felt while inside of you, it was nothing. A pitiful drop in the bucket of his ecstasy. You were so warm around him. So so warm and tight. A million times better than what his fantasies made him believe. And a trillion times better than those sex toys he bought.

Mr. Afton let his excitement get the better of him just a touch as he begun to pump his long, bony finger in and out of you. His other hand gripped as your thigh, squeezing it as his lips placing gentle kisses on the flesh of it as a form of silent praise.

The noises his finger made going in and out of you were sinful, and echoed off of the walls of his room. Or perhaps, his shared room now. It'd only be a matter of time now before he'd ask you to move in, if all went according to plan. He was pleased to see that you eventually loosened up around his digit and you started to become more comfortable, once all the residual pain had subsided. This is when you started to moan for him. Quiet at first, but gradually got louder and louder as he found the more tender parts of your insides.

William's eyes would often flutter shut as he heard his sweet bunny's sounds underneath him. He was elated that you were enjoying yourself. If William knew he did one thing right in his life, he knew he was pleasing you like you wanted. He could die happy knowing that. That he got one chance with you; got to hear his bunny's sweet songs just once.

But, no, no.

William was a greedy man.

He wanted more.

And he would get more.

"That's it, my beautiful little bunny," he praised you, his deep accented voiced husked with his lust, "Just like that. You're doing so amazing, my darling. So perfect for me..."

William forgot to give you a warning as he inserted another finger into you. But, with the moan that escaped your lips as he did so, he was pleased to see you didn't mind. And, he was even more pleased with the way you found your own rhythm with his fingers, helping him to finger-fuck you all the better.

"Ah- Ahh! Oh my god, Mr. A-Af- William..!" you cried out to him, your grip on his hair becoming tighter as he found the most tender part of your insides.

You were playing with fire, little one. Did you want him to have another accident?

"Oh, my sweet bunny," he groaned, trying to shift his weight to relieve some pressure off of his crotch, "yeah, that's it. Keep making those pretty sounds for me, love. Make them for me."

"W-William, I-I feel-"

"Shh, my darling, it's alright. Let it happen. Make a mess all over me, my love. I want you to. I want it, bunny. Cum all over my fingers, goregous. Don't dare hold back on me. So, so good... my precious bunny. My bunny."

The pace of William's fingers quickened the more he said, until he felt you spasm around you and a flurry of moans escaped your lips.

He did it.

He finally did it.

William has waited for so long, and he had finally done it.

Halfway there.

Halfway to go.

Mr. Afton helped you to ride out your orgasm by pressing his fingers into you a few more times. Once you had settled down, and your moans had turned into soft, breathy pants, William took his fingers out of you, pressing reassuring kisses into the plush of your thighs.

"So good, little one," he whispered to you, "You did so well, my love. Perfect, absolutely perfect."

After a few more kisses, to allow you to catch your breath, William sat up again on his knees, looking down at your sweat-gleamed, adorable little face. You were still breathing pretty hard as his hands found his belt buckle, the clink of the metal making you look up at him again.

"William... please, I need you so bad..." you breathed.

Mr. Afton's breath hitched in his throat, "I know, love, I know. And you'll have me. You've been such a good bunny for me... 'Gonna make you feel so good, my adorable little rabbit."

A rush of relief washed over William as his belt was shed to the floor, along with his sleek black trousers, making him groan. He watched as you little eyes kept flickering between his tented crotch and his face, not sure of where to look to be polite.

Silly bunny. You were allowed to look anywhere you wanted.

As William finally was able to pull off his boxers, he breathed a sigh of relief. His cock had been aching for what felt like hours now, and he was finally able to give it some relief. He could feel how he throbbed against the cold air of his room as he looked down at you once again, drinking in the sight and committing it to memory.

William knew he was a well-endowed man. Hell, that's probably why he was so popular to begin with, at least amongst the women. None of that ever mattered to him before. He didn't care. Yeah, he had a big dick. So what?

It never mattered to him, that is, until now. He could see how scared you were when you looked at him. See it in your eyes, how you worried how something like that would fit into you.

You needn't worry, sweet bunny. William would never try to hurt you. Not ever. It'll fit, sweet one, don't worry.

Don't you trust him?

Mr. Afton gave a few pumps to his length, coating it in the slick of his pre-cum as he lined up at your entrance. He could feel waves of excitement and need wash through him as the tip made contact with your flesh, making him let out another shaky breath. Though in the past the brit found missionary to be rather boring, he found himself to not mind it with you. It allowed him to be close to you. To see your face, and hear you well. All he ever wanted.

