#I usually use Instagram but this is too much. Please spread awareness as much as you can.

[inthehouseoffinwe]

All eyes on North Gaza!!!

I usually post about 🍉 on Instagram but this is reaching entirely new levels of horrific:

[ktheist]

CEO!JK + - prompt list - + #47 “You’re seriously like a man-child.”

“ooh, you wanna kiss me so bad.”

“you’re seriously like a man child.”

muses. ceo!jk 

genre. e2l / arranged marriage

word. 2.6k

warnings. implied smut

synopsis. your family legacy is falling into ruins. your father is on his deathbed and your mother and sisters have never worked a day in their lives. their only hope is the jeons - the family of the fiancé you abandoned.

x

it can’t be said that you know nothing of jeon jeongguk per se. for one, he was lightly nudged in your direction by his mother at the age of 6 because he’d been hiding behind her legs since the jeon’s arrived. clad in navy blue kindergarten uniform and gripping tightly onto the brown teddy bear he uncreatively called ‘teddy’, he’d stolen a glance at you for a split second and fixed his gaze to the ground.

“____, say hi to jeongguk, you’re going to be seeing each other often from now on,” your mother nudged you from behind, her voice awfully sweet in the presence of mrs. jeon and her extremely shy son.

you’d found out at 11 years old and him 13 years old, what ‘seeing each other often’ actually entailed.

“i don’t wanna marry you!” you’d screamed in his face when you were left alone by the adults.

“i don’t wanna marry a kid with snot running down her face 24/7 either.” jeongguk’s retort, though held no substance, still made you wipe your nose on your sleeve after you’d left him and locked yourself in your room.

at the age of 13 and him 15, you’d managed to escape the clutches of your family by proposing the idea of attending a prestigious boarding school in zurich where you’d spent most of your adolescent years skipping classes and crashing parties.

by 18, you wanted to laugh at your teachers’ relieved faces when your name was called to receive your diploma, marking the end of your great era in that school.

that was when your mother called you back to south korea, claiming that she’d missed her youngest so very much. but you’d continued to make excuses to stay in zurich, applying for a scholarship and getting into a local university there.

none of your friends knew anyone from home and you’d only passingly mentioned that ‘oh, i don’t talk to my family much’.

but just as you were finishing your degree, the news of your father in his death bed latched onto your limbs and had you hopping onto the first flight home.

“what do you mean? so we’re broke?” yuqi’s voice cut through the air like a knife. even her ray bans couldn’t hide her burning gaze.

to think you willingly walked into this mess of a family.

“yuqi, let dad speak,” miyeon glares.

minnie asks after a lapse of silence, “dad, what do you mean the company’s wounding up?”

your father, a man with greying hair and cheeks losing most of their fullness, stares at nothing but the ceiling, as if seeing the angels welcoming him.

“do you remember uncle jee?” even breathing seems difficult for a man that used to work out everyday at the private gym and always invited you to join in on his healthy lifestyle, “he transferred all the company’s assets to his name and fled the country. even his family doesn’t know-”

“oh, for heaven’s sake!” your mother cries, shooting up from the sofa farthest from the bed - you should have known something was wrong when a wife wasn’t waiting by her husband’s bed and took the seat that’s on the far end from her husband, “just admit that it’s your fault! you trusted him too much even though i warned you about him! you ruined this family!”

“i should’ve brought popcorns,” soyeon says from next to you, shooting you an unapologetic - heck, even entertained smile - when you craned your neck out of mild disbelief.

this family’s a little fucked up in the head.

but they call you the black sheep that got away.

“so what now? do we have to... work?” soojin asks, a horrified look spreading across her face.

those several inches nails aren’t made for work. that’s for sure.

“the jeons...,” he coughs, “jeongguk promised to help us rebuild the family business because my father - your grandfather, supported the jeons when they were starting out.”

all of a sudden, seven pairs of eyes turn to you as if you’re the rabbit in a cage full of wolves. the air turns chilly as if someone’s turned the ac to a minus degrees celcius.

“well, don’t look at me, i haven’t talked to him for 9 years,” despite your hands held up and your shoulders almost making your neck shrink into your body, all they see is a little gold piggy bank.

“what? what about the times when we talked on the phone? you sounded so close!” your mother’s source of rage shifts to you.

“well, i mean, he’s pretty active on instagram-” you couldn’t even properly finish your sentence when a hand lands on your shoulder and you’re staring into your reflection in yuqi’s ray bans.

“start talking,” her cherry lips curl as she holds out your phone that you don’t even notice she’s swiped out of your hand bag which, “hey, how did you-” you remembered was zipped shut.

x

“you got something to tell me?” the jeongguk before you wears a smirk that exudes confidence and billion dollar legacy backing him up.

no longer the shy kid that avoids the gaze of those he’s not used to and keeps his head hung low. if anything, his chin is looking too tilted for your liking. though you can’t say the same for the muscles that fill out his suit and wraps around his biceps a little too snug.

he’s finally foregone the side swiped bangs and grew it enough to have it tied back into a man bun, enhancing his sharp jawline and proving once and for all that puberty isn’t just for anyone.

the hesitant hum reverberates against your chest. you can only hope that it’s not audible for persons besides yourself, “you look great.”

his head drops as he chuckles but you can still see the way his jaw clenches, cutting off every humor that’s ever present before looking straight at you through his lashes, “can’t say the same for you.”

you resist the urge to shoot up, handle of your handbag tucked in the juncture between your arm and forearm and strut out of the restaurant without looking back.

“that rotten attitude of yours hasn’t changed i see,” allowing the smile to sneak up your face, you feel your nails digging into your palms underneath the table, rooting you back to your reason for being here.

“it’s the thinking you’re better than me for me,” he states, back leaning against the chair.

“oh, baby, i am better than you,” the words escape your lips as naturally as breathing does.

“i don’t know about that, i certainly wouldn’t bring an on-and-off boyfriend of mine to a restaurant where my potential clients usually go to,” there’s a gleam in his eyes.

but before you can dissect the meaning of his words, the sight of a familiar jet black haired man trudging from toward your table with a distorted expression and waiters hurrying after him from a few steps away - catches your attention.

“___! baby, i’m sorry!” if you look closer, you could see the tears welling up in his eyes when he spots you.

“eric,” the hiss under your breath is venomous, threatening, “what are you doing here?!”

“i’m here for you, baby. i realized you’re the only one for me,” he drops to his knees, pulling out a velvet red box from his pocket. the waiters that were chasing after him now freezing, looking at each other back and forth before eric proclaims his undying love and his desires to, “i don’t want to live a life without you- marry me, baby!”

“stop,” you say curtly, body involuntarily leaned forward to make sure your voice reaches him. the sight of a smirking jeongguk adds to oil to the flames growing inside of you, “stop it. you’re acting insane, right now.”

“...i promise, i’ll never cheat on you again...” eric goes on, tears freely streaming down his cheeks as his shoulders sag, “i even tattooed your name on my chest.”

the italic curls of your name is inked in black a few inches underneath his left collarbone, probably where his heart is supposed to be. but at the moment, all you can see is jeongguk’s leisure wine drinking, “oh my god, security. please, take this man away, he’s disrupting lunchtime.”

the two waiters seem to snap out of their initial trance, marching over to eric and gripping his arms with all their might before dragging him away at the manager’s instructions. it’s only then, do you notice the flash of camera from one of the tables on the farthest left side of the restaurant, its position allowing for a full view of your expression and possibly only a view of jeongguk’s back.

“you,” a whisper slips out of your mouth once you’ve assured the manager that everything was settled and you’d continue eating, “you planned this.”

“what an assertive deduction. i almost thought you would’ve missed it altogether,” he remarks, a look of pure awe spreading across his face.

“fuck you, jeon,” slamming your fist against the table, you slip out of your chair and march out of restaurant, fully aware of the eyes that follow you until you’re out of sight.

x

no word got out.

sns was oddly silent about the incident at the restaurant but your sisters know anyway. shuhua knocks on your door, fixing you one of her calming smiles before dropping the bomb.

“mother and elder sisters don’t know, i’m not gonna tell them but i think it’s better if you talk to jeongguk about it.” is what she suggests.

but she doesn’t know he was the one that orchestrated it, as if your life was a show and he was there for a good time. either way, to ease your sister’s heart, you make your way to jeongguk’s office.

he made you wait for a good two hours, having his assistant retell that he’s busy and can’t be disturbed at the moment. but once you’ve had enough, you barge into his room, nails digging into your palms at the lack of meeting partner and the man’s too casual appearance with his blazer draped over his recliner and his sleeves folded up till his elbow.

“i heard you were in a meeting,” you announce, making sure to glare at the secretary that stopped dead in her tracks when you managed to slip past her and through the door of jeongguk’s office.

“as you can see, i’m quite busy,” he nods, hands gesturing at the open mac in front of him.

“what are you playing at, jeon jeongguk?” a smacking sound echoes through the air as you slam your palms on his mahogany table, glaring down at him “because i swear to god, i will make sure you regret messing with me.”

but instead of the panic you hope to raise, a chuckle trickles out of his lips, “ooh, you wanna kiss me so bad.”

how the prettiest pairs of lips could smirk like that is beyond you. natural pink lips, curving deviously as his bunny lips peek innocently underneath. you don’t notice you were staring until his voice fills the silence, forcing you to tear your gaze away from those kissable lips and meet his gaze.

“you really do wanna kiss me,” there’s that gleam in his eyes - that of realization and something - something - you can’t pinpoint.

gone is the boy that used to tell you your pigtails are lopsided and proceeded to fix it for you - he made it worse but you didn’t really mind because it was the effort that counted.

but that was almost a decade ago.

“you’re seriously like a man child,” you shake your head, the initial reason of marching over to his office now shoved to the back of your mind. the last thing you want is to be in the same room with a man who seems to only be interested in making someone else’s life his own personal entertainment.

but before your fingers brush the metal handle of the double doors, another hand brushing on top of yours, feather-light fingers pleading for you not to walk out on him.

“i’m sorry,” he doesn’t sound like the jeon jeongguk you’ve come to know within the short span of time - like a man stripped off his cards and games, “i went too far.”

you don’t - can’t - say anything but your body isn’t exactly listening to your mind’s instructions to move out of his grasp. out of his presence.

“i didn’t know the reporter was there - i made sure he’s keeping his mouth shut after you left,” his breath is hot against your neck and his front brushes against your back but not really touching.

“why did you do it? why did you bring eric all the way here?” you pray to thank the stars for the strength in your voice despite the feeling that’s slowly disappearing from your knees.

“i found out  you guys broke up because he cheated.. i wanted to make sure he knew you were mine,” his clicks his tongue, “i didn’t know you dated such a psycho-”

your world spins for the briefest moment before you come face to face with a wide eyed jeongguk.

“first off, you don’t own me,” you announce, arms coming to cross over your chest in show of protest, “and second off,” the semblance of surprise and panic finally slips through his facade when your hands grip his collar, “kiss me.”

the last thing you remember is jeongguk nodding ever so slightly before his eyes flutter shut just miliscends before yours. you feel his arm band around your lower back, free hand digging into your hair and pulling you closer into the kiss. he tastes like mint and lemon candies that your nanny used to give you and you’d give it to him, saying something like “it’s my favorite candy but i like you so i’ll let you have one”. you don’t miss the small jar he keeps on the side of his desk full of those candies.

but the matter of this and getting married in order to save your family from falling into ruins are two different matters altogether.

and somewhere down the line, you find yourselves still arguing about the littlest of things.

“um, what do you mean that red roses aren’t romantic? it’s literally the symbol of undying love,” surprisingly enough, it’s jeongguk that’s fighting for the fiercer shade of the petal.

“you think fuchsia pink doesn’t symbolize love?” you roll your eyes.

then comes the time when your mother and magically healed father asking for a grandchild to which jeongguk grins, “we’re working on baby jeon.”

(you’re married and the petals themed in your wedding are both fuchsia and garnet)

“excuse me?” you turn to him, brows arching. that alone warrants a break of cold sweat on jeongguk’s forehead as he cautiously laughs.

“i mean, w-we’re not ready yet.”

rather, you’re not ready to forego your child-less phase in exchange for late night awakenings and learning cry-languages.

but you’re not exactly being careful either, what with the two of you finding the holes in time to slip away from your family and into your childhood room only for jeongguk to slam you against the wall and bend you over the vanity.

“jeongguk did you bring a condom?” you ask.

“i’ll pull out,” is all he says and you’re barely listening as you clasp your palms agaist your mouth, trying not to let out the moans pass through your lips.

when you go back to your family, jeongguk’s arm is around your waist and you both sit together as you joke and laugh with your sisters whilst jeongguk raises a glass to joining your dad at the gym.

x

note. hope yall enjoyed!

see drabble game! for how to request!

[sokos]

Hey Soko!

Why do you think there is a strong solidarity among men? I noticed this before and wondered why men don't call other men out. I don't see women as a whole doing this for each other. I feel like there's no solidarity from my experience at least. Like if a man wrongs me, it seems hard to find support from my friends, they tend to play devil's advocate unless I was wronged by another woman, then they're supportive.

I'm sorry if this is basic feminism 101. I'm from a conservative community so I'm new to feminism as a whole.

Thank you in advance :)

I think the reason why men always have each other’s backs is because they’re aware of their privilege and status in the world and they want to maintain it. They know that if they start calling out the sexism of the other men, first their own sexism will come to light too, and they will start to lose the privilege they’re so used to having. Opressors must support each other to keep their superiority over the opressed group, if more and more men start becoming less misogynistic and realizing the power women have, they would lose all the benefits that come with being seen as the superior class.

There’s also this theory that says heterosexual male culture is homoerotic in nature. Because although they feel attracted to female bodies, the only thing they expect from women is sex, submission and devotion, because most of them don’t see women as human. And how can you be attracted to someone you don’t even value? Meanwhile they do everything to impress other men, even hookup culture in men is created to impress their male friends with the number of women they’ve slept with. Or for example men who have great shredded bodies are always bragging about it to their male friends, you see their instagram pages and all the comments are from men hyping them up, not from straight women who find them attractive. Unlike women who are made to fit beauty standards to please men, men fit their own beauty standards to please other men and to keep portraying the superiority of masculinity, a man fitting society’s standards only benefits them and other men. They may only have sex with women and this is what makes them straight, however the people they respect, admire, form deep bonds with, who are always trying to gain respect from, are usually all male. Why? because society always thaught them that men were superior in all ways, they were thaught that men were always logical and the ones with respectable opinions. They were always thaught to stand up for each other because they were always right.

Recently i found out that a friend of mine had gotten in trouble with her boyfriend because he didn’t defend her against lowkey sexist comments. These sexist comments weren’t so obvious but you could still tell, her boyfriend who usually plays the part of “nice guy / feminist ally” and he constantly talked badly about the man who insulted her, but when they made those comments he preferred to ignore them and found a way in which the men were right. One of my ex male friends said he hated a group of men at our school because they were misogynist but once they started making sexist jokes with him, he preferred to laugh at them instead of calling them out and telling them their behavior was wrong so these men would accept him. I’m sure there are plenty of stories similar to this one, men always prefer to side with men they hate than with women they love.

If you ask yourself why men always defend each other, you must also ask yourself why women usually tear each other down.

The answer is simple, it’s the same as above. Usually women are socialized to put men above themselves, to respect men, to think that they’re inferior and men are always right, and most especially to think that they’re not worthy if men don’t like them. So women start to compete with each other for the attention of men, sometimes going out of their ways to do it. No matter their sexual orientation, it is natural.

Men also know there is power in packs, they know that if women united against them we would outnumber them, they know they need women to stay opressed so they can keep their privileges. So they start creating in-fights between women, you see the mean girl trope everywhere in media. When I was in high school all the girls were nice to me and we always supported each other, there wasn’t much gossip or back stabbing, but all I saw in series and movies were about how awful women were with each other and how mean girls would tear you down when they could. Don’t get me wrong, this does happen and sadly women do tear each other down but it’s not as common as the media wants you to think. The worst thing is when a woman gets betrayed by another and she starts thinking all women are the same and says something along the lines “I will only have male friends from now on, they’re actually nice to you and there’s no drama around them like with girls” as in men weren’t responsible for most violent crime in the world, as if those nice men weren’t being misogynistic behind their backs. But of course everyone believes the opposite and spreads these theories, because they know women united are dangerous and could beat them, they need women to hate each other to maintain their power. Basically like this article says: “As women come to consider being prized by men their ultimate source of strength, worth, achievement and identity, they are compelled to battle other women for the prize.”

Here is a video that helped me understand the reasons why women tear each other down and I encourage you to watch it:

There is a quote I found while researching that says:

“As nobody can do more mischief to a woman than a woman, perhaps one might reverse the maxim and say, nobody can do more good” - Elizabeth Holland

So although we are used to throw other women under the bus, imagine what could happen if we use all that energy to lift other women up and all the amazing things that would happen if all women united against our common opressor that it’s men and we fought for our freedom together. There is only one thing we must learn from men, and that is standing up for each other and always support the opinions of each other even if we don’t like the woman who is portraying that opinion. Of course it doesn’t mean we have to support women who do or say bad things just because they’re women, but our first instinct shouldn’t be putting other women down just because they’re women. This solidarity and class consciousness between women is what feminism is trying to achieve.

Also i'm sorry you went through that with your friends and I hope you can find better friends soon. I assure you there's plenty of good and supporting women out there! I hope my answer helps you.

[purpletaecup]

10 ☾ he said that’s how he still remembers me

warnings: explicit language (cursing), mentions of miscarriage, mentions of infidelity (not rlly but on thin ice)

notes: you guys... this is a long one and it’s kind of fast paced, but we are finally getting some answers and the drama really begins! next chapter will be emotional, that’s all I know. I’m sorry for putting you through all this angst!! also, I wanted to bring some attention to the crisis in the Philippines right now with all of the dangerous typhoons. A lot of people need donations and rescuing, so HERE is a link to a twitter thread of donation drives! Please make sure to check it out, share and help spread awareness!

as always, come talk to me in my ask box! and if you want to be added to the taglist, please send an ask, or reply to this post or the masterlist!

not edited!! sorry if there are any mistakes lmfao i usually am sleep deprived when i write so yeah, there are probably some errors.

word count: 5,614

☾

The days following Jungkook’s visit were dull, if anything. You’ve received texts from Yoongi saying that he couldn’t come visit until that weekend because he had to finish wrapping things up in advance at the company so that he could spend some time with you. You had argued over the phone like teenagers when you insisted that he didn’t need to do that and you could take care of yourself until Jin came back. Of course, that led to him ranting about what the doctor said about monitoring you and your symptoms for concussion and to get him to just shut up about the medical stuff (it made your brain hurt more than it did usually), you reluctantly agreed to his ‘visits’, as you’d rather call them.

[nov. 20, 2020]

It was Friday now and you still haven’t gotten any glimpse of actual memories back, although you have been having these strange dreams that you couldn’t really remember when you woke up. You could only describe the feeling it gave you as ‘sinking’, like you were drowning and you couldn’t escape. As much as possible, you tried not to think about these feelings, and focused more on trying to get to know the version of you who lived in this amazing apartment.

The past couple of days that you spent at this apartment put you in awe. It really was the apartment of your dreams, from the color of the furniture down to the little plants stuck in the corner of that tiny shelf in the kitchen. It was beautiful and so you. The only problem was that you couldn’t find anything to help with your current situation. You scoured every nook and cranny and couldn’t find anything dated after your wedding reception. No pictures, no post-its, notes or anything past that date. What you had found in your apartment, you already knew of (aside from the wedding photos). Past photoshoots, high school photos, a notebook full of movie ticket stubs. There was absolutely nothing in this apartment that gave you a clue to the life you lived during the four year gap in your memory.

You even tried to get into your twitter and instagram from when you were nineteen but you couldn’t log in. Wrong password every single time. When you tried to change your password for social media, the email you used had a different password too. You couldn’t figure out what you could have changed your password to. Every password combination you could think of, you tried, but none worked, so you decided to just skip that and maybe go over it later on. Or make a new one. That could work, too.

You couldn’t even look at your twitter account because for some reason, it was private and that seemed strange for someone with almost 130,000 followers. You could see your instagram account from your browser, but it wouldn’t let you see the pictures and posts in full size with the captions and comments, so you were really stuck.

A quick internet search of your name yielded things you already knew. Former model, current writer (that fact was still surprising to you). Old news articles of dating scandals that weren’t true, except for the one with Yoongi. More news articles about your divorce with no further information than what Yoongi had told you already.

It’s as if any clue about your life during your memory loss is unaccounted for. It seemed like at this point, you could only rely on other people telling you about your life and pray to whatever higher power there was to give you your memories back.

This futile search was beginning to make your stomach churn. You almost couldn’t suppress the bile rising up in your throat. Hopefully Jin would return soon. Maybe he could put all of the pieces back together for you.

☾

Jungkook sat in on the uncomfortable leather couch in Yoongi’s office as he waited for the man to finish up whatever he was typing. He looked through his instagram feed and saw one of your posts from July. For a while, he was confused as to why this picture from July would end up on his feed, but he remembered the new instagram algorithm. Curious, he clicked on your profile and looked through it slowly. He couldn’t remember the last time he actually paid attention to your posts.

“I forgot to ask but what did you and Yn do at her apartment? She said you stayed over for a couple of hours.” Yoongi asked though his eyes never strayed from his paperwork.

Jungkook looked up at him and pondered on what to say.

“Hm, yeah. I got roped into staying. She asked a bunch of questions and we looked through her apartment and her photo albums. Her apartment’s cute, by the way. Way different from what your house looked like.” He comments.

“Really?”

“Yeah. It was bright. Lots of green. Nothing I’ve ever seen in the house you guys shared.”

“How was she when you picked her up? She told me a couple of things but I haven’t seen her yet so I can’t know if what she’s telling is the truth or not.”

It was quiet for a moment, with only the sound of turning pages filling the room, as Jungkook wondered what to say to this. He didn’t really know when to start with you, especially with how different you were acting.

“Well, she’s fine. The personality is definitely different. She seems a lot more outgoing, and she had a lot of questions but she didn’t push. I think she wants to try and figure things out on her own.” Jungkook replies as he continued to slowly look through your previous instagram posts.

“She’s been like that. She hates being a burden and gets really defensive about it sometimes.” Yoongi comments.

Jungkook pauses at your most recent post. He checks the date. September 22.

“When did you guys divorce again?” He asked.

At this, Yoongi looked up.

“The divorce was finalized on September 29, I think.” He answered, but looked questioningly at Jungkook as if to ask why.

“Did you know she was going to therapy?” Jungkook asked again.

Hearing this, Yoongi stood up abruptly and hurried over to where Jungkook was sitting.

“What? Where did you see that?” Yoongi asked as he looked over Jungkook’s shoulder.

Jungkook showed him the post. Yoongi took the phone from him and examined the post carefully.

It was a picture of clouds with text on it. Is this the life we really want? The caption read “as per the advice of my therapist, i’m just here to pop in and say that I’ll be going on a hiatus for a little bit”.

“What the fuck? I didn’t know this!” Yoongi yelled, evidently angry.

Jungkook looked at him confused. They were together for four years, how could he not know that you were at least going to therapy?

The same question was running through Yoongi’s head. He took a seat next to Jungkook to process this new information.

“Hyung, can I ask you a couple of questions?” Jungkook requested.

Yoongi could only nod.

“What was Yn like when you were together? Why did you marry her?” Those were the first questions that came out of Jungkook’s mouth.

He was truly, genuinely curious. Though he’s heard some things that Yoongi had said about you, he never knew the full story.

“We married each other because we loved each other. Wasn’t that obvious?” Yoongi retorted.

Jungkook pursed his lips at this. “Well that's what you tell everybody and yeah we get it, but considering the fact that I’ve barely seen you two together more than two handful of times in the past two years, I had to ask.”

“That’s because we were both busy, but that didn’t mean we didn’t spend time together. Of course you never saw it because you weren’t there and I’m not one to actively talk about my love life. Yn and I both liked our privacy.”

“Okay, then what was she like when you were together?”

Yoongi was quiet for a while. There were a lot of things he could say about you when you were together. He just didn’t know how to articulate it to Jungkook.

“When we were together… she was charismatic, beautiful and intelligent. Something about the way she communicated made you feel like you could forget about all of your worries and live life to its extent with her. She constantly dragged me out to picnics and made me forget about the business and my career. She made me feel young again. And she had so much love and care for people around her. For a long time, I felt like I would never be deserving of her. She was kind of like a sunflower. Or sunshine, you know what I mean?” Yoongi poured out.

Jungkook nodded. He realized that this was the time to try to figure out what happened to you in your marriage. From his conversation with you at your apartment, to the description of you that Yoongi had just given, he surmised that the version of you that he knew was someone different and he could only wonder if Yoongi saw it too.

“Did you ever feel like she changed? In the time you guys were together?” He probed.

Yoongi thought about it for a while.

“Yeah, I think so. I always found it strange that she decided to quit modelling.  When I met her, she said it was all she ever wanted. I never asked because it seemed like a sensitive topic to her, but I supported her regardless. Writing seemed so out of nowhere for her. I don’t know where it came from. Then she stopped wanting to go to business dinners and events with me and after that we just drifted. And in between that, you introduced me to Yura.”

When Yoongi mentioned Yura, Jungkook winced. He had thought about it some nights ago, but he realized that he might have had a hand in your divorce by introducing Yura to Yoongi. Though he knows Yoongi would have never physically cheated on you, he could see how Yoongi and Yura gravitated towards each other. Jungkook had to admit that Yura was a sweet girl. She was beautiful, and when she smiled it was like sunshine.

Yoongi interrupted his train of thought. “Yura is kind of a complicated subject to our marriage. I would never, ever cheat on someone I loved. And I loved Yn, so much. When you introduced Yura to me, I was happy to meet a new friend and that’s all I saw, but the more you made me hang out with you guys, the more I started to see something in her that I stopped seeing in Yn. I never meant to have any sort of romantic feelings for Yura, but it happened and I feel so fucking shitty for doing that to Yn when I’m the one who promised her a lifetime together.”

Jungkook straightened his posture as Yoongi’s confession.

“Wait, what do you mean by that?” He asked.

“By what?” Yoongi looked at him confused.

“What happened to Yn that pushed you to Yura?”

At this, Yoongi scratched his head.

