#but i will quite literally never shut up about him or let this go lol

[taegularities]

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

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

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

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

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

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

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

“Angel? Breathe.”

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

Sighing, you ask, “Are you okay?”

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

“Yes… I know.”

“Let’s go?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes.

Has he been keeping up with stuff?

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

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

“Oh, I’m…”

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

“What’s that mean?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

In some sense, it’s worse.

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

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

You follow.

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

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

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

And in the end, it’s still his dad.

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

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

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

You’re incorrect.

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

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

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

“Mhm,” Jungkook merely responds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The city called and it kept them.

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

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

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

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

“Ah. Is it that pretty?”

“It’s pretty amazing.”

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

“I’m trying to, really.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s unnecessary.”

“Okay.”

Tense. Quiet. Gulping.

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

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

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

“I was.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Damn, Kook.”

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

“Yeah. I really like it here so far.”

“Good.”

“Are you?”

“Yeah. It’s okay.”

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

“Good. I think we cou—”

Pause. 

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

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

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

“Helloooo!”

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

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

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

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

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

You giggle. Goodness.

“Gosh, sure!”

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

Weird.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She’s not going to…

No.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s crazy.”

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

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

“What is?” you ask.

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

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

The weeks of insecurity and then the trials of life.

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

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

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

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

Yeah… yeah, it sounds like him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Some people I knew…”

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

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

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

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

“You say it so… weirdly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She calls, “Ah! You’re finally here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hum, “I’m getting tired, yeah…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yearning.

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

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

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

Reminiscent of a youth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Victoria’s Secret?”

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

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

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

“Never threw it away, though.”

“Never thought of it.”

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

“You okay?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then again…

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

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

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

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

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

“Baby!” he exclaims back.

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

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

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

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

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

“Gureum?” you repeat.

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

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

“Okay. Okay…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This is so pretty,” you say.

“Right?”

“Was this the surprise?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You could take him to the city.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s old?” you wonder.

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

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

He just is… He just is.

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

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

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

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

Jungkook…

He took you strawberry picking.

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

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

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

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

“Oh— Really? How so?”

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Try it, too,” he then instructs.

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

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

“You’ll have to eat mine, then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That too.”

Oh.

“What else?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course. Gotta wash them, though.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Right?”

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

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

“No bullshit berries indeed. So good.”

“You picked good ones!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh… yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You understand.

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

The affection is unfiltered and crystal clear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can wait. Things can wait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I really wanted to help, though.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Offended indeed. You learned this?”

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

Junghyun chuckles. “Even I remember.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nonsense.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jungkook—” Junghyun interrupts.

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

“What are you talking ab—”

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

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

But it’s hard to listen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Watch your mo—”

“Or wha—”

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

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

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

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

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

The fire in his eyes is blue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kook…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know. It’s okay.”

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

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

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

Why can’t he love me?

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

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

But he keeps believing—

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

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

“Your mother doesn’t either…”

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

“Didn’t you… hate me, too?”

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

“Not for a second,” you say.

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

“Yeah. I’m okay. We’re okay.”

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

“I know. I love you, too.”

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

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

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

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

And it does fifteen minutes later.

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

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

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

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

“It’s okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah… yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hmm…

“What did he go down for?” you ask.

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

After a fight.

Like the breakdown last night. You understand.

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

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

“Sure!”

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

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

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

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

You’re thankful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She’s so wrong. Both she and him.

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

You remember…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit…

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

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

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

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

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

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

You walk down the steps to the basement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uhmmm, just looking through old stuff.”

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

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

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

He does this often. Zone off like this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Too much of a fool for you, yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

“Ah. That’s kinda sweet, though.”

“Isn’t it?”

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

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

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

“Yes, I did. Don’t be a brat.”

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

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

Make up, probably.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Does he feel the same about you? Probably.

Because he curses, “What the fuck.”

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

“What are you even?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He chuckles. “They can try.”

“They? Well, shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Damn it. Both of them deceived you.

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

“And I got it for you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’ll suit you.”

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

“Ah… I can try.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A tease here, a flirt there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah.

Ah…

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

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

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

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

Ahhh…

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

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

Come on. Unrealistic.

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

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

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

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

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

What? When?

“When?” you echo.

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

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

For the very first time.

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

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

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

Fuck, what if it happens again?

“I’m going to panic,” you tell Ria.

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

“But now I might keep thinking about it.”

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

“No… no, it’s okay. You should’ve.”

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

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

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

Well. Okay.

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

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

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

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

You smile.

Okay…

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

Okay.

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

Breathe in. Breathe out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You take a deep breath.

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

It’s not too much to ask, you reckon.

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

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

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

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

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

You soon meet the first one of the latter kind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Up and down. Smile telling. Uncomfortable.

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

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

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

“Nice. And wait, sorry, you were…?”

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

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

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

“Lucky. You look pretty together.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook nods. “Christian Yu now. Yup.”

“Right.”

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me neither,” Ria confirms.

Of course he didn’t like it.

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

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

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

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

“Okay.”

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

Ah…

“Hm?”

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

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

“Oh— Kook—”

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

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

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

Well… at least now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve been thinking it all dead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I tell you something mainstream?”

You hum, “Hm?”

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

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

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

I’ll spend my life with you.

Not a question. Not a need.

But a confession. A goal. A plan. 

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

It’s a song.

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

“You probably do.”

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

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

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

“You did? Then she must’ve…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This… this is it.”

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

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

[00kittenz]

── our little secret. ( psh ) 🧸

๑ In which Sunghoon makes you realize just how badly you’ve missed his touch after going almost a week without it…

pair: sunghoon ㅊ f!reader | warnings: smut, pwp, cheating (oof), secret relationship, slightly jealous and possessive sunghoon, teasing, begging, fingering (in both holes lol), praise and degrading, oral (f + m rec.), spanking, piv, unprotected s.x | words: 2.0k

this is based off this ask i got the other day !! i kinda wrote more smut cs im a slut for hoon what can i say lol. but thnx to that anon for this delicious idea ヾ(>᎑<๑)

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“why haven’t you been answering any of my calls ?” sunghoon looked visibly in distress, profusely running his fingers through his hair, “had me worried sick about you..”

you stood in front of the doorway quiet, heaving out a sigh before you could explain, “..i’m really sorry hoon. it’s just i got caught up again with—” stopping yourself mid sentence, you spare him of any further details, deciding to just drop this whole subject entirely. “actually never mind, just forget it.”

he isn’t dumb, he knows exactly what you’re talking about. it’s just he chooses to turn a blind eye to it all. doesn’t wanna get caught in the midst, even though he quite literally already is. he’d rather not hear about another fight you and your boyfriend had, or knowing the stability of your relationship with him at all. in the beginning it didn’t affect him as much, but as time went on he just couldn’t bear to listen anymore. sunghoon will never understand why you’re still with him when he can be all that you need and so much more.

call him delusional or whatever, but you were his girl. no one else’s. he’s so crazy about you that if you asked him to kill someone for you he’d probably do it without even hesitating. it’s kind of pathetic to be so blindly in love with someone who’s already taken, but he’s been dead set on you since the day you two locked eyes. ‘love at first sight’ or whatever you may call it. he’s never felt more deeply in tune with another person, it’s like you two were made for each other. of course he’d give anything for you to break up with that loser, it’s just going to take some time (and convincing) to get you to finally do that. plus, what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him, right ?

“come in.” you usher him inside quickly before anyone sees, shutting the door behind you with your foot.

once he fully walked through the door, your arms immediately swung around his neck, unable to hold back anymore. you missed him more than anything, you missed holding him, seeing him, been craving his touch all day, everyday; which is why you decided to cut the ‘date’ you had with your boyfriend short today. you came up with some lame excuse, saying how you weren’t feeling well and needed to go home. he looked as though he didn’t believe you but he let you leave anyway, hoping that you’d feel better and to text him once you got back home. spoiler: you didn’t.

this has been going on for a couple months now, no one knows of this clandestine relationship, not even your closest of friends and you’d like to keep it that way. it’s a horrible thing to say but you don’t necessarily feel any remorse or guilt for what you’re doing at all, if anything you like the thrill of it. sunghoon made you feel things that you’ve never felt before, he was everything that your boyfriend wasn’t and that’s what drew you in the minute you two met.

“missed you..” you muffle into his shirt that were clinging on, basking in the rich scent of his expensive cologne, your favorite one to be exact.

“i missed you so much more baby,” he shamelessly confessed, not caring if it comes off clingy. “couldn’t have you all this week so i’m gonna have you now,” he continued, “been dying to have a taste of these lips again.” he engulfed you even tighter, lifting your head up to lean in and kiss you for the first time tonight.

๑ ๑ ๑

“god.. you’re so fucking pretty.” sunghoon whispers against your skin, peppering kisses along your jaw, sinking down towards your neck. his hands roam everywhere, exploring every inch of you. god, how you’ve missed this feeling so. so. much.

he finally had you right where he wanted, he’s been wanting this for days, thirsting for you all week; and now that he has it you he wasn’t just gonna let you slip away so easily. you let his arms lift your sweater over your head, aching to kiss below the collarbone. his hands cupped your ass, lifting you up from the couch as he carries you to your room, settling you down onto the bed.

“so gorgeous baby.. ”

his eyes danced around your bare upper body, down to your soft, round thighs, to your legs.. admiring your curvy figure. it’s like you were sculptured to perfection; he’ll never not be obsessed with you. an angel that’s descended from heaven is what you are to him. you knew his words had an affect on you, you felt it, he had you dripping for him just from his compliments alone.

his large hands caressed your breasts while his thumb teased your nipple, feeling it stiffen the minute he comes in contact with it. you held your breath for a second, feeling hypersensitive from not being touched in so long. the reactions you had as he did so was enough to make his boxers tighten under his sweats. he needed you more than the oxygen that pervades his lungs, if he could live in this moment forever — he would without even thinking.

when his index and thumb twisted your hardened nip, the moan you let out was hoarse.. broken.. you couldn’t believe you hadn’t felt his touch for almost a week. seemed like an impossible task in hindsight. sunghoon coated his saliva around the base of your nipple, his arm sliding down your body to cup your wetness.

“my precious girl,” he let out a low chuckle, feeling how soaked you were through your thin pajama shorts.

“so wet for me, huh, so needy for me?” he teases you with his fingers, tracing everywhere but your clit.

you squirmed underneath him, grasping onto your pink bedsheets. oh, how you so badly missed his dirty talk.. it looked so good on him. you buck your needy hips up against his hand, wanting to feel more of him as much as you possibly can.

“hmm..fuck..” you gasped, making him chuckle at you again. his hands shift to your waistband yanking them down as they hung to your feet.

“spread.” you didn’t even hesitate for him, your legs shot open. your hand held under your thigh, keeping it open so sunghoon could get a glimpse of your pretty glistening cunt. he stood between your legs, spreading apart your folds as if he were inspecting you.

“mm.. hoon.. please hurry i want your fingers..” you moaned, he spared a glance at your sparkling eyes before complying.

he simply hums at your eagerness, “then i shouldn’t keep my girl waiting, should i ?..” his fingers hid themselves in your weeping hole slowly while he eyed you, drinking up your features.

you felt his fingers trace the inside of your cunt making your face contort messily, your bottom lip held captive by your upper teeth.

“uhhuh, you like that right baby, you missed this ?” he thrusted his digits in and out of you at a pace that kept gradually fastening.

you had no intention on responding, it’d only be a waste of breath. especially when he knew you already liked it. your moans filled the room beautifully.

“fuck, you’re so good for me.. gonna ruin this pretty pussy.” he’d been fingering you into oblivion as his hidden digits thrusted into you, his thumb ran circles around your blushing clit.

“hah, yes ! yes, baby ! i’m coming!..” your shaky hand held onto his wrist. hips bouncing themselves towards him, you exploded.. your juices coated his fingers and the sheets you’d rested on before you were called to taste euphoria.

“good girl, you took it so well for me.” he slapped your thigh, following it up by pulling his layers down, revealing his hard. he laced his fingers around the base, pumping hisself a few times before hovering over you, kissing your bruised, swollen lips from earlier.

your hands were quick to palm him, cupping his balls lightly squeezing them. “oh shit..baby,” he moaned against your skin before sitting you up and guiding you onto your feet.

“knees.” he said before you quickly dropped onto the floor.

he looks at you with eyes full of nothing but admiration and lust before brushing his pink tip against your lips. “open.” he orders once again, raising his brows at you. once you do as your told, he eased himself inside your sticky coated mouth.

at this moment you thought of nothing but pleasing him right, your hands gripped his thighs while your head bobbed slowly on his length. once you were comfortable you quickened yourself. you loved when he was all whiney, especially for you. his hands gripped your hair as he groaned your name, feeling him throbbing inside you.

“mhm.. hell yeah.. just like that for me princess.” he praised you, that moment causing you to squeeze your legs together.

you sucked him harder as your mouth slid off his tip, hands replacing it. your hand added a pressure your mouth couldn’t as you jerked him. his balls sat in your mouth and you suckled and licked until he couldn’t take it anymore

“shit !” he tapped your shoulder before lifting you up onto your feet once more. “all fours now, hurry up.” he groaned at you.

“but you didn't-” you felt his hand swash against your ass causing you to yelp and hurriedly get into position.

“good girl,” he wasted no time into pushing himself inside you, pounding into you as if this were the last time he’d see ever you. you felt your insides tickle everytime he caressed your G spot.

“fuck ! sunghoon, right there..” you pitched, having hold of the comforter for stability.

his middle finger caressed your asshole, taking some of your heats slick to use it as lube. once his finger was inside, your lower felt a dry pain, that was until you felt the pleasure rising from it. his grip on your waist tightened while he watches your ass move fluidly everytime he pushed inside you.

“such a obedient little cunt, isn't it.. so wet and needy for me. she loves this cock fucking her dumb, doesn't she?” he slapped your ass and he wasn’t planning on stopping until he saw handprints.

“trying to milk me aren’t you.. shit..” he hissed as he felt you clench around him.

your hand reaches down to your bud caressing it slowly, ready to reach your high again. “hmm, yes hoon, come on me, please !!”

sunghoon never turned you over so fast. he rubbed his shaft between your folds before bursting onto your smooth abdomen. the sound of you begging for him left him winded.

“fuck.. fuck.. y/n..you have no idea what you do to me..” he went down on you drinking you all up, cleaning you out. “taste so fucking good. who are you tasting so good for?..” he praised again.

“just for you hoonie, only you !” you whined out loudly, playing with the stickiness that caked on your stomach.

not long after, you yourself let out on him. he didn’t fail to drink you clean. he was so drunk off of you that anything you said would be gospel, he’d worship the ground you walked on, whatever you wanted you’d get it in a heartbeat.

he comes up to cup your face, kissing you practically everywhere, your forehead, your eyelids, your cheeks, nose, mouth, neck— he made sure not to miss a single spot. just wants to show all his appreciation for you. he’ll never meet another girl like you, to him you were irreplaceable. most would probably think of him as an idiot to stay with you, but he wouldn’t listen even if a million people told him.

he’ll wait for you if he has to, no matter what he isn’t going anywhere. for now he’ll take what he can get, continuing to keep up this façade as though you’re just “friends” to the outside world, but clearly it’s so much more than that. sunghoon didn’t mind that he was your dirty little secret, he would continue to play along for as long as you needed. or, he’ll just keep fucking you into submission until you finally give in, until you won’t even want to think of another man’s hands touching you the same way his does.

[lavnderwonu]

the boy next door | jeon wonwoo

pairing: idol!boyfriend!wonwoo x fem!reader

genre: secret relationship, established relationship, smut

summary: sneaking around with your secret boyfriend.

warnings: smut (!!!), little plot lol, wonwoo as your secret boyfriend, softdom! wonwoo, wonwoo is hot (yes that's a warning), mirror sex (kinda?), pet names (baby), praise kink, size kink AHEM, clitoral stimulation, fingering, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, creampie, reader has to be quiet, hint at another round.

word count: 1.9k

author’s note!: when i tell you this concept has been on my mind for weeks... i'm not lying. the wonwoo brainrot was hitting HARD when i was writing this. i was originally going to make it a secret situationship but im a #1 hater of that whole thing so relationship it is. plus i just think it'd be hot. who wouldn't want wonu as their secret boyfriend? anyway, let me know what you think, i appreciate feedback! 🩷

click here to join my taglist!

Your phone buzzes on your nightstand as you’re in your bathroom, going through your night time routine, just like any other night. As soon as you make it to your phone, it’s stopped ringing. Unlocking it, you see a notification.

Wonwoo

Missed Call

Your boyfriend. Well, only you knew he was your boyfriend, anyway. Although you’d be lying if you never posted any “soft launches” of you two, whether it was an extra iced americano on your counter, or a very obvious mystery man driving while you sat in the passenger seat.

Before you can even call him back, he’s already texting you.

Wonwoo: are you awake? Wonwoo: i saw your story earlier. you looked nice.

You went out earlier in the day to run your usual errands, which usually consisted of shopping of some sort, then wandering around a bookstore. You threw on a cute floral mini dress, and for good measure, you promptly decided to take a picture in your full-body mirror hoping a certain someone would see.

You laugh to yourself, typing out a reply.

you liked it? well you’re too late. i’m in my pajamas now.

It was only 11:30 pm, so maybe it was a tad early for pajamas for some. But for all you know he was probably in sweats playing some game on his phone or reading a book.

Wonwoo: i don’t care, you always look pretty baby Wonwoo: come over here

He lived down the hall from you, with his roommate and best friend, Mingyu. His apartment was easy access, but pretty risky if Mingyu was there, so usually Wonwoo would just come over to yours.

You're about to ask is mingyu there? until he answers the question before you even finish typing.

Wonwoo: mingyu’s gone

You bite your lip, typing a reply. Fuck, you can’t say no.

on my way

You toss your phone on your bed, quite literally, quickly getting yourself ready, you decide to put on your favorite lavender-colored bra and matching panties underneath your pajamas you already had on. Your favorite color; and a different variation of his.

Going down the hall from your apartment, you reach his door, quickly knocking a few times before he answers.

“I thought you were joking when you said you were in pajamas,” Wonwoo jokes, examining you as you walk in. “You were serious.”