Besides, he could always try new positions next time. If you were ready.

"It might sting a little again, bunny." He warned you, "But it won't for long."

"O-Okay..." you said, "Just... Can you hold my hand? Please?"

William felt his lips part, "Yes, my love. Yes, of course."

Shifting his weight briefly onto one arm, William slipped one of his large hands into your own, interlocking his fingers with yours. His other hand was firmly situated next to your head, careful to avoid pulling on your hair.

"Good?" he asked.

You nodded, "Yes.. I'm ready now. Please, William..."

"As you wish, darling."

Excitement bubbling in his veins, William gently pushed his hips forwards, the tip of his cock entering inside of you. Along with your gasp, the man above you let out a low, breathy groan of pure, raw pleasure, a shudder making its way down his spine.

Holy fuck. It was so much better than he had imagined. You were so much better than he imagined. He was sure of it now, more than ever. You were made for him. You were pure perfection.

And all the more reason to make you his.

Get to work, William. His bunny is waiting for him.

Careful not to squeeze your hand too tightly, William let out another breathy groan as he slowly pushed the rest of his length into you. At the feeling of being fully sheathed inside of your hole, William felt his eyes roll to the back of his head, nuzzling into the crook of your neck to save-face. You were breathing rather hard underneath him, your other arm having come up to drape across his bare, scarred shoulders for extra support.

As you he felt you slowly start to relax around him, Mr. Afton pressed soft, loving kisses to your jaw and neck, the hand next to your hair stroking it softly.

"Th-That's it, love..." he whispered to you, "So good for me... My adorable bunny."

You whimpered underneath his touch, "William, I... i-it's okay to move now. Please..."

Pressing a chaste kiss to your lips, William gently pulled his hips back, then thrusted up into you. He watched as you bounced slightly underneath him, a low moan escaping your lips. With all the conformation he needed, William was quick to find a steady rhythm inside of you. He never found himself to be that vocal in the bedroom from past experiences, so the brit continued to surprise himself with every groan and sigh that escaped past his lips. But, then again, it was quite different now. This was you.

And damn did you make him feel amazing.

After finding a good pace, William was able to angle himself better, trying to find the most sensitive part inside you. With one lucky guess, he was able to see how you threw your head back in pleasure, your nails digging into the skin of his back as you moaned for him.

"Ohh goddd, William..! F-Fuck, right there!" you cried out for him, your encouragement making him pick up the pace.

"Yeah, bunny?" he goaded you, "Does that feel good? You're so fucking cute. You- hahh - you feel so fucking amazing, my love, fuck..."

The brit could feel your peak drawing nearer with every clench of your walls around him, his cock twitching back in response as it continued its barrage of your most sensitive parts. This only made him snap his hips into you all the more sharply.

"(Y/N)..." he cried out to you, "(Y/N), my love. So fucking good for me. So, so good... You're perfect, (Y/N). Perfect, my bunny. Perfect."

"W-William, I-I'm gonna-"

"Me too, bunny, me too. Please, bunny - fuck - please, together, my love. Let me fill you up, my darling. With my love. Let me show you how much I adore you. Will you, my love? Please, please."

"Yes, Will! Oh my god, yes please!"

With your sweet words ringing in his ears, William made one final push inside of you, sinking in as deep as possible. Mr. Afton groaned loudly as he could feel your orgasm around him, his following not long after. He was able to manage a few tiny, sloppy thrusts inside of you as you both rode out your high, feeling as how your insides became coated with his orgasm; no, with his love.

So, so much love.

And, you, finally

were now

his.

At long, long last. He finally had you.

Happy was an understatement. Overjoyed even more so. No, William was a new man. He was now yours. Your man to protect and take care of you. And no one else's. Just as you were his now, and no one else's.

His.

It took a good while for William to catch his breath again, as well as you. Once he did so, William found the strength to pull out of you, one last ripple of pleasure washing over him. You were looking up at him through your glossy eyes and heated face, a small, dumb smile on your face as you breathed heavily. He was able to get one more kiss on your lips before he shifted his weight off of you.

"Wait here, love." He said, "I'll get something to help you clean up."