“I wouldn’t say that it pushed me to Yura, but remember when I said Yn and I started getting distant? As time went on, I felt like she changed and I didn’t know who she was. She used to be so bubbly and happy and always wanting to go look at flowers, but towards the end of our marriage, she stayed holed up in our room no matter how much I asked her to spend time with me. Yura, she was happy to spend time with me. She made me feel like I could forget about everything just by talking to me.”

“Yura made you feel like how Yn used to make you feel?” Jungkook cut him off.

“Well… I guess so.”

Jungkook thought about this for a while but narrowed his eyes at his hyung.

“Hyung, answer this truthfully; do you love Yura?”

The tips of Yoongi’s ears turned red after hearing this.

“Love? I don’t know. I like her? I like the way she makes me feel. She’s beautiful and smart and she makes me happy.”

“Hyung, I don’t know if you realize this, but the way you described Yura is exactly the same way you described Yn.”

“What do you mean?”

“It sounds like you started liking Yura because she reminded you of Yn when you met her. So, do you really, truly like Yura? Or do you just like her because she reminds you of what you don’t have anymore?”

Yoongi lowered his head.

“I-I don’t know. I never thought of it like that.”

Jungkook put his hand on Yoongi’s back to comfort him. Obviously, the man was confused.

“I don’t know if this helps, but I just wanted to let you know that whenever I saw Yn, during those dinners or events, she never gave off the vibe that you described her to be. To me, she was quiet, reserved and never bothered trying to get to know us, your friends, or your business. That’s what she came off as. When you told us that you loved each other and that you eloped, I thought you were joking. When I saw her, she just seemed like the typical trophy wife. Just for show. I never liked her and wondered what you saw in her all the fucking time, but now after hearing this, and after being with her for a couple of hours, it’s obvious that something happened that fucked her up and then fucked your marriage up.” Jungkook ranted.

“I think you might need to reevaluate the relationship you had with Yn so we could help her recover from this whole amnesia thing and hopefully figure out what happened. Something definitely happened, but since I don’t know your marriage like you do, I don't know what it is. I feel guilty now after realizing that I might have had a hand in whatever the fuck she was going through. And maybe figure out what you’re going to do about Yura. Can you keep dating her when your feelings for her are based off of your feelings for your ex-wife, who is currently pregnant with your wife and doesn’t know about it?” He continued.

Yoongi took a deep breath, taking all of this conversation in.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m almost done with the shit here at the company. When I go home, I’ll sort everything out and talk to Yn and Yura tomorrow. I don’t think I can keep seeing Yura with the current situation. I have to tell Yn about the pregnancy as soon as possible, but I’m scared because the doctor told me to monitor for residual symptoms for her concussion. I don’t even know where to begin with the situation.”

“It’s okay, hyung. I’m here for you. You have to tell her about the pregnancy before she finds out herself. In the meantime, I’ll help you out when you can’t take care of her. I already feel shitty enough for how I acted with her when you two were married. I feel like I had the wrong impression this whole time.” Jungkook offered.

Yoongi remembered the moment earlier when Jungkook confessed that he never liked you and that baffled him because he thought that you two, of all people, would get along well together. More often than not, he would feel jealous of Jungkook, who had your admiration when you first started dating. He remembered you always asking him to introduce you to Jungkook and it took a year for him to budge and actually make it happen.

“I’m sure you’ll get along now. I always thought you did get along. Did you know she liked you before?” Yoongi asked.

Jungkook shook his head. “I didn’t know until the other day when you had me take her home. It probably would have helped if you told me she knew who I was before you introduced us after you got together. She never acted like she was a fan of my music and admittedly, I was a dick to her.”

Yoongi glared at him. It was a first for him to hear about how Jungkook treated his ex-wife.

“Well, you should feel shitty because she really liked you and your music. For a while, I thought she liked you more than me. If I had known you were an asshole to her, I probably would have ripped you a new one. Hearing you admit you treated her like shit makes me feel like shit because I never knew and just assumed you guys were good with each other. You didn’t do or say anything bad to her, right? You’re not that type of person.”

Jungkook could only pretend to smile at Yoongi as he asked this.

He shook his head and lied. “No, never.”

Lying through his teeth to his best friend about how he treated you made his heart fall to his stomach. Well, Yoongi didn’t have to know because it was in the past. You couldn’t remember any of the mean things he’d said to you, so now was the perfect time to make a new, much better impression of himself to you. He decided days ago that he would be better, because deep down, he knew that you didn’t deserve to be treated like how he treated you.

[nov. 21, 2020]

Yoongi had taken the day off after his somewhat enlightening conversation with Jungkook last night. He decided that he needed to go see you and spend some time with you today, but before that, he needed to settle things with Yura.

They decided to meet up at his apartment for maximum privacy, just in case anything happened. He wanted to account for the worst case scenario of Yura probably getting angry and throwing things around, but he doesn’t think she’s the type of person to do dramatic things like that.

Turns out, she’s not. When he reluctantly tells her that he can’t continue on with what they had because of residual feelings for you, in addition to the fact that there were complications in that relationship that he can’t speak about carelessly, she had reacted calmly and amicably. Though Yoongi hadn’t expected her to throw a tantrum, he was expecting some kind of anger, but all he got was a sad look passing on her face followed by comforting words.

He apologized profusely for having dragged her around when he still had apparent feelings for his ex-wife and not figuring out his feelings for her, or lack thereof, sooner. She reassured him that it was okay and she’ll be fine.

“I’ll be fine Yoongi. I liked you, but it’s pretty obvious that you used me as some kind of rebound or replacement for your ex-wife, and I was okay with it. Truthfully, I was waiting for you to just come clean and break it off with me. I hope you and Yn figure things out this time, and I hope you can talk to her. Communication is important.” She reminds him before she leaves, but not before letting him know that she would always be there for him as a friend.

He had texted her after she left, and after a couple of minutes to himself, that he was thankful for her being so nice about the situation and all in all, he didn’t regret whatever short-lived affection they had for each other.

Yoongi still couldn’t believe how smoothly everything with Yura went. He hoped that the rest of the day would be the same.

☾

You woke up to a message from Jungkook asking if you were free, so you had to tidy up the apartment and yourself because you didn’t want to look messy in front of someone you had idolized for a long time.

Luckily enough, you didn’t have to cook since Jungkook offered to bring food. You thank your lucky stars for that because for some reason, you’ve been feeling incredibly sluggish and nauseous. It was probably some symptoms of the concussion you suffered. You remembered your doctor saying something about that the last time you were at the hospital.

About 20 minutes later, you heard your doorbell ring so practically skip to the door, excited to see Jungkook and steal the food that he brought.

You opened the door to see Jungkook standing there with a big back of food in his hands. He was wearing all black, with a leather jacket that looked a tad too big on him.

“You look warm.” You comment.

He rolled his eyes. “Are you gonna invite me in or not? I even brought you food.”

You laugh a little and move to the side to give him room to step inside the apartment.

“So, what have you been doing?” He asks as he makes his way to your dining room to put the food down.

You make your way to the kitchen to get some plates for the both of you.

“Nothing. I’ve been trying to look for some stuff but I don’t know where to start so I just gave up until you or Yoongi could come help.” You reply as you move to the dining room to set the plates down.

Jungkook takes the food out and puts some on the plates. Kimbap, like you asked, and some seaweed soup.

“How have you been feeling? Okay?” He questioned.

You nodded, though hesitantly.

“Eh, I’ve been feeling kind of tired. I think I might be sick because I keep wanting to vomit. Is that my wintermelon tea, by the way?” You pointed to the drink in his hand.

Jungkook poked the straw through the lid and handed it to you.

“Sick? Did you take any medicine? Are you feeling better now?”

You took a sip of your tea and sighed, missing the sweet taste of the drink. It felt nostalgic.

“Mhm, took some earlier and I'm feeling much better thanks to the food you brought!” You smiled.

Jungkook rolled his eyes jokingly once again. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

He didn’t think about your illness any further. It was probably a cold and nothing else.

For about 20 minutes, the two of you ate and spoke about little things, mostly about Jungkook and his career. It helped you get to know him a little bit better since he’s the only person besides Yoongi who could help you in your situation until Jin comes back.

After you finished eating, you told him that you needed his help going through your room in case there was anything that could jog your memory.

“I would ask Yoongi but he’s been busy lately.”

“So I’m just your last resort?”

“You’re literally the only other person in my contact list besides Yoongi and Jin.”

“Right, anyways, lead the way!” He exclaimed.

You laughed as you led him to the room at the end of the hallway.

“Sorry if it’s a little messy, I didn’t have that much time to clean up before you got here!” You explained.

Jungkook shook his head, telling you it didn’t really matter since it was gonna be a mess anyways while you two went through your things.

☾

When Jungkook walked into your room, he was once again hit with the feeling that he had no fucking clue who you were in the past years he’d known you. If he could describe your room in one word, it would be enchanting. White walls, white sheets adorn with a baby blue blanket, wooden floors, giant plants and a mirror much bigger than himself. Your desk was filled with different kinds of pens, different notebooks that look to have been trifled through, and an unnatural amount of books and crystals.

From the looks of the rest of your house, he probably shouldn’t be surprised at your bedroom, but it’s still a bit difficult for him to wrap his mind around the fact that you were this type of person. Bright, intelligent, and incredibly neat.

He walked up to your desk and picked up the different notebooks laid out messily on the table. When he opened each of them, he noticed that they were mostly blank, with the exception of a few doodles. There were some things he’d recognized as lyrics from songs he knew, but nothing truly relevant to the memories you lost.

You stood next to Jungkook and looked at the notebooks in his hands.

“I went through those already. Nothing but a few sad lyrics here and there. None of them triggered any memories.” You mentioned.

Jungkook put them down and started walking around the room with you as you talked about what you did find during the days that you were left alone. What he got from that conversation was that you had no luck with anything and that’s why you waited until either he or Yoongi could come over and help you. Jungkook knew that Yoongi was coming over later, so if he couldn’t help you find anything or answer any of your questions today, then maybe Yoongi could.

“Oh! I forgot to mention that I can’t even access any of my social media, so do you think I can look through my instagram through your phone? I mean, if that’s okay with you. I know some people feel uncomfortable giving their phone to someone else to play around with.” You asked.

Jungkook shook his head and stuck his hand in his pant pocket, reaching for his phone.

“It’s fine, you can look at your profile, I think I follow you. The password is 061313.” He stated as he handed his phone over to you.

You grabbed it excitedly, finally getting the chance to see what your life was like during the four years that were missing from your memory. You fell back onto your bed as you unlocked Jungkook’s phone and clicked on his instagram app quickly.

You took a look at his profile first, staring in awe at the pictures he’s posted. Most of his pictures are very dark and he had quite a few selfies. You smiled a little bit as you admitted in your head that he was indeed handsome.

Okay, Yn, onto the more important things! You thought to yourself as you quickly searched your username ‘faeyn’ on the search bar. At first you were excited, but it deflated when you saw just how many posts you had. 13 posts. And almost all of them were just landscapes. Some had pictures of you by yourself, or with Jin, but that was it. How the fuck were you supposed to try to figure out your life through 13 pictures?

Scrolling through each picture and their captions from the oldest to newest, you quickly realized that you must have decided that privacy was something that should be valued. There was nothing of substance to your situation in the captions you’d written. Just casual mentions of how your day was, or what you did that day. The only thing that caught your eye was the latest post you had, dated September 22. It was a picture of clouds and the caption said something about your therapist advising you to take a break, so you were going to be on a social media cleanse for a while.

Well, at least you learned one thing. Apparently, you started going to therapy again. For what? You don’t know. You only remembered going to therapy a couple of times after the whole incident with your bastard ex-boyfriend.

You filed this little detail into your brain and hoped that maybe it would make more sense later on. Swiping up on Jungkook’s phone took you to his home screen, but you paused for a little. Maybe you could snoop through some more apps and see if there was anything else you can find.

No, that would be an invasion of Jungkook’s privacy, you thought. Another part of you argued that he wasn’t going to know and he’s here to help you. If there was anything worth hiding, he wouldn’t have given you his phone and his password so easily. And if there was anything, it wouldn’t be incriminating since he mentioned that you two didn’t really know each other that well, so you shrugged and clicked on his messages.

I’ll just see if there are any messages to me. I won’t look at anything else, you justified, as if it made it any better.

After scrolling for a little while, you finally saw something worthwhile. A text convo between you and Jungkook and from the preview of the message, it looks like it was from the middle of September. You opened it, excited to see the contents, but what you saw made you furrow your brows.

What is this?

☾

After Jungkook gave you his phone, he continued walking around your room until he got to the side of your bed that was next to the window. He looked around for a bit and saw something in the corner of his eyes. Crouching down lower, he saw something on the floor behind your headboard. He couldn’t tell what it was at first, but as soon as he moved closer, he realized it was a thick notebook. Jungkook surmises that you probably hadn’t seen it despite telling him that you looked ‘everywhere’. He took the notebook and sat down on the floor, completely hiding his figure, but not before he could look at you. He wanted to see what was in the notebook before he showed it to you, and luckily enough, you had been facing away from him.

So he sat down and opened the notebook. From just the first page, he could tell it was some kind of diary or journal. There were lots of drawings and stickers and a picture of you in a field of flowers right in the middle of the first page. He flipped through the whole notebook really quickly and found that half of it was already filled.

A part of him wanted to read through the whole thing and see what kind of things you wrote, but another part told him that it wasn’t appropriate. Despite that, he convinced himself that he should read maybe just one entry, just to see if this notebook was something substantial to your current situation.

Jungkook took a peek at you again and noticed you still had your back turned to him so he took that as a sign that he could probably get away with reading an entry. He flipped to a page randomly and focused his eyes on the writing.

The entry was dated August 4, 2020. Fairly recent. He noticed that there were some dark blotches on the paper that made the ink bleed.

He began to read the entry, not knowing what he was going to find out.

It still seems weird to be writing about my problems in a journal. I’m still not used to it, but it’s been helpful since I don’t really have anyone to talk to about this.

That made him frown.

I went to my OBGYN today because I’ve been having severe cramps and bleeding, but I already had my period so I was worried. And the cramps were starting to really hurt, so I had to go get it checked out just in case. Well, apparently I was pregnant and lost the baby.

Jungkook’s eyes widened and he gasped audibly. Luckily enough, it wasn’t loud enough for you to notice. He clasped his hand over his mouth at the disbelief in reading this information. A miscarriage? And so recent, too. He didn’t know how to feel. Yoongi had never said anything about this.

Jin actually just left my house a couple of hours ago. I don’t think the news hit me until now. I texted Yoongi earlier to tell him but he was busy so I think that was a sign that I should probably not tell him. It’s not like it matters right? Since the baby was gone anyways.

I know my therapist told me to stop with the negative self-talk, but it’s moments like this that really push me to just keep thinking I’ll never be good enough for the men that I love. Thanks to my bastard ex for fucking my mind up like this. No matter how hard I try, I always just circle back to the fact that I wasn’t good enough for him, and that I’m not good enough for Yoongi. Even fate is telling me that I’m not good enough to carry a child with the man I love. How fucked up is that?

Jungkook’s heart dropped to his stomach. He felt sick. There were so many things going through his head right now. He felt like he was violating something that was so private. Yoongi didn’t even know that you went through this. You didn’t even know you went through this. He shut the journal quickly, wiping the tears that formed in his eyes.

At that exact moment, he heard your heavy breathing and quickly got up to check on you. He walked around to your side of the bed and found you trembling with his phone in your hands. He noticed that his messages were open and he began to panic.

“What the fuck is this?” was the last thing he heard you say before your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you fell limp into your bed.

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[readyplayerhobi]

Flower | 19

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Fluff, slight angst

; Word Count: 5k

; Warnings: Brief mentions of depression, anxiety

; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh…incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?

; A/N: A chapter that’s a little bit more fluffier :D thank you for the love and as usual, please send me comments or feedback so I can see you’re enjoying it still! :D We’re almost halfway through!

; Flower Masterpost

-

“Ooh, look at that house.” Hoseok murmurs, almost to himself given how quiet his voice had gone. Pausing from your walk, you turn around and see that he’s stopped a feet away, his camera being held up to his eye as he looks through the viewfinder. There’s a few moments where he shifts around, trying to find the best angle and lighting before you hear the click of the shutter.

He’s not even looking at you as he begins walking again, instead his eyes are focused on the LCD screen on the back of his camera. Leaning against him a little when he finally reaches you, you peer around at what he’d just taken a photo of and smile in amusement.

After all of the bad stuff that had happened recently, you’d found yourself needing to do something to distract yourself. The antidepressants no longer gave you any major side effects and you thought that they were working, though it was probably too early to say yes or no for definite. But you also wanted to thank Hoseok for being so sweet and reliable.

As such, you’d asked Chungha if her family might let you use their beach house for the weekend. It was one of those big, rambling wooden beach houses that always looked so pretty, its yard bumping up against soft white sand and an endless expanse of beautiful blue ocean as far as the eye could see. 

The town it was in was equally picturesque, one of those places that looks like it’s been transplanted from some old European place with plenty of old style charm and warmth. Chungha’s house had apparently been in her family for generations; some long ago ancestor had built it themselves when they’d arrived and since then, her family had moved on and it had become more of a holiday home.

You’d been there once during college when Chungha had invited Soyeon and you for spring break. It had been a great time and you’d just known that Hoseok would love it all, particularly for his photography.

So you’d told him to make sure he wasn’t doing anything this weekend and to bring his camera before driving out here. He’d been excited enough to know that you were both spending a weekend at the beach, apparently he loved the ocean, but when he actually saw the town as you were driving through and then the house he’d been thoroughly charmed by it all.

That had been yesterday, the both of you getting to see the town just as the sun was setting in the winter hours and so today, Saturday, was the first time you were getting to show him it all properly. The house he’d just taken a picture of was on one of the little side streets and it looked adorably quaint, its wooden front painted a delicate shell white with baby pink window frames and a soft yellow door.

Flower boxes full of what must be winter blooming flowers and plants were hung from the windows while planters of small, ornate bushes framed the door. The awnings along the roof were also wood but had been intricately carved, giving it the impression of some kind of fairytale house.

The photos that Hoseok had taken looked pretty enough, but you knew that he’d do some magical editing later and they’d look beautiful. You could already see how the contrasting colours would look perfect against the greenery surrounding the building and you couldn’t help the smile that spread over your face as Hoseok made little noises as he walked.

He did that a lot when he was happy, and you didn’t know if he knew he did it. You weren’t going to tell him though, because you didn’t want him to get embarrassed about it and stop doing them. It made you happy to hear his vocalisation of his own emotions, and you needed some happiness lately.

Wrapping your arm around his, you pressed against him until he veered slightly off course. Looking up, he checks that he’s not about to walk off the road before looking down at you with a grin, letting his camera drop to hang by the strap around his neck and withdrawing his arm from your grasp before placing it around your waist contentedly. 

“This place is great, my photos are gonna look awesome.” He commented, his tone already distracted as he spotted something new in the distance that had attracted his attention. Smiling, you simply lay your head against his shoulder and just…enjoy his presence. You’d been well aware of his love for photography and had watched over the last few months as he’d done some casual stuff around the place you lived in alongside taking your photos for your Instagram.

But this was the first time you were truly seeing the raw passion he had for it. The way his eyes lit up when he got a good shot or how bright his smile became when he saw something that he knew would look perfect on camera.

“Why didn’t you do photography professionally? Your photos are great and you obviously love it, you’ve got a good eye.” You ask, looking up at him as he evidently decides that he’s not going to take another photo.

For a few seconds, he doesn’t respond but you can tell by the way he purses his lips slightly and his dimples come to life that he’s thinking about the answer for you. Eventually, thought he just shrugs.

“Because I was young and dumb? I liked photography when I was a teenager but it was never my number one thing. And then I went to college and finally learnt to handle my emotions better. By that point…I just wanted something stable in my life. As much as I love photography, I know that it’s not really a hugely stable job and I might never make it. I wasn’t ready to risk myself when I’d finally gotten my life on track again.” He sounds a little bit wistful but it vanishes as he shrugs lightly.

“It’s fine, I love my job now and I love computers. I get to enjoy photography as a hobby, which is all I want to be honest. I’d be worried that if I turned my hobby into my job then I wouldn’t love it anymore, you know?” Nodding, you hum gently as you ponder on his question intently.

Hoseok is only two years older than you, and sometimes it feels like he’s got his whole life sorted out already. Like he’s a real adult and you’re just a pretend adult. The thought makes you laugh to yourself, shaking your head as Hoseok gives you a querying look.

He’d probably think the same thing if you told him. What was being an adult anyway? You still called your dad for the simplest of things after all.

Smiling to yourself, you huddle further into Hoseok’s warmth and take the opportunity to simply chat lightly with him. Next weekend, you would be going to his parents for the first time. And if he’d been nervous to meet your parents, then you were terrified to meet his.

Hoseok’s family was pretty well off compared to yours and he’d never really wanted for anything. The fact that they’d lost a daughter made that all seem pointless in comparison really, but it made you feel a little sick thinking about it. You were dating their only child now, the only child they had left out of what had been two.

He’d never said anything but nice things about them but you knew that parents were always god in their children’s eyes. Especially if they had no negative emotions or feelings towards them. And Hoseok adored his mom, you knew that. But that just made it all the more worse.

You’d read more than enough subreddits to have realised that there was a special category of mom and that was the moms of sons. Some seemed to be fine, but some seemed to act like a girlfriend was taking their place in their son’s life. There were plenty of horrifying stories out there of women treating their sons girlfriend or wife horrifically bad and the son being unable to see it because of how much he loved her.

While you doubted Hoseok’s mom was like that, and for that you didn’t really think Hoseok would react happily if his parents were mean, it was still a worry. You’d never met a guy’s parents before. So that was all rushing through your mind as well. Yet another reason you’d opted to spend this weekend just enjoying each other’s company.

Taking a breath, you let you a small ‘ooh’ as you realised that you smell something delicious. Looking to the side, your eyes widen as you see a café with its door swinging shut, sending a waft of delightful smells your way. The delicious looking array of baked goods and sweets in the shop front make it even more enticing and you purse your lips as your mouth waters.

Pausing, you let go of him to step closer, focusing intently on a delicious red velvet cake that was topped with decadent buttercream frosting. You don’t even realise you’re making a face at the cake until you hear Hoseok’s chuckle and the sound of a shutter once more.

Looking at him with wide eyes, you sigh affectionately as you see him pulling his camera down with a grin. Turning it around he shows you see the image that he’d just taken and you smile at how he’d focused on your face, the background soft and pretty as you stared intently into the café front.

You always hated having your photograph taken, until Jung Hoseok had started taking them. As long as he was the one behind the camera, you knew that he wouldn’t make you look ugly or anything.

“Do you want one?” He asks, gesturing to the display. Humming lightly, you chew on your lip before nodding with a smile. This was a weekend of doing stuff to make you happy, which obviously meant that you had to treat yourself.

The answering grin on Hoseok’s face tells you that he probably knows that, but he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he gestures for you to go inside the dual café and shop. It’s nice and warm inside, making you realise just how brisk and chilly it had been outside and you unwrap your scarf from around your neck.

“Go sit down, I’ll get your stuff.” Hoseok says, leaning forward and kissing your forehead quickly before handing you his camera and backpack. You take both from him without complaint, wanting to tell him that you’ll pay but you know there’s no way he’s letting that happen right now.

You’d learnt to pick your fights with Hoseok, or arguments rather. Particularly as you hated arguing and all of that so you tried your hardest to not argue at all. And this wasn’t something worth the time or effort.

The café isn’t that busy so you make sure to grab a table a little further inside. It’s only knee high but the dark red couch that accompanies it looks far too comfy to give up, particularly given the abundance of soft, multi-patterned cushions. 

Carefully placing Hoseok’s camera on the table and his backpack on the floor, you add your own bag before sinking down into the blissfully squishy couch. The cushions practically envelop you and you can’t help but smile as you almost fall backwards, resting against the equally soft back.

Yeah, this was a good spot. And it let you people watch in the whole café along with a perfect view of the street outside.

Hoseok came over with a tray in his hands and you take a moment to peruse him, enjoying the little triangle his lips have turned into as he concentrates on not dropping anything. It makes him look adorably cute, which is at complete odds with the rest of his look. 

His one concession to being in this pretty town today had been that he was wearing a white shirt, just a hint of the outline of his tattoo whenever he moved a certain way. But that was it though. Otherwise, he definitely didn’t look like he belonged in this place.

Grey distressed jeans with holes ripped into the knees met his new pair of black Dr Martens, a present he’d bought himself after a particularly hard week. An equally dark leather jacket was slung casually over his shoulders, the silver points on it highlighted by the silver necklaces he wore and the new hoops in his ears and the ring in his lip.

As usual, he looked incredibly handsome and the perfect picture of grunge and rock. But he really didn’t fit this overly…dainty town and you almost wanted to laugh at how out of place his fashion was, even in this café. He must be used to it by now, particularly given he was dating you but it still amused you anyway.

“What are you laughing at?” Eyes widening, you realise that you must’ve been smiling or something at him because he had a decidedly amused look on his face as he places the tray on the table. A big slice of red velvet cake is placed in front of you alongside a fork while he puts a fancy looking sandwich down in front of himself before sitting.

He’s got you a tall glass of water, flavoured with some real strawberries that makes you ‘ooh’ in delight while he takes a sip of whatever tea he’d bought. Peering over at his plate, you give him a raised brow and he smiles.

“Pastrami, Swiss cheese, mayo, tomato and lettuce.” He grins and you make another noise, watching intently as he takes a bite. A spot of mayo stays on the corner of his lips and you reach over, wiping it away with one of the paper napkins he’d brought too.

“Good?” You ask, curious as you eye the thickly stacked sandwich questioningly. Pausing, Hoseok looks at you before nodding and making a sigh so quiet that you almost didn’t hear it. But then he offers it to you, gesturing for you to take a bite and you grin happily.

The flavours burst in your mouth, combining together beautifully and you let out the tiniest moan of contentment at just how delicious they all are. You’re surprised Hoseok doesn’t mind the mayonnaise given he’s not a fan of it, but you suppose it’s just like people liking tuna mayo and not mayonnaise.

The next fifteen minutes are spent with the both of you slowly eating the sandwich, one bite at a time and you can’t help but hum happily with how…content you feel with everything right now. It’s a very bizarre concept to you and you’re sure it’s the antidepressants, working properly like they’re supposed to.