“Shut up, it was getting late.” You blush, as you damn near fight the urge to jump him, cause damn. He looks too good, even in a hoodie and sweatpants.

“You look cute,” He pulls you close to him, his fingers sliding underneath your shirt to grip your waist. “Can’t wait to take them off…”

You lean into him, fingers lightly threading through his hair that’s gotten so much longer recently.

“How much time do we have?”

“Hours.” Wonwoo responds, confident. “Mingyu said he was going out with Jungkook, they’ll probably be out half the night drinking.”

His hands slowly slide up your back, sending your heart thrumming in your chest, you’re unable to deny the effect he has on you.

You both know you’d eventually have to go public with your relationship, but for now, you’d just enjoy the adrenaline rush you get everytime you’re alone together.

You make it to his bedroom, in a heated kiss, you back away to safely removing his glasses and placing them on his nightstand.

Kneeling on his bed in front of him, you quickly tug at the hoodie he has on. “Off.” You order him, and he obeys, pulling it over his head.

He tosses to the floor, before kissing you again, his hands slide up your shirt, groping your breasts lightly through your bra, making you softly moan against his lips. He breaks the kiss and his lips softly trail along the corner of your lips, to your jaw, and onward.

You begin working on unbuttoning your silky pajama shirt as Wonwoo trails wet kisses down your neck. His hands take over, effortlessly unbuttoning it. Your eyes glance over to the mirror on the wall, giving you a full view of you kneeling on his bed and him towering over you.

He slips your shirt off your shoulders, and his eyes briefly follow your gaze, realizing what you’re looking at.

“Are you watching yourself in the mirror?” Wonwoo says into your ear, giving you chills.

“Uh-huh.” Your breath shaky as you reply, nodding.

“Turn around.” He suddenly demands, kissing behind your ear before you turn around, your back now facing him.

Wonwoo wraps one arm around your torso, holding you against his sturdy chest. His hand lightly touches your chin, turning you to face the mirror again.

“Keep watching yourself, baby.”

You watch as his free hand slips underneath your pajama shorts, his fingers lightly ghosting over your clothed clit. You gasp as your hips jolt, desperately seeking out more friction.

“Wonwoo…” You gasp, gripping his arm tighter.

His hand slides underneath the elastic of your underwear, applying firm pressure as he circles your clit, before you feel his fingers slide down between your folds and he mutters a breathy fuck against your neck when he feels how wet you are already.

“You’re already dripping for me, baby.” Wonwoo says deeply, voice slightly muffled into your neck. “Couldn’t wait to see me, could you?”

He’s expecting an answer, and it’s impossibly hard now that he’s sliding two fingers inside you, expertly curling his fingers to find that special spot that you often couldn’t reach yourself.

“N-no, I couldn’t… thought about you all day.” You cry, nails digging into his forearm, and he’s seemingly unfazed by it. His fingers pound into your sweet spot, making your head fall back against his shoulder.

“Fuck, look at how pretty you look.” Wonwoo says, glancing at your reflection, your brows furrowed as you focus on the feeling of his fingers inside you.

“I’m so close…” You whine, turning to bury your face in his neck as you inhale the sweet scent of his cologne like you never want to forget it.

“I know, baby. You’re fucking squeezing my fingers.” Wonwoo grunts as your walls clench around his fingers. “Let it go, I got you.”

Your legs shake as you grip onto his forearm for dear life, desperate for something to hold onto. A cry of his name leaves your lips as you cum, your heart racing, panting trying to catch your breath.

“That’s my girl.” Wonwoo turns to kiss your forehead gently, his fingers slip from your dripping center, brushing your clit one last time and the friction is enough to make you wince.

He releases his hold on you, and you turn around to face him, kissing him needily. “Fuck me,” You whisper against his lips. “I need you.”

“So needy…” Wonwoo playfully mocks you, suddenly turning into his unintentionally adorable self, as if he didn’t just pull a powerful orgasm out of you moments ago. “Don’t I at least get to enjoy this cute little set you wore for me?” He pulls off your shirt, even though it was already damn near falling off anyway.

You blush, kissing him again.

“We don’t have time for that.” You chuckle, already feeling somewhat anxious that Mingyu is going to walk into the apartment at any second.

Wonwoo can read you like a book, and he notices right away. “Hey, there’s no rush.” He says gently, as his hands reach behind you to unhook your bra.

You slide it off the rest of the way, then toss it on the floor. “I know, I’m just enjoying this. I don’t want to be interrupted.” You drape your arms over his shoulders as you press your body against him, kissing him fervently. You moan against his lips as you feel his hard cock pressing against you.

You slide your hands down his chest, reaching to loop your fingertips into the waistband of his sweatpants. “Take these off, baby.” You whisper as you kiss his along jaw a few times, before you grope his length through them for emphasis. “Please.”

Wonwoo gently nudges you to fall back on his bed, and you sit up on your elbows, eagerly watching him as he obeys you, taking them off. “Better?” His gaze meets yours as you look him over.

You eagerly nod, lifting your hips for him as he rids you of your pajama shorts you still had on, along with your soaking wet underwear.

“How do you want it, baby?” Wonwoo huskily asks you, removing his underwear. He curses under his breath as he watches you bend your knees and spread your legs apart, allowing him full access to you.

You gasp as you feel him suddenly pull you further down on his bed, quickly followed by a whine as you feel the weight of his cock on your clit. You sit up on your elbows to see him dragging his cock through your folds, coating himself in your wetness.

Both of you can only watch, breathing heavily.

“Wonwoo…” You whine his name, gripping the sheets beneath you as the tip of his cock bumps you clit again. You both watch as he lines himself up with your entrance, finally pushing inside you.

“Look at that.” Wonwoo grunts, watching you take every inch, feeling your walls stretch to accommodate him.

“Fuck…” You throw your head back, a soft moan falling from your lips as you feel so full. “You’re too big…”

“You take me so well…look at you.” Wonwoo praises you, as his hands come up to gently stroke your inner thighs, and it’s enough to get you to relax. “You okay?”

You nod, “Yeah, you can move. Please.”

He starts to pound into you at a steady pace, making you grab onto his shoulders for something to hold onto. Your nails dig into his skin as he drives his cock into your sweet spot over and over.

You let out a sob of a moan, and Wonwoo thinks it’s the prettiest sound he’s ever heard.

“God, you sound so pretty,” He moans, “Crying for me…”

“I’m not gonna last long.” You whine, your walls already clenching around him.

Your heart nearly stops in your chest when suddenly you hear the front door to the apartment open, then hear Mingyu enter.

You gasp, and Wonwoo quickly shushes you.

“Relax, he’s not going to come in here, he probably thinks I left.” He whispers, all the while he hasn’t stopped fucking you.

“Can you be quiet?”

You can barely find the words to speak, your brain too focused on the feeling of his cock inside you.

“Answer me.”

You frantically nod, and that’s about all you can muster the strength to do. Your walls clench around him and he knows you’re close.

“Shit, I’m gonna come…” You softly moan, as quiet as you can, then you feel his hand cover your mouth, muffling your cries as your walls squeeze his cock hard, but he keeps fucking you through your high.

He keeps going until he’s coming too, groaning into your neck as you feel his cock nearly throbbing as he releases inside of you.

“Fuck…” Wonwoo sighs, as you both are catching your breath. “That wasn’t how that was supposed to happen.” You both smile bashfully at each other.

You gently thread your fingers through his hair, pushing it back off his forehand.

“That’s okay, we can sneak over to my place… we won’t have to be quiet.”

tags: @dearlyjun @cosmojinyoung

some others i couldn’t tag! 💔

[wonwoonlight]

in this time or the others / choi seungcheol

notes: 1.3k // nothing but pure, sweet people in love lol // seungcheol brainrot. happy bday to the only man ever 🖤

[ ❀❀❀ ]

Oftentimes you would look at Seungcheol and wonder what you did in your past lives to deserve the chance of being with him.

You don’t know if your time with him is borrowed or not, and you’re not sure why your love for him seems to be the most secure of all kinds of love that you’ve experienced throughout your life, romantic or not.

It doesn’t make sense how steady your feelings are for him, unchanging (unless when it’s getting deeper) and never stopping, almost like you’ve always known how to love him. Like breathing. You just know how to do it without anyone ever teaching you how to–it’s natural and you can’t be without it. Quite literally at that, too.

You’ve never been this secure when it comes to relationships–what with your mostly bad experiences with them and everything–but it’s easy to fall in love with Choi Seungcheol even before he starts loving you back. It’s easy to drown in his eyes and get captivated in his existence. If this is how love is supposed to feel, like a dream you don’t wish to wake up from, then you hope you’ll be stuck in this feeling forever.

That word doesn’t even scare you anymore. Thinking about forever with Seungcheol only brings smiles to your face, even though in your life prior to him it scared the shit out of you due to its uncertainty and the insecurity your head would fuel your head with.

“Why are you smiling to yourself?” Seungcheol interrupts your thoughts, handing you a mug of hot chocolate as he takes his seat next to you. Always right next to you.

“Just… thinking of something.” You try to dismiss the topic, though Seungcheol narrows his eyes at you and demands you to explain.

“Something else?” Oh, that’s the kind of mood that he’s in. You grin at his antics, letting him continue. “Not me?”

On any other day, you would’ve played along and tried to get a reaction out of him, push his buttons and kiss the pout off his face. But there’s something about today that makes you feel a little cheesy, so you look into his eyes and smile, enjoying the confused look he’s sending you because he’s expecting some witty comebacks that you’d always throw his way.

“Always you.” You whisper like it's a secret as you find yourself drowning in the universe reflected in his eyes, holding his gaze as if it's the first time you've ever looked into them. He’s flustered, of course, having not anticipated you to react this way. “I think I can't go a day without thinking about you, really. Can anyone? I personally think we're all here to revolve around you. When you're not around, I cease to exist and kinda just not do anything until you step into my subspace again.”

“Shut the fuck up.” He groans, his palm covers your face in a desperate attempt not to let you see how flustered he actually is at the turn of your words while you simply laugh through his fingers. “I knew you wouldn't just say shit like that.”

“So rude.” You pout at him, knowing how much it annoys him when you do it at times like this. “Can't believe that's how you speak to your girlfriend.”

“You–”

“And they say you make people's hearts flutter. Do they know you're this combative with someone you love?”

“That's not–”

“I've fallen into your trap, haven't I?” You match his usual dramatics, feeling a little annoying as much as you are all soft inside. “I didn't think–”

“Shut. Up.” He repeats, pulls you into his lap, and strangles you into a cuddle because he couldn't ask you like a normal person.

You settle happily into his neck, leaving a kiss on his jaw before he maneuvers you into a more comfortable position. There's a happy hum flowing throughout your body, as if telling you that it's happy that you're where you are. That this is where you belong.

“I really was thinking about you, though.” You continue your prior topic, your tone more calm and relaxed, much like the rhythm of his heartbeat.

It's funny, really. He used to think being in love means butterflies and fireworks, a series of heartbeats skipping through its tempo, or a constant flutter in his stomach. After finding you, he realizes it's not just about that. It's the way he calms at the touch of your fingers, the way his eyes follow you everywhere you might be, the way his heart fucking melts everytime you gazes into his eyes and breaks into a shy smile.

He doesn't get fireworks in his chest when he kisses you. He gets a constant buzz of electricity throughout his body that keeps him afloat.

He doesn't get butterflies in his tummies when he wakes up next to you in the morning. He gets reassurance that this is what he wants to see every morning of his fucking life.

“Yeah?” He kisses the top of your head, asking you to elaborate. “What about me?”

“Do you think we've met before?”

A laugh slips past his lips before he pulls away and looks at you, searching for your face.

“What do you mean?”

“Like, I don't know. In another lifetime?”

Seungcheol blinks, not expecting the conversation to steer this way.

“I feel like I've always known you.” You continue, seemingly lost in your thoughts. “Like I've always known to love you?”

His breath actually stops at your words, his heart beating so hard it echoes all the way to his ears, and his arms tighten around you like a lifeline.

“I wouldn't say it feels like a deja vu. It just feels like… ah, I'm so bad at this. But it feels like I've always meant to love you?”

It takes a while for Seungcheol to manage the words out of his mouth, overwhelmed by his own feelings and how out of nowhere you spur these on him.

“I'm stealing that for our wedding, just so you know.” He says without thinking, and you two spend exactly seven seconds (he counted) looking into each other in flustered bliss, registering what Seungcheol has just said.

“What?” You almost choke on your word, and it's your turn to have your heart beating throughout your entire body.

“What?” He chooses to play stupid, like he didn't just bring up the W word even though it's been his wildest dream since the moment you let him take you home three years ago that feels like, well, another lifetime.

“I–”

“I feel the same, if you're wondering.” He cuts you off, not ready to actually talk about it even though it's simply obvious–dare he says–you'd marry each other. But he doesn't want to talk about it right now, when he's struggling to think straight because of the fuzzy feelings engulfing his entire being. “Like I've always meant to love you.”

Seungcheol could've sworn there are traces of tears in your eyes that you stubbornly and successfully blink away. But he can't tease you about it when he's currently trying to stop his trembling lips to stop himself from fucking crying.

“Perhaps we did meet before.” He suddenly answers your question that starts the discussion to begin with. “In another lifetimes.”

“Lifetimes? Plural?”

“Can't imagine a life where I don't have you by my side, really.”

“Hmm. And in our next one?”

“I'll probably meet you again.”

“Yeah? And what will you do?”

“Sweep you off your feet again, duh.”

“Arrogant bastard.” You grin, though not so opposed to the idea of meeting and loving him again in every single one of your lifetime. “I don't know. I think I'd want to try dating Wonwoo.”

Seungcheol makes a sound from the back of his throat that immediately throws you into a fit of laughter; and before he can say shit and actually get upset about your little joke, you slot your lips into his and shut him up. He's still putting on an act of being upset, but you don't really care because you just know he'd smile into the kiss in a matter of seconds. And when he does, you can't help but return the gesture before you two end up giggling to yourselves for no reason at all.

It is so easy to love Choi Seungcheol.

[il-miele-che-scrive]

a lil xmas-y smau charles leclerc x reader, faceclaim sabrina carpenter

yourusername made something special for you guys for the holidays 🤍 fruitcake is out of the oven

view all comments

username1 wtf is she holding?

↳ username2 a fruit cake I assume since the album's name is fruitcake?

carlossainz55 I gave it a listen before it came out and I'm gonna make it everyone's business

↳ yourusername alright Chili stop flexing or I won't let you pre-listen to anything else in the future 🙄

carlossainz55 you know that's not true

yourusername you're lucky I value your opinion

georgerussell63 Y/n send help Carmen hasn't stopped blasting the album since it came out

↳ yourusername seems like a you problem darling🫶

carmenmmundt don't listen to him Y/n, he secretly loves fruitcake

maxverstappen1 this is better than the Dutch national anthem

↳ yourusername thank you I guess 🤔

↳ username5 that's such an underrated compliment

username3 literally how dare you release Cindy Lou who when you literally stole Charles from Charlotte. Alex 'stealing' him from you is literally your karma

↳ username2 but Y/n and Charles have been recently seen in France together 👀

username3 oh great 🙄 what a homewrecker, also notice how she's flirting with literally all drivers in her comments

username4 they're friends she's not flirting with them lol plus Charles is still in her likes so they're def back together

↳ maxverstappen1 literally shut the fuck up

username5 lmaooo Max being the big brother Y/n never had

username2 tell them queen 💅

username6 i live for the friendship between Y/n and Max 🙏 oh what a girl gotta do for a friend like this

landonorris slay bestie

↳ yourusername you know it

username4 so we're all just gonna ignore the fact that Y/n has been seen with Charles in France and they still follow each other and like each other's posts?

↳ username7 i mean that's just how adults are but

username4 nah just wait and see

yourusername a quick trip to Paris 🤍 je t'aime

view all comments

username4 SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP

username8 THE 3RD PIC WHAT

charles_leclerc je t'aime moi aussi ❤️

↳ username4 THEY'RE SO CUTE AND FOR WHAT

↳ username5 I love how Y/n is like a younger sister to Max and dating his biggest nemesis of all times

yourusername i asked them to be nice to each other

username3 nah that's too much, I hate this drama and this girl

↳ username8 imagine being so bitter to post a comment like this

↳ maxverstappen1 quit stalking her page then?

username7 big brother max strikes again and we love to see it

↳ username3 weird how Y/n became Max's sister when she started dating Charles 🙄 sister my ass, she's def cheating on Charles

username4 i haven't read a comment as dumb as this since your previous one, Charles and Max were friends before Charles started dating Y/n so he introduced her to Max, what's weird about that?

username3 and what does that change? people make new 'friends' while in a relationship and end up cheating with said friends

username4 sweetheart you're embarrassing yourself, Y/n said in an interview that she's grateful for Charles introducing her to Max because he's like an older brother to her AND WE CAN CLEARLY SEE THAT

username3 what was she supposed to say? Yeah, I'm fucking my boyfriend's rival?

username5 you jealous bitter asshole, go cry to your mom about men and women being friends

carlossainz55 But when are you coming to Monaco? We all miss you

↳ yourusername I'll be home for Christmas

username9 not Y/n replying with a song lyrics lol she's so unserious

username10 what did you expect her to write a whole paragraph about how she's going to be there for the 24th/25th of December

username9 she said she'll be home for Christmas, she's going back to America

charles_leclerc so grateful to have you here for Christmas ❤️ welcome home

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yourusername i couldn't be happier 😭❤️

↳ charles_leclerc btw we should bake together more often

yourusername you mean I bake and you occassionally steal the frosting more often?

charles_leclerc call it whatever you want darling but we have to repeat it sometime

yourusername bet, now that I live with you you won't avoid it

↳ carlossainz55 In the name of the whole grid could I fill a request to try your baked goods?

yourusername sure if Charlie won't eat all my frosting

username4 SHE'S IN MONACO AND SHE BROUGHT HER DOG???

username5 that's why she said she'll be home, because Monaco is her home now 😭 I'm not crying you are

landonorris haters been really quiet

↳ yourusername they're scared of Charlie and Max joining forces to defend me

maxverstappen1 as they should am i right @/charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc so right mate

↳ username7 so sexy of them to be so protective of y/n

username5 so sexy and for what

username7 for us to fangirl I guess

carmenmmundt Okay but when are we going to hang out? Since when are boyfriends more important than friends?