As much as it pained him to leave you without him, William knew that aftercare was important. Especially to the inexperienced. In the past, he was never fond of doing too much of it, but with you, it came naturally to him. You were such a good bunny for him, it's the least he can do to show his appreciation.

The brit was quick to disappear into his bathroom and grab a towel, feeling the cold air around him in the dark. By the time he returned, he saw that you had already turned on your side, and had wrapped yourself in nearly all the covers on his bed. Creeping closer to you, William saw that your eyes were closed; soft, steady breaths escaping past your little lips.

Damn. You were asleep already. William knew tonight would wear you out, but damn.

Looks like he still has it.

And you were far too cute to wake up now. It would just be mean if he did so. Very well. You win, bunny.

Placing the towel on his nightstand, William peeled back the last little bit of blankets you allotted him and slipped into bed behind you. You being much shorter than him, he found it easy to meld his body against yours, wrapping his arms around your little waist and pulling you close to his chest. You were so warm, and he couldn't help but take a long inhale of your scent. He was hoping to talk to you a little more after, and tell you how amazing you did, but this was fine. He could do all the in the morning. You were too cozy for now.

But that couldn't stop him from giving you some praise.

"You are perfect, my darling." He whispered into your air, as soft as he could as not to wake you, "Just as I knew you would be. You're going to learn just how much better I can make you feel, sweet thing. This is only the beginning."

William pressed a few soft kisses to your hair.

"I'm sorry I had to lie to you to get you here. I just couldn't think of any other way to get us alone. But, you'll forgive me, right?"

You didn't answer, of course.

"Oh, I know you will. If you ever find out, that is, bunny."

There's some things you're better off not knowing, anyway.

"Get plenty of rest, love. I'll be right here, I promise. I promise."

How could he ever leave you now?

"I love you."

Goodnight, little bunny.

~~

tags: @guinea-pig16 , @the-official-memester , @randomwriteralan , @mrsrogerwaters , @laylaaftonshit , @cherry-slushee , @insert-memical-username , @mrssafton , @horrorking2000

apologies to any blogs tumblr wont let me tag!!

[causenessus]

love notes

part 0.15. MIDDLE SCHOOL BOYS LOCKER ROOM CORE

"if you won't notice, how can I show you all of your worries, have all gone away just be my angel, if you love me."

from be my angel by mazzy star, left at nagisa park, otsu, shiga

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extras <3

i am SORRY for how long this chapter is i literally went feral and eggy and wyr were hyping me up so 😭😭😭

(but thank u to them <3 i wouldn't have it any other way <3 the mbb plugs continue!!!!)

not very many extras i've kept u guys here long enough LMAO

obvious rin got y/n a camera for christmas <3 and he was texting akaashi and kenma about it sm bc he was like "what's dslr??? is that good??? i get one that uses 35 mm right???"

it was kind of cute tbh and they were like "aw he's so in love he's willing to spend so much on her how tf are they still just friends"

and they helped him get a discount on the camera too through their many connections bc cameras are EXPENSIVE

y/n could not be happier rn it's like her passion for photography has been renewed

she was also freaking out at the coffee shop (possibly new grounds? i didn't want to plug my own smau though 😭) about what suna's question could be

she was talking with mbb y/n like "OMG MAYBE HE'S GONNA ASK ME OUT???"

then she went silent when she read "what do you think about osamu's hair"

dreams = crushed

i'm not sure how ur gonna come back from that one king

this chapter was SO chaotic i hope u enjoyed

we have four chapters left </3

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[arcadia345]