Maybe it’s just a placebo effect, but you can’t find it in yourself to care.

“God this place is so nice.” Hoseok sighs once he’s finished, slumping on the couch and resting his hands over his stomach. You poke it gently and giggle as he overly exaggerates a pout before reaching forward for the plate of cake. Take a large section, you eat it slowly and make an appreciative noise before glancing back at your boyfriend.

“This is so good, holy shit.” You whisper, eyes widening as he laughs loudly at your reaction. His mouth is engaged pretty quickly though as you feed him a piece of the cake, watching as he contemplates for a second before nodding agreement with you.

Wriggling in your seat, you continue to eat the cake with sole minded focus while Hoseok just watches you for a moment. That is, until he reaches for his camera, popping the lens off and changing it for you knew was better for closer shots. Sure enough, just like you’d suspected, he lifts the camera up and raises a brow at you, asking the question silently.

With a mouth full of cake, you don’t answer verbally but instead nod a little shyly as you swallow as quickly as possible. It just makes him snort though, lifting the camera to his face and angling it exactly how he wanted. You’re not entirely sure what he wants you to do but you can’t help but look down at the plate, fork cutting into the soft cake as you try not to feel too embarrassed about him photographing you in a place where other people are probably looking.

Outside it felt fine, but it felt very personal in here with the dimmer lighting and such. 

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” Hoseok says, his voice soft as he checks over the image and you feel so many emotions at once that you’re not sure what you’re actually feeling. Embarrassed? Pleased? Shy? Happy? He’s the only man who’s ever called you beautiful outside of your dad.

So you deflect it with sarcasm, because that’s how you dealt with things that made you feel shy. A terrible coping mechanism, you know, but it has got you through life so far.

“Has that sandwich turned you sappy? Or was it the cake?” From the way Hoseok’s lips twist, you can tell that he wants to laugh but instead he just continues to flick through the photos he’s taken over the day. It’s one of the things you like best about him, that he never lets your awkwardness interrupt.

“Can I take one of us?” He asks, his voice gentle as he poses the question to you. You loved that about him, that he’d learnt to always ask if he could take a photograph of you both together. Nodding, you lean into his body and smile at the camera as he holds it out in front of you both. There’s a moment of nothing before he clicks the button a few times.

Placing the now empty plate down, you lean back on the couch and let out a deep sigh, belly full and your mind happy. There would have been a time when you’d have been ashamed of your body after eating, not wanting Hoseok to see anything that he might find ugly. But you’d learnt by now that he wasn’t like that, and he didn’t even notice that kind of stuff.

So you let yourself just relax fully against the cushions, moving your hand to rest on his thigh and simply enjoying the contact while he looks at the selfies. He shows them to you and you can’t help but feel a flutter in your stomach at how happy you both look, your eyes bright with sweet smiles on both your faces. You’d also discovered that you liked having your photo taken with him.

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence after that, the sounds taken up instead by the gentle music flowing through the speakers, the quiet chatter of other customers and the clinking of cutlery on plates. It all feels very…domestic and you have one of those moments where you realise how strange this all is for you.

If you’d been told a year ago that you’d be sat here, on a weekend break to a little beach town with your boyfriend of nine months after suffering a breakdown and finally reaching out for help, you’d have laughed in their face. Being on antidepressants might have been believable sure, but a boyfriend? That’s been with you for nine months?

No, you would’ve never believed that.

And yet here he was, in all his outrageously attractive glory with his calm and reassuring presence. For you. Because of you. 

Hoseok smiles at something on his camera and you can’t help the smile in response, a bubble of emotion rising inside you as you watch the way his eyes almost glitter, the skin beneath them swelling in that way they do when he’s happy and the shape of his eyes becoming those sweet little half moons that he always got when he was feeling particularly joyful. It was a mix of happiness, fondness and something else, something much deeper.

“You have such pretty eyes.” You whisper without meaning to, practically purring with delight as those eyes get even smaller as his cheeks rise from the size of the grin he’s sporting. There’s just a hint of pink on them now and you coo at him, carefully taking his camera and putting it into the shooting mode.

Lifting it up to your eye, you wonder if the camera will ever be able to get across just how much you care for this man. Just how much you adore him and will treasure him for as long as you are able to have him. You’re not sure, but you want to try at least.

His face comes into focus in the tiny viewfinder and you watch in enjoyment as he gets a slightly bashful look on his face, your compliment evidently still being consumed. But you don’t let him off that easy and instead decide to lay it on a little thicker.

“Such pretty eyes and a beautiful nose. You’re so handsome, I swear. It’s not fair. Even your smile is like a heart!” The pink starts to stain deeper, his ears slowly turning too while he bites at his lip, the silver ring catching the light perfectly and you snap away happily.

He lets you take photos with the camera until finally he reaches out, gesturing for it. You give it back to him happily, content that he went along with you long enough that you got some pretty pictures of him. Leaning back against his arm, you rest your head on his shoulder and watch as he flicks through the pictures.

“I want those pictures. Just so you know.” You state, letting him know that he’s going to have to edit them for you and he can’t just delete them. He doesn’t argue back, just nodding before pressing a kiss to your forehead affectionately.

-

The sea here during summer is a beautiful blue that shimmers like a jewel, but at the moment it’s duller. A coldness rolls in from afar, the waves harsher with the oncoming winter and you shiver inside your coat, wrapping your arms around your waist.

After leaving the café, Hoseok and you had walked around the town some more. He’d taken a few more pictures of things he thought were interesting before you’d asked if you could take some photographs too. That has resulted in him giving you a quick tutorial in how to use his camera in depth. You had a brief experience with it obviously, but actually doing anything more than just simply clicking wasn’t something you had experience with.

It had been fun though. Not only had you enjoyed taking the photos themselves, along with the process of trying to decide what would make a good shot, but you’d enjoyed interacting with Hoseok about something he was passionate about. You felt like he’d done a lot of the heavy lifting in your relationship so far, and you wanted to try and show more of an interest in what made him happy.

And he seemed to quite enjoy teaching you different shooting techniques. It wasn’t ever going to be your thing, but you’d decided that you would be more than happy to go along with him whenever he got the creative urge.

Now though, you were both walking along the beach back to the house. It perhaps wasn’t as nice of a walk as it could have been given the chilly temperatures, but it gave you the perfect opportunity to get closer to Hoseok.

Leaning into him as you both trudge against the shifting sand beneath your feet, you can’t help but smile as the wind blows the familiar smell of Hoseok to you. You’d always thought that he smelled good and the thought runs through your mind even now, thankful that he was someone who actually took care of himself.

There had been far too many guys in college who had thought that hygiene was just a word they couldn’t spell properly.

Neither of you says anything, too happy and content in the familiar silence between you both and you’re thankful for that too. It had always been hard to find people with whom silence was just a comfortable experience and not an anxiety inducing event where you mentally scrambled for a topic to talk about.

With Hoseok though, you didn’t feel that need to talk and he didn’t bother with any small talk either. Instead, you both just enjoyed the world around you and the simple company of each other.

You don’t notice that he’s fallen behind you once more, too concentrated on not falling over in the sand as you spy the house in the distance. It’s only when you go to reach out for his hand, hoping to curl your fingers together inside the pocket of his coat and find nothing but air that you realise.

Turning around, a particularly harsh and severe wind cuts through you, causing you to wrap your arms around yourself even tighter as you shiver while you stagger slightly from the force. Looking back at Hoseok with wide eyes, you can’t help but laugh when you see how red his cheeks have gone from the windchill. His camera is being slowly lowered and you can see that even his fingers are red too.

Reaching up, you cup his cheeks and coo gently at how cold they feel against your hands, thumbs stroking the slight stubble growing from his lack of shaving this morning. Grinning, you eye his nose in amusement, the elegant tip now pink from the cold sea breeze.

Pushing up onto your tiptoes, you press your lips to said nose affectionately. It’s gentle and quick, but you bite your lip as you see the happy look in his brown eyes.

“Cold nose.” You tease him lightly, moving one hand to press the tip of your forefinger against it. He lets you for a few seconds before moving his head just enough to allow him to kiss your finger instead, his gaze warm against the chilly conditions.

“I love you.” Hoseok says it so casually that you don’t even really register what he’s just said at first. Instead, you’re still just smiling at him with a look of pure girlish happiness on your face from how sweet he looks and the adorable reaction he’d had to your kiss.

And then it does. Those syllables become words in your head and those words gain meaning, causing you to jolt back from him slightly as you comprehend them. 

Your eyes must be astonishingly wide right now, your jaw dropped open at some point and in the back of your mind, you note how cold your teeth feel against the wind. But that’s not what you can focus on.

Hoseok loves you. He loves you. He loves you and he’s told you this.

No one had ever told you that they loved you outside of friends and family. A swirl of emotions forms a vortex in your stomach and you’re not sure whether you want to cry, shout, dance for joy or throw up. It wasn’t really a big deal, people said it to each other all the time, right?

“I don’t expect you to say it, and I’ve held back until I felt you might be able to accept it a little better. But I really do. And I hope me telling you can make you as happy as I feel telling you.” Now he’s cupping your face, the palms of his hands so hot against your cheeks.

And he’s smiling, lips spreading and his white teeth showing as the gesture gets wider and bigger with dual amusement and happiness. For a few seconds, you simply gawp at him, unable to form words before you look away, shyness you haven’t felt in months with him rising to the fore.

“Even after…everything?” You don’t need anyone to pull apart what you’ve just said as you understand it better than anyone. After the breakdown and crippling depression, the side effects of the antidepressants, the long time it’s taken for him to get anywhere with you in terms of a relationship. You were happy with how everything had gone with him, but you knew that there would be many men who would be frustrated.

“Yep. And I don’t want to make a big thing out of this, okay? It’s just how I feel. I don’t want to overwhelm you or have expectations on you. The sun is hot, space is big, this wind is really cold and I love you. That’s all. Now, I think maybe we should head back to the house, call for takeout and then spend the rest of the night cuddled up. Sounds good?” Just like he’d said, he doesn’t ponder on what he’d said.

And you understand him instinctively, because you would be the same way. He evidently doesn’t want to analyse his words, maybe because he just doesn’t want to or maybe because he didn’t want to make you overthink.

But you can’t deny the fizzing happiness that zaps through your veins as you smile at him brightly, the emotion beating out everything else you’re feeling to be the most prominent. He loves you.

“Netflix and chill?” You ask, your voice a tiny bit hoarse and a little shy, but Hoseok takes your words with a grin of relief as he nods.

Tangling your fingers together, he begins to walk back down the beach while you keep pace beside him. “Thought you’d never ask.”

[yeoldontknow]

Light Sakura

Author’s Note: welcome back to chanvember 2019! this is a much heavier offering. when i was in japan in april, i wrote some of my thoughts and feelings into notes. there werent many, but i decided to turn them into this beast a fic. this is a very personal story - personal and heavy, and is probably me at my most raw and honest. more than anything, this is me letting you in to watch me process life. i hope you can still appreciate it <3  Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female) Genre: romance; angst; travel!au; fluff; light smut Summary: While taking your honeymoon in Tokyo, alone, you meet Chanyeol, a man who reminds you of the person you remember being long before you learned to forget yourself. After spending one full day together, you question if you could walk away from him - especially when it feels like walking away from yourself, again. Rating: R Warnings: some intense, adult angst; the most beautiful chanyeol ive ever written; and an explicit makeout session Word Count: 15K

Barely half nine in the morning and already the cherry blossom trees of the Shinjuku National Gardens have decided to whelm you. 

Overhead, they sway in the breeze, elegant in their movements and peaceful in the way they seem to exist for no one and everyone, but most of all, themselves. You relate to them, in only this half-formed similarity, alone on the linen blanket you’ve spread across a soft patch of grass. 

The blush pink of the petals puts the flavor of hope, faith, and healing on your tongue - you’re unsure if this is what they truly mean, if this is the ascribed symbolism to pretty, delicate things, but it feels like they matter. You feel strongly and passionately they mean something beyond the aesthetic of paradise, filtered and filtered again through Instagram as proof of experience.

To you, they are the herald of change, the transience of perfection contained neatly in the blossom, fading almost as soon as they appear. Always, they depart swiftly, detached and long missed yet remaining somewhere just beyond reach, a memory of perfect bliss; the wonder, and the healing, and the euphoria of existence, and the grief and melancholy of the inherent loss. 

From the corner of your eye, you see it, a large mass of struggle and frustration. Intrigued, you look over to find a man, tall and gangly, battling with himself and the blossoms and the sun to take a selfie. On this cloudless day in April, the sun seems to find his eyes from every angle, even this early in the morning. Blinded yet, somehow, ignited, he becomes at once a man both at peace and at war with nature, challenged by the haze of morning to outshine the blossoms. Even under the sakura tree, the sun seeks his shapes, gives him a glow that speaks of reverence and admiration. 

It’s entertaining to witness, though only serves to remind you that there is no one with you to laugh or to watch, to share in the delight of such a vision, and so you look away, having already seen enough for yourself.

Glancing down to your blanket, you see the array of items spread before you, gaze drifting to the sakura mochi. Your lips fall to a grimace, the humor of the morning dissipating on sight. Nothing about the confection tastes right, or truly like a confection at all. One bite, and all you could think was that some things are meant to be witnessed and admired, never consumed, their delicate lightness bitter on the tongue but sweet to the iris. 

Lured by motion in the distance, you look up once more and find he is still there, spinning in circles beneath the trees. The longer you watch, the more you find he is somewhat familiar in his unfamiliarity, the strangeness of not knowing his name or personality or history its own sort of comfortable adventure, the thrill of it settling over your nerves in a way you had long abandoned. The sight of him overtakes you the same way he is overtaken by the sun, almost immediately and without escape. Though, for you, you know you are overtaken by the nostalgia of an imperfect youth and the mistakes that come from letting the wrong person in - not dangerous, not lethal, but deadly just the same and always just as reckless.

And so you don't know why you speak, why you even rise to a stand, allow yourself to disturb the peaceful solitude of your morning, wanting, rather suddenly, to ease his struggle. Even more, you don’t know what exactly it is about him that makes you reach out, giving yourself yourself away and over to the feeling of longed for and missed connections.

'Do you want help with that picture?'

A small noise of surprise leaves his chest as he turns to face you, seeking your voice with his lips set in a full pout. At once and against your better judgement, you swoon, transfixed by how arresting he truly is. Arresting, a word you’ve never really used for people or even art made after 1945, the term reserved for pain and poetry, but he becomes it, embodies it, in every sense of the meaning. 

His smile take it time as his gaze walks over your features, taking you in, beguiled and amused and delighted for the help - relieved too, a grateful smile falling on his lips as though he'd been waiting for you, relaxing at once into the comfort of not knowing you at all. It strikes you how easy it is to connect when you aren’t really trying to, when you aren’t thinking or overthinking, and people can just be themselves. 

The warmth in his smile remains, even as he speaks, the genuine contentment of it infectious. 'Do you mind?' 

Taking a few cautious steps towards you, he runs a hand through his hair, anxious. 

'Happy to.' You close the gap between you both, extending your hand, palm upwards, for his phone. 'It's funny, I thought this would have been easy given how long your arms are.'

The joy of his smile spills into his laugh as he hands you his phone, the sound boisterous and altogether too loud for the quiet stoicism of Japan, his unbridled energy turning the colours of the gardens into something far more rich than the human eye could bear. 

'Sorry,’ you giggle, carried by the sound of his pleasure. ‘I don't mean that as an insult.' It’s amusing, you think, how awkward this exchange is. How terribly exciting it truly is to not be comfortable. ‘You just don’t realize how hard good selfies are until you’re short, like I am.’

'Well,' he concedes, 'the limbs are helpful for group photos but when you're perpetually under the sun and in the way and having to duck, it's just as difficult.'

Far more lightly than you would have imagined for someone of his size, he settles on the edge of the wooden bridge, the water of the pond glistening behind him, gleaming much like the cityscape in the distance. At once, he is radiant, another word you’d never used for a person until you saw him, the tips of his ears catching the light, the sunbeams finding him in a way they don’t seem to find other people. Or, perhaps, they don’t find him at all, and simply are born of him entirely, emerging from his core and lifted into the atmosphere. 

A warm breeze moves through the air, rustling your hair, and he leans into it, almost imperceptibly. Eyes closed and expression soft, he lifts his head towards the sky and smiles, blissful in his quiet contentedness. 

An image such as this, you think, is poetic, the kind of portrait that resonates throughout the city long after the person has left, adding weight to their photo collection and adding weight to all of those who witnessed its capture. But your finger hesitates, the slowness of your muscles taking its time to luxuriate in his expression. His delight, his happiness, his easy way of coming alive as though it were natural, and as though you could learn to do it, too. 

And so you are slow, paused in your admiration long enough for it to dissipate altogether, his mercurial personality shifting his pose almost immediately into one of casual nonchalance. 

'Let me know when you're ready,' he says, regarding you with a calm, yet detached smile.

'Okay.' You're unsure when you became so breathless, when the air left you and went in search of somewhere, or someone, else, but you're unsure it matters. Moments like this, of intense feeling and abrupt emotion, you know, usually do not last. 'Three. Two. One.'

The moment you press capture to take the picture, his expression changes. Eyes going cross-eyed, he sticks out his tongue and wrinkles his nose, making a mess of the scenery, and the image, altogether. And all at once, you laugh, overcome and overtaken by the shock. The abrupt force of it makes you sputter, your breath lurching forward in a cough as he rises to a stand, pleased with himself. 

'How did it come out?' Pride drenches his words, smile wide and large and eyes glistening in victory, as you realize he meant it - he meant every detail of it.

Catching your breath, you study the picture, the absurdity of it, and turn it around to show him. 'You don't want me to delete this?'

He shakes his head, reaching for the phone and regarding the photo with a smirk. 'Absolutely not.' 

‘Who is this picture for?' you question, confident a photo like that has a home, a purpose, a place. It’s not pretty, the expression and the energy tarnishing any hope of it living on social media. 

'Just me,' he clarifies with a small shrug. 'But does it have to be for anyone?'

You fall silent, mind empty by the simplicity of this statement and mesmerized by his lightness of being. A talent, you are aware, you simply do not share. 'No,' you agree, voice soft, 'I suppose not.'

'Do you want me to take one of you?' he offers, pocketing his phone and cocking his head to the side.

In truth, you hadn’t considered it - hadn’t considered any part of this morning, likely would have come and gone with only pictures of the trees and none of you, your essence moving through the city without leaving a trace. It would be nice, you think. Something for your mother or, as he said, something for no one at all - something to remember yourself by.

'Do you mind?'

He nods, enthusiastically, offering his palm with eager fingers. 'It's the least I could do.'

Sitting on the bridge railing in the same place, the breeze moves through your hair once more, and you understand why he eased into the feel of it, almost tender in its smooth traverse between the strands. Sweetness lingers in the air, the smell of blossoms and food and a distinct characteristic, definitive to Tokyo, that you will never quite place. Hands gripping the wood, your mind wanders, seeming to forget there’s a purpose to your position here, a purpose for this crowd and a reason the petals move through the air, lifted much the same way the wind gives flight to wings.

Would you have wanted to share this moment, you think, with someone else, or share it at all? Are you truly sharing this moment, with the people around you and the man preparing to take your photo? Would another person have made it better - would he have made it better? Could it really have been more joyful than this? 

Mostly, you think you would have been pressured, too aware of everything, especially he needs of another person. Aware, most distressingly, of the crippling necessity for plans and the way you are forever bound to the beginning and the end of an existence, all actions reduced from their experience to little more than a point A and a point B, with little room for the journey in between.

As if on cue, your new found partner coughs, approaching you with a placid expression.

'Sorry,’ he mumbles apologetically. ‘You're getting a facetime call.'

Gently, almost reproachfully, he hands you the phone and you look at the name, the iridescent letters making your stomach sink. Guilt overtakes you, mind racing even though it feels so impossibly empty, each glimmer of the name and the sad, almost solemn image of your face running your tongue dry. Briefly, you are reminded of the sakura mochi, and the way beautiful things so easily sour. 

The shadow of your new, strange friend lingers, his own body taking on a sway that distracts you enough to decline the call with a tap of your finger.

'It's okay,' you say, handing your phone back to him with a smile you know is partially vacant. 'I can call him back.'

He simply nods, expression neutral, both somehow aware that you will not.

With only a few long strides, he returns to his original position just as swiftly as he returns to his original mood, jovial and easygoing all over again. 'Tell me when you're ready.'

'Ready,’ you announce, unsure if you’ve ever really meant it. 

Loud with enthusiasm, he counts down the same way as you had, but you find you don’t carry the same playfulness to be as creative or amusing as he was. He was mesmerizing, and you are entirely uncertain how to attain that same radiant sense of optimism he seems to exude even beyond the frame of his picture. Instead, you simply look at him, trapped in a state of wonder and loss, a limbo that feels worthy of being captured.

It is not, you think, that this is a moment you’d like to return to, merely that you think you’d like to see how it looks. More than anything, you want to know how to capture and hold and maintain the fleeting experience of growth. Down to the depths of your marrow, you simply want to give permanence to the in between, your desire for control a habit you could never quite shake, regardless of how often you try.

Humming, he approaches you with your phone in hand, pleased with himself, though the corners of his mouth are downturned in pensive consideration.

'Who is this picture for?' he muses, parroting your earlier question and handing you the phone.

You meet his gaze for a single moment, mystified by the way his thoughts run wild in his irises, before looking down at the image. The person in the photo is you - she looks like you and wears your clothes, but you are aware that you are entirely absent from the image. Instead, you have been replaced with someone unfamiliar - neither hopeful nor resentful, she simply appears lost. Not lonely, not lacking, just learning, having neither retreated inward nor retreated at all, here and nowhere and delighted by the confusion of it. 

'No one,' you say, proud with your success. This is not a beautiful picture, and you are glad for it, the ability to witness the discomfort of evolution. 'Everyone.'

Looking up at him once more, you finally offer him a smile you believe in, a smile you know is genuine.

'Does it matter?'

He shakes his head, returning your expression with childlike wonder. 'No, I suppose it doesn't.'

For a few, intangible moments, you remain like this, both regarding one another, a little unsure how to feel or what to say or what to even make of one another, smiling because it feels right and it feels good. He leans forward, inches closer as though pulled by a magnet, and the motion draws your attention to the queue that has started to form behind him. Each passing moment, more people arrive to the gardens, people wanting to view the blossoms and wanting the same photo as you, patient and yet hardly patient at all giving the bounce in their knees.

'Do you want to have breakfast with me?' You’re entirely unsure where the question comes from, and find yourself pointing in the direction of your blanket, the food and the bags still exactly where you left them. 

You are unsure where the question came from but you are not upset that you asked, not even appalled. At this moment, the only thing you can truly fathom is that you want to remain in his company if only because it is spontaneous.

He glances to where you pointed, narrowing his eyes. 'Are you sure? I don't want to impose.'

'Do you have somewhere else to be?’ you press, allowing him a way out should he be too polite to take one for himself. ‘Plans?' The word feels heavy in your mouth, weight and severity of it unsuited for him entirety. 

'Not really,’ he grins. ‘I'm just exploring today.'

You return his smile, glad that he gets it even if he does not. 'Me, too.'

'In that case, yeah, I'd love to join you.' 

Together, you make your way to the blanket, his stride slightly unnatural as he adjusts to your pace. The kindness of it fills your chest with a heat long absent in your connections with others, and you welcome it, delighted for its return.

 'I'm Chanyeol,’ he says, angling himself on the blanket so his shoes remain on the grass. He extends his hand towards you once more, friendly and personable.

'Y/N.'

The press of his palm into yours warms your nerves, a thrill of newness gliding up your arm and into the nodes of your lungs. Swallowing thickly, you maintain your smile, wondering if he can see that his presence threatens to send you floating, a too much too soon rush of blood to the head. His gaze remains on yours too long, the same way his hand remains twined with yours too long, and when he remembers himself, separating you, it does not escape your attention that he presses the flat of his hand to the blanket, knuckles tense.

It’s the same for you, the memory of his touch lingering long after he has left you, skin tingling and feeling tattooed.

Blinking, you avert your gaze and nudge the wooden box of sakura mochi towards him, gesturing for him to try it.

'Oh you got one of these?’ he begins, slowly, tentatively. ‘They're...'

'Awful?' you offer, hoping he agrees.

'Yeah,' he laughs. ‘It’s really surprisingly terrible. I didn’t want to say in case you love it.’

Your laugh joins his, the sound new and refreshing - yours in  a way that it hasn’t been for a long time. You recognize the sound of it, the crystal ring and high echo a sound you made when you were nineteen and unafraid of the distant expanse of life. Back when you were fresh and bright and untarnished by the way a person can wake up and demand so much of you before the sunrise - demand parts that do not exist, and so you must create them, calling the shell of this action a compromise. 

"I’ll give that up because you’re asking so nicely," you hear yourself say. "But be warned this is a slippery slope, and I don’t think you’re ready for the fallout."

He thinks you’re teasing. You know that you aren’t.

"One day," you hear yourself say, "I will give it all up for you and there will be nothing left of me for you to take."

Hours later, the linen blanket folded neatly into his backpack, Chanyeol joins you on the trip to teamLab Borderless. Because, you have two tickets and it would be a shame to waste them, a thing you said as a method of reasoning, a means to rationalize the fact that you felt good about asking him. Because, he had attempted to buy tickets and found he was too late, the day already sold out and the next available date after his departure. And you smiled, glad for his company and for the ability to make irrational choices, the magic of both these things making the tips of your fingers tingle with adrenaline.

And he smiled, you like to think, because he was glad to be with you, with someone, glad that you wanted him, continuing a conversation that never seemed to stop.

The art museum swallows you, takes you in and refuses to release your bones, turning you to carrion flowers. The dark shadows and blurred edges entrap you in a state of awe. At every corner, the impenetrable blackness looms but it is not foreboding, the contrast giving way to smears and arrays of colour so unlike the usual refractions your eyes choose to witness. 

Even covered by this darkness, still, Chanyeol finds a way to glow. Through almost every room, the colours adorn his skin, craving contact with one they recognize as their own. Or, perhaps, it is you, learning to crave all over again and shedding the weight of responsibility, of choice over carnal desire, mind over matter, and the physicality of your wanting suddenly made manifest for all to see, staining him with the residue in the process. 