↳ yourusername we had a double date a few days ago didn't we

carmenmmundt I meant a girls night

yourusername you got separation anxiety or what😭

carmenmmundt Only with you though, it doesn't work like that with George

↳ georgerussell63 I mean, she's right, I haven't experienced any separation anxiety from her

yourusername excuse me @/georgerussell63 the last time i checked she was your gf

charles_leclerc should I be jealous?

↳ yourusername absolutely not!! <3

↳ carlossainz55 Don't worry mate, in the worst case @/landonorris and I can take you on a date

landonorris the worst case?!

charles_leclerc well, it's not ideal is it?

landonorris is it not?!

username7 help cause i've always imagined y/n and charles as parents and lando as their kid

↳ yourusername i mean, he did thirdwheel us a few times

landonorris and loved every second of it

[butchdiaz]

ask for essays on tommy's nerves have essays on tommy's nerves delivered directly to your doorstep!!! sorry in advance for the length and incoherency of this ask because lou's acting choices genuinely make me feel deranged, we are so lucky to have him.

exhibit a: the hand on the chin when buck opens the door. he's thought about this so carefully you can tell from the moment he enters the scene. and i don't even mean the kiss. i don't think tommy knew that was going to happen until approx. five seconds before it did. but he wants to get this conversation right.

exhibit b: the fucking breathlessness when he says "we can talk" (yes we're still not even in the loft yet). like that is the breathlessness of a man seeing whom he assumes is his emotionally unavailable big boy crush and realising he's going to have to smooth things over between him and the man most likely making him unavailable to tommy. (it's also just tommy seeing big beefy tank buckley and getting a little flustered methinks)

exhibit c (moving actually into the loft now): obsessed, deeply deeply obsessed with the way buck removes the obstacle of the kitchen island between them and tommy immediately crosses his arms over his chest like he's trying to put it back between them subtly because he still doesn't think he's allowed to Want.

exhibit d: the way he literally cannot look at buck as buck starts moving in closer quite literally makes me want to rip my hair out. like baby, you're allowed to look i promise, i swear.

exhibit e: the breakout of the laugh to full seriousness as he commits to the "i'm renowned for my fake mouth static" is so special to me because. i have done that. i have committed to a bit that was perhaps a bit too revealing/suggestive with my heart pounding as a way of testing the waters. and then the relieved amusement of his "cmon hey" when buck plays into it.

exhibit f: the way tommy looks at buck when buck's giving his little "threw in with us no hesitation" speech is so. that man is ANCHORING his eyes to buck's eyes. he's still not allowed to look, he is being respectful, he is overcompensating, he is FIGHTING for his life.

exhibit g: his tiny little smile when buck mentions the tour. you wanted to see me? 🥺

exhibit h: the fucking recoil when buck says he wanted to get to know him. the disbelief. the oh. the maybe i can have this.

exhibit i: the slow drop of his smile the more time buck spends mentioning eddie (which btw why is that line so long fuck off buck stand up!!) thinking oh never mind.

exhibit j: "i could teach you" with that bashful little shrug of his shoulders. i could teach you if you'd let me.

exhibit k: the realisation that sinks in after buck says about flying lessons. he wants to spend time with me, he's moving closer. oh shit, i'm allowed, i'm allowed, i'm allowed. the seriousness. the i have to make him understand i want him. the first time he lets his eyes drop to buck's lips.

exhibit l: my attention? one last check. one last check just to make sure. i can want this, i can want him.

exhibit m: his little kind of glassy-eyed smile between "i did maim my best friend" and "my sister". he is not listening to a word buck says. he is making a decision. a terrifying decision, but he's already made it.

exhibit n (typed through tears lol): the way he squeezes his eyes shut as he pulls away. buck is opening his but tommy squeezes his shut harder. he doesn't want to see the disgust on buck's face. he's bracing for rejection. he's hoping, hoping, hoping.

exhibit o: the breathlessness of "like that?" please tell me that was okay, please tell me that's allowed, please please please. the clench of his jaw as he waits for buck's answer, the slight nod like he's confirming something to himself.

exhibit p: the smile when it sinks in that buck wants this. the smile before the immediate "so that was okay?" just needing that verbal confirmation for buck, yeah, but also for himself.

and then for me it's the complete shift in tommy's demeanour after buck confirms it's okay. he goes from this quiet, hesitant, reserved tommy to this confident, flirty, little bit sensual tommy the moment he's allowed. cross town traffic 🫦 came in a car this time 😏. it's just such a wild switch up but it makes so much sense because the nerves have gone. he's allowed to want. (jesus got halfway through the alphabet sorry)

SAMI IM GONNA SCREAM BRB TIME TO WATCH THIS SCENE SIDE BY SIDE W UR ANALYSIS THIS IS SO FUCKING GOOD !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[theycalledhimastar]

I demand your take on ABO 141 with a male reader PLEASE, there's never any good male stuff

Bestie do NOT give me this kind of brainrot, but also I accept the gift graciously-

Also, I had no idea what you wanted the male reader to be so there's a bit of everything so everyone's happy :) They come off a little oc-ish to me, the way I did the reader but oh well, I like it.

Forgive me for anything I got wrong, I'm not an A/B/O master guys. This was way longer than I initially planned, lol. Enjoy!

Omegaverse!141 x Male reader!!!

I'm not the most bright brained alright, I agree with literally everyone else and I think Price and Ghost would both be Alphas with Gaz and Soap being betas, it just makes sense in my mind. The two Alphas need the cool-headed inbetweens to keep them from toppling everything and/or butting heads from too much hormones going around.

They're all fairly skeptical about yet another person joining them for any given reason, four people is plenty and having yet another person in the fray, while it might be helpful sometimes, is a bit of a balancing act to fit into their already perfect schedule. Changing things to accommodate you, while not the worst thing, isn't the most easy feat for everyone. Especially depending on what you are...

☄. *.

You were an Alpha, purebred, built like a brick wall and about as stubborn as one too. Although you weren't loud about it, you weren't going to let people forget tat you were not to be messed with. Raised with a bit of an ego as most purebred Alphas were, you knew you were destined for greatness from the moment you presented. Started physical and mental training as soon as you were old enough, the goal had always been the military for you, no doubts about it. But you had never imagined, in all your wildest dreams, that you would be a part of the task force.

Most people, upon first glance, would likely assume you fit right in, but shoehorning you in with two other alphas was way harder than anticipated, seeing as you immediately began trying to prove yourself before you had gotten settled in. Which, would have been adorable if you weren't so damn stubborn about it.

Ghost is working out? You join him without a second thought, attempting to lift twice as much as what he's doing. Of course, his numbers were already nothing to scoff at, so all you truly succeeded in, was nearly dropping the weight on your foot and damaging your precious alpha pride. "You alright there tough guy?" Ghost seemed amused by your ambitious failure.

"Shut up." Was all you growled in retaliation, storming off to go sulk elsewhere.

Soap is practicing at the range with Gaz? You grab a pistol and try to show off just how capable you are with it, easy right? Not really. You fumble in a way you weren't even sure you understood, and to put it simply, you missed the target significantly and blew an entire round trying to make amends. By the time you had finished it, the sergeants were trying not to lose their composure and die laughing at your cockiness despite it all. Damnit, you could normally do this all so easy, what the hell was wrong!? You set down the weapon with a nearly frightening calmness despite the seething rage in your chest that demanded respect as an alpha. Your self-righteous upbringing had done you no good now as you stormed off to go beat the shit out of the next inanimate object that pissed you off.

"How exactly did he make it here?" "Eh, cap says he's good. Let 'im cool off, I'm sure he knows what he's doin."

There was no cooling off, of course, as you ended up nearly punching a hole in the wall as you had graciously slammed into the doorway in your blind rage, smacking yourself square in the nose and nearly toppling over in pain. That was, quite honestly, the last straw for your dignity as you snarled something ferocious. Not caring that it had been rather close to the Captain's office until you were unceremoniously yanked back by your scruff, held face-to-face with the unamused John Price. Although you were an alpha, even you couldn't quite deny the effect his scent had on you now. Not one of anger, but certainly not a playful one either. He was projecting his authority, silently telling you to quiet down a little and stop being such a loudmouth showoff. Shame and something akin to an excited fear sparked briefly in the pit of your stomach before you cleared your throat and swallowed hard.

"Captain." You nodded shortly, not missing the way his hand tightened around the back of your neck.

"Heard you've been causing a bit of a ruckus for the others, been busy?" He raised a thick brow, making you swallow back your nerves. You attempted to shoot back some of your own alpha scent, but it felt puny and overpowered entirely by his.

"Not intentionally, sir."

"Let's settle down a little, you've barely been here a week, quit causing trouble or I'll have to take care of your behavior myself. Got it?" He leans close, you could swear he was breathing on the back of your neck now and you know for a fact your heart is racing for reasons you don't think are fear.

Not wanting to find out what he means by that just yet, you give a quick nod that seems to satisfy him enough to let you go. Allowing you to scamper back to your room, the adrenaline cushioning what was going to be a very hurt ego when it settled in that you had been grabbed by the collar and scolded like a child. Damnit, you would prove yourself one way or another...

☄. *.

You were a Beta, always being told you were unremarkable, nearly always forgotten in the squabble between Alphas and Omegas. So, in an effort to at least be something impressive to yourself, you took to bulking up. Genetics and luck both seemed to favor you as you certainly bulked up. To the point where you were constantly mistaken for an Alpha by anyone that didn't truly know you. If they did, they would know that you were far more of the beta disposition in reality. Laid back, cheerful, extroverted enough to make friends, but not gratingly so. The perfect addition to the task force at first glance...

Minus the fact that you were both clumsy, and a little bit ditsy from time to time.

Sure, you weren't incapable, you could definitely hold your own in battle. But it seemed that when the adrenaline wasn't pumping through your veins, you were a tangle of long limbs and jumbled thoughts. It was obvious that you weren't trying to be a mess, but the others seemed to assume you were up to something. Surely, a mountain of a man like you, such a capable Beta on the battlefield, can't be such a... dolt in real life, right?

The same man they had witnessed absolutely nail a small squadron all by his lonesome, had momentarily forgotten how to lace his boots after unlacing them entirely to replace them. And had practically tied his feet together.

"You think he knows he's doin' it wrong?" "Oh he has to by now... right?" "Guys, did I get it? I'm so confused, why is this so weird!?"

Not to say you were entirely unaware of yourself, you knew you were scatterbrained at times. But you didn't know that they had assumed you were taking them for a fool sometimes. The sergeants decided to confront you about it, with Soap cornering you after a particularly amusing incident.

"Mate, ye know we've seen ye on the field right?" He sighed, running his fingers through his overgrown curls. "uhh, yeah?" You kind of stared between the two of them, completely confused as to where the conversation was going. Gaz snuck behind you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder in a friendly manner. "Right, so you don't have to act like a total numpty off the field, you aren't foolin' anyone anymore." He chuckled, nudging your head with his playfully. It would have been a comforting thing, except for the fact that you had no clue what they were on about. "What do you mean?" "Stop acting like such a hare-brained dingus. Just be yourself, mate." He shook your shoulders gently, the two staring at you so earnestly, just trying to convince you to just be yourself around them. "Oh... About that..."

Of course after that, they both felt really bad and you had to explain for over an hour that no, it wasn't on purpose, yes, you were that messy sometimes, and no, you weren't mad for their assumption. Although Ghost certainly seemed to find it hilarious that you were such a gentle giant, and a total hot mess express. Not that he told you that, truth be told, he didn't feel the need to talk to you much off of the field. Not because he didn't like you, he simply felt you fit in so well with the betas and he didn't want to throw off things. Although he did want to know how you had gotten so huge naturally.

Price thinks you're downright precious with the stark contrast between on and off duty with you. It's like you become a completely different person and he can't help but smell the scent of a content beta every time he tells you that you've done him good. He was certain that everyone could tell just how excited you were when he referred to you as "his good lad". It was a simple nickname, rolled off his tongue before he could stop it, but you nearly lit up in elation. So now not only him, but everyone else makes an attempt to give you subtle little praises like that just to see you get all giddy, and to this date you have yet to notice, or at least say anything about it.

☄. *.

You were an omega, not what any of them expected when they were told that someone would be joining them, as omega were notoriously... well... Violence avoidant to put it simply. But you were not the type that wanted to feed into stereotypes. You wanted any excuse to not become some boring old stay-at-home omega that took care of children and housework. The parts of the world you had grown up in were very traditional and expected just that of you. "Settle down with a nice Alpha, have babies, live the peaceful life." Yeah right, it was like they didn't even know what you wanted.

So, in an effort to escape that life, you decided to enlist, and it turned out that you were... actually kinda good at it despite it all. Your fight or flight chose to flee more often than not, but that meant you were quick on your feet despite the stomach churning levels of anxiety that pulsed through your veins at any given moment. Your adrenaline raced and kept you moving before you could chicken out, and that made you a damn good soldier.

Off field was a different story but that didn't really matter seeing as you liked minding your own business and having your own space more often than not.

When you first met all of them, the aura of two alphas was quite a lot, especially as it seemed at least Ghost was projecting a little bit more than he needed to, getting across the point that there was an order to the way things were and you needed to not ruin that. (He's just nervous having an omega around as he isn't used to it and he isn't sure exactly how to act around you.)

Gaz is rather quick to step in and soothe you with his beta scent, like warm coffee and vanilla and something distinct that you hadn't ever smelled before. But it soothed your racing nerves and made you feel a little less alienated. Although with a nudge from John, Ghost realized he was only successfully scaring you, and he cut it out just as quickly.

Johnny is excited to have an omega around, although he doesn't really treat you any different than Gaz. It's the equivalent of short people acting different when they're around someone shorter than them, yknow? Like he doesn't see you as beneath him, he just knows you're different than anything he's been around and he's nosey about absolutely everything.

"Do all Alphas scare you?" "No... why would they?" "I dunno, it seemed like every omega I met before was either addicted to Alphas or terrified of em." "Uh, no, I think you just knew weird people before."

Another thing, is that Price seems to view you as a sort of stray cat. Skittish if anyone approached you a little too loudly or excitedly, but plenty sweet if they got to know you. At least, that was how it was in his head. In reality, you were just an introverted guy who wanted to at least get along with his teammates and they thought you were the cutest thing ever. Sometimes, John would call you into his office just to tell you that he noticed your hard work and he was proud of you. He loved the way your cheeks flushed whenever he got close or projected his scent a little extra, filling the room with the scent of expensive cigars and warm, woody cologne. It made you a little fuzzy int eh head and he could tell, so he avoided using it. But the face you made when you got all spacey and distracted during meetings because you were sandwiched between him and Ghost, it was just too good to resist.

"You alright there sergeant?" "Yes sir, all-all good." "You look a little flushed, you sure you're not coming down with something?" He pressed the back of his hand to your forehead, trying not to smile wider when your eyes widened just slightly. "Positive, Captain..." You squeaked.

[withleeknow]

wishful thinking. (05)

chapter five: say what you mean

summary: the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you should’ve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.

pairing: minho x f!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres/warnings: friends to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut; mentions of sex, kissing, we’re starting to dip our toes into angsty territory !!, less edited than i’d like but what’s new lol word count: 2.8k

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / series masterpost / taglist

Get me a drink, I get drunk off one sip, just so I can adore you I want the entire street out of town just so I can be alone with you Now go when you’re ready My head’s getting heavy, pressed against your arm Just to adore you, I adore you

Adore - Dean Lewis

Whenever Minho asks if you two could hang out together at your place, it usually means that you will end up in your bed.

Tonight you suppose is no different.

Even though you often cap off the night having engaged in activities that could make the Victorian lady in Hyunjin faint, it’s not all that you do. Both you and Minho never let yourselves forget that you’re friends first and foremost. Sex is the added benefit that should never take anything away from your friendship. He is still one of the people you’re most comfortable with, one of the few people whose company you enjoy.

You’re sprawled out on the couch in your small living room when Minho returns from the kitchen with a plate of freshly peeled tangerines, the same ones that he brought over earlier. You push yourself to half-sit up so he could squeeze himself between you and the armrest, before you go back to laying your head on his lap as you two resume watching a bad movie that you put on.

“I hate this so much,” you comment, your eyes glued to the TV screen.

“You picked the movie,” Minho says. “It’s not that bad. The plot is kind of decent.”

“I’m not talking about that. Jeez, if they wanted to make a movie where the main character is a graphic designer, you’d think that they would at least consult someone who knows literally anything about visual art. Look at that horrendous typography job, the text isn’t even aligned with the edges and corners. This is hurting my soul.”

Your cushions (Minho’s thighs) shake lightly as he laughs at your dramatic outburst over something as trivial as a fictional character’s poor standards of digital art. But you really aren’t kidding; the way the woman on screen is butchering the text alignment is quite literally making that very particular part of your brain want to shut down for the next five to seven business days.

“They should’ve consulted you first, is that right?” Minho asks.

“They really should have. I could’ve done wonders for them,” you say matter-of-factly. “I almost majored in graphic design, y’know.”

You have a habit of biting your tongue around others because you know that people don’t really care about the same things you do. Whenever the opportunity arises for you to share tidbits about your interests, excitement would tumble out of you only to be quashed soon after when no one wants to listen to your silly little rambles. It’s disheartening, you’re used to it.

But you never feel that way around Minho. He always lets you babble on about anything and everything, even if he might not know what the hell you’re talking about. He indulges you. He never makes you feel neglected or ignored.

“Hmm, my little genius artist.” He taps your cheek once, and when you turn your head to glance at him, he tells you to open up before he slips a slice of tangerine past your lips. “You’re right. Even I can tell that it’s horrendous.”

You hum appreciatively when the sweetness of the juicy fruit floods your tastebuds. Minho’s hand trails down your arm to rest on your stomach, just below your ribs where he fiddles with the worn fabric of your sleep shirt. If he moves his hand up, he would be grazing your bare chest underneath your shirt. You didn’t bother with a bra because, well, comfort above all else, especially within the four walls of your own home. Besides, it’s nothing that Minho hasn’t seen anyway.

He keeps on feeding you tangerines in between your complaints about bad design standards until the movie ends and the plate is cleared. The only sound in the room is the soft music on the TV as the credits start to roll.