The Natal Astrology chart of Jeon-Jungkook

‼️🔞🔞🔞 not a real astrologer just my observations :) paid readings

Born in Busan, South Korea on Monday Sept. 1st 1997 at 3:23pm

ASC: Capricorn 6°

the first thing to stand out on him appearance wise would be his hands and arms, shoulders, teeth, hair, legs and thighs, but especially his torso! With his dreamlike and eccentric presence they didn’t take him seriously Saturn influence but as time passed and he worked on his crafts and himself everyone seen him as the star he is. Capricorns are known for having to mature quicker than others because of responsibilities. As a cap rising with Uranus and Neptune in the first just like him I KNEW he was a Capricorn bc of how his nose has always been prominent throughout his life but now he’s grown up/ into his features 🥹 and also how everyone always projecting (Neptune)onto him like???? Like when did he tell you this?? Definitely the dissociation king 👑. Very easy to dream about him I feel😭 he brings out our subconscious desires. His rebellious Uranus side popped out when he came out with his piercings and tats you could tell he was tired of being projected onto but also iconic because he’s kinda like the first A-list K-pop idol (bts in general tho)to go out of social norms appearance wise. In a way they kinda broke a generational curse 🥹 I remembered how he said he got the scar on his cheek because he was fighting with his brother which correlates to his Aries Saturn (his chart ruler) in the 3rd(siblings). Style wise he gets bored quickly so he’d like to switch up his appearance often. Most of the time he’d go for comfortable but still fashionable clothing, like you may see him in a chill outfit but it’ll cost more than ur rent💀. He could like to switch it up with odd/bold/flirty colors & fits but mostly he loves his darker colors like grey and black.

2nd house: Aquarius 14°

Lemme tell y’all right now…. This man is WIERD at heart🤣🤣 like he’s genuinely quirky lol it’s not a front like fr he’s so down to earth it’s crazy🥹 also his whole chart points to being very spiritual? esp with that 8th house stellium like he’s very into expanding his mind in any way possible so his could be heavily gifted and in pretty sure he knows this by now. He definitely ask himself “why me?”all the time like what did he do to end up so blessed/different?. He definitely would’ve had money regardless of fame as long as he stays true to himself and learns to give enough without being taken advantage of. He loves watching television/listening to music to pass the time. (Any other Neptune in 1st feel like they were raised by television??) Jupiter is all about indulging so in the 2nd house he loves all the simple pleasures, he LOVES FOOD like omg & nice clothes and smells everything that makes you feel good, he likes to collect things that’ll make you go????🤨😃 also he’s DEFINITELY CHRONICALLY ONLINE AND STALKING US BUT HE CANT HELP IT he’s just really nosey lmao😂. He’s the type of celeb to be like “I’m bored, what are my fans doing?” Like omg pookie you genuinely curious what I’m up to??? I feel so special😭 he feels his real persona can come out online better than irl? I think it’s a shyness thing.

ꪔ̤̥ Now since he grew up in the spotlight please take into consideration since bts is his 2nd family a lot of the things I discuss would include them especially 3rd and 4th house but I’ll just call them family also

3rd house: Pisces 23°

First off we already know how dreamy and passionate he is when it comes to his communication skills, in school years he could’ve been the kid nobody noticed in class, also bullying could’ve been a issue, the type to sleep through class, also his siblings could be talented as well, he/they could have many secrets they share between each other. I’m getting that it could be hard for him to remember his upcomings sometimes because like it genuinely flew over his head💀 like yes he was there but he wasn’t there mentally sometimes lol same. Saturn in this house his siblings/ family were strict on him he could be shy when it comes to expressing his emotions like it’s hard to just pinpoint one emotion when you feel everything all at once so that could discourage him from expressing himself. Also he could’ve been lied to /left out often and didn’t even know it omg😭 now don’t get me wrong even tho a lot of things fly past his head he’s VERY MUCH self aware he just doesn’t care fr💀 also since his 3rd house ruler is in the 1st the scenario that comes to mind is like someone seeing your sibling out and public and the first thing they ask is “where’s your brother(Jk)?” Saturn can represent the father and discipline🥺 trying not to cry while type this) him and his siblings went through a lot of difficult times together but also they taught him so much he has sooo much respect for them he knows he wouldn’t be the same person today without them omg like they really raised him🥺🥺😭

4th house: Aries 26°

Now he could’ve had an erratic home life he could’ve moved around a lot & moved far away at a young age since Venus is in the 9th. There is a lot of mars masculine energy here so he likes chaos/excitement in his home also lots of sporty/action stuff around the house I feel like when he first met bts it was like his first taste of freedom in a way. I tell ya rn there was never a dull moment where he lived lol. Him and his family were always in competition with someone they had to fight for their place. Struggle wise at times he could’ve been FIGHTING for his life lots of arguments and aggression (which makes sense since they said they didn’t really get along at first)but with the Taurus degree there was definitely struggles with money and food / stability and personal possessions which drove him to work even harder. His 4th house ruler being in the 10th is giving I grew up at work😟😔