He seems at peace in the falsehood of this magic, touching walls and touching lights with long fingers and delicate caresses. Standing behind him just enough to give him space, privacy, you watch as a light show animals, flowers blooming from their backs as they walk, passes along the wall. For a moment, you are transfixed, wondering where the lights are, how someone as tall as him doesn’t interrupt or break the lines of their imagined flesh, until he reaches one arm up and runs his fingers down the wall.

Slowly, gently, sweetly, he caresses these false animals, long fingers offering a gentle touch to the wall, and you step forwarding, moved by his bravery. Peering at his profile, you regard his serene smile and half-formed dimple at the corner of his cheek, softening for him as the seconds pass. Mirroring his actions, you do the same, running your hand down the wall and feeling the fabric, stroking the necks and limbs and arms of animals, the press of your fingers sending flower petals cascading to the floor, gathering, and not gathering at all, at your feet. 

Chanyeol smiles at you, pleased with the entropy you have introduced, and walks down the hall with his hand still at the wall, touching and touching all he is allowed with the same tenderness he would provide a lover. It seems, to you, that he will never truly have his fill of the sensation of feeling, the smile he wears too satisfied with himself to really pull away, only doing so when the wall ends and he absolutely must. Standing in front of a new room, his hands clench into fists, wanting to touch but refraining from smearing his prints on the glass.

He leads you further into the museum, into a room full of lights and lights and lights, strung from the ceiling and glimmering not unlike diamonds. It takes you a moment to realize the lights are just that, and not refined quartz, natural pieces of the earth uprooted to display their shine. Chanyeol weaves away from you, looking at you over his shoulder with a playful, tempestuous grin, and you struggle to keep up with him, his long limbs carrying him away faster than you can move through the crowd. 

Alone in an open expanse of light, you turn and turn, spinning in circles looking for him, rationalizing this sudden separation and wondering if abandonment always feels so abrupt; if you, and your over eager feet, did this to him, pushing beyond your limits out of righteous indignation. Was it always going to be this way? Would you always find yourself in solitude, just when things started to feel good?

From the distance, you hear Chanyeol’s voice and the noise of delight he releases, a sound that says he found what he’s looking for. You almost see his shadow, the length of him mirrored and rendered into an iridescent form behind the lights, a luminous mirage in an oasis of illusions. 

‘Y/N,’ he calls, voice rippling through the room with some restraint, his efforts of being polite likely going unnoticed. ‘Watch this.’ 

At once, the lights change from soft hues of green and pink and purple to white, pure and endless white, the room igniting in a flash before turning blue and blue and blue, the sound of rain consuming the room. All at once and all over again, you feel weightless, as if the limits of nature and the limits of physics could no longer root you to the earth. 

But then, you suppose, that is the point.

Limits don’t exist, likely never existed at all, your own mind creating the borders just to give structure and rules to things never meant to be thought through, only felt. Always felt and touched and bent by your hands and no one else's, and you find you thrive when there are no rules, just light and sound and art and Chanyeol; always Chanyeol, leading you into the light and ensuring you feel it.

The light hits you like a flood, shimmering in all the ways you wish you could. Your clothes and skin and hands become kindling for alchemy, granting you permission to glow, still differently than the holy way Chanyeol seems to smolder within the magic. On you, it attaches and pulls at you, breaking the boundaries of your flesh until you stand, palms up and regarding the ceiling, feeling a mist the sound of rain surely did not bring with it. But still, you are wet, wet with tears and relief and memory, emptying yourself of the things you keep buried within, letting them run free simply because Chanyeol gave you the aural, cosmic permission to do so.

He comes to stand before you as the lights turn to a shade of red, the glimmer making his dark hair appear auburn and putting a false flush at his cheeks. His very presence seems to change the atmosphere, molding the energy to fit and suit him, your own breath halting in your lungs, your blood, your heart, giving you pause to take him in, making room to fit him inside and never let him free. 

‘Beautiful, wasn’t it?’ he asks, soft and thoughtful and the quietest he’s been all day. ‘That’s my favourite.’

You can only manage a slight nod, too vulnerable to give shape to words, fully aware the sound of your own voice would break you. Chanyeol steps closer, the lights behind and around you changing from red to purple, romantic in their shift, and the electric shock between you both looms, running down the light strings the same way it runs down your nerves.

‘Do you want to get some tea?’ he tries, keeping his tone even and soothing.

Once again, you nod, needing to be near him and needing to feel close, healed, and warmed by something other than the sight of his deep, affectionate eyes.

The pressure of your tea cup on the table causes flowers to bloom, a trick of light and science that makes it hard for you to speak for a long time. Your flowers are different from his, all pink and yellow and gold, where his swirl in deep shades of purple, the rich green of his leaves sprawling not unlike ivy, reaching, as best they can, towards your petals.

'This was meant to be my honeymoon,' you announce abruptly, keeping your eyes fixed on the foamy liquid and watching the petals bloom in your cup. Mentally, you compare them to the blossoms that line the street and the park, aware that these colours are too strong to be natural, but are equally as ephemeral. 

Chanyeol doesn't say anything, just watches you patiently, expectant. 

'I have two for everything,' you continue, running your finger over the petals and watching them bleed into your skin. 'It's cheaper to travel as two, in every sense. No one ever wants you to go alone, or go alone and feel good about it.'

'Why did it end?' As soon as he says it, he recoils, apologetic. 'I'm sorry if that's personal.'

Hissing through your teeth, you sigh. 'He didn't cheat on me, if that's what you're asking.'

'I don't really know what I should be asking,’ he counters, still so resolutely encouraging, ‘but I'm glad that's not true.' 

'I wish he did,' you admit bitterly. 'It would have made sense. There would have been a reason.' 

Chanyeol softens, hand coming to rest on the table, inching forward and back again. 'That's okay,' he reassures. 'Sometimes, things just don't work out.'

'He was perfect.’ You aren’t really sure why you say it, aware that you are announcing things you would share in a conversation with someone else. Perhaps that’s what this is, a conversation with no one, not even Chanyeol. 'Anyone would have loved him.'

Still, he smiles. 'But anyone doesn't have you be you.' 

When you turn to face him, your expression feels cold, and you wait for him to reel back, shocked and pained, but he remains calm and patient. You love him, then, love him and hate him all at once.

'I could have.'

'So why didn't you?'

“Are we spending too much time together?” you asked, the sadness in your chest pulling at your lungs, tearing the nodes in the hopes of creating irreparable fissures.

“No?” he replied, also a question and sounding just as distressed as you.

You shook your head. “We are.” It was so obvious. Everything, to you, was so obvious. “We’re starting to sound like one another.”

It was such a silly thing to say, silly and cruel. You were so aware of it, of his crestfallen expression and the way you burdened him just by letting him know, by letting him see. Doubt painted his features, and you felt guilty for the thrill of watching him collapse.

“I just want to sound like me again.” This too, should have been obvious, but it crept up on you, slowly and when you absolutely didn’t want to look. “I don’t really don’t even understand my references, anymore.”

All you can do is look at him, look at him and smile in a way that feels hollow. But Chanyeol, for all his goodness and all his kindness, doesn’t seem to mind, he merely smiles back in a way that does not demand words. With him, there is no pressure, simply the understanding that not every question deserves or has ownership of an answer.

Chanyeol, for all his boyish charms, is the first to understand that, sometimes, questions just are and you cannot expect them to be solved.

Beside your glass teacup, your phone rings, silent and depicting the face of a person you’ve spent days trying to let down easily.

You decline the call.

The petals in your cup begin to fade.

Akihabara is his idea, silent suggestion tucked at the corner of his mouth, nestled behind his smile. A suggestion after a late lunch that leads you, seemingly aimlessly, to a train, an alley, and his outstretched hand, extended calmly and held in pause, waiting for you to take it and to not let go. It’s likely he does this to ensure you do not get lost in the throng of people, the tight crowd of commuters making their way home or simply making their way, shaking off the energy of a long shift - or, perhaps, still at work, likely in the last third of their work day, seeking a brief release in the form of distraction. 

It’s likely he does this so that you do not get separated, but the tightness with which he holds you puts hope in your chest, a hope that he clings to you so desperately because the fear of separation runs deep and runs longer than either of you would like to admit. It’s nice to think this way, even if the sense of power it provides is fleeting. 

But he offers you his hand, assumes that you will follow, assumes, beyond any measure of doubt, that you will be beside him, his mirror, and expects little else from you at all, undemanding of anything except your company. 

At sunset, it's hard to fathom anything more golden - the river swallowing the sky and taking it whole, reflecting that which they consume like a jealous lover, proud and greedy. Chanyeol is all smiles and loud laughs, weaving through the people, the overwhelm, to show you everything - everything, yet conversely, nothing at all, at home with the chaos. 

The city seems pregnant with potential, a gleam of untapped and just bloomed magic starting to unfurl within the lights, the rate of change a slow descent that eases you into another universe altogether - seen always without being seen until the totality of it is noticed all at once.

And when the sun disappears from view, the blue black of early night casting its protective shadow over the earth, Akihabara changes the sky. All at once, it is a metamorphosis of progress that eats the cosmos, transmutes the atoms and the clouds and the stars into fuel for its electric sheen. It's impossible to know where to look, if you should look anywhere at all apart from Chanyeol. The neon lighting of the signs puts shadows on his cheekbones, cuts his jaw into a rough shape that turns him from a boy into a man, his smile neither menacing nor tempting, simply alive and aware, a man in his element, brought to life by the electric current of energy.

It's a sensory overload, the city street and Chanyeol's protective, possessive grip. With his hand clasped tightly in yours, the light burrows beneath your skin, seeking the pores along your flesh and rooting itself down and down, into your inbetween. Every stroke of his thumb against your knuckles, every laugh, is an electric shock traversing your nerves and pushing you the edge of excitement. 

You keep your eyes trained on the tips of his ears and the smooth line of his neck, his long legs always a few steps ahead of you - like he’s figured it out and like he’s lived this street hundreds and hundreds of times. Store signs pop on as you pass, and his ears catch the light, the tips taking on every shade of the rainbow, and your own heart struggling to memorize the person he becomes under each.

There’s something wild about this feeling, the admiration and the adoration of watching these asymmetrical pieces of him become beautiful and charming, that reminds you of craving, of the intensity of it, and, most of all, of the hunger that always seems to follow. It’s been years since you’ve wanted someone, wanted them beyond comfort and understanding, wanted someone and the mess of having to learn them all over again, aware that true intimacy follows and accumulates over time. But desire, desire always comes first, and it is always what makes you want to let a person in.

Chanyeol stops abruptly at a taiyaki vendor, eyes wide and full of fascination as he lingers by the window, watching the red bean paste rhythmically get dropped into dough molds. Still, he does not release your hand, only squeezes it twice, ensuring he has your attention, your touch, and your focus.

‘Have you ever had one of these?’ he asks, still watching the chefs and the mold press.

You hum. ‘Yeah, in New York there’s a place that makes them. Obviously, I’m sure these are better.’ 

He turns to you, wrapped in a state of pleasure and excitement, and everything about him is infectious. You smile at him, simply happy to be smiling with him, and he pulls you along, ordering one pastry in skilled Japanese. Blinking at him, you watch as he speaks with the cashier, wondering how you could have missed such a practiced accent or confident speech pattern, but quickly remember it was you with the tickets, you who spoke first, and even at lunch, you ordered separately, walking away from him to wait patiently at a table.

So much of him you’ve missed or glossed over, so much of the man he is rather than his heart escaping your attention, and when he holds his treat in his hand, you find it difficult to look away from him, watching him take a large, impressive bite.

Once again, a laugh erupts from your chest, and he pauses mid bite, regarding you with curious eyes.

‘Your mouth is so big,’ you clarify, and he smiles, proud and laughing with you as he continues to eat. ‘It’s just so impressive.’

Chanyeol closes his eyes happily as he eats, giggling in delight at your pleasure or the pastry, or maybe both, content with every detail of the moment. Smirking, he tilts the pastry towards you offering a bite, and the simple generosity of this action halts your breath in its path. This is intimate, should not be so intimate, especially when you are aware, so aware, of the true meaning of the word, but still it settles over you, like dust and the light and the acceptance that, again, you feel good about the risk you’ve taken.

Placing your lips where his have been, you wonder idly if the sweetness on your tongue is the dough, the sugar, or him, a residue left behind comprised of his laugh, his words, his soul filling your mouth and keeping it wet and wet, inspired to transform into someone else. Neither new nor different, just cleansed.

You chew slowly and he keeps his eyes on you, waiting for your reaction, and the intensity of his stare, the heat and the wonder sends you reeling. 

You told him even though he said, clearly and repeatedly, that he didn’t want to know. He didn’t need to. Think of him what you will, he was smart, smarter than you ever gave him credit for, and he already knew. Saying it would just confirm his doubt, breaking him all over again in the most unnecessarily cruel way.

“I have something to tell you,” you announced, even though you both already knew. 

“Not tonight.”

But you said it anyway, aware that every tomorrow hinged on his reaction, whether it would mean losing himself or losing you. You just wanted to know which he would choose, waiting to see which direction he’d take.

‘It’s sweet,’ you say, watching Chanyeol beam and nod and agree, delighted. ‘Sweeter than the one I had before.

He takes the pastry back and swallows the marks your teeth made whole, turning away to chew and watching as the cars pass along the street. Sugar lingers on the corner of his mouth as he eats, lips and cheeks sweet in a full pout as he savors the pastry, but you can’t really look away from. Tokyo is diverting and distracting, but you can’t fathom a better view.

'Hold on,' you laugh, his pause of confusion entirely too endearing for a man his age, however hold he is or is not. 'You have something on your...'

You might never know what compels you to reach up, your finger extended and your touch gentle, moving the sugar away with one slow, languid swipe. You decide it's another question that likely will never have an answer, because there is no answer, but just as quickly as you also decide it does not matter. Chanyeol's smile of gratitude is bewitching, the blue and green lights pulling the gold and red from his skin, and the reverent way he looks at you answer enough.

For several moments, you remain this way, silently regarding one another and letting thought, emotion, and need grow between you. A moment of silence in which there is no silence at all, the noise of the city a soundtrack of wanting that gets drowned out, stifled beneath the prism of affection that blooms and blossoms between your chests.

'Thank you,' he says, as though nothing at all had transpired, as though there was no pause, as though time did not stop at all. 'I'm a messy eater, sometimes.'

'I can be, too,' you muse, looking away and hoping for a distraction, a thing that should not be so difficult to find, yet still proves to be. 'He always hated that, my ex.'

Chanyeol snorts, finishing the desert with a large bite. 'I don't think that's something you can help,' he counters, mouth full.

You shrug. 'He would always laugh while he complained. I imagine he thought that made it better, like he found it endearing, but you can always tell, can't you? You can spend so long with a person you eventually can hear what they don't say, even if it's not in their tone.' Tugging your lip between your teeth, you wonder if you should continue, if it really matters. 'After so long with a person, I think your language changes, your sentences become the same, and it takes time and distance to unlearn it.'

He releases a long hum, eyebrows raised. 'I get that,' he nods, allowing you to speak without challenging anything at all.

It strikes you that he seems to understand so much of you, understands your motives, your solitude, and you imagine he would be happy with anyone. It strikes you that is is not with anyone, and you find it hard to fathom that he would be without a partner to join him.

'Why are you alone, Chanyeol?' 

The question both sounds and feels abrupt, but he doesn't react unfavorably. Chanyeol pauses, crumpling the bag with one large fist, his earlier nod slowing but not halting. 

'I'm sorry if that's too personal,' you clarify, reminding yourself not everyone is running or needs to. You and he are different people, even if it feels as though you have become bound together, a sensation that accumulated over time, the same way nondescript, vague senses of time do.

How long have you been together? A while. 

How long have you known you love him? Not long.

'It's not,' he affirms, looking around for a bin before realizing there would not be one. Opening his bag, he licks his lips twice, wetting his mouth for the words he attempts to gather and drops the crumpled mess inside. 'It's not personal, it's just that there's no reason.' Raising his eyes to meet yours, he purses his lips in thought. 'I don't like waiting for adventure or waiting for someone to come with me. Maybe that's my flaw,' he suggests, resting his hands on the straps of his backpack as he straightens his spine. 'That I'm too impatient to properly share.'

'I don't think you need to have a flaw to want to be alone,' you reason, 'or that wanting to be alone is even a flaw at all.'

'Maybe,' he agrees, although passively. 'Come on. I want to show you the arcades.'

The game centers are a terrain you find impossible to imagine, to fathom, if you had not been given reference to start from. They pull you in from the street, yellow and red and blinding, luring you to them with the impossibly clear sheen of their glass containers. Chanyeol dives into a building, holding your hand once more and looking over his shoulder with a grin, leading you to a claw machine tucked towards the back of the room, away from heavy foot traffic.

Releasing your hand, he digs through his pockets for coins, gesturing towards a One Piece figurine he regards with competitive delight.

'I've been trying to get this since yesterday.'

The box stands tall, compressed between two plastic bars that grip it tightly, unforgiving in its hold. Your eyes narrow as you regard the stronghold the machine seems to have on the figurine, feeling confident that such a plight is futile, but he slides his coins in, lip caught between his teeth in thought as he aims the claw.

He takes great care in this process, hand delicately wrapped around the knob to guide and settle, calculated and focused. For a moment, you see him as an architect, an artist, a chemist, an alchemist, studied and careful, lovingly breathing life into things that currently do not exist. Triumphantly, he slaps the button to initiate contact, stepping back with eager interest as he watches the claw drop, the lights on the machine sparkling and playing music to maximize the tension. 

He is unsuccessful.

'Damn,' he curses, but still his smile remains, reaching up to his cheeks and replacing the dimple you did not know you missed.

Eyeing him conspicuously, you cock your head to the side, gaze moving between him and the machine. 'Isn't this all just a cash grab? A way to waste your money?'

'Sure,' he agrees, sliding another coin into the slot. 'But it's nice to forget for a while, isn't it? It's the thrill, the tangibility of maybe, possibly. Gambling thrives because the odds never appear to be out of our favor, and we all like proving ourselves wrong.'

The last few syllables to his words take on a lilt of loneliness, and you are unsure how to argue with him or this feeling, given that he does not leave any space for it. But, for a while, you are content to watch him, watch the way his smile never seems to disappear, not even from his eyes as he tries and loses and tries, and loses again. Six rounds pass and still he is unsuccessful, and you wonder when you got so engaged with the rise and fall of a claw, but you know the real question is: when did you get so addicted to a stranger who promises the world but delivers the sun, a man who never really lets joy die? 

When he leaves to go change a cash note for more coins, you depart too, in the opposite direction, the machine losing its glamour as soon as he disappears. Aimlessly, you wander, walking down aisles and rows, looking in without really looking, hoping to maybe find your own game to play. 

Around the corner from Chanyeol's game, you find a claw machine with a set of towels trapped inside, something you don't need, but remember needing, wanting, and putting on your registry with a soft smile, finally feeling optimistic about your future.

"We don't need these," he countered. "We've lived together for two years. Shouldn't we ask for money for the honeymoon? Something we can’t buy everyday?"

"That's practical, sure, but these are nice." They were so lovely. When you were young, you imagined having towels just like these once your got married - adult towels, wedding towels you sometimes called them - towels that proved you were Of Age and ready, but for what you did not know. 

Even now, you do not know.

You do not need these, but they're sweet, the characters of My Neighbor Totoro woven into the fabric and a silk lotus leaf shimmering in the light. You do not need these, much the same way Chanyeol likely does not need an anime figurine, but they are nice and they are charming, and there's something about the possibility of winning something, even if it is useless, that makes you slide a coin into the slot.

Time disappears around you, much the same as your money, but you don't think about that. Not truly. It's the first time you don't think about the loss or gain of money in years, mind falling back in time once more.

"Why don't we leave the list on the refrigerator?" he suggested, as though he were talking about a shopping list, a list of needs for the apartment, a bucket list.

"Do you want to?" you asked. But what what you meant to say was: I don't want people seeing how much I owe you. I don't want anyone to know how much we've invested in one another.

There's a nostalgia to the claw machine, something that feels like a regression and resulting in little else than making you feel young, as though you never really grew up at all. Somewhere along the way, you buried the child in your heart, tucked her deep inside and left her in the shadows, abandoning the sense of play that came with living. You're not sure how long you stand there, sliding coins and sliding the claw, focused and diligent, buying happiness rather than buying towels.

And when they fall into the slot, the thrill of success runs through your fingers, eyes wide in amazement because, yes, this was far easier than you thought it would be, and you stand still, shocked and pink with the joy of it. You blink a few times, lips parted in a daze, catching up with reality and yourself, remembering both the you you've become and the you you lost precisely at the same moment. 

'Did you win?'

Chanyeol's voice resonates around the room, enthusiastically encouraging and sounding pleased as the machine plays celebratory music. 

Glancing up at him, you're aware your expression appears torn, wanting to celebrate and wanting to return the towels, likely having paid far more than they were worth. But he beams at you, proud and happy, and you find that you are happy too. They are not adult towels, not even wedding towels, but they are yours - the first frivolous thing you've bought in years and the lack of consideration you gave to them feels impossibly, delightfully refreshing. 

'Yeah,' you laugh, unable to look away from the ecstasy that adorns his smile, 'I did.'

Chanyeol releases a yell and lifts his hand, demanding a high five, acting as though these towels are an award and offering you more praise than you deserve. 'Let me see.'

Pulling them from the slot, he leans over your shoulder, inadvertently tucking you against his chest, and sharing his warmth, his breath, his radiance. You settle against him, holding the box in your hands and admiring the neat stitching, wondering if you too could learn to embroider. But it feels natural, you think, to smile this much and to feel this warm and to win so easily, even if these experiences are transient at best. It feels natural under his chin and against his heartbeat, your hands clutching the plastic as a means of keeping them to yourself, wishing instead it was his hands you had won. 

It feels natural, hearing how vital he is and feeling how alive he is and knowing, with all of you, that underneath your years of pretend and experience and regret, you are exactly the same as him: enraptured by the beauty of the universe and demanding you hold it in your palms, never letting it go.

'These are so you,' he announces, breaking your thoughts with a low whisper.

You swallow thickly, always caught off guard when he's quiet and his voice takes on a rasp that makes him sound aged, beyond time. Looking up at him, you let yourself become awed by his soft expression, curious and enamoured. 'How do you know?' 

Again, your voice is breathless when speaking with him, and you wonder if this is truly his habit. If maybe, more than anything, his talent is taking your breath away.

'You're like Satsuki,' he says simply, as though this is answer enough. 'You're Satsuki and I'm Totoro.'

It's not an answer you expected, mind falling through the layers of such a statement as he departs from you. Is it his height that makes him Totoro? His propensity for cute, magical things? His service to you? Or, perhaps, his heart, his devotion and loyalty and awareness that you are alone, by choice but not really by desire, not anymore you think, his heart able to see straight to your core before you could grant yourself permission. 

Chanyeol returns before you can decide what he means, shaking a bag with the word WINNER printed over and over on the plastic. Wordlessly, he takes your towels and drops them inside, handing you the bag looking pleased.

'I wasn't nearly as successful,' he says with a small pout. 'But, I did get this.'

Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a plush Rilakkuma keychain, the item almost dwarfed in his large palm. Immediately, you erupt into laughter.

'That's absolutely hideous.'

Chanyeol laughs too, giggling at the poorly sewn face and unsettling clown pattern. 'I know,' he says, happily. 'It's horrendous. I don't want it.'

'Then why did you bother?' you ask, laughter fading while your cheeks still ache from the force of your smile.

'Why wouldn't I?'

He simply shrugs, as elated with his success as he is yours, proud and proud and moving through the arcade back into the street, and taking the light with him.

Half past midnight and karaoke feels like the only logical thing to do, the only place you think you'd truly be welcome at this hour - the hour late, your body tired, but still unwilling to leave Chanyeol.

Throughout the day and all over the city, you'd seen the signs for a place called Big Echo, their sprawl and reach, white sign looming from the corner of some of the most menacing sky scrapers, enough to lure you in. Their contrast keeps you curious, office buildings standing above you, higher than most buildings you remember seeing in other cities, windows black and impenetrable with a sign that heralds hours of karaoke. It's impossible to understand, and you are glad for this incongruity. 

Most of all, you find you are hungry. Chanyeol kept you out in Akihabara well past dinner, dining on street food and winding from arcade to arcade, and now, emerging from Shibuya station, you are looking for something more to fill your stomach. He pulls you along, links your arms together as you walk, bound and united and happy, holding you against him as though it is where you belong. 

This late at night, Shibuya makes your eyes hurt, the colours and signs frenetic and fractious in their vibrancy, demanding your attention, your focus, perhaps even your soul. Chanyeol's eyes sparkle as he looks from sign to sign, smiling upwards at nothing at all while you smile directly at him, keeping your gaze trained on his ecstatic pleasure in the effort of ensuring your heart gets used to it. 

You know that it won't, that no matter how long you spend with him you will always be caught off guard by his beauty, by the way even his dark hair appears illuminated in these lights. He seems to eat the stars while the light feasts on him, a give and take of reciprocal lumosity and, somehow, you have been selected to watch. Even in a crowd as immense as this, you know you'd find him, drawn to him, heart seeking its magnet. 

Standing on Shibuya crossing, Chanyeol pulls you close, rests his free hand on your arm and leans gingerly to your ear, close enough to feel his breath move through your hair. Naturally and instinct, you lean into him, positive that you will likely never be close enough, hoping and wishing that his lips will graze your skin, thinking you might finally know the true definition of bliss in the wake of such a happy accident.

'When we cross,' he says, close enough to rest his head against yours, lips kissing at the shell of your ear as he speaks and your heart breaking and reshaping in one single instant, 'don't let go of me. Don't let go but make sure you watch.'

'I won't,' you say, tightening your grip even though a crowd like this does not phase you, Times Square at Christmas an entirely different sort of test. But you tighten anyway, keeping him close, certain that he will try to rush ahead of you and, for just this once, you want him to be yours. 'I won't.'

The crossing sign turns green and all at once you are taken by it, moving forward as though something as simple as this has purpose, meaning, a symbolism of initiation you will bear as a cross. A smile pulls at your lips, widening with each step, feeling anonymous and feeling terribly insignificant, drowning in a sea of people with Chanyeol as your oar. 