You turn to lie on your back, staring up at Minho. “That was deeply disturbing.”

“You chose it,” he reminds you. “You went in knowing what the premise was.”

“Yeah, I have no one to blame but me. I had too much faith in humanity.”

“And you call me weird.”

“You are weird,” you say. “But I like weird.”

Minho looks down at you and for a moment, he says nothing. His fingers trace something on your stomach. A heart or an odd circle, you don’t know; you’re always bad at deciphering those. His eyelids fall a bit, softening the usual sharpness of his gaze.

Then he’s pulling you by your shoulders, guiding you to sit up and before you know it, you’re situated on his lap with one of his hands on your waist, the other on the back of your neck. Minho tugs you closer, meeting your lips in a kiss in which you waste no time returning.

He’s sweet, like the tangerines that you were sharing all evening. It tends to start like this - sort of randomly, whenever it feels right. He squeezes your side in a comforting gesture as his tongue slips into your mouth. There are times where it’s more urgent, where one of you is needy and desperately seeks the escape and release that can only be found in the other’s embrace. Other times, it’s slower, more gentle, where you can really focus on making each other feel fully satiated.

This, right now - you would pinpoint somewhere in the middle. There’s no fiery clothes-ripping urge, nor a need to lay the other person bare and knead every single knot of stress from their system. Today, there’s just languid wanting; an unhurried inclination to be close.

Him and his tangerine flavored kiss, you and your resolve built on shaky foundation.

You start rolling your hips over his, tugging on his shirt because you want to feel his skin against yours. Minho stops you though; he puts both hands on your hips and pulls his lips away from yours. You blink, dazed, confused.

“I...” he starts, trying to even out his breathing as he finds the words. “I don’t want to have sex tonight.”

Embarrassment instantly washes over you. The rejection is a little humiliating; it’s the first time you’ve ever felt like this around him. Your cheeks catch fire from the mortification, and you’re very aware that you’re still sitting in his lap, right over his crotch.

Wanting to climb off of him and just fucking bury yourself in a ditch, you start stuttering like an absolute fool, “Oh... Y-yeah, no, of course! Shit, shit, I’m sorry. Of course we don’t have t-”

Minho holds you in place, one of the hands on your hips goes to cup your cheek to make you look at him. It effectively shuts you right up.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have phrased it like that,” he says, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone in an earnest apology. “I just want to keep kissing you. Is that okay?”

You’re at a loss for words. He’s holding your face, your waist, so delicately. He looks drunk on your presence alone even though neither of you have had a single drop of alcohol tonight, so sincere in his simple request that you feel your heart swell tenfold.

You want it too. You’re more than okay with just kissing him.

You don’t answer him verbally. Instead, you just nod and move to kiss him again, your hands tangled in his soft hair. The sweetness of the tangerines grows more and more distant as you chase his lips, but you can taste his smile. It’s infinitely more saccharine, and it only grows sweeter when he holds you close and knocks the breath out of you.

When you pull away for air, you slump against him, hiding your face in the crook of his face, shy all of a sudden. He keeps you there but continues with his onslaught of kisses - on your hair, your cheek, your neck, anywhere his lips can reach. Like he simply can’t get enough of you.

“You really like kissing,” you comment, giggling quietly as you do. “Even when we… y’know, bone.”

“Bone? You’re so romantic, babe.” You feel the rumbles of Minho’s chest as he lets out a hearty laugh, the sound of which fills the space of your modest home, embeds itself in every nook and crevice, in between every minuscule crack in your walls until the whole place feels warmer, brighter somehow. “Are you complaining?”

“No... just pointing it out.”

“Well, I like kissing you,” he says. “You’re not a terrible kisser, I guess.”

You sit up straighter and catch the teasing grin on his face before you roll your eyes. “Gee, thanks. You really know how to sweet talk a girl.”

“Says the girl who uses ‘bone’ to describe sex.”

“It’s a perfectly good euphemism for ‘sex’.”

“You might as well just say ‘boink’.”

“Literally shut up.”

“Sure.”

Then he’s pressing his mischievous smile against your mouth once more, and you can’t really wrap your mind around how it’s even possible that he keeps getting sweeter and sweeter. His sugary kisses send warmth tingling up your spine, make a fluttery sensation erupt in your stomach. You’re lightheaded, and not the kind that can be remedied by a sufficient fix of blood oxygen.

Even though you’re perfectly content with kissing, there’s a certain implication that comes with only kissing that you’re not sure what to do with. He’s literally inside of you on a weekly basis and yet, this feels much more intimate than anything you two have ever done.

Because friends don’t kiss each other the way he’s kissing you right now. Friends don’t kiss each other the way you’re kissing him back.

A chime from your phone breaks you two apart, the intrusion forcing a mildly frustrated grunt from Minho. You find the mobile device hidden between the cushions of your couch, and after you quickly scan the notification on the screen, you tell him, “It’s Hyunjin.”

“What did I say? It’s always him at the scene of the crime,” Minho mutters, speaking in the same tone that one would when their sibling interrupts a round of their favorite video game. “What does he want?”

“Just wants me to send him a photo of the sample portfolio from our class.”

“Ignore him. He can wait.”

“He’ll call me if I don’t reply.”

“He’s so annoying,” Minho grumbles but loosens his hold on you nonetheless. “Hurry back.”

“It’ll only take a minute, you big baby,” you chuckle, pressing a swift peck to his lips before you get up from the couch and head toward your bedroom with your phone in hand, searching for the binder that Hyunjin is asking about.

Once you’ve snapped the picture and sent it to your friend, you return to the living room. When Minho hears your footsteps, he holds out an arm, silently beckoning you into his embrace again. And you do. You slide into the space next to him, slotting perfectly against his side.

Your fingers absentmindedly trace along his forearm until they reach his wrist. “This is pretty,” you say, touching the thin link bracelet that he always wears, the one with a small charm hanging off the center in the simple outline of a dove.

“You like it? I’ve had it for ages.”

“Mhmm, it suits you.”

A moment passes where you both sit in silence as you fiddle with the gold jewelry, and you can feel Minho’s eyes on your face the entire time. After a while, he pries your fingers off his skin, only to swiftly take off the trinket.

“No, Min. What are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer you. You attempt (in vain) to pull your wrist back but Minho is stronger. He holds it in place as he clasps the chain around your wrist.

“Minho, you are not giving me your bracelet.”

“Relax. It’s not like it was passed down from my great-great-grandfather. It’s just a random bracelet I bought when I was 18.”

“Why would you even give me your bracelet?”

He shrugs, as though he’s merely doing something as simple as letting you borrow you a pen. “It looks good on you.”

You look down to where his hand is still on your skin, his thumb gently sliding over your pulse point as he admires how the dainty gold reflects the dim lighting in your home.

And he’s right. It does look good, but he probably doesn’t mean it in the same way that you’re thinking of right now. You think it looks good because it’s something that belongs to him that’s now wrapped snugly around your wrist, like some sort of affirmation spoken in a language that only the two of you can understand.

Minho leans over and presses his warm lips to your forehead. It takes you by surprise, the way he does it as if it’s second nature to be this affectionate with you. It’s a tipping point, then suddenly your thoughts are running rampant.

The instruction has always been plain and simple: No strings attached.

But...

The chaste kisses with no expectation of sex, being protective when you’re in the presence of other guys, even giving you his bracelet to wear just because you said it was pretty.

Why do all of these sound an awful lot like strings?

You hesitate, then you ask, “What are we doing?”

“Hmm? You wanna watch another movie?”

“No, that’s not... What are we doing?” You don’t even know what word to put more emphasis on.

Minho looks at you and loosens his fingers. What he can’t understand through your words, you think he sees it in your eyes. “Say what you mean.”

“Are we friends?”

“Of course we are.”

“Are we still friends?”

“Do you not want to be friends anymore?” He cracks a smile, but you can tell that he’s just doing it to lighten you up. “You have terrible timing. I literally just gave you a bracelet.”

“Friends don’t do that.”

“Friends don’t give each other bracelets?”

“Friends don’t kiss like that.”

Minho seems a bit taken aback, though he regains his composure in mere seconds, his voice calm as he tells you, “Friends don’t have sex either.”

“What are you saying?”

“I don’t know. What are you saying? You brought it up.”

You open your mouth, only to subsequently close it because your thoughts were never really that coherent in the first place. You look away from him to glance down at your wrist.

“You’re being confusing,” Minho says quietly, honestly.

“I just… I don’t want anything to change.”

“Did anything change for you?” he asks.

“No,” is what you tell him after a long minute, when what you really mean to say is I don’t know. You can see it as it happens, some stars fading from his eyes, some light growing more faint in his irises. Though the despondence on his face disappears so fast that you’re not sure if it was even there at all, or if it was only a figment of your imagination.

Then you throw the question back at him. “Did anything change? For you?”

Minho’s answer is the same as yours - a clear No - and yet, it makes you feel like you’ve been punctured by something sharp. You don’t know why your heart drops upon hearing him say the exact same thing that you did, but you try not to let it show on your face. Your poker face isn’t anywhere as good as his, but you hope that it’s enough.

You give him a tight-lipped smile and nod a little.

“Then nothing’s changed.” He strokes your hair, emphasizing his point with a soft smile as he reassures you, “And nothing has to change. It’s a bracelet, don’t overthink it. We’re good.”

Sometimes, the decisions you make are bad because you can foresee the outcomes, or at least, you have an idea of the consequences will be later on and yet, you still choose to go through with it anyway.

Just like how you chose to watch a movie you knew would drive you crazy with its trivial details, you choose to accept the feeling of Minho’s bracelet around your wrist. You choose to believe him when he said nothing has changed, and that nothing has to change. You choose to sweep under the rug the thoughts that you’ve been having about him lately. You choose to overlook the reason why you’ve been having those thoughts instead of facing it head-on because you’re terrified of what you’d find if you dig deeper.

You choose to let the conversation end here though it still lingers in your mind, and you choose to let him kiss you goodnight when he leaves because tonight has already been a series of bad decision after bad decision anyway.

And when you fall asleep, it’s the soothing coolness of the golden dove against your skin that lulls you to slumber, like he’s here right beside you to hold you through the night.

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all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 18.02.2024]

[sweethischier]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐲 𝐈 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥 | 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐇𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐬

word count: 5.9k

warnings: idk some angst, misunderstanding, swearing, drinking, kissing

note: im not like super happy with this but oh well! this is my first time writing for the nhl so dont judge toooooo harshly lol. request more if you'd like!

The sun filtered through the cracks in the curtains, gently stirring you from your peaceful dream, eliciting a quiet groan as you were quite enjoying said dream. You dragged the blanket over your head in an attempt to go back to sleep, but that proved worthless as you heard Jack shout your name from down the hall. You could hear his footsteps nearing your room, and you tightened the grip you had on the blanket so that he wasn’t able to rip it off as easily. You just wanted to stay in bed a little longer and then maybe you would get up.

“C’mon, sunshine. Time to get up,” He laughed as he managed to pull the blanket off your body. The way you were curled up in a ball as you tried to shield yourself from the sunlight made his heart swell, but it was a sensation he was used to when it came to you.

For the last six years of his life, you had been present for anything major in his life. Sometimes it was over facetime, but you had still always made time for him and he made time for you. When you had finished college a year early and worked yourself into multiple panic attacks a day because you were scared about what you were going to do from there, it was Jack who suggested you move to Jersey with him. It was Jack who helped you get on your feet and start your career.

In turn, he got to have you there with him. You were there at every home game, smile wide and eyes bright as you cheered him and his team on. You were there to comfort him when he felt like he had let everyone down because had an off game. Nails scratching his scalp as you let him rant about how he felt like he was under too much pressure. He was there for you, too. He was there when you felt like a failure and nothing was going in the right direction. More importantly, you were both there for each other when everything did go right, and that was when Jack felt himself start to fall in love with his best friend.

“Go away,” You whined, “It’s too early to be awake.”

Jack gently grabbed your arms that were covering your face and pulled them down so he could see you. Your eyes were squeezed shut and your nose was scrunched, refusing to welcome the daylight without a fight. “It’s nearly 11:30. Luke and I are already back from morning skate,” He teased, thumbs softly tracing circles on your arms.

You peeked at him through your barely open eyes, meeting his own as he waited for you to get out of bed. You were never able to resist his pleading eyes and childlike pout, and it was quite pathetic just how easy you caved when it came to the boy in front of you. All he needed to do was breathe around you and you would do whatever he asked, but of course he didn’t know that. That was a secret you intended to keep in order to maintain the best friendship you’ve ever had. 

“I hate you,” You grumbled, ignoring the way his touch lit your skin on fire. The action wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, but it made you silently yearn for more all the same.

“No you don’t. Now let’s go or I’ll go get Trevor and we’ll drag you out of bed.”

You let Jack pull you out of your very comfortable bed, and followed him down the hall to the kitchen where Trevor and Luke were bickering over Lord knows what. You sleepily sulked behind your best friend, wanting nothing more than to turn around and go back to bed. The boys had kept you up until nearly four in the morning catching up, and arguing about whose hockey team was the better of the two.

“Y/N,” Trevor’s smile beamed once he took notice of your presence. He left his dispute with Luke and wrapped his arms around you in a hug that nearly crushed you. 

“Trevor, you literally saw me last night,” You feigned annoyance as you wrapped your arms around his neck to return his affection.

Luke watched as his brother’s body tensed; jaw clenching, fists briefly balling into fists, and eyes narrowing in on his two best friends. The nineteen year old rolled his eyes at his brother's obvious, and unearned, jealousy. He lightly slapped Jack on the shoulder, breaking his attention away from the two of you, and raised his eyebrows as he silently asked what was up. Jack rolled his eyes at his younger brother before turning to find something to eat for you.

Trevor knew what he was doing, but he wasn’t doing it because he was trying to be mean. He was trying to motivate Jack to get his head out of his ass and finally admit that he had feelings for you. Making him jealous probably wasn’t the best idea, but none of his other ideas had worked. His encouraging talks had only frustrated Jack, so he was taking a different approach for his short visit in New Jersey. 

“Thank you, J,” You smiled up at Jack as he placed the bowl of cereal on the dining room table you had to beg the boys to get. Jack knew that, even though it was nearing lunch time, you had just woken up and you were going to want breakfast.

“You guys are too cute,” Trevor couldn’t help but tease, falling into the chair on the opposite side of the table, “You need to put us all out of your misery and just date each other.”

“Seriously, Trev? How many times do I need to tell you that we’re just friends and that’s all we will be,” Jack clipped, giving his friend a warning glare as he walked back into the kitchen.

Despite knowing that Jack only ever thought of you as his best friend, the way he said that made your face fall and your chest tighten. You kept your eyes trained on the table in front of you as you blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over. Trevor glanced between Jack and you, eyes filled with worry and guilt once he noticed the way you refused to look up and how red your cheeks were.

“So,” Luke started, trying to diffuse the obvious tension, “You coming to the game, Trev? I know Y/N is because she wants to see Barzal.” Luke also knew what he was doing, and he was doing it to be mean.

Trevor let out a laugh as you defended, “Excuse me, I go to all of your home games! Being able to see Mat Barzal is just a bonus.”

The sound of a cabinet aggressively slamming shut made all three of your heads turn to the kitchen where Jack stood with his back turned to everyone. He mumbled an irritated apology before he finally decided to take the seat next to you. Luckily, Luke’s change in topic was enough to stop yourself from crying, but Jack mistook your reddened cheeks for a blush that was elicited by the mention of the Isles center.

“As long as you’re wearing a Devil’s jersey, look at whoever you want.”

“Why wouldn’t she wear a Devils jersey,” Jack spoke, voice laced with a hint of panic at the thought of you wearing the other team's jersey.

“Because she’s in love with Barzal. C’mon Jack, keep up.”

“Okay, first of all, she is right here and she is not in love with Mat Barzal, he’s just very nice to look at,” You gave the two boys across from you a pointed look before passing a soft glance at Jack, “And I’m wearing a Devils jersey like I do every game.”

The conversation fell back to a less awkward strained topic and the uneasiness between you and Jack faded until it was normal again. The boys still have a few hours left before they have to head back to The Rock for the game, so you all opted to hang out and watch TV before then so they could relax. You were pressed into Jack’s side, his arm slung around the back of the couch as they talked.

It was the small moments like this that made you feel like Jack liking you back was possible. The way that he would pull you back close to him if you scooted even an inch away from him. The way that he would subconsciously trace patterns on your skin because he had to keep himself occupied in some sort of way. It made you feel hopeful, but you were quick to bring yourself back to the heart shattering reality that it meant nothing to him.

To Jack, though, these moments were everything.

-

“Y/N,” Jack’s voice was soft as he knocked on your door, “Can I come in?”

“Of course,” You called out, filtering through your clothes to find something to wear tonight.

Jack was anxious; his heart beating out of his chest and hands slightly shaking as he walked into your room with a piece of fabric in his grasp. He had a jersey with his own name and number on the back , and he was going to ask you if you would wear it tonight. He wanted something that labeled you as his even if you weren’t. Yet.

“What’s up,” You turned to face him, eyes briefly darting down to the jersey in his hand.

“I know you wear just a plain jersey to the games because you don’t want me or Luke to feel left out, but do you maybe want to wear my jersey tonight? It’s totally okay if you don’t want to! Actually, you know what- forget I asked. It was stupid,” Jack rushed out, panic clearly written everywhere on his body as he started to rush away.

“Jack,” You grabbed his hand before he could run away, “I would love to wear your jersey.” You’re not quite sure what exactly possessed Jack to give you one of his jerseys, but you were absolutely not going to say no. To you, the gesture meant everything. A step in the right direction.

Jack searched your face for any sort of doubt, but all he saw was the same small smile and sparkling eyes he saw every time he looked at you. Every part of him wanted nothing more than to kiss you and tell you that he was yours and you were his. Not Mat Barzal’s.

Painfully aware of how close the two of you were, butterflies swarmed your stomach. The way he was looking at you made your heart soar into the clouds and hope filled your veins as you let yourself drift to the possibility that maybe he did feel the same way you had for the last few years. 

“You better get going. Don’t want you to be late,” You whispered, suddenly feeling sheepish because you swear you saw his eyes glance at your lips for a few seconds.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. I’ll see you at the game.” With a chaste kiss on the cheek, he was out the door, leaving you there to overthink the entire interaction.