5th house: Taurus 22°

Firstly he’d be such a great dad 🥺 a really funny one too 😂 . His flirting style is not flirting at all😎 well kinda he’s more of gift giving person. His love language is genuinely opening up to you because he barely gets to do that fr, for Capricorns that’s a big thing. Things like showing you the most simple smallest things that means sm to him🥹🥹 to things he created. also food is big to him like the key to his heart actually, that man loves his food! be ready to be wined and dined and spoileddd. He loves traveling, dancing, music, philosophies & beautiful things so he’ll want to get your input on almost everything he wants to pick your brain lol. Also he’s really clingy that’s important to him physical touch but he really doesn’t open up much because he knows he has a lot to lose so he definitely isn’t a fling type of guy he likes to build a foundation with someone unless it’s like a one time thing out of the country where he knows he’ll probably never see you again so might as well act on his instincts. He could be into choking/restrictions, taboos, spontaneity, feet??? One of his erotic zones is his neck. Also his siblings influence his creativity heavily because he knows they know what’s best for him. What he considers as fun is eating😭😭👀 playing some games, cooking, listening to his fav music, drinking, cleaning doing laundry like he’s such a simple man that a good day for him would be staying home all day 😂

6th house: Gemini 14°

He’s very versatile he likes learning he hungers for knowledge. He keeps a strict routine but still likes to switch it up cause he gets bored easily. He was very young when he started working and also he was one of the youngest of his peers so Gemini here makes sense also as he is naturally curious he likes working with his peers/ siblings and unique personalities. He likes traveling also and trying the different types of food they have and shopping there also he obviously spoils his pets feeds them the best food keeps them well groomed, it’s in a mutable sign so I wouldn’t be surprised if he had many types of animals but he’ll want to cuddle a lot with them so idk if he’ll be keen to reptilians with such a busy career atm. He’ll also be very vocal with them they could know a lot of tricks that he taught them. He’d like to travel with them also if he has the chance to, Taurus in his 5th he loves to dress them up and pamper them, wouldn’t be surprised if he was having danceoffs against them lmao 😂

7th house: Cancer 6°

Let me tell you something…. This is HUSBAND MATERIAL RIGHT HERE. The type to be like “I can fix them.” Cause he loves a challenge but he’d actually be able to fix them ngl😭. But first let’s get into how other people perceive him on a 1-1 basis. Now with both these planets being in the 8th it’s very evident that they’d want to jump his bones/ spiral into obsession/ an awakening after meeting him. People naturally spill their hearts out to him, definitely a trauma dumping placement. Ofc people are gonna baby him it’s like he brings out people’s maternal instincts they just wanna keep him safe🥹 but this is also how he treats everyone, with genuine love and respect❤️ also he could get shy easily like the bunny Thumper from Bambi 🥹

8th house: Leo 14°

Okay now bare with me on this one because it’s hard to really understand stelliums if you don’t have one in ur chart, but what I’ve noticed is no matter what they seem to get put in situations that correlate with the house the stellium is in, which causes them to focus on the opposite house to balance the energy’s out. Now first off this man has some HEAVY good karma from the past life he honestly deserves every abundant thing that comes to him x2. As you know he is very keen on perfectionism and order, I refuse to believe he wasn’t some cult leader /powerful witch or something in the past life. Especially a VIRGO stellium in the 8??!!? He was/is a natural born healer 🥹🥹 no doubts about it especially with his moon at a 0° so the moon is in its pure element no matter the sign he’s here to experience those raw emotions. I’ve never met someone with their moon degree at 0 cause its hard to find but i had a manager that had a cancer Venus 0° and when I tell you she made me feel soo special 🥹🥹 like you can feel how genuine she is she loved giving gifts and making sure everyone was okay like the energy was so PURE and innocent in a way it reminds me of jungkook and his acts of service . Also which is why I get why everyone thought he was a Leo moon cause he is in sidereal Astro but I don’t get that egoistic attitude from him if anything it’s the opposite. I don’t want this section to be too long so I’ll move on to his pleasures😈 he’s into praising, teasing, creampies, being rough, nipple play, playful banter, degrading, car s*x, breast/chest, backshots, anal, heavvvy on oral and hand play the type to tie you up 😳 he could possibly be LGBTQ+ friendly if ykwim since he has prominent Aquarius and Virgo is a mutable sign known for their curiosity and versatility, and yk Virgos are obsessed with perfection and cleanness so I’m assuming he likes to get extra messy and wet during the act and he’s not finished with you till you BOTH climax he refuses to be known for bad s*x😤 he likes to make a scene/put on a show. But like I said earlier with his moon and mercury conjunct he needs a strong emotional and mental connection with you before he does anything. His 8th house is so interesting I could go on and on but no😏