Someone laughs. You think it might be you. Another takes a picture. You know it is not Chanyeol. Lifetimes and stories pass you by, and you are drunk on it, wired into obsession simply because you feel as though you've crossed the world again and again, forty steps and still more angles to traverse the same path, new ways to witness the same thing. Different people, the same shape, nothing ever really the same again.

The Big Echo is tucked inside a dark amber building housing offices, stores, and restaurants. The elevator to the eighth floor seems far too elegant to be taking you to karaoke, a place where most people drink to celebrate or drink to forget or simply drink, aware that it is Friday or Sunday and the weekend has passed by with the same unyielding speed as life itself. Comprised of floor to ceiling mirrors, you and Chanyeol, standing side by side, are eternally, endlessly refracted into infinity. 

Yet, in every reflection, every angle, all you can truly see is him.

At such close proximity, the closest you've ever really been - with no way out and only one way in - and the most alone you've ever been, you are suddenly aware of his strength and magnitude. Eyes drawn to the length of his arms, you regard the veins that rise as canyons down to his hands, keeping the secret of his power within his knuckles and joints. The tattoos adorning the skin captivate you, their pointillism blackness so rich and detailed, standing out on him better than you've ever seen on anyone else, the darkness resting on him with the same pride as the light. 

Lifting your gaze, you study the regal line of his posture, the confidence rooted in his spine and shoulders, and feel your fingers twitch. You have held men before, held a lover in your arms and against your body, aware of the weight and aware of the heat, but never have you wanted to hold anyone quite so solidly, or quite so physically. 

You wait for him to stop you, so obvious in focus you devote to his features, but he does not, simply inches closer, wordlessly encouraging your stare. And you do, letting yourself become haunted by the slope of his lips, the false phantom memory of their touch igniting along your skin. Perhaps it is your awareness of his dimples, the clandestine softness he keeps nestled at the corner of his mouth, that keeps you on the edge of anticipation, hoping and hoping to see them again. 

Like this, you drink him in, admiring the tips of his ears and the thick, softness of his hair that makes your fingers begin to ache. How would it feel to card your fingers through the strands? Would he smile and lean into the touch? Would he watch you, eyes wide and speechless at the gentleness you'd provide? Would he ask you to do it again and again, craving your hand and your warmth, as badly as you seem to be craving his? 

This was always your biggest flaw, you think, hyper aware of your detachment and the way your mind would always wander. During sex, during dinner, during long drives, or even during conversation. Always, he would find you looking away, looking nowhere, hearing without listening, seeing without witnessing, and he would call you back, asking where you went. 

But you always wanted to say the most important thing was that you looked back. Always, you would return to him.

With Chanyeol, it’s impossible to be anywhere other than absolutely with him, resolutely and down to your core. To look away from him would mean pain; to break away from him would hurt, sever parts of you long buried but still connected, still whole, still vital, just neglected. And the same way you refuse to depart from him, so too does your skin refuse to truly let him go. The press of his body against yours is a preview to all the wishes that settle on you like a fever, sending a flush of heat up your chest and neck, and down to your thighs, wanting to be full of him.

And so you don’t look away. You simply won’t, aware and waiting, feeling his touch before and without it happening, imagination running wild while your heart battles against your sternum.

Feeling your gaze on him, he turns to look at you, on floor six when there's so little time to truly have all of him, but he blushes, receptive to the ferocity of you. Bags have taken root under his eyes, exhausted by a day of sightseeing, and giving him a puffy, purple hue, but he’s glorious in the mess of it, unable to be anything but majestic.

He keeps his eyes on you, unwavering and demanding, the most demanding he's been since you met him, turning his chest towards yours hardening, not in cruelty but with a sensuality you did not expect to see. Like this, he makes you aware that he does not only feel your gaze but relishes it, feels it deeper than you mean it to go. With one hand, he clenches the evaluator railing, leaning closer and closer while his other clenches into a fist before straightening, touching while touching nothing. 

And with his eyes on you, your body wanting his body, the air in the elevator becomes thick, elevating your heart rate the same way it elevates you.

When the elevator dings, he breaks from you, lips parted and eyes searching, pupils dilated for a different kind of light and a different kind of relief. His strides are quick where yours are sluggish, wanting to remain in the bubble of desire that cradled you. But he looks back, lips wet from where his tongue has just been, knowing you are there and unable to look away.

You smile, rolling your shoulders back to lift your breasts, following blindly while not really following at all. 

Settled in your private room, Chanyeol orders more food than you know what to do with, his only explanation that you said you were hungry before he takes a skewer of yakitori into his mouth, consuming it all in one go as he chooses a list of songs. His fingers are quick, selecting a number of songs and creating a queue before you even read the titles.

'I've only ever done this when I was drunk,' you admit, eyeing the digital pad with apprehension before you find the button that says ENGLISH. 

'Really?' He adds a second songs, not lifting his gaze to you in the process. 'It's the most fun when you're sober.'

'It's the most embarrassing, I think you mean.' Looking up, you see he has already added nine songs. ‘How often do you do this?’

‘All the time,’ he beams. 'You just need to do it with people you trust.'

Chanyeol hits start, rising to a stand before taking another skewer into his mouth. Grabbing both microphones, he keeps his eyes trained on you and winks as Time of My Life Starts to play. The absurdity of it patterned with the sudden darkness of the room and the glow of a disco ball makes you laugh, watching him with a grin you know to be adoring, but don’t bother to mask. 

'God, this song?' you laugh, rooting yourself to the floor. ‘Shall I be Jennifer and you be Bill?’

Refusing to let you sit still and hide in the shadows, he offers you the second microphone, eyeing you in earnest.

'Come on,’ he says, flicking the microphone in a gesture of lifting and delivering you to him.

'You're serious.’

You’ve done karaoke countless times, watched drunk friends and bad friends sing off key, or on no key, demanding attention and turning the evening into a concert about their pain, their nostalgia, their childhood, simply themselves. Any silliness or playfulness is always overrun by the desire to be seen, but Chanyeol holds the microphone, totally sober and fully prepared to abandon himself and his ego. 

'Deadly.' The melody begins to play, yellow words turning pink, and he pouts. 'Look, you made me miss my cue.'

He doesn’t wait for your response, just places the mic in your hand and walks backwards towards the center of the room, keeping his eyes locked on yours. His eyes remain on yours as he starts to sing, exuding the kind of energy that says he could command a room if he so chose, and is aware of it. Walking into a bar with him would be like watching into a bar and watching every head turn, all eyes on him and you knowing the eyes are their eyes are there, challenging you to feel doubtful.

Chanyeol is talented, voice rich and warm, chocolate that drips down into your soul, nestling inside your blood to bring you comfort. You almost keep silent, content to spend the night listening to the way his mouth gives shape to words, the way his voice handles syllables with a tonality that speaks of unpracticed, natural ability. But he eyes you, expectant, and when you finally join him you regret not having done so sooner.

The smile he offers you is blinding, warm enough to combat the dawn, content, just as you were, to watch you for the rest of the evening. At the end of your first verse, he claps against the mic, delighted and proud, watching you with a focus he had not devoted to anything else throughout the day.

For you, karaoke comes as a relief. Having spent the majority of your life singing, it hits you, abruptly, that it has been years since you last did it freely. Moving in with a roommate boxed you in, kept you quiet in ways you weren’t sure you wanted to be, afraid of being annoying, inconvenient, or of judgement, and so you stopped. Moving in with a partner, making a home and a life, rather than a room, you tried again, only to find that this desire, too, soon began to fade.

Did he ask you to? Did he ever demand you keep quiet? You can't remember. Perhaps you just did so, returning from the shower one night to find his greeting and welcome cool, so unlike the way his smiles used to feel like champagne. You thought, then, it was your singing, a distraction from late night emails or work, but now, with Chanyeol, you think maybe it was something more, something not about you, taking on his anguish just because you thought you should.

From the start, he makes it easy and fun, song after song of terrible pop music, several you’ve never heard and others you know, and wish, secretly, that you did not. But it does not matter if the music is good or bad or even music at all because, with him, every sound is a work of art. And, with him, everything is easy. He doesn’t mention if a note is wrong and does not cringe or skip a song if he does not like it, he simply cheers, drinking and eating and laughing, joining when he knows the words and watching when he doesn’t. 

Somewhere around 2AM, the alcohol refuses to leave you, your limbs heavy and restless, eager for hands and for touch, and eager to be held. At some point, he curled into you and over you, tucking you under his arm, light hearted and light headed, his nose pressed into your hair and yours into you his chest, breathing the bergamot musk into your lungs, deep enough for them to ache.

'It's going to hurt to leave you,' you announce, staring blankly at the screen. 

An old woman reaches through her window to stoke the head of a yellow sparrow. The scene changes, a school girl running for her train. It changes again, none of the scenes depicted cohesive or coherent, but they bring you comfort, a confirmation that life is little more than a series of impressions. 

Chanyeol moves away from you briefly, looking down at you with a small frown, lips red and wet with sake. He appears hurt, pained that you’d bring up such a suggestion, as though the alcohol has removed him from time entirely. 

It would be so easy to giggle, but such a feeling is hard when you’re this drunk and this afraid of losing him. 'Don't look at me like that,' you hiss. 'It will make me want to kiss you.'

He only blinks once before he takes your face between your palms, firm and commanding, and kisses you, pulling you close against him as though he’d been waiting all day to feel you. Your hands wind around his neck, pressing against him as much as you can, ensuring that he has to tilt to keep kissing you, angling himself in the accommodating way that comprises all of the best kisses. A small noise of pleasure leaves his chest, and you smile against him, sucking his bottom lip between your teeth, invigorated.

Lifting his head, the heat in his gaze is threatening, jaw set and unwavering in the knowledge that he will not let you go so easily. A hand on your hip glides up your spine, sending a shiver up into your shoulders, as he fists a hand in your hair and tugs it, exposing the full length of your neck to him. Chanyeol latches his tongue and teeth to the tendon, rubbing circles into your hip with the same pressure his tongue provides your skin. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, grinding down into him once more for a reprieve, but he bites, hard enough to leave teeth marks and moans, a roll of thunder in his chest that makes your thighs clench. 

At your core, Chanyeol's cock strains, the hard thickness of it causing wetness to pool at your underwear, eyes rolling back and vision hazy as he sucks and sucks at you, refusing to let you be free of him. 

When he pulls away, your pulse quakes, blood rushing hot and heavy as you watch him, mouth wet and eyes dark, memory forever etched with the way he looks at you - certain you are the epitome of craving, and you, certain that he is all of your desires made manifest.

His gaze falls to your neck once more, a prideful grin pulling at his lips.

'Don't cover that mark tomorrow,' he demands, voice full of gravel. 'I want everyone to see it.' 

Tomorrow. Today. Now. Time catching up with you all at once, shattering the drunken eternity you've created in this room. You think about waking up without him. You think of who you will be when he is not there. You feel yourself sober up, and hate it. Perhaps, you hate yourself, the feeling sickly and full of regret. 

You lean down to kiss him once more, wanting to feel sheltered, but he leans away from you, eyes sensitive and scared.  

'Are you still with him?' he whispers, nervous but unafraid of the question’s inherent weight, the edge of uncertainty falling in the spaces between the words.

Keeping silent, you blink at him, feeling your stomach drop.

'Your fiancé,' he presses, as though there is someone else you could have been with. 'Are you still together?'

Still you do not speak, unsure of the answer or if there is anyone apart from Chanyeol. In truth, had you ever actually been with anyone else?

'You're not wearing a ring.'

Chanyeol's voice is small, withering beneath your silence and coming up with reasons he should not be so scared. His eyes search your face, hoping for an affirmation or a confirmation, anything that would give him permission and you watch, once again, as you become a vicious thing, leaving men crestfallen in your wake. 

'No, I don't want to be with him,' you murmur, aware, beyond any shadow of doubt that this statement is true. 'I know that I don't - '

Chanyeol interrupts you, the hope in his voice sharp as glass. 'So I can keep kissing you?'

You furrow your brow, feeling yourself sober up, and wishing for the warm bubble of pretend to return. 'What do you want out of this?' you ask anyway, shattering your sense of idealism. 

He flinches at your question, the words sending him reeling as though they are an act of betrayal. 'Just you.'

You snort, the natural humor of the sound absent. 'You're drunk.'

He narrows his eyes, defensive. 'I'm not that drunk.'

'What will you do tomorrow?' you counter. 'It's just one night, Chanyeol.'

'Does it have to be?' he tries, the optimism he carries making acid rise in your chest. 

For a moment, you try to picture it - another day with him, another day holding his hand and laughing, making noise, making a mess, making something. It's hard to fathom you'd be the only one he'd choose to do this with, and so you mirror his expression, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed. 

'Do you have a girlfriend?' You don't mean for the words to sound so biting, but you feel possessive, hating yourself for it, knowing you don't have the right but letting it move through your blood, regardless. 'A boyfriend?'

'No?' he says quickly, offended. 'Do you think I'd be here if I did?'

'I don't know,' you shrug. 

It's hard to imagine he wouldn't have someone wanting to follow him, someone impatient to share things with him, to see as he sees and to laugh and cry and yell as loud as he does. Impossible, you think, to imagine him alone, and so you justify your questions with the sense that he deserves someone, even if you don't deserve him. 

But Chanyeol still sees through you, does not let you escape or make it about him, his expression becoming hard. 'Not everyone is running, Y/N.'

Leaning back, you frown. 'I didn't say you'd be running.' 

Sliding off his hips, you settle back on the couch, facing the screen and not him, neither afraid nor unwilling to look at him, mostly uncertain what it would mean for you if you did. All day, his eyes on you have been pretty. You're not sure you can handle another cold stare. 

'Is it so hard to fathom that I could want to spend all day with you, because I want to?' he demands, words curt and tone clipped.

Bristling, you look at him, falling back into a pattern of control and detachment, heart breaking all over again, this time infinitely, indescribably worse. 'I don't know. Maybe? Strangers don't do this.'

He laughs, the sound empty. 'This is how a lot of people meet. You're just so used to your boxed structure.'

It happens quickly, the firing of your nerves that tell you to leave, the motions of your hands as you gather your things, messy and disorganized. You did this before, not long ago, mind vacant and body acting in its own reaction, but this time, you are present. This time, you are aware of the hurtful experience of running, hurting yourself, for the first time, in the process.

'This was a bad idea,' you mumble, hearing yourself say it and hating that you do. 

Chanyeol stands, moving to stop you before stopping himself, the boundaries suddenly drawn and nowhere for him to fit. 'No, please don't -'

You cut him off, moving past him towards the door. 'I'll pay for my share at the till.'

Chanyeol reaches for you, but you're already too far, far beyond the length of his arms. 'No, please - '

The sound of his voice echoes, even after the door shuts.

Shibuya without Chanyeol is cold, more shades of blue than you had noticed before, and you shiver, dropping your bag to put on your coat. Even with it wrapped tightly around you, you still shiver, missing him but, mostly, missing yourself. 

The trains are no longer running - you remember reading this before you came, preparing for a city that only pretends to sleep - but Shibuya is still busy. The faces surrounding you are no longer fascinating or full of stories, but the gaunt faces of the lost and lonely, the tired and groups of people too social to notice they are actually alone. 

You're not sure how long you stand on the sidewalk, watching people pass and wondering where you fit with them. Do their eyes follow you too, the sake still warm on your cheeks but your eyes alive with rage and frustration and sadness? Do they watch you cry? It's strange, you think, to feel parts of yourself become damp with emotion while the rest of you remains still and expressionless. 

Strange, you think, to remember the person you were when you were drunk, drunk on Chanyeol, drunk since 9AM, at the same time as you remember and relearn this you, the sober you, who misses Chanyeol more than the man you signed a lease with. 

'Please don't run away from me like that again.'

Chanyeol's voice emerges behind you, sounding breathless and terrified, but commanding. In this, he is unwavering, delivering an order as though he as the right. 

Turning to face him, you crumble, seeing the wetness at his cheeks that mirrors your own, the mess of his hair, and the change you've brought onto him. Now, he does not smile. Now, he does not glow, the light stolen by your hands and your words, reducing him to an ashen state of grief. 

'Isn't that dangerous, Chanyeol?' you try, focusing on keeping your voice calm. 'That you don't want me to? We don't know each other.'

He takes several steps closer, not letting you get away. 'I'm telling you I want to get to know you.'

'I leave everyone first.' You're not sure what it is about him that makes you say this, his eyes and his desperation pulling your greatest anxiety from your chest, but you keep talking, hoping he didn't hear and hoping he's still too drunk to care. 'I'm not worth this and I have a mess back home. I don't even know where you live?' 

He laughs, looking past you momentarily, patronizing were it not for the shimmer of tears on his cheeks. 'Geography doesn't really matter when you have technology.'

'So, what?' you counter, bewildered. 'You want to date me? After a day?'

'No!' he says, looking back at you, running a hand through his hair. 'I don't know!'

'That's the point, Chanyeol!' Hearing your voice echo through the air, you look around, silently apologizing for interrupting the conversations of those around you, but there is no one, just you and him, and the eyes of everyone else not on you. 'You're so used to just going through it alone and making a fantasy out of everything. That's not real! There's nothing about that mindset that lasts!'

'And what about you?' he counters without hesitation. 'Acting like you know me when you've been too selfish to ask anything all day, talking about yourself even when you're trying to talk about me?'

Blinking at him, you regard him in silence, thinking back on the day and the words you've shared and the questions you've asked and realize he's right. Throughout the day, Chanyeol has been nothing but himself, unapologetically forthcoming when the question is asked, honest and supportive, and completely unselfish. Now, with him standing before you, looking empowered and looking violent in his need to be understood, you realize you'd only let yourself see half of him.

And this part, this new, emboldened part, excites you even more than the softness he carries.

'You got hurt,' he finishes, jaw set and tense, 'but you and I both know you hurt yourself.' 

It's the fury in Chanyeol's eyes that ignites you, the raw and vulnerable tether to the totality of human emotion that puts a flame in the center of your chest, warming you and waking you. You cannot recall the last time you've seen someone mad, or had an argument that felt just as wild and passionate and important as you needed it be. Years have passed in which you were never allowed to be angry, only sad, the fire in your chest deemed dangerous, and brutal, and cruel, and absolutely never meant to be shared.

Years where every expression of emotion went against the way you needed it to feel - productive and intense and whole - reduced and belittled to just the embers of grief.

'You're right,' you admit, honest in your concession but still unforgiving in your honesty. 'I unmade myself for someone totally wrong for me. But you can't tell me you think you can be that hero. Don't be naive enough to think you can heal me. You know nothing about me.'

"I am constantly saving you from yourself!" you shouted, smiling at the way your voice sounded, beautiful in its natural timber of loudness. 

The paradoxical contrast of how it sounded to how you felt - exhausted, burdened - made you want to laugh, but you held back, aware that one battle cry was enough for the evening. 

"Why are you so angry?" he pleaded, the shallow edge to his voice infuriating you. “Why do you always resort to anger?”

"I can't be your wife and also be your hero. I don’t have that in me." 

A death sentence. A gesture that would permanently be yours.

'I've been watching you put yourself back together all day,' Chanyeol retorts, matching the volume of your voice. 'All day it's been you, doing things because you want to, not because you had to. I know, with confidence, that you don't need me. But I'm saying I still want to be here. For you. I had too good of a time with you for it to mean nothing.'

The passion and raw veracity in his tone sends you reeling, and you sway, at once unsteady in this feeling. In one day, just one day, Chanyeol has proved he knows how to fight for you, the way you always needed someone to - with violence and impatience and a blunt, almost menacing honesty. You'd softened yourself for someone, surrendered pieces of yourself in the acceptance of comfort, neither love nor desire nor attraction, just safety, assuming this is what it meant to feel secure.

In one fell swoop, Chanyeol had unmade you, unmade these falsehoods and rendered you back together, somehow already having learned the map and the truth of you. 

And as you watch him, chest heaving as though he had been to war and won; arms crossed over his chest, in victory rather than defense, you agree, smiling, aware that you haven't felt this good about anyone, not once, not in your whole life.  

'I know what you mean,' you murmur, knowing that he hears you, would likely always hear you.

As if he's had enough of being apart from you, he steps forward, unfurling his arms and reaching for your hand, twining your fingers together. Whole conversations live and die between you, conversations that don't require words, the understanding that there is no requirement to have your plans defined, the mess of learning one another and learning your way through connection infinitely more exciting. Forehead resting against yours, he closes his eyes and breathes deep, his inhale uneven and warped with emotion. 

'Come back to my hotel with me,' he whispers, keeping his eyes closed.

Closing your own eyes, you smile. 'Okay.' It feels good to take this risk, to be uncertain and to be passionate and keep him for as long as you are allowed. 'I have to go back to mine for clothes.' 

Pulling away from you, he extends his hand, impatient. 'Let me see your phone.'

When you hand it to him, he opens the camera and leans down for a selfie, and this time, you make a face you haven't made since you were twenty-six and standing on the precipice of choosing security - you cross your eyes and stick out your tongue.

Chanyeol laughs, a messy uneven sound that makes you blush as you watch him stare at the picture.  

Returning to the home screen, he presses the home button and turns it to face you. 'Unlock this for me?'

Pulling out his own phone, he calls himself and adds the numbers to both, intently focused on this task as though it is his lifeline. You remember getting the number of your ex - the man you left behind and have no desire to return to - and how getting that number felt practical, a need in order to coordinate rides to work or rides to mutual friends houses. A passionless exchange that grew into the pretense of passion, empty of chemistry from the moment you typed the digits.  

'There,' he says, handing your phone back. 'Now we won't lose each other.'

Staring at his number, his name, the sakura flower emoji on either side of the letters, you smile, feeling twitterpated. 'You're serious about this, aren't you?'

'There's so much about me you don't know.' His smile is devilish, possessive. 'I'm greedy and impulsive, and right now I'm selfish. I want you to myself. I never make promises, but I promise you right now I believe there's something here.'

It's the kind of things you would have said before you had to change or settle for someone who kept you comfortable, safe but entirely not yourself. Long ago, at a bar or in bed or on a street with someone who made you feel wanted, you would have said these same things. 

Had the tables been turned, you would have said them to Chanyeol - you imagine you will say them to him, different words with the same impact.

'Let me get my things.' A statement with no direction, your eyes wandering over the streets looking for a taxi or a landmark to center your location in relation to your hotel. 'I gave you breakfast yesterday,' you say, glancing at him with a coy grin. 'It's your turn.'

Chanyeol laughs. 'You got it.'

Unable to contain it, he leans down to kiss you once more, pulling you flush against him and kissing you first with his soul and then with his mouth. Now, you are completely sober, the cool night breeze and Chanyeol's rough words having dissolved the alcohol and your light sense of affection, replacing it with the fervor of ardor you'd been aching for. With his hands on you, pressing into the muscles of your back, and his lips moving against yours, smiling and laughing and kissing you over and over, you realize it's the first time you've ever felt anything from a kiss.

Now, you let him swallow your breath whole, willingly and without protest. He kisses you until you feel dizzy. He kisses you until you both are gasping, until you remember these sorts of displays are unfit for Japanese streets, and you break apart laughing at the thrill of breaking rules.

'I've never wanted to do that with anyone as much as I want to with you,' he admits, resting his forehead against yours once more, looking bashful.

You hum, attempting to prolong your absence from him. 'Me too.'

Slowly, you pull away from him, separating only when you absolutely must, Chanyeol holding into your hand until he absolutely cannot anymore. You walk backwards, much like he did at karaoke and much like you think you will always do, never wanting to look away from him. 

When you finally do, you pull out your phone, walking in a direction you assume to be correct while you open the map on your phone.

Your phone rings.

A laugh erupts from your chest.

You pick up the call. 

[notsoteenagegirl]

Running on empty ∣∣ C.V.

Note: I know I still have some requests waiting, and I will get to them at some point. But once again this powerful hoe took over me and bam! I’m providing some smut. There’s not much dialogue in this one, but I know all you sinful people are not here for the talk.

Warnings: smut (nsfw), unprotected sex

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

It was a lazy Sunday in Vélez household. You were just chilling in bed on your own, scrolling endlessly through instagram. Chris was busy hosting a livestream with his bandmates, so you decided not to bother him too much and just kept yourself occupied. You were watching one of those cute puppy clips, feeling all warm and fuzzy, when you felt the bed dipping slightly. You got welcomed with a few very sweet, yet hot neck kisses, and your boyfriend's hard-on pressing on your butt. "Babygirl, I need you." You heard his hoarse voice moaning in your ear. No lies, you were definitely very turned on at this point, especially with being aware of his hot body so close to yours. You were just feeling so comfy and didn't want to move at all, and sex with Chris was pretty much always ending up with you not being able to move, nor catch your breath. Not that you could complain, he was treating you and your pussy very well. "Chris, love, as much as I'd love to help you out I'm afraid I don't have any strength left." You giggled, feeling his stubble tickling your cheeks softly. "Please baby, I'll do all the work. Can't you feel how hard I am for you?" He only got more whiny. Using his hand he grabbed your chin, turning your face to his and attacking your mouth with his own. His warm tongue massaged yours, exploring every inch of your mouth. You knew you were in for a good fuck, and honestly you weren't even that bothered. Except of your lower parts maybe making a bit of a mess down in your panties. Chris, seeing that you got into it, sat himself on your butt. He helped you get rid of the t-shirt you were wearing, along with your bra. He put his hands on your shoulders, massaging them softly. You were getting more and more comfy, and your body was slowly turning into a mush because of his actions. You felt his hot breath on your spine, and a bunch of delicate kisses following all the way down to your back. He got up for a second, taking off your leggings and panties in a one swift move. He wasn't wasting time, undressing himself quickly as well. There was no barrier between you anymore. The air hit your bare pussy, making it drip with all the juices that already collected there. Chris was admiring your perky buttcheeks, running a hand all over them. You gasped suddenly when you felt a sharp pain on one of them, soon followed with another spank on the other one. Before you even got the chance to react, two long fingers entered your pussy. Chris was moving them slowly in and out of you, taking his time with rubbing and stretching your walls, preparing you for his cock. You were letting out quiet whimpers, hearing the sounds of your wet pussy being treated by his skilled hands. Suddenly he backed out, bringing his wet fingers to your lips. Tapping softly your mouth with them, you got the signal and opened up wide, enveloping his digits with your hot mouth and licking them clean. Your boyfriend was already so worked up he couldn't wait any longer. He stroked his hard dick couple times, spreading the precum that collected on his tip. Positioning himself behind you he lifted your hips slightly, making a better access to where he needed you the most. His cock slid inside you smoothly, stretching you so good you had to grip on the bedsheets. His hips started moving back and forth firmly, letting him reach the deepest spots of your sensitive now pussy. Maybe you didn't put a lot of effort youself, but your body definitely wasn't indifferent. You could feel your juices coating his cock nicely, and your nipples got sensitive as well with the friction from his movements. Chris put a bit more of his weight on your back, chest glued to you, lips right behind your ear. You felt him snapping his hips into you with more force, and he grabbed a bit of your hair, making you bend your neck back a little. He started sucking on your neck, leaving hot and wet kisses all over your skin, sucking on it and marking you as well. The way he got more dominant with you than usually left you a moaning mess, focusing simply on the pleasure and the fire he burned inside you. After he was happy with torturing your neck he got himself back up, still not stopping and pounding inside you. He spreaded your buttcheeks with his palms, very much enjoying the view of his cock disappearing deep into your pussy. Feeling himself getting close to the edge he helped you bend your knees, so you ended up with your ass up. He was ramming into you non stop, now with a deeper angle. He grabbed your wrists, holding them together behind your back with one hand. The other one went right to your clit, rubbing it furiously and helping you reach your high as well. You could feel your whole body getting flushed and hot, and the very familiar knot showed up in your abdomen. With a couple more rubs of Chris' skilled fingers you came hard on his dick, repeating his name like a prayer while he was helping you ride it out. Your legs started giving up slowly, and as your pussy was clenching on his cock you heard his loud moan, his hips pushing as far as possible into you. Spilling himself deep inside you, he once again ended up on top of you, crushing you with his body. After both of you were able to breath again he rolled out, placing his body next to yours. You were even more drained of energy than you were before, but this time it was such a nice feeling of exhaustion. You could feel your mixed juices slipping out of your sore pussy, and as you looked at your boyfriend you saw his soft face in some sort of a bliss. Hair sticking to his forehead, lips all red and swollen from all the kisses he's left all over your body. Both feeling worn out you snuggled one into another, keeping eachother warm and safe, gaining some more energy for probably couple more rounds later.