-

You and Trevor had found your seats, and it was just the two of you since Ellen and Jim were at Quinn’s game. You watch as the team warms up, and, no matter how hard you tried not to, you found yourself mainly focusing on Jack. The way he glides across the ice never fails to amaze you. He belongs out there.

“Nice jersey,” Trevor commented, eyes staying trained on the ice with a sly smirk on his face.

“Shut up,” You rolled your eyes, “He asked me if I wanted to wear it so I said yes, but I’m not sure why- Oh my god, look! It’s Mat!” You gripped Trevor’s bicep as you squealed and subtly pointed at the man who just stepped out onto the ice. 

“That’s why,” He shook his head, “Your comment about how sexy Barzy is made him all jealous and moody.”

“Oh, whatever. He doesn’t care about that,” You dismissed as you broke away from the teams to look at Trevor.

“Is that why he’s looking at him like he wants to slam him into the boards before the game even starts,” He nodded his head towards Jack.

Jack had looked in your direction as soon as he heard the Isles come out, and he wished that he hadn’t. The way your face lit up as you pointed at Barzal made his skin crawl and his chest burn with jealousy. He was standing off to the side with Nico as he tried to go over some of their game plans, but his eyes were now focused on number 13 on the opposing team. He tried to not let his personal life interfere with what he did on the ice, but he’s not so sure that was possible tonight.

The first period was aggressive, to say the least. The Devils were down by one and Jack spent his fair share of time in the sin bin for boarding a certain Isles player. Luckily, all of his penalties were minors so he was still able to play in the game, but you’re not so sure the refs would keep letting him off if he continued the stunts he was pulling.

“Trevor,” Your voice was laced with anxiety as Luke pulled Jack away before he initiated an actual fight and got another penalty. You know hockey is an aggressive sport, but you’ve never seen Jack play like this.

“It’s okay. It’s not all his fault,” He tried to comfort you as your grip on his hand tightened, “They’re starting to play just as dirty. Hopefully intermission will calm everyone down.”

You nervously bit at your nails and lip throughout the rest of the game. Both teams were still being unnecessarily hostile, but it wasn’t as bad as the first period. In the end, Jack managed to get the winning shot, and the cheers that erupted shook The Rock. You threw your arms around Trevor's neck as you let out a breath of relief; thankful that the agonizingly long game ended in their favor.

You and Trevor waited for both Hughes boys, talking about what exactly the plan was going to be tonight. He, of course, wanted to go out and celebrate their win, but you weren’t entirely sure if the boys would still be up for it after the game that they had. Players startled to slowly trickle out of the locker room; most of them stopping to talk to Trevor before they went on their way.

You were engrossed in a conversation with Dawson and Trevor when Luke finally came out of the locker room. He makes a playful glance at your jersey, wiggling his eyebrows as you ignore him and ask him about how he feels like the game went. He goes on about how he wasn’t super proud of their performance due to the obvious, but he was happy that they came out on top despite that. You beamed about how proud you are of him, and then you saw Jack coming out of the locker room.

His damp hair stuck to his forehead and you could see the faint start of a nasty bruise on his left cheek. He looked defeated and annoyed, and that was enough to tell you that he got an earful from Lindy and the media asked the wrong questions. He hated talking to them in general, and he especially hated it when he played like he did. You wanted nothing more than to pull him in and comfort him like you used to often, before Luke moved in.

With an encouraging shove from Luke, you met Jack in the middle and immediately pulled him into your chest. He was quick to wrap his arms around your waist, drawing you in closer than you already were. He buried his head in the crook of your neck, wanting the moment to last forever if it was possible. You didn’t mind the wetness on your skin, but the way Jack was hugging you was not making anything easy for you. He held you like you were the only thing grounding him to Earth.

“You played like shit,” You quietly teased as you forced yourself to pull away from him before you read too much into it.

“Maybe, but we still beat ‘em. Guess Barzal isn’t that great after all,” He slightly puffed his chest out before wrapping an arm around your shoulder and walking to the others.

You furrowed your eyebrows at his last comment, and it made you wonder if you saying that you found Mat Barzal attractive really did upset him. After the way he played towards him, it would make perfect sense. Still, you can’t piece together just why that would bother him enough to make him let it out on the ice like that. You weren’t naive enough to believe that it meant that Jack was jealous because he had feelings for you. You’re positive that it was something else. It had to be.

After everyone had agreed on a bar to meet up at, they all went separate ways to go back home and quickly change. You and the boys knew you were going to go out already, so you were all dressed and ready to go. Once you were in the car, you peeled the Devil’s jersey off you to reveal the red tank top underneath.

“Damn girl,” Trevor whistled, eyes shamelessly darting down to your exposed cleavage.

You playfully smacked him in the chest and rolled your eyes, neatly folding the jersey and placing it in the middle seat of the car. Jack cast a stormy glare back at Trevor, who shrugged and gave his best friend an innocent smile.

“Bye, Lukey,” You leaned over the center console to kiss his cheek, “Next year you can join us and not have to be the driver.”

“Yeah, yeah,” He rolled his eyes, “Give’s me time to sleep without you all bothering me. Have fun and call me if you need me to come get you.”

The three of you pushed your way into the loud and crowded bar. Jack quickly announced that he was going to hit the bathroom and he would meet the two of you at the bar. You gently held the back of Trevor’s shirt as he led you through the horde of people. You got the bartender's attention and ordered a round of shots for the three of you, but when you had turned back to Trevor, he was already engaged in a flirty conversation with a pretty blonde girl. 

Letting out a quiet chuckle, you moved your attention back to the bar. You waited a few more minutes for Jack to come back, but he had yet to make his reappearance. Deciding you were going to see if you could spot him, you placed your hands on the sticky counter, feet planting themselves on the footrest of the barstool to stand and look around the bar. Your eyes bounced across the sea of people in search of Jack, but when your eyes landed on him you felt the entire floor come out from underneath you.

There he was; leaning against a wall with his stupid bright, perfect smile plastered on his face as a girl animatedly talked to him. Every breath you took as you watched them felt like razor blades slicing into every inch of your body and your heart ached like it never had before. Blinking back a wave of tears, you downed the three shots in front of you. They were slightly warm, but the burning sensation they brought to you was a feeling you welcomed with open arms.

“Woah there, Y/N,” Nico’s deep, slightly accented voice cut through the loud music.

“Nico,” You cheered, pulling him into your side for a hug, “You did so good tonight.”

“Thank you,” He lightly laughed, hand staying on your back to steady you as you teetered on the stool, “Your boy was playing a little dirty tonight.”

Nico didn’t miss the way you stiffened at the mention of Jack, and he pulled his brows together in confusion. He had seen the two of you in an intimate hug right before he had left, so he assumed that things had developed between the two of you. While you ordered another two shots, the captain looked around for his teammate. He let out an understanding breath once he found him, still in deep conversation with the girl you had seen.

“Y/N,” Nico tried, “Are you o-”

“I’m going to dance,” You interrupted before he could ask the one question that was certainly going to bring you to tears.

Nico sighed, but he had been around you enough to know that you were not the type of person to push. That was a recipe for disaster. Instead, he opted to keep a close eye on you in case something were to happen. 

You lost count of how many drinks you had at about five drinks, but you’re certain that you were past your limit. Sweat covered bodies bumped into your own as you danced to the loud music, ignoring the bleeding pain in your chest. You refused to look in Jack’s direction for the rest of the night, fearful that what you saw was going to further break you. 

Eventually, you got tired of everyone bumping into you as you danced, so you climbed up onto a table that was littered with half full glasses and empty beer cans. You closed your eyes and let the music guide your body, hips swaying and hands salaciously running the curves of your body.

“Y/N,” A familiar voice yelled over the music, their hand coming to grasp your calf, “Get your drunk ass down!”

You looked down and met Trevor’s worried gaze, though he was quite a bit blurry courtesy of the copious amounts of alcohol you had consumed. Shaking your head at him, you continued dancing and ignored his continuous calls for you to come down from the table. It wasn’t until you heard the one person you were trying to forget that you stopped your movements.

The way Jack was looking up at you with anxiety swirling in his eyes made you want to scream. He had no right to be concerned about when he was the cause of it. Though, he had no idea that he was.

“Y/N,” Jack repeated, taking note of the drunken glare you gave him, “Please come down.”

You tore your glossy eyes away from him, and held your hand out to Trevor so he could help you down from the table. Jack felt his heart crack at your blatant dismissal of him, but he tried to not let it get to him because he knew you were drunk. Still, he hated how you latched onto Trevors side, leaning your head on his chest as he steadied you. He was always the one you clung too, and he doesn’t like the way it feels to be on the outside of that.

“We should call Luke, yeah,” Trevor suggested as he soothingly rubbed your arm, “You need to get home.”

“I can call him and we can go back together,” Jack was quick to offer himself up. 

“No,” You moaned out, shaking your head against Trevor’s chest, “I don’t wanna be around you.”

Jack’s already cracked heart completely shattered inside his chest, the sting from it bleeding into his veins. The despondent look that was slapped on his face would have been enough to send you to your knees had you been looking at him, but you knew better than that. You knew that you would cave in to Jack like you always did, but that’s not what you needed. It was clear that you were never going to have him the way you wanted, and you needed to forget him. Even if it was just for a night. 

“Jack,” Trevor sighed, his own chest burning for his best friend, “I texted Luke before I came to get her and he should be here soon. I’ll make sure she gets to him, okay?”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, all Jack could manage was a nod and move out of the way so Trevor could guide you out of the bar. His entire heart left with you, and he was left staring at the floor wondering what had happened for you to not want to be around him. In order to keep himself from crying in front of his teammates, he made a beeline for the bar to get drinks of his own.

The first thing you felt the following morning was the deadly pounding in your head, and you prayed to any God that would listen that you could just go back to sleep for the rest of your life. Your head was shoved underneath your pillow as you attempted to push back the consistent waves of nausea, but the feeling grew. Before you could truly comprehend what was going on, you were on your feet and darting to the bathroom.

“Y/N,” Trevor called from the other side of the bathroom door, “I’m coming in.”

You tossed him a bleary look as he walked in with a cup of water in hand. The pitiful smile he gave you in return surely would have made you vomit again had you not already emptied all the contents of your stomach. You could see the apprehension clearly arranged on his face.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” You mumbled against your arm that was acting as a barrier between your face and the toilet.

“I didn’t even say anything,” He let out an airy laugh as he searched through the cabinets for some Advil, “Since you brought it up, though...”

“Trevor,” You warned, trying to give him a mean glare, but it hurt your head too much to strain that hard.

Despite how much you drank last night, you were still excruciatingly aware of what had caused you to get that way. The feeling that consumed your entire being when you saw Jack with that girl was still something that was eating away at your heart. You knew that your emotions were going to get the better of you one day, but nothing could have prepared you for when it did.

“Take these,” He ordered, “What happened last night? I’ve never seen you like that, especially not towards Jack. I don’t care that you don’t want to talk about it. If you don’t, you’ll let it take over and you’ll fall into the same hole you did when Trent broke up with you.”

You knew that he was right, but it still annoyed you that Trevor Zegras, of all people, was right. You also knew that he was going to see through any lie you told him. In spite of his reputation, he was a very observant and caring person, especially when it cameto the ones he loved.

 “I saw Jack with some girl last night. That’s all there is to say, really. You know how I feel about him, so it just really sucked. And I guess I let myself read too much into certain situations,” You admitted, taking the pills in hopes that they would help the headache subside.

He sharply sucked in a breath, understanding washing over his body like a wave. He knew the girl you were talking about; Jack had mentioned something about him being ambushed by the bathrooms. She was going on about how her girlfriend was one of his biggest fans, and then Jack had somehow, yet unsurprisingly, managed to bring you up in the conversation. He had told Trevor that the girl made fun of Jack for being a little bitch and not telling you how he feels, which Trevor happily agreed with.

“Y/N,” He sighed, squatting so he was eye level with you, “You need to go talk to him, and don’t say no. It will be better, for both of you, if you talk to each other. Watching the both of you pine over each other is really grinding my gears.”

After a not so lengthy argument with Trevor, partly because he just kept repeating himself and partly because you were too tired to argue, your feet were gently padding down the hall to Jack’s room. Your breathing was quick and uneven as you anxiously squeezed your hands together, moreso the closer you got to him. Taking a deep breath, you gently rapped your knuckles on his door.

“Go away, Trevor,” His voice was muffled, quiet, and defeated.

“Jack,” You softly called as you opened your door and peeked your head in.

“Y/N,” You watched as he jumped up in his bed, pillow falling off the bed and blanket pooling around his waist, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I just- Can I come in?”

He eagerly nodded his head, scooting back so he was leaning against the headboard. Trying to keep your eyes from wandering his naked chest was proving difficult the closer you got to him. It felt highly inappropriate given the circumstances. The air was awkward and sticky as you took a seat on the edge of his bed, and you hated that. Things should never be like this with Jack.

Jack knew you so well and he had spent so much time memorizing everything about you that it wasn’t hard to tell that you were nervous, and exhausted. Your lip was red from chewing on it and the skin below your hand was irritated from you pinching yourself, both nervous habits you’ve had as long as he’s known you. However, you also had dark, stormy clouds of exhaustion hanging over you. He wanted nothing more than to pull you into his bed and hold you until you fell asleep. 

“How are you feeling,” He asked, eyes flitting from your face to his lap.

“Honestly, I feel like I got hit by a bus,” You laughed, feeling some of the nerves dissipate, “But, I wanted to talk about something. Well, Trevor’s forcing me to do it, but I also think we should talk about it.”

Jack’s already high anxiety skyrocketed. He has no idea what you were going to say, and that terrified him. His mind wandered to the worst possibilities, all of which involved you telling him that you were leaving and never wanted to see him again. He’s not sure he would be able to survive that blow.

“What’s up,” He played it cool as if his heart wasn’t beating so hard and fast that he thought it was going to burst out of his chest.

“I want you to listen to me entirely before you say anything okay,” You started, tucking a leg underneath your thigh as you turned to fully face him. You continued after he gave you a shy nod, “I’m really sorry about last night. About telling you I didn’t want to be around you. I was upset, and hurt. I was waiting for you at the bar and you were taking a while, so I tried to look for you.

“And I saw you talking to a girl by the bathrooms, and I guess I got a little jealous. I got jealous because I- I don’t know, it’s kind of obvious why, Jack. I let my emotions get to me and I reacted terribly, I’m sorry. And it’s okay that you don’t feel the same way that I feel. Just promise me it won’t change our friendship?”

His heart, still beating erratically, was doing flips inside his chest as he let your words fully soak in. Jack knew he wasn’t a Harvard scholar, but it didn’t take much to figure out you were saying you had feelings for him without actually saying it. All those hours of Trevor trying to convince Jack that you liked him back flooded his memory, and he felt stupid for not believing him. Now Trevor was kind of an airhead, but if something was that obvious to him, Jack should have known it was true. 

The silence that hung in the air was daunting, but you were giving him time to think about what you had said to him. Springing a half-assed love confession on someone who looked just as hungover as you were probably wasn’t the best idea, but it was Trevor’s so it made sense. You refused to make eye contact with Jack as he, presumably, found a way to gently let you down. You decided to focus on picking at your fingers while you waited, a habit you thought you had broken

“I was jealous too, you know,” He started, moving his body so he was sitting in the same position as you. He delicately took your hands in his own before you picked so hard you drew blood.

“Of what,” You frowned.

“The whole Barzal thing. You said you thought he was hot, and I guess I got a little insecure because he is an attractive guy,” He explained, his voice laced with apprehension, “Trevor and Luke kept talking about how you’re in love with him or whatever, and then I saw how excited you got when he got on the ice and I don’t know. It really bothered me.

“And the girl at the bar? We were only talking because she said her girlfriend was a big fan, and then I started talking about you, like I always do. She basically told me I was a pussy for not telling you how I felt, and she’s right.”

You snapped your gaze to meet his own, and you knew you were royally screwed. He was looking at you like you hung the stars and the moon, and it was in that moment you realize that he’s looked at you like that for a while. You were just too naive, and scared, to let yourself believe it was anything other than friendship.

“I love you, Y/N, and not in just a friend way but an “I-want-you-to-be-my-girlfriend” way. And I really want to kiss you.”

“So do it.”

In an instant, he was pulling you into him, his soft lips meeting your own in a messy kiss. You moved your hands to the nape of his neck, fingers carding into his hair as he pulled you onto his lap. His hands found place on your lower back, scared to wander any further out of fear of making you uncomfortable, but you had waited far too long for this moment for him to not explore whatever he wanted. However, the sound of Jack’s door opening caused the two of you to separate your mouths.

“Are you two going to come ea- Oh my god! They’re having sex,” Trevor screamed, quickly turning around and slamming the door shut, “Luke! Don’t go in there!”

Jack’s forehead fell to your shoulder as he let out an amused, “Fucking Trevor.” (iykyk lmao)

“You know, I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but we actually owe him,” You let out a breathy laugh.

“Yes you do!”

“Go away!”

[lipglossanon]

Someday

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹

stepbro!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader (beach one shot)

this went in a weird direction but instead of scrapping it, I’m posting so 🤷‍♀️ enjoy lmao lots of smut 👌

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, protective Leon, perv Leon, kissing, dirty talk, nipple play, teasing, grinding, public sexual situations lol, car sex, unprotected sex, creampie

not proofread

Title from Someday by Sugar Ray ☀️

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹

This place is warm without a care

We'll take a swim in the deep blue sea

I go to leave and you reach for me

—"Someday"

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

"Quit pushing!"

"But you're in my space!"

"If you guys don't behave, I will turn this car around!"

The squabbling in the back seat cut short as Leon glares you. 

He leans over and flicks your arm when you’re not looking; you hiss at the sting, smacking him on the forearm in retaliation. 

"Leon," his dad warningly calls out from the driver’s seat, looking at him through the rear view mirror. 

"What?" he glares at you still, rubbing the smarting skin, "she literally started it, I was just paying her back.”

"Yeah, but you know better," his dad sighs before moving his attention to you, “please let’s all just get along and enjoy our day.”

You smile, “Of course,” turning your attention to Leon you bat your eyelashes, “I am so sorry, big brother.” 