9th house: Virgo 23°

Jungkook is very sharp when it comes to the 9th and 8th house since they’re very important in fulfilling his life purpose. In later years school people could’ve seen him as perfect in a way very organized and on point probably a teachers pet or honestly it could’ve been the other way around 😹 ofc half the class had some type of crush on him or was just naturally curious about him but still with that Pisces degree he lowkey didn’t care to be there in a way he probably was absent often but the teachers didn’t care cuz hello??? It’s jk.🥴 Let’s not forget his Libra Venus is in this house as well so he’s natural charming without trying esp to foreigners (9th). He has a strong connection to his past life so I’m thinking he’s like a green witch in a way? Like healing/manifesting when cooking or in nature around plants and animals, singing or just by listening to someone who needs to vent or vise versa. When he travels he needs EVERYTHING to be clean and in place to make sure him and his people are safe bc if not he’ll spiral also he could get jet lagged easily but by now he probably has a routine that helps with that. Also I wouldn’t be surprised if he got married to a foreigner, someone in his circle that he’s known for a long time. Ngl I have Libra 19° in 9th and I tend to get reallly curious when I travel ifykwim 🥴🫣 I really like to experience the people aswell as the location that I’m in to get the full experience. Also with the Pisces degree he’s more likely to do substances like 🚬 and drinking when he’s with his siblings/cousins/ traveling

Mc : Libra 26°

His mother has a heavy Venus influence on him, I’m getting his family altogether was close-knit growing up. He’s known for his worldwide aesthetics, and basically being perfect boyfriend/husband material. Hes known to be easily loved by many, but he’ll mostly be know for the pain he’s experienced, his healing abilities, and his versatility in skills. His Chiron is in this house so most of his pain comes from the industry he’s in, authority, and his public image, with it being at a 29° his ego can hurt him the most😳 which is why I don’t understand why people would get that cocky vibe from him other than his mars. With a Scorpio mars here he’ll also be known as a big sex symbol/someone who brings strong reactions out of people. Since it’s also the ruler of his 11th house so he’ll be known for his viscous and obsessive fans especially online. He’s prone to getting many stalkers/sesangs with how heavy his 10th and 11th house is with Scorpio energy and peers see him as competition even though they see he’s not a malicious person. On the positive side tho he’ll have the ability to feel & see what goes unseen, people’s hidden motives and desires, and so will his fans!! Iykyk👀 Also mars represents passions and pleasure so he could have a thing for love at the workplace, maybe into older/mature people or power play. He could have a porn addiction, definitely into some kinky 💩 with that Aquarius degree. yall plz don’t cancel me I’m just reading his chart. 😭

11th house: Scorpio 22°

His internet presence with have good longevity, this house has to do with our wishes, I’ve been saying I really feel like he did something in the past life to “seal the deal” fame wise because that’s what his chart is giving doesn’t necessarily mean he did something bad but there was definitely intentional manifestation there. Esp with the kill or be killed degree here you don’t have room for mistakes. Yall this man is a stalker big timmme like he stalks us reallll bad but also so does his fans 😹😹 it’s definitely a 2-way street I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a spam twitter account to watch us start army wars💀. If you have Pluto in 11th you know how hard it is NOT to stalk people online😩??? I don’t even care about the people I stalk I’m just nosey asf lmao. His Pluto is at 2° so he could get a lot of gifts from seasangs esp food and material things I’ve heard him speak on these topics also. They’ll try to expose him for having fun since Taurus is in his 5th house,ie while out at restaurants, shopping, his creative endeavors, his love life, or just when he’s at his most comfortable, and children.(Omg? The way that sesang incident with Enwoo just happened right after I typed this wth😳)He understands how crucial his privacy is for his protection so he’ll choose not to post as much. He’s the friend in the group with the silent power/ magneticistm, he prefers to befriend people who understands his deep emotions, friends that have also went through traumatic experiences, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was apart of a online community secretly so he can feel normal for once. Also he’s known as the sexy emo friend lmao with the cool tats and piercings that smokes cigarettes to look cool 😎 he also prefers to befriend people who look like this also