[peaceoutofthepieces]

chapter 14.5

When I Live My Dream (Please Be There To Meet Me)

This is a little something extra to go with chapter 14!! Because I love writing too much to go without adding any of it, honestly. Remember, I’m trying for an even distribution of the ships. Do with that information what you will :) It’s not entirely necessary to read this to understand anything that happens next in the AU, but I think it would be a nice addition to be aware of! I mean, it’s mostly just Sobbe cuddles ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

~^~

Sander hasn’t moved since yesterday, and he can’t quite manifest the strength to change that. It doesn’t appeal to him in the slightest. He has no interest in moving out of the cocoon of blankets he’s made for himself, no interest in having the sun blind him or forcing tasteless food down his throat. He’s going to stay in bed with the blinds closed and ignore the cramps in his stomach and go back to sleep.

Then Robbe opens the door, and he feels some semblance of a smile take over.

He only allows his head through first, poked around the edge of the door. He catches Sander’s gaze and returns his smile. “I thought you might be asleep,” he says softly. Sander just shakes his head. He had been not long ago, but if anything could convince him to stay awake, it would be the boy in front of him. Robbe steps fully into the room now and closes the door behind him. “I hope it’s okay that your mom let me in. She seems nice.”

“She is,” Sander agrees, and he’s a little annoyed his voice is so hoarse, so weak. “This wasn’t really how I imagined you meeting, though.”

Robbe shrugs. He stands next to the bed and presses his fists into the mattress, leaning his weight on them and hovering over Sander. “I don’t mind,” he says simply, still with that gentle smile, and Sander needs to kiss it. He tilts his chin up, asking, and Robbe leans down to meet him.

His lips are as soft and gentle as always, but Sander is surprised to find it’s also not lacking in any of the usual longing. Robbe is just as pliant and responsive as the first time, and Sander can feel his love for him corrode out a little more space in his heart, tucking itself in and getting comfortable, content that it won’t be moving anytime soon. Sander grips the back of Robbe’s neck and wraps his other hand around Robbe’s arm, the thin muscles taut under the layers of clothes, and attempts to tug him onto the bed.

Robbe laughs into his mouth and Sander revels in the warmth that it releases, spreading through his chest. His grip slackens, hand sliding along Robbe’s jaw as the brunette lifts his head away, still looking at Sander with too much fondness. His voice borders on teasing when he asks, “Can I take my jacket off first?”

Sander sighs, put-upon, but releases him. Robbe kisses his forehead before shrugging out of his jacket and hanging it over the back of Sander’s desk chair, then toes off his shoes. He clambers onto the bed beside Sander, and Sander scoots back a little to give him space, only to instantly shift towards him again once he’s settled.

Robbe rests his head inches away from Sander’s, too close to really look at each other without going cross-eyed, and definitely not close enough. Sander has never had this before. He’s used to the wanting, the deep ache for comfort even as he pushes everyone and everything away. He never welcomes the pity and the prodding that comes with it. He’s never been given the option of silent and loving support, without the overbearing or condescending elements thrown in. Never, aside from his mother, but he refuses to give in to the desire to ask her to do this for him, to curl into her arms and let her lull him to sleep in peace. No matter how much he occasionally wants to.

But this is Robbe. And Sander has the dizzying thought that Robbe would probably give him anything he asked.

“Hi,” Robbe says now, reaching up to brush back a lock of Sander’s hair, curling the bleached strands around his finger.

Sander musters another smile. “Hi.” Robbe tucks his hands back into his chest, not forcing his touch on Sander but not moving out of reach. Sander slips his hand out from under the covers and tangles their fingers together. Robbe brings his hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles.

“I had daydreams about this, before I even met you. I never let myself believe it was a real possibility.” The words escape Sander without any conscious decision on his part, and he can’t deny their truth. The last time this low mood had overtaken him, he’d tried to imagine what it would be like to have this soft boy he barely new here with him. He’d thought back to Robbe’s pride post, and the one he made on World Mental Health Day, the delicacy and kindness with which he discussed both and the smile on his face made of pure sunshine. He’d let himself imagine, and wonder, and hope, and it brought a smile to his face even then.

Robbe only smiles at him with unmasked surprise, which quickly smooths out into contentment as he whispers back, “I know the feeling.”

Sander accepts another kiss to his forehead, heaves out a breath, and asks, “Are you mad at me?”

Robbe blinks. “No. Why would I be?”

“For not telling you. You didn’t have all the facts before getting involved with me. I understand if it would have change—“

“No, no, no, Sander. It doesn’t matter to me. I meant what I said, okay? You being bipolar doesn’t change my feelings for you. Not even a little bit.” Sander doesn’t really believe that, because it has to have changed something, it always does, but Robbe is so sincere. Since he came in Sander hasn’t detected any pity, or disappointment, or anything of the kind. There’s nothing in Robbe’s gaze but love and acceptance, and it’s that that makes Sander give in.

He presses forward and kisses Robbe softly once, then once more, content when Robbe’s fingers are once again sunk in his hair, scratching soothingly along his scalp. He drags Sander into his arms, hugging around his shoulders, and Sander sinks into his chest and lets himself be held.

Robbe seems to sense his desire to drop the subject, and he lets some of that earlier teasing creep back into his tone when he quietly asks, “So, how long have you been daydreaming about me? When did you fall for me?”

“Before you,” Sander says, lost in the folds of Robbe’s shirt.

Robbe gives a little laugh. “Yeah, for me.”

Sander leans back a little. “No, before you. I fell for you the first time I saw you.” Robbe’s brow furrows even as his lips stay quirked in a tiny smile, which Sander absolutely has to trace his thumb over. “You were with your friends at the skate park. You were filming Jens and laughing and you said his Instagram user, so I found him and he led me to you. And your YouTube.”

At that, Robbe groans. “Please, please, don’t embarrass me by talking about that.”

“No, it’s how I got to know you. It’s the reason I liked you as much as I did before you even knew I existed.”

Robbe rewards him with a blinding smile and another gentle kiss. “Such a sad time for me. Not being entirely obsessed with your existence.”

Sander rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. He has no idea where he got the energy to do either. He’s just glad he did, amazed at the little bubble of elation floating in his chest now that Robbe’s smile has widened even further. He strokes Sander’s cheek just as Sander’s stomach rumbles.

Robbe raises a brow. “Hungry?” Sander presses his face into Robbe’s neck and shakes his head. “I used to make my mum breakfast in bed, when she wasn’t feeling well, and then I’d sit in and eat with her before I went to school.”

Sander peeks up at him. “You made her breakfast?” Robbe hums and he smirks slightly. “No wonder she wasn’t feeling well.”

Robbe squawks, angling his body away to look at him properly. “Are you suggesting I can’t cook?”

“We both know I’m going to be the only one making our breakfast in this relationship.”

Robbe snorts, pulling him back into his chest. “Are we going to live on croques?” Sander pokes him. “I’ll make us a late lunch later, then,” he suggests lightly. “Just to prove you wrong.”

Sander sees exactly what he’s doing. He doesn’t call him out on it. Instead he snakes his arms around his waist and says, “That’s chill,” even as he thinks, I love you.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Picture Perfect (Indruck)

A friend on discord @morganeashton asked for this meet ugly for Indruck: 09. we’re strangers who meet at a bar, get drunk, and wake up to announcements of our new engagement all over our social media - what did we do???

Duck’s woken up with worse hangovers. He’s also woken up with far worse people in his bed. The man next to him is slim and angular, silvery hair falling across his face as he sleeps. Yep, just as cute today as he was yesterday. 

Now if only he could remember if they slept together. 

He groans quietly as he climbs out of bed; he’s in a fluffy hotel robe with nothing beneath it. So one point in the “we fucked” category.

Duck tugs the curtains, already mostly closed, all the way shut to block out harsh daylight. The man, Indrid, makes a chirping noise and rolls over, still asleep.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“I was not aware this was that kind of bar.”

“It’s, uh, I mean, it ain;t, but, uh, you, uh, you looked kinda lonesome and , uh, well, fuck, nevermind, sorry-”

“It’s alright” the man grins reassuringly, setting a hand with black painted nails on Duck’s arm, “it would be good for me to spend the night with something other than my own thoughts.”

Duck hops onto the stool next to him, signals the bartender for drinks

Padding out into the next room, the suite is just as impressive as last it was last night. Whoever Indrid is, he’s loaded. 

“So, uh, what do you do?”

“I’m a photographer.”

“Really? Damn, I, uh, I dabble in it as a hobby, mostly nature stuff, and I’m fuckin’ amazed by anyone who can do it as a job. Shit’s hard.”

“It is rather challenging at times, though I enjoy it. What do you do?”

“I’m a ranger in the national forest. Live in Kepler, that dinky little town by it, came the half hour here for a work conference.”

“That sounds fascinating, tell me everything” Indrid leans closer, grinning.

“Uh, okay. Usually folks are itchin to make some joke about trees. Or Smokey the Bear.”

“I suppose you are bear-like.”

“Heh-”

“I like it.”

“Guh.”

He finds a room service menu on the table by the T.V the size of his first car, reads it over as he wanders back to the bedroom. Peeking into the trash, he doesn’t see any condoms or condom wrappers. One point in the ‘we didn’t fuck” category.

“That was last call, sugar.”

“No, unacceptable, I want to hear the bear-box story you, hic, --excuse me-- promised me.”

“And I wanna tell it, jus’ can’t be here.”

“Come, come back to my room. It’s big, we can talk, please come?”

“Course, darlin, whoa, damn, think we better take the elevator, little drunker than I meant to get.”

“I’ll, hic, admit I was paying more attention to you than my, hic, drink quantity, my sweet.”

He sets the menu down, wanders into the bathroom but finds no pain killers. Settles for filling two glasses with tap water and carrying them to a side table. When he slides back under the blankets and rests against the headboard, Indrid sighs, wiggles closer and snuggles so his nose is bumping Duck’s thigh.

“Morning?”

“Yep.”

“Ugh.”

“Here, this’ll help.” He hands Indrid the water as he blearily sits up. The taller man downs it in one, handing the empty glass back to him with a smile.

“Thank you. Such lovely southern manners.”

“You’re welcome. And, uh, speakin of manners, do you remember if we…”

“No, we did not. There was some kissing, I recall, but we decided we were too drunk. A wise decision all told, though the temptation was great.” Indrid slowly looks him over, smile turning from sleepy to sultry.

“Well uh, this was they day I set aside for sight-seein. Think I could be persuaded to see some sights right here.” His phone buzzes. He ignores it.

“Really now.” Indrid purrs, leaning in to kiss his cheek. On the other nightstand, his phone dings. He ignores it. 

“Oughta get some breakfast in us first, fuckin on a hangover stomach ain’t fun.” Another buzz.

“Mmm, very wise. Their breakfast is quite good, you can order whatever you like.” Indrid is nearly in his lap. His phone dings twice more. 

“Ain’t you the polite host--for fucks sake.” Duck reaches over and grabs his phone, Indrid sighing and mirroring him when his dings three more times. 

He has texts from Juno, Aubrey, and Ned, two calls from Jane, and one from Joe, and all seem to be about…

“Oh no” Indrid covers his mouth with one hand, brown eyes wide, “oh no, oh Duck, oh I’m supremely sorry.”

“Married? What the fuck? We didn’t get married, we cant, there ain’t a spot for it here, what the fuck-”

“Why do they think this, it must be oh, oh dear” he turns his phone. It’s an Instagram profile, at the top of which is a photo of the two of them in  their robes in this very bed, lounging together with goofy smiles as Indrid kisses Duck’s cheek. The caption is even worse.

“Best man ever. Internet, say hello to my husband. Isn’t he handsome?” Duck reads aloud, Indrid making a prolonged noise of alarm as the phone continues dinging. 

“I’m so sorry, I, I don’t know, I must have been trying to type future husband? Which is still hyperbolic, I was drunk, but it would have been more salvageable.”

“Okay, right, we all done some boneheaded shit havin’ had a few too many, but why the fuck does everyone and their goddamn uncle know?”

“I....I never said my last name last night, did I.”

“No.” Duck’s stomach sours.

“I’m Indrid Cold.”

Duck blinks at him, and even in the midst of the panic he smiles a little.

“I didn’t get the sense you knew of me, which was part of your already considerable charm. I, I am the man you call for your Rolling Stone spread or your Vanity Fair cover, the one magazines fight over to have cover the MET Gala or the Oscars. My social media followers meet the same number as some countries populations, and I am notoriously reclusive and private about my life. Hence the uproar.” He rubs his forehead, “I am fairly certain I just wanted a picture of us; I was having so much fun, you, you made me feel so wonderful and I assumed this would be a fling, and I, I wanted a memento. In my compromised state, I must have misjudged where to put it.” 

“Huh.” Duck stares at his phone, still lighting up with new messages. He’s torn between being flattered and being really, really pissed. 

“I, ah, I will call my publicist and sort things out now. Excuse me.” 

Duck watches Indrid leave. His phone is buzzing with unfamiliar numbers now, and when he answers one it’s a reporter from a fashion site he’s never heard of. 

Indrid is handsome, and intriguing, and Duck desperately wants to see as much of him as he can. But there’s no way in hell he can handle this kind of attention, even if it’s misplaced. So while Indrid speaks, hurried and hushed, in the other room, he slips on yesterday’s clothes and disappears out the door. 

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

He almost doesn’t look at the phone when it buzzes. For starters, he’s at work, but also the last two weeks have made him never want to speak to another living human again. When he pulls it from his pocket and looks at the message a half-dozen emotions hit him at once.

Indrid: I’m fairly certain we exchanged numbers, so I hope this is the right one. Duck, if this is you, I hope you’re well. And if you’re interested, I was wondering if you’d like to meet again.

Duck: Yeah, it’s me. And my answer might be different if I hadn’t spent the last two weeks being hounded by fucking reporters.

Indrid: So my clarification did nothing.

Duck: convinced them there’d been some kind of drama, so now they all want to know if it was a money grab or I’m an escort or some shit like that.

Indrid: I’m sorry, Duck. I’ll make things right, somehow. 

Duck: Don’t do it thinking it’ll get you a second date. Because the thought of that much attention all at once again give me fucking hives.

There’s no response, so Duck jams the phone back into his pocket and trudges up the trail.

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

Alright, maybe following Indrid’s Instagram was a bad idea. Because, unlike any other celeb on the platform, he never posts pictures of himself. Duck just wants to see his face again. 

He looks down, notices four new notifications; an account with only five posts and an icon that’s just two red circles followed him a few days ago, and whoever it belongs to really likes his photos. 

Refreshing the app brings a new post from Indrid, black background with red text.

Mr. Cold invites members of the press to learn how they can gain access to exclusive images and information. 

“Good for him.” Duck mutters, before rolling over and shutting off the light.

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

Duck sits on the pebbled shore by the lake, skipping stones without counting their jumps. He’s off shift, could go home, but some evenings what he likes best is sitting here, watching the world change from afternoon to dusk. 

Someone is coming up the trail and he sighs; hardly anyone comes to this lake, and yet someone has to at the exact same time he’s trying to decompress. 

“It’s even lovelier in person.” 

Pebbles scatter as he spins.

“Indrid, what the fuck are you doing here? Uh, I mean” he scrambles for his words when he sees Indrid wince at the tone, “not that I ain’t happy to see you but...why?”

“I wanted to ask you if you were still being bothered.” The lilt is shy, nearly drowned out by the cicadas.

“Nope. Stopped about a week ago.”

“Ah good. That means my plan worked. You see I, ah, I offered every large press and small freelancer the chance to access never before seen pieces of my work, all for free. In exchange, they signed a contract that they would leave you alone indefinitely, regardless of your relationship to me, and that any writing on me and a partner would only be done with permission from both myself and them. Anyone who violated those clauses would face a very painful lawsuit.”

“You realize that didn’t do much to make people think I meant nothin to you.”

Indrid shrugs, “That was not the point. I wanted them to leave you alone.”

“Oh.” He looks back across the water, watches an Osprey skim the surface, “how’d you know I’d be here?”

“It’s a spot you shoot often, so I showed your friend at the station the photos and she pointed me the right way.”

“...You’re the person who’s been likin all my pictures, ain’t you?”

“Yes. I, ah, you post plenty of yourself, or your friend the Lady Flame tags you, and I, ah, I missed you, I thought about you so much that I wanted to see you. Perhaps that’s, ah, creepy. I thought it better than constantly trying to contact you.”

“Yeah, good call.”

Indrid shifts, awkwardly, “may I sit?”

Duck nods, and Indrid sinks onto the ground next to him.

“You really ain’t dressed for hikin, are you?”

“No. It’s not something I do often, though you make it sound very appealing.”

“We oughta go together then.” He sets his hand, upturned, on the warm rocks in between them.

“I would like that.” Indrid takes it, “perhaps we could go to lunch afterwards.”

“Sounds real nice.” Duck scoots closer, setting their joined hands on his thigh and resting his head on Indrid’s shoulder.

“To be certain I do not make a fool of myself again; are you saying you would like to try dating me?”

“That I would. But you gotta promise one thing.”

“Anything.”

“No pictures until the third date.” He grins and Indrid chuckles, leaning in for a kiss as warm and slow as the setting sun. 

[peaceisadirtyword]

Hi🖤

Hello! First of all, I'm sorry I didn’t post anything these days, I'll try to do it later today💕 And I'll answer the messages and the asks now!

Usually, I don’t speak about things like this on here, only on my personal accounts on twitter and instagram, but I think now it’s important and necessary, so even if I am literally no one, I have 3.200 followers in here, and maybe I can help a bit. 

I’m sure all of you have heard about the murder of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor and thousands of people that are being murdered just for being black. I'm sure you know about the protests and everything that’s happening now. If you don’t (because at least in here media hasn't been paying much attention to it), it’s okay, there’s a lot of articles and information in social media that you can use to get informed. 

Unfortunately, I can’t do much but to sign petitions and donate. And spread the word, even it I'm no one relevant and people probably don’t care about what I say, but I’m trying anyway. I’m just sharing what I found on Twitter (which is where I've seen more movement, and it’s much easier to spread these kind of things than, for example, instagram). 

These threads include links to petitions you can sign to demand justice and sites where you can donate:

https://twitter.com/rosiegguks/status/1266299358695141378?s=20

https://twitter.com/kiesdaya/status/1265782360252887040?s=20

Please if you know any other way tell us!

I'm a white girl from Europe (which has tons of racism everyday too) and I'm aware of my privileges and trying my best to learn, educate myself and see everything from other people’s point of view. All I can do now, with my resources and my position is to try and support this fight and this movement as much as I can, it’s not my place to lead it and talk about it because I'm not the one suffering it, but I can listen and support those who suffer it everyday and are fighting to change things. 

And of course, if I overstep and/or say something wrong, please correct me. English it’s not my first language and it’s quite difficult for me to talk about these things in other language that isn't Spanish, but I tried my best😅. 

I’ll stop talking now, sorry for the ranting and for being so annoying again, but before I'd like to offer my condolences and my support to the black community and the Black Lives Matter movement. It’s not much, but for now it’s all I can do.

Stay safe, love you😘

-Salma♥️

[jovialyouthmusic]

Special Delivery

Fabio and I share a bottle of wine and discuss previous relationships.

Word Count 2993

No warnings - just a few feelings and a bit of sexual tension No under 18s please

8 What Came Before?

It was late afternoon on the day my new lodger moved in. He retreated to his room after Martin’s visit, and came out when he heard me clattering around in the kitchen.

‘I can help?’ he asked.

‘You say can I help? I corrected him.

‘Ah.’ he sighed. ‘I never learn.’

‘Don’t worry.’ I reassured him ‘I like the way you speak, and you make yourself understood very well. Your vocabulary is really good, but the tenses are difficult. I looked into learning a couple of other languages a little while ago, but most of them have masculine and feminine forms, and that really confuses me.’

‘Ah yes, that is all normal for me.’ He gestured at the salad ingredients. ‘I get these ready if you like?’

‘Okay.’ I smiled ‘Do you want an apron?’ I tugged at my own apron just in case he didn’t know the word. He nodded. ‘I have just the right one for you then.’ I giggled, reaching into a drawer to bring one out that was made to look like a dinner jacket and bow tie. He grinned.

‘Perfecto! I look smart, yes?’ He put it on and struck a pose, hand on his cheek, looking off into the distance, one of the poses that had made my heart beat a little faster when I had seen it on Instagram.

‘You do’. I smiled. I got on with grilling the salmon while he washed and cut up the lettuce and rocket. I told him how to make the dressing, and before long the meal was ready. I put a small portion of fish out for Ginger, who I had shut out of the room while we cooked. He rushed in and wolfed it down eagerly. I hoped he would go and sleep it off rather than sit and stare at me as I ate my dinner. Fabio reached into the fridge, where he had put the bottle of wine he’d brought, and opened it while I got out the wine glasses. We went through to the dining room, the table set out neatly. I loved having a separate dining room and putting everything out just so, with flowers and napkins – it made meal times more of an occasion. Earlier on I had prepared strawberries for dessert, washing and cutting them up and putting a little sugar on them before placing the bowl in the fridge. He poured the wine while I waited.

‘Salud, to my new English home, and my new beautiful friend.’ he said, raising his glass, and I reached out with mine to clink them together, feeling my cheeks heat up.

‘Bottoms up.’ I said, without thinking. For a moment he looked puzzled, then he laughed loudly. I blushed even more, but he set me at my ease.

‘Ah, you mean the bottom of the glass.’

‘You can say cheers or to your health.’ I explained ‘bottoms up is rather – informal.’ I refrained from saying cheeky in case that got me in hot water.

‘Thankyou for telling me - it sounds very English.’ He waved his fork in the air ‘Tomorrow we go out to eat, yes? I pay.’

‘That would be nice. You can say my treat if you like. There’s an place on the coast that does great bar meals, very English. We can go there after our walk.’

‘Si, it sounds good. Do we need to book?’

‘Not usually, but I can do to make sure.’ I replied. We began eating, the fish fragrant and tasty, the salad crisp and the dressing piquant. The wine went down nicely, and he kept my glass topped up.

‘We get just a little drunk.’ He winked. ‘But I don’t throw stones at the window.’

‘You don’t need to, you’re already inside.’ I said drily.

‘That is true.’ he grinned, sitting back in his chair, stretching, his hand behind his head. I reached out to clear our empty plates.

‘Strawberries?’ I asked ‘I have Greek yogurt too. To be properly English we should have them with cream, but I think that’s a little calorific – and I like Greek yogurt.’ He made the gesture again with his thumb and forefinger touching, kissing his fingers and raising his hand

‘Perfecto.’ he grinned, obviously relaxed from the wine, as was I. I presented him with a bowl of the red fruit, bringing the yogurt in with a spoon. He picked a piece up ‘Try this’ he said, and dropped it into his glass ‘Is better with champagne or prosecco, but is good’

‘I’ve heard of prosecco and strawberries’ I replied ‘I’ve never tried it though’ I dropped a piece in my drink and swirled it round. A little of the sugar clung to the fruit, and when I drank it sweetened the wine, while the strawberry was a little tart. I became aware that Fabio was intently watching me as my lips parted to suck the strawberry from the glass. He kept eye contact with me as he sucked his from the wine and rolled it around his mouth. Heat pooled in my belly and I felt a little light headed from the wine.

‘Is good, no?’ he smiled seductively, quirking an eyebrow.

‘Mmmm.’ I replied, spooning the yogurt into my bowl to try and break the spell he had on me. He reached out for the pot when I had done, and ladled a dollop onto his. He took his time with dessert, toying with his spoon and savouring every mouthful until his bowl was empty. I went to take the empty bowl, but he reached across and stopped me, his hand on mine. Our eyes locked as a little jolt of electricity travelled up my arm, and my cheeks flamed red.

‘Is okay, I wash up.’ He said ‘Go, take your glass and sit in the lounge.’

‘I – umm - don’t bother to dry things. I usually leave things and put them away later. I – it annoys me if things aren’t in the right place.’ I couldn’t handle standing next to him drying the dishes, I decided, and although my house was often cluttered and disorganised, in the kitchen everything had its place so that it was easy to cook.