"Whatever," he rolls his eyes, flipping you off once his dad turns back to the road.

Your mom claps her hands, “Look alive kids, we’re here!”

"Finally," Leon breaths out, opening the passenger door and slipping out once his dad parks the car. 

Everyone piles out of the vehicle and makes their way to the back hatch. Your stepdad opens it and pulls out the coolers holding food and drinks.

"Here make yourself useful,” Leon sneers as he shoves a tote full of towels and sunblock into your arms. 

Your mom pats you on the back, “I got the beach umbrella so we’ll go find a spot!”

You stick your tongue out at Leon and turn along with your mom to walk along the boardwalk to the sandy beach below. It doesn’t take long to find a decent spot, staking down the umbrella and tossing the beach blanket down onto the sand. Leon sets down the coolers near the side while his dad hands out the beach chairs to be setup. 

Once everything is in order, you sit back on your haunches with a sigh. Rooting around through your own bag, you grab a few things and stand up. 

“I’m heading over to the changing rooms,” you jerk your thumb behind you, to the wooden building, “shouldn’t take long.”

Your mom nods, “Okay, make sure to lock the door. Actually Leon, walk with her. You never know these days.”

You roll your eyes and walk backwards, “I’m totally fine mom, you can see the building from here.”

Leon’s dad nods at him, “Just maybe walk over that way with her and if it seems fine just mosey on back.”

Leon smirks at you, “You heard’em, little sis.”

He gets up from the blanket and walks over to you; spinning you around, he gives you a gentle push to walk forward.

“I don’t need the help,” you snip at him, elbowing his side so there’s more space between you.  

“Hey I’m just following orders. Besides,” he leans more into your space with a leer, “maybe I just wanted to see what kinda bathing suit you picked out.”

You roll your eyes, tamping down the heat that washes over you from his words. 

“Whatever, perv,” you climb the wooden steps and find an empty room. 

Hesitating, you look back at Leon before stepping inside, “Are you going to be out here?”

His arms are crossed as he leans against the banister, a deadpan expression in his face.

“Unless you want me in there with you, yeah I’ll be out here.”

Nodding, you completely step into the changing room and shut the door. It’s pretty nondescript but just something about it is giving you the ick. A low noise comes from behind the wall, probably just from someone changing in the next room. 

You tug your shirt off, already wearing a bathing top underneath— you just wanted to swap it for the more colorful one you brought along. A weird sound next door has you jumping in place. 

“Leon?”

“Yeah?” you can hear his muffled voice on the other side of the door. 

Another raspy noise comes from the other side of the wall giving you goosebumps. You swing your door open and gesture him inside. His mouth opens, probably about to make fun of you, when the look on your face cuts him short. 

He enters the changing room with you, keeping quiet as you hold your finger up to your lips. The strange noise happens again but louder, making you press into Leon’s side, hands gripping onto his thin tee shirt until your knuckles blanch. 

You both stand still, ears cocked and listening as that weird noise happens again. Leon reaches out and raps his hand hard on the wall. The noise stops and you both hear something scurry away from the wall. 

“Don’t change in here. We can go to the car,” Leon whispers to you, eyes serious, “definitely gonna report this to whoever’s on duty. Fucking creep.”

“Leon,” you whisper back, relief making tears prick your lash line, “thank you.”

“Hey, of course,” he murmurs softly, warm palms coming up to cup your jaw, “you’re okay. I won’t let anything happen to you, promise.”

You nod in his hold, pressing into his body even further. Your hands come up to wind in his hair and pull him down. He takes the hint and presses your lips together, kissing you softly. 

Leon pushes until your back is flat against the wall, never breaking his kiss. 

“You’re my girl,” he growls as he kisses a hot trail to your ear, tongue dipping inside, “no one gets to see you but me.”

“Leon,” you whimper, tugging on his hair as he nips at your neck before kissing down to your clavicle.

“Wish I could do more right now,” he murmurs into your skin, dragging his mouth down to the swell of your breasts in your bathing suit top, “just gonna get a little taste and we’ll head back, okay?”

Nodding, you have no idea what you’re agreeing to, when Leon noses the fabric covering one of your breasts over until he can suck your nipple easily into his hot mouth. 

“Just a taste, princess,” he whispers, moving over to the other hard bud and suckling.

He keeps you pressed to the wall as he lathes and sucks on your nipples until they’re hard and swollen. Your bathing suit bottoms are soaked with slick when he finally pulls back, eyes dark and heated. 

He slips his fingers under your top and pulls it upright, letting go with a snap. You cry out from the sting on your puffy nipples as your top now covers them. 

“C’mon, we need to head back before they come looking.”

“But..”

He grins at you, teeth gleaming, “What is it? Is my little sis feeling needy?”

You nod your head, “Please, big brother, I’m so wet.”

His fingers dip beneath the band of your shorts and bottoms to glide across your slippery clit. You cry out and bury your face in his chest. 

“Oh? She is,” he coos, “she needs me so bad huh, princess?”

He dips his head lower, whispering filth in your ear and making you rock against his fingers as they circle your pudgy clit. 

“Mmm I’d love to get on my knees and kiss your pretty pussy all over,” he licks the shell of your ear, “she loves getting kissed by big brother, always so fucking wet after I makeout with your cunt, isn’t that right?”

“Uh huh,” you whine, “feels good. Big brother makes my pussy so wet.”

“Fuck,” he grits out, fingers circling and pinching your clit over and over, “when we get home, I’m pushing you down and railing your little princess pussy, got that? I’m gonna use you all fucking night, so you’ll just have to keep that hole wet and ready for me. Can you do that for big brother, huh?“

“Yes, yes, please, want that,” you slur, thighs tensing as your orgasm winds tighter in your belly, “want big brother to fill me up.”

“Don’t worry, I will,” he laughs meanly, “you can only get off if I’m creaming in this tight cunt anyways.”

You whine and hump down into his fingers, “Love it, love getting your creampies.”

“God damn, princess,” his fingers slide across your clit roughly, “cum for me, get my fingers soaking wet.”

“Oh, Leon, I’m—“

You shudder in his arms, muffling your moans in his shirt as you shake apart on his fingers. Riding out the soft tremors, Leon finally slips his hand away and laps up the clear slick webbing across his fingers. 

“So fucking juicy,” he growls, free hand coming up to twist one of your nipples making you whine, “can’t wait til we get home.” 

He kisses you one last time before opening the door, letting you leave first. You both look around but luckily the whole area is deserted. He gives you a little push toward the stairs. 

“Go catch up with them, I’m gonna look around for whoever’s in charge and file that report.”

You watch Leon’s broad back as he walks around the corner and warmth flutters in your chest as you make your way back over to your mom and stepdad. 

“Finally, thought you two got lost,” your mom smiles, patting the blanket, “let me put sunblock on your back and shoulders and you can skedaddle.”

Your stepdad looks over at you and then glances around, “Where’d Leon get off to?”

“He said he’d be back, needed to do something.”

He nods and goes back to his book. Your mom finishes up with the sunblock and puts it back in her bag. 

“Make sure to drink plenty of water.”

“I know, mom,” you roll your eyes good naturedly, “I’m gonna go wade for a bit, see if I can find any cool shells.”

“Have fun,” she plops her big sun hat on her head and lays out on the blanket. 

You wander down the beach until your toes meet the small waves kissing the shore. Wading out into the warm water, you take in all the people. It’s really nice and peaceful even with all the racket; easy to let it fade into the background with the sound of the ocean echoing in your ears. 

“You wanna build a sand castle?”

Leon’s voice behind you makes you jump, quickly turning to face him.

“You serious?” you squint at him, still feeling out of depth with the whole fiasco earlier. 

“Yeah, let’s go build one,” his eyes are something else with the ocean reflecting off the already prismatic blue, “I know where the good sand is.”

You smile, reaching your hand out to see if he’ll take it. Surprisingly, he does. He leads you back away from the water but not too far in order to reach the ‘better sand’. 

"This is a lot of fun," you murmur, brushing shoulders with Leon as you try to dig out a moat.

"Yeah even if you’re complete shit at it,” he smirks, side eyeing you. 

"Hey," you push his shoulder, leaving a damp hand print on his shirt, "I’ve made like three sandcastles in my life, so lay off.”

"Doesn’t matter,” Leon shrugs then laughs, “I'm going to absolutely destroy this when we're done.”

You frown, "But why?"

“It’ll just wash out with the tide otherwise.”

You roll your eyes, “Such a dork. Think I might go for a swim since it’s gotten hotter just sitting here.”

"I'll go with you," he stands up and slips his shirt off making your mouth feel dry, "don’t want you to drown while my back is turned”

You mock salute him while trying not to stare at his chest, "Aye, aye, captain."

Leon ruffles your hair, "Last one in the water is a rotten egg."

He takes off running with you right behind him. 

“You’re such a cheater! You didn’t even countdown!”

"Snooze ya lose, princess,” he laughs, splashing into the ocean before whirling on you and grabbing you around you waist. 

“Hold your breath,” he murmurs hotly in your ear before he’s pulling you under with him. 

You’re not under long and Leon brings you both back up to the surface with you holding onto his biceps for dear life. 

“You’re such a jerk!” you yell, salt water running into your eyes making them sting, “I’m going to murder you!”

“Like to see you try,” he laughs loudly, faking like he’s going to dunk you before yanking you back to his chest. 

Your hands wrap around his neck while your legs wrap around his waist, squeaking as he fakes dipping you both under again. 

“You’re so mean,” you pout as he wraps his hands around your hips. 

“What else is new, princess,” he laughs, shaking the water from his hair. 

He eases out a little further, holding you in his arms as he treads water. 

“Can’t wait to get home,” he murmurs, kissing your neck. 

“Leon,” you whine, “anyone can see us.”

“Yeah? We’re too far off for them to know what’s happening. Just kiss me, little sis.”

You sigh as he places more soft kisses on your neck.

“You got me?”

Giving him a puzzled look, you nod, “Yeah…”

He slowly lets go of your hips and once you stay buoyant, he grins. 

“Since the waters up to our shoulders,” he smirks, hands coming up to grope and squeeze your breasts, “I’m gonna have some fun.”

“No, don’t,” you squirm, but don’t let go; letting him touch you like this is exciting. 

“Aww, you’re so cute when you’re lying.”

He pulls the cups of your bathing top down exposing your breasts to his greedy hands. Pulling and tugging on your nipples has you rocking into him with a moan. 

“Leon,” you keen, head laying against his shoulder, “we’re gonna get caught.”

“Fuck,” he groans, pinching your nipples extra hard, “I’d love that, love to see someone know that you’re getting off on big brother playing with your sexy tits.”

You whimper and press your chest harder into his hands, “Gonna get in trouble.”

“No we won’t,” he chuckles, letting his fingers tease across the swell of your breasts and circle your hard buds, “‘long as you can sit pretty and take it, I’ll play with these cute fucking tits the rest of the day.”

That visual alone makes you rut against his chubbed cock with a moan. 

“Like that?” he laughs and pinches your nipples too hard making you squeal.  

“Think you can cum like this? Rubbing that hot pussy all on me while I suck on your nipples?” his voice rumbles in your ear

“Uh huh,” you shudder nails digging into his back.

“So hot,” he turns his back to the beach and shifts you up higher so can dip his head and latch onto a swollen bud.

You lose track of time, letting Leon suckle and bite at your nipples til they’re puffy and sore as you rub off on him, cumming twice before he even pulls away. 

“Probably need to go back in,” his voice is hoarse while his eyes are nearly dilated black, “been out here for awhile.”

Your brain is total slush at this point and you agree wholeheartedly. 

“Thirsty,” you mutter into his neck as he fixes your top.

“There’s water in the cooler,” he double checks to make sure you’re both presentable before wading back to the beach.

Once the water’s waist high you drop your legs and walk next to him, pushing your shaking muscles to keep you up. Once you get back to the blanket, your mom is reading and your step dad’s conked out with sunglasses on his face. 

You smile and flop down next to Leon who hands you a cold water. 

“Thank you,” you keep your voice low.

He shrugs and cracks open his water and drinks it in like two seconds. 

“You kids about ready to go?” 

Your mom’s voice sounds sleepy. 

“Seems like you two are,” you tease making her laugh and she taps your stepdad’s arm. 

He jostles awake with a snort making you giggle as Leon grins. 

“We’re ready to go honey,” your mom kisses his cheek. 

“Of course,” he stretches and yawns, “Leon you feel like loading up?”

“Can do,” he stands up and starts bundling things in his arms. 

You stand and start collecting the little things he doesn’t have the hands for; you both walk over to your mom’s SUV and Leon sets his stuff down and grabs your armload. 

“Go grab them and the blanket and we should be set.”

“You don’t want—“

“I got it,” he pushes you with a shit eating grin on his face, “trust me.”

You squint at him suspiciously but listen and go grab your parents and the folded up beach blanket. 

When you get back, you see Leon somehow finagled the beach stuff in such a way that you end up sitting in his lap on the drive home cause there just isn’t enough room otherwise. 

His dad pokes fun at him, “Must’ve gotten too much sun eh son?”

Leon rolls his eyes as he tugs you onto his lap in the third row seating, “Like I haven’t heard that before.”

Your mom laughs, “Well just make sure to be safe back there.”

“Will do,” you and Leon chime in at the same time making her laugh again. 

As soon as your stepdad leaves the parking lot, Leon’s hands are under your shirt plucking and tweaking your overstimulated nipples. You twist in his lap, placing your legs on either side of his seat, facing him to eagerly makeout. It’s not long before you’re grinding against his bulge. 

He fishes his dick out, grabbing your hand and guiding you to jerk him off. 

“That’s it,” he whispers, “stroke it. Fuck wish I was in your mouth.”

“Me too,” you kiss him sloppily as he pinches your nipples hard. 

“Y’wanna suck big brother off? Mmm but our parents would hear it wouldn’t they? That tight throat choking on me.”

“Mmhmm, I’d gag so much,” your hand eagerly strokes his dick, “you’re just too big for my mouth.” 

“But not for that pussy”, he growls, moving one hand from your nipples to slide under the leg of your shorts and swim bottoms to tease along your slit.   

You have to kiss him to stop the moan from giving you both away. 

Once he pulls back, Leon smirks at you, “Gotta keep quiet or they’ll find out what a slut you are.”

You pout, “Just feels so good.” 

“Let me stick it in,” he whispers in your ear, “just let me slip the tip in, ‘m so hard it hurts, princess.” 

“Just the tip,” you agree, slipping your shorts and bottoms off. 

He pulls the foreskin back on his fat tip to spank against your clit making you bite your lip hard. Pressing into your soaked cunt, the head stretches you open making you sigh.  

“Don’t you want the rest?” he coos sarcastically.  

“You said just the tip,” you mumble against his mouth. 

Leon listens for about half a minute before he grabs your hips and forces you to sink down. Force is a strong word as you easily go along with it. 

“So bad, taking me all the way into this tiny pussy,” he teases, mouth pressed against your ear, “making me stretch you out on my cock like you just can’t help it, princess.”

You rock down on him muffling your sounds by pressing your face into his chest. Your body is ramped up and ready for another orgasm easily, the coil of arousal tight in your belly already. 

“Mmm, sucking me in,” he hisses, hands digging into the meat of your hips hard, “been fucking edged all day, so this is gonna be messy, princess. Cute pussy’s bout to be filled to the brim.”

You lift your head and let your hazy eyes meet his making him curse under his breath. 

“You’re cockdrunk,” he laughs meanly, “gonna make me cum cause a’your needy fucking face.”

He grinds up harshly into your fluttering walls as his thumb swipes over your hot, swollen clit. 

“Want it, big brother,” you whimper, eyes teary as your orgasm begins to reach its peak, “please, want you to cum inside me.”

“You’re getting a nice load princess don’t worry,” his grip on your hip keeps you in place as he ruts into your pussy and circles your clit with his thumb, “squeeze me, squeeze down on my cock and I’ll give you want you want.”

You kiss him messily, tongue licking into his smirking mouth as your climax shakes your body to pieces. You feel as your pussy tightens down on his cock so hard it must hurt but Leon likes it if his groan’s anything to go by. Your fluttering walls milk his cock as he ruts up one last time and spills inside your clenching pussy. 

You pull away from his mouth, both of you panting against each others lips, just sharing the same space as you cum together.  His cock kicks and throbs as sticky jizz fills your cunt, hot rope after rope of cum shooting from his fat tip. 

Your pussy pulses and clamps rhythmically, aftershocks making your thighs shake as your hands grip onto the upholstery of the seat. 

“Hope you’re not too tired,” he grins, “told you I’m gonna rail you when we get home and I still mean it.”

You rock down on him with a mewl, “Can’t wait, big brother.”

[l-in-the-light]

Trafalgar Law and animals

It seems he is quite kind to animals, or at least he seems a little fond of them...

Evidence number 1: napping with a new (quickly tamed) friend on his wandering excursion to nowhere in particular (or so I envision this happening).

Evidence number 2: feeding random parrots just because they wanna try the onigiri. I bet he would feed random ducks at ponds as well lol.

Evidence number 3: after taking away the den den mushis he just released the snails into the wild (or took them inside the lab later, we will never know, lol). He's so bad to animals, right? He could have just crushed them when he was holding them in his palm, but nah, not his style. Snails are cool and didn't do anything wrong after all.

Evidence number 4: Chopper and Bepo. Bepo is self-understandable, but Chopper?? Law told him to shut up like twice. Yeah, but also he talked with him the most about his own issues with the plan (he can't defeat Caesar on his own for some reason he can't tell), and just few moments after meeting him. That's a huge step in the "trust" territory right there. Other Strawhats didn't hear anything about Law's own reasons of why he wants the alliance after all.

Evidence number 5: Komainu in Wano. He wasn't tamed by Tama's dango so he didn't have to listen to their orders or anything like that. It would be understandable if Luffy was the one riding in front, because Komainu spent some time with Luffy already. Law literally saw the Komainu for the first time here, just a moment ago. He already tamed it enough to ride in front and to lead the way to Oden's castle.

Okay, I think that's enough evidence (it's not like I have more anyway lol). Now let's take a look at this again:

I'm starting to think we're misunderstanding this scene. It's not Law being morbid (well, maybe a little), as in: he doesn't love dissecting dead frogs so much that he brought one into the picture. If you want to dissect frogs then you just dissect them, you know? Not carry a dead animal around with you anywhere you go.