12th house: Sagittarius 14°

Sag in your chart is where your blessings are & what you’re optimistic about. Also where you tend to be a little pessimistic. Sagittarius reminds me of the feeling a sugar rush/liqour gives you, while Capricorn reminds me of the come down afterwards regretting all the decisions you made and how you’ll never do it again. Like I’ve said this whole time he is spiritually gifted and he has strong connection to his past life. He has a lot of Deja vu moments, the things/hobbies he loved then he loves in this life also it brings him a lot of fulfillment. He’d prefer to be in solitude than to be around people but his Jupiter is in Aquarius so this part is a bit odd… he’s comfortable having cameras around when he’s secluded esp with friends but in public??? He hates it especially when he’s not with anyone he knows I think he has social anxiety 🥺 could’ve been overweight in the past life that’s probably where his love for food comes from, he’ll be blessed with assets abroad from his homeland. He could look really similar to what he did in the past life I wouldn’t be surprised if he was a bunny or something.

ꪔ̤̥ That’s it for now till next time❤️ check back for updates

[mikakuna]

JASON SHOCKING PPL WHEN HE TAKES OFF TGE HELMET BC HE IS SUCH A PRETTY BOY YES YESSSS YESSSSS!!!!! I need it, I crave it, and on the topic of scars, I’m remembering this old series I used to read back in middle school, the lunar chronicles? Where there was a character, Winter, who was so beautiful and everyone agreed (she was the Snow White equivalent) and she had three symmetrical scars down the side of her cheek from under her eye down to her jaw and they looked like tears. Idk, Jason like that as well always gets me.

But Jason with no scars too??? Yes yes yes yes want it need it crave it desperate for it to shock ppl, like, I’m constantly in an annoyed at Tim mood cause he’s been everywhere in fics even when you filter him out 😭 and I’ve come across so many “poor baby Tim’s friends the titans HATE Jason for attacking sassy poor scared baby bird Tim and threaten Jason on his behalf when they see him on a mission or at the watchtower or smth” and I have enough spite to want an oh yeah? How about a fic that starts off like it’s going in that direction.

Jason the absolute unbothered king who does not give two shits abt the Titan tower incident cause whatever it was a while ago move on? And he wasn’t fighting a baby he was fighting a dude a year or two younger than him, who had training, and the hubris to think he could beat Jason. It wasn’t a one sided smack down, and of it was ever spun that way it’s because Jason was THAT good, and Tim was too caught up in his prejudices regarding Jason to truly believe Jason had skill. That’s on Tim.

For jason, it happened, but it’s not even that big of a deal it’s barely registering on his radar bc Tim does NOT take up space in his list of priorities. Jays a busy guy. So maybe he’s at the watchtower or wherever with the outlaws (biz and arty cause Roy and Kori are with dicks TT atm, but you just know they are excited to see Jason again. (Jayroy my beloved.) and obvi so is Donna.)

and he gets approached by the comically angry Tim’s teen titans like OoOH we got a bone to pick with you! All that usual woobifying of Tim talk happens like, “so pathetic that you as an adult are coming in and beating on some kid sooo much younger than you, and all that crap,” and arty and biz are bristling here, and Jason just, shakes his head in wtf, takes of his helmet, muttering “this I gotta see with my own eyes” only for him to faintly register the THUNK of Kyle Rayner walking into a window, and the sputtering of Tim’s friends as they trail off in gobsmacked.

When they speak again it’s Kon, clearing his throat, “so like, are you single or…”

Cassie, hissing, “kon!” Sharply elbowing him in his side, still shook that Jason is barely older than them.

Kon, hissing back from the corner of his mouth, eyes still on Jason, cheeks flushed, “what? It’s not like I have a PROBLEM with the crime lord thing, my other dad is Lex Luthor!”

HAHDJD YES I LOVE ALL OF THIS

everyone thinks jason is this horrific monster for fighting tim like tim didn't equally fight back. it is NOT jason's fault tim's weak ass lost against him!!!!

omg the idea of him being so unbothered that he doesn't even remember fighting tim but meanwhile everyone and their moms have that shit in the back of their mind constantly because tim has them all thinking he's a little kid that needs protecting. it's just jason not giving a single fuck and 100% willing to fight him again to see if tim's improved even slightly <3

kon's reaction is so real !!! instant switch up when he realizes that this is not an old man but a beautiful, gorgeously scarred individual he will begin courting instantly. kon's internal thought is to wonder why tim was so upset about jason beating him because he would gladly sign up. my fav trope is everyone realizing how young jason is ♥️

thank you so much for sharing this amazing idea I LOVE ITTTT