‘You teach me where things go tomorrow.’ he smiled, and stood, taking the bowls and spoons out. I rose onto shaky legs to pick up the yogurt to put it away, then went through to the lounge. I sat in the easy chair and curled up, comfortably full and a little tipsy, taking a deep calming breath. The couch was dangerous territory, I told myself, and leaned forward to put my glass on the coffee table. Ginger was curled up on the couch and opened his eyes to look at me sleepily before dozing off again.

I listened to Fabio washing up in the kitchen. It was good to have company, even company that made my knees go weak and my heart flutter. I told myself he couldn’t possibly feel anything for me, being used to rubbing shoulders with beautiful models. I was just ordinary, my only claim to being exotic in his eyes was my nationality. Of course he was flirting with me, good looking men like him just did that naturally, I told myself. Perhaps he didn’t even know how he was affecting me.

Fabio came into the room with his glass and the rest of the bottle, almost empty now. He sank down onto the couch and Ginger made a little sound of surprise.

‘El gato churo.’ he smiled, and reached out to stroke him. The cat stretched out luxuriously and exposed his belly, a goofy expression on his furry face. I envied him his relaxed acceptance of my new lodger and his total lack of restraint or self consciousness.

‘So we are a little drunk.’ he said, raising his gaze to mine. ‘Relaxed, no?’

‘Solo un poco.’ just a little. I admitted.

‘Martin, he is a good friend?’ he asked, turning the conversation in a direction I hadn’t expected.

‘He is. We talk a lot, about all sorts of things.’

‘He tries to protect you. I think he doesn’t like me.’

‘It’s only natural I suppose. He’s like a brother to me.’ my breath caught in my throat as Fabio gave me a slow smile. ‘I’m an only child – no brothers or sisters’ I said quickly.

‘Senora, you said your head and your heart tell you different things.’ He leaned his elbow on the back of the couch, his cheek resting on his palm.

‘Doesn’t everybody feel the same way?’ I asked ‘your heart tells you to – to jump in, not think about the consequences, and your head tells you to stop. I suppose mostly my head wins.’

‘You mean with love? You have had a boyfriend – or someone special before?’

‘Of course, I’m only human. Nothing longer than a couple of years, mostly just months.’

‘Me also. Perhaps every now and again it is good to jump in, otherwise we are lonely.’ His words made me suddenly feel sorry for him.

‘You’re lonely, Fabio?’ I asked softly. He shifted self consiously.

‘I travel alone. I have friends here and there, but when you move around so much it is difficult.’

‘I’m sorry. Sometimes I feel lonely too, but most of the time I don’t mind.’

‘If I was not here?’ he asked, the end of his question hanging in the air.

‘I’d take in a lodger, maybe not as soon as this, but unless I meet Mr Right One, I guess Ginger would be my companion.’ He smiled and stroked Ginger, who was now sitting with his paws tucked under his body, his head dropping forward sleepily.

‘Lucky cat, to live in this English house, quiet and happy. Rabbits to chase, a warm place to sleep, someone to look after him if he gets sick.’

‘Fabio…’ I started, but he interrupted me.

‘I’m sorry senora, perhaps I move too fast, I…’ he paused and reached into his back pocket for his phone to translate his thoughts ‘I think that maybe you want…’ he rubbed his forehead. ‘Perhaps the wine is talking.’

‘We should just be friendly for now.’ I said gently ‘it’s easy to get carried away.’ He smiled ruefully.

‘Your head is strong. Your heart…’

‘My heart needs a little more time’ I explained ‘It doesn’t always lose, sometimes my head realises that my heart is right. We only met a few days ago.’ He nodded sagely.

‘That is true senora. Tell me, you like me calling you Lisa?’

‘Lisa is fine.’ I replied ‘How about you? Do you have a nickname? Something shorter?’ he shrugged.

‘Not really’ he smiled.

‘You know, the first part of your name – Fab – is like ‘fabulous. How about Fabby?’ He grinned widely.

‘I like Fabby. You use that. Is almost the same in Spanish - fabuloso’ He stretched and took his glass up again, taking a sip and putting it back down again. He looked very relaxed, long legged, his ankle resting on his knee, his arms spread wide along the back of the couch.

‘So you and Martin. You are just friends? Always?’

‘Yes, always, though I had a bit of a crush on him when we met. He was married though, and by the time he was free we were – just friends. I don’t think of him that way, and his life is very complicated.’ We spent a little more time talking about old partners, falling into a comfortable place. Eventually Fabricio yawned.

‘I am tired.’ he announced ‘I think I will go to my room. Tomorrow we go for a walk – you said the coast?’

‘Yes’ I smiled.

‘And you listen to your head, let your heart get used to things.’ he smiled, standing. I stood to pick up the glasses and bottle. He moved toward me, then stopped, thoughtful.

‘Do friends whose hearts are waiting hug each other?’ he asked ‘Is alright?

‘I think so.’ I replied, putting the glasses back down. I walked into his embrace and he held me tight. It was different to hugging Martin – I felt it was something Fabio needed, something that grounded him, but there was an undercurrent, a feeling of potential. I felt him sigh happily, then he drew back and kissed me on the cheek. Doing anything more daring was not a good idea after the wine, I told myself with a little pang of regret.

‘Sleep well. Do you need anything?’

‘No, is fine. I see you in the morning. Is okay to shower when I get up?’

‘Of course, the door has a lock on it, and I’ll hear you. This is your home.’

‘My English home. Goodnight my friend.’

-------

I slept surprisingly well that night, but I closed my bedroom door which did not please Ginger at all. He fussed to be let in, and settled down with a little grumble. At two o’clock in the morning I relented and left the door open when he yowled at me, but he didn’t return until he decided it was breakfast time. He was so insistent that I thought I would risk going downstairs in my dressing gown. I could hear the shower running in the bathroom and calculated that I had time to complete my task before he emerged, so I went to feed Ginger and put the kettle on for coffee. I started out to go back upstairs to get dressed when I realised the sound of the kettle boiling had masked the sounds from the bathroom, and Fabrio emerged, clad only in a towel wrapped around his waist.

My breath caught in my throat at the sight of his bare chest, unwaxed and unshaved with dark hair forming a trail that lead down below the towel. His hair was wet and tousled from towel drying and steam billowed out from the bathroom. He was barefoot and grinned at me disarmingly.

‘Buenos días senora.’ he said as I gripped the newel post to stop my legs from giving way. The scent of his shower gel flooded the hall and I managed to return his greeting.

‘Good Morning Fabio. Did you sleep well?’

‘Muy beuno. Is quiet here. El gato – Ginger, he came to sleep on my bed when I got up for the bathroom.’ I eyed the cat, who had strolled out from the kitchen licking his chops and making for a comfortable place to digest his food. He avoided Fabio’s bare legs, but went to his door and looked up at him, mewing to demand entrance. ‘Ginger, you are bad.’ he scolded ‘You go to Lisa, not me.’

‘I’m so sorry. If you don’t want him in your room…’

‘Is okay, I don’t mind, but he should be more – faithful.’ I shrugged

‘Cats are very independent. I’m glad he likes you, it means you’re not a threat.’ Fabio gave me a smouldering look, and I pulled my dressing gown closer around me. He looked back down at the cat, nodding sagely.

‘Ginger, you are a good wing man. You make me look good.’ He laughed loudly and the cat glared at him and stalked off to the lounge.

‘I uh – I’ll get dressed and we can have breakfast.’

‘Thankyou Lisa.’ He shook his head at me, his hair flopping over his forehead. He pulled at it ‘I do this and then I join you.’

It wasn’t long before we met again in the kitchen, both fully dressed, Fabio’s jet black hair styled and glossy. I made coffee and showed him what was available for breakfast.

‘Have you ever had porridge?’ I asked ‘It’s more Scottish than English. In the USA they call it oatmeal.’

‘Si, I have it before.’

‘I like to cut up banana and cook it with oats and water, and I add something sweet – honey is good, and a splash of milk. The Scots like it with salt.’ He looked thoughtful.

‘Make it the way you like it, and I try it.’

‘Okay, if you go and sit down I’ll get it ready.’ He took his coffee and phone and went into the dining room, and ten minutes later we were sitting together eating and looking out at the garden.

‘Ginger will love it when he’s allowed out.’ I said ‘He probably won’t bother sleeping on my bed if it’s warm outside.’ Fabio looked at me.

‘El gato, he is not sure who to sleep with now. This is good.’ he waved his spoon over his bowl ‘Very healthy, yes?’

‘Thanks. You can make it richer if you make it with milk instead of water. You can put sultanas in, or any kind of fruit you like.’

‘Strawberries?’ He asked, and I nodded, remembering how we had flirted over strawberries and wine the night before.

‘I like bananas best.’

‘You don’t have to feed me all the time, senora.’ he said ‘today we eat out, and on my next day off, I make paella.’

‘Okay, I can put aside space in the cupboard and fridge for any food you want to cook, but otherwise you can share most things – if you’re not sure, just ask.’ 

When we had finished, Fabio washed up for me again, and I showed him where to put things away in the kitchen. I was getting more comfortable having him around, but there was still an undercurrent, the sense of possibility. I had wanted excitement – but as usual my head had put the brakes on, and I hoped I could overcome that and manage to go toward that goal again very soon.

[anotherhystericalqueen]

As Easy as Breathing III

Modern!AU Brian May x OC

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: None

A/N: Part III is here! Please let me know what you guys think, any and all feedback is appreciated. Also a big thanks to @spacedustmazzello​ for being awesome and a huge help with my writing💕

Part I  Part II

Josie woke up early to her alarm going off the next morning. She grabbed her phone and hit the snooze, but that didn’t last long when she saw the text messages and social media notifications flooding her screen. 

Brian: Hey, is everything okay?

Brian: You ran off pretty fast last night, is everything alright?

Brain: Josie? I’m getting worried. Please text me back 

Roggie: Hey, we didn’t get back until super late so I’m coming in later in the morning. Can we talk later? I promise it isn’t about you and Brian.

John: Want to hang out later? I’ll be at the shop all day with Rog or Freddie if you want to do something. 

Brian: I’m stopping by Rag Trade later to drop off my stuff from last night. Are you working today?

Instagram- you were tagged in a post by @Queenmusicofficial

Josie responded to John first. “Yea I’m opening today so I’ll be at the shop until 3-ish so come by the shop whenever. I’m working on a project for Freddie so we can do something afterwards.”

She didn’t check to see if he responded or look at any of the other texts before crawling out of bed and shrugging on her bathrobe. She snuck into the shared bathroom between her and Roger’s bedrooms and fell right into her morning routine. 

After a quick but warm shower, some light makeup, and spending 20 minutes trying to find an outfit that met her standards, Josie grabbed her phone and shoulder bag from the end of her bed. The bag was a lot heavier than it usually was as she threw it over her shoulder, and it moved a lot more than a bag should have. Josie flipped open the bag to reveal an orange and white kitten curled up inside, his big green eyes staring up at his owner. 

“Chippey,” Josie sighed and picked him up with one hand. “What are you doing in there? You know I can’t take you with me to work.” 

The kitten meowed back at her as she placed him back on the floor. He began weaving in between her legs as she walked out to the kitchen area. Chip continued to persistently meow as she pulled up his food bowl along with Delilah and Miko’s and fished through the cabinet below for the cat food. All three cats meowed loudly and rubbed themselves up against her until their food bowls were full and their water was refreshed. 

Josie poured herself a bowl of cereal for breakfast so she at least had something to eat before her shift and scrolled through her Instagram, checking the post she was tagged in.

It was a set of photos of the band performing onstage and hanging out backstage before the show. The front one was of the band and Josie in the backstage dressing room before the show, posing for the camera with bright smiles on their faces. She began to think back on what happened after that picture was taken, but was soon pulled out of her thoughts to see Roger standing in the kitchen, digging the kettle out from the top cupboard and filling it with water. 

“Morning.” Josie piped up. “Sorry if I was too loud, I didn't mean to wake you.” 

The drummer shrugged, grabbing a mug and a bag of his favorite tea. “No worries, I was already awake so you don’t have to apologize. If anything, I guess I am the one that owes you an apology.” He trailed off.

“Rog, it’s fine.” Josie replied. “You don’t have to apologize for something you weren’t aware of.” 

“I know, but I wish you had said anything before trying to snog my best friend.” 

Josie dropped her phone and glared at her roommate. “It was not my intention to kiss Brian, and you know I didn’t kiss him because you were there. And you didn’t have to run off afterwards if you had a problem.” 

“And you didn’t have to run after me.” Roger remarked. “I don’t have a problem with who you can and can’t like, but all I am saying is that it would have been nice to know beforehand.” 

“It isn’t your business to know who I do or do not like, even if it was Brian and I am not obligated to tell you anything.” Josie shot up from her seat so fast that both Miko and Chip jumped in surprise. She grabbed her now empty bowl of cereal, rinsed it out, and placed it in the dishwasher. 