Look, forever ago I watched enough American teen shows focused on school life to know that for some kids dissecting animals in anatomy class is a Huge Deal and they just Can't Do It, and they fuss over it for a whole episode. Believe me, if Law wanted to dissect this frog, it wouldn't be here in the picture with him, but it would be lying down dissected on the table, already forgotten. Meanwhile, it doesn't even have any mark that it was cut or anything.

Here's my headcanon about it: I think Law as a kid felt sorry for the frog. Either made it his friend (so what that it's dead? wow so judgemental smh I'm joking) or decided frogs shouldn't be dissected and wanted to give it a proper burial later on. My bet's on a friend though, because why else would he include the frog in the class photo? :D It's a photo with his school friends, it would be rude to exclude his new little friend as well! (the boy on his right clearly loves the idea btw lol. I bet he was good friends with Law)

We assume he wants to dissect it because 1. he comes from family of doctors and is a surgeon, 2. because of this picture:

Which kinda suggests the possible outcome from the encounter of scalpel+frog. But I think we might have to consider the opposite of what we thought he likes to do in his free time as a child (dissecting little animals like a psycho future surgeon in training). He just seems to be nice to animals, that's why. He would be nice to that poor frog as well, no matter if it's dead or not.

And then we have centaurs and I always ask The Question: what happened to the rest of the animal bodies?? (my guess is: they ate them).

I mean... Luffy is also nice to animals. He would still eat some of them, you know, to survive. But not his friends. Possibly also not Chopper.

And then there's this ongoing theme of people of the D. and their special relationship with animals. I mean, Luffy can tame almost any animal (Surume <3), Law has Bepo (though he's a mink, I guess), and Vivi has Carue, right? Three people already create a pattern... we also see a child Garp (in SBS) that tamed some wild beast as well!

[ddollfface]

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐅𝐚𝐜𝐞, 𝐃𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐌𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡

𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗦𝗶𝗰𝗸!𝗔𝘁𝗵𝗹𝗲𝘁𝗲 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

"Your clothes would look nice on my bedroom floor."

Trigger Warnings; not proofread, pretty sure reader is described as 'girlfriend' or 'girl' somewhere, yandere behavior, extremely toxic behavior, manipulation, rip if you know someone like this irl, abuse of systems, abuse of pretty privilege (can't relate lol), and, as usual, bad writing. If I missed anything, then please let me know ♡ Here 'ya go 💗!Nonny, the second part of your request!! I hope it's to your standards... I'm not proofreading anything I'm putting out rn. I'm way too tired. I hope everyone had a good President's weekend))

Our boy is literally the definition of pretty privilege. He's got everything a girl would ever want, and he's the envy of all the guys on campus. He's sculpted like a Greek god, thanks to his Persian genetics and daily visits to the gym.

Everyone and anyone will listen to what LoveSick!Athlete's gotta say, and they'll do whatever he's asked, if he's saying it in a certain tone with a certain face. This is his manipulative personality coming into play. He understands that people will listen to him, for whatever reason, and he uses it to his advantage, scaring away any guys you may or may not find attractive.

Usually, it's pretty easy to do as they're just one of your classmates that you just find handsome, but you've never thought of talking to them, much less pursuing them. You're introverted personality (in this type of darling) makes it easy for him to keep you all to himself.

The two of you have been together for years, ever since you were little kids, and you trust everything he says, but not for superficial reasons like everyone else. You see him for who he is. You understand that he'd never do anything to hurt you; I'm just looking out for you, yeah? Just take my word for it, he's not worth your time.

In this case, with this darling, the two of you aren't dating, in your eyes at least. And LoveSick!Athlete has been pursuing you for quite some time, but he's patient. The two of you are practically attached at the hip, and that alone scares off any of your suitors, so even if you find someone (guy or chick) attractive, then they're gone before you can even say 'hello'.

Now, I've gone over how LoveSick!Athlete deals with his 'competitors', though he doesn't see them as this, in this post. This post is more geared toward how he deals with jealousy, but I drabble on the idea of putting down other men and making you see them in a bad light.

LoveSick!Athlete don't see these men, no matter how you see them, as a threat to your relationship, nor his ego. The two of you are far too out of reach for them to touch; they can't get to you, but it's different when it's his teammate. Especially since he never shuts up about them, so they know that he's pursuing you or you're in a relationship (depending on the time).

Overall, I think LoveSick!Athlete would treat the situation similarly with his teammate as he would with some random guy, but he'll have a bitter taste in his mouth whenever he sees said teammate now. It's possible that he'll be rougher with them on the ice, pushing them harder, elbowing them, and tripping them. Of course, no one will notice. After all, he's their star player, he'd never do anything to hurt his teammates, never.

He'll bad mouth them, behind their back of course, to his other teammates and you, can't forget about you. He'll go on and on about all the things they've done over the summer while school was out. How they're so aggressive toward girls, especially the ones that say 'no' to him. You wouldn't believe what Sonia told me, sweets. She said...

Once you get him talking, he won't stop. LoveSick!Athlete would never, ever, miss the opportunity to trash on of his rivals. If the guy seems persistent and tries to talk to you, god, let alone he touches you, he'll rain hellfire on the campus. He'll get some college girls to go report him to the campus office, saying that they were assaulted by him. LoveSick!Athlete might even plant some drugs into the guy's bag, causing him to lose his athletic scholarship.

And if the guy tries to tell on him, like a rat, then he'll just be brushed off as "desperate" and "attention-seeking." That he's trying to push the blame on someone else, 'cause there's no way LoveSick!Athlete would ever do something like that.

He's the team's sweetheart, after all.

[lieutenantfloyd]

Pizza Hut and Silent Observation (Also Known as Stalking) - Deadpool x Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Summary: Through a series of strange but undeniably on-brand events, Wade Wilson has found his opposite—and falls in love with them along the way. But as they both reckon with their feelings, reader pulls away, though this only hurts them both.

Warnings: fluff, opposites attract, attempts at humor, violence, Wade had ADHD, mercenary! Reader, language, mutual pining and a bit of mutual stalking, gentle tapping of the fourth wall, and Wade being Wade.

Authors Note: As much as I love all the Poolverine x Reader stuff, I’m craving some solo Wade x Reader! So consider this to be me being the change I wanna see in the world lol

Read on AO3

A series of strange but undeniably on-brand events had led to Wade Wilson finding his polar opposite—The soft, quiet, and sweet to his rough, loud, and explicit.

For reasons unknown even to himself, Deadpool swears to keep his distance. Yet the more he tries to avoid you, the more you seem to cross paths. Keeping out of each other's way when you wind up trailing the same target quickly morphs into shared glances across bars and grocery store aisles. Wade is all too aware of the universe's fucked up sense of humor, and when he quite literally runs into you for a third day in a row, he swears that the sweet, melodic laughter that graces his is coming from the universe itself.

Despite the stolen kills and strange lack of conversation, Wade quickly grows fascinated by you. As you approach your sixth month of stilted interactions, the last remaining bits of optimism he has leave him wondering if this could potentially be the slowest slow burn of all time, only for those dreams to be crushed by the weight of everything that lies beneath his fancy spandex suit.

Nonetheless, his feelings about you—and how you operate in the field—grow into something far more than a simple curiosity. It becomes a wide-eyed admiration with an increasingly lewd undercurrent. You're everything he’s not. Clean and efficient with a one-track mind that never strays from the mission at hand.

Or at least that's what he tells himself.

-

It took exactly three meetings with the spandex clad mercenary to realize he might be the single most obnoxious person on the planet, and another five before you were willing to admit that he was also the single hottest.

You had always been someone who built their walls high and kept their defenses higher. It's why you found it so strange that the first crack in your emotional fortress was brought on by a mouthy mercenary taking a bullet for you without a second thought and making a joke about pegging with what should have been his dying breath.

His strange effect on you was something you used to justify your actions over the past several months. Frequenting his favorite bars and choosing to pursue the targets you knew he'd go after was simply just reconnaissance. You needed to know the why and how of what he made you feel, and getting close to him—while swearing it was for professional reasons only—felt like the best course of action. Sure, your heart raced every time you spotted him across the room, but that was only because you were satisfied by getting the timing of your meeting right. Maybe you let your eyes wander a little when he sunk his baby knife into the neck of your target, but you kept your thoughts of what else he kept hidden in that suit of his to yourself like any other well respecting person.

You weren't a stalker.

This wasn't stalking.

A grey area? Maybe. But definitely not stalking.

Or at least that's what you told yourself.

-

It was during your eighth month of silent observation that Wade realized that wherever he went, you were his sweet little shadow that kept him distracted. You had spoken to him barely a handful of times, yet you were always there to listen. You didn't care that he couldn't sit still or that he quite literally never shut up. No, you—his silent but darling angel—laughed at his jokes and brought him fidget toys. Alternatively, he never pressured you to speak up or forced you (too far) outside of your comfort zone.

The mutual respect between you grew larger and more profound until you were practically attached at the hip, becoming an unofficial duo both in the field and not. He'd always feel like he didn't deserve you, but at this rate, you were practically all he had left.

Logic—along with everyone in your lives—said that you should hate each other's guts. Yet from the first moment you met, You both just made complete sense to each other. You didn't ask to see what he hid underneath his mask and he didn't ask why you bought your groceries at the shop by His and Blind Al's apartment even though it was 45 minutes away from your own place. Things were simple. Good, even. But they still weren't enough for either of you.

-

He thinks about you constantly.

Thinks about you so much that he finds himself googling 'Can a person be a hyperfixation?' and 'signs you've found your soulmate' at 3am. Yet as much as his feelings for you have grown, whatever you had felt in return seemed to have disappeared along with your presence in his life.

Now what little focus he had was slipping. All because you had pulled away.

He'd taken more than a few knives to the skull over his last several missions, but the target he'd been tracking all year had finally made a home of an unmarked grave. He should feel excited—or at least somewhat satisfied—but he just felt numb. It'd been weeks since he'd last heard from you, but that didn't stop him from feeling phantom buzzes from his phone or searching crowds for your lovely, angelic face.

He'd even stopped by your place a few times. He forced himself to knock before picking the locks and entering your home. His genuine feelings of concern and abandonment were replaced by a gnawing pit in his stomach when he realized that your cozy apartment had become sterilized and vacant. He stayed there, frozen in place, for far longer than he would ever care to admit.

Deep down he'd always known this would happen. He was a depraved fuck up at best, and nothing good ever stuck around for him. But he thought—no, he knew—you were different. Only then did Wade admit that he was obsessed, if not teetering on the edge of stalkerish. He knew this was a glaring sign that he should back off, but Deadpool is anything, he is a man of maximum effort.

So he started waiting. Hoping that maybe you'll miss his unending self-deprecation and come back for him.

-

You promised to keep your distance. Wade was a good, albeit complicated, man who deserved something better. Someone who completed him. Who matched his energy and didn't forge a friendship based on an act of failed reconnaissance.

You'd been clean and clear of anything regarding him for over a month and were finally feeling good enough to head back to your old apartment and turn in your keys.

If you hadn't stopped in the hallway to reread the text from your landlord stating to leave the keys on the kitchen counter, you would have never noticed the shiny metallic scratches around the lock. Your line of work ensured that you knew instantly that it'd been picked, but you still moved in closer for a better look.

Whoever had broken in was either too inexperienced to know how to cover their tracks or brazen enough not to care. Given that the apartment was tucked away on the sixth floor with a freshly posted 'for rent' sign on the door, you couldn't see why this would be a random attack. You'd kept to yourself while living here, and you didn't have any valuables your more shady friends could be searching for. These were the facts you told yourself as you slipped the keys back into your pocket and ignored how only the latter, more reckless possibility had your heart racing.

Your typical evening plans were pushed aside in favor of pulling the security camera footage and settling in for an unconventional movie night.

Most of the tape was mind-numbingly boring, but your eyes were glued to the screen nonetheless. Searching for any piece of evidence to confirm your suspicions. Just as tiredness began to seep its way into your shoulders, you spot him. Even if he wasn't wearing the suit, you'd recognize him just by the way he dances into frame and gives a sarcastic wave at the camera. Seeing Wade again—even just in video format—fills you with so much affection that how you managed to leave him alone this long feels like a damn miracle.

-

The day of your return was unnotable in every way.

The sky is blue, the weather is mild, and you'd been tailing your target since before sunrise.

The job you were currently working requires fast, efficient work with no loose ends left behind. It was perfect for you, but the payout was enough to catch the eye of every mercenary in the local area and beyond. This was something you were banking on—the perfect way to say "I'm sorry" and "let's start over" to Wade without showing up cryptically on his doorstep.

The target pulls into a parking garage, and you know instantly that this is the other opportunity you've been hoping for. You follow them inside and park a few spaces away. You wait for them to walk in view of your rear view mirror before exiting the car. Their pace is relaxed and unalert as you fall in step with them—exactly how you prefer it—which giving you the green light to move in.

Your footfalls are silent as you close the small distance between you, weapon in hand. Hyperfocused and only a step behind them, you nearly run square into their back when they suddenly freeze and gasp.

"I'm on a tight schedule and you know what you did, so let's just cut to the chase, K?"

A second later, a blade lodges through their chest. As it retreats, their body falls limply to the ground, leaving your position completely exposed. Wade's eyes land on you instantly, and the way the whites of his mask widen has something in your chest growing tight.

"Hey," you stutter, thrown off guard by his sudden appearance. Though with everything you know about him, a part of you honestly should have prepared better for this.

"For what it's worth, I've been super busy since you decided to up and abandon me. So busy that I've only had time to cry twice in the last twelve hours," he says, slipping his katana back into place with precision.

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry? You're gonna have to do better than that to get back into my good graces, sugar plum."

His humor remains as unwavering as always, but the edge to his usually carefree voice betrays a glimpse of his inner workings. If it hadn't been obvious before, you know now, without any doubt, that your attempt to protect his feelings had only done the opposite.

"I didn't want to hurt you, Wade."

"Well, you failed spectacularly!" He deadpans.

You breathe in sharply and take a cautious step closer to him as his hands rise to rest on his hips. "I like you, you know. Which for me is…a lot."

You can practically see the wheels turning in his head as he speaks. As if he's holding back his true feelings for once.

"It took me far too long to admit it to myself, but I like you too, Wade." He's shockingly quiet as you speak, and the silence drags on for several seconds afterward.

"Do you maybe… like like me?" He asks in a soft voice that has you gearing up for his inevitable teasing. You sigh, and he takes up a pose that says he's the picture of innocence. Yeah right.

"Against my better judgment, yes."

His hands fly to his face, and he gasps so loud you wonder if your sliced-and-diced target had suddenly come back to life.

"You're telling me—mouthy merc Wade Winston Wilson—that I created such a stirring in that-" his eyes flash downwards before rising back to yours "great chest of yours that the only way you knew how to deal with it was to ghost me like fucking Casper?!"

Your half baked plan honestly sounds stupid when you hear it out loud, but he's undoubtedly right.

You nod in a mix of amusement and defeat, which sends his fists flying into the air.

"YES!" He screams "I'm finally getting my third-act-confession-in-a-hallmark-channel-romance-movie moment! Take that you ableist studio execs!"

You roll your eyes, refusing to believe you're letting his weird quips charm you once again.

"I'm sorry Wade, truly," you say.

Guilt sets in then. While you'll probably always think he deserves better—or at least something different—than what you can give him, you've realized that breaking his heart by leaving hurt you both more than whatever may or may not happen if you let your feelings be known.

You awkwardly poke the stiffening body of your target with the toe of your boot before you take a page out of Wade's book and finally bite the bullet.

"You stole my kill, and that means you owe me dinner," You say with a surprisingly playful air.

Wade shrugs, not missing a beat as he counters you.

"I mean, 'stole' doesn't really apply when it was full on open season for this hit, and you just happened to be too slow."

"Wade, do you want to take me out or not?" You bite back.

"Hold your horses there Dr. House, yes I do!"

"Good." You nod.

"Good?" He questions with mock offense. "That's all you have to say when a handsome man such as I is about to take you out for a candle lit date at the third finest Pizza Hut in the city? I even offered to pay with the dirty money from my most recent kill!" He exclaims, eying the increasingly pale body between of you.

"I should stayed away," you mutter half jokingly under your breath as you turn to leave, knowing that he'd follow.

"What was that, pookie?" He asks, using his gloved hand to cup his ear dramatically as he crosses the distance between you with flourish.

You roll your eyes as he falls in step with you, though it doesn't go unnoticed by the usually unobservant mercenary.

"I saw that, sugarplum," he croons. You snort out an exasperated laugh and nearly repeat your previous eye roll just to stir the pot a little more.

"I know you're probably not as well versed in this whole enemies to lovers, will-they-won't-they dating thing, but I've read enough fanfiction to know that this whole dark and brooding thing you've got going on is supposed to be reserved for others, not you're darling love interest."

"I'm glad that you admit that I'm the main character," You laugh. Wade's eyes widen as he realizes the mistake he's made. Yet instead of pressing the issue, he slips his phone out of his spandex suit—where it's kept is something you don't care to think about—and calls in the kill.

You continue on walking, heading nowhere in particular. You’re just happy to have Wade by your side once again. The call comes to an end quickly, the phone disappears once more, and he loops one of his strong arms around your shoulders.

"So, pookie, about that dinner date…"

You raise your eyebrows instantly, recognizing that his tone of voice as the one he uses right before dropping bombshells.

"The money is on a thirty six hour hold—a surprisingly formal rule given our shady choice of gig—so would you mind paying? I'd tell you I'd pay you back but we both know I won't." He smiles innocently.

You scoff, only for a soft smile to bloom on your own face.

"You better sweep me off my feet," you tease, wrapping your own arm around him as you both make your way through the busy city streets. Cars race by and neon lights flicker overhead, reflecting in the puddles left by the afternoon rain.

He shoots you a sideways grin from beneath his mask, "Sweep you off your feet? That sounds like soooo much work. I'll just stick to charming you with my usual irresistible appeal instead."

You snort sarcastically. "irresistible appeal? You mean being an insufferable pain who always leaves me behind to clean up your messes?"

You turn the corner, arriving at the restaurant Wade had promised. You'd been here together before, though usually after a job gone wrong, and it had become your go-to hideout whenever your paths crossed.