“I’ll see you at the shop.” She picked up her bag and threw it over her shoulder, not even making eye contact with Roger before heading out the door.” 

~~~~~~~~~

The Rag Trade had very slow foot traffic in the morning, which gave Josie time to hang back at the counter and work on finishing Freddie’s jacket before he came in later. John and Roger joined her in the shop two hours later, Roger taking Josie's place behind the counter and John set himself in the back of the store with Josie’s workspace. 

“What’d you think of the show last night?’ John asked. “I didn’t get the chance to see you after the show, looked like you were in a bit of a rush when I saw you.” 

“It was fun,” The seamstress answered, not breaking concentration from the jacket’s meticulous detail work. “Sorry I couldn’t stay later. Had to get up early to open the shop, can’t make rent if we aren’t open, and also I promised Freddie that his jacket would be done today so I have to finish all this stoning or else I’m gonna get way behind on my schedule. What about you? Have some fun after I left?” 

The bassist shook his head, “I guess. None of us were really in much of a partying mood last night.” 

Josie looked up from her work, “How come?”

“I don’t know. The show went great but I just felt drained afterwards. And it felt like there was something going on between Brian and Roger after you left.” He explained. 

Josie felt her stomach drop to her feet. Brian and Roger were mad at each other, and it was all her fault because she almost kissed Brian and Roger saw it happen. She remembered her and Roger’s conversation that morning. Josie barely knew what was happening between her and the guitarist and for sure wasn’t ready to explain it to Roger. “What do you mean by something going on? Like did they look mad at each other or something else was going on?”

John noticed Josie’s sudden interest in Brian and Roger. “They weren’t mad at each other from what I saw, it was more like they had to talk about something but didn’t want to bring it up in front of me and Freddie.” He shrugged, “My guess is that it was about the setlist, they were arguing about wanting to play some old Smile songs. Brian wanted to add them but Rog was against it and wanted to play more Queen songs.” 

The sinking feeling in Josie’s stomach lightened just a bit. Maybe they weren’t mad at each other over her, it was about the setlist and she was just overthinking this whole thing. Josie turned her attention back to finishing Freddie’s jacket, adding plastic rhinestones to the jacket collar. She was over halfway finished and Freddie wasn’t coming in for another two hours, so she would have the heavy work done before Freddie would have a chance to see it for himself. 

Josie and John worked in silence for the next two hours, Josie finishing her project and John focusing on his online classes he was taking for the summer. Josie occasionally broke the silence to ask for John’s opinion on her work to see if there was anything that looked out of place or that Freddie wouldn’t like. She would reciprocate with John as another set of ears to listen to him work out a problem. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

“It looks like something an angry lizard would wear.” Roger laughed as Josie put it on her canvas mannequin to check the fit and any final touches before Freddie came in. 

Josie glared at her roommate as she added the final touches. She had transformed the beat up white leather jacket Freddie had modeled for them two weeks ago into a brand new garment. She kept with the white leather and re-stitched the collar to flare out all the way around and added fake rhinestones to the collar and cuffs of the jacket to add a level of sparkle that only Freddie would deem fashionable. 

“As long as Freddie likes it, that’s all that matters.” She defended her creation. 

“What’d you use to make it?” Roger wondered. 

Josie shrugged. “Some scraps I had from old clothes and fake rhinestones I bought from a previous commission. The jacket itself was easily salvageable but I wanted to make it even better and something that only Freddie would wear.” 

“And you did just that!” A voice exclaimed behind them. All three whipped around to see Freddie and Brian standing at the entrance of the shop. Freddie ran up to the jacket and pulled it off the mannequin before putting it on and modeling in the mirror four the others to see. Josie’s face lit up seeing how much Freddie liked it. “Darling this is absolutely stunning!” 

“Jo, do you think you can make me one to wear to Sunday church?” Deaky joked, watching Freddie marvel in the mirror at his new garment. 

Josie snorted out of laughter. “If you can find me another jacket like that I’ll be more than willing to make you one.”

“I think it looks great Jo.” Brian spoke up. “And like you said, as long as Freddie likes it that’s what really matters.” 

Josie blushed at the compliment. “Thanks Bri, I should have yours done soon too.”

Brian waived her off. “No worries, take however much time you need.”

She laughed. “Thanks, I do have the embroidery we talked about sketched out already if you want to come in back and take a look.” She secretly hoped Brian would accept her offer so she would have a reason to talk to him in private about Roger and the after show events from the previous night.

Brian accepted her offer and followed her to the backroom of the shop that Josie claimed as her workspace for client projects and her work she was doing for Queen on the side. Brian’s jacket was spread out on her worktable, the sleeves now significantly lengthened with found denim and a galaxy print that Josie found at a secondhand fabrics store a few shops down from the Rag Trade. She even used the extra fabric to line the inside of the jacket to add some extra warmth to it. Brian couldn’t see the inner lining though because the jacket was flipped over to show the backside, which was stenciled with different planets and constellations that Josie had researched. 

“So this is just a sketch of what I have in mind right now, but I can change it if there’s anything you want different.” She handed him the jacket so he could look more closely at the design. “What do you think?”

“It looks great Josie.” Brian marveled at her work. “I love it, and the fabric is a great touch.”

Josie blushed and rocked back on her heels, a nervous habit she had developed in school. “Yeah, I was hoping you would like it. The design is the hard part, so as long as you approve of it the embroidery should only take a couple days for me to do. I already have my threads so I just have to fill everything in.”

“I love it.” Brian grinned, handing the jacket back to her. “I can’t wait to see the end product.” 

Josie took it back and played with the collar. “I can’t wait for you to see it either. I can text you when it is done if you want.” 

“Yea, I’d like that.” Brian looked at her. “Also, I know we didn’t get to talk last night…...about what happened at the van.” 

The sinking feeling returned to Josie. “Yea….”

“Are you mad at me?” Brian asked. “I swear I wasn’t trying to force myself on you, it-”

“Brian I’m not mad at you.” She cut him off. “We both didn’t plan on it happening but it happened. I just don’t know what it means or how to feel about it.” 

Brian leaned against Josie’s worktable and ran a hand through his curls, trying to collect his thoughts. “It doesn’t have to mean anything right now if you don’t want it to.”

“I don’t know if I want to call it anything.” She sighed, taking a spot next to Brian. “Roger was upset at me this morning because I didn’t tell him there was anything going on with us. I told him it was none of his business and now I don’t know what to do.” 

There was a long pause hanging in the air. Neither of them knew what to say next without it leading to a longer conversation they weren’t ready to have yet. Josie wanted to play it off as a one time thing and it wouldn’t happen again

“You’re right.” Brian spoke up. “This is none of Roger’s business. You don’t have to say anything if you aren’t ready.”

“I’m not. I don’t want to call this anything right now if that’s okay with you.” She replied. 

“Fine with me.” Brian smiled. “I’m not going to push you into anything you don't want. And don’t worry about Roger, that’ll sort itself out. Promise.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Freddie took over managing the shop with Josie while John and Brian wandered off to grab lunch for the four of them. Roger made his way out onto the shop floor to try and pick up some business while Josie stepped back to where she kept all the clothes that were saved for Queen shows.

“Okay Jo, spill it.” Freddie said the minute Brian was out of earshot. “What is going on between you two?”

“What do you mean? There’s nothing going on between us.” She answered, turning her attention back to leafing through the rack of stage clothes in front of her. 

Freddie rolled his eyes as he sat down on the couch. “Yea right, of course there’s nothing between you two just like there’s nothing between me and Jim.” 

“Well then what’s going on with you and Jim then?” She shot back, continuing to focus on the garments in front of her. “You just met him yesterday. Also, what do you think of this?” She pulled out a black flowy button down shirt.

“Give it to Deaky, he liked the last one you gave him so see if he wants it for the next show. And you’re forgetting that Jim and I already have a date planned.” The singer added on. “That’s more than what you and Brian have going on.”

“We don’t have anything going on Freddie.” She rolled her eyes. “I guess we just vibe well together. I’m not looking to date anyone anyway, especially not one of your bandmates.” 

Freddie cocked his head to the side at her response. “What do you mean by that? I have no problem if you dated someone in the band and I’m sure Roger or Deaky wouldn’t mind either.”

Josie placed the shirt with the rest of John’s stagewear. “Are you sure about that? I’m not too sure if Roger wouldn’t mind me dating a band member.” 

“Now why would you say that?” Freddie asked. 

There was a long pause between the two of them. Josie fiddled with a sleeve from another one of John’s shirts and Freddie drummed his fingers on his knee. 

Josie took a deep breath. “Okay, if I tell you, you have to promise me that you won’t tell anyone. Not Jim, not Deaky, not anyone.” Freddie raised an eyebrow at her request, but he promised not to tell anyone.

“Brian and I almost kissed last night.” She confessed. “After the show in the back of the van. Roger caught us as it was happening and I don’t know for sure what he saw. John said that he and Brian were acting weird after I left and I don’t want to cause drama in the band when you guys are about to take off. I can’t do that to you guys.” 

“Why do you think we would disapprove of you and Brian?” Freddie asked. “If anything, I am all for you two getting together, and from what I’ve seen he likes you back.”

Josie laughed. “Of course you would say that, you’re going to need someone to be your double date with you and Jim.” 

Freddie jokingly clutched his chest in pretend shock. “How dare you believe I would set you up for my own gain. I would never do such a thing!”

The pair burst into laughter. Freddie always knew how to lighten her mood, and after this morning’s conversation with Roger she definitely needed it. There weren't ever a lot of fights between them but this was different. The thought of what happened deflated her mood and Freddie could see it on her face. 

“I heard what happened this morning with you and Roger. He told me last night what happened with you and Brian on our way home.” Freddie confessed. “He isn’t upset at you or Brian.”

Josie scoffed. “It didn’t sound like that this morning. He kept saying that I should have told him, and I have no idea what’s going on myself so why would I tell him in the first place?” 

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Just tell him that you needed some time to figure it out yourself before you wanted to tell anyone.” 

Josie sighed and sunk into the couch next to Freddie. “You’re right. Brian and I don’t know what we want to call whatever happened last night and I don’t want to call it anything right now.” 

“Then that’s what you do.” Freddie replied. “It doesn’t have to be anything if neither of you want it to be anything.” 

That advice stuck with Josie. She liked Brian but didn’t want it to be anything at this point in time and that was okay. 

“Thanks Fred.” She pulled herself off the couch. “How long are you here today?” 

“I’m closing up the shop today, so Jim is picking me up at 7.” He replied. 

“Well have fun tonight.” She grinned. “I really hope it goes well, Jim seems like a pretty cool guy and I am really happy for you Fred.” 

For the first time that Josie could see, Freddie blushed at the compliment. It was a rare sight but Josie knew this was a good sign. Everything was going to be okay.

[lucahqs-blog]

❛ ✶  —  did you see LUCA MARTÍNEZ walking around campus earlier ? i hear a lot of people talking about the TWENTY-ONE year old JUNIOR . from what i know , they are studying HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY while minoring in ILLUSTRATION and are a part of PHI KAPPA DELTA . they come across as + DIPLOMATIC but also - NON-CONFRONTATIONAL , which makes since because on their instagram ( LMHQS ) it says they are a LIBRA . when i see them , i think of LONG 2AM ROOFTOP CHATS, 100% GREEK & DEAD POETS SOCIETY CHAOTIC ENERGY, MESSY ROOM COVERED IN ART & PROJECTS, DOG-EARED TEXTBOOKS, CIGARETTE SMOKE. the most interesting thing i’ve heard about them though , is the fact that [  REDACTED ] , but don’t tell anyone i told you that .

hello, loves !! this bean goes by rue ( she / her pronouns ), and i’ll be playing this Mess™, luca ( with fc by froy gutierrez ). below you can find his bio, enjoy ! + disclaimer: there are mentions of mental health and cancer, so please read at your own discretion.

biography

When someone hears the name Martínez, they automatically think of words like prestigious, wealthy, and perfect. And who wouldn’t? With the father being a State’s Attorney and mother owning her own real estate business, you had to think like that. In the public eye the Martínez family was flawless. Diana was the always supporting wife who thrived in raising money for fundraisers and showing off her cooking skills and David was being a husband who brought home piles of money and was devoted to his family. Everyone wanted what they had. Luca Martínez was born into a world where perfection was of the utmost importance. The Martínez family are one of those prestigious families that has always been full of wealthy and high-class snobs, and Luca’s parents were no exception. He grew up learning how to be charming and handsome, and aware of his superiority over those of inferior to him. Luca’s childhood years consisted of him sitting restless at various fancy parties and dinners, while his father kept him from all the treats so that he would grow up to be fit and strong. Luca’s father was always cold and emotionally isolated from him; only after a perfect son to show off to the world.

He has brother, who is three years younger than him, named Nathaniel. His relationship with his brother, however, is a bit estranged just like with their father. As much as he loves his brother and wishes they could see eye-to-eye, sometimes they tend to butt heads often. Whether that might mean your typical sibling arguments or full-on blown out fights, they just cannot seem to see get along.

As a young, restless little child, Luca sought escape from his shallow, chilly life in the form of a friend. His friend taught him that there was such thing as warmth and friendliness, told him lots of stories of Greek mythology, and he learned that his father had been lying about “tactless individuals” being horrible people. However, when his father found out about his associations with his friend, within a week, the boy mysteriously disappeared. Since then, Luca kept all his unapproved-of friends to himself. Unfortunately, as time went on, Luca grew up to become a lot colder and more isolated like his father—leaving the feeling of pure joy of meeting that friend he met long ago, had vanished. With his family situation being completely dysfunctional and rottenly horrible, he never experienced what being happy was all about.

Sometimes calling someone selfish is a gross exaggeration, but in Luca’s case its right on-point. Eventually in his early teens he became distracted, always preoccupied with his own affairs and matters of interest. Whether it was schoolwork, his multiple and usually explosive relationships, or his many existential crises, Luca was one for waving people away and turning the conversation back on himself. This was not necessary out of narcissism or some hidden agenda: Luca genuinely does not know who he is. Perpetually fidgeting and restless, it is not uncommon to see him rapidly flicking a cigarette lighter, or playing with his hair, or bouncing on the balls of his feet. In high school he was brilliant: it was that simple. He was the golden boy. Prone to spilling into intellectual spiels - and labelled a know-it-all - he internalized everything, memorizing tiny details, eyes skipping here and there. His intelligence is among his most useful traits and is by far the thing he values most about himself. Much of his ego is built around the confidence that he is effortlessly smarter than almost anybody he encounters. Knowledge is power, and he weaponizes his superior intellect, using his brains more than brawn to protect himself and intimidate the people he does not care for.

Although his parents were the bane of his experience 100% of the time, his mother was not all that insufferable when she had her moments away from his father and not trying to be this pristine ‘perfect’ woman beside her husband. In fact, throughout his childhood she often encouraged Luca’s belief in extraordinary things and hoped he had carried it throughout his life growing up. His mother had always made him promise to have courage and be kind to others, for—as she explained to him—kindness has power, and that she would see him through all the trials that life could offer, in life and death.

Cancer/mental illness TW—when he was thirteen, his mother had been diagnosed with cervical cancer. Upon hearing the news, Luca’s whole world clasped. Not only was he at a pivotal stage in his life where everything was changing and becoming more stressful ( becoming a teenager, starting high school, going through puberty ), the only important person who had actually showed him any kind of love in his life had be claimed by the deadly disease altogether. So many thoughts and feelings were going through his mind at the time, that he ran himself physically sick and had experienced his first panic attack. He has since been medically diagnosed with panic disorder. Thankfully, the cells on his mother’s cervix were diagnosed at precancerous stage and the doctors were able to treat it because it developed and spread. However, that didn’t and doesn’t stop Luca from being in a constantly state of panic every time his mother so much as feels pain or coughs due to irrelevant reasons. The entire year had changed him and his family for a while.

He is now attending Beaumont University currently in his Junior year studying Human Physiology and minoring in Illustration. The university is his parents’ alma mater and he joined his father’s former fraternity after he was convinced it would be a ‘father-son bonding experience’ to have shared the same Greek house. Not to mention, his family has pretty decent ties at Beaumont, making Luca pretty well known become his parents. Sure, his family is wealthy, well known in the socialite community, and has basically grown up with this sort of life from an exceedingly small age, but to say he actually cares about all that crap is an overstatement. He is nothing like some of the spoiled and entitled students at his school and rather vibe with himself than gossip about the latest trend.

Despite issues with his own family, Luca has a lot of personal of his own he deals with. He is capable of enduing tremendous hardship. Though he may not handle difficulty in the healthiest or best way, often repressing emotion, he mostly like emerges on the other side. He does not know how to express his emotions in a put together way, but rather fumbles it all up and starts to ramble. Rarely opens up because of this. He usually distracts himself from his insufferable emotions with hobbies such as playing the piano, painting, and reading some of his favorite classics. After he moved out the house at eighteen to pursue college and became more independent, he started to come into his own style with his wardrobe. To put it simple, he is like a hippie dippy child of the universe.

No joke. No seriously, his place at home and his dorm is full of sensual shit and art. It is getting out of hand and somebody needs stop him soon. Catch him rocking the Greek philosopher and Dead Poets Society aesthetic around campus. He strongly believes that art is an umbrella term that relates to expressing of oneself—not just through photography and painting—and that everyone has the freedom to express themselves however they please. Because of his beliefs, he chooses to break gender roles like bread and wears whatever the fuck he wants because yolo. His appearance pretty much represents his hippie dippy lifestyle with him wearing all sorts of hipster shit. His clothes can be very flowy like, but don’t let that fool you. He doesn’t miss the opportunity to represent his upper class within his style, so he does dress to impress, let me tell you. His hair color changes sometimes too depending on his mood but it’s generally never too eccentric.

[bangtan-spells]

Yoongi Scenario: Take It All Back.

Request: Can I request one with bad boy Yoongi where the reader clings to him (in a good way) and does everything for him, but Yoongi gets annoyed and tells them to go away so they do. Yoongi then realizes that he made a mistake especially when he sees her with a guy one day. Angst and fluff please. Thanks.

Genre: Romance / Drama.

You were happy to go see your boyfriend, usually you spent a lot of time with him, which you loved, even if it was being around while he did his thing, just being in the same room kept you happy. But truth was lately you hadn’t seen him as much, it had been a week since the last time and honestly it was driving you crazy. So you took it upon yourself to fix the situation and go visit him, you had been countless of times at his dorm, Yoongi lived with friends from college but he had his own room, you even missed that bed, curling to his side and snuggle to him even if he’d grumble a little that your feet were too cold, you’d laugh it off and keep enjoying his warmth.

Everyone said Yoongi wasn’t the right guy for you and truth to be told he had an awful reputation. Fights, gangs, drugs, there were all kinds of rumors about him, the fact that his arms were completely tattooed didn’t help to get him out of the stereotype, and neither did his temper that he lost some times, or that word was spreading about him performing as an underground rapper. But just that didn’t mean he was bad, and you knew it. You chose to see the good in him

You missed him terribly, so you had made a tray of brownies just the way he liked and went to his place.

-Y/N- he said your name a bit surprised but still let you in. The other guys in the dorm had a hookah on the living room and you could smell the scent of mint and herbs in Yoongi’s shirt which told you he had been smoking too. You didn’t mind him smoking hookah from time to time, what got you a bit worried was when they mixed it with weed.

-I brought you brownies- you told him as you followed him in.

-if they are not poisoned then we don’t want them- one of the guys yelled making you feel uncomfortable. You had made them with the best intentions but now you felt kind of lame. Yoongi showed him the middle finger and turned to you, leaving the tray on the dinning table to go to his room.

-So, what’s up?- he asked after closing the door.

You were a bit taken aback so you left your bag on his bed and kept standing in front of him.  -I… we had a week without seeing each other, I thought we could spend a little time together-

-Kind of busy right now Y/N- he said scratching the back of his head.

You nodded, Yoongi was always so busy to the point of forcing himself, that’s why you thought he needed you to be there for him. You smiled a little as you went closer and hugged him -I can wait here for you while you do whatever is that you are doing baby-

Yoongi sighed detaching from you, like he didn’t want to hug you, like he had grown tired of it all of the sudden, -Why don’t we leave this for another day?-

The question was like a punch in your guts. -You don’t want to spend some time together?-

-It’s not that I don’t want that, but I’m busy and you will be on the way-

-Excuse me?- you gasped not believing your ears, why he was behaving like such a douchbag? -I’ll be on the way?-

Yoongi groaned. -I didn’t mean it that way, I’m just saying I’m doing some things and I prefer to do them without distractions-

-But I can wait for you here in your room- you insisted. -You can do whatever you want and I’ll wait here, take as long as you want- Yoongi shook his head and you felt your insides turning at his  evident rejection, Yoongi was a tough guy and you were aware that it was hard for him to express himself sometimes, but you didn’t understand this. -I… I came to be with you, I missed you, didn’t you want to see me?-

Yoongi took a few seconds to reply making you think the worst, maybe he had another girl? -I do, but you need to give me some space Y/N-

-Is there someone else? That’s why you hadn’t told me to come this past week?-

-Fuck Y/N- he groaned again. -No, I just want to be left alone for a couple days is that so hard to understand? It isn’t about anyone else, is about me being alone without anyone breathing on my neck-

You gasped softly and bit your lip to not start crying, you could see he was too angry, but those words came out of his mouth and they had hurt you just the same. -I didn’t know I annoyed you that much- you lamented honestly feeling like a fool. -I came here with the best intentions, I made you brownies, I’m always looking after you because I care about you-

-And I care about you, but if you pressure me like this I…-

-You what? I haven’t done anything wrong, and how is caring about a person pressuring them?-

-You don’t get it- he sighed annoyed. -Right now I…- he groaned and shook his head. -I can’t have you clinging to me right now Y/N, I need to focus on some shit-

You nodded licking your lips as you felt your eyes pool with tears that you were trying hard to not let roll down your cheeks. -So you are telling me to go away? That’s what you are saying, you don’t want me here-

Yoongi just stood there quiet staring back at you, that annoyed face told you all you needed to know. You had been so naive to believe he cared as deeply about you as you did for him. You took your bag that you had put on his bed before and went out of that apartment as fast as you could.

Yoongi went on with his things, that day and then that week. You didn’t understand him, he needed space, he had to come up with new things for his lyrics and beats, that required time, his full attention. With you there he just didn’t concentrate the same. But as he could be one hundred percent now on his music, he realized that half the time he spent feeling like shit because of how things had ended up that day. You were his girl and Yoongi loved you, but he just didn’t know how to handle all the attention sometimes, he was more of a loner and was used to be by himself, having someone caring about him all the time was kind of overwhelming. Yoongi wished he had handled the situation better, he really liked you and had to appreciate you were with him despite anything, but maybe this was for the better.

A week passed without any of you speaking to the other. You were determined to not contact him even if you were dying to, you had so many things to tell him, you had so many feelings inside of you. Instead of texting him you wrote everything on your notes in your phone to be able to at least let that out or you were going to go crazy. You started thinking very seriously of the reasons you were with him. You had thought that no matter the rumors or his bad boy persona Yoongi was worth everything. That it didn’t matter if you had to get used to his particular ways, if he loved you then everything was ok. But did he really loved you? With how he had behaved the other day you seriously doubted it, and in fact you were starting to believe that he just didn’t, and that thought tore you apart and left you crying every night.

You weren’t feeling up to anything, with Yoongi not even writing you just wanted to drown in your own little puddle of sadness, you were starting to wonder if it was you that was wrong and had pushed him away. You were starting to doubt everything, and honestly it was driving you a little crazy. That was why despite feeling like you just needed to lay on your bed and just think about all of yours and Yoongi’s flaws and strong points, you decided to accept your friend’s invitation for a beer. You were going to most probably annoy Jungkook to death when you started to rant about Yoongi after your second beer, but you figured the distraction could be good for you.

Jungkook and you went to a place that was known for their original craft beers, you hadn’t been there with your friend before but you remembered coming with Yoongi once or twice. You remembered him in every single little thing you did. Jungkook was aware you were having trouble with your boyfriend and was trying to be funny to cheer you up.

-Look at me, finally grew that mustache- he said after you were spacing out for a moment, you stared at him and couldn’t help the giggle, he had the foam of the beer over his upper lip. -Now do I look grown up enough for you Y/N?-

-You still look like my child- you laughed. -A big baby, how old would you be in months?-

Jungkook laughed. -I need more beer to make those numbers-

Although Jungkook and you knew each other since a long time ago you didn’t go out together as much, he was the son of one of your mom’s friends, so you were introduced at some family gathering, him being a little younger than you made you always see him like a little brother, and you were almost sure Jungkook just saw you as his sister noona. Either way you were comfortable with him and that was good.

You were having a great time until you saw the group of guys that came in. You knew them very well, two of them were Yoongi’s roommates and of course there he was, Yoongi himself. Your heart leaped when you saw him walking inside the pub, he was wearing dark torn jeans, a white shirt and a lighter jean jacket. You couldn’t help yourself, your body craved for him, and emotionally you were hurting for not having him close to you.

Jungkook followed your gaze direction and then cleared his throat. -It’s him- you had shown Yoongi to Jungkook before, beside all the instagram pictures you had together of course. But they didn’t know each other in person. -He’s a lot smaller than I thought he was- Jungkook observed and like Yoongi knew they were talking about him he turned his face to you, his eyes piercing you for a moment and then he focused on Jungkook for a few seconds before he kept walking more into the pub with his friends. -Wow, that was some serious glaring Y/N- Jungkook observed still staring at Yoongi. -He…- you two saw as the three friends installed themselves near the pull table, Yoongi took off his jacket letting exposed his tattoos. -Those are some sick tattoos-

-They are- you admitted because you loved his tattooed arms, even if you weren’t tattooed yourself and were probably too scared to get one .

-He doesn’t look good for you Y/N- Jungkook continued his previous idea. -and I don’t say this because of the tattoos, but he looks… I don’t know, you had a big fight, right?-

You nodded. -Kind of-

-Has he ever gotten physical with you?- Jungkook asked very seriously.

You shook your head. -Never, he’s kind of awkward sometimes, but he has never lifted a hand at me-

Jungkook nodded. -I don’t know Y/N, he looks shady as fuck- he smiled sipping from his beer. -But maybe he does care about you-

You sighed. -I don’t know Kook, I don’t know anything anymore-

Jungkook turned to him again and then gave you an amused look. -He’s glaring over here, I think he’s jealous-

You frowned, not knowing if that was possible. -Jealous? But we aren’t doing anything-

-He’s a guy Y/N- Jungkook stated like that explained everything. -And you are with another guy right now-

You blushed a little at that, you had always seen Jungkook like a little brother, but now that he put it that way from outside it could look like you were in a date, and besides with Jungkook’s size and height the age difference wasn’t as obvious, the boy had grown so much you barely reached his shoulder. You looked over at Yoongi, he was aiming with the pull stick but his eyes were set on you. You gasped softly and deviated your gaze, Jungkook chuckled at your reaction, you put a hand over your face so your blush wouldn’t be so evident but Jungkook wanted to make fun of you and was trying to hold your hand to the table so you couldn’t hide.

-I just hope he doesn’t come here to fight- he chuckled again but then saw how Yoongi let his friends speaking alone and was walking towards you. -Might be too late-

Yoongi couldn’t believe his eyes. In a million years he had expected going out and find you on a date with another guy. It had been just over a week of your fight and you were already with someone else? It was a big blow to his ego and to his heart. He had strong feelings for you and in his mind you hadn’t broken up, not really, he still thought of you as his girl and he had been pretty sure you still thought of him as your boyfriend, but maybe he was wrong. You were already moving on. He couldn’t focus on the pull match or in Hoseok’s and Namjoon’s jokes. The jealousy was tearing apart all his nerves. Then he saw how that guy took your hands, he was laughing and you were blushing. The anger bubbled up in him until he couldn’t hold it, he left the pull game behind and went directly towards you.

Yoongi stood for a moment in front of your table as you two just stared at each other.

-Y/N, can we talk?- he asked despite himself, all he wanted to do was kick that asshole away from you.

-You want to talk now?- you asked back. -I thought you found that annoying-

Yoongi inhaled sharply, his stupidness coming to bite him right in the ass. -It’s not like that, we should talk… in private-

Jungkook chugged down his beer. -If you want I can go- he said looking at you in the eye. Your friend wanted to protect you but at the same time he knew you two needed to talk.

-Yes, go- Yoongi answered coldly.

Jungkook arched a brow and Yoongi lifted his chin.

-Stop- you intervened. -You don’t decide that- you told Yoongi shaking your head. -Jungkook I will speak with him-

Jungkook nodded and then stood up squaring up to Yoongi who glared harder and stepped closer to him ready to fight.

-Guys- you glared at both of them. -Jungkook, I’ll call you later-

Your friend nodded and then walked out of the pub. Yoongi sat in the place Jungkook had been still wearing that fierce glare.

-Now you want to talk- you said sighing. -Yoongi, seriously, I can’t understand you, and I want to, I really do, but you broke up with me and then never texted, what…- you had to inhale deep to keep your voice steady. -What do you expect?-

-I didn’t break up with you- he frowned. -Do you want that?-

-Yoongi- you inhaled again. -It was you shooing me away from your place, because I was “annoying” do you think I want to be with someone who thinks I’m annoying? I love you very much, but no thank you-

He groaned a little. -I didn’t express myself right at that time, and I was a douchbag, I get that, but I was having a hard time with the raps and the composing, sometimes…- he shook his head, he didn’t tell these things to anyone, but he was going to explain them to you. -It gets so deep in me, I get too immersed on it, it’s difficult to explain-

You nodded. -Isn’t saying this better than telling me those horrible things?-

-I’m sorry- he licked his lips and lowered his head. -I really am, you put up with me every single time and I just… It’s hard to say these things- he confessed in a softer voice. -It’s been my dream to become a rapper, all my life, and I don’t give shit about anyone’s opinion or what they think about me, but… I do care about you Y/N, to me you are…- he sighed extending his hands like he couldn’t explain a measure so big. -I love you, even if I’m not what you’d expect of a boyfriend, I really want to be with you-

You stayed quiet taking in all his words, you could count with your fingers the time he had said he loved you, to him it was such an intimate thing he just didn’t go around saying easily like you could do. He had made so many mistakes, but the truth was there, you loved him and he loved you.

-I want to be with you too-

-What about that guy?- he asked again with the scowl.

-He’s a friend, Jungkook, you remember him? I talked about him a couple times, we have been friends for quite some time-

-So you aren’t… a thing?-

You shook your head, you were impressed he thought you could move on with someone else so quickly. -No, you? Do you have someone else?- you knew he hadn’t but just in case.

Yoongi shook his head. -You are the only one Y/N-

You nodded content with that answer. -Do you really mean all this? Or is it just because you saw me with Jungkook-

Yoongi fidgeted in the chair and pulled at the hair of his nape in a nervous move. -Both…It pissed me off seeing you with someone else- he admitted. -But you are my girl Y/N, I meant everything I said, I’m really sorry, I… you deserve better, I know that, but I’d really like to be with you, you always see the best in me and I didn’t appreciate that…- he sighed and looked deep into your eyes. -This time let me give you my best-

You inhaled and exhaled a bit overwhelmed with all your feelings, perhaps it was better to let him go, but feeling your heart beating so fast for having him there, hurting just to touch him. You couldn’t say no, once again you decided to see the best in him.

-Kiss me- you gave him your answer. Yoongi was eager to comply, standing up to take you between his arms and place his lips on top of yours.

-Let’s get out of here babe- he proposed in a whisper that made all your body tingle. -My Y/N- he kissed you again making you smile and blush, he went for his jacket and then came back to you, placing an arm around your waist to leave together, putting your heart in his hands one more time, you knew with Yoongi it was a risk, but for these feelings you were willing to take it.

[watanukisglasses]

Hello! I wanted to ask how do you feel about spoilers coming out and people sharing them?

Hi there!

I suppose you’re talking about ccs here. If it’s not that, please let me know.

As many of you might be aware of, CLAMP asked a while ago on their Twitter to their fans not sharing spoilers. Why? Because this affects them and people involved in the production of ccs. Now, how do I feel about it?

I’d lie if I tell you I don’t look at them and wait for the release date, and of course I know this is not correct (yeah, not talking about them or sharing them on social media doesn’t makes me more innocent, I’m very aware). However, there are people who doesn’t likes being spoiled and want to get surprised. They have been waiting for a long time and it’s natural they get annoyed when people shares leaks so carelessly. I cannot tell you to stop looking at them if you don’t mind getting spoiled, but what I can ask you to do is not sharing them or teasing people in groups or tweets or instagram it.

You might say “but, what good can make if the spoilers are out anyway?”

Well, maybe us as fans don’t feel affected in any way (except if you don’t like spoilers like I mentioned above), but there are a lot of people involved in the production of the Nakayoshi magazine and they want people to enjoy as much as possible their experience while reading the new chapter. Also, that the authors themselves asked this as a favor to their fans, I think makes it even more important. They were even that nice to ask if you find those, keep them to yourself, which is very interesting because it’s like they’re not forbidding you to get spoiled, but mind you, this token doesn’t means you can do as you please, remember you can make a difference by not spreading leaks than sharing them everywhere you can.

Also, sharing spoilers usually leads to misinformation. There have been times people freaks out because info hasn’t come out completely, and there’s always a malicious someone who starts making rumors about things not confirmed and then hell burns… so, it’s always better to wait till release day. Sometimes even official accounts validate the info in Nakayoshi mag or if there has been a typo, they clarify the issue so no misunderstandings are left.

I know we all can get hyped and excited, but we can make an effort to keep those spoilers to ourselves without spreading them around in webpages, social media or YouTube (because unfortunately, it has reached those limits). Spoilers usually come out a couple days before the release date, so I think we can wait a bit more. A month passes real quickly, days come and go in a blink. It’s a very simple request I think we can all help with (even avoiding peeking at them!). If we helped the Russo Brothers with Avengers Endgame, I think we can help our favorite mangakas too ;)

Hope this answers your question, lovely anon!

[lovehaswonangelnumbers]

New Post has been published on https://lovehaswonangelnumbers.org/angelic-guidance-to-navigate-the-scorpio-new-moon-oct-2019/

Angelic Guidance to Navigate The Scorpio New Moon, Oct 2019

Angelic Guidance to Navigate The Scorpio New Moon, Oct 2019

By Edith Boyer-Telmer

Dear Friends, today we are collectively experiencing the influence of this years New Moon in Scorpio and it will be a powerful one. This moon event appears for us at 4 degrees and 24 minutes of the astrological water sign. Details about the spiritual context I shared on October 24th in my article called “The Spiritual Impact The Scorpio New Moon Is Providing“. As usually the angelic realms delivered some guidelines in form of angelic number sequences to help us through the day. DON’T FORGET TO SIGN UP RIGHT HERE, on the right sidebar of my homepage, to get also “The Daily Angel” posts as information delivered into your mailbox every morning!

This are the Angelic Numbers most vivid during todays Scorpio New Moon: Angel Number 414:

The angel number 414 is caring the important message of being aware of our boundaries, our core values and personal measure. It is important for all of us to make our concerns heard, speak out and share with others capable of caring responsibility. This number also speaks of clear cuts that have to be made and cycles that have to end, when our clear voice and honest concerns are not respected or heard. Clarity, courage and purity in feeling what vibrates with us, is key during these days of confusion! Take actions that will lead you to becoming the person you desire to see in society, and walk the talk, everything else will fall into place by the Angels guidance.

People with good intentions make promises but only people with good character keep them. Unknown

Most people will talk the talk, few will walk the walk; be amongst those few. Steve Maraboli

The most important thing is that we are walking our talk. Be it. Just be it. Gabby Bernstein

Angel Number 4488:

This number is bringing the wonderful invitation to make a conscious step out of the wheel of Karma, and into the creators responsibility of the wheel of life. When we are ready to take responsibility for all our energies and have proved to master them gracefully, this number is the confirmation that we succeeded in our quest for self-mastery. This number speaks of balance and stability, that is getting stronger and extends from the inside to the outside world we have build for ourselves. Stay brave and courageously walk your path, and the new creations you desire will come soon now!

Angel Number 6464:

This number is a confirmation that the hard work and effort we have put into our spiritual evolution, will have wonderful long-term benefits for us, our loved ones, and our community. That the universal energies have taken care of our financial and material issues, and further blessings are on their way. Feel encouraged to keep up the great work!! Let’s stay grounded and focused, aware that our angels surround and support us, while we enjoy every minute of fulfilling our divine life purpose and soul path.

Live simply. Only own that which you need and perhaps a few little things for your personal enjoyment. Fundamentally, own only what you truly need and there will be no confusion, and you will not have to work too hard for money. Give money to support those things that inspire you. They require support, and you need to support them to experience your relationship with them. Living the Way of Knowledge

You can only become truly accomplished at something you love. Don’t make money your goal. Instead, pursue the things you love doing, and then do them so well that people can’t take their eyes off you. Maya Angelou

If you crave acceptance and recognition and try to change yourself to fit what other people want you to be, you will suffer all your life. True happiness and true power lie in understanding yourself, accepting yourself, having confidence in yourself. Thich Nhat Hanh

Dear Ones, I hope you are feeling highly motivated to dig deep into your emotional body under the guidance of this powerful Scorpio New Moon. Collectively we are lead to move forward in the creation of the Golden Age of Aquarius for all beings on planet earth! Love and New Moon Blessings! Edith

If you enjoy my posts, please sign up for my newsletter, JUST CLICK HERE & enter your e-mail. Please also like New Beginnings Guatemala on Facebook, and keep up the good work spreading the word ;-)! Feel INVITED to share this post also on your website or social media, just keep the links and credit active PLEASE! THANKS!

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Commentary from The First Contact Ground Crew 5dSpiritual Healing Team:

Feel Blocked, Drained, Fatigued, Restless, Nausea, Achy, Ready to Give Up? We Can Help! We are preparing everyone for a Full Planetary Ascension, and provide you with the tools and techniques to assist you Home Into The Light. The First Contact Ground Crew Team, Will Help to Get You Ready For Ascension which is Underway. New Spiritual Sessions have now been created for an Entire Family, including the Crystal Children; Group Family Healing & Therapy. We have just began these and they are incredible. Highly recommend for any families struggling together in these times of intense changes. Email: motherofallcreation@lovehaswon.org for more information or to schedule an emergency spiritual session. We can Assist You into Awakening into 5d Reality, where your experience is one of Constant Joy, Wholeness of Being, Whole Health, Balanced, Happy and Abundant. Lets DO THIS! Schedule Your Session Below by following the Link! Visit:  http://www.lovehaswon.org/awaken-to-5d/

Introducing our New LoveHasWon Twin Flame Spiritual Intuitive Ascension Session. Visit the link below:

https://lovehaswon.org/lovehaswon-twin-flame-spiritual-intuitive-ascension-session/

Request an Astonishing Personal Ascension Assessment Report or Astrology Reading, visit the link below for more information:

https://lovehaswon.org/lovehaswon-ascension-assessment-report

https://lovehaswon.org/lovehaswon-astrology/

            Experiencing DeAscension Symptoms, Energy Blockages, Disease and more? Book a Holistic Healing Session

https://lovehaswon.org/lovehaswon-holistic-healing-session/

To read our Testimonials you can follow this link: http://www.lovehaswon.org/testimonials

Connect with MotherGod~Mother of All Creation on Skype @ mothergoddess8

Request a copy of our Book: The Tree of Life ~ Light of The Immortals Book

Order a copy of Our LoveHasWon Ascension Guide: https://lovehaswon.org/lovehaswon-ascension-guide/

Gaia’s Whole Healing Essentials ~ Higher Consciousness Products and Tools to Support Inner Healing, Self-Empowerment, Expansion and Spiritual Growth https://gaiaswholehealingessentials.org/

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