Sliding into your usual booth, you lean back against the cracking vinyl and cross your arms, almost amused by the situation.

"You stuck me with the bill, so you better order something cheap," you joke as he eyes the menu.

Wade leans forward, his elbows resting on the table beside his now discarded red and black mask.

"Best I can do is treat you to dessert if you behave," He smirks, very much not talking about baked goods or confectionery.

You narrow your eyes at him, though he sees the playful spark swimming beneath them.

"Behave? That's rich coming from you. I'll be lucky if you don't have a knife buried in your head by the time the food comes out." He grins, a flash of mischief dancing across his eyes.

"What can I say? I like to make life exciting. Besides, we can't all be dark and brooding on the sidelines, now can we?"

You roll your eyes before looking back at the menu, an action that causes his smile to grow bigger.

The familiar heavy but playful energy between you has returned as if the past weeks had never happened. Things are comfortable, if not easy. It's the kind of rhythm you and Wade always fall into, no matter how long you spent apart.

From across the booth you see Wade's head fall to the side, his eyes examining you closely.

"What?" You ask, your eyes staying on the menu but not really looking at it.

"You seem…excited. Well, as excited as you can get, really." He says in a surprisingly soft tone.

"Me? Excited? Never."

"Perhaps then you just missed this sexy face? You wouldn't be the first…" he smirks as he looks at you with annoyingly innocent eyes.

"Or perhaps I'm waiting on the other shoe to drop. It seems like every time we're together, one of us is getting shot at or double-crossed. I wouldn't call that particularly exciting." You counter, though you know he's got you pinned.

He huffs out a laugh, leaning back in his seat. "Come on, Wednesday Adams, admit it—You. Missed. Me."

You glance up at him, meeting his gaze. There was something disarming about the way he looked at you, like you weren't just two messed up mercenaries thrown into the same mess over and over again. Like there was something more to be had than all your teasing and banter. And as much as you hated to admit it, he was right. You had missed him.

"I missed this place, not you," you deflect, though your smile betrays you.

"You missed this shithole?" he replies, eyes twinkling. "I knew your standards were low—I mean you are on a date with me after all—but holy fuck."

You shake your head, unable to stop the laugh that bubbles up. "Hey! This isn't a date!"

He leaned in, his voice dropping lower as it fills with that infuriating charm he's known for. "Oh, don't you worry pookie. This is just the first step in my plan to date the hell outta you."

For a moment you sit there, the noise of the restaurant fading as your eyes lock with his wild ones. A truth hangs between you—no matter how many times you tried to downplay it, there was an undeniable electricity that always sparked between you. Something crazy and unpredictable, not unlike your daily lives.

You shake your head. "If it's a date, then you're paying," you say, finally breaking the tension with a happy smirk.

"Fine," he says with a huff, drawing out the last syllable as he leans back in his seat. "But next time, you're buying the drinks."

"Next time?" You ask, raising your eyebrows.

"Oh, you know there's always going to be a next time," His eyes gleam as you let out a soft laugh, glancing at him with a mixture of exasperation and fondness.

"You're maddening, you know that?" You say, though there's no bite behind your words.

He gasps dramatically once more. "Is this the part of the movie where you say I drive you crazy before we go back to my place and have a heated makeout session?!"

For a moment you just watch him, eyebrows furrowed but a lazy smile hanging on your lips. The noise of the restaurant and the city beyond it fades into the background. It was almost funny how you and Wade always ended up back here, side by side, cracking jokes and deflecting feelings you both refused to admit you had.

Yet as his hand drops onto the table it brushes softly against yours, and you can't imagine a world in which you pull away. He's incessant, annoying, exasperating, along with a million other words, but he's here with you despite everything. A gesture that proves that maybe a bit of humor is exactly what you are missing from your life.

[nadvs]

I was reading cam girl for the first time (soooooo f good btw) but what do you think it would be like if she didn’t forgive him? like i feel as though the stuff he said about her was kind of unforgivable, i wanna know your thoughts on what it would be like if she decided that she didn’t want to hear him out?

I just want to know your thoughts or what you think would happen/ like how the story would looks if she never forgave him yk? 😭…. like how the fight would kind of unfold and whether she quits her job, or even how he feels about? (i just like angst LOL)

thank you!! omg yesss when i was writing it, i was like this man will literally have to wait hours for her and get on his knees and beg and grovel if he wants to be with her 🙂‍↕️ same though i love angst so i got you hehe

based on this fic! sad ending (all hurt, no comfort)

when she gets home from the party that night and sees rafe sitting outside her door, she’s in disbelief.

he tries to trail her into her apartment, but she doesn’t want to hear him out. as she’s pushing him out of her place, he keeps telling her to wait and listen but she shoves him out into the hallway and he’s so desperate that he says “i love you” to her on her doorstep.

it takes her back for a moment, and she glares at him as he searches her face for any hint of forgiveness, but she finally says, “you went too far with the things you said and the things you let your friends say. you don’t respect me. the kind of love i want doesn’t look like this.” his heart shatters.

she recounts it all to him, how she knows he said she never says no to him, how his buddy called her a slut and he laughed.

he says, “i’m sorry, okay? i beat that asshole up. and i hate myself for saying that shit. just calm down so we can talk.”

she says, “i’m never talking to you again.”

she shuts the door and he just stares at it with his heart pounding, never having been rejected like this. he’s sure that she must just be mad in the moment, because how can she throw away the connection they have?

it’s hard to control himself because he’s so pissed and heartbroken, but he goes home, sure they’ll fix things. she just needs to cool down.

but she doesn’t return any calls. he even sends her money to get her attention. no response.

he comes to her apartment again the next night and when she won’t open the door, he pleads, “don’t do this. we have to see each other at some point.”

“no we don’t. i quit my job.”

she’s standing in her kitchen, staring at the door, thinking about all the times he came through it.

she wonders if she can just move past this all. but what he said was so horrible that she can’t imagine being happy with him, knowing what he’s capable of.

she called the cleaning agency earlier that day and asked to work at another house. she can’t imagine going back to tannyhill. seeing rafe. dealing with the staff there. and she shut down her account on the cam girl website. she’s done with it all.

“you quit?” he says angrily through the door. “baby, why? i’m so fucking sorry, alright? you can’t end this because of some bullshit i said to my friends.”

“rafe, go.” the tears are thick in her throat. “leave. we’re done.”

he’s terrified to ask, but he has to know.

“do you love me?” he asks. he waits, staring down at the floor.

“i did,” she finally answers.

“you did?” it gives him hope for a second, but reality crashes down on him again.

“i don’t anymore,” she says. it’s a lie, but she knows once enough time passes, she’ll be over him. “go.”

he keeps calling and texting her. he keeps sending her money. he even goes on the cam website, but her account is gone. he tries to find her in case she started a different account, but he can’t.

she never responds to any of his attempts to talk.

about a month later, rafe is at one of his friend’s houses, sitting by the poolside, when he sees her again. he’s been more moody than ever before since their break-up. he’s mad that she threw what they had away. he’s hurt that his apology wasn’t enough.

from the pool, he notices her. he never told his friends her name or what happened, just that things didn’t work out, so they have no idea what a big deal it is that he’s seeing this girl right now.

he stares at her from the backyard as she cleans the sliding door glass. she didn’t really quit. she just went to work at another kook’s house.

she comes out to wipe the other side, the sound of her sliding the door open getting his friend’s attention.

“honey, get us some beers, will you?” his buddy calls.

she turns her head, the frustrated look rafe knows all to well etched on her face.

“i’ll let the servant know,” she replies flatly. “i only clean.”

when her eyes land on rafe, she freezes. she was just thinking about him. she thinks about him all the time. how fun he was, how much he loved spoiling her, how sweet he could pretend to be.

but deep down, he was cruel. she knows he’ll never really see her as more than a sex object. what they had was transactional.

“i don’t get why they’re so sensitive about that shit,” his friend laughs quietly. “like, just get some drinks. i don’t give a damn about your job description.”

rafe watches her rush away.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?” rafe mutters, standing to follow her.

“got a soft spot for maids, cameron?” he replies tauntingly. but rafe ignores him.

she tries to gain some composure, hoping that he won’t trail her. but it’s rafe. of course he’s going to find her without any consideration for her feelings or her job.

he sees her rush down the downstairs hallway into a spare room. when she turns at the sound of footsteps, her breath catches when she sees him up close again.

“i thought you quit,” he says, his voice low.

she brushes past him to close the door so nobody overhears. her back is to the door, her eyes wide while she looks up at him.

“i quit at your house,” she replies. “what do you want?”

rafe’s brows pinch in a mix of sorrow and frustration. he missed her voice. the way she used to talk to him. over her computer. in her bedroom.

“is he always a dick to you like that?” he asks. she tries not to look at his toned body, droplets of pool water scattered over his chest.

god, she misses his body. his touch. everything.

“i don’t care what he says,” she replies. “this is just a job.”

rafe tilts his head, gazing at her with disbelief.

“is that right?” he mumbles. “was it just a job with me, too?”

she stills. throughout their time together, she thought to herself over and over that being his own personal cam girl was something she’d do for free. she genuinely enjoyed her time with him.

and because she’s not interested in playing a game, in being eaten alive by her pride and later regretting it, she’s honest.

“i would’ve done all that stuff with you without the money,” she admits. “i fell for you. but i was always just body parts to you and i respect myself too much to-”

“why are you so fucking stubborn?” he interrupts. “i told you i love you.”

“no, you just love using me.”

“so, i’m a liar?” he scoffs.

“i’ll never forget what you said. i’m a slut to you.”

“no, you’re not,” he says tersely. “do i have to fucking beg?”

“you don’t have to do anything,” she says, “because nothing will make me want you again. i have work to do. don’t follow me.”

she leaves the room, wiping the tears building up in her eyes away.

rafe wants to punch a wall. he wants to destroy everything in this room. and the only thing keeping him from doing it is knowing she’ll have to clean it up.

he leaves without saying anything to his friends. he wishes he never saw her. because hearing that nothing will make her want him again is something that’ll replay in his head over and over. it’ll haunt him.

he won’t open his heart up to a girl ever again. he swears it to himself. nothing is worth this agony.

(continuation)

[circeyoru]

Hello~ Small thing but I’ve been thinking about Alastor in the Unwanted Soul series trying to get Reader to sing and dance with him. I feel like Reader would refuse to do that stuff but sometimes he catches them humming, especially anime OSTs lol. He doesn’t know what song it is but he’s happy to hear it anyway.

OH OH AND HE’D BE REALLY HAPPY IF THEY ABSENTMINDEDLY HUMMED A SONG HE’S PLAYED AROUND THE HOUSE BEFORE. He’d be so touched, like, they like the music he likes lol. Even better if they heard the song between him and Vox over the radio/TV and was humming that or any other song Alastor sang.

Sorry, just wanted to talk about that cuz obviously music and singing is really big in Hell and Alastor clearly loves that stuff. He’d be psyched if Reader enjoyed his songs or joined in with him but it’s highly unlikely Reader would actually sing or dance with him. I love this series and I agree with the other Anon that this is my favorite series. I keep checking your blog for updates. Thank you for writing for us!

Go to MASTERLIST for the works. This ask is for {Unwanted Souls}

I'm literally treating these asks as trivia. Interesting but too small of a part to put in the story.

But, thanks for your words! Really!! I'm happy writing these parts and answering your questions for this! I can't stop saying that I never expected this series to blow up like this. so THANK YOU guys again!! (I need to learn more 'thank you' words...)

Back to the ask.

Now Reader/you are something that has a thing for music. There's no specific type you like but if it vibes with you, you like it. You're aware that Hell's a musical place, you got quite the shock when Lucifer first sang to you when he was trying to convince you to live. Yeah, awkward...

You just accepted it afterwards.

Ho ho, you hum and sing. On the spur of the moment. You even dance too, your memories good that you can replicate dance moves after vibing with the song and dance chorepgraphy. You did it anytime at home.

That is, before Alastor came into your life.

You kept these to yourself, or you would shut the door and ward off Alastor with your pages. Then you can do it. Sing and dance. But, of course, Alastor knew this little habit of yours and didn't point it out so he could enjoy it without you taking more measures to hide it. You hum in front of him, while he doesn't know what music you were humming, he enjoys it altogether.

This breaks when Alastor gives you his soul. It was a somewhat normal day, the trigger point was you putting your foot down and telling (not asking) him to leave. He just breaks off into a song, specifically *Stalker's Tango*. Take it as an intimidation tactic, but he was being very convincing. You were aware of his love for you and want for your attention, so it wasn't scary but annoying to you. (hope you guys read part 4 already) You return his declaration with a song of your own *I Can't Decide*, you accepted his soul to show him his mistake, not knowing that it was his plan for you to care for him.

Yeah, Alastor was eating it all up. The fact that you counter with a song too. Music to his ears. The fact that you were thinking this much about him. It's good. A good start.

You know how his radio could talk and play tracks (in the pilot)? Now Alastor plays romantic songs here and there in your home, though careful not to drown out your videos and music. He did a double take when he heard a double of the songs he was playing, it came from your room, then there was your soft humming. He'd lean against the wall next to your door and listen with a fond smile. He was aware that you could more easily do things on your own, like searching up the songs he played without asking him, then here you were enjoying it in secret. He won't say a word, treating it a secret between you two.

Alastor gave you a radio that connects to his staff, sometimes letting you listen in on the songs and as a way of communication. You only knew that when you heard his reprise of Charlie's *Inside Every Demon Is A Rainbow*, you won't admit to Alastor that his version was better and more accurate. You were actually hooked on *Stayed Gone* and hummed it a few times, especially Alastor's ending verse. You and Alastor reenacted the whole song when he was allowed to visit you, but since Alastor was interested to see you singing his verses, you sang his parts and Alastor sang Vox's. It was heaven-sent. He was somewhat offended that you liked *Hell's Greatest Dad* though, cause you were more hooked on Lucifer's beginning verse.

Now though, Alastor asks for your hand to sway a bit. You comply and Alastor would be humming some song, he makes an effort to take an interest in your songs because you were secretive on your interest. He tries (and purposely fails) on singing your songs, then you'd be correcting him and teaching him with a teasing side smile. He doesn't care for the songs and music, he cares that you like them.

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

S/O and skeleton are secretly dating but haven't told Skeleton's brother yet. Until one day, S/O comes to Skeleton's house and says that they forgot their underwear and give them to him, right in front of his brother. Reaction of their brother?

Undertale Sans - He does the dramatic slow turn towards Papyrus, completely in shock. You're dating someone and you don't even tell your big brother? Oh shame on you. Shame on your cow. You're getting a hundred years of teasing as a punishment. Papyrus refuses to meet his eyes. He KNOWS what will happen the second he will.

Undertale Papyrus - Today is Papyrus' day. Well, every day is Papyrus day but this particular day is the day of his absolute triumph over the tyranny of Sans' terrible jokes and puns as the universe had finally given him the power to retaliate by making Sans blush to hell with a single stare. He is going to abuse that power and flush Sans for weeks, not leaving him one second of peace anymore. Papyrus knows and he wants Sans to know he knows by any means possible.

Underswap Sans - He's in shock, he thinks. He suspected his brother was in love because Honey was not exactly hiding it, but this? This is a thing no big brother wants to know. Honey is devastated and won't stop apologizing but Blue is frozen. He thinks he hasn't blinked in the last hour, just staring at his brother in disbelief. What.

Underswap Papyrus - He's not that shocked actually. Blue is a charmer and he had a few partners already, some weirder than others. He just assumes it's another weird one lol. No big deal. He still tells his brother he will make sure he doesn't lose his underwear again by writing his name on them just to see Blue brutally flush. Little revenge, you know.

Underfell Sans - Red stares in disbelief, as his brother smooches his human. That's absolutely disgusting. He can't stop staring at the bag with the underwear. Disgusting, really. He has to snap his attention back at his brother as he starts to chuckle. Red gives him a dark stare. "WHAT IS IT BROTHER? JEALOUS MY BIG BONE IS MORE EFFICIENT THAN YOURS? DON'T BE, YOU'LL BE AS TALENTED AS I AM. ... EVENTUALLY." Red gasps, offended. Now he's not disgusted, he's mad!

Underfell Papyrus - He opens the door and screams "FINALLY MY BROTHER IS NOT A VIRGIN ANYMORE" before Red jumps on his back and starts to beat him up to make him shut up. Edge can't stop laughing hysterically at his misery, not feeling remorse for even one second. That's revenge for his endless teasing the first time he dated someone.

Horrortale Sans - .... He closes his eyes and begs his brain to forget what he just witnessed. Ironically, that's one of the few things he can't unsee. Like, never. Every time he sees his brother, he sees his underwear. This is a nightmare. Why does the universe hate him so much? Willow is wondering why his brother is looking at him in complete silence like a rabbit stuck in the lights of a car. It's going to happen a lot in the next few days.

Horrortale Papyrus - He says nothing when it happens, but is quick to escape the house. He runs to Toriel's house and tells her everything lol. He needs someone to fangirl with and Toriel has always been good for that. When Oak and his human get out of the house, he can only stare, confused, as Willow and Toriel are more or less hiding behind the bushes despite being ridiculously tall, spying on him.

Swapfell Sans - He rolls his eyes at Rus, annoyed. It's not the first time it has happened and it certainly won't be the last. He has pity for this new human who will have their heart broken eventually like the twenty or so before.

Swapfell Papyrus - Rus chokes on what he was drinking, then slowly turns to his brother, who is bright purple. Nox is very secretive about his relationships and he for sure didn't expect that to occur. Rus is never letting him hear the end of this after that accident. Nox knows his peace is over forever.

Fellswap Gold Sans - He lost his inferior jaw, quite literally. Coffee is embarrassed, but actually not that shy anymore. WHAT?! What the hell happened? He has the best spying tools on the continent and he didn't see his brother was in a relationship. How blind he is? He's questioning all his skills right now. Also what the hell, his brother is in a relationship! That's terrible!

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - Coffee says nothing, trying to not let the thoughts win. But they won anyway and he suddenly screams "wait, does that mean you didn't wear underwear when you got home? how did you not notice????" before blushing furiously when Wine looks his way and teleporting out of panic into his room to hide in his wardrobe in shame lol.